The Dutiful Rake (5 page)

Meg’s eyes widened and she could practically feel her hackles rise. Having just buried one loathsome guardian, she was not about to submit to another. Especially not one who had not the slightest right to wield authority over her. She opened her mouth to administer a blistering snub and reconsidered. Had he, after all, found out who she was? Was that why he considered her unfit to have charge of children? Better to find out what he meant without losing her temper. If she riled him, he could make it impossible for her to find employment.

‘What then, my lord, do you recommend for me?’ Her voice was sweet and reasonable, her eyes modestly downcast. Meg had learned long ago that it was generally best to find out the lie of the land without giving the least hint of her own thoughts, leave alone her feelings.

It took Marcus in completely. Phew! He had thought she was about to rip up at him. Doubtless she was just surprised. Relieved, he outlined his plans for her, dwelling on the pleasure it would give his sister to entertain her indefinitely, pointing out that, with a respectable sum settled on her, she might even make a creditable marriage.

She listened, unbearably tempted. To visit London, be able to buy a pretty dress, perhaps marry and have her own babies rather than easing her longing in caring for another woman’s children. But it was not possible. Despite his lordship’s kindly untruth—yes, he was kind after all under the icy exterior: in telling her Cousin Samuel had asked him to settle money on her, he had tried to spare her pride—she knew it for a lie.

And she seriously doubted that his lordship’s sister would wish to have a stranger foisted on to her.
Certainly not one with no pretensions to fashion, wealth or even beauty. Certainly not once she knew just who Miss Marguerite Fellowes was. Obviously his lordship could not possibly know or he would never have suggested such a thing. And once he knew then she would be out on her ear. Even her own family had kicked her out. No, Miss Fellowes preferred to remove herself voluntarily.

For a moment the thought occurred to her that she could take the money and run before he found out the truth, but she instantly dismissed that as dishonourable. She could not take advantage of his kindness and ignorance so shamefully.

Resolutely she stifled her longings and said very calmly, ‘No.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘No, thank you.’

Had she protested angrily Marcus would have believed she was merely making a token resistance, trying to make him think she couldn’t possibly accept such generosity, when all the time she intended to capitulate at the right moment. The quiet, unemotional voice in which she had uttered her carefully polite refusal told him at once that she was deadly serious.

Throttling the urge to issue a series of autocratic decrees and carry her position by storm, Marcus asked equally quietly, ‘Will you tell me why not?’

Meg thought about that, frowning slightly. It was none of his business, after all, what she chose to do with her life and the habit of keeping her own counsel was strong. But perhaps, having made such a kind offer, he deserved better than to have it flung back in his face without any explanation. She owed him part of the truth.

Drawing a deep breath, she said, ‘To start with, I cannot possibly accept money from you. People would think—’

‘Rubbish!’ said Marcus. ‘I told you—’

He was interrupted in his turn. ‘My lord, Samuel Langley didn’t give a damn for me! He made no pretence of that, to me or to anyone else. He died intestate because he was too miserly to pay a lawyer to draw up his will and the only reason he permitted Cousin Euphemia to take me in was because he saw in me a potential housekeeper he wouldn’t have to pay!’ She hadn’t meant to say that, but once she had started it seemed some of the anger she had kept leashed for years had come spilling out. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to take a deep breath, reaching for self-control. He must not know the truth…Marc she might have been able to tell…but not this cold, dictatorial earl.

Seeing that she had silenced his lordship’s charitable lies, she went on more temperately. ‘So you see, I cannot take your money. And I most certainly will not impose upon your sister. I have not the least claim on her and, to be frank, sir, I do not wish to continue as a poor relation, dependent on another’s charity. I thank you for your kindness, but I will do as I had planned.’

Silence hung between them for a moment. Marcus could definitely see her point. Obviously her position had chafed her, but he failed to see how it could possibly be better as a governess. Indeed it might, depending upon her mistress, be even worse. He knew of many fashionable women who treated their children’s preceptresses with undisguised scorn and the contempt of the strong for the weak, using them as underpaid drudges, blaming them for every piece of misbehaviour and overturning any attempt made to discipline their high spirited darlings.

