The Master's New Governess (HQR Historical) Page 2

  ‘I don’t want your seat,’ the young man said stubbornly. ‘I want the seat I paid for!’

  Another, taller man had entered the carriage.

  It was the man from the platform, Maud realised in a flash. The sense of suppressed purpose, of energy around him, was even more palpable in close proximity. Yet his demeanour was impassive as he surveyed the scene.

  ‘What seems to be the matter?’ he asked coolly.

  ‘This young gentleman...’ Maud allowed some scorn to enter her voice ‘...insists that this lady vacate her seat.’

  ‘I tell you. She is in the wrong seat!’ The young man brandished his ticket.

  ‘Wrong seat or no, surely you can allow her to remain. As I told you, she’s not well.’

  ‘That’s not my concern,’ the young man snarled.

  The dark-haired man stepped forward. His voice was low, but the authority in it was unmistakable. ‘The train’s about to depart. I happen to know there is a window seat available in the other first-class carriage. If you would care to take it, these ladies can remain here.’

  The young man began to bluster, but after a look into the eyes of the man in front of him, he appeared to change his mind.

  ‘Very well,’ he said with a sulky expression.

  ‘Excellent.’ The dark-haired man turned to the conductor, who had finally appeared. ‘Could you show this gentleman to his new seat?’

  The conductor bowed. ‘Very good, sir.’

  With another puff of claret-fumed annoyance, the young man followed the conductor out of the carriage.

  Maud let out a sigh of relief.

  The dark-haired man leaned down and picked up the book of fairy tales. He frowned as he glanced at the title. ‘Is this yours?’

  She nodded. His fingers grazed hers as he returned it to her.

  He bowed and left the carriage.

  Maud took her seat. She clutched the book, the sensation of his warm fingers still imprinted on hers.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ the old lady said, with a grateful smile, as the train began to move away from the station.

  A few minutes later the conductor returned. He tipped his cap. ‘I hope you two ladies are settled now.’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’ Maud was unable to restrain her curiosity. ‘The gentleman who came to our assistance. How did he know there was a seat available in the other carriage? Did he offer his own seat?’

  The conductor chuckled. ‘They’re all his seats.’

  Maud drew back her head. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘He’s the owner of the West Cornish Railway Line. That’s Sir Dominic Jago.’

  Chapter Two

  To the turrets and the walls;

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  ‘Welcome to Pendragon Hall.’

  Maud jumped. She had been watching a small copper butterfly dancing among the daisies on the chamomile lawn, when a deep voice spoke behind her.

  One hand to her bodice, she spun around. ‘Oh!’

  On the gravel drive stood Sir Dominic Jago.

  He was silhouetted against Pendragon Hall, half in light, half in shadow, against the setting sun. In the golden light, the house behind him looked like an illustration from a fairy tale.

  Maud drew in her breath. Never had she expected her place of employment to be so enchanting. Her previous post had been in a far bigger house, but it did not match this for pure charm. She had imagined a version of a thatched farmhouse—a long house—but for once, her imagination had failed her. Pendragon Hall was a large hall, built of golden-grey stone with a steep slate roof, chimneys as tall as turrets and arched stone windows. It seemed to glow in the sunset.

  The house was situated some miles inland, away from the coast, but the fresh breeze ruffling the daisies—and her hair—was rich with the scent of the sea.

  Now the wind blew her new employer’s dark hair away from his forehead, which creased as he studied her with his penetrating eyes.

  Beneath her bodice, Maud could feel the rising and falling of her corset. Ever since what had happened in her previous post, she had been more easily startled. She jumped if someone entered the room unexpectedly, or even at a loud noise. Her nerves were strained. Yet it wasn’t only that which unnerved her now. It was Sir Dominic Jago, her new employer, with that aura of energy around him.

  He inclined his head slightly. ‘My apologies. I had no wish to startle you.’

