The Observations of a Curious Governess (6 page)

‘You have visited my family? Mr Reeves, I have not been gone at all that long.’

‘Well, it seems a long time,’ he replied, looking away. My cheeks glowed.

‘Miss Swan? How do you fare here?’ There was a note of tender concern in his voice, and, absurdly, it made me want to giggle.

‘I am well, though it is still all rather new and peculiar. Such a brief acquaintance with Stanton leaves me in a poor position to judge it. It will take time to become accustomed to the rhythm and movement of the household and its staff, but they are all terribly kind and have been most helpful towards me.’

I had not spoken a lie, had I? No, the staff at Stanton were thus far exemplary in their treatment of me. Yet my mind hurried back to Lord Stanton and Nancy, and those peculiar whisperings of Lady Stanton.

‘The Lord and Ladyship, they treat you kindly?’ he pressed the question.

I could not stem the burning blush that ran up my throat to my cheeks, and looked away. ‘Lady Stanton is most amiable,’ I replied, mayhap too evasively. I am and ever will be most unwilling to lie, even about the libertine manners and language of His Lordship. Thus I thought avoiding mention of him and his treatment of me perhaps preferable. I could feel Mr Reeves’ eyes upon me though I didn’t reciprocate the gaze.

‘And…’ he drew my arm tighter to him. ‘Lord Stanton? He also … treats you kindly?’

My heart danced a savage tattoo. How could I possibly respond? Lord Stanton
had
treated me kindly, had he not? Except for his vile language in my presence, of course. I looked up into concerned eyes, dark brown under a deep furrowed brow.

I said nothing.

‘Miss Swan,’ he urged, ‘I am not ignorant of Lord Stanton’s reputation. But I wish to ascertain the state of yours, since you dwell beneath his roof. Has he treated you with due respect?’

I wished to ask why he cared so much about my reputation, yet such questioning would be impudent and embarrassing, and in all truthfulness, I knew why regardless. His admiration for me is mirrored by my admiration for him – as it has always been. If indeed he has heard of Lord Stanton’s reputation, then it would be natural to have such concerns.

Still, his concern gave me pause; what must London be saying about me if Mr Reeves felt justified in asking about my virtue? The thought made me want to giggle and cry all at the same time. Thus I spoke the only words I could - words that would not cause embarrassment or shame on either our behalves. ‘I am truly grateful for your concern, but all is quite well, I assure you. Dear Mr Reeves, you need not concern yourself with such matters.’

I could see well enough that Mr Reeves had doubts as to my answer, but he politely declined to voice them. So we strode together a time. Mr Reeves leant and picked a primrose flower. As he leant down I found myself absurdly admiring the shape of his buttocks, clad as they were in well-tailored breeches. That throb commenced between my legs again. Had Mr Reeves done the things Lord Stanton did with Nancy? Had he danced that primal dance with someone? I desperately wished to know.

‘There,’ he said, and handed me the delicate flower. The yellow matches your gown very well.’

I stared at the flower, such a simple, beautiful gift, and my stomach tightened. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and tucked it behind my ear. The flower was a gift I did not hesitate to accept; a far cry from my restless night of reflection over Stanton’s wicked gold guinea.

‘It becomes you very well,’ he commented, offering me his arm once more so that we may continue our walk.

What would Mr Reeves think of me, if he knew I’d withheld my resignation and accepted a bribe? Would he still admire me? Would he still wish to walk about the grounds with me? I could not help but think that he would not.

‘How are your charges here at Stanton?’ he asked after a moment of silence. I smiled then, recalling the delightful Alexander and Helen. ‘They are very well, and such lovely spirits. I’ve never met a boy so eager to learn.’ Mr Reeves nodded, and I spent a little more time regaling a particular lesson in which Master Alexander had surprised me with his wit.

Soon it was very nearly time to depart, as I needed to undertake lessons with my charges.

‘It was wonderful to see you here, Mr Reeves,’ I said truthfully.

He looked down at me, and once more I was taken aback by his masculine grace.

‘I am glad to see you looking so well, Miss Swan,’ he said. ‘It has done me good to see you comfortably placed.’

Did he truly mean that? A pinch of guilt struck me, for in truth I was not comfortably placed at all. My sex had begun to seep its moisture once again, and my acceptance of the gold guinea hung over my heart like a like a leaden weight. I smiled, but it felt forced.

He frowned, just slightly, as if noticing my ill-concealed discomfort. ‘I bid you good day then, Miss Swan,’ he said as I turned to leave.

