A Governess of Great Talents Page 2

  “I just meant…the Egertons are very delightful children, and I think society will be impressed,” she said lamely.

  Silence filled the room, and Meredith tried not to allow panic to grow. Was it possible that her own foolish tongue had talked herself out of another appointment?

  “I believe the Egertons were very…rambunctious children, and I think you deserve a rest,” said Miss Clarke finally. “There is a room above waiting for you. Good day, Miss Hubert.”

  Gaze dropping to her desk, she started to move the report from the Earl of Marnmouth back into the sheaf of papers.

  Meredith’s heart dropped into her stomach. “A-A room above?”

  It was considered a reward, for she knew all governesses hoped that when an assignment came to an end, if one had impressed, she would be given the chance to take a room in the Governess Bureau and stay for a month. No bills, three hot meals a day, and nothing to do.

  Paradise, for most.

  Meredith, on the other hand, knew it would the end of her. Days on end without anything to do? With only her thoughts to keep her company?

  Worse, time with other governesses, all that bickering, questioning, attempting to get to know her and her past?

  Bile rose in her throat, and she leaned forward, knowing she had to say something. She could not allow this to happen. “I-I would rather go on to my next assignment, Miss Clarke.”

  She had not spoken rudely, but Miss Clarke stared in abject astonishment.

  “Next assignment…you do not wish to avail yourself of a room in the Governess Bureau? I was always given to understand you girls sought it. A holiday, if you will. And you do not want it?”

  Meredith leaned back slightly on her chair, attempting to control her breathing. She had to stay calm. She had to ensure Miss Clarke did not become suspicious.

  If she were to lose her place here…

  Besides, a governess of the Bureau is always polite, keeping decorum, and speaks in a calm, low manner. It had taken every ounce of her strength at times to keep in that temper of hers, but there were always fresh opportunities for her to lose it.

  “I greatly appreciate the offer, Miss Clarke,” she said slowly, weighing every word. “I recognize the attention, and I thank you for it. But…I like to be useful, Miss Clarke.”

  It was a calculated remark, and Meredith saw to her relief Miss Clarke almost smiled. The owner of the Governess Bureau liked useful girls. A girl who did not know how to be useful was not welcome here.

  “Useful?”

  Meredith nodded eagerly. “Yes, useful. I would much rather continue on to my next posting if you please.”

  Was that last bit a little thick? Meredith simply did not know Miss Clarke well enough to ascertain how far was too far, but better to go too servile than not enough, surely?

  Miss Clarke’s eyes glanced toward the report. “I will admit, Miss Hubert, this is one of the best reports I have received. I have said before, and I will say again, I am impressed. Perhaps there is an allowance we can make for you.”

  Meredith held her breath. Was she about to ensure she could move on to her next family and avoid the suspicion she had so desperately hidden from all these years?

  Miss Clarke took a deep breath, and she looked slightly as though she was in pain as she said, “If you would like paid holiday instead, to see your family, then I suppose something can—”

  “No!” Meredith had not intended to interrupt, nor shout so loud, and the censorious look Miss Clarke gave her was sufficient to halt her tongue.

  Blast it! Meredith cursed in the silence of her own mind and wished she had the power to take back that hurried word.

  All she had done now was invite speculation, the last thing she needed. Any intrigue into her family would surely ruin her. See her family? Meredith almost laughed at the suggestion. She had no wish to see them. She could not, even if she wished it.

  Not after the life they had chosen.

  “I mean,” she said awkwardly, attempting to keep her voice level, “no, thank you, Miss Clarke. As I think I have mentioned before, my family travels so much, it is often impossible to know where they are going to be from one moment to the next.”

  Miss Clarke examined her silently.

  “I…I wish to be useful, and I cannot be in a room here at the Governess Bureau,” said Meredith in a low, humble tone. “Please, Miss Clarke. I wish to start my next assignment.”

