A Very Unusual Governess

Miss Petrie was far from dull.

Edward Barraclough was not quite sure why. She dressed quietly enough, with no attempt to attract. If he had not seen those honey-gold curls that had tumbled about her shoulders at their first meeting he would never have known they existed. Miss Petrie wore her hair in a firmly disciplined knot, or even under a cap. She was not particularly tall, and her figure, from what he had seen of it, was slight. Apart from her forget-me-not-blue eyes, he would not have said there was anything interesting or attractive about her.

But Miss Petrie wasn’t dull. She was quick-witted and amusing. And there was something about that small figure…Her carriage was graceful, her manner unassuming, but Miss Petrie was neither humble nor respectful, not underneath.

Edward Barraclough was intrigued. Perhaps he should spend more of the time he was forced to spend at Wychford in getting to know his nieces’ governess!

A Very Unusual Governess

Harlequin^® Historical

MILLS & BOON

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Available from Harlequin^®Historical and SYLVIA ANDREW

Lord Calthorpe’s Promise #142*

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A VERY UNUSUAL GOVERNESS
SYLVIA ANDREW

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

A VERY UNUSUAL GOVERNESS

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Tall, with black hair, broad shoulders and a powerful stride, Edward Barraclough was an impressive sight as he walked through Green Park on his way back to North Audley Street. Though he was plainly dressed, his dark green superfine coat, silver-mounted cane, buckskins, and boots were all of a quality which indicated to the discerning that he was a man of wealth and distinction. The discerning might also have wondered what such an obvious member of the ton was doing in London, for this was the time of year when Society deserted the town for the pleasures of their country estates and the capital was very thin of company.

So, when Viscount Trenton saw Mr Barraclough emerge from the Park and prepare to cross Piccadilly, he hailed him with surprise and pleasure.

‘Ned! What the devil are you doing in town?’

‘The same as you, I imagine,’ said Mr Barraclough. ‘Business.’

‘I didn’t think the Foreign Office did any work till next month.’

‘They don’t. This was family business—bankers over here from Vienna.’

‘Ah! What a bore, old chap!’

Mr Barraclough gave his companion an amused glance. ‘Not at all! I enjoy talking to bankers.’

In Viscount Trenton’s experience, interviews with bankers, or any men of business, were usually to be avoided at all costs, but he knew that Ned Barraclough did not suffer from the same reluctance. With good reason. The Barracloughs were enormously wealthy, with large estates in the West Indies and interests in banking and trade all over the world. And though you would never have guessed it, Edward Barraclough had a strange liking for work. Not only did he keep a personal eye on his own family fortunes, he also spent hours giving the Foreign Office the benefit of his considerable experience in the Americas. But, though it might seem odd, it did not prevent him from being a popular member of London society, and welcome wherever he chose to go. Jack Trenton liked him.

As they went up Clarges Street towards Grosvenor Square, he gave Ned a sly look and asked, ‘Is Louise in town, too?’

‘I wouldn’t expect her to be anywhere else,’ Mr Barraclough replied. ‘She hates the country. Though she informs me that she wouldn’t object to a trip to Brighton.’

‘Are you going to take her there?’

‘I might.’

‘You want to keep a careful eye on that particular bird of paradise, Ned,’ said Jack. ‘If you hope to keep her, that is. Louise Kerrall is a damned handsome creature. You’re a lucky dog to have such a prize. There’s quite a few fellows in London who would soon take her over if you gave them half a chance.’

Mr Barraclough’s teeth gleamed in a mocking smile. ‘Are you one of ’em, Jack? I don’t advise you to try. I’ve no intention of letting Louise go at the moment.’

‘Oh, Lord, Ned! I didn’t mean—! Y’needn’t worry about me. I couldn’t afford her! And I’m sure she’s devoted to you—’

‘Devoted?’ Mr Barraclough’s smile took on a cynical twist. ‘Louise’s devotion is in direct proportion to the value of the last trinket I happen to have given her. Particularly if it is diamonds. She’s very fond of diamonds. But you needn’t worry, Jack. It’s not devotion I look for when I’m with Louise. Nothing so abstract.’

With a picture in his mind of Louise Kerrall’s dark hair and languorous brown eyes, her creamy skin, red lips and generous curves, Jack said appreciatively, ‘I dare say not!’

‘So if you’re not planning to take my mistress away from me, Jack, we’ll forget her. Tell me instead why you are in town.’

