Author's note:
Hi guys, this is my new story, a Jane Eyre inspired Regency romance. Please Read and Review, ANY feedback would be very very welcome and much appreciated. Thank you for making it to my story, hope you like it
AUTHOR'S EDIT:
I apologize for some mistakes when this chapter was published. I had decided to change Mr. Rochester's name to the more Regency-era friendly name of the Duke of Ashton, but the manuscript that I uploaded here hadn't been changed yet. In addition to that, I decided to leave Adele's name the same, simply changing it to the more English 'Adelina', another change that I forgot to make (after originally calling her Cecilia).
Thank you so much to everyone who has already read, liked and reviewed this story, pointing out my these oversights, but at the same time encouraging me so much… I am overwhelmed! Thank you once more.
Please let me know if there is anything else that I have to correct.
I hope I got them all… 3
Chapter One
A Chaperone for a Young Lady of Fashion
November 1813
This was only the fifth governess he was interviewing, and by the looks of her, she appeared to be every part as unsuitable as the rest.
His grace the duke of Ashton brought a slender white finger to his temple. This was going to take longer that he had at first expected, upon undertaking the task. His headache was worsening by the minute.
He placed his hands on the heavy, oak desk that smelled of old paper and tobacco. Daylight was streaming through the spacious windows, and outside a bird was singing in the warm summer air. And still, the lady kept talking.
His grace stole a glance at the paper bearing the woman's credentials.
"Miss Devon, is it?" he asked politely. "Miss Beatrice Devon, of _shire?"
The girl, for she was scarcely more than that, nodded seriously. She hardly knew enough of him to be able to understand what one of these icy looks of his meant. She would, however find out soon enough.
Her appearance was rather pleasing to the eye, she was short and smallish looking, and a bit on the slender side, but her cheeks were blooming and her neck was long, slender and swanlike. Her dark curls were meticulously combed back on her head, and in general she gave an appearance of elegance without being dressed elegantly or, he marked as he took note of her frayed pelisse, even respectably.
"Miss Devon," he repeated, "I would be obliged to you if you were to stop wasting my time. You are clearly ill-suited for this position."
At that, he saw a spark of fire in her warm, clear eyes.
"You cannot have read my credentials," she answered with a touch of authority in her voice he hadn't heard before.
"Oh but I did," he retorted. "The question is, did you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
She looked perplexed. And, if he had to admit it to himself, she even looked charming wearing this particular expression. He tapped a long finger to the papers in front of you.
"Or, can you read it, I should say?"
The girl appeared unfazed by his extraordinary question. She met his eyes unwaveringly.
"You appear to have doubts," she replied calmly, "as to my reading abilities."
"Well, how else am I to explain your presence here? I placed an advertisement for a chaperone for my ward, a young… miss of about sixteen years of age. I assume you are not much older than that yourself?"
"I will be nineteen this August, your grace," the girl answered with dignity. "And I humbly presume to tell you that I would be the best choice for a companion and chaperone for your young ward."
"Pray, enlighten me," the duke dripped with sarcasm.
She, however, continued as though he had spoken with true civility.
"I understand, your grace," she said gently, and for the first time his grace realized that the girl might be young –too young indeed- but she had more grace and true refinement in the way she spoke and the way she carried herself before him, that every other woman he had ever met. "I understand that the young girl in your care is in somewhat difficult… circumstances."
"She is unmanageable," he said simply.
The girl's eyes sparkled with appreciation at his simple statement.
"Would then not a chaperone closer to her own age be viewed as more of a companion, and therefore be more willingly listened to and taken into account?"
The duke considered for a minute. There was some truth in her words.
"And what makes you think, a mere child yourself, that you are the person she will listen to, even if I cannot inspire her respect?"
The girl's mouth trembled as though with a secret laughter. Suddenly, the duke's cool exterior dropped like a cloak. Was she, a mere chit of a girl, laughing at him? But the expression left her face as soon as it was formed there, and he thought he had imagined it.
"You may take me on for a week, as a trial period," she pronounced majestically, as though she was the one doing him a favor.
His grace stifled a chuckle.
He hadn't laughed in so long, his throat was rusty with it.
"Wait outside," he waved to the girl, and she obeyed at once.
That is more that the other ones have done so far, he thought. She is pleasing to look at, and witty, and obedient. Her age, appearance and birth, however, work so much against her, that it is, of course, out of the question that I employ her in my household.
A mere three days later, the young ward of his grace the duke of Ashton, Miss Adelina Halifax, was transformed from a spoilt, mischievous child, to an orderly, miss.
She still had a long way to go in order to make herself presentable for the season, which was to be in but a few weeks upon them, but the duke knew that, whatever his objections, he would be a fool to let such a miracle-worker slip through his fingers.