  She fell into silence again and this time resolved not to be the one to break it. She had said her piece, made her petition to Miss Clarke. Now she waited.

  She would rather leave the Governess Bureau entirely and seek out other employment than go back to them…

  Miss Clarke sighed as she leaned back in her leather armchair. “You know, Miss Hubert, sometimes you remind me of myself. I was much like you when I was your age.”

  Meredith looked up in surprise. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that Miss Clarke had once been young.

  “In fact, I was about your age when I first started the Bureau,” said Miss Clarke, with something like a smile dancing across her face.

  Meredith returned the smile nervously. “I did not know you had started it at my age—and all alone? That is a remarkable feat, Miss Clarke.”

  For the first time in their conversation, Miss Clarke colored. “A new posting. Let me see what is currently on the books.”

  There were three heavy ledgers on her desk, the edges of their pages stained with the mottled colors an accountant would use, and as she pulled one toward her, Meredith stared in awe.

  There were few endeavors managed by ladies. Gentlemen in Parliament said it was because women’s brains were not sufficient to understand such things. Meredith had snorted when she had first been told that by a whippersnapper at a card party, when she had been waiting for her first assignment. She had assumed the whelp had been jesting.

  It had become a rather awkward conversation; therefore, when it had transpired, he had been utterly serious.

  For all her frostiness and aloof manner, Miss Clarke was someone to be admired.

  As she flicked through the pages, Meredith could see each one was covered with neat, meticulous handwriting.

  “The Axwickes, the Fitzclarences, the Mercias…” muttered Miss Clarke, eyes roving over her notes. “The Clarctons, the Astors…ah, here we are. The Carmichaels.”

  Meredith waited expectantly as Miss Clarke read the notes silently. The Carmichaels. There were no clues in that name, and she did not recall hearing about the family before. How many children would there be? What did the parents—more importantly, the mother—think about the hiring of a governess?

  All these concerns whirled in her mind, unanswered as Miss Clarke sat in silence.

  It was Meredith’s impatience that gave out first. “The Carmichaels?”

  Miss Clarke looked up from her ledger. “Yes. You have not lived anywhere but London, have you, Miss Hubert?”

  Meredith made sure to keep her voice calm and level as she replied, “No, Miss Clarke.”

  A lie. One which was harmless, surely. What difference did it make whether she had lived all over England or not? Miss Clarke did not need to know about that.

  “No, I thought not,” said Miss Clarke. “Which is why you would not have heard of the Carmichaels. The family resides in the north. Though the head of the house is in London often.”

  Meredith waited for further enlightenment, but it did not appear any was forthcoming. Instead, Miss Clarke had affixed her with a rather stern look that did not invite further questions.

  “And…and are there many Carmichael children?” Meredith hazarded.

  Miss Clarke smiled briefly. “One. An interesting child. One unaccustomed to being told what to do, and therefore not obedient. It is…an unusual assignment. It requires a governess of great talents.”

  Meredith sat up straighter. “I am ready, Miss Clarke.”

  “Hmm.” Miss Clarke continued to stare and then finally said, “Pe
rhaps. Alfred is a nice man, as men go. A lord, naturally, the Duke of Rochdale, but ’tis a very small endowment and to be frank, Miss Hubert, I would not typically allow such a man on my books.”

  This Alfred Carmichael sounded fascinating, and Meredith had to fight to keep her face uninterested as she said, “Indeed.”

  “Not the sort of title we would accept at all,” emphasized Miss Clarke. “But then, the world is changing. Earls, dukes, they are important, but they are not the only important people.”

  Meredith was utterly lost at this. She had seen the regent once, during a parade. She had never seen more pomp and ceremony in one place, and the music, the noise, the shouts—it had caused her heart to lurch and excitement to brew in her soul.

  “Not the only important people,” she repeated.

  Miss Clarke shook her head. “His Grace is not merely a duke, you must understand, but is also a member of Parliament. The member of Parliament for Rochdale. Politics, Miss Hubert, not rank is the future.”

