The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess : A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

Chapter Two

For the next three days, Jocelyn avoided her mother, taking her meals in her quarters and spending long hours riding out across the estate, visiting with the tenants, taking a tour of the new mill, and other such activities. She quickly had approved with what she observed. Even so, Jocelyn had ignored the stable hand who had obviously been instructed to follow her about and report back to Lady Romfield of Jocelyn’s activities.

Her mother thought Jocelyn might run away, and her ladyship had been correct. Jocelyn did not know where she might go nor how she would manage once she made her escape, but she meant to leave. She would not permit her parents to force her into an undesirable marriage.

On the fourth day of her standoff with her mother, Jocelyn overheard her ladyship’s maid telling the valet hired as her brother’s personal servant that Lady Romfield meant to escort Andrew to Harrow, near London proper, on the following day, as it was time for the new term at school, with the Easter term beginning on 11 April.

Jocelyn wished to ask the particulars of her mother’s journey, but no one in the house was likely to share what he or she knew of the outing, and any interest she showed would be quickly relayed to her mother. Instead, she pretended no knowledge of her mother’s journey, which surely could be no more than two to three days, as planned. This was her opportunity, and Jocelyn meant to make the most of it.

* * *

“And so, you called upon William’s Wood?” Edward’s cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, asked.

“Yes, I wished to check on Lady Lindale’s twins. It seems another governess has been let go, so, in addition to traveling to London for my duties to the army, as well as stopping at the Romfield estate on the Kentish border to take the acquaintance of Miss Romfield, I must see that a new governess is employed.”

“Is it the boy they cannot handle?” Darcy asked. “I had heard he was ‘dumb,’ but I did not find the child to be so. Only that he is extremely regimented.”

“More regimented than you, my love?” Mrs. Darcy asked in a teasing tone, as she bounced Bennet Darcy on her knee while the boy giggled in delight. The lady cooed, “Shall you be as stubborn as your papa, my boy?”

The child looked to Darcy and said, “Puh. Puh.”

“Yes, that is your papa, my boy. Neither you nor he will ever forget it.”

Meanwhile, Darcy responded to his wife’s question, but not in a mean manner. “The Babcock boy can apparently tolerate only certain types of cloth upon his skin, and he has everything within his quarters in a particular order.”

Edward remarked, “I did not know of his propensity for certain types of cloth. Does it break out in a rash or does he simply dislike the texture? Until this last venture, I have only been around the children when their mother was present. As to liking things in a particular order, I imagine that could be said of all of God’s creatures from lowly peasant to kings and emperors. I, most assuredly, like my socks in a particular drawer and my shaving gear arranged just so. I know you are the same, Darcy.”

“I am,” his cousin conceded. “As to the boy, he does not like to be touched, but once he has become accustomed to a person, he readily responds appropriately. Naturally, we do not know how his father or his uncle treated him, nor how the multitude of governesses or even his mother has reacted with him. My father never approved of how old Mr. Wickham rapped George’s knuckles with a ruler or sometimes pinched him to remind George of his manners when appearing before his godfather.”

“Do not present George Wickham any saving graces,” Edward warned. “Perhaps Old Wickham should have punished his son more often than he did. Taught him a bit of compassion.”

“Trust me,” Elizabeth said as she stood to lift the child into her embrace. “I have never heard my husband say one thing kind regarding my sister’s husband. It shall not happen again.”

Darcy shrugged his response. “I am just saying we do not know how the father lives, nor his children, until we view it for ourselves. As to young Babcock’s intelligence, anyone who calls him ‘dumb’ is sadly mistaken. He is a bit withdrawn until he knows a person better, but, again, the same could be said of me. I thought the lad to be quite intelligent. For example, he was telling me of a frog in the nearby pond on the William’s Wood estate. He showed me his drawing of the frog, but it was not just one image. He had obviously been studying the frog for several months, for he had drawn it as a tadpole and up to the time it was a frog. All images were drawn quite accurately. When I asked him what he knew of the frog, the boy quickly retrieved a book from your brother’s library that spoke of every frog’s genus. He turned to the correct page and presented the book to me, and then, unexpectedly, he recited the page word-for-word.”

