CHAPTER EIGHT
Pounding head be hanged. Charles had breakfast with his daughter to attend.
And as long as he was trapped here at Harding Hall, he would be the perfect father. No-one could fault his attentions to his daughter...when he was there.
He sat at the table and sipped cautiously at a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the roiling in his stomach. Curse that blackguard, Kit Yardsley! He had a talent for disgrace, and a positive genius for dragging Charles along with him.
No, but it was useless blaming Kit. Charles had drunk too much because he wanted to forget himself, that was the truth of it. And because he couldn't stand the thought of another nightmare. Thank goodness his sleep that night – drunken as it was – had been black and dreamless.
Though it had to be said he had gone a little far in forgetting. His memories of the night before were hazy to say the least, but they involved a great deal more of Miss Mallory than seemed reasonable.
Surely she hadn't been there? Surely he hadn't told her...what exactly did he remember telling her? Something about marriage. His thoughts on that awkward business with Lady Emily Albemarle.
Hopefully nothing too personal.
"Good morning, my lord," was all that Julia said as she took her place beside Annabelle at the breakfast table. She looked as ravishing as Charles felt wretched, fresh and bright as a spring daisy.
"Ah, Miss Mallory. I hope you passed a pleasant night?"
A slow flush crept up Julia's neck, and she avoided his gaze. Ah. So she had been there, after all. Charles made a mental note to wring the finer details out of Peter Kildare, later.
"My room is very comfortable," said Julia blandly. Charles could have applauded, if not for the pain in his head. A response so diplomatic it would grace the lips of any Duchess!
"I have something for you here. A letter which was slipped in with my correspondence by mistake. It's addressed to you." He passed it across the table. He had to admit to a certain curiosity over who exactly Julia corresponded with. The exact nature of her friendship with the Westbourne household remained a mystery.
Julia took the letter and read the address. It was plain to see that she recognised the handwriting, and that it was unwelcome to her. She blanched, and for a moment looked as though she were about to throw the letter away in disgust.
"An undesirable pen friend?" asked Charles. Julia composed herself with admirable speed.
"Not at all, my lord. Why on earth would I receive a letter from someone...undesirable?"
"You're right, of course. I didn't mean to give offence."
Julia smiled blandly and continued with her breakfast. Charles cursed himself for mishandling the situation so badly. Every time he tried to pry some personal details from Julia, he was taking one step forward only to fall two steps back.
The moment breakfast was finished, it was back into his study to look over the latest figures from his Cornwall estates with his steward. Stevens's natural propensity to gloom was, in this instance, justified; it was more apparent than ever that Charles would have to leave Chiltern and take matters in hand himself. The last year's harvest had failed, the farmers were unwilling to adapt to more modern methods, and there were even reports that those with large families were turning to smuggling simply to provide food for their children. Charles could not allow people under his protection to endure such a plight – even if it meant disappointing Annabelle once again.
He made the decision to leave before Stevens left the room, and, just like always, he felt guilty over how easy it was to decide. His heart was not really in Harding Hall. It had not been for years.
Charles cancelled his next appointment and made his way to the schoolroom to break the news to Annabelle.
"Papa!" she cried. Her little voice, so full of delight at seeing him, almost made him reconsider. Almost. Julia watched impassively from the blackboard as Charles bent down and explained to Annabelle that he would be leaving the next morning, earlier than she would even be awake.
The sobbing he had expected. Julia's reaction, he had not. She swept forwards and gathered the little girl up in her arms, rocking her back and forwards like a baby. Annabelle was really too old to be coddled in that way, but Charles knew he had no right to stop her. Within a few moments, Annabelle's tears stopped falling.
"Now, you will be the Lady of the House when your father is gone," said Julia sternly, setting her back down on the ground. "You must show that you are a grown-up girl who is able to take on the responsibility."
Annabelle, still sniffling, surprised Charles with a near-perfect curtsey. "Don't worry, Papa, I will look after everything. I promise."
