'You need to marry again.'
Sir Kenelm Childe looked at his brother and shook his head, grinning. Henry was very attached to his whole family, but he was somewhat fussy, and inclined to offer unwanted advice.
'You've been trying to force me into parson's mousetrap for ten years, since poor Maria died. My experience of marriage hasn't made me wish to repeat it. I'm not interested. Wives all want the same, more pin money, spending the Season in London, then months at Brighton, and my attention all the time.'
He hadn't been in love with Maria except at the very beginning, he now knew, and at that age he had thought himself vaguely in love with several of the debutantes. He had been very young, not much above one and twenty, and had not wished to be wed for years, but his father had been ill, not expecting to live much longer, and wanted to see him established before he died. Attracted, perhaps, by Maria's liveliness, and perhaps complacent that she had accepted him rather than any other of her many suitors, he had agreed to the match. It had been a marriage largely arranged by his father and hers, and he'd liked her well enough at first, thought she would make a conformable wife. Besides she brought a really substantial dowry and his father had stressed the importance of that.
He had been keeping a delectable chit from the opera at the time, and did not anticipate changing his way of life more than enough to satisfy Maria, escort her to a few parties in London, and then bring her home to Yorkshire. But Maria had not been conformable, and the chit had doubled her demands for diamond necklaces. Unable to control Maria he had insisted she stayed in Yorkshire, though that had not answered in the end. He had said a fond farewell to the chit, and afterwards sought his amusements in York or Leeds, far enough away from Rock Castle to avoid gossip. He had expected to be able to visit London on his own, but Maria's behaviour had compelled him to remain at home. Besides, the local high flyers flew considerably lower than the London ones, so he was well in pocket.
'That was Maria,' Henry Childe reminded him as he took a pinch of snuff. He offered the box to Sir Kenelm, who declined. 'Not all women are the same. Look at my Albinia. She never wants to leave Yorkshire, I can spend the whole year in London if I wish, and if she purchases more than one new gown each year it's a cause for celebration. I often wish she did more to support my pretensions of being a gentleman!'
Sir Kenelm laughed. 'The fortune your godfather left you was not enormous,' he pointed out, and walked across to look through the library window. The sound of a carriage came faintly. 'That's the last of them leaving, thank God. I can't abide funerals!'
'What will you do to replace Cousin Georgina?'
Sir Kenelm went to pour another glass of Madeira, and refilled his brother's glass.
'Why do I need to replace her? She's been a confounded nuisance for the past ten years, always complaining, telling me young George needs tutors in this, that and the other. Why, the boy's only ten! Why does he need lessons in swordplay, and Latin and Greek, or to have his coats made by London tailors? He'll get all that in a few years. He learns all he needs here at Rock Castle.'
Henry frowned and looked into his glass. 'I know it's been difficult for you, without the support of a wife. Albinia may suffer ill health, but she controls the servants and young Harry for me, which Cousin Georgina never has done for you, from what you have told me. Your George learns to ride rough ponies, and fight the stable lads,' he said bluntly. 'And that silly woman you call his governess has no control over him. Or over Amelia. They escape from the schoolroom more times than they are there.'
Sir Kenelm nodded. His own boyhood had been much more constrained, with stern tutors and a father predisposed to believe them and employ the whip on his sons for the slightest misdemeanour. He had been lenient, perhaps too lenient, with his own children.
'Miss Tucker has been with them for five years, she knows them. And it's been a difficult time since Cousin Georgina died, for both he and Amelia loved her, despite her peculiarities, and I haven't the heart to force them while they are still shocked by her death. And don't forget, she was ill for six months beforehand.'
Henry put down his glass and opened his snuff box, offering it again to his brother.
'I know you're not fond of snuff, but do try this mix, it's one of my own. Then they should have been prepared for her death! They are ten years old, and if Amelia can set a single stitch in her samplers I'd be surprised. I found her in the stables yesterday, she'd been out on the moors with George, no grooms with them, and she was riding astride, her petticoats hitched up above her knees. She's getting too old for such tricks, Kenelm! You need a wife to take charge.'
Sir Kenelm shook his head at the snuff.
'Thanks, but I prefer not to. And where do you suggest I find a woman willing to take on the tasks you think necessary?'
Henry grinned. 'If you could bear to go to London for the Season there's be no problem. You have a substantial income, a large estate and home here in Yorkshire, a house in Mayfair, and though I don't wish to give you too elevated an opinion of yourself, you're a handsome fellow. You were once a noted Corinthian. Your title is an old one, and it you took any interest in politics you could get one better. Why, before you married Maria and retired to Rock Castle all the debutantes in London were trying to catch your interest.'
