Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (5 page)

Later, some time later, she was vaguely aware of being eased down to the seat, gentle hands removing her bonnet and spectacles, tucking a rug around her, a light touch feathering over her cheek…a dream, a memory, nothing more. Christy slept, cradled in dreams.

She awoke in near darkness to a touch on her shoulder and a deep voice saying, ‘We are nearly there, Miss Daventry.’

Dazed, she sat up. Strong hands caught her as the coach swung around a turn. Coach? Where…? Blinking sleep away, she clutched at the strap hanging down, and the hands released her. Some of her confusion ebbed. This was not Bristol. She was in a coach, with Lord Braybrook and his valet. Why had she been lying down with a rug tucked over her? And where were her glasses? Everything was blurred.

Worried, she felt along the seat. They must have fallen off while she slept. And how dreadful that she had dozed off in front of Lord Braybrook and been shameless enough to lie down! And her spectacles were probably broken if they had fallen to the floor.

‘Miss Daventry—is something amiss?’

She flushed. ‘My spectacles must have fallen off. I can’t see without them.’

‘Of course.’

He reached into his pocket and drew out a small object, offering it to her. Confused, she reached for it and he placed it in her hand. Immediately her fingers recognised her spectacles, wrapped in a handkerchief.

‘I thought they were safer in my pocket,’ said his lordship.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the handkerchief, shaken by a memory of gentle hands making her comfortable. Had her dream not been a dream? Had he laid her down on the seat and removed her spectacles and bonnet? And tucked the rug over her? She swallowed. He must have. But the caressing touch on her cheek had certainly been a dream. Hadn’t it?

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, putting the spectacles on. The darkening world came back into focus. ‘You are most kind.’ She schooled her voice to polite indifference. His
noblesse oblige
again. If she remembered that, good sense would prevail. Not the foolish dream of tenderness. She handed him the handkerchief.

He pocketed it. ‘Not at all, Miss Daventry. We shall be at the house in a few moments. Your bonnet is on the seat.’

His cool tones revived her wilting common sense. She retrieved the bonnet, and attempted to tidy herself, securing stray tendrils of hair with hairpins before replacing the bonnet. She thought that she must be sadly rumpled after the day’s journey and sleeping in the carriage, but there was little she could do about it.

Julian dragged his gaze away from her to look out of the window. He could see the house now, lights glimmering in the dusk, its bulk dark against the deepening sky. Home. Concentrate on that. Not the impossible softness of her cheek under his fingers as he removed the bonnet and spectacles, not the jolt to his gut as he finally saw the colour of her hair, a rich tawny brown, rigidly scraped back and confined with a battalion of pins. Nor the queer protective sensation he had felt watching her sleep, her mouth relaxed and soft. Definitely not the odd pang he had felt when she awoke and sat up, clothes and hair askew, and that vulnerable sleepy look in her eyes.

She was in his employ, a servant to all intents and purposes.
He had no business feeling anything for her beyond a sense of general responsibility. Indeed, to judge by her cool response to him, that was precisely what she expected and preferred.

She would neither expect nor wish him to be thinking about a little girl left at school in Bath. It was none of his concern. It should not come near him, let alone touch him. Ridiculous to feel sympathy for that long-ago little girl. He had gone to school himself at eight…memories poured back. His confusion at his first return for the holidays to find his mother gone. The servants’ evasions of his questions. His father’s bitterness and refusal to explain and the slow realisation that there was to be something scandalous, and expensive, called a ‘divorce’. That he probably wouldn’t see his mother again. And he hadn’t. After the divorce she had married her lover and lived on the Continent, dying when he was fifteen. By then he had understood. His father’s attitude had been quite clear when he married Serena as a matter of convenience to breed a couple of back-up heirs. Better to marry for reasons less likely to sour on one than love—property, connections and duty. One needed to like and respect one’s spouse. Anything more was damned dangerous, and passion and desire were best served by taking a discreet mistress.

