Chapter 8
In Which Several Important Disclosures are Made; And Tea and Toast Are Taken While Some, but Not All the Tea Is Spilled …
The sun was only just putting in an appearance at Rose Cottage when Mina made an appearance in her old bedchamber.
As she stepped from the wardrobe into the room, the early morning sunlight gilded the edges of the rose-patterned curtains.
The soft scent of dew-dusted roses drifted up from the garden below and Mina inhaled the sweet freshness.
The Gloucestershire countryside was nothing like gritty, bustling, and oftentimes malodorous London.
Despite the fact this wasn’t the Vicarage where she’d grown up, Mina always felt a wonderful sense of homecoming whenever she was in this cozy house.
Her mother might be persnickety on occasion—and have an unappeasable appetite for anything flower-related—but Mina knew that she was loved.
Her father, God rest his soul, had loved her too.
She also had a kindred spirit in her sister, who loved teaching at the Ablington Parish School.
As Mina crossed to the bedroom door, she wondered how Christopher had been getting on.
It had been so very hard for him—he’d lost his dear mama and papa but a year ago and his godmother just last month.
Mina was aware she was the only anchor in his shifting, uncertain world.
While she was loath to unmoor him yet again and take him to London, she trusted she would be able to provide the care he needed while keeping him safe from his guardian.
All going well, the boy would find a friend in Tom Fleet.
They were polar opposites when it came to their upbringings thus far, but Mina had hope they would find some common ground and form an amicable bond.
She would do everything in her power to make it work.
Just as she would do her very best to please Lord Kinsale.
She still wasn’t certain how best to help the marquess with his stammer—a search of the Parasol Academy’s library had yielded nothing that would be of use.
But etiquette lessons would be easy enough to provide.
As long as you don’t blush and become tongue-tied every time Lord Kinsale even looks at you, Mina Davenport.
Any sort of dalliance with one’s employer was definitely frowned upon by the Parasol Academy. One’s license to practice as a Parasol nanny or governess would be immediately revoked if it ever became evident that one had strayed “above stairs.”
Although, exceptions were made on the odd occasion.
Mina’s friend, Emmeline Chase, had not been censured for fraternizing with (really hopelessly falling in love with) then marrying the Duke of St Lawrence earlier in the year.
Apparently there was an obscure subclause in the Parasol Academy Handbook that had applied to Emmeline’s particular set of circumstances.
Mina gathered Good Queen Maeve herself had granted Emmeline a special dispensation for her marriage to her former employer.
Mrs. Temple had even attended the wedding.
But Mina suspected that marriage wasn’t in her stars.
She was six-and-twenty, and while she’d once harbored girlish dreams about falling in love and marrying a prince of a man, and perhaps being blessed with children of her own one day, life had taken her down a different path.
She hadn’t met the right man, and now she was caring for the children of others.
But being a Parasol Academy governess was fulfilling in its own way. Her career was enough.
As long as you still have a career, whispered “Apprehensive Hermina” at the back of her mind. As long as Sir Bedivere and anyone else doesn’t find out what you’ve done.
The hall outside Mina’s room was very quiet save for the ponderous ticking of a longcase clock.
No one would be up at this hour save for Rose Cottage’s servants.
Mina decided she would descend to the kitchen and enjoy a spot of tea and perhaps a slice of toast with marmalade before waking Christopher to get him ready for the train journey back to London.
As she approached the top of the stairs, a soft sound—a muffled sob—drifted out into the hall from the nearby guest bedroom.
Christopher?
Oh no! What could be wrong? Was he ill? Was he having a bad dream? Was he feeling abandoned and lost?
Her heart squeezing tight with anxiety, Mina rushed forward and knocked gently on her charge’s door. “Christopher … Lord Fitzwilliam? It’s me, Miss Davenport. May I come in?”
The crying ceased and a moment later, the door creaked open revealing a woebegone-looking Christopher in his nightgown with Mr. Hopwell clutched to his chest. His cheeks were flushed and tear-stained, his eyes were red and swollen, and his overly long blond locks were … gone!
Someone had lopped off the young viscount’s distinctive ringlets that had made him look like a cherubic child from a Restoration painting.
“Christopher …” Mina sank to her knees and took one of the boy’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? What can I do to help?”