‘Good day, Mr Reeves,’ I offered a smile and polite bob, and was mightily surprised when I found my hand encapsulated in his, refusing, albeit most gently, to let me leave.

‘Miss Swan, Martha…’

My skin prickled at his familiar address, and though I loved to hear my name spoken by those fine lips, it was almost indecent for him to do so here.

‘Mr Reeves?’ I turned and faced him, ‘What is the matter?’

‘I…’ He glanced away, his cheeks dusted bronze. ‘I cannot remain silent. I wish that you would return to London. Forgive me this outburst.’ His gaze met mine once more. ‘But Stanton isn’t a place for you.’

I felt myself stiffen. I dislike fiercely being told what to do, even by one as kind as Mr Reeves. ‘I understand your concern, Mr Reeves,’ I began almost coolly. ‘Yet there is nothing for me in London. I have no dower, my family cannot afford to present me in society, and thus making a good match in marriage is unlikely. I shall not remain in London and be kept, and kept poorly, by my father, who struggles to support my mother and sisters. It is best that I am out of the terrace, for my family and for myself.’

Mr Reeves’ face took on an anguished expression. ‘Would that I could marry you.’ His tone was gentle. A paroxysm of utter longing rocked me, nearly into insensibility. I felt a tear spring into my eye.

‘Mr Reeves…’ Did he know how much I had yearned to hear those words? Yet why did he say them now? He knew very well we could not afford a marriage. ‘Would that I could marry you, Mr Reeves. But you know the truth of it. Matters have not changed.’

I hoped he could taste the truth in what I said. His hand tightened about mine. ‘I shall make money, Martha, so that I can one day marry you. I do not care for your accursed dowry. But will you wait?’

Bitter laughter seemed to burn up my throat. ‘Wait? I can do nothing but wait. No man shall ask for my hand, penniless as I am. I have a fine position here, and here I shall remain.’ I hesitated, nearly unwilling to speak what I must. ‘I would wait for you always, Mr Reeves, as I am sure you know, but what of your father? Certainly your promise to marry me should be discussed with him.’

A shadow fell over Mr Reeves’ countenance, and yet I continued. ‘I am certain he wishes you to marry well, not to marry a Swan girl, who can offer nothing to your family.’

‘I shall marry you with or without his permission. Since you left London I have thought of nothing, nay, not anything or anyone else.’

‘Then you are being foolish, Mr Reeves.’ I said, then lamented the wounded expression that crossed his face, thus I softened my tone. ‘What you suggest is impossible, or extremely unlikely at best. Please, let us remain friends.’

He brought his hand up and kissed my palm, the sensation of which made those rude parts of me slacken and pulse.

‘Of course. Forgive my outburst,’ he smiled ruefully.

‘You are forgiven,’ I smiled, glad that the awkward moment had passed. ‘I really must be at the library now. My charges will be waiting and most impatient.’

‘You shall make very fine governess, I think, Miss Swan,’ he said, a tell-tale note of longing still flavouring his words.

‘Why, thank you. I do try.’

‘Speak with me, however, if you ever find Lord Stanton’s address of you inappropriate.’

I remembered the lewd conversation at last evening’s dinner, and worried my lip. ‘Of course,’ I agreed, though I would do no such thing. The last thing Mr Reeves needed was to fly into a chivalric rage over some vulgar slight by Lord Stanton to me, and lose his position of trust with His Lordship.

‘Good day then, Miss Swan.’

‘Good day, Mr Reeves.’

Wednesday 16
^th
June 1813

Over the next few days, on my morning constitutional walks, I was met in the maze by Mr Reeves. It transpired that he was staying in the vicarage not far from Stanton, the vicar being his cousin on his father’s side.

On these walks Mr Reeves would regale me in tales of His Lordship’s tenants as well as vicar and his wife. I had naturally seen them at the church on a Sunday, but I’d been granted no formal introduction. The wife was by all accounts a naturally gregarious woman, gifted at healing, who seemed quite at odds with her stern and pious husband. It amused Jonathan, as much as I, that her light spirit contrasted so starkly with her husband’s, and we made jest of the union between them.