Sir Kenelm laughed. 'You have never been so complimentary in the past! I recall you deploring my so-called Corinthian excesses. You never wanted to emulate my ambitions. You despised sword play, and curricle racing, and pugilism. Besides, I wouldn't wish to go to London while I'm in black gloves for Cousin Georgina.'
'I don't see why not. You are too nice in your observances. She was only a very distant cousin, I can't recall how many times removed. Leave it a month, and then I'll take the twins home with me, and their wretched governess too, while you go on the lookout for a wife. There will still be plenty of company in London, until Christmas. Or leave it till the Season starts next year. It shouldn't take you more than three months.'
Sir Kenelm looked rueful. 'As long as that?' he asked, and grinned. 'I'd give it two weeks, if I'm such a brilliant catch as you suggest. Besides, haven't all the ton gone to Brussels now Napoleon is banished to Elba and they have no more cause to be afraid of him?'
'There or Vienna, for the Congress. We never had the benefit of the Grand Tour, like Papa, so if you don't fancy London here's an opportunity to repair that omission, and travel in Europe. I'll take the twins for as long as you like.'
'That's kind of you, but it would not do. And I do not wish for a wife. Yes, what is it?' he added as a timid knock came on the door.
A tall, thin woman wearing a shabby black gown and a small cap which sat crookedly on her wispy fair hair came hesitantly part way into the room, holding onto the door while she spoke. Her voice was thin and she looked everywhere but at Sir Kenelm.
'Sir Kenelm? Can I speak with you? Oh, I am so sorry, didn't realise Mr Childe was still here.'
He walked across to take her arm and urge her forward, but she resisted, pulling free of him and almost backing out of the room.
'Never mind him. Come in, won't you, Miss Tucker, don't stand in the doorway like that. What is it? Problems with George again?'
Why, he wondered, did the woman look so terrified? He knew she was timid, and tried not to show the irritation she usually aroused in him.
'N – no, Sir Kenelm. It's just, well, I haven't liked to mention it before, with all that needed to be done for the funeral, but – well – you must see, that is, I can't stay here without there being a chaperone, and now Miss Georgina is – that is – now she has gone to her rest, and it will be a relief to her, I'm sure, after all she has suffered these past six months while she has been ill, I – well – I have to leave. I'm going to spend the night with the vicar's wife, she's waiting for me now in the gig, and in the morning I'll catch the stage to my sister's home in Leeds. I am so sorry if it is inconvenient to you, but you must understand, I can't possibly stay here without a chaperone, it would be most irregular!'
*
'So now you need a new governess as well as a wife,' Henry said when Miss Tucker had retreated without waiting for Sir Kenelm to respond to her hurried declaration. He could not stop laughing.
Miss Tucker, having made her announcement, had scuttled from the room, almost slamming the door behind her.
'What in heaven's name does she think would happen to her?' Sir Kenelm demanded, throwing himself down into a chair facing Henry.
'At the very least you'd seduce her. Really, Kenelm, if you want to keep her you'll have to marry the wench!'
He looked appalled. 'Marry? Her? But she's at least ten years older than I am and a dratted nuisance! Oh, confound it, now I'll have to start advertising for a wretched governess, I suppose.'
Henry was looking thoughtful.
'She may be silly, but she had a point. While you advertise for a governess, you had better advertise for a wife too.'
Sir Kenelm glanced at him in amazement. Had Henry gone mad?
'Don't be ridiculous! Whoever finds a wife in such a fashion?'
'You wouldn't be the first, believe me. I have some examples at home, in the Morning Post, and I'll send you a few issues, so that you can compose a suitable invitation. Some of these are most peculiar, and I often wonder what sort of female answers such.'
'Yet you want me to find a peculiar female and marry her! I don't want any wife, peculiar or otherwise.'
'No, it's the advertisements that are odd. They ask for such unrealistic things. Though perhaps some of the women who reply could be odd too.'
Sir Kenelm shook his head. It was irrelevant. The very idea was preposterous. He didn't want a wife, and what sort of female would be so brazen as to answer such an advertisement? Not someone he would be prepared to introduce into his home, let alone marry.
'There must be some other female willing to come here and act the chaperone,' he said, but was unable for the moment to think of anyone.
'Who? We are amazingly short of indigent females in the family. Look how hard you had to search before you found Cousin Georgina.'
