Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

by the quality of your education, but by your desire to become a governess.’

      ‘As I told you, my parents are dead and I must earn my living, sir.’

      ‘And what of your other relations? The ones with whom you live.’

      ‘They cannot provide for me indefinitely. I always knew that I should have to find a suitable position one day.’

      ‘And why do you think this suitable?’

      ‘Your ward is of excellent family, she is motherless and she needs someone who will look after her.’

      ‘Do you think that I will not look after her?’

      ‘No, of course not. I never meant to imply any such thing.’ She paused. ‘But a young girl also needs a woman’s presence.’

      ‘True. How old are you, Miss Davenport?’

      Her colour deepened but she met his eye. ‘I am almost one and twenty.’

      ‘Are you not a little young for the role?’

      ‘By no means. I know how it feels to lose one’s parents and how important it is for a child to feel secure, to know that there will always be a sympathetic female presence she can turn to for guidance, someone who will always have her best interests at heart, someone who will really care.’

      It came out with quiet passion. In fact, it was not just the tone but the words that took him aback for he could not doubt the sincerity of either. He knew she was speaking from experience. Had her own life been unhappy after the death of her parents? Had that anything to do with the relatives she spoke of? His curiosity mounted and with it the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told.

      ‘My estate at Netherclough is remote. Apart from the local village there is no society for miles around. How would you bear the solitariness of the place?’

      ‘I should bear it very well, sir. I was born in the country and spent the first thirteen years of my life there. Thirteen happy years.’

      He heard the wistful note and was unexpectedly touched by it. Even so he felt the need to probe a bit further.

      ‘And when your parents died you went to live with your father’s relations.’

      ‘Yes.’ Her heart began to beat a little faster.

      ‘And your uncle resides in…?’

      ‘Northamptonshire.’

      ‘You are a long way from home, aren’t you?’

      Not far enough, she thought. Aloud she replied, ‘Oh, not so far. Stage coach travel is improving all the time, is it not?’

      ‘Is it?’

      Claire could have kicked herself. Of course, a man like this would never use stage coaches. Why would he, with a stable of fine horses and numerous carriages at his beck and call?

      ‘Surely your uncle would be most alarmed by your failure to return home,’ he continued.

      ‘Not at all, sir, since I should write and inform him of the altered circumstances.’ It was a blatant lie but it couldn’t be helped. She went on, ‘Besides, he would be the last person to stand in my way. He told me so himself.’ That part was true at any rate.

      ‘I see. And what sort of salary would you require?’

      This was something she had not considered and for a moment was thrown. What did governesses earn? Knowing a response was required of her she plucked a figure out of thin air.

      ‘Thirty pounds per annum.’

      ‘You set a high price on your skills, Miss Davenport.’

      Her cheeks went scarlet. However, if he expected her to retract he was mistaken. Instead her chin lifted.

      ‘My services are worth the money, sir.’

      ‘That has yet to be determined.’

      ‘Then you will employ me?’

      If she had hoped not to betray too much eagerness she was wide of the mark. He could see it in her face. Moreover, it was underlain by something akin to desperation. She really wanted this job. Thinking carefully, he weighed up the possibility. His ward was certainly going to need a governess and that was a serious responsibility since whoever filled the role must fit the child to take her place in society one day. Such a person must be intellectually capable and of unimpeachable reputation. Miss Davenport, though young, was well educated and evidently of good family. George and his sister spoke well of her. Though he sensed a mystery somewhere, what did he actually know against her? Nothing, he decided. In spite of the somewhat unusual manner of her arrival in Yorkshire, he believed her reputation to be good. She was courageous; she had come to his aid when he needed it. It was clear that she needed the situation and he was in a position to help.

      He remembered all too clearly how it felt when one could do nothing. For a second Lakshmi’s face swam into his mind. Could he abandon another young woman to her fate? The world was a hard place when one did not have the protection of wealth. Claire Davenport was not asking for money; she was asking for the means to earn it and he respected that. Did she not deserve a chance? He threw her a cool, appraising look and made up his mind.

      ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Consider yourself hired—for a probationary period of three months. If we are both satisfied with the situation at the end of that time, the post will become permanent.’

      For a second she wasn’t sure that she had heard him correctly. Then it sank in and fierce joy swept through her.

      ‘Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it, I promise you.’

      ‘See to it that I don’t, Miss Davenport.’ The grey eyes locked with hers. ‘I give you fair warning that I expect the highest standards in every respect. If they are not met the arrangement will be terminated immediately. Is that clear?’

      ‘Very clear, sir.’

      ‘As long as we understand each other.’

      Claire left him shortly afterwards and, unable to contain her elation, went into the garden. Once there she let out a whoop of joy. Three months! Three months to prove herself. And she would prove herself! She would try by every means in her power to make a success of this. Her uncle would never think of looking for her at Netherclough, and by the time her probation was complete she would have reached her majority. She would be free.

      Alone in the parlour the Viscount stood awhile, gazing down into the fire. He was committed now. Time would tell whether the decision was the right one. Yet there was something about Claire Davenport that he found hard to dismiss: beneath that outward show of spirit was an underlying vulnerability. Moreover, he acknowledged that she was a very pretty girl. No doubt his ward would prefer someone young and attractive as a governess. What really mattered, of course, was competence. That would become evident soon enough. Three months would demonstrate whether his decision had been the right one or not.

      Two days later he prepared to leave for London, having first taken his leave of his hosts and of Claire.

      ‘We shall meet again very soon, Miss Davenport. In the meantime is there anything I can bring you from the capital?’

      It had never occurred to her that he would even ask and the question threw her.

      ‘I thank you, no, sir.’

      ‘You must be the first woman ever to say so,’ he replied, regarding her with the familiar cool appraisal that caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach. ‘I half expected a lengthy shopping list.’

      ‘Then you have been spared it.’

      ‘So it would seem. I suppose I should be grateful.’

      Thinking of the little money remaining to her, she knew there was no possibility of indulging herself, even if she had thought of it.

      ‘I expect to be gone