Lord Trenton’s expression grew gloomy. ‘That’s business of a sort, too. I’ve been seeing the lawyers.’

‘Your father disinheriting you at long last?’

‘No, no! Just the opposite. I’ve finally given in and made an offer for Cynthia Paston.’

‘Have you, begad? Which one is that? The one with the teeth or the one with the nose?’

‘The one with the teeth and a dowry of thirty thousand pounds.’

‘And she accepted you?’

‘Oh, yes. I may not be much myself, but the title is quite a draw, y’know. The Pastons like the idea of having a future Countess in the family.’

Mr Barraclough looked at the expression on Lord Trenton’s face and burst out laughing. ‘You’re obviously the happiest of men! My congratulations!’

‘It’s all very well for you to laugh, Ned! Y’don’t know how lucky you are! No one’s putting any pressure on you to marry. No one’s reminding you day after day that you’re the only son and there’s the damned title to consider. I’m not like you, with two brothers both older than me!’

‘Only one now, Jack. My eldest brother was killed earlier this year. So was his wife. I thought you knew.’

‘I’d forgotten. Sorry, Ned!’

‘It’s all right. Antigua is a long way away. Why should you remember?’

‘All the same I ought to have. Carriage accident, wasn’t it…? Is your other brother still out there in the West Indies?’

‘Not at the moment. He and Julia are on their way here—they should arrive any day now.’

‘Staying long?’

‘Till next year’s Season. They have my two nieces with them, daughters of the brother who was killed. Lisette, the elder one, is to be brought out next Spring. She’s a lovely girl, I don’t doubt she’ll be a success. But I’m not looking forward to their arrival.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m fond enough of my brother. And Lisette and Pip are delightful. But Julia, Henry’s wife…Believe me, Jack, she’s the best argument I’ve come across for a man to remain single!’

‘I say, old chap, that’s not very tactful!’

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s downright unkind when you know I’ve just put my head in the noose!’

‘If you feel that badly about it, why did you?’

‘I’ve told you! Noblesse oblige and all that! Don’t look at me so—you’ve no idea what it’s like to have the family at your back all the time, rattling on about duty, preserving the line and all the rest. In the end I just gave in. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.’

‘Come and have one, then,’ said Mr Barraclough sympathetically. ‘The lawyers will wait.’

Lord Trenton met a few other cronies at White’s, and after a while seemed to be drowning his sorrows so effectively that Mr Barraclough felt able to leave him. He resumed his walk back to his house in North Audley Street. The afternoon breeze was agreeably cool, and as he walked along he considered how very fortunate he was. At thirty, he was still free, rich and comparatively young. He had a mistress who was everything a man could want, beautiful, passionate and very willing—and, unlike a wife, she had no other claims on him. He was free to come and go as he pleased, and, when he tired of her, she would find someone else without any effort on his part.

Yes, his life was particularly well arranged. Unlike poor Trenton he was under no pressure to settle down. He could, and would, remain unencumbered for as long as he wished.

The only shadow on the horizon was the impending arrival of his sister-in-law. He frowned. It was an unfortunate truth that he and Julia cordially disliked one another. When to her chagrin he had inherited his uncle’s fortune, she made no secret of the fact that she thought he should have stayed in the West Indies instead of choosing to travel the world as he had. His later decision to live in England was another source of displeasure. But he suspected that what really made her angry was the fact that, unlike his poor brother Henry, he took not the slightest notice of her.

This was as well, he thought as he crossed Berkeley Square and turned into Mount Street, for there really was no pleasing her. Far from neglecting his family responsibilities, he had allowed them to keep him out of England for a large part of last winter’s hunting, and most of the London season this spring. What had started as a simple visit to Antigua had developed into a series of crises. Overnight his elder brother’s two daughters had been made orphans, minors in the care of his brother Henry and himself. Making sure of their safety had been a major consideration, and he believed he had done more than his duty in that respect. It was now up to Henry and Julia to look after them.

Edward himself planned to make up for the last year’s sacrifices as soon as he could leave London. He might spend a few days in Brighton with Louise, but afterwards he had various invitations from his friends to spend the later months of the year with them on their country estates. If and when that palled, he would return to London to enjoy town life again. A very attractive prospect, and one that he deserved, whatever Julia said!

