A Governess for the Brooding Duke(80)

“It is a confidence you have earned, my dear.” She rose to her feet and began to make her way back across the room. “Now, I shall send this off immediately and can quite imagine that it will arrive in Wales before you do.”



“Yes, I should imagine so.”



“Now, I shall go and speak to my driver and tell him that he is to take you back to your lodgings so that you may pack and then that he is to go to Wales with you. He shall not return without you, my dear.”



“I thank you.”



“And whilst I realize you shall only be gone a while, I would be most grateful if you would write to me every day so that I might have a little something of your progress before I see you again.”



“Oh yes, of course, I shall,” Georgette said, feeling curiously excited by the idea of the little mission she had set herself.



“And I know that you can manage the whole thing very well, my dear. I have absolutely every faith in you.”



As the carriage rolled on, and she began to leave the countryside of Oxfordshire behind, Georgette hoped that she would not let Lady Lyndon down. Nobody had ever had absolutely every faith in her before, and she knew it. Of course, there had never been any reason before now.



Fortunately for Georgette, Lady Cynthia’s driver seemed to be quite as amenable as her butler. He made no complaint at the great undertaking and the several days on the road. And, of course, they would have to stop for some days here and there to rest the horses. It would take a good deal of time to finally reach their destination, and yet the driver did not seem the least bit put out by it all.



And the driver’s demeanour did not change a bit throughout the long and arduous journey.



Having spent her entire life in London with visits to counties much further from its reach minimum, Georgette rather found herself enjoying the perpetual change in scenery. Furthermore, the driver seemed to be enjoying it very much himself also.



They had made many stops along the way including Stratford, Wolverhampton, Shrewsbury, Oswestry, and Bala. The very moment they entered Wales, Georgette truly did feel herself to be somewhere else altogether. In another country for the first time in her life. And yet the step from one to the other was as nothing and, in truth, the weather did not even change. It was raining as they left England and still raining as they entered Wales. And yet she could not shake the feeling that she was in brand-new territory. It was exciting and a little frightening all at once.



It was not until they made their final stop in Trawsfynydd that Georgette heard the Welsh language spoken routinely for the first time. Everywhere else they had been had been something of a mixture of Welsh and English, with English appearing to prevail. However, as they drew into the heart of North Wales, the native tongue she had so often heard on the lips of Eleri and Ffion was all that could be heard.



Although there were but a few miles left for them to traverse to Beddgelert, the horses were tired, and Trawsfynydd seemed to be the perfect place to rest them. Furthermore, it was around time for luncheon and, if they proceeded on to Beddgelert, they might well have missed their meal entirely.



However, John Casson, the driver, seemed somewhat unsure of himself hearing so many conversations going on all around him in Welsh.



“MissDarrington, I do not even know how to ask for a mug of beer,” he said and winced.



“You need not worry, John, for I shall try myself,” she said with a smile.



“Prynhawn Da. Os gwelwchynddaefallaigennyfmwg o gwrwargyfer fy gyrrwr?” Georgette self-consciously asked the man behind the bar for a mug of beer for her driver, wondering if she was anything like correct in her words and pronunciation.



“Yes, of course, young lady.” The man smiled at her warmly.



“Thank you. Diolch, I mean.” She smiled back, surprised that the man had immediately spoken to her in English.



“Won’t you be having something to drink, young lady?” The man was in his late fifties and had the most enormous gray sideburns she had ever seen in her life. He also had a great thick head of gray hair and such a warm smile that she felt herself suddenly at her ease. “We have some tea if you’d rather?”



“Oh yes, tea would be very welcome.”



“Have you got far to go?”



“No, not far at all now. We are headed to Beddgelert,” she said with a smile.



“Then you should do very well there, young lady, speaking Welsh as nicely as you do.”



“I thank you kindly, sir. In truth, I was a little nervous.”



“You need not be. Everybody speaks English in these parts, and they would just be pleased that you’ve tried. There’s not many English folks that do, you know.”