  ‘Not at all, Sir Dominic.’ To her relief, her voice sounded steadier than she felt. She wasn’t quite sure how to address him. She knew that knights used their first name with their title, rather than their surname, yet it seemed strangely intimate to address him so.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘So, you know my name.’

  She nodded.

  His gaze was as intent as it had been during their first encounter, through the glass of the train window. ‘And I know yours.’

  Maud’s stomach turned over.

  ‘Perhaps I ought to have introduced myself on the train,’ he said. ‘I guessed who you were. The new governess.’

  He had a very faint Cornish accent, Maud noted, yet there was no doubting he was a gentleman. He had received his title of knight, Martha had told her in awe, from Queen Victoria herself, for services rendered to the Crown. He was young to have received such an honour. The West Cornish Railway Company would never have been developed without his drive and determination, Martha had said, and Queen Victoria was known to be most enthusiastic about travelling by train.

  He appeared younger than Maud had expected from Martha’s description. She had still anticipated a much older, perhaps portly, grey-haired gentleman to have accomplished all that Sir Dominic Jago had done before he was thirty-five years old, for she guessed that was about his age.

  ‘I appreciated your help on the train,’ Maud said to him. ‘The situation had become most uncomfortable. I hope you did not give up your own seat.’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve travelled in the engine.’ He brushed at his hair. ‘Coal dust doesn’t bother me. I want all passengers to be comfortable on the West Cornish Railway Line.’

  ‘It’s a marvellous train,’ said Maud, frankly. ‘I enjoyed the journey, in spite of the altercation. The conductor told me you’re the owner of the railway.’

  ‘Not entirely. I am one of a group of local investors who are committed to taking control of our railway lines and trains. Properly managed, they will bring prosperity to Cornwall. Prosperity, and something even more important.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Hope, Miss Wilmot,’ he said. ‘Hope is the engine of prosperity. Our aim is to have the West Cornish Railway Line enable travel by train all the way from London to Land’s End.’

  ‘Here be dragons,’ Maud said, before she could stop herself.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Maud bit her tongue. Their conversation so far had been surprisingly easy, as if they were not new acquaintances at all, let alone governess and employer, and the phrase had slipped out. ‘It’s what they used to put on old maps. When the end of the land was marked and what lay beyond it was unknown. “Here be dragons.”’

  The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘There are no dragons here, Miss Wilmot, in spite of the name of the estate. At least, I hope not. Have you had a chance to familiarise yourself with Pendragon Hall?’

  ‘Not the house,’ Maud admitted. ‘I was shown to my room, of course, and I hoped to see Rosabel, but she was having her afternoon rest and I needed some air after the train journey. I’m afraid I have been outdoors for some time. These gardens are so beautiful.’

  She turned towards the rolling green lawn, where the butterfly still danced. The grass was well manicured, edged with flower beds, but it had a wildness to it. Climbing roses tangled together, thick with thorns, as if to prote
ct a sleeping princess. There were woods on the estate, too, as well as leafy orchards that she had seen on her way from the small village station of Penponds. She’d half expected Sir Dominic to travel to the house in the carriage sent for her, but he had not appeared.

  She’d questioned the coach driver, who had chuckled. ‘Sir Dominic’s got no time for travelling in carriages. Rides his horse to the train station and back, he does. A stallion. Goes like the blazes.’

  ‘So you like to be out of doors?’ Sir Dominic asked her now, unexpectedly.

  ‘Very much,’ she replied. ‘I am no botanist, but I enjoy studying the natural world. And I am particularly fond of butterflies.’

  ‘Butterflies. Do you collect them?’

  Maud shuddered. ‘If you mean sticking them with a pin, certainly not. But I like being able to identify them and know their names. Did you know that butterflies return to the same place? You can always rely on finding them again.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware of that fact, no,’ he drawled.

  Maud flushed. Once again, to her amazement, she had been far more at ease with him than she had expected and spoken more freely than she ought. ‘I’m sorry. I often provide too many facts.’