Still, he remembered the child’s sense of abandonment and loss. Worse for a girl, of course. Boys were better able to cope with such things. Look at Davy, longing for the day he went to school. Not until he was ten, though. Serena had insisted and, since he knew his father had agreed, that was that. Besides which, he liked having Davy about the place. All of them, in fact.

Christy sat up straighter as they bowled up the avenue, the horses finding a second wind so close to their stable. They rattled over what appeared to be a stone bridge, under an arch into a narrow passageway and out into what must once have been a castle forecourt. Obviously someone had been watching for them, because as they drew up at the front door several people and a dog raced down the steps.

To Christy’s startled eyes Lord Braybrook appeared to be surrounded by a mob as he stepped out of the coach into the light
of the carriage lamps. She had the oddest sensation that thick glass reared up, allowing her to see, but slicing her apart from the bright circle.

‘Did you bring us anything?’

‘Why didn’t you come back sooner? You
said
you would be back yesterday!’

Lord Braybrook fended off the barking black-and-tan setter, swung a small boy up into his arms and said, ‘For heaven’s sake, be still, you three! Get down, Juno. Anyone would think I’d been away for a month! How are you, Davy? Have you behaved yourself?’

‘Yes.’ The small boy nodded vigorously.

‘Liar!’ said an older boy of fifteen or so. ‘He’s been a little pest, Julian. He glued himself to the front steps last night so he wouldn’t have to go to bed until you came home! The bottom of his nankeens is still there!’

‘Yes,’ chimed in the girl. ‘And Mama made
us
pull him out of them when they wouldn’t unstick! She said it was our fault he got the glue because we were supposed to be minding him!’

In the dusk, Christy had the distinct impression that his lordship was trying to preserve a straight face. Laughter bubbled up inside her.

‘Davy?’ His lordship’s voice was mild enough, but something about it hinted at tempered steel.

‘Well, you
said
you’d be back!’ muttered the little boy.

‘Hmm. I was delayed. Next time go to bed when you’re told.’ A stern voice, one to be obeyed, but affectionate. Caring.

‘Oh, very well. That’s what Mr Havergal said.
Did
you bring us something?’

‘Who is Mr Havergal?’ asked his lordship.

Davy shrugged. ‘Just a friend of Mama’s. Don’t you know him? He calls quite often.’ He tugged on his brother’s lapel. ‘Did you bring us anything?’

‘No. I brought your mama something instead.’

‘Mama?’ came the chorus from three throats.

Lord Braybrook put the little boy down, patted the dog, an
elegant bitch, and turned back to the coach. ‘Permit me to assist you down, Miss Daventry.’

Christy stood up, and discovered herself to be appallingly cramped from the long journey, her legs barely able to hold her. Carefully she moved to the open door.

A strong hand gripped her elbow. Heat shot through her. Shocked, she looked up.

The firm lips curved a little, not unsympathetically.

‘I dare say you are a trifle stiff, Miss Daventry. I am myself.’

Christy took leave to doubt that. The wretched man had leapt down as lightly as a stag, without any hint of stiffness.

‘I…thank you, my lord.’ Tingling heat still spread through her. Folly! She was tired. Imagining things. She was chilled and his hand was warm.

He assisted her down from the carriage, steadying her as she stumbled a little.

‘This is Miss Daventry,’ he said. ‘Miss Daventry, these are my youngest sister, Emma, and my brothers, Matthew and Davy.’

Christy summoned a smile, despite her tiredness. ‘Good evening, Emma, Matthew, Davy.’ The dog came and sniffed at her and she bent to fondle the silky ears.

‘And Juno,’ said his lordship. The dog returned to him, tail waving.

‘Good evening, Miss Daventry,’ said Emma politely.

‘Good evening, ma’am,’ said Matthew, bowing slightly.

Davy scowled. ‘Did you make Julian late?’

