The Homecoming (2 page)

“I plan to become married soon,” said the duke patiently. “I would like to secure an heir.”

“I hope you find a suitable lady to breed for you,” said Lizzie.

There was a shocked silence.

“The weather has been very fine for the time of year,” said Miss Trumble, after casting a chilly look in Lizzie’s direction. The duke, Miss Trumble, and Lady Beverley began to converse about the English weather.

Lizzie wondered whether it might be possible to die from shame. What had prompted her unruly tongue to make such a remark? She could feel herself blushing hot and red, hear a roaring in her ears through which the polite conversation of the others came faintly.

At last, she could bear her shame no longer. She rose and curtsied to the duke. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” she muttered and fled the room.

Inside, Lady Beverley felt she should apologize for her daughter’s rudeness but then, because the duke appeared calm and pleasant, decided hopefully that he had misheard Lizzie or had not heard her at all.

But when he had taken his leave of her, the duke stopped outside his carriage, turned to Miss Trumble and said coldly, “The bad behaviour of your charge does you no credit at all, Aunt. I am shocked.”

“Lizzie is an independently minded young lady
and you
shocked
her.”

“Indeed. What on earth did I say?”

“It was your statement that you were looking for someone to bear you a son. Such is the way of the world, we both know that. But to any intelligent and sensitive lady, the idea of being married simply to bear children, no question of love and affection or even respect, must appear repugnant.”

“If you had perhaps not addled your brain with romances at an early age,” said the duke waspishly, “you might not be a spinster.”

“That remark, my nephew, was worse than anything Lizzie could come up with. Had I addled my brain with romances at an early age rather than being wrapped up in pride and consequence, then I might have known some happiness before my captain was killed. Good day to you.”

Miss Trumble turned and went in search of Lizzie.

Lizzie was in the small stable with Barry Wort, the odd man, when she heard Miss Trumble’s voice. “Do not betray me, Barry,” she whispered. “I am in the suds.”

“Lizzie? Where are you?” Miss Trumble again.

Like conspirators, the odd man and Lizzie waited in silence until they heard Miss Trumble’s voice again, but fainter this time and going away towards the house.

“Now, miss,” said Barry comfortably, “what have you been and done now?”

“Such news, Barry. Our Miss Trumble is actually the Duke of Severnshire’s aunt.”

“Never!”

“True, Barry.”

“My, my. I always suspected she was a great lady. I’m fair stunned, miss. How is her ladyship taking it?”

“Mama is a trifle dazed.”

“Miss Lizzie, does that mean Miss Trumble will be leaving us?”

“Oh, no; she said she would stay until I was wed.”

“Doesn’t make sense to me. Great duke like that won’t want his auntie working as a governess.”

“He has bought Mannerling.”

“So I heard only an hour ago. Why?”

“He says he wants it for his son. He is not even married. He said he would find a suitable woman to bear him one and I opened my mouth and said I hoped he would find someone to breed for him.”

Barry clicked his tongue in an admonitory way. “That was not good, miss.”

“And that is why Miss Trumble is looking for me. Oh, and Barry, I lied and said you had told me he had bought Mannerling, so you must back me up.”

“Best go out there and get it over with.”

“I suppose so. Barry, how are we to treat Miss Trumble now? Miss Trumble is gone. We now have the duke’s aunt. Will she move to Mannerling, think you? Will he really let her stay here?”

“I do not see how she can possibly stay here,” said Barry sadly. “Nothing will be the same if she goes.”

“I cannot hide here,” said Lizzie. “I will be brave. I will go and see her.”

Barry has turned suddenly old, she thought as she left. His round face, usually cheerful, looked wrinkled and careworn and his shoulders stooped.

“Lizzie!” cried Miss Trumble, coming out of the house as she approached. “I would speak with you.”

Lizzie walked forward and dropped a curtsy and said, “My lady?”

“I am still Miss Trumble, Lizzie, and until I finish my employ here, you will address me as such.”

Lizzie’s face brightened. “You are really to stay with us?”

“I gave you my promise, did I not? Now, is it necessary for me to give you a jaw-me-dead over your remark to the duke?”

“No, Miss Trumble. I am deeply ashamed. But he humiliated me.”

