Lord Falconbridge stood at the door. “Very nice,” he said, walking towards them.
“Will you dance with me, Father?”
“Without music?”
“I’ll hum.”
“Very well.” He took her hands, and they waltzed around the floor. Vanessa admired them both with an artist’s eye, as her father would do. Nature had blessed them with perfect proportions. The length of neck and limb and the symmetry of their bodies would fit the Greek ideal of beauty.
Blythe broke away. “Dance with Miss Ashley, Father.”
Vanessa stiffened. “Heavens no.”
“We can’t dance without music,” her father said.
Blythe pouted. “You danced with Miss Lillicrop.”
His eyes widened. “You saw us?”
“I saw you on the terrace from my window. She told you she’d never waltzed, and then you danced with her.”
He chucked Blythe under the chin. “You may stay up late tonight.” He turned to Vanessa. “Miss Ashley, please bring Blythe to the ballroom.”
In spite of Blythe’s delight, Vanessa’s chest tightened in distress. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve brought no evening clothes.”
“Clothes are of no consequence,” he said. “What you usually wear is perfectly acceptable.”
Just like a man, she thought furiously, placing a hand on her linen skirt.
He caught her gesture and paused. “You and Blythe might remain on the terrace and enjoy the warm evening and the music. I believe there is to be ice cream.”
Gratitude and relief flooded through her, which proved short-lived.
“I’ll come to fetch you for that dance at half past ten,” he said.
“If you wish, my lord,” she said, aware that her response lacked poise. She turned her back on the enthusiastic gleam in his eye. It hardly mattered what a governess wore. She would be invisible anyway. What would it be like to dance with him so close and have his arm around her waist? What had Miss Lillicrop thought of it? Did it have something to do with her leaving so suddenly?
While Blythe spent time with her father, Vanessa made her way to the servants’ quarters to offer her services. She hoped to gain a better footing with the staff after a rather awkward beginning.
The kitchen was a huge room with an enormous range, belting out a considerable amount of heat. Copper pans and dried herbs swung from hooks on the beams above. The scent of vanilla fought with rosemary and the gamey aroma of meat. It was a hive of activity with servants coming and going in a rush.
“Cook’s just stepped out, Miss Ashley,” Dorcas said. “She’ll be back in a moment.”
Vanessa smiled. “Then I’ll wait.” She watched the two girls hard at work. “I’ve come to offer my help.”
“You’ll have to ask Cook or Mrs. Royce, Miss Ashley,” Molly said.
Vanessa stepped out of their way. She stood watching them work. “Why isn’t there a footman at Falconbridge Hall?”
“The pantry boy, Jeremy, serves as footman on occasion.” Molly giggled. “We had a strappin’ handsome fellow, but his lordship dismissed him.”
“You shouldn’t go on, Molly,” Dorcas said. “If Cook hears you…”
“Stuff and nonsense, Dorcas.” Molly raised a defiant eyebrow. “It’s common knowledge that Baines kept ogling her ladyship. Some think she encouraged it.”
“Her ladyship was mistress here, Molly, and anyway, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dorcas spluttered.
“Not gossiping I hope.” Cook walked into the room, a grey bun peaking from beneath her cap. With a nod in Vanessa’s direction, she began to inspect the maid’s efforts, her brisk movements belying her rounded body and face. She scrutinized the pile of pots, pans, and plates on the sink waiting to be dried and put away. “You can’t tell me that pot is clean. Give it another wash,” she said to Molly. “Use some elbow grease, girl.” She picked up a crock of food and hurried to the pantry before Vanessa could speak to her.
Mrs. Royce appeared with a man at her side. “Ah, Miss Ashley,
“Will you dance with me, Father?”
“Without music?”
“I’ll hum.”
“Very well.” He took her hands, and they waltzed around the floor. Vanessa admired them both with an artist’s eye, as her father would do. Nature had blessed them with perfect proportions. The length of neck and limb and the symmetry of their bodies would fit the Greek ideal of beauty.
Blythe broke away. “Dance with Miss Ashley, Father.”
Vanessa stiffened. “Heavens no.”
“We can’t dance without music,” her father said.
Blythe pouted. “You danced with Miss Lillicrop.”
His eyes widened. “You saw us?”
“I saw you on the terrace from my window. She told you she’d never waltzed, and then you danced with her.”
He chucked Blythe under the chin. “You may stay up late tonight.” He turned to Vanessa. “Miss Ashley, please bring Blythe to the ballroom.”
In spite of Blythe’s delight, Vanessa’s chest tightened in distress. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve brought no evening clothes.”
“Clothes are of no consequence,” he said. “What you usually wear is perfectly acceptable.”
Just like a man, she thought furiously, placing a hand on her linen skirt.
He caught her gesture and paused. “You and Blythe might remain on the terrace and enjoy the warm evening and the music. I believe there is to be ice cream.”
Gratitude and relief flooded through her, which proved short-lived.
“I’ll come to fetch you for that dance at half past ten,” he said.
“If you wish, my lord,” she said, aware that her response lacked poise. She turned her back on the enthusiastic gleam in his eye. It hardly mattered what a governess wore. She would be invisible anyway. What would it be like to dance with him so close and have his arm around her waist? What had Miss Lillicrop thought of it? Did it have something to do with her leaving so suddenly?
While Blythe spent time with her father, Vanessa made her way to the servants’ quarters to offer her services. She hoped to gain a better footing with the staff after a rather awkward beginning.
The kitchen was a huge room with an enormous range, belting out a considerable amount of heat. Copper pans and dried herbs swung from hooks on the beams above. The scent of vanilla fought with rosemary and the gamey aroma of meat. It was a hive of activity with servants coming and going in a rush.
“Cook’s just stepped out, Miss Ashley,” Dorcas said. “She’ll be back in a moment.”
Vanessa smiled. “Then I’ll wait.” She watched the two girls hard at work. “I’ve come to offer my help.”
“You’ll have to ask Cook or Mrs. Royce, Miss Ashley,” Molly said.
Vanessa stepped out of their way. She stood watching them work. “Why isn’t there a footman at Falconbridge Hall?”
“The pantry boy, Jeremy, serves as footman on occasion.” Molly giggled. “We had a strappin’ handsome fellow, but his lordship dismissed him.”
“You shouldn’t go on, Molly,” Dorcas said. “If Cook hears you…”
“Stuff and nonsense, Dorcas.” Molly raised a defiant eyebrow. “It’s common knowledge that Baines kept ogling her ladyship. Some think she encouraged it.”
“Her ladyship was mistress here, Molly, and anyway, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dorcas spluttered.
“Not gossiping I hope.” Cook walked into the room, a grey bun peaking from beneath her cap. With a nod in Vanessa’s direction, she began to inspect the maid’s efforts, her brisk movements belying her rounded body and face. She scrutinized the pile of pots, pans, and plates on the sink waiting to be dried and put away. “You can’t tell me that pot is clean. Give it another wash,” she said to Molly. “Use some elbow grease, girl.” She picked up a crock of food and hurried to the pantry before Vanessa could speak to her.
Mrs. Royce appeared with a man at her side. “Ah, Miss Ashley,
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