'And she only came because her husband had recently died and her son wanted her out of the Manor. That was fortunate timing for me.'
'If not for her. And she found the Dower house too small and damp. At least here she had a comfortable home and could pretend she was in charge.'
Sir Kenelm grinned. 'She was reasonably competent, Henry, you must admit, when she could be bothered, and took over a multitude of tasks I would have found tedious. And the children liked her.'
'Because she let them do much as they chose. If I had the charge of them I would make them mind me.'
That was one reason why Sir Kenelm was reluctant to hand over his children to his brother. His own childhood had been severely ruled by his father, and he knew he was far too lenient with the twins, but he was determined to give them a happy childhood.
'Isn't there some unmarried female in Cousin Frederick's family? An older sister?' Sir Kenelm asked. 'I recall seeing her once when I went up to London for a few days.'
'If you mean Charlotte, she married the curate last year. Didn't you receive an invitation to the wedding?'
Sir Kenelm realised his mouth was open and swiftly closed it. How could he have forgotten such an unlikely event?
'Yes, I do now recall Charlotte was to be married. I thought it so unlikely. She is at least forty!'
Henry chuckled and took another pinch of snuff. 'And he was only thirty, poor fellow, but she was at her last prayers, and if you ask me, I suspect she bullied him into it, implied he wouldn't get preferment as a bachelor, and one of Frederick's livings had just become vacant.'
'Lord, I'd forgotten all about it. I think it must have been when we had that trouble with the cottages on Long Acre flooding, and the people all had to be rehoused while the cottages were rebuilt. Well, I can't think of anyone else. But what am I to do with them?'
'So it will have to be an advertisement. I'll take the twins back home with me until you find someone. They can share young Harry's lessons. You still have their old nurse, don't you? She can come with us and look after them.'
Sir Kenelm gave in to the inevitable.
'Thanks, Henry, just while they have no governess. I'll clearly have to advertise, but just for a governess! Now let's forget the whole ghastly business. Come and see how Merry Maid's foal is coming on. He's going to be a winner, you can see the class in him even at six months old.'
*
Two weeks later Sir Kenelm sat in the office of Mr Littlewood, his man of business in Leeds, interviewing the applicants who hoped to become governess to the twins. The first six he dismissed at once. They were too young, too old, too severe, or too flighty, and in at least two he had seen speculative gleams in their eyes when he had mentioned his widowed state. There were just two left, and he sighed as the next one was ushered in by his lawyer's clerk. This business was proving far more of a problem than he had anticipated.
Miss Busby was a thin, sharp-faced Yorkshire woman, in her late thirties, five or so years older than he was himself. She wore her dull brown hair scraped back, and an ill-fitting gown of the same shade. He could, he decided, ignore her looks, for she had excellent recommendations from her previous employers. Her last pupil, the youngest in the family, had died when he caught a dose of measles, hence her need for fresh employment. His sister had, a few months earlier, been sent to a school in York, so she had experience teaching girls as well as boys, and could instruct them in all the required female accomplishments. She had, she said, been living with a brother in Leeds, but he had only a small house, and she wished to find a new position as soon as possible.
She would, he decided, be a strict if fair disciplinarian, and perhaps Henry was right, his twins needed more than they had received from Miss Tucker. He would see the remaining candidate, but he was certain he would soon be offering the post to Miss Busby.
To his surprise she then began to ask him a good many questions, about the precise location of Rock Castle, who the other members of the household were, the facilities he could provide in the schoolroom, and who acted as his hostess when he entertained. Although she did not say openly she would not accept the post, if offered, when he confessed his former hostess had recently died and he did not yet have another, he knew that would be her response. Henry, it seemed, knew more about the sensitivities of unmarried females than he did. But where could he find a hostess in time to catch this paragon?
'Please wait, Miss Busby,' he said as he rose to escort her from the room. 'I must think hard before I make a final decision.'
She inclined her head and passed in a stately manner from the room into the outer office. Her rigid back seemed to say she despised him for not immediately seeing her worth.
The clerk ushered in the final candidate. 'Miss Joanna Frazer, Sir Kenelm,' he said.
The woman who came in looked like a child. She was small and delicately made, had an elfin face, a small nose, big, startlingly blue eyes, a rosebud mouth and dark curls escaping from a loosely tied ribbon. Her cloak, which she carried over her arm, looked thin and worn and he could see where it had been darned near the hem. Her black gown was shabby, her bonnet looked as though it had been crushed recently, and her shoes, peeping from beneath the hem of her gown, were scuffed, though well polished.
