Excerpt of A Very Unusual Governess by Sylvia Andrew

Tall, with black hair, broad shoulders and a powerful stride, Edward Barraclough was an impressive sight as he walked through Green Park on his way back to North Audley Street. Though he was plainly dressed, his dark green superfine coat, silver-mounted cane, buckskins, and boots were all of a quality which indicated to the discerning that he was a man of wealth and distinction. The discerning might also have wondered what such an obvious member of the ton was doing in London, for this was the time of year when Society deserted the town for the pleasures of their country estates and the capital was very thin of company.

So, when Viscount Trenton saw Mr Barraclough emerge from the Park and prepare to cross Piccadilly, he hailed him with surprise and pleasure.

"Ned! What the devil are you doing in town?" 'The same as you, I imagine," said Mr Barraclough. "Business."

"I didn't think the Foreign Office did any work till next month."

"They don't. This was family business — bankers over here from Vienna." 'Ah! What a bore, old chap!"

Mr Barraclough gave his companion an amused glance. "Not at all! I enjoy talking to bankers."

In Viscount Trenton's experience, interviews with bankers, or any men of business, were usually to be avoided at all costs, but he knew that Ned Barraclough did not suffer from the same reluctance. With good reason. The Barracloughs were enormously wealthy, with large estates in the West Indies and interests in banking and trade all over the world. And though you would never have guessed it, Edward Barraclough had a strange liking for work. Not only did he keep a personal eye on his own family fortunes, he also spent hours giving the Foreign Office the benefit of his considerable experience in the Americas. But, though it might seem odd, it did not prevent him from being a popular member of London society, and welcome wherever he chose to go. Jack Trenton liked him.

As they went up Clarges Street towards Grosvenor Square, he gave Ned a sly look and asked, "Is Louise in town, too?"

"I wouldn't expect her to be anywhere else," Mr Barraclough replied. "She hates the country. Though she informs me that she wouldn't object to a trip to Brighton."

"Are you going to take her there?" 'I might." 'You want to keep a careful eye on that particular bird of paradise, Ned," said Jack. "If you hope to keep her, that is. Louise Kerrall is a damned handsome creature. You're a lucky dog to have such a prize. There's quite a few fellows in London who would soon take her over if you gave them half a chance."

Mr Barraclough's teeth gleamed in a mocking smile. "Are you one of 'em, Jack? I don't advise you to try. I've no intention of letting Louise go at the moment."

"Oh, Lord, Ned! I didn't mean — ! Y'needn't worry about me. I couldn't afford her! And I'm sure she's devoted to you —"

"Devoted?" Mr Barraclough's smile took on a cynical twist. "Louise's devotion is in direct proportion to the value of the last trinket I happen to have given her. Particularly if it is diamonds. She's very fond of diamonds. But you needn't worry, Jack. It's not devotion I look for when I'm with Louise. Nothing so abstract."

With a picture in his mind of Louise Kerrall's dark hair and languorous brown eyes, her creamy skin, red lips and generous curves, Jack said appreciatively, "I dare say not!"

"So if you're not planning to take my mistress away from me, Jack, we'll forget her. Tell me instead why you are in town."

Lord Trenton's expression grew gloomy. "That's business of a sort, too. I've been seeing the lawyers."

"Your father disinheriting you at long last?" 'No, no! Just the opposite. I've finally given in and made an offer for Cynthia Paston."

"Have you, begad? Which one is that? The one with the teeth or the one with the nose?"

"The one with the teeth and a dowry of thirty thousand pounds."

"And she accepted you?" 'Oh, yes. I may not be much myself, but the title is quite a draw, y'know. The Pastons like the idea of having a future Countess in the family."

Mr Barraclough looked at the expression on Lord Trenton's face and burst out laughing. "You're obviously the happiest of men! My congratulations!" 'It's all very well for you to laugh, Ned! Y'don't know how lucky you are! No one's putting any pressure on you to marry. No one's reminding you day after day that you're the only son and there's the damned title to consider. I'm not like you, with two brothers both older than me!"

"Only one now, Jack. My eldest brother was killed earlier this year. So was his wife. I thought you knew."

"I'd forgotten. Sorry, Ned!" 'It's all right. Antigua is a long way away. Why should you remember?"

"All the same I ought to have. Carriage accident, wasn't it...? Is your other brother still out there in the West Indies?"

"Not at the moment. He and Julia are on their way here — they should arrive any day now."

"Staying long?" 'Till next year's Season. They have my two nieces with them, daughters of the brother who was killed. Lisette, the elder one, is to be brought out next Spring. She's a lovely girl, I don't doubt she'll be a success. But I'm not looking forward to their arrival."

"Oh?" 'I'm fond enough of my brother. And Lisette and Pip are delightful. But Julia, Henry's wife... Believe me, Jack, she's the best argument I've come across for a man to remain single!"

"I say, old chap, that's not very tactful!" 'Why? What's wrong?" 'It's downright unkind when you know I've just put my head in the noose!"