He, however let the 'governess' as he had taken to name her, wonder for many more days, before he confirmed her employment. Meanwhile, the governess was fast becoming friends with Adelina.
Adelina was a tall, beautiful, spoilt girl with luscious blond curls, accustomed to be entitled to everything the highest society could offer and tired of not getting her way in everything. Her father, the older and much more traditional-minded first cousin of his grace, had died but a few months ago, brotherless and friendless, and it had occurred to him before his death, that it would be a fortunate thing indeed if his poor, lovely daughter was to be brought to London and live with his morally depraved cousin after his own passing. Therefore, he left him his daughter in his will, like he did with all of his most prized possessions, stating that his 'poor motherless daughter' was to be entitled to the best that society and his fortune combined could offer.
Now his own fortune, though considerable, was nothing compared to that of the duke's, and, considering this fact, it was indeed a wonder that the duke even should consider taking on such a great encumberance as a young girl completely untrained in the ways of society, but still, that is what he did.
And now, a complete fortnight after his first interview with the governess, he called her once again to the library.
It was a crisp November morning, and Adelina was dressed in her smart new riding outfit, ready for a day spent riding at the park.
Miss Devon had spent many a painful morning, far earlier than the fashionable crowds appeared at the park trying to teach her proper riding etiquette, and so far she felt that her efforts hadn't seen the justice they deserved. Still, she put a smile on her face, and knocked on her charge's door.
Her charge was seated at her elegant vanity and was occupied with making her lady's maid cry.
Miss Devon took in the situation at a glance, and, approaching the girl, she nodded to the tortured maid to leave the room.
Then, while trying to avoid the girl's flailing arms, she set about the task of calming her. First, she touched her hair. Her half-finished coiffure was a thing to behold, but soon enough, under the dexterous and capable fingers of Miss Devon, the hair began to take form. In only a few minutes, the girl's hair was as beautiful as if a French maid, trained in the salons of France, had coiffed it.
"There," she said with a note of accomplishment in her voice.
Adelina looked at her reflection in the mirror with a dissatisfied gaze.
"Now, bring me my hat," she said, royally.
Miss Devon stifled the urge to sigh long and extensively.
"You will remember to speak with a manner appropriate for a young lady of society," she said, her tone gentle and firm all at once.
"I am tired of her incompetence," the girl spat.
"And yet," Miss Devon answered calmly, "speaking like a spoiled child not yet out of the nursery will not get her work done any sooner or with better quality."
Adelina tossed her pretty curls with indignation.
"I am ready," she declared. "Let us go."
"Not yet, my dear," Miss Devon said, letting the authority creep back into her voice. "Your uncle and guardian first desires an interview with me. And besides, there is the matter of apologizing to your maid."
At that, Adelina bristled.
"Let her apologize to me!" she said. "Whoever heard of a lady apologizing to her maid. And as for my uncle, we have not seen him inside this house for a fortnight, now that he finally wants to talk to you, you may tell him he is to wait. After our ride, you are welcome to talk with him to no end."
"In that case," Miss Devon replied quietly, "I with to inform you that you are in no way prepared to enter the park at this fashionable hour, your manner leaving for much to be desired in the way of civility and refinement, and therefore our ride is cancelled." And she took off her own hat, in a dramatic fashion.
Adelina turned on her, eyes ablaze. "What?!" she screamed, close to hysterics.
Miss Devon was almost at the door, her escape almost complete, when Adelina rush next to her and slapped her soundly on the left cheek.
"And," she said, to add insult to injury, "I am not even sorry for that."
With this, she slammed the door in her governess' face and went to throw herself on her bed with the commendable intention of spending the rest of the day in misery, crying her pretty eyes out.
Meanwhile, Miss Devon, cheek smarting and eyes fighting hot tears, rushed to her room to survey the damage. She would not admit it to anyone, but this act of violence from her charge had given life to most unwelcome and painful memories from her not so distant past, and as a result she found she needed more than a few moments to collect herself.
Then she dared look in her mirror.
The room she had been given for her temporary stay at his grace's London residence, was a cozy little corner overlooking the back gardens, with a simple tapestry of light green stripes covering the walls, a dresser, a small vanity and a luxurious bed. When she had been first shown in to it by a disgruntled maid, she had felt her eyes misting as though at a glimpse of heaven. Now, however, her tears had quite another cause.
On beholding her own visage on the mirror she cringed, and hastened to wipe her red-rimmed eyes and put a cool cloth dipped in water over the angry red mark that Adelina's violent emotion had left on her cheek. Her efforts were mostly in vain, as she had feared, and the little pocket-watch she kept fastened to her waist like an old-fashioned housekeeper, showed a quarter past eleven.
Miss Devon squared her shoulders, loosened a curl to drape over the mark on her cheek, and hurried down the stairs to the library.
