Falling for the Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3

  Finally, as dusk was beginning to settle on the third day, Isabella saw a long stone wall along the road. The driver had informed her earlier that this was the edge of Wintercrest estates and when they came to it, he knocked on the roof to silently point it out to her.

  Her excitement reached its limit as the driver slowed to a stop before the main gates. She got out and took a moment to stretch her limbs. The driver was already down and removing her trunk. Watching him struggle with it, she wondered if she had perhaps packed more then she should have.

  He set it down on the ground next to her at the gate and dusted his hands off, looking up at the expanse of the property. Isabella followed his gaze and admired it as well.

  Turning back to the driver, she was surprised to see him retaking his place on top of the carriage.

  “But wait,” she called out. “Please sir, what shall I do now?”

  “Can’t say, Miss Watts. All I am to do is drop ye right here.”

  With a flip of his reins, he made his way onward, leaving Miss Isabella Watts utterly alone and confused at the threshold of Wintercrest Manor.

  Chapter 3

  Isabella looked down the way leading to the manor house. She couldn’t say for sure, however, since she could see nothing in the dimming light but the road before her. She tugged at her trunk, unable to lift it from its grassy resting place.

  She supposed that most seeking employment here only brought the clothes on their back and another outfit for Sunday attire. If the six gowns she had foolishly packed weren’t too much, then the books from her father’s small library surely were.

  She had convinced herself that she could use these beloved stories as part of her pupil's education. Of course, the Duke of Wintercrest had enough of a library on his own that bringing books of her own was a silly, selfish move on her part.

  A cold wind whipped at her and she tightened the simple shawl she had wrapped around herself. Isabella suddenly wished that she had thought to bring a pelisse in her chest. Certainly, they knew she would be arriving today. She waited a few moments considering that the coachman that was to meet her was just a bit late.

  After a period of ten minutes, she was convinced that at least a footman would eventually come to fetch her. Finally, as her ability to see in the cloudy, dim light was almost impossible she determined that no one was coming and began to drag her trunk down the road.

  Had she been in the right frame of mind, she might have left her chest at the gate and walked on only to have it fetched at another time by someone more capable. She, however, was not in a good state of mind. She was shivering with cold and had no idea what she was to expect or have expected of her in her new lot in life.

  Luckily, the moon was full, and as clouds parted, she was able to get brief views of the way forward. When clouds obscured her only illumination, though, she did her best not to panic as she could only see a few feet in front of her. Hopefully, the lights from the house would begin to show in a parting of the hedge trees that ran along the road.

  Finally, in a glimpse of momentary light from above, she saw a gentlemanly figure walking toward her up the road. He stopped upon also spotting her form.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” she called out, assuming it to be a servant sent to receive her. “I feared I was all forgotten about. Please, would you kindly help me with my portmanteau.”

  She straightened from her crouched, pulling position. The figure across from her, no more than ten feet ahead, didn’t seem to move. She couldn’t make out his features in such dark lighting but assumed that no one but a footman would be out at such a late hour.

  “Certainly,” a sure, deep voice called back to her. The hurried figured met her and bent down to pick up her chest.

  “Pray, do tell me though, why exactly are you dragging a chest down this road so late at night,” the man asked as he began to walk forward easily with chest in hand.

  “Oh, forgive me. I thought you were the footman sent to retrieve me. I am Miss Isabella Watts. I have been employed as governess for His Grace. I do not mean to impose on you if your intention was not to come fetch me,” she added quickly.

  “Well, I don’t think I could leave you here to continue dragging such a large item,” he said, smoothly shifting the weight in his hand.

  “I just assumed. You looked from a distance to be a footman by your stature, sir,” she hesitated on her last word, pointing out that he had yet to give his own name.

  "Beg your pardon, Miss Watts. I am Captain Grant. I had just stepped outside for a walk in the fresh air. Sometimes things can get quite stifling inside.”

  “Captain. Well, no wonder you have the stature of a footman,” Isabella said, realizing it might be quite forward of her.

  “I just mean, my father was a sailor as well. I suppose I found kinship with your nautical air.”

  “Was he also in the Royal Navy?” Captain Grant asked as they continued on their way. He seemed to know the direction by heart and walked at a steady pace through the now almost complete darkness.

  “No, he was on a merchant ship as a boy, and had his own set of vessels later in life. He had quite a taste for the adventurous sea life,” she added with a bit of nostalgia.

  “Pray, what was his name? Perhaps I met him on my journeys.”

  Isabella was quite unsure of what name to give- his Christian name or his title. Certainly, to have a titled gentleman’s daughter in the house might raise some animosity when it came to fitting in with other servants.

  Since Captain Grant was unquestionably a guest and not a member of the staff, Isabella risked the chance of giving her father’s proper title, as he would have liked.

  “My father was Baron Leinister. He unfortunately passed a few months back.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that,” the gentleman looked down at her in the little light and held a tone of sincere sorrow. “My deepest condolences.”

  Isabella gave her thanks for his kindness, and they walked on a few more minutes in silence. She was about to ask him about his service in the Royal Navy, hoping to make a good transition in the conversation, when she saw the lights of the manor up ahead.