Now she thought about it, she probably had. ‘I am afraid so, Davy,’ she admitted. ‘His lordship kindly gave me an extra day to ready myself before leaving Bristol.’

Davy looked unimpressed. ‘Mama was cross with me because of my nankeens,’ he informed her. ‘I had bread and butter for my supper, and no cake.’

Lord Braybrook stifled an odd sound and leant down to give his small brother a not unkindly swat on the behind. ‘Don’t blame Miss Daventry for your misdoings, scamp. Now, off with you. It’s long past your bedtime.’

Lord Braybrook kept his hand close to Christy’s elbow as they went up the steps into the mellow lighted hall, closely attended by Juno, who seemed to feel she must remain as close as possible to her restored master.

A butler bowed. ‘Welcome home, my lord.’

‘Good evening, Hallam,’ said Lord Braybrook. The butler glanced at Christy but his well-trained visage betrayed not the least surprise or curiosity.

She stared about her. The hall was enormous. She had the impression of great age, a high-vaulted ceiling and pinky-brown weathered stone. A branching stone staircase at the back led up to a gallery

‘Welcome to Amberley, Miss Daventry,’ said Lord Braybrook.

Her response was lost in a startled exclamation from the back of the hall.

‘Good heavens! Who is this, Julian?’

Two people were there. One a tall, slender young lady who must, Christy surmised, be Miss Trentham. Black curls, loosely arranged and confined with a pink bandeau, framed a vivid face with the family eyes. The other was an older woman, seated, her legs covered with a shawl, and a large tabby cat in her lap. An instant later, she realised that the chair had wheels—a Bath chair.

The woman was staring at her in amazement. And, she thought, disapproval. Her new employer. Lady Braybrook herself.

‘Julian, what have you done?’ This in tones of deep suspicion.

His lordship went to her, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I suppose you will think I have been far too precipitate and should have discussed it with you, but—’

‘No doubt!’ said Lady Braybrook.

Lord Braybrook smiled. ‘This is Miss Daventry, Serena—your new companion.’

If Lady Braybrook had looked puzzled before, she looked positively stunned now. Her jaw dropped and she said, ‘But I told you! I don’t want a companion! Even if I did, I would very much prefer to choose my own!’

Christy blinked. She had known he was autocratic—arrogant,
even. Her lips set. Yes, she had definitely known he was arrogant! But this! He had completely bypassed his stepmother’s views on the subject!

Anger, and hot embarrassment, overcame the little voice warning her that she’d better bite her tongue.

She lifted her chin and said in the sweetest tones she could muster, ‘Thank you, my lord, for a most interesting, if wasted, journey. Perhaps next time you might have the goodness to take account of the views of
all
the persons involved before embroiling anyone else in your schemes. I do trust that I may be offered a bedchamber for the night rather than trudging back immediately!’

L
ady Braybrook’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her elegant cap, but Christy didn’t care. To hell with what anyone thought of her. She was tired after two days’ travel, and now she had the journey back. She probably wouldn’t even have time to see Harry before being bundled off and she would have to dig into her slender savings to stay at an inn while she found lodgings.

Then, ‘Oh, well done, dear! Julian, for heaven’s sake, stop standing there gaping and see that Miss…Daventry, did you say?’—a swift glance at Miss Trentham—‘Yes, have Miss Daventry’s baggage taken up. She may have the guest chamber along from me. That will do very well.’

She held out her hand, saying, ‘You must be famished, Miss Daventry, so do not worry about changing.’ Bemused, Christy came forwards to accept the proffered hand.

‘Lissy dear, show Miss Daventry where she may wash her face and hands. Then bring her to the small dining parlour.’

Christy permitted herself to be led away by Miss Trentham and heard Lady Braybrook say in tones of steely determination, ‘In the meantime, Julian, shall we discuss this privately? Matt—take Davy upstairs and see that he goes to bed.’