  The corner of his mouth quirked again. ‘As a good governess should.’

  ‘I also enjoy walking,’ Maud added. She wanted to make that clear, at the outset. ‘Both in the daytime and in the evening, too. Sometimes at night.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Can butterflies be seen at night?’

  She smiled. ‘Not butterflies. Moths. And...’ She swallowed hard, keeping down the anxiety that instantly threatened her equilibrium. ‘Sometimes, I find it difficult to sleep.’

  His dark eyes seemed to become even more perceptive. ‘A woman being out alone at night is unusual.’

  ‘I hope that won’t be a difficulty,’ Maud said. The night air was the only antidote, sometimes, to counteract the terrible nightmares she had been experiencing recently and that had not been getting any better. Increasingly, her sleep was disturbed. The fear of the nightmares often kept her awake.

  ‘To the contrary.’ Sir Dominic bowed. ‘I appreciate your interest in the outdoors. But if you would care to come indoors for a while, Miss Wilmot, we can begin our interview for your position as governess.’ He indicated towards the house, now sunk into evening shadow. ‘If you will accompany me?’

  Her agitation built as she kept up with his long-legged stride across the lawn and gravel drive, indoors to a room on the ground floor of Pendragon Hall. It was a large room lined with leather-bound books, which normally would have sent a warm tingle of delight through her. Even at first glance, she could see the works of Shakespeare and Gibbon. On the burgundy walls above the wooden wainscot panelling hung fine prints and paintings, too, but she could hardly take it all in.

  Maud lifted her chin. ‘There appears to have been some mistake, Sir Dominic.’

  He frowned as he moved behind a green-topped leather desk. He removed his coat to reveal a dark wine-coloured waistcoat and a pristine white shirt that showed no trace of coal dust. ‘What kind of mistake?’

  ‘I thought I had been accepted into your employ already.’ Her voice quavered a little. ‘Have I come all this way just for an interview?’

  ‘Ah.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Please sit down, Miss Wilmot. There are a few matters I need to discuss with you that are...sensitive. I wanted to do so in person. It is not my intention to ask you to return to London before you have even taken up your post. But it’s possible that after hearing what I have to say that you will consider this position...unsuitable.’

  ‘This is very unusual,’ Maud replied indignantly, trying to mask her anxiety.

  ‘If you will allow me to explain...’

  Maud smoothed out her skirts with hands that only trembled a little and took a seat on the carved wooden chair. He could not make her change her mind about taking the post.

  It was her only hope.

  Opposite her, Sir Dominic moved to sit in the high-backed wooden chair located behind the desk. He pushed it back and crossed one long leg, but his relaxed posture belied the intensity of his eyes that still seemed to blaze into her.

  ‘First, your character references are excellent. It is the main reason I employed you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Maud said faintly. They were Martha’s references, of course. It pained her to have to use them, but her only comfort was that her references for teaching the Melville boys, of whom she had become very fond, would also have been excellent, if their uncle had not been quite so cruel.

  She forced her attention back to Sir Dominic.

  ‘You will find Rosabel an easy charge, I expect,’ he told her. ‘She has experienced some ill health over the years and, of late, she has become timid. I can barely encourage her out of doors.’

  ‘Is Rosabel in poor health now?’

  He shook his head. ‘She is not robust, a result of her history of illness, but she is well enough now. I’ve had the local doctor to see her. He says there is nothing physically wrong.’

  Maud frowned, perplexed. ‘Fresh air is good for children. I will certainly see if I can encourage her out of doors.’

  ‘Thank you. You will understand, then, why I am pleased to learn you enjoy fresh air yourself,’ he said. ‘The grounds here are extensive and I hope you will be able to make good use of them with Rosabel. There are a number of gardens and orchards, and there are woods, too. She is not to spend all her time at lessons.’

  ‘I entirely agree,’ said Maud. She hesitated for a moment. She had planned what to say all the way on the train. ‘About Rosabel’s lessons...’