  “Ah, I see.” Meredith did not entirely see. Politics was so full of dukes and earls, it was impossible, in her opinion, to see much difference.

  “The family dynamic is, from what His Grace has said, a delicate one,” said Miss Clarke slowly. “When I say it is an unusual assignment, I mean it advisedly.”

  Meredith smiled. “That sounds precisely what I am looking for, Miss Clarke.”

  Out of London, out of the city—this was the perfect opportunity to gain a little anonymity in the rural idyll of England. London was all very well when one was terrified of recognition, of someone putting two and two together and realizing she was…

  No. Leaving town suited her perfectly.

  Miss Clarke was still examining her, and it was most discomforting, but Meredith did not drop her gaze.

  Finally, Miss Clarke said, “Well. The duke is the eldest of the two Carmichael brothers, Miss Hubert. Different mothers, which adds a certain complexity to the dynamic, as does the twenty years difference in age between them.”

  Meredith nodded. She would have been surprised if a tradesman had such an arrangement, but dukes remarried all the time. Heir and a spare, and all that.

  “So, my charge would be—”

  “The younger,” said Miss Clarke with a nod. “A lord in his own right, when he comes of age. Archibald. A terror, apparently.”

  Meredith forced down her smile. Every young boy was called a terror.

  “His Grace is running for election again, a mere formality as far as I understand, but cannot abide the distraction of a child,” said Miss Clarke. “He needs to be left alone. He will not be disturbed by a governess on a daily, nor even weekly basis. He has much more important things to be getting on with.”

  It was impossible to think of a greater position. A duke, far more impressive than her previous earl. Just one child, and a boy who by the sound of it, was completely ignored—and a master who would likewise leave her to her own devices.

  “I accept, Miss Clarke,” she said graciously.

  Miss Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I have not offered you the position yet.”

  A flush crimsoned Meredith’s cheeks. “I-I just meant—”

  “This will be a challenge, Miss Hubert, and I mean that,” said Miss Clarke quietly. “These political upstart types, they have high expectations. He may be a duke in name, and that will impress some, but he is not the sort of nobility we have come to expect here in London, nor at the Governess Bureau.”

  Meredith nodded. “Then we will show them what standards are.”

  She could see her words had impressed.

  “Young Carmichael requires a governess of great talents,” Miss Clarke said. “And I propose that you are that governess, Miss Hubert.”

  Meredith smiled. “When do I leave?”

  Chapter Two

  July 31, 1812

  He wasn’t going to do it. Everything within him ached to, his body defying him, rebelling, refusing to obey, but he was not going to give in.

  He gave in. Alfred yawned, hiding the discourtesy behind a hand.

  It did not seem to matter. The conversation continued on without him, as it had done for the last twenty minutes, droning on and on about his life, as though he had nothing to contribute.

  Which, in fairness, he did not.

  “—rebellious voting is given as a protest, a vote against the status quo which is taken not as a disapproval of His Grace, but rather as…”

  Another yawn was coming. Alfred Carmichael, Duke of Rochdale, was able to hide this one as he leaned forward to look at the paper Mr. Walker had presented him before their meeting.

  Meeting. Alfred shook his head with a wry smile. Meeting! His father had never needed to suffer through all these meetings when he had been elected a member of Parliament. He had ridden out, instructed what few men who could vote that he was their only choice, and yes, rent day would still be March 31, and wouldn’t it be a shame if the rents were to increase, and that was an end to it.

  Meetings! Alfred felt as though he was being slowly strangled, all these endless conversations designed to ensure he would once again take the seat that was rightfully his family’s.

  “—you see,” said Mr. Walker with a grand wave of his hand.

  Alfred opened his mouth.

  “And yet, we must consider the other side of the equation,” started Mr. Walker again, fire in his eyes. “If one decides to ignore the original position, then enclosure is in itself detrimental to…”

  Alfred closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Walker was back in his old flow again, his eyes bright with passion, speaking as though his very life depended on it.