A huge fire was blazing in the hearth, but the silence was complete, and for a moment she relaxed, thinking she was alone.
"You certainly took your time," said a bored voice from the general direction of the French windows.
"Your grace." Miss Devon hurried to curtsy before him.
He barely lifted his gaze to acknowledge her, so she apologized, simply and clearly for being delayed. Then she fell silent and watched him.
He was seated in a large armchair, his long, slender form sprawled elegantly across the silk tapestry. His white hands emerged from the folds of his white-lace sleeves to delicately hold a thick book, and the emerald ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand caught a ray of the sun and sparkled as he turned the page, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
He was, as always, dressed immaculately from the top of his dark, luscious curls to the shining tip of his Hessians –he was dressed for riding, Miss Devon surmised. His cravat was a masterpiece of human art, and his simply-cut dark blue coat had required a super-human effort on the part of his valet to put it on his person, so exactly was it made to fit his slim figure.
"I understand you to consider yourself a woman of no mean comprehension," he drawled at last. "Am I then to suppose that you have had no inkling what this interview was about?"
Miss Devon strove to keep the right side of her face in the shadows, which was no mean feat, since the room was flooded in sunlight, in case his grace decided to look up from his book.
"I fear you mean to unhire me, your grace." She answered simply.
"And why would you fear that?" he asked after a long-suffering pause.
She thought for a moment, what the correct reply would be. It would not do to show him how desperate she was to keep this post.
"Your grace…" she stopped to clear her voice, because an annoying tremor seemed to have crept into it. "Your grace appears to be a man of few words. And, if I may so add, even fewer appearances at this household. I surmised, therefore, that I had been summoned for no less important a reason than the one of my original interview with your grace."
At last, his grace had lifted his piercing eyes to her face, and seemed to fasten them on her own in a most disconcerting manner. She could not but lower her gaze, and hope that her previous distress was not entirely visible, although the fact that she appeared to be fighting a losing battle made her determination to appear at all costs brave in front of him, somewhat waver.
"I see," he said and stood.
He paced the carpet for a second, turning his back to her, but she did not let herself grow relaxed.
"Instead of pleading for your position," he went on, "you appear to be making an attempt at chastising me. So," at that he abruptly turned to face her, and she felt her knees tremble with the hostility of his gaze, "you mean perhaps to tell me I am not enough involved in my ward's affairs?"
Oh dear, she thought miserably, this does not seem at all promising.
He lifted a slender eyebrow, waiting for her reply. She could apologize again, but his eyes seemed to already anticipate such a reaction and to mock her in advance for it.
"That was indeed what I thought, your grace," she said as quietly as she could, "but it was ill-mannered of me to hint at it, especially so soon after having entered your employ. And for that I apologize."
The duke of Ashton found himself at a rather odd position while listening to her answer. Namely, he found himself fighting back laughter. That was quite out of the expected sphere of his hitherto existence.
"I am to hire you then, am I?" he said, more softly that he had yet spoken.
"I thought you already had," Miss Devon replied demurely, thus securing her place in his household and his second vain attempt to suppress a smile that threatened to blossom on his lips.
Then he suddenly turned severe again.
"I trust you will not give me reason to regret my decision, Miss Devon," he said in such a serious tone, that she quaked before him.
She, in her turn, could do nothing but curtsy deeply in reply, for much though she desired to thank him wholeheartedly, she realized that what respect she had wrenched from him unwillingly at this point, would be entirely lost at the slightest show of emotion.
"I should also inform you," he added, "although I leave the details of your further actions to my housekeeper, that you are to immediately remove yourself and my ward from this household, which has already harbored you both for far too long."
She raised questioning eyes to his.
"You cannot possibly remain in the house of a confirmed bachelor for the Season," he explained firmly. "I have made arrangements with my aunt, the Dowager Lady Augusta Edgerton, an amiable lady of regrettable health, who lives in the most fashionable neighborhood, and who gracefully offered to house you both for the duration of the Season and beyond, supposing that your efforts in finding my ward a husband prove unsuccessful."
A pregnant silence followed this severe pronouncement.
His grace appeared to curl his lip in ironic amusement.
"You press your lips so firmly Miss Devon," he said, "that I cannot help but ask: which part of my speech has offended you?"
"Well," Miss Devon began, "I did not speak at once, for I was not certain you would wish for my opinion, but truly I cannot help but feel that the sentiments you just now expressed were deeply wrong. Indeed, every sensibility must be offended."
"My dear girl," his grace replied, his amusement turning fast to anger, "whatever can I have said that made you think that I wish for your opinion?"
"You cannot in earnest want her wed, sir?" she asked bluntly, looking straight into his eyes.
His grace froze for a split second.
Then, as abruptly as it had left him, his aloofness seemed to settle again upon him like a garment.
