A Family For The Widowed Governess. Ann Lethbridge
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for us.’
And when he found one, his need for her would be at an end. All governesses taught drawing along with the other necessary lessons a girl needed to prepare her for life. Indeed, drawing was the least important skill. Needlework, writing and reading were far more valuable.
‘Who is teaching you lessons at the moment?’
‘Nanny reads to us, when her eyes aren’t too tired,’ Janey said.
Marguerite frowned. This was not the way to bring up such spirited intelligent girls.
They walked back to the nursery. At the door, Lizzie turned and looked at her. ‘Are you coming back tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow, but the day after.’
Elizabeth gave her a narrow-eyed stare, as if she did not believe her.
Janey gave a little skip. ‘Goody. I like drawing.’ Lizzie ushered her into the nursery and then turned back. ‘You don’t have to come again if you don’t want to. I am teaching Janey to read.’ She went inside and shut the door.
What on earth did Lizzie mean? Since it had been a busy afternoon, with them learning lots of new things, Marguerite decided to ask her about it another time. She returned to the schoolroom for her outer raiment.
* * *
All afternoon, Jack had wanted to go up to the schoolroom to see how the girls were faring with their drawing teacher. He had personally overseen the snack to be taken up to them. What if the girls were misbehaving? What if Lady Marguerite was not following the rules? He had forced himself not to go and check. Until Lady Marguerite proved that she could not cope, he would leave her to it.
At precisely five minutes after four he went up to the schoolroom. The girls were not there and Lady Marguerite had her coat on and was putting on her bonnet.
‘They are back with Nanny,’ she said with a cool smile.
He frowned. ‘Oh, I see. How did they get on? Did they behave themselves?’
She nodded. ‘They did.’
That was a relief. He had threatened them with a fate worse than death if they did not behave like perfect little ladies with their new teacher. The odd thing was, the girls had never met Aunt Ermintrude. He had no idea why they had decided she was their worst nightmare. Perhaps it was his fault. He had threatened a visit from her often enough.
He stepped aside to allow Lady Marguerite to pass. ‘I asked one of the lads to bring the trap around,’ he said. ‘It is waiting at the front door. I will see you here on Friday.’
She hesitated. Devil take it, was she not telling him the truth when she said the girls had behaved themselves? He hadn’t seen any of the telltale signs that would indicate she was lying.
Lady Marguerite drew in a breath. ‘Yes. I will be here on Friday at two in the afternoon and not a minute later.’
He winced. She must be referring to his rules about timeliness. Well, he simply wanted to make things clear, that was all. It was better if everyone knew where they stood.
‘Allow me to escort you out.’
She shook her head. ‘No need. I know my way.’
And with that she whisked by him and down the stairs.
He was damned if he was going to chase after her, no matter how much he might want to.
* * *
Later that evening, Marguerite waited anxiously in the designated spot, hoping to discover the identity of this man who was causing her such distress. Unfortunately, the alley running beside the Green Man led to a row of labourers’ cottages behind it and it was hard to see anything at all since there was no moon this evening. This was not a good place to meet a man who offered nothing but threats.
Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears. She wanted to run.
The man who had sat in the pew behind her at Petra’s wedding in St George’s Church had been well-spoken and she had taken him for a gentleman. Now, she was beginning to doubt her judgement.
The sound of male laughter wafted from the inn as a door opened and spilled light into the alley. It closed, leaving the narrow lane seeming darker than ever. She swallowed.
The tap of footsteps on cobbles approached.
She held her breath.
‘You have the money?’ a cultured voice asked.
She could see only a silhouette in the gloom. ‘I do.’ She sounded a great deal calmer than she felt. A little spurt of pride gave her courage. She would not be intimidated or bullied by this man.
‘Hand it over.’
She held out a knitted purse containing the guineas Lord Compton had given her and the few other coins she had scraped together to make up the sum he demanded. ‘You have the sketch?’
The man plucked the purse from her hand. ‘Not until I have payment in full.’
Disappointed, but not surprised, she grimaced. ‘I could go to the authorities, you know.’
His chuckle sounded menacing. ‘And tell them what? That you have denigrated your future King and now do not want to pay a man you do not know for your disloyalty to remain unpublished? Even if they listen, your sketch will become public.’ His voice softened. ‘Pay me and it need never come to light.’
Embarrassment scoured her very soul at the recollection of what she had drawn.
‘Twenty-five pounds and you will be free of me for ever,’ he promised, his tone wheedling.
‘But I have just given you—’
‘A show of good faith, my dear. Next time you will bring me what I requested or bear the consequences.’
She shivered at the sneer in his voice and a strange sense of familiarity. Had she met this man before? Or was she simply recalling his voice from that first meeting?
‘How can I trust that you won’t ask for more then, too?’ She knew she sounded desperate.
‘I give you my word.’
As if she could trust the word of one such as he, even if he did sound like a gentleman. ‘No true gentleman would do something like this.’
His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. ‘Do not insult me or it will be the worse for you. One last payment of twenty-five pounds and the sketch is yours. Think of your family.’
She swallowed. ‘It will take more time to raise that amount. This was supposed to be part of it.’
‘You still have two weeks,’ he said.
It was a great deal of money to find in two weeks, even with the money from Lord Compton and the sale of what little jewellery she had left.
‘I can’t do it that soon,’ she said.
‘Two weeks or see it in every print shop in London.’
He sounded desperate. He needed the money as much as she needed this to be over and done.
She took a deep breath. ‘It is not possible. Three weeks.’ Surely she would have the payment from her publisher by then.
‘All right. Three. Not a day more. I will contact you to arrange our next meeting. Do not fail me.’ He turned and marched off.
Her knees felt weak. She put a hand to her heart. She felt as if she had won a major battle, even as she knew she had lost the war. She just wished she could be sure he had taken her seriously about it being her final payment. Because if he demanded more money next time, she would not pay another penny. And then she would have to face the world’s condemnation. She blanched, her courage failing.
No! She must stand her ground, no matter the consequences. Except those