The Chaperone Bride: Regency Romance

By Marina Oliver

When Joanna finds herself destitute after her gambler father's suicide, unable to find work, and is offered instead a marriage of convenience she sees no other option.
Sir Kenelm needs a wife as a chaperone, since governesses are reluctant to live in a widower's household.
The twins, children of his first wife, refuse to accept her as a new Mama. The governess, having thought she too was applying for the position of governess, resents her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: May 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781947812369

Marina Oliver

Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates. I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day. I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President. As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm. I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area. Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

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1

'Y ou need to marry again.'

Sir Kenelm Childe looked at his brother and shook his head, grinning. Henry was very attached to his whole family, but he was somewhat fussy, and inclined to offer unwanted advice.

'You've been trying to force me into parson's mousetrap for ten years, since poor Maria died. My experience of marriage hasn't made me wish to repeat it. I'm not interested. Wives all want the same, more pin money, spending the Season in London, then months at Brighton, and my attention all the time.'

He hadn't been in love with Maria except at the very beginning, he now knew, and at that age he had thought himself vaguely in love with several of the debutantes. He had been very young, not much above one and twenty, and had not wished to be wed for years, but his father had been ill, not expecting to live much longer, and wanted to see him established before he died. Attracted, perhaps, by Maria's liveliness, and perhaps complacent that she had accepted him rather than any other of her many suitors, he had agreed to the match. It had been a marriage largely arranged by his father and hers, and he'd liked her well enough at first, thought she would make a conformable wife. Besides she brought a really substantial dowry and his father had stressed the importance of that.

He had been keeping a delectable chit from the opera at the time, and did not anticipate changing his way of life more than enough to satisfy Maria, escort her to a few parties in London, and then bring her home to Yorkshire. But Maria had not been conformable, and the chit had doubled her demands for diamond necklaces. Unable to control Maria he had insisted she stayed in Yorkshire, though that had not answered in the end. He had said a fond farewell to the chit, and afterwards sought his amusements in York or Leeds, far enough away from Rock Castle to avoid gossip. He had expected to be able to visit London on his own, but Maria's behaviour had compelled him to remain at home. Besides, the local high flyers flew considerably lower than the London ones, so he was well in pocket.

'That was Maria,' Henry Childe reminded him as he took a pinch of snuff. He offered the box to Sir Kenelm, who declined. 'Not all women are the same. Look at my Albinia. She never wants to leave Yorkshire, I can spend the whole year in London if I wish, and if she purchases more than one new gown each year it's a cause for celebration. I often wish she did more to support my pretensions of being a gentleman!'

Sir Kenelm laughed. 'The fortune your godfather left you was not enormous,' he pointed out, and walked across to look through the library window. The sound of a carriage came faintly. 'That's the last of them leaving, thank God. I can't abide funerals!'

'What will you do to replace Cousin Georgina?'

Sir Kenelm went to pour another glass of Madeira, and refilled his brother's glass.

'Why do I need to replace her? She's been a confounded nuisance for the past ten years, always complaining, telling me young George needs tutors in this, that and the other. Why, the boy's only ten! Why does he need lessons in swordplay, and Latin and Greek, or to have his coats made by London tailors? He'll get all that in a few years. He learns all he needs here at Rock Castle.'

Henry frowned and looked into his glass. 'I know it's been difficult for you, without the support of a wife. Albinia may suffer ill health, but she controls the servants and young Harry for me, which Cousin Georgina never has done for you, from what you have told me. Your George learns to ride rough ponies, and fight the stable lads,' he said bluntly. 'And that silly woman you call his governess has no control over him. Or over Amelia. They escape from the schoolroom more times than they are there.'

Sir Kenelm nodded. His own boyhood had been much more constrained, with stern tutors and a father predisposed to believe them and employ the whip on his sons for the slightest misdemeanour. He had been lenient, perhaps too lenient, with his own children.

'Miss Tucker has been with them for five years, she knows them. And it's been a difficult time since Cousin Georgina died, for both he and Amelia loved her, despite her peculiarities, and I haven't the heart to force them while they are still shocked by her death. And don't forget, she was ill for six months beforehand.'

Henry put down his glass and opened his snuff box, offering it again to his brother.