“I never realized,” Edward admitted. “Perhaps I should seek a special tutor for the boy. Neither Lindale nor the child’s mother has ever described him as such.”

Darcy shrugged again. “I just spoke to the child as Sheffield used to speak to me, especially after my mother died. I told the boy I had also lost a parent. The connection seemed to open a door in the child’s compassion. He appeared more comfortable with me, and we talked for quite a while on stars and rain and what not.”

Elizabeth Darcy observed, “I wonder if he understands what is going on with Lindale and his mother’s role in the viscount’s life. If not, when he also loses Roland, it might make him think he cannot trust a parent to remain with him. He may blame himself for something not of his making. What of his twin?”

Edward confided, “Very protective of the boy. Victoria appears to have adjusted faster than her brother, but, in truth, I know little of them.”

Darcy asked, “Did she not come and sit beside you at the reception following her mother’s wedding?”

Edward responded, “Yes. I found her just like most young girls at that age. She was obsessed with the jewels in my necklace and the ribbons on my bonnet. I did not hold such a long conversation with Lady Victoria as my husband did with her brother. Bennet was newly born and required my attention more than did the festivities going on downstairs. I might not have encountered the child if she had not come to the nursery to look upon the babies there. If I thought upon it more, Lady Victoria was equally as concerned with playing with Bennet with a rattle as she was with her brother not having returned to the schoolroom. She feared the governess would be angry.”

“I am beginning to wonder if it is possible to obtain a proper governess for the pair. They are quite different, as are their needs. I have no idea of how to discover such a person. Do we hire a tutor like Sheffield for the boy and a separate governess for the girl?” Edward questioned.

“I would hope someone who is not so set on punishment, but rather compassion, might prove best,” Elizabeth said. “Hiring separate caretakers would only emphasize how the boy is different. He has the same needs as his sister, at least those addressing his obvious confusion and loneliness.”

“Yet, how do I go about finding such a person?” Edward asked.

“I could interview a few candidates if you wish to trust me with the process,” Mrs. Darcy said. “Mr. Darcy must remain in Town on business for another week or so. I thought to travel north and spend some time with my sister Jane and Mr. Bingley and enjoy spoiling their daughter, while Jane does the same for Bennet. Mr. Darcy will retrieve me and the child from there. The Bingleys are in Cambridgeshire, so I might find someone there who is more familiar with the northern shires than I would from an agency in London. Perhaps,\ such is the reason for the last governess leaving. Mayhap a younger lady, freshly new or thereabouts, would not be so set on using only one method to teach a child. It sounds as if the governess must consider both Lord Vincent’s and Lady Victoria’s needs. They are twins, but not one person, after all. If such does not prove true, I shall send word, and you can do the deed.”

“Are you convinced the task will not be too much for you to handle? I would not wish to interrupt your visit with your sister with a duty to my brother,” Edward declared.

“Mr. Darcy will tell you I am happy to converse with strangers. Unlike my husband,” she said with a teasing lift of her brows directed towards Darcy, “I give myself the pleasure of company.”

“I enjoy your company, Mrs. Darcy,” Darcy clarified.

“And I am blessed by the fact,” Mrs. Darcy countered.

“The occupation is yours, Elizabeth. You may reach me at Lockland Hall if you require my input.”

Mrs. Darcy continued to bounce young Bennet up and down. “Please pardon me. This little one is beginning to fuss. I mean to put him down. Please provide Mr. Darcy with any information of which I should be made aware such as compensation, quarters, and so forth for the lady. Also, include in the information if you customarily use a particular agent to arrange the employment.”

* * *

Jocelyn had taken multiple walks about the estate since learning of her mother’s upcoming journey. Each time she exited the house, the stable hand followed, but he provided her a certain sense of privacy; therefore, Jocelyn was able to carry a couple of her gowns, only her most sensible ones, along with her half boots, shawls, stockings, combs and a brush—a few at a time to leave in a nearby tool shed. She was determined to disappear before her mother returned from London. Supposedly, Jocelyn’s “intended” meant to call at the end of the upcoming week, and she was set upon not being in attendance, a sound declaration of her protest of an arranged marriage.

