Gift-Wrapped Governess (25 page)

 

Tears fell again when she retired to her bedchamber to dress for the Yule party. Laid out on the bed was the most
beautiful evening gown she had ever seen. The cut was deceptively simple, a fitted bodice of claret velvet, puffed sleeves slashed with cream silk, a full cream-silk skirt and a deep ruffle of claret. A pretty paisley shawl embroidered in golds and reds lay beside it, along with a pair of long kid evening gloves. There was even a pair of claret-velvet slippers. Regan held the dress against her in the mirror.

‘Do you like it?' She whirled round. Portia was grinning from ear to ear. ‘We made it, Lady Lucy and I,' she said.

‘But how? It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. How on earth…?'

‘I said to Lady Lucy about how you were fed up wearing the same gown to dinner every night, and she said did you not have another and I said no, and I said how you felt like Cinderella. Which you did, Regan, you know you did.'

‘Oh goodness, Portia, I know, but I did not expect you to repeat it.'

‘But it was true, Regan, you
were
like Cinderella, and Lady Lucy said how sad it was and—you don't mind, do you? Only we meant it as a surprise, and—did I do wrong?'

Regan laid the dress down on the bed and enveloped her sister in a warm hug. ‘It's beautiful. The most beautiful dress I've ever seen. And you are the most thoughtful sister I could ever have. And Lady Lucinda is most kind.'

‘She had me measure your other gown and she sent express to London for the cloth and then we had to do some adjustments,' Portia said, ‘to the sleeves here, and the neck—the deco—deco…'

‘
Décolletage.
Dearest Portia, thank you. Will you help me dress once I have bathed?'

‘Yes, but we have to hurry because Gabriel has arranged for me and the boys to be in the parade and I don't want them to set out without me.'

 

It was the tradition for everyone on the estate to join the parade, carrying flaming torches. Portia, Land and Jack set
off in a horse-drawn sled driven by one of the grooms, to meet the main procession at the end of the carriageway.

Gabriel, resplendent in black evening clothes, stood at the steps, waiting to greet the crowds. Beside him the Duchess. To his right, the Three Graces and Regan. His Regan. Time after time he found his eyes straying towards her. A tiny knowing smile passing between them. It was an agony, this waiting. The pulse at her ear beat wildly. If only the procession would hurry up.

Finally, the flicker of the flambeaux grew. Singing, laughing, the procession made its way over the hump-backed bridge, along the final stretch of carriageway and through the portcullis. The sledge containing the children—with several new friends in tow, Gabriel noticed—pulled up at the rear. His mother bid everyone welcome. He bid everyone welcome. His butler threw open the doors to the banqueting hall and a small army of his footmen made sure that everyone took their places according to the Duchess's careful seating plan.

With four exceptions. Portia, Land and Jack were placed at the far end of the high table. Regan was placed at his right, ousting Lady Sarah. Only when she saw what had happened did the Duchess begin to have an inkling of the rather more earth-shattering news that was about to be announced.

‘There is no place at high table for a governess,' she hissed.

‘You are quite right, your Grace,' Gabriel said blandly. ‘It is as well she is about to discard that role.'

‘What the devil…?'

‘Your Grace! Such language, and at high table, too.'

Turning to help Regan into her seat, he pressed a quick kiss to her neck. An action noted with utter astonishment by Lady Olivia, who until this moment had been quite certain that tonight would be the night she would be declared the future Duchess. Lady Lucinda, who also noticed the kiss, was immensely relieved. Not even the handsome Duke could compensate for the vast responsibility that being his Duchess
would entail, nor the terror that being the Duchess's daughter-in-law would bring. Lady Sarah, whom the Duchess had quite persuaded would be Gabriel's choice, did not see the kiss, and consequently was the person most shocked by Gabriel's announcement, for Mrs McGlone had long hoped, and the Duke's staff had long guessed, which way blew the wind.