"If you feel that badly about it, why did you?" 'I've told you! Noblesse oblige and all that! Don't look at me so — you've no idea what it's like to have the family at your back all the time, rattling on about duty, preserving the line and all the rest. In the end I just gave in. It's enough to drive a man to drink."

"Come and have one, then," said Mr Barraclough sympathetically. "The lawyers will wait."

Lord Trenton met a few other cronies at White's, and after a while seemed to be drowning his sorrows so effectively that Mr Barraclough felt able to leave him. He resumed his walk back to his house in North Audley Street. The afternoon breeze was agreeably cool, and as he walked along he considered how very fortunate he was. At thirty, he was still free, rich and comparatively young. He had a mistress who was everything a man could want, beautiful, passionate and very willing — and, unlike a wife, she had no other claims on him. He was free to come and go as he pleased, and, when he tired of her, she would find someone else without any effort on his part.

Yes, his life was particularly well arranged. Unlike poor Trenton he was under no pressure to settle down. He could, and would, remain unencumbered for as long as he wished.

The only shadow on the horizon was the impending arrival of his sister-in-law. He frowned. It was an unfortunate truth that he and Julia cordially disliked one another. When to her chagrin he had inherited his uncle's fortune, she made no secret of the fact that she thought he should have stayed in the West Indies instead of choosing to travel the world as he had. His later decision to live in England was another source of displeasure. But he suspected that what really made her angry was the fact that, unlike his poor brother Henry, he took not the slightest notice of her.

This was as well, he thought as he crossed Berkeley Square and turned into Mount Street, for there really was no pleasing her. Far from neglecting his family responsibilities, he had allowed them to keep him out of England for a large part of last winter's hunting, and most of the London season this spring. What had started as a simple visit to Antigua had developed into a series of crises. Overnight his elder brother's two daughters had been made orphans, minors in the care of his brother Henry and himself. Making sure of their safety had been a major consideration, and he believed he had done more than his duty in that respect. It was now up to Henry and Julia to look after them.

Edward himself planned to make up for the last year's sacrifices as soon as he could leave London. He might spend a few days in Brighton with Louise, but afterwards he had various invitations from his friends to spend the later months of the year with them on their country estates. If and when that palled, he would return to London to enjoy town life again. A very attractive prospect, and one that he deserved, whatever Julia said!

Heartened by this thought, he leapt up the steps to his house, nodded cheerfully to his footman as he handed over his hat and cane, went into the hall, and started towards the stairs. But before he got to the first step he was stopped by his butler.

"Sir! Mr Barraclough!" Harbin looked as disturbed as Edward had ever seen him.

"What is it?" 'You have visitors, sir." Harbin held out a salver on which was a card.

Edward read it. "Lady Penkridge...? What does she want?" 'I don't know, sir. She has two young people with her."

Edward frowned. "I'd better see her, I suppose. Where are they?"

"In the library, sir." Harbin went to the library door, opened it and announced Edward. Then he withdrew.

"Edward!" He was attacked by a small whirlwind. "We've been waiting ages for you! Where've you been?"

Edward laughed, took the little girl into his arms and swung her round. "I wasn't expecting you so soon, Pip! You should have warned me." He put the child down and surveyed the room. Raising his eyebrow, he smiled at the other young person he saw, and went over to give her a hug. "Lisette, I'll swear you're prettier than ever." Then he turned and looked at the other occupants of the library. One was dressed in black, and stood ramrod straight. She had what looked like a permanent expression of disapproval on her face, with pursed lips and a nose like a hatchet. She was soberly dressed in rusty black, and what looked like the quills of a porcupine sticking out of an ugly bonnet. Not Lady Penkridge. He turned with relief to the other female, who was obviously waiting to speak to him. "Lady Penkridge? I don't believe we've met?"

"No, indeed, Mr Barraclough. But I am very well acquainted with your brother and his wife."

"Henry?" 'Yes. And dearest Julia. I have been a friend of hers for many years."

"Indeed? Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Penkridge. But...but I don't quite understand. Are my brother and his wife not here?"

"Julia is still in Antigua. And so is your brother."

Edward looked at her in astonishment. Clearly enjoying the drama of the moment, Lady Penkridge nodded solemnly and added, "They were unable to travel, Mr Barraclough. Julia broke her leg the day before we were all due to sail and Mr Henry Barraclough has stayed behind to look after her."

"But..." Shocked, Edward demanded details of the accident. Lady Penkridge told him the tale, with frequent interruptions from his younger niece, who seemed to find the gory details of the accident more interesting than sad. But the conclusion was the same. It would be some time before Julia Barraclough could walk, and even longer before she could attempt the voyage to England.

At the end, somewhat bewildered, Edward said, "But I still don't understand! Why, in that case, are my nieces here in London?"

"Edward! Don't say you don't want us here! We thought you'd be glad to see us!" This came from the small girl who had greeted him so rapturously a moment before.