'Miss Frazer, please sit down,' Sir Kenelm said, and took her arm to guide her to a chair. The arm felt fragile, but she seemed composed, and calmly arranged her cloak on her lap, then folded her hands, clutching what looked like a reticule she had made herself, rather ineptly, on top of it. 'Tell me about yourself,' Sir Kenelm went on. 'How long have you been a governess?'
She looked about sixteen, he thought, but perhaps she was older. He was not an expert in estimating the ages of unknown females.
'I'm one and twenty,' she began, in a more assured voice than he had been expecting. It was a pleasant voice, low and musical, with a faint inflection that to him sounded Scottish. Well, her name was a Scottish one. 'I have been teaching at a school in Kensington for the past four years. Until May, in fact.'
'Four years!' Sir Kenelm exclaimed. It didn't seem possible.
'Oh, yes,' she said calmly, delving into her reticule and pulled out a sheaf of papers. 'I initially went there as a pupil, but – well, I was already seventeen, older than most of the other girls there, and soon I was offered a post as a teacher. Here is a character from Miss Benson, who owned the school. She says my work was quite satisfactory.'
Seventeen seemed remarkably young to be offered a post as a teacher, Sir Kenelm thought. Perhaps it was just to teach the little ones. He did not, he admitted, know anything about how schools were organised.
'It is now November. What have you been doing meanwhile? Since May? And why did you leave this position?'
She closed her eyes briefly and then took a deep breath and spoke faster than before. He noticed her hands were tightly clenched and she had caught up a fold of the cloak. Instead of the steady gaze of before she looked down, and there was a delicate flush on her cheeks.
'My father was a Captain in the army, but he sold out after Toulouse in April. Napoleon was finished, and he saw no prospect of further promotion. When he came to London he was on his way to Aberdeen, where he had family. He required me to accompany him, but we have been a long time on the road.' She took a deep breath and looked down. 'I am afraid he was a gamester, and not a very successful one. He believed trying his luck in a new town would change it, so we travelled slowly, but he lost everything, and must have despaired. He shot himself a month ago, since when I have been looking for a position.'
Sir Kenelm blinked. What a terrible thing to have happened to one so young and defenceless. His gaze roamed over her shabby clothing, and he wondered whether she was destitute. Or, a cautious inner voice prompted him, could she be playing for his sympathy. He tried to stay impartial.
'What can you teach? I have twins, a boy and girl ten years old. Could you teach all they need?'
'I think so. I have not, it is true, taught a boy before, but I have taught girls up to the age of sixteen or seventeen. Composition, arithmetic, the use of the globes, water colour painting.'
'Accomplishments? The pianoforte?'
'Indeed yes. And singing.'
'The harp?'
She gave a deep sigh and shook her head.
'No, but I can play the guitar.'
It was said with an air of quiet desperation, but she took a deep breath and smiled. Quite a few ladies played a guitar, he knew. And though it was some time since he had graced London drawing rooms with his presence, he recalled, wincing, the agony he had occasionally endured when forced to listen to those females who draped themselves soulfully round a harp. Perhaps a guitar would actually be preferable.
'Embroidery?'
For the first time she smiled without it seeming false, strained, and showed small, white, even teeth. She glanced up at him, and there was a gleam of amusement in her eyes.
'I can do fancy embroidery,' she said, 'but most of my needlework has been the plain sort, mending and making my own clothes.'
If she had made the gown she wore, he suddenly realised, she was skilled at that, for although it was shabby it fitted her shapely figure to perfection. He had not really noticed her figure before, but now he allowed his gaze to look at what was visible.
'French and Italian?' he asked quickly, to drag his thoughts from contemplating her delectable shape, and thinking of Miss Busby's linguistic skills.
'A little French, probably enough for ten-year-olds, though I was never in the country. I did talk with some of the wounded prisoners, though.'
'Prisoners?' What did she mean?
'I was in the Peninsula with my father until I was seventeen. I can speak Portuguese tolerably fluently.'
What call would his twins ever have for Portuguese, he wondered. They were unlikely to travel to that war-torn country. They were unlikely to travel as far as Italy, either, but there were poets and others who wrote in the Italian tongue, and educated people of the ton were expected to read these. Not that he had ever found anything he wanted to read in Italian. But the thought of Italy reminded him.
'Can you teach my boy Latin? He will need it, the rudiments at least, when he goes to Eton.'
She sighed and shook her head. 'Latin is something than never came my way. But if he is not yet learning it, perhaps I could learn enough from some primer to keep ahead of him?'