The boy’s bottom lip wobbled. “Your mama cut my hair last night. She said it was too hard for anyone to look after. That it was too knotty and too difficult to comb. And that I looked”—a tear slid down his cheek—“silly. Like a … a foppish milksop. And that all the children at the parish school were laughing at me behind my back.” Christopher hiccupped. “But I swear no one was.”
Mina’s blood began to boil. Her mother could be casually cruel and far too blunt sometimes.
“I’m so sorry,” she said gently as she pulled a kerchief from her uniform’s pocket and offered it to Christopher.
“My mama was wrong to say those things. But, I do think your hair was getting a little too long and needed a bit of a cut. And it will be a lot easier to comb. And I do think it looks quite smart. In fact, you look rather grown-up.”
Christopher sniffed and dragged the kerchief across his drippy nose. “I do?”
“Most definitely,” said Mina. “Now”—she rose to her feet—“why don’t I tell you why I’ve come to see you? I think you’ll like my news.”
She ushered Christopher into the room and found a flannel by the wash basin.
“I know I said you would need to stay at Rose Cottage for a while,” she began as she dampened the washcloth.
“But how would you like it if we went to London and stayed at the Marquess of Kinsale’s house?
You remember Lord Kinsale, don’t you? And his pug, Brutus? ”
Christopher’s eyes lit up like firecrackers on Guy Fawkes Night. “Of course I do! I had such fun aboard his ship. And the ginger beer and pound cake and Bath buns were wonderful. Might I have ginger beer and cake and Bath buns again?”
Mina wiped the boy’s face, then reached for his comb. “I think that could be arranged.”
Half a minute of silence passed as Mina began to tidy Christopher’s sleep-tousled hair. Then the boy ventured, “Are you going to marry Lord Kinsale?”
Mina’s cheeks grew decidedly warm. “Oh no. Nothing like that. Lord Kinsale is employing me as a governess for his new ward. An eight-year-old boy named Tom. You’ll have lessons together.”
“Oh …” Christopher bit his lip while he smoothed the velvet nap on Mr. Hopwell’s ears. “I should like a friend. Do you think we might be friends?”
Mina smiled encouragingly. “I don’t see why not. Although Tom has lived quite a different life to you. He hasn’t any family and has had to live by his own wits on the streets of London for some time. Because of that, he hasn’t received any sort of lessons.”
Christopher’s expression grew solemn. “That sounds dreadful.”
Mina gave the boy’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I suspect it’s been more dreadful than we can even imagine. But thanks to Lord Kinsale, Tom’s fortune is about to change. And we will help him adjust to his new circumstances. Which reminds me …”
Mina caught Christopher’s eye. “While we’re living at Kinsale House, I’m afraid I must ask you to … to use yet another last name. You see, the marquess believes that we … that we are related to each other. That is why he has invited you to stay as well.”
Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Are you going to pretend to be my mother? Do you want me to call you ‘mama’?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that.” Mina gave an inward sigh.
This was becoming very complicated, fabricating a truth to keep Lord Fitzwilliam’s true identity hidden.
“We will pretend that you are … that you are my cousin. Or second cousin. Or something like that. So, you will be Christopher Davenport for now.”
The boy’s frown deepened. “So not Christopher Hopwell anymore?”
“That’s right,” said Mina. “I think it will make things simpler.”
Christopher sighed. “All right. And what shall I call you? Cousin Hermina? Or Miss Davenport still?”
Mina smiled. “Either will do. I don’t expect anyone will notice all that much.
Although Tom will call me Miss Davenport, so you could do the same.
” Of course, she’d have to have a quiet word with the marquess about this new “lie”—that she was passing Christopher off as a distant cousin—when she arrived at Kinsale House.
But Lord Kinsale seemed like such a kindhearted man, she was certain he would go along with the ruse to preserve her reputation in front of his other servants.
Crossing to the small chest of drawers beside the bed, Mina continued, “Why don’t you get dressed while I pack your valise. Then after we’ve had breakfast, we’ll set off for London. How does that sound?”
Christopher chewed on his lower lip. “We’re not going to use a magic cupboard again, are we? I don’t like it very much. It makes me feel dizzy and ill.”
Mina sympathized. “No, we’ll catch the train.”