“Meaning he found you in Mannerling where you had no right to be and told you to go away?”

“Yes, but he was so contemptuous, so haughty and cold.”

“He finds a young trespasser who looks like a schoolgirl and who is wandering about his home without an invitation. What would you do if you found someone in Brookfield House, walking about the rooms and looking at everything without a by your leave?”

Lizzie hung her head. Miss Trumble put a hand under the girl’s chin and lifted up her face.

Wide green eyes stared at her. Lizzie’s eyes were pure green without any trace of brown and framed with thick black lashes. That red hair of hers, damned as unfashionable, was thick and with a slight curl and shone with health.

“Yes,” said Miss Trumble, half to herself, “you might do. But come indoors and let me arrange your hair. It is time to try out a new style.”

“I told Barry who you really are,” said Lizzie.

Miss Trumble paused on the threshold. “Indeed! Then go to your room, Lizzie, and look out curling tongs and pins and I will be with you quite soon.”

Miss Trumble turned and hurried back round the side of the house. Barry was just emerging from the stable. He bowed low when he saw her.

“Well, Barry,” said Miss Trumble, “are we still friends?”

“You are no longer a servant, my lady.”

“I am until I finish my work here, Barry. And as I have explained to Lizzie, until that time, Lady Letitia Revine does not exist. I am Miss Trumble and still a servant like you.”

“I never really thought of you as a servant. But what made you stoop so low?”

“I considered it a step up from being an unwanted maiden aunt. I enjoy teaching. It gives me a purpose in life. Lizzie must be married before I go.”

“Miss Lizzie told me she had been rude to the duke.”

“Very rude, Barry.” Miss Trumble sighed. “At least it might do him some good. No one is
ever
rude to Gervase. As a result, he is too wrapped up in his own consequence. He wishes to find a bride and it amuses him to invite prospects to Mannerling. Mannerling is his latest toy.”

“He will have no difficulty, him being a great duke.”

“No, he will not, and that will be very bad for him.”

Barry scratched his head. “Reckon Miss Lizzie is too young for him.”

“Oh, much too young.”

“And yet her sisters married men older than themselves.”

“True, but Gervase is set in his ways and arrogance. I would see Lizzie with someone nearer her own age. But he is to entertain and I have made sure that Lizzie and Lady Beverley are to be invited. I shall call on him in a few days’ time and persuade him to invite some suitable young man.”

“So how is Lady Beverley taking the news of your status?”

“I do not know. I have not yet spoken to her.”

“She will not know how to go on.”

“I think she will forget very quickly who I really am. Otherwise she might have to concern herself with the welfare of her own daughter, and also with the running of the house. Now, I must go to Lizzie.”

“I’m right glad you are still to be with us, miss.”

“Oh, you will not lose me, Barry. Do not tell anyone my real identity.”

Barry stood and watched her as she crossed the lawn. Then he began to whistle cheerfully as he returned to his work.

The Duke of Severnshire’s secretary, Mr. Peter Bond, stood respectfully to attention beside his master’s desk three days later while the duke mused over several names he had written down. Peter was a tall, thin, awkward man who came from a good but impoverished family. He had not been able to believe his luck when he obtained the post as secretary to the duke only a year ago, the previous secretary having left to take holy orders. But sometimes he felt it was like working for a machine. The duke never seemed aware of him as a person.

“There are two here I might begin with,” said the duke. “Lady Verity and Miss Celia Charter. We will write and invite the young ladies and their parents for a visit. Well, Lady Verity is past the first blush of youth, but the family is good, as is her dowry. Miss Celia Charter is young but that has the advantage that she can be schooled in our ways. As to the others, the Chumleys, and…What is it, Palk?”

His butler had entered. “A Miss Trumble is called, Your Grace. She is only governess to the Beverleys, so I told her you would not be available.”

To Peter’s surprise, the duke said, “On the contrary, Palk, I am always available when Miss Trumble calls. Show her up. That will be all, Mr. Bond.”

Peter bowed and made his way out, but was longing to stay and see what this governess had to say to his master.

“Aunt Letitia,” said the duke, rising. “Pray be seated. Tea, some wine?”