'I know you're not fond of snuff, but do try this mix, it's one of my own. Then they should have been prepared for her death! They are ten years old, and if Amelia can set a single stitch in her samplers I'd be surprised. I found her in the stables yesterday, she'd been out on the moors with George, no grooms with them, and she was riding astride, her petticoats hitched up above her knees. She's getting too old for such tricks, Kenelm! You need a wife to take charge.'

Sir Kenelm shook his head at the snuff.

'Thanks, but I prefer not to. And where do you suggest I find a woman willing to take on the tasks you think necessary?'

Henry grinned. 'If you could bear to go to London for the Season there's be no problem. You have a substantial income, a large estate and home here in Yorkshire, a house in Mayfair, and though I don't wish to give you too elevated an opinion of yourself, you're a handsome fellow. You were once a noted Corinthian. Your title is an old one, and it you took any interest in politics you could get one better. Why, before you married Maria and retired to Rock Castle all the debutantes in London were trying to catch your interest.'

Sir Kenelm laughed. 'You have never been so complimentary in the past! I recall you deploring my so-called Corinthian excesses. You never wanted to emulate my ambitions. You despised sword play, and curricle racing, and pugilism. Besides, I wouldn't wish to go to London while I'm in black gloves for Cousin Georgina.'

'I don't see why not. You are too nice in your observances. She was only a very distant cousin, I can't recall how many times removed. Leave it a month, and then I'll take the twins home with me, and their wretched governess too, while you go on the lookout for a wife. There will still be plenty of company in London, until Christmas. Or leave it till the Season starts next year. It shouldn't take you more than three months.'

Sir Kenelm looked rueful. 'As long as that?' he asked, and grinned. 'I'd give it two weeks, if I'm such a brilliant catch as you suggest. Besides, haven't all the ton gone to Brussels now Napoleon is banished to Elba and they have no more cause to be afraid of him?'

'There or Vienna, for the Congress. We never had the benefit of the Grand Tour, like Papa, so if you don't fancy London here's an opportunity to repair that omission, and travel in Europe. I'll take the twins for as long as you like.'

'That's kind of you, but it would not do. And I do not wish for a wife. Yes, what is it?' he added as a timid knock came on the door.

A tall, thin woman wearing a shabby black gown and a small cap which sat crookedly on her wispy fair hair came hesitantly part way into the room, holding onto the door while she spoke. Her voice was thin and she looked everywhere but at Sir Kenelm.

'Sir Kenelm? Can I speak with you? Oh, I am so sorry, didn't realise Mr Childe was still here.'

He walked across to take her arm and urge her forward, but she resisted, pulling free of him and almost backing out of the room.

'Never mind him. Come in, won't you, Miss Tucker, don't stand in the doorway like that. What is it? Problems with George again?'

Why, he wondered, did the woman look so terrified? He knew she was timid, and tried not to show the irritation she usually aroused in him.

'N – no, Sir Kenelm. It's just, well, I haven't liked to mention it before, with all that needed to be done for the funeral, but – well – you must see, that is, I can't stay here without there being a chaperone, and now Miss Georgina is – that is – now she has gone to her rest, and it will be a relief to her, I'm sure, after all she has suffered these past six months while she has been ill, I – well – I have to leave. I'm going to spend the night with the vicar's wife, she's waiting for me now in the gig, and in the morning I'll catch the stage to my sister's home in Leeds. I am so sorry if it is inconvenient to you, but you must understand, I can't possibly stay here without a chaperone, it would be most irregular!'

'So now you need a new governess as well as a wife,' Henry said when Miss Tucker had retreated without waiting for Sir Kenelm to respond to her hurried declaration. He could not stop laughing.

Miss Tucker, having made her announcement, had scuttled from the room, almost slamming the door behind her.

'What in heaven's name does she think would happen to her?' Sir Kenelm demanded, throwing himself down into a chair facing Henry.

'At the very least you'd seduce her. Really, Kenelm, if you want to keep her you'll have to marry the wench!'

He looked appalled. 'Marry? Her? But she's at least ten years older than I am and a dratted nuisance! Oh, confound it, now I'll have to start advertising for a wretched governess, I suppose.'

Henry was looking thoughtful.

'She may be silly, but she had a point. While you advertise for a governess, you had better advertise for a wife too.'

Sir Kenelm glanced at him in amazement. Had Henry gone mad?

'Don't be ridiculous! Whoever finds a wife in such a fashion?'

