Part 1 Bath
Charlotte
“Zounds! Look where you are going!”
The warning from the young gentleman came a split second too late, and Charlotte went flying across the Gravel Walk, papers scattering in all directions in the light spring breeze.
Oh no! My papa always cautioned against reading while walking—and now look what has happened.
“My hearty apologies, sir! I do hope I have not injured you.”
“Do not worry about me—’tis you that fell,” the man said. “That was quite a tumble.”
Charlotte looked up and studied the smiling face. Those chiseled cheekbones! And dark unruly curls—a fine figure of a man, indeed.
“Here, take my hand.” The gentleman moved closer and helped Charlotte to her feet. Her heart fluttered at the proximity.
My, but he has remarkably penetrating eyes. And, ah! The touch of his hand upon mine…
Never in her life had Charlotte felt such an overwhelming attraction to a man; her whole being throbbed in the most peculiar way. Blushing, she turned her head away and concentrated furiously on the task of collecting her pupils’ homework.
Charlotte had been out on the Crescent Fields for a bracing early-morning walk, as was her habit, and she had taken her pupils’ homework to have a final read before lessons.
She had become so wrapped up in George’s story about a sea monster that had eaten the entire crew of a passenger ship—complete with gruesome pictures—that she was still reading avidly as she hurried along the Gravel Walk on her way back to the Knightleys’ house in the Circus, anxious not to be late for the first lesson of the day.
After all, I have only been a governess in this elegant city of Bath for a few weeks and am determined not to put a foot wrong. Oh dear! Is that the best turn of phrase, all things considered?
The gentleman looked at the page Charlotte was holding. “That is an amazing illustration.”
“’Tis drawn by one of my pupils. He is but six years old.”
“Only six? And what sort of a creature has he drawn? Not one I would like to encounter on a sea voyage. And the signature underneath. Why, ’tis…” The gentleman’s voice trailed off and he smiled. “Well, fancy that! I really think the time has come for me to introduce myself. I am—”
“There is no time for that, sir. I must get back to the house. I apologize again for cannoning into you.”
Charlotte fled along the path, her cheeks crimson.
Was it not enough that she had clumsily crashed into this Greek god, without him seeming to find the whole incident so terribly amusing?
Yes, she was sure she could hear laughter behind her.
Perchance ’twould not have been quite as embarrassing an incident if he had not been such an attractive young gentleman.
How I wish that I had collided with a young woman of my own age and class or a kindly middle-aged lady. Or even a tree! Anything rather than this Adonis.
Charlotte sneaked a look back along the path, fully expecting to see the gentleman doubled up with mirth, perhaps chatting to an acquaintance about the foolish young woman who had not been looking where she was going. But he had disappeared—and she felt unaccountably disappointed.
She soon reached a wooden door and flew up the few steps into the garden, dashing past the fragrant herbs in their neat beds and then into the kitchen.
“You look out of breath, Miss Fairfax,” Cook said. “Is anything amiss?”
“I am just a fraction tardy and should go straight to the school room.”
“But what on earth has happened? Your skirt is covered with dirt; here, let me brush it off—hold still! Now, that’s better. And you must sit here at the table a while, for you look a little shaken.”
Charlotte allowed herself to be steered to the big oak table in the center of the room. She did feel slightly unsteady and would welcome a few minutes to compose herself ere going upstairs.
Cook had a word with the serving girl who was busy chopping vegetables. “Fetch Miss Fairfax a cup of tea and a slice of that fresh bread. There’s strawberry jam, too.”
Charlotte rose to her feet. “Oh, I am not sure I have time to eat anything.”
“Of course you do, Miss Fairfax! I happen to know the children are not yet ready for their first lesson for they are still at breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Knightley in the parlor. Now, I will sit down and have a cup of tea with you. We can take a moment for a natter.”
“Why, thank you. I would like that.”
As the governess, Charlotte was neither part of the domestic staff, nor the family upstairs; this in-between state could be a little lonely at times, and she was grateful for Cook’s offer of companionship for however short a time.
“This jam is as delicious as ever, Cook,” Charlotte said. “You must give me the recipe one of these days…”
“Begging your pardon,” a housemaid said appearing at the door, “but Mr. and Mrs. Knightley are looking for you, Miss Fairfax. Your presence is required in the parlor—there is someone they wish to introduce you to before you start lessons with Miss Lydia and Master George this morning.”