Heartened by this thought, he leapt up the steps to his house, nodded cheerfully to his footman as he handed over his hat and cane, went into the hall, and started towards the stairs. But before he got to the first step he was stopped by his butler.

‘Sir! Mr Barraclough!’ Harbin looked as disturbed as Edward had ever seen him.

‘What is it?’

‘You have visitors, sir.’ Harbin held out a salver on which was a card.

Edward read it. ‘Lady Penkridge…? What does she want?’

‘I don’t know, sir. She has two young people with her.’

Edward frowned. ‘I’d better see her, I suppose. Where are they?’

‘In the library, sir.’ Harbin went to the library door, opened it and announced Edward. Then he withdrew.

‘Edward!’ He was attacked by a small whirlwind. ‘We’ve been waiting ages for you! Where’ve you been?’

Edward laughed, took the little girl into his arms and swung her round. ‘I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Pip! You should have warned me.’ He put the child down and surveyed the room. Raising his eyebrow, he smiled at the other young person he saw, and went over to give her a hug. ‘Lisette, I’ll swear you’re prettier than ever.’ Then he turned and looked at the other occupants of the library. One was dressed in black, and stood ramrod straight. She had what looked like a permanent expression of disapproval on her face, with pursed lips and a nose like a hatchet. She was soberly dressed in rusty black, and what looked like the quills of a porcupine sticking out of an ugly bonnet. Not Lady Penkridge. He turned with relief to the other female, who was obviously waiting to speak to him. ‘Lady Penkridge? I don’t believe we’ve met?’

‘No, indeed, Mr Barraclough. But I am very well acquainted with your brother and his wife.’

‘Henry?’

‘Yes. And dearest Julia. I have been a friend of hers for many years.’

‘Indeed? Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Penkridge. But…but I don’t quite understand. Are my brother and his wife not here?’

‘Julia is still in Antigua. And so is your brother.’

Edward looked at her in astonishment. Clearly enjoying the drama of the moment, Lady Penkridge nodded solemnly and added, ‘They were unable to travel, Mr Barraclough. Julia broke her leg the day before we were all due to sail and Mr Henry Barraclough has stayed behind to look after her.’

‘But…’ Shocked, Edward demanded details of the accident. Lady Penkridge told him the tale, with frequent interruptions from his younger niece, who seemed to find the gory details of the accident more interesting than sad. But the conclusion was the same. It would be some time before Julia Barraclough could walk, and even longer before she could attempt the voyage to England.

At the end, somewhat bewildered, Edward said, ‘But I still don’t understand! Why, in that case, are my nieces here in London?’

‘Edward! Don’t say you don’t want us here! We thought you’d be glad to see us!’ This came from the small girl who had greeted him so rapturously a moment before.

Smiling reassuringly at her, Edward said, ‘I am, midget, I am! I’m just a little puzzled, that’s all. What are you going to do in England without your aunt?’

‘It’s all settled! We’re to have Miss Froom as a governess. And you are to come with us to Wychford to look after us all.’

Edward’s smile abruptly disappeared. ‘What?’

Lady Penkridge frowned at Pip. ‘Philippa, I wish you would remember not to speak until you are spoken to! You must allow me to give your uncle the facts.’

‘That would be helpful,’ said Edward grimly. ‘At the moment I don’t believe what I’ve just heard!’

‘First, may I present Miss Froom to you, Mr Barraclough?’

Edward loved his nieces, and the last thing he wanted was to upset them. But he had no intention of giving up his plans for the autumn in order to look after them, especially not in such an out of the way place as Wychford! So as he nodded to the dragon-like figure standing next to Lady Penkridge he said, ‘Perhaps Miss Froom would take the girls into the saloon while you explain, ma’am? I’m sure Harbin could bring them some refreshments.’

Pip would have protested, but a look from her uncle silenced her, and she and Lisette followed Miss Froom meekly enough out of the room.

Edward waited until they had gone, then said, ‘There’s obviously some misunderstanding. I can’t have heard properly. Would you oblige me by sitting down and telling me everything, Lady Penkridge? Slowly.’

His visitor settled herself, then began, ‘You can imagine, Mr Barraclough, the confusion caused by Julia’s accident—so unexpected and so immediately before the packet boat left Antigua. The Barracloughs were deeply worried. It was really impossible to change all their plans completely. So, since I was coming back to England on the same packet, I volunteered to bring the girls with me. It was a great relief to them, as you can imagine. Julia cannot possibly look after her nieces until she can walk. So, it was agreed that I should bring the girls and hand them over to you to look after until their aunt is able to travel.’

