CHAPTER THREE
The journey to Harding Hall was a peculiar form of torture.
Charles was well-accustomed to the mix of pleasure and pain he endured on returning home. The knowledge that Annabelle was waiting for him, nose pressed up against the window to watch for his carriage – surely it should bring him nothing but joy? But tangled up in it were his own private miseries, secrets he kept hidden as closely as a smuggler hides his stash in the dark. Annabelle was waiting motherless, robbed of the happy childhood he once dreamed for her. And, even so, business would call him away from her too soon.
Even worse, hidden still more deeply, was the guilty secret that he would be happy to leave. Happier even than he arrived.
Harding Hall, with all the memories and responsibilities that came with it, was too much for him.
All the same, he usually made the journey home to Annabelle with a smile on his face, a sweetmeat in his pocket, a kiss waiting ready for her chubby child's cheek on his lips. Charles was the image of the perfect father – if anyone so absent could be perfect.
Today was different. Today, Miss Julia Mallory was sitting in the carriage opposite him. Julia with her primly pinned-up hair, with the pinched roses of a blush permanently staining her pale cheeks, and with that guarded expression that spoke of hidden depths he itched to plunder.
The moment she appeared in his drawing room, a vision of nervous loveliness, he knew he would employ her. How could any man resist the chance to be close to such an exquisite example of the female sex?
Yes, at first, it was only her looks, and the familiar twinge of self-loathing Charles always felt when he noticed a pretty woman. In another world, another life, such admiration was reserved for his wife. Now that fate had ripped Sarah from his arms, was it really such a sin to admire Miss Mallory's striking green eyes? Charles had never seen such intensity of colour before. It was all he could do to conduct the interview as propriety demanded while that emerald gaze struck awe into his soul.
And then she spoke. Clear and calm despite her obvious nerves. Honest to a fault, even when it caused her pain.
And then she sang...
Yes, it was a new and interesting form of torture to share a carriage for hours on end with Miss Julia Mallory. Charles's tongue tangled in his mouth every time he tried to speak, and so he remained silent. As the sky outside darkened to evening, he felt every so often the prickle of that green gaze as it studied him, curiously and furtively, from head to toe.
"We are just entering Harding estate," he ventured, as the carriage rattled over a stone bridge. Julia jumped when he spoke. It must have been a shock after so many hours of silence.
He watched the changing expression of her face as she took in the forest's autumnal wildness. The leaves on the beech trees were the same glowing orange as the setting sun. No-one could deny that his lands were beautiful. Charles saw the beginnings of excitement in Julia – a joy in his home which had long since been lost to him. He was almost jealous.
"You will enjoy living here," he said. "The grounds are yours to explore. I want Annabelle to spend a few hours outdoors every day."
Julia looked at him quizzically. "Is that proper, for a young lady?"
"I think it is essential." Charles remembered that Julia was a Londoner, born and bred. "Did you never visit the countryside as a child?"
He regretted asking immediately. He had embarrassed her.
"We did not have the means when I was young," Julia admitted. "And later..."
Her sentence left hanging, unfinished, she turned back to the window. Charles felt a wall coming down between them. Ah. In spite of all her honesty, Julia was hiding something.
What he wouldn't give, to uncover all this woman's secrets...
The trees cleared, revealing the twin square turrets rising from the centre of Harding Hall. Julia gasped, and Charles felt an unfamiliar flicker of pride. The sight of the great house he'd grown up in, half a palace in truth, no longer filled him with the awe it deserved. It was simply home – and a home which he avoided more often than not.
The towering sandstone walls looked best at this time of day, at sunset. He was pleased that Julia was seeing it for the first time in this golden light.
Perhaps that would be enough to stop her seeing the darkness which too often lay within.
"This is your home?" she asked, turning those green eyes to him.
"Yours now, too," Charles reminded her. He wished he knew what she was thinking. What emotion lay behind that rose-lipped and wide-eyed expression – fear, perhaps? Gratitude? He chided himself for wasting so much of their journey in silence. Despite the ever-present guilt, Julia was a mystery he wanted to uncover.