  ‘They are to be the usual lessons for a girl her age. Music, languages and drawing.’

  ‘That is not enough,’ Maud said firmly. ‘Young ladies need to learn much more than music and drawing, Sir Dominic.’

  The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Do they indeed? Are you a bluestocking, Miss Wilmot?’

  ‘I am a passionate supporter of female education,’ she retorted. ‘If that makes me a bluestocking, so be it.’

  ‘Do not mistake me,’ he said. ‘I would not be educating Rosabel if I, too, did not believe in women’s education.’

  Maud clasped her hands together. ‘If she is in my charge, I would like to ensure that Rosabel is educated not only in the refinements befitting a lady, but that her mind, too, is broadened. Geography, mathematics, Latin and botany would also benefit her.’

  He drew back his head. ‘Latin? Botany? Are you qualified to teach them, Miss Wilmot? Did you study such subjects?’

  ‘Certainly. My mama and papa were somewhat unusual in that they were committed to female education. My father was a schoolmaster. That’s why my sister and I had such a good education. We followed the same curriculum as the boys at the school, even though we studied at home. My sister...’ She hesitated, unable to call Martha by her own name. ‘My sister and I both studied hard and became governesses.’

  He steepled his fingers as he regarded her from across the desk. ‘Rosabel is but seven years old.’

  ‘It’s never too early to learn,’ Maud assured him. ‘Do not think I would make it too challenging or unpleasant for her. On the contrary, Sir Dominic. My goal would be for Rosabel to love her lessons, or, even better, to not realise she is having lessons at all.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I have my methods,’ said Maud. ‘A child’s imagination must be awoken in order to learn.’ She leaned forward. ‘Please. Let me try my teaching methods with Rosabel. If she does not take to them, I will not pursue the curriculum. But surely she deserves the chance?’

  ‘You are most convincing.’ He deliberated for a moment. ‘Very well. You may have free rein.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Dominic.’ She breathed out with relief. It meant so much to her, to be able to try her new ideas in the s
choolroom. ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘I hope not, Miss Wilmot,’ he murmured.

  ‘I encourage you to observe my methods,’ she said. It was valuable for parents and guardians to be involved in their children’s education, yet so few parents ever did so, in her experience. Some of her charges had rarely seen their parents. ‘You will be welcome in the schoolroom at any time.’

  ‘You can be assured I will take up that offer, Miss Wilmot.’

  He fell silent for a moment. ‘Now we have settled the academic pursuits, there are some other matters. Rosabel’s mother, Sarah, died not long after she was born.’

  He spoke without expression, yet she sensed the grief that still lingered in him. There was a bleakness behind his eyes.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Maud said with sympathy.

  He nodded his thanks, but that was all. ‘It is particularly because of her lack of maternal care that Rosabel requires a governess. She has a nursemaid who is devoted to her and will remain here at Pendragon Hall. But Rosabel also needs a woman of good character, such as yourself, not only to guide her in academic instruction, but also in manners and etiquette, in her moral education.’

  ‘Of course.’ Maud bit her lip. ‘That is a usual part of a governess’s duties.’

  ‘For Rosabel, it will be a most important part. As her father, I can guide her in some parts of her moral development, but not in all, and, of course, a governess is someone who can provide her the guidance she needs in the absence of a mother.’

  ‘You have not considered remarriage?’ Maud asked, innocently.

  The change in Dominic Jago’s face was startling. On the platform, when she first saw him, it had been as if no glass was between them. Now there was a stone wall. ‘Is my marital status of interest to you, Miss Wilmot? Is it a reason you took the post?’

  Maud shook her head, bewildered. ‘I knew that you were a widower, Sir Dominic. But it is certainly not the reason I took this post. Why would it be?’

  ‘What were your reasons, if I may ask?’ His voice had hardened.

  ‘My reasons...’ She faltered.

  ‘Indeed. Why did you leave your last post?’