He couldn’t permit it. It was unthinkable. Something icy seemed to contract around his heart at the idea of
Meg at the mercy of one of those women. He didn’t say what was going through his mind. His emotions were far too confusing. Which was in itself confusing. Lord Rutherford always kept his emotions under strict control!

So he fell back on issuing commands, using storm tactics. ‘Very well. You have made your point. Now that is said, I will send a message over to Mrs Garsby in the morning informing her of my decision. We will remain here for another week to allow you to recuperate, then I will take you to my sister. That is all. There is no more to be said on the subject.’ The firm lips clipped together and his eyes were as cold and impersonal as his voice had been

‘Oh. Very well, then.’ Again her eyes were downcast, her voice unassuming.

He eyed her narrowly, suddenly suspicious of her meek demeanour. All at once her submissiveness seemed out of character. And he couldn’t put his finger on why.

‘You have nothing more to say, Meg?’

Her Christian name slipped out unconsciously. He clenched his fist slightly. The name brought back all the intimacy of her illness. His body tingled at the memory of how she had snuggled up to him so trustingly. At the time he had not felt any physical interest. But now he was burningly aware of it. His estimation that she would be attractive when restored to health had not been wrong. Even now, when she was still out of sorts, her slender, lissom grace could not be obliviated by the shapeless excuse for a dress which hung on her.

‘No, my lord. Good morning.’ She dropped him a small curtsy and left the room.

She went back to her room with her head held high.
So his lordship thought that she would dance to his bidding, did he? Well, if he thought that yet another Langley was going to ride over Marguerite Fellowes roughshod, then he had another think coming. There might be nothing more to be said on the matter, but there was certainly something to be done!

Heavy grey clouds were pressing in ominously from the west at four-thirty as Meg jumped down from the gig at the front door of Burvale House and held her hand up to young Tom Judd who had driven her over.

‘Thank you Tom. Goodbye. And please ask Barlow to give this to his lordship.’ She handed him a sealed letter with a hand that trembled slightly. His lordship was going to be furious, but she couldn’t help that. She couldn’t accept his offer and he had to know why, but she couldn’t bear to see him turn away and withdraw his offer, or worse, swallow his disgust and renew it.

Tom touched his cap and said cheerfully. ‘Aye, Miss Meg. Good luck to ye.’ He turned the cob and shook up the reins. ‘Walk on there!’

Meg watched the gig bowl away down the avenue. It seemed to go very quickly, leaving her cut off from the past to face the future alone. She lifted her chin in an oddly gallant gesture and clutched her scarlet woollen cloak more closely around her. Nothing had changed really, she had always been alone. It was just that now that fact seemed harder to face, doubtless because for one blinding moment she had thought that it might be different.

Blinking to clear her eyes, she told herself angrily that the best thing to do now was to banish all thoughts of what could never be and concentrate on what must be. Especially she must banish all thoughts of her friend
Marc. He was a creature of her fevered imagination. The reality was Lord Rutherford, a kind enough gentleman to be concerned at the fate of an orphan, but proud and aloof. He would not have been so concerned had he known who she was, why none of the neighbouring ladies had felt it necessary to assist her.

Bravely she picked up the shabby portmanteau which held her belongings and trod up the steps, telling herself that at least she would be with children and would actually have some money of her own. It might even turn out that Mrs Garsby’s unnerving resemblance to a basilisk was merely due to Meg’s own state of mind during the interview. Perhaps she was kind and considerate and would raise Meg’s wage very soon when she realised how devoted Meg was to her children. Clutching at this unlikely notion along with her courage, Meg tugged at the bell chain just as the first heavy drops of rain fell.

Twenty minutes later, Mrs Garsby had largely confirmed Meg in her original impression. No one had answered the door for several minutes and, by the time a supercilious manservant appeared, Miss Fellowes was drenched to the skin in the downpour.

