He gazed haughtily down that same aristocratic nose now, as he added, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. I will certainly never say I saw Lady Louisa leave.’
‘And neither did I,’ Mrs Hatch said with a merry wink. ‘And you can take this month’s leftover housekeeping money.’
Louisa listened as one by one they all vowed to claim no knowledge of her plans or whereabouts. Wiping happy tears from her eyes, she thanked them with all her heart. Maybe she wasn’t completely ugly and unlovable...
Chapter Two
Lord Simon Anthony Peregrine Stringham, the Marquess of Cheswick, known to his family as ‘Wick’, was head of the family whilst his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Hampford, were travelling in Africa to return animals to the wild. They would be gone for about a year, and he’d been tasked to keep an eye on his five younger siblings.
It was enough to put a fellow into a permanent cold sweat.
Wick had been forced to leave his best friend the Duke of Sunderland’s shooting party early, for he feared the mayhem that his family would cause during his absence. Or, worse, that scarlet fever would strike again, as it had the last time his parents had gone to Africa, nearly ten years ago. His youngest sister Becca had only been three years old at the time.
After travelling to London, he had at least reassured himself of his brother’s health and wellness. Lord Matthew Stringham was living in bachelor’s rooms and working with their maternal grandfather, Mr Stubbs. Like their grandfather, Matthew had a head for legal affairs and was busy building his own fortune in business. He’d laughed at his elder brother’s concern.
Wick had also checked on his married sister Mantheria, the Duchess of Glastonbury, and her three-year-old son, Andrew. He’d taken them on a drive around the park in his phaeton and then to Gunter’s for ices, carefully cementing his position as favourite uncle.
His two middle sisters, Lady Frederica and Lady Helen, were safely at a school in Bath run by the eminently respectable Miss Victoria Cluess. And his youngest sister, Lady Rebecca—Becca—hadn’t liked the school, so he had hired her a governess—Miss Young, a niece of the Reverend Robertson, the vicar from the village near the castle.
He hadn’t actually met the woman, but she’d come highly recommended. He’d written for her to take up the position at Hampford Castle immediately. Becca was a darling, and his favourite sister, but left to her own devices she could be quite a handful...and she was unfortunately fond of making rodents her pets.
Lifting his whip, he snapped it above his greys’ heads. The horses immediately increased their pace. As if they, too, knew how close they were to being home.
Now all he had to do was check on the Hampford estate and the new governess and all his worries for his family would be put to rest.
Wrinkling his nose, Wick manoeuvred his horses through the south gate of Hampford Castle. To the average viewer the old place was large, dark and forbidding. But to Wick this stone pile with its many towers and parapets was home.
Handing his reins to a groom, Wick jumped out of the phaeton in time to be caught in a tight embrace. His little sister Becca’s head barely reached his shoulders, but at the moment she was pushing it most painfully into his stomach. He gently took her arms and pushed her away from him, so that he might see her face.
Becca had the same brown hair as he did, but instead of brown eyes she had bright blue ones that sparkled with mischief. Today, however, her eyes were full of tears. There was a new line of freckles on her nose, and her dress and apron were covered in mud—not an unusual occurrence.
‘What’s the matter, Becca, my heart?’
She sniffed and rubbed a dirty finger under her nose, smudging dirt on her face. ‘Wick, it wasn’t my fault. Truly!’
‘What wasn’t your fault, love?’
Becca blinked and grabbed the end of her untidy plait. She fingered it as her eyes focused on his feet. ‘Miss Young has left.’
It took Wick a moment or two to remember who the blazes Miss Young was—the governess who had come so highly recommended by the vicar and his wife.
A trickle of worry ran down his neck like a bead of sweat. ‘What happened? What did you do?’
His littlest sister took in a deep breath. ‘Mademoiselle Jaune wouldn’t stop calling her a tasty tart.’
Wick was torn between a desire to yell in frustration and another to laugh.
Their yellow macaw with a missing claw was known for her bawdy language. Papa had purchased her from a one-eyed man in a rookery. He had been keeping her in a small, dirty cage. His father had tried to free the bird, but Mademoiselle Jaune had always come back to the castle. Papa had explained that some animals, particularly those born in captivity, became too domesticated ever to go back in the wild. They did not know how to hunt or how to take care of themselves.
‘She left because of the bird?’
Becca bit her lower lip and looked even younger than her thirteen years. ‘Miss Young said that either she or the bird had to go. Then Frederica said that we infinitely preferred Mademoiselle Jaune’s company to hers. Miss Young left in a huff on foot over an hour ago. She didn’t even take her things with her.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Wick said, holding up a hand and trying to take it all in. A frisson of fear was crawling down his spine and his left eye had started to twitch. ‘What is Frederica doing home? She’s supposed to be at school. The summer holidays aren’t for another two months.’
Two moregloriousmonths of relative peace and quiet.
Becca’s honest little face went red. ‘Well, Helen and Frederica being sent home from finishing schoolismy fault.’