Charlotte took a hasty mouthful of tea, then reluctantly abandoned her bread and jam, thanked Cook and followed the housemaid up the back stairs.
“Who is it?” she asked. “Who is this mysterious visitor?”
“’Tis His Grace,” the housemaid replied. “He has arrived a few days early. He sent no message of his change of plan, for he wanted to surprise Mr. and Mrs. Knightley. The whole household is aflutter!”
“Ah, the duke,” Charlotte said.
The Duke of Somerset—or Edward to the family—was Mrs. Knightley’s son from her first marriage to the former Duke of Somerset.
She had been widowed tragically young and left with a young boy to bring up alone.
After many years, she had met and married Mr. Knightley and thus there was a considerable age gap between her first son Edward, and little Lydia and George whose ages were still in the single figures.
I wonder what he is like, this grown-up son of Mrs. Knightley’s?
All I know about him so far is that he resides not far off at Brancombe Abbey but oft visits Bath to see the family.
And I know that his mama and step-papa have been looking forward to his visit with great eagerness, as have the children.
Charlotte walked through the entrance hall and tapped on the door of the parlor.
“Come in, my dear,” Mrs. Knightley said.
Charlotte’s employers were seated at the breakfast table, but there was no sign of the duke or the children.
“Pray, sit down,” Mr. Knightley said. “Would you care for some coffee, Miss Fairfax? I am sure it will help fortify you for your morning duties; how you put up with our two children for hours every day, I do not know. Sometimes I think you deserve a medal.”
Mrs. Knightley nodded. “Yes, we are so pleased with all that you are doing for Lydia and George. You have the knack of making lessons interesting for them, unlike the last governess who not only failed to engage their interest, but also, regrettably…”
Mr. Knightley coughed and patted his wife’s hand lightly. “There is no need to talk about that now, my dear, for she has gone and…”
The rest of his words were drowned out by roars of laughter from the next-door room.
“Edward is in the study with Lydia and George,” Mrs. Knightley said by way of explanation.
Mr. Knightley gave a wide grin. “It sounds as if they are indulging in a certain amount of horseplay.”
“I rather fear for our ornaments.” Mrs. Knightley’s forehead creased. “There is a dainty vase of primroses in there too. I do hope Edward is not spinning the children round as he is wont to do.”
The connecting door between the two rooms flew open, and Lydia ran into the parlor, hotly pursued by George. A male voice could be heard counting down from the study.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
“We must hide!” Lydia shrieked. “We are playing hide and seek with Edward. I will go under the sofa.”
“…three, two, one. Ready or not, here I come!”
Edward, Duke of Somerset, rushed into the room, eyes blazing with excitement, and Lydia and George squealed loudly from underneath the sofa.
“Here is Miss Fairfax, Edward,” Mrs. Knightley said. “I believe you have already met each other but have not yet been formally introduced.”
Charlotte stood up and her entire five-foot one-inch frame flamed with mortified indignation.
’Twas the man from the park, the one she had accidentally run into!
How had she not guessed? And he was standing in front of her with a mischievous expression—it would appear he had somehow known who she was and had already told Mr. and Mrs. Knightley about her embarrassing mishap.
Charlotte stared up at the tousle-haired figure in front of her.
Why, he was no better than a big child himself.
Were jesting and laughter the only things he cared about in life?
She had expected more from a member of the ton.
“I imagine you are wondering how I knew who you were,” Edward said.
“Indeed, I was.” Charlotte clenched her fists.
“Well, I knew that the previous governess had left and shortly after that Mama said in one of her letters that she had managed to find another at short notice…”
Mrs. Knightley glanced at her husband.
It sounds as if the last governess left quite suddenly—and that the reason why she did so is not suitable for general consumption. Now I begin to understand why the Knightleys were so keen for me to start immediately.
“…and when I was helping you retrieve your papers from the path,” the duke continued, “I noticed that one of the pictures was signed George Knightley.”
“Which picture was it?” George blurted out.
“A rather bloodthirsty picture of a monster biting someone’s leg off far out at sea. I must say George, I was very impressed with your signature too—’tis far better than mine when I was six. You have a neat hand, unlike my untidy scrawl.”
“George is a very diligent student,” Charlotte said.
“Particularly since you have started teaching him, my dear,” Mrs. Knightley said.