The servant seemed unwilling to admit her, but she insisted that Mrs Garsby was expecting her and put her foot in the door. At last, with a faint sneer, he permitted her to, ‘Step into the hall while I see if the mistress is at home…’

‘It doesn’t matter if she is at home or not,’ explained Meg wearily. ‘I keep telling you, I am the new governess!’

She wondered if she dared to sit down as he stalked off to find Mrs Garsby. On the whole she thought not. Her clothes were dripping all over the flags as it was
and her cloak, once so warm and comforting, was a sodden weight on her slim shoulders. If she sat down on any of the beautifully upholstered chairs in the hall she would soak them. To take her mind off how numbingly tired she was she began to imagine just what Cousin Samuel would have had to say to all the luxurious ostentation displayed in this entrance hall to impress visitors. She was tolerably certain it would not extend to the room assigned to the nursery governess!

A cold voice interrupted her. ‘Might I know what you are doing here, forcing your way into my house?’

A sick, clammy fear twisted itself around Meg’s suddenly pounding heart as she looked up at the stony face of her prospective employer. An icy, high-nosed stare was directed upon her as Mrs Garsby sailed down the stairs.

‘I…I am here to take up my position, ma’am,’ said Meg. ‘You…you asked me to come as soon as I could…I meant to come straight after the funeral but I…I contracted the influenza. I did not think you would want the children exposed to it…and then I was too ill…If there has been any inconvenience…I do apologise…’

Her voice trailed off under that chilly regard. Fear solidified in a hard, suffocating knot in her breast at the look of amazement on Mrs Garsby’s arid countenance.

When she finally spoke it was in tones of lofty moral condescension. ‘Out! Your family history I was prepared to overlook at the Vicar’s request, but to come here expecting employment in a respectable household now! Influenza, indeed! Could his lordship not suggest a better tale to cover up your
liaison
?’

Meg’s jaw dropped. This aspect of her situation had not previously occurred to her.

‘But I
was
ill!’ she protested. ‘You may ask Dr Ellerbeck!’

Mrs Garsby snorted her disbelief. ‘Even so, to remain in the house once his lordship had arrived! No doubt you thought to entangle him, you presumptuous little slut! Take yourself off at once! No doubt his lordship can find a more suitable position for you. One in keeping with the colour of your cloak. I should be failing in my duty as a Mother were I to permit your contaminating influence anywhere near my family!’

Ten years ago Meg had heard similar words. Then she had not known what they meant, only the tones had struck home into the heart of a confused, grieving little girl. Then she had turned away in mortified hurt, but now she was no longer that defenceless, ignorant child. Now she understood what was being said to her, and the injustice of it enraged her. Despite years of hiding her feelings under a meek façade, Meg’s temper began to rise and Mrs Garsby’s next words were all that was needed to fan it into fiery utterance.

‘My sister said I would regret my generous impulse to accede to the Vicar’s suggestion that you would suit. What is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh!’

‘Will it, Mrs Garsby? Will it indeed?’ Meg’s voice was low and bitter. ‘Then I thank God that I am not to have the charge of your children!’ Her voice rose in passionate fury. ‘For I have not the slightest doubt that they would be just as unchristian and mean-spirited as their mother! I hope that you are proud of casting the first stone. Good day, Mrs Garsby!’

With that she picked up her portmanteau and walked proudly to the front door. Opening it, she stepped out into the now-blinding rain and slammed the door as hard as she possibly could. Behind her she could hear
the crash echoing through the hall with a most satisfying resonance.

The crash was promptly followed by another as a peal of thunder rolled overhead. Meg raised her dripping face and realised that there was not the slightest prospect of the rain clearing. She might as well start walking.

Buoyed up by her fury and satisfaction at having finally told at least one of the local matrons exactly what she thought of her, Meg did not at first realise just what was before her. By the time she had traversed the avenue and had reached the road again, reality had broken around her ears with greater force than the thunder and bucketing rain. Grimly she faced her situation. She would have to go and see the Vicar. Perhaps he could help. Even if it was only entry into the nearest Magdalen. Miserably she thought that indeed that might be her best course. At least they would provide her with some training and she would be placed with charitable people who would not throw her past up in her face too much.