Upon the nod from his butler that all glasses were filled, Gabriel got to his feet. His speech started conventionally, with thanks for the hard work of the year past and best wishes for the year to come. ‘But before you raise your glasses, I have a special announcement,' he said. ‘For five years now, Blairmore Hall has been without a mistress. These five years have been hard for all of us, and a lonely burden for me. I know many of you, my mother included,' he said with one of his most charming smiles, ‘have been wondering whether the Hall will ever ring with the patter of little feet. Well, it is my most pleasant—'

Gabriel broke off. ‘You know,' he said, abandoning his formal tone, ‘it's much more than pleasant. It's my absolute pleasure to introduce you to my future Duchess.' Casting a quick glance along the high table, he saw with relief that both Lady Olivia and Lady Lucinda were looking at Regan. He had been careful never to give either lady reason to start buying their trousseau, but they could have been under no illusions about the reasons for their presence here. Lady Sarah, however, was looking at his mother. Who was looking like thunder.

Gabriel returned to his audience. ‘My Duchess,' he said with a grin, ‘is a woman whom many of you will have known as a girl. Whose father knew and loved this estate as much as I do. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Regan Stuart.'

As he helped Regan to her feet, proudly noticing that the clenched grip of her hand was the only thing to betray her nerves, the banqueting hall filled with the sound of applause. Chairs were scraped back. Halloos were bellowed. Portia,
Land and Jack, their faces shining with astonishment, came running to join them. To his mother's chagrin, Gabriel lifted each onto the table. ‘The patter of not-so-tiny feet,' he said, causing much hilarity. ‘My new family.'

Lady Olivia then, making an admirable attempt to smile, offered her polite felicitations. Lady Lucinda hugged Regan, tears sparkling on her lashes. ‘I'm so happy for you. You look so lovely.'

‘Thanks to you and Portia. I hope you are not disappointed?'

Lady Lucinda giggled. ‘Oh, goodness, no. That woman terrifies me.'

That woman
was at that moment being reluctantly forced to her feet by her son. ‘Unless you wish to be banished, you will now and for ever accept my choice of wife and treat her with the respect she deserves,' he said firmly.

The Duchess did not smile, but she nodded regally. Later, Lady Sarah, loyal to the end, would pass the Duchess her vinaigrette and offer to burn feathers. The Duchess was apparently heard to mutter that she would prefer to have a certain person burned at the stake, but most likely that was just a malicious rumour.

Toasts and more toasts followed. Goose, roast pig, a whole roast ox, and then puddings were consumed. A whoop from Jack heralded the finding of the golden sovereign. To his delight, he was decked in a laurel crown, crowned King of Fools, and passed from shoulder to shoulder along the room to cries of ‘All hail his Majesty'.

‘He'll be insufferable after this,' Land muttered.

 

‘You don't mind, dearest, coming to live at the Hall?' Regan whispered to Land later, as they gathered round the fire in the long gallery to listen to the estate children singing.

‘Mind? It's the most fantastical, wonderful thing. Does that mean I am to be a lord?'

Regan laughed. ‘No, but you shall live like one.'

‘Will you still want us when you have your own family, though?' Portia asked.

‘You
are
our family,' Gabriel said.

Regan cast him a glowing look. ‘Thank you.'

He put his arm around her. ‘You don't have to thank me. You just have to love me. Always.'

For the third time that day, tears of happiness filled her eyes. ‘Darling Gabriel, that is the easiest thing in the world. I love you. Always.'

As he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, a cheer went up.

 

A similar cheer went up two months later, when he kissed her again, outside the church on the estate on the occasion of their marriage. And another, even louder cheer at the Yule party exactly a year later, when he held up the tiny bundle who was his first born, the Lady Cordelia Portia Lucinda Olivia Sarah Beatrice Toward, named in memory of her maternal grandmother, for each of her four godmothers, and—finally—for her paternal grandmama who doted on the child in a manner both heart-warming and bewildering to all who knew her.

‘I'm afraid we've failed to produce your son and heir,' the Duchess of Blairmore said, taking the lustily squalling babe from the Duke. ‘We'll just have to try harder.'

‘I'm looking forward to it already,' her besotted husband replied with a loving smile.