Miss Trentham smiled at Christy in a very friendly way as she led her out of the hall and asked, ‘Are you really Miss Daventry?
What a coincidence! I…
we
know a Mr Daventry. He…he is a most particular friend.’ She blushed prettily.

‘No coincidence at all,’ said Christy. ‘Harry is my brother. Lord Braybrook sought me out intentionally. Since he was under the erroneous impression that your mother required a companion, he thought of me.’

Miss Trentham’s blue, blue eyes opened wide. ‘But, surely
you
need not work?’

There was no scorn in her voice, only shock.

First trick to his lordship, thought Christy, following Miss Trentham down a passage. Probably the last one though, given Lady Braybrook’s reaction to his high-handed efforts. She elaborated, feeling she might as well partially earn the quarter’s wages that Lord Braybrook would undoubtedly insist she accept. ‘But of course, Miss Trentham. Harry must make his own way in the world and I cannot be a burden on him.’ Miss Trentham looked a little self-conscious, and Christy went on, ‘At this stage of his career he has quite enough to do to support himself. Our—’ She caught herself and went on, ‘His godfather is generous, but it does not extend to supporting a sister.’

‘Oh. I…I see.’ The dazed tone suggested that Miss Trentham was gaining a whole new view of matters beyond Harry’s good looks and charm. ‘Here we are,’ she said, opening a door. ‘This is the garden room. Mama insists the boys come inside through this room and there are always soap and water here.’

Removing her bonnet to lave her face and hands, Christy thought Lady Braybrook sounded extremely practical. Kind, too, and probably a far more pleasant employer than her last. Christy sighed as she dried her face. She wouldn’t be getting much of a reference out of this one either.

To Whom It May Concern:

Miss Daventry arrived to be my companion on Friday evening. After raking down my stepson, she returned to Bristol on Saturday morning.

Yours etc., etc.

As a reference, it had limitations, she acknowledged, re
pinning her hair. And as a position, this must be a record: dismissed before she had begun. Her hair as neat as she could make it, she turned back to Miss Trentham.

‘Are you ready?’ asked the young woman. ‘It will be famous having you here, you know. Leave your bonnet. One of the maids will take it up to your bedchamber.’

Christy left the bonnet and followed Miss Trentham from the room. ‘Ah, Miss Trentham, I believe Lady Braybrook said that she did not want a companion. I dare say I shall be dispatched back to Bristol tomorrow.’

Leading the way along the corridor, Miss Trentham shook her head so the black curls bounced. ‘Oh, pooh! Of course you won’t. That is what is so particularly annoying about Julian—he persuades people to do precisely as he says! Even Mama. And he is always so…so insufferably certain that he knows what is best. Mama says he means well, but if you were to ask me, he’s a tyrant!’

‘Explain, if you please, Julian.’ There was a distinct bite in Serena’s voice.

Julian had wheeled her into a small parlour off the hall. ‘A ploy,’ he said, closing the door and turning to face her. ‘The companion part is a blind. She’s actually here to keep Lissy in order.’ Bringing up a chair for himself, he explained his reasoning.

Serena’s eyebrows rose. She was silent for a moment, thinking it over, and he waited.

‘I see,’ she said eventually. And he had the sneaking suspicion that she did see. Every single machination anyway. He hoped to hell she couldn’t see the inexplicable attraction Miss Daventry held for him. Not that it mattered, because he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

‘I suppose she’s dowdy enough for a companion-governess,’ said Serena thoughtfully.

Dowdy?
‘Nothing of the sort,’ he said stiffly. ‘She is still in mourning for her mother, Serena!’

Amusement crept around Serena’s eyes and mouth. ‘Oh,’ she
said. ‘I see. Well, I dare say some of my own mourning garb can be altered to fit her. It will certainly give Lissy pause for thought.’

‘She stays, then?’ What the hell was that jolt of relief in his midriff?

