The Wayward Governess. Joanna Fulford

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 for two weeks or so,’ he went on. ‘I shall inform the housekeeper at Netherclough when to expect me. At that time I shall arrange for a carriage to collect you.’

      It was an attention she had not expected.

      ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘It is my wish that you should be there when I return so that you can become acquainted with my ward from the outset. I think we should start as we mean to go on.’

      ‘As you wish, sir.’

      ‘Until then, Miss Davenport.’

      He favoured her with a bow and then was gone. Watching his departing figure, she was conscious of a strange sense of loss.

      The feeling stayed with her in the days that followed. He was such a charismatic figure that when he was absent the house felt different, not less friendly or less welcoming exactly and yet still lacking. Although she made every attempt to keep busy, Claire found herself counting the days until she should be able to take up her new position. It represented a first step into a larger world, one that only a few short weeks ago she could never have thought of entering.

      Eventually the day came, a fortnight later, when a carriage arrived to transport her to Netherclough Hall. With very real regret she said farewell to Ellen and George Greystoke and thanked them for their kindness. Like his sister, George seemed genuinely affected to see her go.

      ‘I wish you all good fortune in your new life, Miss Davenport,’ he said as they stood together by the gate.

      Ellen smiled. ‘I hope you will be very happy, my dear.’

      ‘I’m sure I shall be,’ Claire replied. ‘I’ll write as soon as I can and tell you how I go on.’

      ‘I shall look forward to that.’ She took Claire’s hand for a moment and gazed very earnestly into her face. ‘You know that you can always come to me if you need to, my dear.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Claire gave her friend a last hug and climbed into the carriage. A liveried footman put up the steps and closed the door. As the vehicle pulled away she leaned from the window to wave. Only when her friends were out of sight did she settle back into her seat and look around her. The carriage was larger and more opulent than anything she had ever seen. Furthermore it was so well sprung that even the worst bumps in the road went almost unnoticed. The four bays that pulled it were spirited and swift, as different as could be from her uncle’s carriage horses. He could never have afforded any as fine as these. Never would she have expected to ride in such style or comfort.

      Glancing at the valise beside her, she was forcefully reminded that it contained all her worldly possessions. If the footman had been surprised by the lack of baggage, he was too well trained to betray it. Perhaps he had assumed her trunks would be following later. She smiled ruefully. A governess had no need of fine gowns. As long as her appearance was clean and neat it would suffice. A new chapter of her life was beginning and for the first time she had a measure of control over how it would unfold.

      For a while she was so wrapped in thought that she paid no heed to the country through which they were passing, but eventually it impinged on her consciousness again and she found herself curious to see Netherclough Hall. By repute it was a very grand