More Than a Governess. Sarah Mallory

Miss Wrenn, will you not be seated, ma’am?’

      ‘Thank you, but I think Major Collingham and I have finished our business, and I must get back to my charges. If that is all, Major?’

      ‘It is for now. You will oblige me by bringing the girls to the drawing room after dinner, Miss Wrenn.’

      ‘As you wish, sir.’

      Sir Richard opened the door for her and Juliana gave him a fleeting smile as she went out. She was feeling a little light-headed as she made her way back to the schoolroom. She attributed this to the wine, but could not deny her pleasure at seeing Sir Richard again. He had been an infrequent visitor to her father’s house, always on business, but on the rare occasions they had met he had treated her with respect and she felt now that his acknowledgement of her had added to her standing with her new employer. All at once she found herself looking forward to going downstairs after dinner.

      Chapter Five

      ‘So you are taking the children back to Lancashire,’ said Sir Richard.

      ‘Blackthorpe Hall is their home, and mine, too.’ Major Collingham tossed off his wine and walked to the side-table. ‘I have hardly been there since their mother died. There is much to be done.’ He held up the decanter and Sir Richard came over with his empty glass.

      ‘And you plan to marry that neighbour of yours—the widow?’

      ‘Lady Frances. Yes. She was in town with her father a few weeks ago. Nothing was said, of course, but much was hinted at.’

      Sir Richard grimaced.

      ‘Too cold for my taste, old friend. I cannot ever recall seeing a spark of warmth in her.’

      Damon shrugged. ‘She will make the girls a good mother. That is all I want.’

      Sir Richard sipped his wine, saying nothing. The Major eyed him for a moment, then set down his glass with a snap.

      ‘Damnation, man, say what is on your mind.’

      ‘If I did that, my friend, you would call me out.’

      ‘You think I am making a mistake?’

      Sir Richard looked down at the toe of one gleaming Hessian as he traced the pattern on the carpet. ‘I do not think Lady Frances will make you happy.’

      ‘I am five-and-thirty, Richard, past the age of romantic notions. So, too, is Frances. I want a mother for my children, nothing more.’ He paused, then said with some difficulty, ‘I loved Harriet. To lose her was—agony. I have no wish to go through such pain again. Frances and I understand each other—we have been neighbours for many years. She will bring up the girls and look after my house, leaving me free to get on with the business of running the estate. We shall be very comfortable.’

      ‘Then I wish you happy. And you have found a governess to look after the children. How did you manage that so quickly?’

      ‘Miss Wrenn is related to Pettigrew, the lawyer dealing with my cousin Willoughby’s affairs—you will remember he made me trustee before he died. Miss Wrenn and I struck a bargain—she is contracted to me until September, which will give me time to arrange matters in Lancashire.’

      ‘There were other children in the Wrenn family, as I recall.’

      ‘Aye. Two. They are travelling with us.’

      ‘The devil they are!’ Sir Richard laughed. ‘What has come over you, Damon? I thought you didn’t like children above half!’

      ‘Nor do I.’ He scowled. ‘You may take that look out of your eye, Rick, I’m not going soft in the head, if that’s what you are thinking. They would have to follow their sister at some stage, so it seemed expedient to take them with us. They will be company for my own girls.’

      ‘True, and Miss Wrenn will be looking after them, will she not? I doubt they will bother you.’

      ‘That is my hope. You knew her father, you said?’

      ‘Aye. He spent some years in France as a young man and his knowledge of the country and language was quite exceptional. In my work for the government, I often have need for someone to decipher the notes we intercept from French spies. Wrenn was one of the best.’

      The Major studied his wine glass. ‘And how well do you know his daughter?’

      ‘We met once or twice, when I called on her father. That is all.’ Sir Richard laughed. ‘You need not worry, Damon. She was never one of my intrigues. Her reputation was—and is, I am sure—spotless.’ He bent his shrewd gaze upon his host. ‘Perhaps you have an interest there yourself?’

      Damon thought of the little governess in her dull clothes with her soft brown hair braided so modestly around her head. ‘Not my line at all, my friend. She might be quite pretty, if she were dressed up.’ He sipped his wine, imagining the girl in an evening gown. Silk, he thought. It would cling to her slender body. And emerald green, to match her eyes, eyes that could suddenly gleam with mischief. He gave himself a little mental shake. ‘No, I’ve no interest there, Rick. It has never been my way to tamper with innocents, or raise false hopes.’

      ‘No, your taste has always been for more dashing beauties, eh, Devil Collingham?’

      Damon laughed. ‘Will I never live down that damned Brussels party?’

      ‘It would appear not, my friend. The stories grow more outrageous every time they are retold.’

      Damon shook his head. ‘We were at war and a little reckless. Who wants such stories now? The war ended over a year ago.’

      ‘But it pleases the ladies to remember. And it seems you did please ’em, Damon, the married ones, at least.’

      ‘Safer that way.’ The Major raised his glass. ‘They know I don’t offer ’em marriage. A flirtation, a little pleasure on both sides, then we go our separate ways.’

      ‘Like Lady Ormiston? You were very close when you came home for the Peace Celebrations in ’fourteen.’

      ‘That affair lasted only as long as the peace,’ said Damon, his lip curling. ‘Veronique is indeed a beauty, but she has a heart of stone.’

      ‘You make a fine pair, then,’ retorted Sir Richard, smiling faintly. ‘Ormiston is still playing least in sight. It seems he prefers his Scottish acres to living with his wife. I believe she has young Leeson paying court to her now; they say he’s besotted.’

      ‘Silly young fool.’ The Major lifted the decanter again. ‘We might as well finish this off before we go into dinner. For God’s sake, sit down, man, and you can tell me the real reason you are here.’

      Sir Richard lowered himself into an armchair on one side of the empty fireplace. ‘I am chasing diamonds, dear boy.’

      ‘The devil you are! Is that what brings you back to England?’

      ‘Yes. Bonaparte’s followers have been trying to raise a force to free him from St Helena. From the letters we have intercepted we know that the Princess Borghese donated a pair of diamond earrings to the cause.’

      The Major raised his black brows. ‘Bonaparte’s sister? How was she persuaded to part with them?’

      ‘No idea, my friend. Her passion for jewels is legendary—the Emperor himself acquired these stones in Egypt and had them made up into ear-drops for the princess. Perhaps she wanted to make a gesture of sisterly devotion.’

      ‘Then it would be her first! More likely one of her other—ah—admirers persuaded her to be generous.’

      ‘One of her lovers, you mean? Possibly. In any event, the diamonds were sent from Italy to Paris. We arrested a number of conspirators, but the gems had already been moved on.’

      ‘Did you identify the courier?’

      ‘No. We caught one or