A Governess for the Brooding Duke(81)

“No, I had perhaps thought that would be the case,” she said and shrugged.



“But you show a little bit of willing, young lady, and they’ll help you all they can.”



“How very kind you are,” Georgette said and meant it.



In truth, the ageing innkeeper had done much to settle her nerves, and she was extraordinarily grateful for it. After all, her task was going to be quite uncomfortable enough without the added worry that she could not make herself understood with the little bit of Welsh she had to her credit.



As John Casson and Georgette sat in the window taking their drinks, the innkeeper brought them over some bread and butter.



“My wife thought you might be hungry,” he said with a smile and, when Georgette attempted to pay, he would hear nothing of it.



“Seems they are quite friendly in Wales, MissDarrington,” John Casson commented the moment the innkeeper had disappeared.



“Yes, it would certainly seem that way.”



“Then it is no wonder that dear Lady Josephine loved it here as she did,” the driver said quite out of the blue.



“Yes, and it is the most beautiful countryside, is it not?”



“It certainly is, Miss Darrington.” John nodded enthusiastically. “I have lived in Oxfordshire all my life, Miss, and never once come out of it. I never realized a place could be quite as breathtaking as this is.”



“It really is, although the horses must be growing exhausted with the hills.” She laughed a little.



It had been many miles since they had been on flat land, and the hills and mountains all around them were every bit as breathtaking as the driver had proclaimed them to be.



On first sight, they had been almost intimidating to Georgette, who had never seen such rugged hills and so high. They seemed to grow up almost from the very center of the earth itself, rising majestically until their sharp edges pierced bright blue autumn sky.



“To be honest, Miss Darrington, I never saw a place like it in my life. I cannot help but be glad that Lady Lyndon sent me along with you on this trip.” The driver smiled and helped himself to a slice of bread and butter.



“And I am most grateful for your company, John. I should have found it a most difficult thing to manage if I had been travelling post-chaise.”



“Goodness me, it would have taken you twice as long, Miss Darrington.”



“I daresay that is true,” she said and wondered just how much he knew of the life of his mistress’ niece, Josephine.



Of course, Georgette knew that she ought really not to ask him anything at all. It had been a simple comment, and she ought not to press him upon it. Surely if the man had wanted to say more, he would have done just that. It would not be fair of her to put him in such an awkward position, especially since he had been so very kind to her throughout the arduous journey.



“Are we to be at Beddgelert long, Miss Darrington?” he said conversationally.



“I cannot tell exactly, John, but I think it likely to be several days. I should like some conversation with the housekeeper and a little time to look around the place.”



“Well, that will be a good opportunity for the horses to take a good long rest before we head back to Oxfordshire, Miss.” He smiled and was quite content with her answer; he was not seeking information upon her reason for visiting, and Georgette was rather grateful for it.



In truth, she did not know how she would begin to explain.



When the horses had finished their rest, and John Casson reattached them to the carriage, Georgette began to feel herself suddenly a little nervous. In just a few short miles, they would arrive at Beddgelert and the wonderful home which Eleri and Ffion had talked about so greatly with her in the preceding weeks.



In just an hour or two, Georgette would finally set eyes upon the place her two charges still held in their hearts.





Chapter 29



“It took you a little longer than expected to come to me, Nephew,” Lady Lyndon said with a warm but sad smile.



“Then you expected me? You know why I am here?” His aunt’s cool demeanour had Hamilton entirely wrong-footed.



“Either to finally tell me that my great-nieces are, once again, without a governess or to ask me where dear Miss Georgette Darrington is. Am I right?” Lady Lyndon finally took a seat on her favourite couch in the drawing room at Winterbourne.



“I suppose it is both, Aunt,” he said quietly.



In truth, Hamilton Whitehall was far from calm. He had been searching for Georgette Darrington for days, and it was only when his search finally led him to the inn just miles from Draycott Hall that he even considered that his aunt might know something of her whereabouts.