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

ten pounds, to cover immediate expenses?’

      Claire felt warmth rise to her face. Ten pounds! It was more money than she could ever recall seeing at one time in her whole life.

      ‘I should have thought of it earlier,’ he continued, ‘but there have been many matters requiring my attention. I apologise for the oversight.’

      ‘I…not at all.’ She sought for the right words, feeling oddly tongue-tied. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘I have some business in Harrogate tomorrow. I thought perhaps you and Lucy might like to come along. I understand from Mrs Hughes that there are some good drapers in the town and an excellent seamstress. You can get Lucy’s riding habit made up there. Order one for yourself at the same time. There is enough there to cover the cost.’

      Claire felt her face grow very warm and the hazel eyes that met his were bright with indignation. Somehow she controlled her voice.

      ‘I thank you, sir, but I cannot accept such a gift. It would be most improper to do so.’

      He raised one eyebrow. ‘Miss Davenport, when my ward has learned to ride it will be necessary for you to accompany her when I cannot. That being so, you will require the appropriate costume to do it in. It is a vital part of the equipment you require to do your job—like the horse and the saddle.’ He paused. ‘I take it there will be no difficulty attached to my providing those?’

      Hearing the ironic tone, she lifted her chin. ‘It is not at all the same thing.’

      ‘I beg to differ. I can see very little difference.’

      ‘Perhaps not, but I assure you, sir, that I can.’

      ‘Your opinion in this matter is of no moment, Miss Davenport, since it is my wish as your employer that you should ride with my ward. And as your employer I expect my wishes to be obeyed.’

      The tone, though perfectly level, was implacable. She knew it would be fruitless to argue, but only suppressed the desire with great difficulty. Had it been Mark Eden she would have yielded to the impulse—with Marcus Edenbridge she could not. It was infuriating, like the suave expression on that handsome face. How arrogant he could be at times and how determined to get his own way.

      Though he guessed quite accurately at the thoughts behind the hazel eyes, he remained undeterred. Following up his advantage, he continued, ‘Should you see anything else that Lucy might need, you should feel free to make the purchase.’

      ‘As you wish, sir.’

      ‘Quite so, Miss Davenport.’

      Her hands clenched in her lap as she wrestled with a strong desire to hit him. She mastered it and tried to focus on what he was saying.

      ‘The carriage will leave at nine o’clock.’

      ‘We will be ready, sir.’

      ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

      It was clearly dismissal. Claire retrieved the purses from the desk and rose from her chair. She was halfway to the door when he recalled something else.

      ‘Incidentally, I have asked Dr and Miss Greystoke to honour me with their company for dinner next Thursday. I would be pleased if you would join us.’

      Taken unawares, she heard him with surprise and then with pleasure. It would be wonderful to see her friends again. Gathering her wits, she nodded.

      ‘I should be delighted.’

      ‘Good.’ He favoured her with a charming smile. ‘That’s settled, then.’

      After she had left him Claire returned to her room. Laying the two purses on the table, she regarded them thoughtfully. With that one casual gesture he had rescued her from financial embarrassment. Moreover, he didn’t have to do it. She could not have asked him for money, particularly since she was essentially here on a trial basis. It was within his rights to withhold any payment until that period was over. Yet he had given it anyway. It was an act of kindness and one she had not looked for. But then there was the matter of the riding habit. He must have guessed what her response would be and had met it most adroitly, leaving no possibility of refusal. The knowledge of her defeat still rankled. For a moment his face returned to her mind.

      ‘Impossible man!’ she said aloud.

      Attempting to dismiss that provoking image, she turned her thoughts to the morrow. With a trip to town in the offing, she would be able to rectify some of the deficiencies in her wardrobe. It occurred to her that, having seen every gown she possessed, he must have realised how the matter stood. The thought that he had assessed her wardrobe and found it wanting was mortifying. Worse, he was right. It was inadequate and unsuited to her present role. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise. By suggesting this trip he had saved her from some potentially embarrassing situations, damn him!

      As she had anticipated Lucy was eager for the forthcoming treat and both of them were ready at the appointed time. The carriage stood waiting, a liveried footman by the open door. The Viscount was already in the hallway. Looking at that tall elegant figure, Claire knew a moment’s misgiving. However, nothing of their earlier encounter was apparent in his manner. On the contrary he glanced at the clock and smiled.

      ‘You are punctual, Miss Davenport.’

      Unable to think of a reply, she merely inclined her head.

      He gestured toward the door. ‘Shall we?’

      Having lifted Lucy into the vehicle, he held out a hand to Claire. For a few brief seconds she could feel the firm clasp of his fingers. His touch seemed to burn through her glove. Then, having spoken to the coachman, he climbed in after her and seated himself opposite as the carriage moved forwards. Aware of his presence to the last fibre of her being, she arranged her skirts and hoped that nothing of her feeling showed in her face.

      Fortunately Lucy diverted his attention with a question. He answered her with his customary patience and showed no sign of irritation when it was followed by two more. Now that the barriers were starting to come down, he clearly wanted to encourage the child to talk to him. As she watched the scene it occurred to Claire that he would be a good father as well as an indulgent uncle for there could be no doubt he would have children of his own one day. The thought was pleasing and unwelcome together. Before she could ask herself why, Lucy broke in.

      ‘Uncle Marcus used to live in India, Miss Davenport.’

      ‘So I believe,’ replied Claire.

      ‘When we were travelling from Essex he told me stories about it.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Yes, all about hunting tigers and riding on elephants.’

      ‘How exciting!’ Then, recalling her defeat the previous evening, she smiled. ‘Perhaps he’ll tell you another story now. I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘Yes, I would, if you please, Uncle Marcus.’

      Torn between disbelief and amusement the Viscount threw Claire a most eloquent look. It was met with an innocent expression that did not deceive him for a moment and he was strongly tempted to deliver a severe set down. Then he saw Lucy’s eager face and knew he could not. After making a mental note to deal with Miss Davenport later, he favoured them with a tale about crossing a river on an elephant which had chosen to take a cooling shower while its passengers, of whom he was one, were still aboard. Lucy laughed in delight.

      ‘Was anyone watching, Uncle Marcus?’

      ‘Roughly half the population of the local village, as I recall.’

      ‘What did you do?’

      ‘The only thing I could do. I adopted a stiff upper lip and pretended to be quite unconcerned.’

      Lucy giggled and, unable to help herself, Claire laughed, too. He regarded his audience with a pained expression.

      ‘This really is most unkind of you both.’