He doubted it. He had never managed to learn a great deal from the primers he had come across.
'Don't you wish to go to your relatives in Aberdeen?'
She shook her head, and another ringlet fell out of the confining ribbon. She pushed it impatiently aside.
'Papa had not heard from them for many years, since he ran away to join the army more than twenty years ago, and as they were only a very old uncle and aunt I suspect they will have died by now, though he hoped they still lived. I think he had expectations,' she added thoughtfully. 'Besides, I cannot afford to travel so far, even on the stage.'
Then she must be in desperate need of earning money. But he could not permit that consideration to influence his decision. Miss Busby was better qualified.
'Have you written to them, to inform them of your father's death? Surely they would have paid your fare on the stage?'
'Yes, I wrote immediately. I have had no reply, but I did not expect any. Why should they care about me, even if they are still alive? They have never seen me. They may not even be aware of my existence, since Papa was a poor correspondent.'
'What about the school in Kensington? Would you not like to return there?'
'Not especially. I was content there, not ill-treated, but I prefer something different. And my place will have been filled. Plus I could not afford the fare. I must find a position here in Yorkshire.'
She was honest about her father and her own lack of resources. Was she hoping to enlist his sympathy? He was sympathetic. He could not imagine what it must feel like to be so destitute, and to have to face such a tragedy, but Miss Busby had far superior qualifications, and somehow he could not see this girl, little more than a child herself, controlling his lively twins and forcing them to learn more than Miss Tucker had contrived to teach them. He sighed. He hated to disappoint someone so young and lovely and defenceless.
'Yes, I see. Please will you wait in the outer office, Miss Frazer, while I consider.'
He sat down behind the desk and leaned his forehead on his hands. What could he do? Miss Busby was better qualified, but Miss Frazer needed the post more. He suspected she had very limited money, and perhaps the twins would prefer someone young and pretty to Miss Busby's stern demeanour, and strong discipline. But would Miss Busby accept the position if offered it? She had, he recalled, indicated she would expect him to provide a hostess, or, what she really meant, a chaperone, before she would accept the post. Would Miss Frazer so insist, or was she so desperate she would not make such a demand? She had not asked any questions about the household. Perhaps she had not thought it necessary. Was that because she was too innocent, even naive? Or she could have assumed he had a wife. Then a memory of Henry came to him, along with the solution, and he wondered whether he was mad. It did not seem so. He had to decide quickly, he could not afford to wait.
He smiled and called to the clerk.
'Please show in Miss Frazer, but ask Miss Busby to wait. Tell them I have a few more questions to ask.'
*
Joanna crossed her fingers as she went back into the office. The other woman waiting had been so much older, and had, she soon indicated, had several years' experience teaching in the houses of gentlemen. She had qualifications Joanna herself lacked, as she had made clear. Surely Sir Kenelm would prefer her? Yet he had called her back. If she did not obtain this position her situation would be dire. She had just enough money left to pay her shot at the cheap boarding house where she had found a room after her father's death, after she had been forced to settle their account at the inn.
She had applied for so many positions, even working in shops or inns, but everyone in Leeds knew about her father's suicide, and no one wanted to employ her. She could have moved to Harrogate or York, and had determined to do so before she had seen the advertisement for this position, applied for it and, to her surprise, been asked to an interview. It had meant staying in Leeds for several more days, and her slender resources were almost gone. If she did not secure this post she would have to walk to Harrogate, which was nearer than York, and where she might be able to find a position as a companion to one of the many invalids who visited the town to drink the waters. The prospect frightened her, for it was bitterly cold and her clothes were thin. Sir Kenelm, no doubt, had not heard the story of her father's suicide, which was why she had told him before she could be accused of hiding the shame of it.
He was standing by the window, looking out over the street, and she had an opportunity of observing him. Previously she had been aware only of a tall, slim man whose riding coat fitted him closely, both it and his breeches showing strong muscles. Now she could see the elegant shape of his head, his hair closely cropped, a broad brow and square, determined chin. He would know what he wanted, she thought, and tolerate no nonsense. However, when he turned round he looked rather embarrassed.
He's going to tell me he doesn't mean to offer me the post, Joanna thought, and tried to quell the feeling of panic gripping her.
'P – please sit down, Miss Frazer. I have – that is, oh, confound it! I am finding this remarkably difficult. I wish to offer you a different position, and I very much hope you will accept.'
