A Governess for the Brooding Duke(54)
But perhaps it was not entirely a thing designed to free him from her company; perhaps it was something else altogether. And yet Georgette could only think of one other thing. That he would simply like to accompany her and the children on the short carriage ride to his aunt’s house. Of course, she knew it could not be for the sake of her company, but perhaps it had been for the sake of the children’s?
As soon as he had excused himself, the Duke led her and the children away, hurrying once again to help her into the carriage before his driver had even the opportunity to offer his own services.
The carriage ride had been but a further ten minutes and, with the Duke saying nothing throughout, Georgette found herself entirely fixated upon his motives for accompanying them in the first place. He had made no further moves to engage the children in any way, nor had he struck up any sort of conversation with Georgette herself. He had simply looked out of the window, staring rather vaguely at the intervening countryside.
And, when they had finally drawn up outside the great door of Lady Cynthia Lyndon’s country mansion, he had maintained his seat and allowed his driver to help her out this time.
“When I am returned to Draycott Hall, Miss Darrington, I shall instruct the driver to return for you. You need not come out until you are ready, but know that there is a carriage waiting outside for you and the children as soon as you are ready.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Georgette said simply.
“Good afternoon,” he said, with a rather curt little nod before releasing her.
“Aunt Cynthia will already be in the drawing room,” Eleri said, her little voice full of excitement.
Both girls seemed to grab her hands simultaneously and urge her on towards the front door of Lady Cynthia’s home. “Mr Benson will show us in there,” Eleri said, indicating that she and the girls had taken tea with their aunt before.
“And who is Mr Benson?” Georgette said with a smile.
“Mr Benson is the man who opens the doors,” Ffion said with childlike simplicity.
“Yes, he’s called a buttoner,” Eleri said with confidence.
“I think you might mean butler,” Georgette said with a chuckle, her heart swelling as she looked down at the adorable little faces. “Butler,” she said again, smiling at them.
“Butler,” Eleri repeated and then looked at Ffion who did the same.
“That’s right, girls. Goodness me, how quickly you learn,” Georgette said, keen to have her pride in them very much known.
Before they even reached the door, it opened inwards, and a kindly-faced man approaching his sixtieth year smiled down at them all.
“Well, it’s nice to see you, Eleri and Ffion,” he said, and the little girls glowed. “And good afternoon, Miss Darrington. Do come in,” he said.
Georgette found it rather refreshing to be confronted with a butler who did not seem to have any pent-up animosity reserved especially for governesses.
“Thank you kindly, Mr Benson,” Georgette said with great respect. In truth, she was really rather grateful for his kindness.
Georgette liked the drawing room at Winterbourne very much. The small country estate of the late Lord Lyndon was rather a welcoming place not one-tenth of the size of Draycott Hall. Georgette could not help thinking that that was a large part of its appeal for her; she did not have the same feeling of disconnection and isolation that she generally felt on returning to Draycott Hall. Draycott was so very large, and the idea that one could walk great distances within its halls and corridors and meet not one person was ever present.
“My dear Miss Darrington, I do hope that you do not mind giving up your Sunday afternoon for me.” Lady Cynthia was already on her feet in the drawing room, fussing a little as two maids laid out a very hearty little tea for them.
Georgette smiled broadly as she regarded the food; so many sandwiches, all neatly cut into beautiful little triangles, and little pastries and tomatoes and apples. When her eyes fell upon the three-tiered platter of little cakes, she almost laughed. So, the Duke had been quite truthful in his assertion that his Aunt Cynthia rather liked to fill little children’s bellies with cake. For a moment, Georgette could quite imagine that dear woman lavishing all manner of love and indulgence upon her nephew when he was but a little boy.
“Not at all, Lady Lyndon. And the food looks wonderful,” Georgette said with true feeling.
The tasty stew and dumplings of just days before notwithstanding, Georgette was really rather looking forward to the most palatable food she had been presented with for weeks.