She had spoken her farewells to her brother, teasing him out of his fear of attending a British school. “You will do quite well. I asked Lord Sizemore of his opinion of Harrow. His lordship said he had originally attended Eton, but he enjoyed Harrow more, for he prefers mathematics to a study of literature, which is emphasized there. I did not completely understand all his lordship shared, but I felt Harrow would be a good fit for my favorite brother.”

“Your only brother,” Andrew had dutifully corrected, but he had thanked her for the information and presented her a quick hug, as doing so “is not the thing for boys of his age,” or so she had been told repeatedly. Jocelyn despised the idea of worrying Andrew, but her escape was the only means she had of preventing a marriage to a complete stranger being thrust upon her.

Later that evening in a consistent drizzle, she had exited through the double glass doors of what would eventually serve as her father’s study. Tugging her dark cape closer about her, she darted across the groomed lawn to ease her way into the stables. She knew several of the stable hands slept in the loft. She would prefer to saddle her horse outside, but the rain would make the task too difficult for her to handle.

“Shush,” she whispered to the horse when it nickered. Quickly, she slipped a small apple from her pocket and permitted the mare to nibble away at it. She opened the stall and lifted a saddle from a saw horse and placed it on the saddle rack in the aisle to permit the horse to know her intention. Then, with the aid of the moonlight, she fetched her bridle, setting it beside the saddle.

Taking up a familiar pad, Jocelyn slung it over the mare’s withers and proceeded to tack her up. She tightened the girth and adjusted the nose band before she purposefully traced the mare’s neck with her hand. “Be kind to me, girl. I’ve only ridden astride a few times.” With those words, she led the horse outside to a waiting mounting block and hoisted herself into the saddle. Earlier, she had claimed a pair of breeches worn by the house’s footmen, and she now wore them beneath her day dress, tugging the hem higher than normal. Jocelyn knew a riding habit would be more appropriate, but she did not think she could manage a lady’s saddle when riding at night.

She nudged the horse into a gentle walk so as not to disturb any still awake in the house or the stables. Then she made her way to where she left the bag holding her belongings. Catching it up before her, she set the mare to a steadier pace. With the night’s darkness and not knowing the roads well, Jocelyn simply hoped to be ten to fifteen miles north of the Romfield estate before anyone discovered her missing. By the time her mother learned of this caper, Jocelyn would be some thirty or more miles removed. Even then, she did not think her mother would send out more than a handful of searchers, all well-paid for their discretion. After all, Lady Romfield would wish no more scandal associated with her daughter’s name, and running away from an earl’s son would definitely provide emphasis for the meaning of the word.

* * *

She was considering returning to her father’s estate. Jocelyn had most assuredly not anticipated how difficult it would be for a woman in England to travel alone. Only one innkeeper finally agreed to permit her to share a small mattress in the kitchen before the fire with the girl who washed dishes and assisted his wife with the cooking. Though Jocelyn had funds to pay for a proper room, the man claimed it too dangerous for a young woman to stay alone, for men who had imbibed deeply in their cups might take on the idea of invading her quarters.

She understood the man’s reasoning, but she desperately required a full night’s sleep. Now, she studied the finger post and debated upon which road to take. She had been informed by a friendly farmer and his wife, if Jocelyn chose to continue north and west, she would encounter several cities which had sprouted up due to manufacturing, which might provide her employment, but there were also long stretches of moors and hilly sections growing into mountains, which could be dangerous for someone who did not know the area.

“I wish I knew something of England’s shires. I believe I have successfully avoided the roads to London and my mother, but I seem to keep crisscrossing Herts and Essex, but where next?” She felt herself sway in the saddle and her vision blur. She knew she had not drunk enough water, but using the woods for her facilities had not been part of her plan nor had she considered not being able to find shelter. She had slept in wet clothing for two of the last three nights, and Jocelyn did not know whether her unclear thinking was a result of exhaustion or an unexpected illness.