Edward considered this for a moment. Then he said carefully, ‘You mean that I am to be responsible for my nieces? I alone? Without any help from my brother or his wife?’

‘You will have Miss Froom.’

‘Miss Froom!’ There was a short silence during which Edward struggled to find some way of expressing his feelings which would be acceptable to the ears of a gently bred female. He failed.

Lady Penkridge went on in an encouraging tone, ‘Julia is in good health. It shouldn’t take long for her leg to heal. Perhaps only six or seven weeks.’

‘Six or seven weeks! Only six or seven!’ Edward’s feelings got the better of him. ‘This is a bachelor’s establishment, Lady Penkridge. How the devil do you suppose I can keep Lisette and Pip here for six days, let alone six or seven weeks? I refuse! I damned well refuse!’

Lady Penkridge replied coldly, ‘Your sister-in-law had the gravest doubts about your willingness to help her, Mr Barraclough, though she did not allow this to deter her. But I confess that your lack of sympathy surprises me. It is of course out of the question that Lisette and Philippa should remain here. I have taken a suite of rooms at the Poultney on Julia’s behalf, and your nieces will stay there in Miss Froom’s charge until you can arrange to transfer them to the house in the country where they were due to stay. The place is called Wychford, I believe.’

‘Yes, yes, I know it. We had settled on a six months’ tenure there some time ago. But it is in the heart of the countryside, over twenty miles out of London. I have other engagements, invitations I have accepted, commitments that would make it impossible for me to spend the autumn at Wychford. You must make other arrangements, Lady Penkridge.’

‘I, sir? I’m afraid you are under a misapprehension. I brought the girls to England as a favour to your sister-in-law. But I now have to think of my own concerns. You will have to cancel these commitments of yours. I leave London in two days’ time for the north.’

Edward gazed at her blankly. ‘You can’t!’ he said.

‘I can and will. I agreed to bring the girls to England, but my task ends there. As Julia said to me, they will now be entirely your responsibility.’

‘My responsibility! Oh, yes, I can imagine Julia said that! This is all her confounded doing!’

‘Mr Barraclough! Are you completely devoid of feeling? Your sister-in-law is at this moment lying on a bed of pain—’

‘That is nothing compared with what she has done to me! And what was Henry doing all this time? Why hasn’t he come up with a better solution? Dammit, he’s the girls’ guardian!’

‘Your brother was naturally more concerned about his wife. And, as I understand it, you are also your nieces’ guardian.’

‘However, there is a substantial difference between us—Henry is married, and I am a bachelor!’

‘That is why Miss Froom is here, Mr Barraclough. By a fortunate coincidence Julia had written to her some time ago to engage her services—’

‘Fortunate! There is nothing fortunate about any part of this catastrophe!’ muttered Edward.

Lady Penkridge ignored him. She went on, ‘And I fetched her yesterday to join us. I am sure you may safely leave the girls in her hands. She comes with the highest possible recommendations. All that will be required of you is to take charge of the household at Wychford.’

‘But I live in London, dammit!’ Edward almost shouted the words. ‘And I already have plans for the autumn! Why the devil did Henry agree to this cork-brained idea? Just wait till he gets here. If he wasn’t my own brother, I swear I’d call him out!’

Lady Penkridge rose. ‘I am sorry that your reception of my news has been so unfavourable, Mr Barraclough,’ she said frigidly. ‘Particularly as you express yourself in such immoderate terms. But there is nothing I can do about it. I leave London in two days. You have that time to make your arrangements. And now, if you don’t mind, I shall collect the girls and return to the Poultney Hotel. Good afternoon.’

She gathered up her things and waited stiffly for him to send for Harbin to show her out. With a considerable effort Edward pulled himself together. It would do the girls no good at all if he antagonised this woman. Lisette was to come out in the spring, and for all he knew Lady Penkridge might have considerable influence among the London ton. He took a breath and gave her a charming smile.

‘You are right, ma’am. It was quite wrong of me. It’s just that…’ He took another breath. ‘It’s just that I was a little upset at the notion that I would have to abandon all my friends, break the promises I have made, leave London and bury myself in the country for eight or nine weeks at least, with only my two nieces and their governess for company. And all within forty-eight hours. Absurd as it might seem to you, I was just a little shocked.’