Serena blinked. ‘Oh, I think so, dear. I’m sure she will suit admirably. She’s not at all mealy-mouthed, is she?’

‘No.’ Along with meek, that was the last adjective he’d use to describe Miss Christiana Daventry.

Christy tried not to let her shock show. Lit with more candles than she would have used in a year, the small dining parlour was somewhat larger than the entire ground floor of the Christmas Steps house. And, since these were wax candles, without the reek of tallow.

‘Ah, here they are.’ Lady Braybrook was already seated at a circular table with his lordship and Matthew, who both rose politely.

‘Come and sit beside me, Miss Daventry,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘I apologise for my lack of tact earlier. You must have thought yourself in a perfect madhouse! Unfortunately Braybrook did not see fit to apprise me of his intentions.’ She glared at her stepson, who had strolled around the table to pull out a chair for Christy.

Christy managed to look demure and murmured her thanks as she seated herself. There was no faulting his lordship’s manners, even if his high-handed assurance left a great deal to be desired.

‘I beg your pardon, Serena,’ said Lord Braybrook, sitting down again.

Christy doubted the sincerity of his lordship’s contrition. And she observed that, far from kicking puppies, his lordship was obviously very fond of dogs. The setter, Juno, lay as close as possible to her master’s chair, chin resting on a stretcher.

‘Mama,’ said Miss Trentham, ‘Miss Daventry is Mr Daventry’s sister!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Should I send him a note to say she is here?’

Christy caught Lord Braybrook’s eye, and said, ‘How kind,
Miss Trentham. On accepting his lordship’s offer, I took the liberty of writing to Harry myself.’ Spurred on by malice aforethought, she added, ‘I would be most grateful if you were to inform him that I have returned to Bristol and will write again soon.’

An odd choking sound came from Lady Braybrook. Christy turned quickly and her ladyship patted her lips with her napkin. Laughing grey eyes met hers.

‘No, no, Miss Daventry. That will not be necessary. Now Braybrook has explained
all
the particulars, I am delighted to have you here.’ She glanced at her daughter. ‘Yes, Lissy, Julian explained the connection. A kind thought to assist Miss Daventry in this way. And so pleasant for me.’

Miss Trentham brightened. ‘Oh, famous! You see, Miss Daventry—I told you Julian would talk Mama around. I’m sure Mr Daventry will come to see you as soon as may be.’

Christy had not the least doubt of that. His lordship was one of those annoying persons who always contrived to achieve their ends.

Lord Braybrook met her gaze blandly. ‘Naturally, ma’am, when he does so, you must take a morning or afternoon off to spend with him. I dare say you have not met for some time.’

‘No,’ said Christy. ‘We have not.’
Not since Mama’s funeral.

It had rained unrelentingly. And they had stood there, soaked to the skin, wondering if
he
would come. If he would have the decency…well,
she
had wondered. Harry had thought it unlikely. Indeed, unnecessary.

Don’t be a peagoose, Christy. I dare say he has much to occupy him.

She would never forgive Alcaston for that. Never. Not to come to the funeral. Nor send so much as a wreath. Discretion, of course. That had been his reason for not attending little Sarah’s funeral all those years ago…but she had foolishly thought that he would attend Mama’s funeral. She shivered. If anything further had been needed to drive home the necessity of standing alone, that had been it.

‘Miss Daventry?’

Horrified, she realised that his lordship was speaking to her and that she had been staring into space.

The bright eyes were focused on her, faintly frowning.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I was woolgathering.’

Heat pricked behind her eyes, but she kept her voice steady. He was still watching her, with eyes that peeled away too many defences.

‘I fancy Miss Daventry is very tired, Julian,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Your room will be prepared by the time you have finished your supper and you may go to bed. We need not arrange anything tonight. Do have some chicken soup. And, Lissy, please pass the rolls to Miss Daventry.’