  The town hall where they were all seated was not large. Neither was Rochdale itself, the town from whence Alfred gained his title. But it was a pretty little place, and it was his duty, Alfred knew, to sit here and care about what everyone was saying.

  Then, as future member of Parliament, he could just make up his mind.

  Surreptitiously taking his pocket watch out of his waistcoat, Alfred glanced at it. A quarter to four…the damned meeting started at two o’clock!

  He sighed as he replaced the watch and smiled at Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown looked pleased as punch to be recognized by his duke. Alfred made a mental note not to grin at the man again today. One could not permit others to get ideas above their station.

  “Enclosure is not the real issue here,” interrupted Mr. Hemming. “What one must consider instead is this—that local farmers are not being consulted on—”

  “Consulted?” Mr. Walker laughed, and a few others chuckled with him. “I do not think His Grace requires the input of farmers and tenants in how to help run this great country, Mr. Hemming!”

  Mr. Hemming’s face flushed.

  “As I was saying,” said Mr. Walker, triumphant in his small victory over a man who, now Alfred came to think of it, had purchased the second largest house in the town recently—second only, naturally, to Mr. Walker’s, “enclosure will affect our farmers in three ways. The way the first…”

  Alfred tried not to smile. No matter the size of the pond, there was always someone in it desperate to be the biggest, the most important. There was no harm in Mr. Walker, not really, but the man did seem eager that his status in the world was adequately recognized.

  It was not something Alfred often had to worry about. When people had to address you as ‘Your Grace,’ somehow one never wondered where one’s place in the world was.

  Besides, enclosures…Alfred cared about his tenants, knew most of them by name and, in turn, could name most of their children.

  But as he had told one of them only yesterday, to the great chagrin of Mr. Walker, there was far more he could do for his tenants as a landlord than as a member of Parliament.

  It was not as though he had been particularly effective in the last parliament, after all.

  Chiming. The large clock over the town hall, paid for with Carmichael money, chimed the hour.

  F
our o’clock. This could no longer continue.

  Clearing his throat loudly, the room fell silent as every eye turned to him.

  “I thank you all for your thoughts and input—all of you,” he said in carrying voice, inclining his head to Mr. Walker and Mr. Hemming in turn, the latter throwing out his chest with a smile. “But perhaps we can adjourn our discourse to another day?”

  Mr. Walker looked scandalized. “Adjourn?” he said, placing his hands on the table they all sat around.

  “Adjourn,” repeated Alfred. Dear God, the man looked as though he had suggested sacrificing a virgin to win the election!

  “Do you not wish to discuss the hustings, Your Grace?” said Mr. Hemmings in a confused tone. “Just a few weeks away, we must write your speech—that is, support you in preparing your speech.”

  “How is your speech preparation going, Your Grace?” Mr. Walker raised an eyebrow.

  Alfred’s stomach twisted. There was that familiar sinking feeling, that sensation his bowels were about to drop out of his—

  “Very well, I thank you,” he said aloud, pushing the feelings away as though by ignoring them, they would cease to be. “Very well.”

  A member of Parliament who hated speaking in public! Alfred knew he had been fortunate to get through the last election unscathed, but it would not be possible this time.

  In the last election, he had run uncontested. Who would challenge him? Carmichaels had held this seat for generations.

  This year, however…

  “I appreciate all of your insight, gentlemen, but I must return to the abbey,” said Alfred heavily. “I have an appointment there at half past the hour, which I simply cannot miss.”

  All four of those who sat with him—Mr. Walker, Mr. Hemmings, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Shaw—looked around at the small clock affixed to the town hall wall. It showed six minutes past four.

  “Well,” said Mr. Walker, evidently discomforted.

  Alfred could see his dilemma. Mr. Walker held the Carmichael family in significant regard, and it was not his place to instruct a duke on where to go and what to do.