  She gave a grateful sigh of relief. She had done her best to hide it, but her thin traveling dress and shawl had not been much to protect her from the wind that sliced between the hedge trees. She noticed immediately that her companion made his way to the head of the house.

  “Oh, if you please, Captain Grant, I would find it more appropriate for me to find my way to the servant's entrance. If you could just point me in the right direction, I would happily part company with you with my full thanks for your service.”

  Captain Grant seemed to hesitate a minute.

  “I couldn’t possibly leave you to take the portemanteau yourself,” he finally said. “I am certain the household will find you a welcome guest.”

  As much as Isabella would have liked to enter the vast manor in front as a guest, she knew that was no longer her station in life. It was time for her to divide the line from who she had been to who she was now.

  “I appreciate your kindness, but I am quite sure the housekeeper will expect me.”

  “Alright then,” Captain Grant seemed to resolve to her reasoning, “I shall escort you there. You are lucky you came upon me, for I know the servant's entrance well.”

  “You do?” Isabella asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I lived here in my youth, and as a young boy I was quite gangly and always in want of something to eat. Usually sweets,” he continued with that same flow of storytelling that Isabella had so enjoyed from her father.

  She smiled and wondered to herself if all seamen were expert folk-tellers. “I would often make my way through into the kitchen by way of the service entrance to sneak a sweet cake from under the cook's nose. She, of course, knew exactly what I was doing and kindly turned a blind eye to it.”

  “She sounds like a very considerate chef.”

  “She is that,
not to mention the best in all of the county.”

  “How fortunate His Grace must feel to have her here under his roof.”

  They had finally arrived at the side entrance door, and moving the trunk to one hand, Captain Grant unceremoniously opened it and gestured for her to enter. Isabella was startled, when she entered the room, to find a well-lit hall with three long tables all filled with servants, no doubt eating their evening meal. They all stared at her in silent shock until the Captain entered the room behind her. Instantly, the whole hall stood up.

  An older woman with a tight-fitted blonde bun and keys jingling at her waist came rushing forward. Isabella had no doubt that she was the housekeeper of the manor.

  “Lord Bellfourd, can I be of service to you, sir?”

  She was frantically looking between the new lady stranger and the Marquess of Bellfourd, son of the Duke of Wintercrest.

  “Mrs. Peterson, please let me introduce Miss Watts, our new governess. I was out on an evening stroll when I found her in some distress.”

  Immediately, at Mrs. Peterson’s request, a groomsman came forward and took the portmanteau away. He left the room with it, Isabella hoped to her own room. She, however, noticed that Mrs. Peterson had not addressed her or even looked at her directly.

  “I do apologize for your inconvenience, Lord Bellfourd. The governess was meant to arrive much earlier in the evening. Mr. Larson and I were just discussing sending out someone to inquire after her only a few moments ago.”

  It was a little irritating to Isabella that she was being treated like a child and discussed without any acknowledgment of her presence.

  “I was left at the entrance, Mrs. Peterson, with no one to see me to the house,” Isabella chimed in, tired of being ignored.

  Mrs. Peterson looked at her in shock, like she had just noticed her for the first time. Finally, she turned back to the Marquess.

  “Thank you again, Lord Bellfourd. Is there anything else I can get for you before you return upstairs?”

  Isabella could see his countenance sink at the mention of his proper place above the servants' quarters. The situation was confusing enough on its own, but why had he given her a false name? Why hadn’t he told her that he was the Duke of Wintercrest’s son?

  She may not have been entirely well-versed in all the peerage, but she had certainly done her research before leaving and had learned that the Marquess of Bellfourd was the oldest son and heir to the Duke of Wintercrest.

  Lord Bellfourd turned to her and, giving a slight bow, began to bid her goodnight, probably something he should not have done. His eyes stopped at her feet though, maybe coming to his senses she thought, and looked up at her questioningly.

  “Miss Watts, there seems to be something coming out of the hem of your gown.”

  Isabella looked down in fear to see the chain of her locket sticking out and dragging along the ground.

  “Oh dear,” Isabella said, crimson with shame.

  She pushed her skirt with her folded hands in front of her, as if the act would hide the charm dangling below. It was bad enough that she had obviously made a fool of herself, calling the Marquess a footman, but now she had the added shame of showing the jewelry she had sown into her dress for safe keeping.

  No doubt, in the short time they had been together he had surmised she was not only naive and rude, but also very odd.

  “It is very dear to me and I feared to lose it in traveling,” she stammered, most embarrassed.

  Much to her horror, and the horror of everyone in the room, Lord Bellfourd bent down and removed the last of the chain from her hem. He stood and held it out for her to take. Without looking him in the eye, for fear of crying, she let the chain fall into her gloved hand.

  “Thank you, Lord Bellfourd,” she said softly, with the most profound curtsy she could manage.

  “I will bid you goodnight, then,” Lord Bellfourd responded, not wanting to make the young Miss Watts any more embarrassed. “Good evening, Mrs. Peterson.”