Wild thoughts raced through Joanna's mind as she took her former chair. What did he mean? Was he going to offer her a post as a housemaid, or a cook? Did he think her so desperate she would accept? Yes, she would. Or, and she blushed at the thought, did he mean to offer her a carte blanche? He had seemed to like her, from the way he had been looking at her while he asked her questions. Was she desperate enough for that? No, she would rather beg in the streets. But then, a small voice inside her said, your fate could be even worse.
'What?' she asked, her voice hoarse. 'What other position?'
He had seated himself behind the desk after ushering her to a seat, but now he got to his feet again and began to pace up and down the room. Then he turned towards her when he was as far away as the small room permitted.
'I need a wife,' he said bluntly.
'A wife?' Joanna's thoughts were in a whirl. Was the man crazy?
'A marriage of convenience, of course,' he said quickly. 'I would make no demands on you, you need not fear that. My – er – needs are, shall we say, satisfied by an accommodating lady here in Leeds.'
Joanna knew she was blushing. No one had ever talked about such things to her before, though of course she had been aware of them, from having lived with the army in Portugal. What an extraordinary conversation this was.
Sir Kenelm was not looking at her, and she suspected he too was flushed with embarrassment.
'I need a hostess. I find I cannot employ a governess for my children unless I have a female to chaperone them, a wife, or an elderly relative. And I am singularly ill-provided with elderly relatives. So it has to be a wife. Well, Miss Frazer, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'
Was he mad? He didn't look it, and before he had asked sensible questions. She simply stared at him. Then her mind began to work. Surely, she thought, so handsome a man did not need to find a wife in this manner? He was tall, slim yet with muscular shoulders and thighs, showing to advantage in the riding dress he wore. He had good features, a strong nose and firm mouth, and a very determined chin.
'Why?' she managed. 'Why can you not find a wife? I mean, in the usual way? Why do you need to ask me, a stranger?'
He laughed, but it was not a happy sound. 'I need to tell you the truth, to be fair to you. My family have been trying to foist various damsels onto me since my wife died, when the twins were born ten years ago. But my first venture into marriage was, to put it bluntly, unfortunate. I vowed I would never again allow my feelings to rule my head.'
She was puzzled, but felt a stab of sympathy for him. He looked so incredibly sad. Perhaps he had loved his wife and the unfortunate aspect was her death while giving him children. She forced her mind back to what he was saying, his voice so low she had to strain to hear the words.
'Maria was excessively beautiful, and had been courted since her come out. She could have had an Earl, but she chose me. I am wealthy, and until I forced her to retire to Yorkshire she tried to spend as much of my fortune as she could. She was discontented, demanding my attention all the time. When I could not oblige, since I had estate matters to deal with, she sulked, and took lovers from amongst my staff. I had to dismiss two grooms and a footman.'
Joanna was appalled. She had heard of society ladies who took lovers, and many men, she had been told, could not be certain who had fathered their children, but how could a woman married to such an attractive man as Sir Kenelm endure the embraces of footmen and grooms? If she were married to him – she caught at her thoughts. Of course she could not accept this proposal. It was nonsensical. Sir Kenelm was continuing.
'I am tolerably certain her children are my own, since at the time of their getting we were staying at one of my other houses, one I had inherited in Northumberland. We were snowed in for more than a month, and there were no other men there apart from Firbank, my elderly butler, and Venner, my valet, both of whom have been with me for many years and would never have betrayed me. If you accept my offer I will ask Mr Littlewood to explain things to you, and he will suggest suitable financial arrangements, an allowance, a jointure, and so on. All I ask is that you become my hostess. You may order the house as you wish, and if you decide to take a lover I ask only that you are discreet. I could not, of course, recognise any children of such liaisons as my own, so you would need to go away while they were born, and they must be adopted, but I would ensure they went to suitable families.'
Joanna leapt to her feet. She was sorry for him, but this was intolerable.
'How can you be so cold-blooded? How can you expect me, or any woman, to agree to such an arrangement? It's – it's monstrous! Why, you only met me half an hour ago! You know nothing of my character, and I know nought of yours! I really think you are mad!'
She turned to leave the room, but his next words made her pause.
'Wait, before you dismiss the notion. Have you enough money to survive until you can apply for another position, Miss Frazer? What sort of life can you look forward to? Poverty, scraping a living in a menial job where your undoubted talents cannot be employed? You are not an innocent. You know what is likely to happen to a pretty girl who has to work in a tavern. I can offer you luxury, a respectable future, in exchange for very little except you preside over my household – and enable me to employ a most superior governess for my children!'
*