but the truth—no, she could not be telling someone she barely knew the whole truth, no matter how oddly tempting it was. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed,’ Joanna said lightly, ‘the reason is very mundane. My former employer is a great friend of Her Grace. It was she who facilitated this invitation, having learned of my currently straitened circumstances.’
Mr MacIntosh frowned at this but said nothing. He had a way with silence, Joanna was discovering, of making her want to fill it. She used it herself, to good effect, on her pupils. Usually they squirmed, then they confessed. Joanna bit her lip. Finally, he surrendered with a gruff little laugh. ‘It would be unfair of me to press you further, especially since my case is remarkably similar.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My invitation also came via a—a well-wisher who regrets my current circumstances, and wishes to change them for the better. For me, this party is something of an initiation test.’
‘Then our cases are not so similar after all! I assure you, Mr MacIntosh, that I do not require to pass any sort of test. Whatever it is that the Duchess proposes—’ She snapped her mouth closed, staring at him in dismay. ‘If you will excuse me, Mr MacIntosh, I would not wish to monopolise your time.’
But he shook his head, detaining her by the lightest of touches on her arm. ‘I would be delighted if you’d call me Drummond.’
‘Drummond,’ she repeated, ‘a very Scottish name, though your accent is almost imperceptible.’
‘I have been a long time away from the Highlands, Miss Forsythe,’ he replied, his accent softening at the same time as his smile hardened.
‘Joanna.’
‘From the Greek?’
‘Why, yes.’
‘You look surprised, but not all Highlanders are heathens, Miss—Joanna. I was packed off to school in Edinburgh, and had Greek and Latin beaten into me along with any number of other useless subjects.’
‘Education is never useless, Mr—Drummond—though it should never be beaten into anyone.’
‘I did not mean to imply—I am sure that you do not subscribe to the view that to spare the rod is to spoil the child, and are an excellent teacher.’
‘I love my profession. Even in my current situation, I cannot imagine another way of earning my living.’
‘Then for your sake, I sincerely hope that this party is the route to securing a better living—if that is what you hope the Duchess will propose.’
Joanna laughed shortly. ‘I’m not a charity case. I didn’t come here in search of patronage, but justice. Now you have somehow managed to extract a great deal more from me than I intended.’
‘Justice,’ Drummond said, his mouth twisted. ‘It is a noble aim. My motivations are a wee bit more prosaic. All I’m looking for is a fresh start and I’m afraid, unlike you, that the patronage of our hosts is a prerequisite for that. There, now you have also managed to extract a deal more from me than I intended.’
She shook her head, quite at a loss, for his tone had been so bitter. ‘I did not mean to imply that there was anything wrong with patronage, Drummond.’
‘Were it for anyone but myself I’d agree with you, but I’m like you, you see, I prefer my independence. However...’ He forced a smile. ‘There now, as I said, I’ve told you more than enough.’
And it had cost him, Joanna thought. Whatever he wanted or needed from the Duke of Brockmore, it hurt his pride to have to ask. She, who had been forced to beg and to plead, could understand that, though she suspected her sympathy would be very unwelcome. ‘I don’t know about you, but I truly am in dire need of some solitude,’ she said, touching his arm lightly. ‘I think I will retire to my chamber to rest before we green the house.’
Drummond nodded, but as she turned to go, he caught her hand. ‘You will return though, won’t you? You won’t spend the whole evening hiding in your room?’
‘Or even lurking in a dark corner,’ she said, smiling weakly. ‘Do not fear, whatever the outcome of my—my other business, I intend to forget all about the harsh realities of life, and enjoy these festivities to the full, while I can.’
His grim expression softened. ‘A most commendable strategy,’ Drummond said, with a lop-sided smile. ‘With your permission, it’s an approach I’d like to share with you.’
Friday, 25th December 1818, Christmas Day
Christmas morning began, as tradition dictated, with a church service, then an elaborate champagne breakfast followed by a stroll to the village green, now carpeted with a thick blanket of snow. The local children had gathered, and were crowding excitedly around the huge horse-drawn sleigh which accompanied the Brockmore party. On Boxing Day, food baskets would be delivered to tenants and those in need, but today was all about distributing treats to the children of the estate. The Duke and Duchess, aided by some of their guests, handed out wooden dolls and horses, lead soldiers, tin drums, skittles, balls, skipping ropes, hoops, spinning tops and penny whistles, and soon the air was filled with whoops of glee. The frenzied beating of tin drums was soon interspersed with the shrill sound of penny whistles being blown, as if some miniature marching band were tuning up.
Percival Martindale was making a terrible hash of the gift-giving, Drummond noticed as he watched from the sidelines. The poor man got it wrong every time, handing dolls to small boys, skipping ropes to toddlers, and a tin drum to the perplexed mother of a swaddled baby. Heaven knew how he would cope with his new wards. Perhaps he would find a wife to help him bring them up. Or hand them over to a governess. Martindale was smiling gratefully now at Joanna, who had tactfully intervened, swapping Martindale’s choices for something more appropriate, earning herself a grateful smile and a pat on the arm.
For some reason, Drummond did not appreciate this over-familiarity. On impulse, he headed across the snow, waiting patiently until the last gift had been dispensed, then stepping quickly between Martindale and Joanna, offering his arm, and sweeping her away before the other man could protest.
‘I was not in need of rescue, you know,’ she said, as Drummond steered the pair of them away from the revelry. ‘Mr Martindale seems a pleasant but rather melancholy gentleman.’
‘I take it, then, that you are not aware that he has recently been obliged to take in his sister’s two children? Both their parents were killed in a carriage accident, apparently.’
Joanna’s smile faded. ‘I had no idea. How very tragic. But what then, is Mr Martindale doing here at Brockmore? Surely his place is with his new charges, especially at this time of year?’
‘According to Edward Throckton, who is a positive mine of information, the Brockmores were close friends of the deceased couple. They felt the chap desperately needed a break after all he has been through. Apparently, the children have been packed off to mutual friends who have a large brood of their own. They will be well cared for, I am sure, and most likely better able to cope with the loss than poor Martindale, for children, as you must know, are actually very resilient.’
Joanna’s mouth tightened.