'You wouldn't be the first, believe me. I have some examples at home, in the Morning Post, and I'll send you a few issues, so that you can compose a suitable invitation. Some of these are most peculiar, and I often wonder what sort of female answers such.'

'Yet you want me to find a peculiar female and marry her! I don't want any wife, peculiar or otherwise.'

'No, it's the advertisements that are odd. They ask for such unrealistic things. Though perhaps some of the women who reply could be odd too.'

Sir Kenelm shook his head. It was irrelevant. The very idea was preposterous. He didn't want a wife, and what sort of female would be so brazen as to answer such an advertisement? Not someone he would be prepared to introduce into his home, let alone marry.

'There must be some other female willing to come here and act the chaperone,' he said, but was unable for the moment to think of anyone.

'Who? We are amazingly short of indigent females in the family. Look how hard you had to search before you found Cousin Georgina.'

'And she only came because her husband had recently died and her son wanted her out of the Manor. That was fortunate timing for me.'

'If not for her. And she found the Dower house too small and damp. At least here she had a comfortable home and could pretend she was in charge.'

Sir Kenelm grinned. 'She was reasonably competent, Henry, you must admit, when she could be bothered, and took over a multitude of tasks I would have found tedious. And the children liked her.'

'Because she let them do much as they chose. If I had the charge of them I would make them mind me.'

That was one reason why Sir Kenelm was reluctant to hand over his children to his brother. His own childhood had been severely ruled by his father, and he knew he was far too lenient with the twins, but he was determined to give them a happy childhood.

'Isn't there some unmarried female in Cousin Frederick's family? An older sister?' Sir Kenelm asked. 'I recall seeing her once when I went up to London for a few days.'

'If you mean Charlotte, she married the curate last year. Didn't you receive an invitation to the wedding?'

Sir Kenelm realised his mouth was open and swiftly closed it. How could he have forgotten such an unlikely event?

'Yes, I do now recall Charlotte was to be married. I thought it so unlikely. She is at least forty!'

Henry chuckled and took another pinch of snuff. 'And he was only thirty, poor fellow, but she was at her last prayers, and if you ask me, I suspect she bullied him into it, implied he wouldn't get preferment as a bachelor, and one of Frederick's livings had just become vacant.'

'Lord, I'd forgotten all about it. I think it must have been when we had that trouble with the cottages on Long Acre flooding, and the people all had to be rehoused while the cottages were rebuilt. Well, I can't think of anyone else. But what am I to do with them?'

'So it will have to be an advertisement. I'll take the twins back home with me until you find someone. They can share young Harry's lessons. You still have their old nurse, don't you? She can come with us and look after them.'

Sir Kenelm gave in to the inevitable.

'Thanks, Henry, just while they have no governess. I'll clearly have to advertise, but just for a governess! Now let's forget the whole ghastly business. Come and see how Merry Maid's foal is coming on. He's going to be a winner, you can see the class in him even at six months old.'

Two weeks later Sir Kenelm sat in the office of Mr Littlewood, his man of business in Leeds, interviewing the applicants who hoped to become governess to the twins. The first six he dismissed at once. They were too young, too old, too severe, or too flighty, and in at least two he had seen speculative gleams in their eyes when he had mentioned his widowed state. There were just two left, and he sighed as the next one was ushered in by his lawyer's clerk. This business was proving far more of a problem than he had anticipated.

Miss Busby was a thin, sharp-faced Yorkshire woman, in her late thirties, five or so years older than he was himself. She wore her dull brown hair scraped back, and an ill-fitting gown of the same shade. He could, he decided, ignore her looks, for she had excellent recommendations from her previous employers. Her last pupil, the youngest in the family, had died when he caught a dose of measles, hence her need for fresh employment. His sister had, a few months earlier, been sent to a school in York, so she had experience teaching girls as well as boys, and could instruct them in all the required female accomplishments. She had, she said, been living with a brother in Leeds, but he had only a small house, and she wished to find a new position as soon as possible.

She would, he decided, be a strict if fair disciplinarian, and perhaps Henry was right, his twins needed more than they had received from Miss Tucker. He would see the remaining candidate, but he was certain he would soon be offering the post to Miss Busby.

