the Reading stage from the Angel on Thursday and get out at Netherton. I will arrange for someone to meet you there and take you to Ledbury House.’
She looked up.
‘Remember, Lady Kingswood and her daughter, Lady Cecily, are in mourning, so they will live very quietly. I have placed servants and staff there before, who have left because the situation is too remote. I believe it is why Lady Cecily’s last governess left. The child needs someone who is willing to stay for a long time. After losing her father—’
‘I understand.’
Living quietly sounded perfect! Marianne had loved her quiet, easy life with Mama and Papa, visiting neighbours and friends and never aching for the so-called delights of the city.
‘Lady Kingswood had been focused, naturally, on nursing her husband through his last illness, which is why she has entrusted the appointment of a new governess to me.’ Mrs Gray handed her the paper. ‘Do not let me down!’
Marianne assured her that she was to be relied upon, then looked at the document. It gave the address as Ledbury House, Netherton, Berkshire. It also included a summary of Marianne’s terms of employment.
Her hand shook a little as she accepted it. Amid the relief which was coursing through her there was also a sense of unreality. Strange to think that from now on she would no longer be Miss Marianne Grant, a young lady of wealth and status, but instead plain Miss Anne Bolton, governess, orphan, and near-pauper.
She swallowed. The alternative was absolute poverty or—God forbid—returning to Henry. Fear flooded through her at the very thought. She would have to make this work, be careful and, crucially, be effective as a governess. She would also have to learn to respond to the unfamiliar name.
She looked at the page again. The wage she was to be given was shockingly little. It was much less than her allowance—the pin money that she had so carelessly spent each quarter on trinkets, stockings and sweetmeats. She had no idea how to make economies. Now she was expected to make this meagre amount cover all her needs, including her clothes.
She lifted her chin. I can do this! she told herself. I must!
* * *
‘And now to the family bequests.’
Mr Richardson, Ash thought, would have made an excellent torturer. Not content with bringing him into this godforsaken house and forcing him to endure Fanny’s company, he was now reading—very slowly—the entire Last Will and Testament of John Ashington, Fourth Earl Kingswood. Ash had sat impassive as the lawyer had detailed the property that was now his—the main element being this house, with its unswept chimneys. Thankfully, the lawyer was now on to the family section.
Ash took another mouthful of brandy. He would be out of here soon.
Fanny sat up straighter, a decided gleam in her eye. Only the house and gardens were entailed, therefore the rest of the estate would likely be placed in trust for Cecily, perhaps with a sizeable portion for Fanny herself.
He wondered, not for the first time, if Fanny had chosen John because of his title. Had he been the Earl when he and John had both fallen in love with the same girl, would she have chosen him?
Ash forced himself away from cynical thoughts and tried to pay attention to the lawyer.
Mr Richardson read on—and what he said next made Fanny exclaim in surprise. Cecily was to receive only a respectable dowry and John’s mother’s jewellery. So Fanny was to inherit everything?
Ash stole a glance at her. She was quivering in anticipation. Ash averted his eyes.
‘To my dear wife,’ Mr Richardson droned, ‘I leave the Dower House for as long as she shall live there unmarried...’ He went on to specify a financial settlement that was again respectable, though not spectacular.
‘What? What?’ Fanny was not impressed. ‘If he has not left everything to Cecily, or to me, then to whom...?’
She turned accusatory eyes on Ash. ‘You!’
The same realisation was dawning on Ash.
‘The remainder of my estate I leave to my cousin, the Fifth Earl Kingswood, Mr William Albert James Ashington...’
Without missing a beat the lawyer detailed the unentailed lands and property that Ash was to inherit. But there was more.
‘I commend my daughter, Lady Cecily Frances Kingswood, to the guardianship of the Fifth Earl—’
‘What? No!’ Fanny almost shrieked. ‘Mr Richardson, this cannot be true!’
Ash’s blood ran cold as he saw the trap ahead of him. Guardian to a twelve-year-old child? Cutting out the child’s mother? What on earth had John been thinking?
The lawyer paused, coughed, and looked directly at Fanny over his spectacles. Chastised, she subsided, but with a mutinous look. Mr Richardson then returned to the document and read to the end.
John explained in the will that Ash was to link closely with Fanny, so that together they might provide ‘loving firmness’ for Lady Cecily. Loving firmness? What did that even mean?
Ash’s mind was reeling. Why on earth had John done this? Did he not trust Fanny to raise the child properly by herself?
The last thing Ash wanted was to be saddled with responsibility for a child! Fanny could easily have been named as guardian, with Ash and the lawyer as trustees. Indeed, it was normally expected that a child’s mother would automatically be guardian.
The feeling of impatience and mild curiosity that had occupied him when Mr Richardson had begun his recitation had given way to shock and anger, barely contained.
Fanny, of course, then added to Ash’s delight by indulging in a bout of tears. Cecily just looked bewildered. Ash met Mr Richardson’s gaze briefly, sharing a moment of male solidarity, then he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his forehead. Would this nightmare never end?
* * *
Marianne emerged from Mrs Gray’s registry hugely relieved. She glanced at the other two young ladies in the outer office. They were now seated together and had clearly been quietly chatting to each other. They looked at her now with similar expressions—curious, polite, questioning. She was unable to resist sending them what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
She patted her reticule as she stepped into the street, conscious of the paper within. This was her future. Governess to an unknown young lady, recently bereaved and living quietly with her mother. It sounded—actually, it sounded perfect.
For the first time since her decision to run away she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, after all, things would work out. She had a situation and she would have a roof over her head. She would be living quietly in the country, far away from London. As long as Henry did not find her all would be well.
Of course she had no idea whether he was even looking for her. He might be content simply to let her vanish. On the other hand, that last look he had thrown her—one filled with evil intent—haunted her. Henry was entirely capable of ruthlessly, obsessively searching for her simply because she had thwarted his will by escaping.
She shrugged off the fear. There was nothing she could do about it beyond being careful. Besides, so far everything was working out well.
With renewed confidence, she set off for the modest inn where she had stayed last night. On Thursday her new life would properly begin.
* * *
‘You are telling me that there is no way to avoid this?’
‘Lord Kingswood, I simply executed the will. I did not write it.’ Mr Richardson was unperturbed.
Fanny had gone, helped from the room by her daughter. Fanny had been gently weeping, the image of the Wronged Widow. Ash’s hidden sigh of relief when the door had closed behind her had been echoed, he believed, by Mr Richardson. Fanny had not, it