Page 30 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
Nicholas watched her with the children when she did not notice him in the shadows, stunned that she had such a natural way with them, as if she was inherently connected to them on a plane only they understood. Nicholas considered that he might harbor a mild, appreciative jealousy of their relationship.
They certainly never responded to Eloise in such a fashion.
Harry clearly adored her, and even unruly Betsey was charmed by Miss Rose and her gentle way. Yet there was more than her appealing nature and radiant beauty which captured him. She possessed a quiet sadness which reflected in her cobalt eyes, a sorrow which seemed almost tangible. If he was close enough, it swept toward him and touched his face like a cold finger, reaching out for warmth.
She longs for her husband,he realized, and the idea kept him safely in the corners of her life, appreciating her way from a distance, despite his yen to grow closer. That did not mean that they could not formulate a friendship, especially when they shared a common interest—the children.
Nicholas would never admit it, but he had slightly exaggerated the incident which had occurred with Harry the previous year to Rose. While his cousin had mentioned his mother being absent from their annual sledding adventure, it had been little more than a passing comment, filled with nothing more than wistful nostalgia. There had been no threat of cancelling upcoming tobogganing trips as Nicholas had suggested to Rose, but he was certain she would never learn the truth. It was much too delicate a matter for her to ever arouse.
A smidgen of shame tickled Nicholas but he silenced it instantly. It was for the good of the children, after all.
And for your own good also,he reminded himself, staring at his reflection blankly in the glass. He could not recall a time when he had been dishonest to win the affections of a lady.
“Lord Buford, the carriage awaits you,” Theodore intoned, startling him slightly. “Service will be commencing shortly.”
Nicholas nodded curtly, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming about the governess. He turned his head away from the mirror, lest his manservant catch his expression.
“I am ready, Theodore,” he replied, pulling the gold pocket clock from his waist coat. It was a thing of beauty, a gift from his father on his five and twenty birthday and it was never far from his body.
“Inform the coachman,” Nicholas told Theodore, flipping open the delicate cover of the watch. Indeed, it was nearing the hour and Nicholas doubted that he would make it inside the church without causing attention to himself and for a sinful moment, he contemplated forsaking service. If not for the fact that Rose Parsons would be in attendance, he likely would have done precisely that.
What example would that set for the children?He asked himself, striding toward the door, his freshly polished boots squeaking against the wood of the floor. Once more, he was grateful that no one could read the transparency of his thoughts.
The butler had already vanished into the vastness of the house, presumably to inform the driver of his impending arrival. Nicholas paused in the anteroom for his thick overcoat, foreseeing the bitter winds which awaited him beyond the secure walls of the house.
To his surprise, he noted Harry’s coat still hanging on a wooden peg and his brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed unlikely that Miss Rose would have permitted the boy outdoors in such weather without it. She cared much too deeply for his welfare for such an oversight. Moreover, the duchess would never allow it.
“Good morrow, my lord,” Andrew, the coachman said formally, reaching for the door as Nicholas appeared. “There is quite a cold front coming in this morning.”
“Indeed,” the marquess murmured, his mind still on the oddity of the coat in the anteroom. Before he could open his mouth again to question Andrew, the coachman latched the door securely and resumed his spot on the bench, casting the horses forward with a skilful flick of his wrist.
Nicholas could not help but notice the speed in which the coach and six travelled, as if Andrew was attempting to recoup lost time. He chuckled to himself, realizing that should he arrived past the allotted time for worship, his coachman would be blamed.
Should I arrive late, I will speak with mother so she does not fault Andrew for my tardiness. Tis not his doing that I overslept.
Nicholas settled back against the soft but cold seat to peer into the serene beauty of the Buford landscape. Even in the early morning light, the rays of the sun cast prisms against the pristine snow, the weight of the flakes weighing on the majestic coniferous trees.
He watched closely as they passed, his eyes determined to locate the ideal yule tree for the front room. There were always so many from which to choose in the glens. Mid-week, in between interviews, he, his father and Harry would venture through the woodlands and find just the right one together and a log to burn on Christmas Eve. Then, they would bring it back to Rosecliff where the duchess and Betsey would decorate with garlands and pinecones while the men sang carols, and all drank fresh cider.
It was truly Nicholas’ favorite time of year and it seemed to be more alive this December than any other he could recall in the past.
This year, it will be mother, Betsey and Rose decorating the tree,he reminded himself, a warm flush sweeping through him as he envisioned it in his mind’s eye. He hoped that Rose felt the same sense of solace in the season which he found.
St. Aldhelm appeared just beyond a crisp clearing of trees and Nicholas straightened himself, smoothing his clothing almost nervously as the coach drew to a stop near the entranceway.
Buggies and carriages lined the field, the coachman waiting in the chilly temperatures for their masters with gloved hands and dull expressions.
The Duke and Duchess of Buford insisted the servants who wished to worship, attended services but no one was ever to remain standing outside in wait during the winter months, no matter what church they chose.
I never realized precisely how much kinder mother and father are to their servants than their peers. Look at the men and Abigails standing like statues when there is plenty of room inside. Shame on their masters.
“Lord Buford?”
Nicholas nodded and stepped from the carriage, holding onto his hat as he moved. A sudden gust of wind threatened to steal it from his dark, gleaming curls. He’d just had a bath the previous night and the scent of Albany cologne against his skin now wafting into his nostrils.
Have I overdone it?He wondered but there was no time to consider it. His legs carried him in long strides toward the simple but elegant door of the stone and mortar basilica and he exhaled in relief as he realized that the priest had yet to take the pulpit.
As if sensing him there, his parents turned to stare at him in unison, their eyes reproving. He offered them a sheepish smile, his hat in hand but as his legs carried him toward the front of the church, his eyes grew small.