"Indeed I do," he said, once again bored. "What else am I to do with her, after all?"
"She is but sixteen years of age," Miss Devon insisted, "and very ill brought up, and indeed, from what I have so far gathered, she has had a most lonely and inappropriate childhood."
"Has she now?"
Miss Devon bent her head down, seeking to conceal her expression from the duke.
"I see," he said. "Before you were half in jest, but now you seriously disapprove of me."
"I do not disapprove, your grace," she replied. "I am merely disillusioned. I had thought of you as someone… quite different. Well, I suppose I must do my best to prepare her for the hardships of a married life. I trust you will want to approve of the bridegroom yourself?"
She had gone too far. She had let her tongue run away with her, one of her commonest faults, and had quite forgotten her position and spoke to him as an equal. This would not easily be forgiven her. She knew this with certainty, even as she saw the steel sparkling in his eyes.
In two long strides he was beside her, taking her arm in quite a painful grip and fixing her face with a scowl so cold that she felt the color leave her face.
"Madam," he spat, bending over her, his nose mere inches from hers, "do not presume to know me, or to tell me know I should conduct my affairs. This is the last time I have tolerated criticism from you. Is that understood?"
She could only nod imperceptibly, paralyzed by his closeness. He searched her eyes for a second, and then seemed to relax his arm on hers, although he did not distance himself from her or let her go.
He was fuming, angry beyond words at himself, for letting this mere slip of a girl wrench out of him more emotion than he had ever allowed himself to show to the world. He was angry at her, too, blindingly, passionately angry. An anger that made him feel more alive, more painfully present than he could remember.
She parted her rich, trembling lips and he watched them, mesmerized.
"Forgive me," she whispered and drew her brows together as though she was in pain.
He remembered his grip on her, and released her abruptly. She stumbled, then righted herself, and rubbed her arm wincing at the pain.
He turned aside, unable to watch.
"You can go now," he said at length.
She started towards the door, with small, uncertain steps, for her legs were still trembling, and he once again came to her.
"Miss Devon," he said, his voice unsteady. "Let me look at you."
He lifted her chin with one long finger and he ran his thumb along the red mark on her cheek.
"Did she hit you?" he said quietly, almost in a whisper, "I wonder what you did to arouse her temper. Were you as harsh on her as you were on me? I think… I think you cannot have been."
"I cancelled our excursion," she merely said.
Still he touched her cheek lightly with his thumb.
"Hmm…" was all he said, then he stepped away from her, moving to his abandoned book on the armchair, which he proceeded to tidy on the secretaire with very slow and deliberate movements.
Finally, he turned to her.
"Tell your charge," he said, with dangerous calm, "that the next time she lifts a hand on you, I will kill her."
Miss Devon stared at him.
"Rather a violent threat for such a small crime, your grace" she said with some bewilderment.
"Think you so?" was the only reply she received before he abruptly changed the subject. "You will, I trust, be satisfied with the further details of your salary, Miss Devon, but as I cannot be detained any longer, you must discuss these with Mr. Frost." He pointed to the door, where that worthy man had appeared, serious and forbidding within his secretary's habit.
"As you wish, your grace," she said with dignity, for the word 'salary' had left a bitter and lowly taste in her ears.
The duke regarded her with some faint surprise, which however he was soon able to overcome. Without a second glance, or other words of farewell, he left her and strode to the door.
"Miss Devon, I presume," said Mr. Frost with a serious, forbidding baritone as he approached her civilly.
She, however was not heeding him much. Her gaze was earnestly watching out of the window, and almost the next minute, her curiosity was satisfied, for she saw his grace in the distance, trotting away on his giant of a black steed, and guiding his mount with a touch of impatience that would only be visible to a trained and experienced eye.
"Mr. Frost, ma'am, at your service," Mr. Frost coughed.
She curtsied politely. He was a youngish-looking man, whose severity belied his years, and she detected in his eye a hint of genius which well satisfied her.
"Mr. Frost," she repeated. "If we are either of us to survive the changes that will no doubt descend upon his grace's household with the coming of the season, you must learn to call me Miss Beatrice and not stand upon so severe a ceremony with me. I confess I fear I will need a great deal of assistance."
"Miss Beatrice," he replied, "I am honored to be your guide and assistant in everything you may require."
She smiled at him, and two twin dimples appeared on her cheeks. "Thank you."
Mr. Frost, for once lost for words, stammered something intelligible.
That was the moment he lost his heart to her. From then on, he was to be her most devoted slave.
The very next morning Miss Devon along with her charge, Miss Adelina Edgerton, moved to the household of the Dowager Lady Augusta Edgerton, a lady, as Miss Devon soon was to discover, much inclined for any kind of company, for she was confined to a chair.