The carriage juddered to a halt, the driver calling fondly to the horses, and Charles let the footman open his door. He turned as he descended to offer Julia a hand down from the carriage.
You are not treating her like staff, he realised, as he wondered at the strength in her grip. Be careful, Charles. The last thing you need is to let an infatuation get out of hand.
Julia's feet had barely touched the ground when Charles was stuck from behind by a curly-headed cannonball travelling at considerable speed.
"Papa! Papa, Papa, Papa!"
Charles swung Annabelle into the air, hearing her whoop of joy, and buried his face in her hair, covering her in huge smacking kisses. "Hello there, little snowdrop," he laughed, as Annabelle giggled and wriggled her legs in his arms. "Did you miss me?"
"So much, Papa, I missed you so, so, so much!"
Julia was watching them with an odd, strained expression on her face. Perhaps she disapproved of such improper displays of affection?
No, it was not quite that. Something else was stirring inside her. Charles wondered whether she was missing her own family.
He set Annabelle down. "Lady Annabelle, let me present Miss Julia Mallory. Your new governess."
Annabelle realised suddenly that there was a stranger present, and hid her face behind Charles's leg. He gently nudged her back out. "Now, now. Remember your manners."
Annabelle's tiny black shoe toed the ground nervously. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Governess."
"Miss Mallory."
"Miss...Mally?"
Julia knelt down to bring her face level with Annabelle's. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Annabelle. I'm sure we're going to be great friends."
Annabelle's eyes widened. "I haven't ever had a governess before," she confessed in a whisper.
"That's alright. I have never been a governess before. We shall work it out together." Julia held out a hand. Annabelle stared at it for a moment, considering her options.
"She won't bite," said Charles fondly.
Annabelle made her decision. Slowly and with great ceremony, she placed her hand on top of Julia's. Julia gave it a squeeze, which made Annabelle jump.
"How old are you, Lady Annabelle?"
"Six and two months."
"My goodness! You are so grown up I thought you must be at least seven."
Annabelle glowed with pleasure. "I'm tall for my age."
"And you have such nice manners, too." Julia stood up, keeping Annabelle's hand in hers.
"Annabelle, why don't you give Miss Mallory a tour of the house," Charles suggested. "Introduce her to Mrs Potter – that's our housekeeper – and take care that she finds the dining room, your schoolroom, and her bedroom."
Julia caught Charles's eye before Annabelle tugged her away. "My lord, if I may..."
"Yes, Miss Mallory?"
Julia lowered her eyes, cautious once more. "You have employed me knowing that I have no experience of this role, and so I trust you will not find my question impertinent..."
"Ask anything you like."
"I do not know which parts of the house I will be welcome in. Am I to consider myself one of the servants, and keep myself below stairs?"
Charles was struck by how strange the position of governess must be, to be caught between one world and the other – neither a servant nor one of the gentry. "You will be one of the family," he said decisively.
A flush of pleasure crept across Julia's cheeks. "Thank you, my lord."
Annabelle tugged at her hand impatiently. "Please come on, Miss Mally. You must come see my rocking horse! It has a mane just like a real pony."
Charles watched Julia follow his daughter into the house with a sense of pride. He might be biased, certainly, but surely no-one could meet Annabelle and not be charmed.
Yes, he was quite certain that Julia and Annabelle were in good hands with each other.
"She will be happy here," he said to himself. He only recalled that he was not alone when he heard a quiet cough from the man standing respectfully beside the carriage.
"Ah. Stevens. Let's get on with it."
Charles's steward was a tall, thin man with a greyish complexion and a total lack of any sense of humour. He fulfilled his job admirably well, but Charles could never shake the feeling of impending doom he had whenever he sat down with the man to go over his accounts.
On this occasion, Mr Stevens looked gloomier than ever.
"I'm afraid, my lord, there is ill news from Cornwall..."
Charles dragged back his mind, which was running along beside Annabelle and her pretty new governess, and let the shadow of Harding Hall envelop him as he went with Stevens into the house.