As she helped herself to the soup and accepted a roll, Christy wondered what sort of establishment she had landed in. A greater contrast with her previous live-in situation could not be imagined. A sense of dislocation niggled at her. Rather than treating the governess-companion as a lesser being, Lady Braybrook treated her as if she were a favoured guest. If she were not on her guard, she would forget her place. Never before had that been a problem. Never before had she imagined herself belonging. Not caught forever on the half-landing. She
must
remember that, all kindness aside, Lady Braybrook was her mistress.

And Lord Braybrook her master?

She gritted her teeth. She was a dependant. Not their equal. If she could not remember that, how could she convince Harry?

Christy spent the next morning unpacking, or rather she spent twenty minutes unpacking, and the rest considering how best to fit into the household. Lady Braybrook, she discovered, did not usually leave her bedchamber until late morning, when a footman carried her down to the drawing room. This was explained by Grigson, an unsmiling female whose fashionable clothes proclaimed her Lady Braybrook’s dresser, when she came to tell Christy that her ladyship awaited her in the drawing room.

Lady Braybrook was seated by a sunny window, the tabby cat enthroned on her lap. ‘Thank you, Grigson. That will be all. Good morning, Miss Daventry. You slept well? You look much
better this morning. Braybrook mentioned that you were uncomfortable in the carriage.’

Christy curtsied. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I slept very well. His lordship should not have concerned himself.’

‘Hmm. Well, I am glad you are feeling better. Do come and sit down and we can discuss your duties. You really only have Davy and Emma. Matthew is home from school, so you need not worry about him. Lissy has her French and Italian conversation and her music to practise. And she should do some sketching. You are able to help her with those?’

‘Of course, ma’am.’

‘Excellent.’ Lady Braybrook beamed. ‘With Matt on holiday, Emma and Davy need not have many lessons. Emma must practise her music and Davy must continue his reading, French and a little arithmetic, but until Matthew goes back, there is little point in more. Davy would play you up dreadfully, I dare say!’

‘I assure you, he would not get away with it,’ said Christy. And mentally kicked herself. Adoring mamas did not commonly like to know their high-spirited darlings needed discipline.

‘Excellent,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘From the way you gave Braybrook his own last night, I didn’t imagine you would have any difficulty with Davy.’

Christy blinked.

The cat rose, stretching, all elegant muscle and sinew. Lady Braybrook made no effort to hold it, and it leapt down, stalking towards Christy.

She eyed it sideways, wondering if her pet’s desertion would offend Lady Braybrook. Unblinking emerald eyes stared back.

‘Ma’am, if you do not dislike it, I have given some thought to my role here—’ She broke off as the cat sprang into her lap. Oh, drat! She could hardly tip the creature off and it had been so long since she had been able to have a cat.

Lady Braybrook smiled over her embroidery, as the needle continued to flash. ‘My dear Miss Daventry, why should I dislike it?’ A faint twinkle appeared in her eyes. ‘After all, you have had more time to become used to the idea than I!’

Christy blushed, and petted the cat, who had settled down purring.

Lady Braybrook laughed. ‘Oh, don’t feel embarrassed. Believe me, I know how autocratic Braybrook can be when he is arranging everything for one’s good. Maddening, is he not? Now, tell me: what were you thinking?’

‘Well,’ said Christy, ‘I noticed this morning that you did not come down until quite late and—’

She broke off at Lady Braybrook’s wry smile.

‘These silly legs,’ she explained. ‘I take my bath in the morning, and of course it does take a little time. Such a nuisance…’

‘Ma’am, I did not mean—’

Lady Braybrook chuckled. ‘Of course not. Tell me what you have in mind.’

‘I wondered if I taught the younger children in the morning, before you came down, if that would work?’

‘An excellent idea,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘Then I shall steal you for the rest of the day. Although after lunch you might accompany Lissy and Emma for their walk.’

‘Naturally I would be happy to do so,’ said Christy, ‘but if I am to be your companion—’ The amused look on Lady Braybrook’s face stopped her.