I find Vicar Reeves’ sermons most pious. Last Sunday, he had, perhaps, lingered overlong on history of Job, a biblical tale I feel focuses too heavily on heavenly retribution rather than worldly good deeds and salvation. It irritated me, as I believe there are many more pertinent chapters in the Bible to be used in the presence of Lord Stanton than those Vicar Reeves had chosen. After the two hour-long sermon (during which Lord Stanton actually fell asleep!), I could understand why Mr Reeves took leave of the vicarage early in the day. If indeed Vicar Reeves was as tiresome in conversation as he was in sermon, I’d scarcely be able to keep my eyes open at breakfast.

This morning on our walk, I had just thought to enlighten my companion to this amusing thought when a sound most ill fitting our walk reached my ears. A grunt and a cry, followed by the unmistakeable symphony of flesh against flesh.

‘Nancy …’ I heard the scoundrel mutter.

‘Oh yes!’ she giggled in reply.

I froze in the morning sun, and there was no way I could hide my reaction to the sound. Nor could I ignore poor Mr Reeves’ expression of mounting shock. I looked to my left; we had long passed the maze and the walled kitchen gardens, and were now at the orangery. The door to the orangery was open wide, and the sounds of rut came loud and shameful from it.

‘Good God!’ Mr Reeves cursed. ‘Who in Heaven’s name is that?’

‘What?’ I said, taking his arm and offering it a none-too-gentle tug. ‘I can’t hear anything. Let us return to the maze, I believe I saw a peony flower’ It was a shamefully weak lie, but I could not allow Mr Reeves of all people to witness the magnitude of scandal that occurs within Stanton.

He seemed as immovable as stone however, and looked sternly towards the orangery. ‘Who the devil would dare behave so? Miss Swan, I suggest you return to the house. I’ll call this rutting devil out!’

I felt verily sick. ‘No, Mr Reeves, really, we ought visit the peonies!’ My tone changed to pleading.

If Mr Reeves discovered Lord Stanton
in flagrante delicto
with the wet nurse, no doubt he would insist that I return to London and my father immediately. I loathed the notion of returning to our decaying terrace there. Of course, in time, I would find another position as governess, but one that offered me such handsome recompense? It was unlikely – especially so with the wars in France and their effect upon the economy.

So stunned was I by this realisation that I had an inopportune moment of lamentation. How quickly I had forgone my moral virtue for money!

‘Curse the peonies, Miss Swan! No doubt you have a randy footman and slattern maid who must be outed. Such behaviour during hours of employment, I cannot fathom.’

I could fathom it – had I not touched myself and eased those same feelings during daylight hours? I looked askance at Mr Reeves’ impossibly deploring expression and wondered, wickedly, if he would ever do so.

‘I have no notion of what you speak. Come, Mr Reeves, it is time we returned to the house.’

Mr Reeves looked at me astonished then back towards the open orangery door. ‘I call you out sir!’ he bellowed.

The sounds of rut instantly ceased. The garden grew quiet, except for the loud hammering of my heart and the untimely commencement of birdsong.

‘Mr Reeves!’ I cried in dismay. ‘We must go.’

‘Not until I’ve seen this randy goat out. I know Stanton is a man of certain reputation, but even he could never condone such debauchery during daylight hours.’

How terribly wrong he was! I felt a maddening urge to laugh. I realised the situation had become urgent, and that insane need to laugh grew. Mr Reeves took a step towards the orangery door, and began to remove his jacket in preparation – I believe – for fisticuffs. I had to stop him discovering how wicked His Lordship was! What a ridiculous situation!

‘Oh goodness,’ I cried, feigning a swoon. ‘Mr Reeves, please! I feel suddenly most unwell. Oh! I fear I may fall.’

True to his sense of chivalry, Mr Reeves turned an anxious eye towards me. ‘Miss Swan?’ he asked, and as he turned from the orangery door I saw Lord Stanton himself, dressed in no more than a shirt, peer out. His hair was dishevelled and, Devil take the man, his shirt front held up by his accursed piece like a pole in a marquee. I caught his eye, and brought a hand to my forehead.

‘Mr Reeves, I implore you, your hand! I feel I may faint.’

‘Of course Miss Swan.’ Mr Reeves strode towards me, and I saw His devilish Lordship offer me a quick wink and nod before receding into green haven of the orangery once more.

The relief nearly made me giggle. Mr Reeves must have thought me slightly mad, but he took my arm and offered his strength as I continued to feign a pathetic weakness in order to ensure his assistance. He threw an annoyed glanced back at the now-silent orangery. ‘Well, at least the filthy beggars have stalled their indecency for now. I take heart from that. Make no mistake, I shall be speaking to Lord Stanton about this.’