Chapter 1 #2
She had made the mistake of assuming that the Alderwick Estate would be in Bath itself, or close to the city at least. But they were out in the middle of nowhere, and the driver of the stagecoach had told them it was at least an hour from there to Bath.
Indeed, he had been reluctant to even take them so close to Alderwick, until Frances had offered to pay him more, the sum making a large dent in the small amount she had brought with her.
They trudged on as the rain began to spit, cold upon Frances’ flushed face. With light fading quickly, she feared they might miss the entrance to the Alderwick Estate altogether. The stagecoach driver had not seen fit to lend them a lantern, despite what she had paid.
So, it was a welcome surprise when an enormous gateway appeared on their left, wide enough to allow two carriages to pass at once with ample space between.
Dark gray pillars anchored towering gates of black, wrought iron, while misshapen angels sat atop the tall stone posts, their hands hiding their faces as if they were weeping.
A shiver beetled down Frances’ spine, quickly giving way to a sigh of relief as the gate opened for the two women.
From there, a long and winding driveway, half-mud and half-gravel, deposited them at the door of an imposing manor: a huge building of Tudor red-brick with chimneys that seemed to touch the angry sky, and windows so dark that Frances felt as if she were being watched.
It stood in a sort of squared-off U-shape, with a central courtyard of cobblestones that had certainly seen better days.
In truth, it reminded her more of a castle than a manor, with two domed spires topping the end of each wing, and crenelated edges running along the edge of the roof. A portion that resembled a tower stood at the very center. Presumably, there they would find the entrance.
“So… this is it?” Catherine remarked, her neck craning as she took in the structure.
Frances gave a hesitant nod. “It would appear so. How many other manors can there be along that country road?”
Steeling herself, she readjusted her carpet bag on her shoulder, and felt once more for the folded piece of newspaper in her pocket.
Letting that bolster her determination, she stepped across the threshold between the driveway and the courtyard and led the way to a weathered set of double doors directly ahead.
With a trembling hand, she knocked.
Several anxious minutes later, one side of the double doors opened to reveal a portly older woman with a silver chatelaine of keys and necessities hanging down from a waist belt.
“Yes?” she asked with a suspicious frown, as if she were not accustomed to visitors.
Frances took a breath. “My names is… Frances Whitlock. I am here about the governess position.”
She had almost given herself away, so used to putting ‘Lady’ before her name. Then again, perhaps it would be of benefit to her cause if she were to use her proper honorifics.
No, I must not.
At that moment, the woman’s face brightened, her blue eyes sparkling as she opened the door wider. “Oh, thank goodness! Come in, come in, don’t stay out there in the cold.” She laughed to herself. “I thought no one would ever answer our prayers for Lady Harriet, but here you are!”
“Lady Harriet?” Frances said, as she stepped into a surprisingly welcoming entrance hall, warmly lit with candles, with tasteful rugs stretching across the oak floor. “Is she the young lady who requires a governess?”
The woman, presumably the housekeeper, nodded effusively. “It is, Miss Whitlock. She is eight-and-ten and very eager to learn, and it is her hope that she will debut in time for the coming Season.”
“Oh…” Frances faltered. “So, she requires an education in society?”
But the Season starts so soon!
The housekeeper nodded. “Indeed. She is tremendously well-educated, but there is only so much that the tutors around here can teach her. That’s why His Grace sent word to London.” She hesitated. “You can teach her about society, can’t you?”
That part had been missing from the newspaper, but, fortunately for this Lady Harriet, Frances had already prepared two young ladies for society. True, Lucinda had been out for two years without success, but that was more a lack of urgency than a lack of interest from gentlemen.
“I can,” she said with a relieved smile. “I have already fostered two ladies into their debuts and I, myself, have been present in society for seven years.”
“As a chaperone,” Catherine added in haste.
Frances put on a smile to hide her grimace. “Yes, exactly. As a chaperone and a companion.”
The housekeeper relaxed. “Well, that’s excellent news.” She smiled. “Let me get you situated in the drawing room, and I’ll send Lady Harriet directly to you. She’ll be delighted to have someone to teach her at last.”
“I have the position then?” Frances asked, astounded.
“Well, no one else came to answer the call, did they? I’d say that makes you the new tutor of all things society.
” The housekeeper clapped Frances on the arm with such joviality that she did not know how to respond.
In her father’s manor, no one would have dared to be so casual, so informal with a guest.
In a daze, Frances followed the cheery older woman to a pleasant drawing room, where a fire burned merrily in the grate and comfortable settees welcomed the travelers’ weary bones. The drapes had been drawn against the darkness, the atmosphere rather cozy.
Frances was just getting comfortable, enjoying the warmth and the sit down, when the drawing room door exploded open.
“Are you my new tutor?” a young woman with a cascade of flowing black hair and shining blue eyes cried, her hands clasped.
“Um… yes, if the… uh… duke is agreeable to it,” Frances replied, startled by the girl’s exuberance. Not to mention the fact that her hair was loose and she had run in, in what appeared to be her nightdress.
Surely, she should have changed into more appropriate attire before coming to greet the newcomers? Frances could not imagine her or her sisters introducing themselves to anyone in such a state of disarray.
The girl hopped over the arm of the settee and landed beside Frances, a broad grin spreading across her pretty face. “Tell me everything. I want to know how to be the diamond of the Season. I want to know all the gossip before this year’s debut. I want to hear every detail!”
“The hour is late,” Frances protested mildly. “And I should probably speak with your… um… father before we begin any lessons.”
The Duke of Alderwick’s absence struck her as odd, for she had expected to meet him before she ever met the young lady she was supposed to train for society.
Harriet snorted. “You will find that rather difficult. He is out grappling pigs… or sheep. I forget which.”
“Oh, goodness.” Frances swallowed thickly. “Do you know when he might return from such a task?”
What sort of duke bothered himself with livestock? She could not even begin to imagine her father tending to anything more taxing than a cat.
“It could be an hour, could be the morning, could be five minutes.” Harriet shrugged. “Now, where is Polly with that tea? I am parched from all the excitement!”
Just then, a gruff, booming voice echoed from out in the hall. “What is all that wailing? Why are there footprints all over the floor?”
Frances seized, her gaze flitting down to the soles of her boots, caked in mud from the driveway. In her rush to explain who she was and praying that she would be accepted into the position, she had not thought to wipe her feet.
Her heart stalled as a shadow fell across the drawing room doorway, shortening as a figure came to stand there.
But his shadow was the only thing short about him: so tall his head almost skimmed the lintel, his broad shoulders covered by an old coachman’s coat, with a strong jaw shadowed with stubble; his long, black hair windswept and in sodden disarray from the rain, Frances could not guess who he might be.
He looked to be in his thirties, and resembled a groundskeeper…
or a soldier returning from war in the only clothes he had available: his trousers were torn above the knee, his boots so worn they looked like they might fall apart, his shirt streaked with dirt, while that coat seemed to have been darned in a thousand places.
And his hands were filthy, a great, fresh scratch slashing a diagonal line across the back of his right hand.
“Father, there you are!” Harriet jumped up, gesturing eagerly at Frances. “This is my new tutor!”
Father? Frances swallowed a choke of surprise.
The man fixed a cold, blue-eyed stare upon her, his gaze sharp and assessing. In a low, suspicious voice that sent a shiver through her every nerve, he replied, “Is she now? And who decided that?”