Off in the distance she heard a carriage and horses, and she forced herself to concentrate on the sound and the need to maneuver her horse to the road jutting off to the right so those inside the coach would not view her. She wished no more attention than necessary. Covering her head with her cloak, she backed her mare deeper into the brush. She held her breath and waited for the coach to pass, but she had not counted on her horse also feeling spooked by yet another encounter. The mare bolted forward, and Jocelyn’s had been thrown first backwards and then in the direction of the horse’s head. She was tossed about as the horse attempted to find its footing, with her finally sliding from the horse’s back. She dangled, half upside down along the mare’s side for a few perilous seconds before the cloak she wore tore, and she slammed hard against the embedded stones of the road. Her chin struck a brick, snapping her mouth shut and sending her into a mirror of blackness before her eyes closed as her body settled on the road’s slick surface.

* * *

“Miss? Miss?” someone was saying as a cool cloth wiped her cheeks. Jocelyn wished the person would wipe her lips, for a few drops of water would be refreshing. “Miss! Miss! Open your eyes.”

Though Jocelyn would enjoy going to sleep, her breeding demanded that she should respond. Therefore, she opened her eyes to find the worried expression on the countenance of a youngish woman, who could be related to her, for they shared the same shaped face and a similar color of hair.

“I caught the horse, Mrs. Darcy,” a man said from somewhere off to the left, but Jocelyn did not dare to look to the sound. She was having enough trouble keeping the woman’s features in focus. “The mare has a cut on her leg, which I have wrapped, but it should be tended to properly when we reach Mr. Bingley’s estate.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farrin. I am exceedingly glad my husband could spare you for this journey. I always feel safer when you are in the box.” Without Jocelyn’s permission, the woman ordered, “Mr. Jasper, could you lift the lady into my coach.”

“I will assist Jasper, ma’am,” the man called “Farrin” said. “Permit me to tie the horse to the back of the young master’s carriage.”

Jocelyn thought to protest, but she was too weak and too exhausted to give voice to the men’s gallantry. They jostled her about to lift her from the ground, but soon they cradled her between them, and she released a sigh of contentment for the gift to the warmth of their bodies.

“Careful,” the woman instructed as “Mr. Jasper” took Jocelyn’s weight, while “Mr. Farrin” crawled into the coach to accept her person. On his knees, “Mr. Farrin” lifted her high enough so she might lie upon the padded bench seat. Despite her best efforts to speak her gratitude, a heavy sigh was all she could manage. Over the last few days, she had thought never again to know such luxury.

The coach shifted when Mr. Farrin dismounted, but immediately shifted a second time, but not so dramatically, when the woman from the road joined Jocelyn inside. A light scent of lavender filled the small compartment. Jocelyn was attempting to recall the woman’s name when another female voice said, “Pardon, Mrs. Darcy, but Master Bennet wishes his mother. His gums are bothering him something terrible. I used a drop of the cognac to numb the pain, but he is still fussy.”

“Do you have the coral ring, Hannah?” the lady asked.

“It is still in the other carriage, ma’am.”

“Give me the child and fetch the ring.”

The coach shifted again, but Jocelyn did not open her eyes to view the goings on. As long as the woman thought her injured, the lady would permit Jocelyn to rest on the bench. She could hear the woman say, “So these teeth are hurting, are they, my child? No more tears. Your mother has just what you require, love.”

“Here is the ring, Mrs. Darcy,” the other woman said.

A bit more shifting of the carriage occurred, yet, Jocelyn did not move.

“How much longer, Mr. Farrin?” the one known as “Mrs. Darcy” asked.

“A little less than an hour, ma’am.”

“Good. Our guest will require someone to tend to her, and young Mr. Darcy requires a proper nap, though I imagine between the cognac on his gums and my holding him tightly, he shall be sound asleep in moments.”

“I am confident Mrs. Bingley will wish to hold her nephew when we reach Logan Hall.”

“Is such correct, my boy?” the lady asked in teasing tones.

Without further conversation, the carriage door was closed and locked. Seconds later, the driver and footman climbed back onto the box, and the gentle rocking of the coach, as well as the beautiful lullaby the woman sang to her child lured both the boy and Jocelyn to sleep.