He drew another breath and forced himself to smile again. ‘But you have been very kind. I am sure Julia would wish me to show you our gratitude. May I call on you at the Poultney this evening? I should like to offer you and my nieces dinner there, if I may.’

Edward’s charm was potent when he chose to exercise it, and Lady Penkridge was no more immune than many another lady in the past. Her manner was perceptibly warmer as she said, ‘Thank you. Yes, the…the girls would enjoy that. And so should I. At what time?’

That evening Edward exerted himself to erase the unfavourable impression he had made on Lady Penkridge with such success that she began to wonder whether Julia had after all been mistaken in him. They parted on the best of terms, and after an exhausting two days of rearrangements, meetings, notes of apology and excuses, Edward saw Lady Penkridge safely launched on her journey north, then set out for Wychford accompanied by his nieces and Miss Froom.

As they left London behind them, he saw that something of his own gloom seemed to have affected the rest of the party. Lisette was gazing sadly out of the window, Miss Froom was sitting with a gimlet eye on Pip, and Pip herself was quite remarkably subdued. Edward roused himself. It was not his nieces’ fault that he had been forced into exile. The poor girls had had a terrible time in the last year, first with the upheaval caused by the accident and the loss of their parents, and then the business with Lisette and Arandez. And now this…

‘I dare say you would like to hear a little about Wychford,’ he began.

‘Has Aunt Julia bought it?’ asked Pip.

‘Don’t be silly, Philippa,’ said Miss Froom. ‘Your aunt will have leased it through an agent. It would be unnecessary to buy it when you are to stay there for such a short time.’

Edward regarded Miss Froom. This wasn’t the first time she had put the child down, quite unnecessarily. He would have to keep an eye on her. Pip’s lively interest in everything she came across was one of her main attractions, and he didn’t want it suppressed. He smiled warmly at his little niece as he said, ‘I’m afraid you’re both wrong. There’s more to it than that.’

Pip’s face brightened. ‘A story, a story! Tell us, Edward!’

‘Well, when we first heard about Wychford it belonged to Thomas Carstairs. Thomas owned some plantations in the West Indies, and he and his wife became friends with your grandfather. Some years later—just about the time you were born, Pip—Mrs Carstairs came out to see us again after her husband had died. She promised your father then that we could all stay with her at Wychford when you and Lisette were old enough to come to England.’

‘Like a good fairy at a christening!’

Edward smiled. ‘Something like. Though she looked rather more like a witch than a good fairy.’

‘Will she be there now?’

‘No. She died not long ago—’

‘And left the house to us!’

‘Not quite.’

‘Philippa, how many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt? And get back down on to the seat, if you please!’

Edward felt a spurt of irritation. Pip was standing on the seat, leaning half against him and half against the cushions at the side of the carriage. It wasn’t safe, and Miss Froom had been perfectly right to object, but he had been pleased to see Pip once again her lively self. He ignored the governess and went on, ‘That would have been quite wrong. Mrs Carstairs had no children, but she had other family. She left the house to her niece.’

‘A niece? Like us?’

‘Mrs Carstairs was about eighty, so a niece would be much older, wouldn’t you say? Probably even older than I am!’

‘Have you met her?’

‘No, I’ve only dealt with her agent, a Mr Walters. But you must let me finish my story. I visited Mrs Carstairs several times at Wychford, and when I was last there, and told her you were all coming to England this year, she remembered her promise to your father.’

‘But she’s dead!’

‘That’s true, but she stipulated in her will that Wychford was to be available to the Barracloughs for six months after your arrival.’

‘That’s a very strange condition, Edward,’ said Lisette.

‘Mrs Carstairs was a very strange lady. But I liked her.’ He fell silent, remembering the last time he had seen the old woman.

She had been wrapped in shawls and huddled in her chair, obviously ill. But her gipsy-black eyes had been fiercely alive. She had looked at him hard, and then she appeared to make up her mind. She said, ‘You’ll do! The house likes you and so will she.’

Puzzled, he had asked, ‘Who is “she”, ma’am?’

Whereupon she had given one of her cackles and said, ‘Never you mind! But she will. Eventually! Make sure you come back here! But there! I know you will.’

Edward had been tempted to dismiss her words as the wanderings of an old lady whose life was almost spent. But they had stuck in his mind, and now here he was, about to return to Wychford, just as she had said…