“Tea, I think,” said Miss Trumble, drawing off her gloves. The duke rang the bell and ordered tea. They talked of general matters until the tea was served and the servants had retired.

“How go your plans to wed?” asked Miss Trumble.

“I have selected two initially to see how they go on. Lady Verity and Miss Celia Charter.”

Miss Trumble searched in the files of her capacious memory. “Lady Verity is not yet wed, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Hernshire; matches you, Gervase, in pride and arrogance. Well enough in looks, as you probably know.”

“I have never met either lady.”

“You amaze me! Did you not see them at a Season?”

“I do not visit the Season. I have spent many years travelling.”

“Miss Celia Charter made her first come-out this year. She is fair and flighty.”

“From my researches I gather she has a good dowry.”

“And what is that to you, rich as you are?”

“It saves me from the perils of being trapped by a fortune-hunter. I do not want to be married for my money.”

“Really, Gervase! And yet you cold-bloodedly select two ladies because you know they are comfortably endowered!”

“May I remind you, Aunt, you are not
my
governess.”

“And more’s the pity. I would have schooled you better.”

“As you schooled Lizzie? I should be sitting in drawing-rooms by this time making impertinent remarks to my betters.”

“Lizzie probably does not see you as her better, but she is suitably contrite. I wish you to invite Lady Beverley and Lizzie tomorrow to take tea.”

“This is ridiculous. Oh, very well.” He rang the bell and asked the footman who answered it to find his secretary. Peter came in and stood humbly to attention.

“Mr. Bond, be so good as to send a footman to Brookfield House directly inviting Lady Beverley and Miss Lizzie Beverley to tea on the morrow at four o’clock.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Peter bowed low and went out.

“I hope that young man eats enough,” said Miss Trumble sharply. “And he does not look happy.”

“He does his job well, Aunt, so what is it to me if he is unhappy or not?”

“Are you never moved by ordinary human kindness, Gervase?”

“I pay my servants well and they are housed and fed. Your descent to the common state has made you common, Aunt.”

Miss Trumble raised her brows and studied him.

“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly.

“It is not only my Lizzie, you see, who has a wayward tongue.”

“Will you accompany the Beverleys?”

“Of course. I am also chaperone to Lizzie.”

“May I point out that such a chit
as
Lizzie Beverley needs no chaperone with me around?”

She smiled. “Nonetheless, I shall come. Which brings me to the second reason for my visit. When you invite your guests, could you include a suitable young man of good family for my Lizzie?”

He sighed but rang the bell and summoned his secretary again.

“Mr. Bond,” he said, “be so good when you invite the others to include an invitation to some suitable young man. We are desirous of finding a husband for Miss Lizzie Beverley. Does she have a dowry?”

“She will have a fair one,” said Miss Trumble, privately thinking that she would do all in her power to shake a good one out of the cheese-paring Lady Beverley.

“Then see to it, Mr. Bond.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“Mr. Bond!” Miss Trumble summoned him back as he was about to bow his way out of the room.

“Madam?”

“We wish someone of spirit and intelligence and good humour.”

“Very good, Miss Trumble.”

“You know who I am?”

“I made it my business to find out everyone who resides in the neighbourhood of Mannerling, madam.”

“You are an excellent young man. Do you eat enough?”

Peter blushed and looked towards his master but the duke had crossed to the window and was staring out. “Yes, madam. His Grace has the best chef in the country.”

“Do not eat too much rich food, Mr. Bond,” said Miss Trumble, “and go for walks in the fresh air.”

“Yes, madam.”

“When is your day off?”

“I get one day off every quarter-day, madam.”

“Tisk. You must find time for yourself.”

He bowed out again.

The duke swung round angrily. “You forget yourself, Aunt. He is my servant and he will work any hours that I choose.”

“He does not look strong,” she said mildly. She drew on her gloves and picked up her reticule. “Until tomorrow, Gervase.”

Lady Beverley accepted the invitation to tea as her due. She had decided that Miss Trumble must have committed some grave scandal to have reduced her to her present lowly position and therefore there was no need to treat her any differently.

To Miss Trumble’s relief, Lizzie showed no joy at the prospect of a visit to Mannerling. The governess was always frightened that the old Beverley obsession with getting Mannerling back would rise again in Lizzie.