To his surprise she then began to ask him a good many questions, about the precise location of Rock Castle, who the other members of the household were, the facilities he could provide in the schoolroom, and who acted as his hostess when he entertained. Although she did not say openly she would not accept the post, if offered, when he confessed his former hostess had recently died and he did not yet have another, he knew that would be her response. Henry, it seemed, knew more about the sensitivities of unmarried females than he did. But where could he find a hostess in time to catch this paragon?

'Please wait, Miss Busby,' he said as he rose to escort her from the room. 'I must think hard before I make a final decision.'

She inclined her head and passed in a stately manner from the room into the outer office. Her rigid back seemed to say she despised him for not immediately seeing her worth.

The clerk ushered in the final candidate. 'Miss Joanna Frazer, Sir Kenelm,' he said.

The woman who came in looked like a child. She was small and delicately made, had an elfin face, a small nose, big, startlingly blue eyes, a rosebud mouth and dark curls escaping from a loosely tied ribbon. Her cloak, which she carried over her arm, looked thin and worn and he could see where it had been darned near the hem. Her black gown was shabby, her bonnet looked as though it had been crushed recently, and her shoes, peeping from beneath the hem of her gown, were scuffed, though well polished.

'Miss Frazer, please sit down,' Sir Kenelm said, and took her arm to guide her to a chair. The arm felt fragile, but she seemed composed, and calmly arranged her cloak on her lap, then folded her hands, clutching what looked like a reticule she had made herself, rather ineptly, on top of it. 'Tell me about yourself,' Sir Kenelm went on. 'How long have you been a governess?'

She looked about sixteen, he thought, but perhaps she was older. He was not an expert in estimating the ages of unknown females.

'I'm one and twenty,' she began, in a more assured voice than he had been expecting. It was a pleasant voice, low and musical, with a faint inflection that to him sounded Scottish. Well, her name was a Scottish one. 'I have been teaching at a school in Kensington for the past four years. Until May, in fact.'

'Four years!' Sir Kenelm exclaimed. It didn't seem possible.

'Oh, yes,' she said calmly, delving into her reticule and pulled out a sheaf of papers. 'I initially went there as a pupil, but – well, I was already seventeen, older than most of the other girls there, and soon I was offered a post as a teacher. Here is a character from Miss Benson, who owned the school. She says my work was quite satisfactory.'

Seventeen seemed remarkably young to be offered a post as a teacher, Sir Kenelm thought. Perhaps it was just to teach the little ones. He did not, he admitted, know anything about how schools were organised.

'It is now November. What have you been doing meanwhile? Since May? And why did you leave this position?'

She closed her eyes briefly and then took a deep breath and spoke faster than before. He noticed her hands were tightly clenched and she had caught up a fold of the cloak. Instead of the steady gaze of before she looked down, and there was a delicate flush on her cheeks.

'My father was a Captain in the army, but he sold out after Toulouse in April. Napoleon was finished, and he saw no prospect of further promotion. When he came to London he was on his way to Aberdeen, where he had family. He required me to accompany him, but we have been a long time on the road.' She took a deep breath and looked down. 'I am afraid he was a gamester, and not a very successful one. He believed trying his luck in a new town would change it, so we travelled slowly, but he lost everything, and must have despaired. He shot himself a month ago, since when I have been looking for a position.'

Sir Kenelm blinked. What a terrible thing to have happened to one so young and defenceless. His gaze roamed over her shabby clothing, and he wondered whether she was destitute. Or, a cautious inner voice prompted him, could she be playing for his sympathy. He tried to stay impartial.

'What can you teach? I have twins, a boy and girl ten years old. Could you teach all they need?'

'I think so. I have not, it is true, taught a boy before, but I have taught girls up to the age of sixteen or seventeen. Composition, arithmetic, the use of the globes, water colour painting.'

'Accomplishments? The pianoforte?'

'Indeed yes. And singing.'

'The harp?'

She gave a deep sigh and shook her head.

'No, but I can play the guitar.'

It was said with an air of quiet desperation, but she took a deep breath and smiled. Quite a few ladies played a guitar, he knew. And though it was some time since he had graced London drawing rooms with his presence, he recalled, wincing, the agony he had occasionally endured when forced to listen to those females who draped themselves soulfully round a harp. Perhaps a guitar would actually be preferable.

'Embroidery?'

For the first time she smiled without it seeming false, strained, and showed small, white, even teeth.