Masters closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Now that the danger had passed, Joanna felt a surge of pity for Lady Masters. How awful to be tied for life to a lecher who embarrassed one by trying to debauch one’s governess under one’s very nose! She’d bet her tiny sum of savings this wasn’t the first time, either.
Opening her eyes a moment later, Lady Masters said quietly, ‘My lord, you will let me handle this, please?’
‘If you wish, my love.’ Giving a smile to his wife—and throwing Joanna the surly glance of a spoiled child denied the treat he’d been anticipating—Lord Masters ambled out.
‘Lady Masters, I assure you—’
‘Please, Mrs Merrill, do not try to explain. Under these circumstances, I can hardly continue to allow a woman of your … appetites to supervise my children. I must demand that you leave this house at once.’
The charge was so unexpected—and so blatantly untrue—that for a moment, Joanna could only stare at her employer in astonishment. Her sympathy for the woman evaporating, she said, ‘But, Lady Masters, surely you can’t blame—’
‘Mrs Merrill, I’ve already said I shall not entertain any excuses. I will be charitable enough to have a groom bring round a gig to convey you to the village in half an hour, but do not test my indulgence by remaining under my roof a minute longer.’
‘Now?’ Joanna asked incredulously. “Tis already full dark! And what of my salary for this quarter?’
‘The lateness of the hour is your own concern. As for your salary—’ Lady Masters looked her up and down ‘—I expect you’ll soon find a way to earn whatever you need.’
And so, an incoherent blur of time later, her mind still reeling in shock and fury, Joanna found herself deposited at the public house in the village by a surly groom who dropped her without a word, whipped his horse back to a trot and disappeared into the darkness on the long journey back to the manor.
Unwilling to wake the sleeping inhabitants of the inn, unsure yet what story the woman the villagers knew to be governess at the Masters estate could or should tell them about her unexpected appearance, Joanna slipped into the barn. Only the soft wickers of several equine inhabitants greeted her as she found a thick pile of straw and sank down on to it.
Struggling to resist the fear and despair threatening to overcome her, she considered her few possessions—a hurriedly packed bandbox of underthings, shoes and gowns along with the clothes and cloak she wore—and her hoard of coins, which was pitifully small.
Without references or any current prospects of further employment, how would she survive without succumbing to the fate the monstrously unfair Lady Masters had predicted?
After a moment of blind panic, a reassuring thought calmed her. She’d go to her brother, Greville Anders.
He’d left the army after Waterloo, she’d learned in the last message she’d had from him, a bitter diatribe against the aristocratic patronage system that had denied him the promotion he felt should have been his after that great battle. Always an indifferent correspondent, he’d sent her nothing since. For all she knew, he might have a wife and a hopeful family at the snug estate he now managed for their more illustrious cousin. He’d not journeyed to London to console her after she had sent word of Thomas’s death and, not wanting at that time to inconvenience him, she’d taken the employment offered by Lady Masters without further thought.
But, married or single, Greville was the only close family she possessed still in England. Surely he would take her in until she figured out what to do next.
Encouraged by that thought, she settled back into the soft hay with a sigh. Tomorrow she would expend her small savings to purchase coach fare to Blenhem Hill.
‘So, Ned, what do you think I should do?’
The next afternoon, Sir Edward Austin Greaves raised his gaze from swirling the brandy the sun was illumining to burnished bronze and looked thoughtfully at his friend Nicholas Stanhope, Marquess of Englemere, who sat across from him in Englemere’s library. ‘What is happening at the property now?’
After sipping from his own glass, Nicky shook his head. ‘I can’t be certain, not without inspecting the place personally. Frankly, if it were not for the unrest in the countryside and the general distress occurring even at some of my own holdings, I’d be inclined to think Martin exaggerated. After he retired as my agent, I gave over the management of Blenhem Hill to a distant cousin who approached me about employment after Waterloo. Thought it was the least I could do for one of our brave men, and as he’d served in Wellington’s commissary corps, I assumed he would be capable. Not so, according to Martin, who despite his advanced years still has a sharp mind and a keen eye.’
‘How bad did Martin say conditions are?’ Ned asked, a ready sympathy rising in him. Except for a few very rich landowners or those with properties as well tended as his, the drop in prices at the end of the war had wreaked havoc with the agrarian economy.
Nicky grimaced. ‘Wretched enough that Martin urged me to immediately discharge my cousin and his agent, another veteran with whom he’d served. Which I did, leaving me now at a standstill. Blenhem Hill is a damnably long distance from any of my other properties. Though I hate to leave Sarah and our son to make an extended journey, I’d already been intending to visit to view operations at the small stocking mill I had constructed—something Hal recommended.’
‘A local manufactory that would offer supplementary income for tenant families to offset the drop in crop prices?’ Ned asked. When Nicky nodded, Ned continued, ‘I talked with several estate owners who are doing that. An excellent notion.’
‘So Hal thought, now that better looms have been designed. You know Hal—’ Nicky grinned as he mentioned their mutual friend Hal Waterman, a big bluff man with a passion for investment and a fascination with inventions ‘—always enamoured of the latest gadget. At any rate, I’d planned just a quick stay at Blenhem Hill, but if the distress is as general as Martin reported, I owe it to the tenants to give the place a thorough inspection. And since my expertise is in finance rather than agriculture, I wanted your recommendations on how best to proceed.’
Ned was mulling over his answer when a knock sounded at the door, followed by the entry of a graceful, golden-haired lady. Warmth and brightness entered with her, Ned thought, like sun on the fields after a spring rain. ‘Ned, Nicky, I’m sorry to interrupt, but—’ His eyes lighting, Nicky jumped up and strode over to kiss his wife’s cheek. ‘Seeing you is always a pleasure, sweeting. Isn’t it, Ned?’
‘Always,’ Ned affirmed, the glow her presence kindled in his own heart tainted by an envy he could not quite subdue. He’d been drawn to Sarah Wellingford the moment they’d met. Had his good friend Nicky not already established a claim on her, he’d have pursued her himself.
‘Thank you, kind sirs,’ she replied with a twinkle, making them both an exaggerated curtsy. ‘Nicky, Aubrey won’t settle for his nap until you kiss him goodnight. Ned, can you spare him for a few moments?’
‘Of course.’ Turning to Nicky, Ned said, ‘Go see your son. I’ll wait here, making inroads on your brandy and contemplating solutions.’
‘The demands of fatherhood,’ Nicky said with a sigh Ned didn’t believe for a moment, knowing Nicky adored his little boy as much as he loved his wife. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ His wife on his arm, Englemere walked out.
Ned
