Page 5 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Three

The door from the hall opened into what proved to be the parlor. High ceilinged, and airy, with two long windows either side of a doorway that must lead out onto a terrace, its modernity bestowed upon it a cold atmosphere that matched the face of the woman seated by the empty fireplace.

Ruth Treloar, for it must have been she, set down the book she’d been reading and rose to her feet. A tall, hard-faced woman with graying brown hair scraped back from her face tightly enough to give her skin a stretched look, she wore a navy-blue dress of rich satin augmented by a demure lace fichu about her throat. She was not an unattractive woman, but her pale gray eyes, shining with the hardness of diamonds, pale lips, and cheeks just touched with rouge gave her the distinct look of a harpy from the Greek mythology Caroline’s father had been so fond of reading aloud to her.

She looked Caroline up and down, an expression of polite puzzlement on her face that had Caroline’s heart sinking into her muddy boots.

“Miss Caroline Fairfield, Ma’am,” the butler said.

She gave him a curt nod. “Thank you, Ennion.”

Caroline executed as neat a curtsey as possible, considering her bedraggled appearance. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Treloar.”

Mrs. Treloar seemed to have been struck dumb for a moment by Caroline’s appearance, but, within seconds, she gathered herself. “Good afternoon, Miss Fairfield. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Not a shred of recognition or welcome in her voice, only cold disdain, presumably that Caroline had dared to present herself in such a condition. Well, she should make sure her servants’ entrance was in a better state.

However, biting back that riposte, Caroline schooled her face to bland impartiality and smoothed her rumpled skirts. The only thing to do here was to brazen it out. “I believe we have a mutual friend in Mrs. Beauchamp of Carlyon Court.”

The frosty expression remained. “A mere acquaintance, not a friend.”

Caroline ploughed on. “She wrote to me saying you were much in need of a governess and that I was to come down as soon as possible to fill the post.”

Recognition at last dawned in those cold gray eyes. “Oh, of course. I had quite forgotten. Please forgive me, but I had no idea she would write to you and have you come down here so quickly. Most obliging of you.” Still no hint of warmth showed in her face, although she now indicated a severe, upright chair. “Perhaps you would care to take a seat?”

“Thank you.” Caroline settled herself on the edge of the chair, back straight, in an attempt to look more efficient than she suspected her appearance implied.

Mrs. Treloar folded her hands over the book in her lap and addressed the butler without once glancing his way. “Ennion. Have some tea brought in.” He departed on silent feet.

Caroline mirrored her hostess’s action of folding her hands, although she had no book herself. “I had wondered if Ysella—Mrs. Beauchamp—was mistaken in your need, or that you might already have engaged a governess. Her letter suggested your need was urgent and that speed was of the essence.”

Mrs. Treloar shook her head. “There has been no mistake. We had to let the old governess go very suddenly, and have not yet found a replacement. You have French? And play the pianoforte?”

Caroline nodded. “I have had a very competent education, first at home with a governess, and then later at school in Bath. I play both the pianoforte and the violin, and I speak and read French to a high standard, and, thanks to my father, have some Latin and Greek as well. He believed girls should have as good an education as a boy.”

Mrs. Treloar raised a thin eyebrow. “That’s as may be. You will not need your Latin and Greek for my daughter, Henrietta. My daughter has left the schoolroom behind her now, but her grandfather and I would like her to continue to speak French and improve on her skills at the pianoforte. As well as teaching my nephew in the mornings, I would like you to be Henrietta’s companion and ensure she learns all the attributes a young lady requires.”

No question of whether it suited Caroline or not. She had to remember that she was now an employee, and her wishes would no longer be taken into account about anything.

The door opened, and Ennion returned with a tray of tea things which he set on the table beside his mistress.

“You may go, Ennion. I will pour.” As discreetly and quietly as before, the butler melted away.

“Now,” Mrs. Treloar said. “Do you take milk with your tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Caroline took the proffered cup and sipped the hot liquid. Good China tea, at any rate.

Mrs. Treloar fixed her with that cold stare over the rim of her own cup. “The boy, my nephew, is nine years old. He has no parents. Both of them died very inconveniently before he was three years old.” Spoken as though she thought they’d done it on purpose, out of spite. “My father-in-law, Sir Hugh, stands as legal guardian to the child. However, as Sir Hugh has been bedridden these past two years, in practicality, it is I who act as his guardian in all but legal terms. It falls upon me to decide his education. He is a weakly child, prone to all the childhood illnesses and more, and it is my opinion that he should be educated here, at home, where I can keep my eye upon him. He is to learn mathematics, composition, use of the globe and history, as well as French and a little music. As you have Latin, he can learn that too. An improvement on Miss Hawkins, who was not accomplished in the Classics.” She tutted. “Not accomplished in very much, it seems.”

Caroline nodded. “I can teach him Greek, too, if you wish.”

“That will do splendidly. But I don’t want the child continuously cooped up inside the schoolroom. For his constitution, I require him to spend some of each day outside, so his lessons will only be between nine and twelve each morning.”

Caroline nodded again. Her own governess had done much the same—teaching her in the mornings and then taking her out for walks in the afternoons. Her nervousness at her first proper job began to dissipate. How hard could teaching one small boy be?

Mrs. Treloar set down her teacup. “Yves takes all his meals in the schoolroom, and I require you to do the same. Your room will be in the nursery wing, close to the schoolroom and the nursery, where Yves sleeps.” Mrs. Treloar paused. “Do you have any questions?”

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