Page 20 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
“Good fortune to you with Mrs. Parsons,” Nicholas whispered. “A boy with your parts will charm her without issue.”
“If you declare so, Nicholas,” he mumbled, turning away in sadness.
Nicholas watched him disappear toward the west wing, swallowing a rueful smile.
So preciously young and unprepared for the world beyond. Was I ever so fond?
“Lord Buford?”
Nicholas continued his way toward the elaborate staircase, following behind the trusted employee. He would seek out Harry upon his return from Cambridge but a small, childish part of him was thankful he would not be present for the arrival of Mrs. Parsons.
Chapter 7
Despite the frequent stops made by the stagecoach, the travel from Dartford to Cambridge was long and tiresome. Rose found the rest breaks wore on her already thin wits and she wished only to be done with the journey.
Rose was among only two women in the car, the other accompanied by a man who could only be her brother. She watched as the girl sobbed into a kerchief as her companion stared stonily ahead, muttering something Rose could not understand. She suspected she knew what had the woman so discontent. Rose could plainly see she was being transported for marriage.
How fortunate I was to love Philip. There was no arrangement, only true feelings between us. I cannot imagine what life I would have if my husband had been chosen for me.
She reminded herself that very few men would consider the orphaned girl worthy of marriage without a dowry or promise of land.
Rose took to her crocheting to occupy the day-long trip, unwilling to watch her peer’s mounting anguish as they neared their destination.
I have endured enough sorrow for one lifetime. I made a vow to leave my grief in Dartford and I will do so.
There had been more tears, of course, when gathering her meager belongings from the house she had loved so dearly. She had cried deeply bidding good-bye to her neighbors and dear friends, the Boyles.
“I will ensure you are cared for,” she told them, wiping the streaks from her cheeks in embarrassment. “And I will send for you to come if you wish.”
“Yes, my dear. Of course, we will come to you. We have never seen how royalty lives, but you must settle first and send word of your accommodations.”
“I am certain all will be precisely as Eloise described,” Rose replied quickly, contrite she had mentioned her concerns to Bridget.
No matter what I find in Buford, I will only send them glowing reports of happiness and success.
“I am certain Mrs. Boyle has been perfectly truthful,” Rose finished, hoping her voice was filled with optimism.
“Soon-to-be Mrs. Reynolds,” John murmured, and Rose heard the woe in his tone.
He is unhappy she is remarrying,Rose realized.He feels as if he is losing his only hold on David.
Rose could certainly relate to his sense of loss.
“You are absolutely sure you can manage Dora and the chickens?” Rose asked again, and Bridget patted her hand softly.
“Rose, once, we were as young as you are,” she reminded the girl gently. “Our farm was much larger, and we had much more to tend. You needn’t worry about our faculties.”
“I will worry about you always,” Rose insisted stubbornly. “You are my only family now.”
The knitting needle poked her finger, shattering her memory of the last moments she had spent with the Boyles. An inexplicable sense that she had been in that place overcame her and she raised her wheat-colored head to look about the coach again, her fingertip throbbing slightly as she did.
I pricked my finger on the day I learned that Philip died,she realized.Is this another omen of what lies ahead?
“Next stop is Cambridge!” the steward cried from the front of the coach, his shrill voice unnerving her. Or perhaps it was simply the words which filled her with concern.
The head of the household staff, Peter, had arranged for a coach and six to meet her at Cambridge, and bring her the remaining distance to Buford on the North Sea, since there were no stages headed that way.
It seemed extravagant, but Rose did not argue, especially not after the near twenty-four hours she had spent on the stagecoach. She would travel for another ten hours and reach Rosecliff Manor in the late evening if all went as expected. The weather had turned colder and even in the close confines of the car, an iciness made its way through Rose’s cloak and down the back of her woolen dress. She welcomed the feel of the cool along her skin. Her cheeks seemed burning as a heat crept up her neck and into her face.