Charles smiled at Julia over Annabelle's head. "Thank you," he whispered. Julia answered him with a cold nod.
"If you have a moment, my lord, I would like to speak to you privately."
Charles could not deny that his blood rose at Julia's request. There were a great many things he would like to do with his new governess in private, and talking was...certainly number six or seven on the list.
He took the liberty of placing his hand on her elbow as he steered her from the room. Julia glanced down at the place where his gloved hand touched her. Her eyes met his, and he fancied he heard her catch her breath.
Perhaps she was not as immune as she appeared to his charms, few though they were. The possibility both enticed Charles and repelled him. How could he entertain such notions in the house Sarah had died in?
It was a good thing he was called away to Cornwall, after all.
"My lord," began Julia hesitantly, when they were alone together in the corridor, "I do not know whether Mr Larkin told you what happened last night..."
Charles shook his head. He had cancelled his daily meeting with the butler in order to come to the schoolroom.
Julia looked embarrassed as she continued: "It's only that, last night, Annabelle saw something – someone – out in the grounds after dark. Neither I nor Miss Kelsey saw anything untoward, but it unsettled me all the same. Mr Larkin did not take me seriously."
"That was wrong of him," said Charles at once. "My daughter's safety is paramount. I shall have the footmen make a search of the grounds at once."
"I'm sure Mr Larkin has already taken care of it, and I doubt anyone was caught." Julia held his eyes coolly. "I expect you were too busy to deal with it yourself."
Charles coughed, embarrassed. She really was the perfect governess – he felt as wretched as a naughty schoolboy being scolded for stealing a pie from the kitchens. "When I am in Harding Hall I live the life of a country bachelor, Miss Mallory. I make no excuses for it."
"It's not my place to tell you how to behave, my lord."
"No," Charles said, and in his embarrassment, he said it rather coldly. "No, it is not."
"I must tell you that I do not feel perfectly at ease knowing that there may be strange men prowling the grounds while you are away," said Julia. Charles was perplexed. She didn't strike him as someone who was easily frightened. He felt a sudden need to take her in his arms and soothe that worried crinkle from the middle of her brow.
"I will ask Lord Kit to stop by regularly to check that nothing more disturbs you, and to make sure the household is running as it should," he promised.
Julia's expression told him all he needed to know about her opinion of Kit. "Forgive me, my lord, but is that the gentleman who was...celebrating your return last night?"
"Lord Kit is my dearest friend here at Chiltern," said Charles. "He is the second son of the Duke of Fenbury. I expect you to defer to him in all matters and treat him with the respect his position deserves. No doubt you are used to speaking to Dukes and Duchesses on first name terms; well, you will find that here in the countryside we keep proper manners alive. I do not wish to hear you insinuate that Kit is anything but a fine and upstanding gentleman." Good gracious, he sounded a complete brute! Charles wondered what had gotten into him. It must be the guilt that he rightfully felt after his appalling behaviour the evening before.
A blaze of anger kindled in Julia's eyes, but was quickly hidden. "Of course, my lord," she said evenly. Charles imagined the tongue-lashing he would receive if she were able to speak to him as an equal. He almost longed for it. It was all he deserved, after all.
"Did you have any other concerns?"
"Nothing I wish to bother you with, my lord," she said icily. Charles tried to make himself grateful for her anger. It was much more appropriate than the friendship he found himself chasing after whenever Julia was in the room.
"Very well. I will not have time to see you or Annabelle this evening. I wish you luck with her, and I bid you farewell."
"Safe travels, my lord." Julia made him a delicate curtsey. There was something self-conscious about the way she did it. It did not come as naturally to her as it did to the society ladies of the ton. Charles wondered again where she came from, and what her past had been.
Ah, well. He'd certainly ruined all his chances of ever finding out.
With a degree of reluctance, Charles turned his thoughts from his daughter and her pretty governess, and went to make preparations for his departure to Cornwall.