  The whole room waited till he was out of the hall before resuming their seats and whispering amongst themselves.

  Isabella finally met the gaze of the housekeeper, who seemed to be measuring her, once the room went back to hushed speaking and clanking of dishes. Without so much as a word, she turned on her heels, pausing only once to beckon, in an irritated fashion, for Isabella to follow.

  Utterly put in her place, Isabella did her best not to look at the side glances around her as she followed Mrs. Peterson out of the servant dining hall.

  Chapter 4

  Isabella listened silently on her hastened tour from Mrs. Peterson, the weight of her locket heavy in her hand. Mrs. Peterson insisted that the trip must not? be a quick one since she had arrived much later than expected.

  She cared not for the fact that Isabella had been left on the side of the road with no help getting to the manor.

  “You will be situated in the west wing of the manor in the extra servants quarters in the attic. Your student's room, nursery, and school room are also located on that side of the manor. There is no reason for you to venture outside that wing without express permission, is that clear?”

  “Yes, of course,” Isabella responded, now leaving the lower levels of the servants’ quarters and up to the main floor. Not stopping on the main floor, Mrs. Peterson immediately turned and went up the second set of stairs, then a third, and finally, a fourth.

  By the fourth set of stairs, the ascension was steep and narrow. The final floor was, no doubt, the attic space used for overflow staffing. The ceiling was scarcely tall enough not to rub against Mrs. Peterson's high bun.

  She walked two doors over and bade Isabella enter. The room was unquestionably smaller than the one she had at home, but not at all displeasing to look at.

  The footman had kindly deposited her trunk at the end of a small, but comfortable looking bed. It was dressed in a simple quilt decorated with embroidered flowers.

  The footman had also been kind enough to light a fire in the small fireplace that was to the right of the bed. To the left of it was a little, round port window in the pointed arch of a spire.

  In front sat a small table and one plush, but ragged looking, chair. No doubt, it had been moved up when no longer suitable for the main house.

  Aside from that, the only other furniture was a small table, for basin and water pitcher, and a petite cabinet closet. Though none of the furniture matched and the walls were only a pure whitewash, the room was warmed by the fire and cozy.

  Isabella was grateful to see the space she could call her own after the long trip with such close quarters.

  Mrs. Peterson waited, arms folded in front, while Isabella inspected the room. When Isabella turned back to her, she didn’t have a moment to speak before Mrs. Peterson began.

  “Your breakfast and basin of water will be brought to you every morning. You will eat your breakfast here, luncheon and tea will be served with Miss Jaqueline and her nurse, and dinner will be brought up to you here, promptly at nine o’clock.”

  “I won't be taking my meals downstairs?” Isabella asked, a little surprised that she would be expected to hole up in her room any time she was not with her student.

  “Of course not. You are not one of the staff, you are the governess. Your meals will be taken here, where it is good and proper.”

  It was easy to see that Mrs. Peterson found propriety very important.

  “I was told that your father was Baron Leinister,” she continued.

  Isabella was slightly disappointed that her upbringing was already well known.

  “Yes,” was her simple reply.

  “Well, I am sure you understand that things are different now. You are not a guest of His Grace, but a paid worker. You are expected to do your job and to do it to the best of your ability. You will not have a lady’s maid. I trust you expected this and can take care of yourself.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Of course, I would never have presum
ed otherwise.”

  “Very well, then. As I said, warm water and your breakfast tray will be brought to you in the morning at seven and seven-thirty, respectively. I will come to get you at a quarter to eight to meet Miss Jaqueline. At ten, you will be presented to His Grace and introductions to the rest of the family will follow, as he dictates. He will tell you what duties are expected of you while you stay.”

  It wasn’t hard to miss that Mrs. Peterson was not pleased that Isabella had already acquainted Lord Bellfourd before the designated time.

  “You have from three o’clock onward to yourself, as the nurse will take her duties then. You may explore the grounds outside, as long as you are not infringing on the family. You are expected to accompany Miss Jaqueline to church with the family every Sunday morning, and then you are free to use the afternoon as you wish. Many of the servants use the opportunity to go into town, which is about a mile's walk. All other expectations will be given to you by His Grace in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” Isabella said, now feeling very exhausted from her journey. “Could you also please tell me how I might mail post?”

  She seemed to think this over for a minute, undoubtedly weighing what was proper for such a situation. Of course, mailing post along with the members of the household would not be acceptable. She wasn’t quite sure whether leaving it in the servant's hall, as the other staff members did, was quite right for her either. Finally, though, it was what she settled on.

  “There is a basket on a small table next to the service entrance. Letters may be left there to be posted.”

  She bid Isabella a crisp goodnight and left the room. Isabella sat for a few moments on her bed, taking it all in before finally opening her still-gloved hand and replacing the locket around her neck.

  Feeling like herself again with her treasured locket adorning her neck, she set about unpacking her belongings. It took some effort to get all her gowns into the small cabinet and she realized again how ridiculous she must have seemed to the marquess, forcing him to lug so many belongings.