MISS HAYES: A Regency Romance (Miss Wolfraston's Ladies Book 2) Read online

  Miss Hayes

  Miss Wolfraston’s Ladies Book 2

  Jenny Hambly

  Copyright © 2020 by Jenny Hambly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The moral right of Jenny Hambly has been asserted.

  www.jennyhambly.com

  Dedication

  To Alanah and William

  Always follow your dreams

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Also by Jenny Hambly

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  The drive that led from Miss Wolfraston’s Seminary for Young Ladies to the world at large, meandered through a park that was naturalistic in style, and of a not inconsiderable size. The many families, who had been fortunate enough to witness its splendour when delivering their children into the capable hands of Miss Wolfraston, generally considered it to be both elegant and picturesque.

  Today, the long, sweeping avenue was crowded with an abundance of carriages, carrying these cherished offspring back into the, no doubt, impatient bosoms of their families, for the summer break. Yet very few of the occupants of these vehicles were of a mind to appreciate the pleasing aspect offered to them, if indeed, they noticed it at all. But then, they had seen it many times before, and so it was perhaps not surprising that the beauty that was so familiar to them, had become dim and indistinct to their dulled senses. It could be the only explanation, for it could hardly be supposed that eagerness to leave the sanctuary of Miss Wolfraston’s tender care could cause such a careless lack of attention to their surroundings.

  One of the carriages carried two ladies, who, it appeared, were not so remiss. The younger of the two, Miss Charlotte Fletcher, sat very upright, her hands clasped in her lap, and her wide blue eyes fixed firmly on the passing landscape that had marked the boundaries of her life for the past five years. She had become accustomed to thinking of the seminary as her home, and knew every walk and cluster of trees intimately. Her life before she had arrived there had become rather hazy, and so it felt as if she were leaving behind all that was familiar to her, apart from Miss Hayes, her companion on this journey. That lady’s presence bolstered her spirits and prevented her from shedding the anxious tears that threatened her composure.

  Charlotte had been a very unhappy and withdrawn child when she first arrived at the seminary, after losing both her parents to a putrid fever. Viscount Seymore had been named as her guardian in her father’s will. Her cousin had acquired that title on the death of his father, not many months before, but he had numbered only three and twenty years, and did not know what to do with the silent, wisp of a girl. Neither had Miss Wolfraston, at first, and none of the teachers had been able to make her talk or mind her lessons.

  Miss Wolfraston had employed Miss Sarah Hayes as a teacher in Charlotte’s second term at the school. Sarah had treated the forlorn child with a patience and gentleness that had eventually penetrated her defences. Although only eight years separated them, Charlotte had come to rely on Miss Hayes as she would an aunt, or even a mother.

  Sarah was fully aware of this dependency. She’d strived to help Charlotte become more independent, particularly over the last year. Most young ladies left the seminary by their sixteenth year, and so she had been delighted when two other girls Charlotte’s age, Lady Georgianna Voss and Miss Marianne Montagu, had arrived. Sarah had ensured they share a room together, hoping that Charlotte might transfer her affections to one or both of them, and develop friendships that might benefit her once she stepped beyond the gates of the seminary and entered society, as she must surely do. Her plan had been at least partially successful. Miss Montagu had readily adopted Charlotte, and even the aloof Lady Georgianna had warmed towards her, in the end.

  No one could have been more pleased than Sarah, when Charlotte’s Great Aunt Augusta had written to inform her that she had returned from India, and would welcome Charlotte into her own home, Priddleton Hall, near Dorchester. She had not expected to be invited there herself, however. But she had also received a letter summoning her thither. Lord Seymore had mentioned her support to Charlotte, and claiming that she had known Miss Hayes’ grandfather, Baron Beaumont, and had met Sarah when she was a child, Lady Carstairs had insisted that she come, for the summer at least, as Charlotte’s companion.

  This missive had raised conflicting emotions in Sarah’s breast. Her first instinct had been to refuse, and indeed, that had been her firm intention. But the bemused, anxious eyes of her protégée had melted her resolve. The affection between them did not lie on Charlotte’s side alone. Her heart had gone out to the poor girl as soon as she had learned of her history, for no one knew better than Sarah, how painful it was to have your world turned upside down in an instant.

  Although her charge did not realise it, Sarah had been acquainted with Lord Seymore long before she knew Charlotte. Her own mother had died when she was barely out of the nursery and she had developed very close ties of affection with her father. It was not a milky sort of love. Although he had provided her with an extremely accomplished governess, he had treated her very much as if she had been a boy. A keen sportsman, he had raised her to be fearless in the saddle, and had ensured that she could drive a curricle or phaeton as well as any man. He was inordinately proud of both her beauty and her skill, and had not failed to launch her into the ton with all the pomp and ceremony he could contrive.

  Sarah’s auburn hair, creamy complexion, and bewitching green eyes, together with her dauntless spirit, frank ways, and natural grace and elegance, had ensured her success. She had attracted a great many admirers, Lord Seymore amongst them. But although she had found him pleasant enough, he had not captivated her. He had been handsome, certainly, but very young and a little gauche.

  It was Lord Turnbull who had caught her eye. He had a knowing air about him, was amusing, and had been an accomplished flirt. He had liked her to cut a dash, and encouraged her to drive her high-perched phaeton in the park, and even allowed her to drive his own curricle, although it was well known that he had paid a small fortune for the showy, matching pair of bays that pulled it. She had easily been able to imagine that her father may have been very like him when he was a young man. Perhaps it was this that had prompted her to accept his offer without very much reflection at all.

  Her father had seemed satisfied, but not many weeks later, had met his end in a curricle race. Approaching fifty, he was not as sharp as he had once been. By all accounts, as the race drew near its end, he attempted to overtake his rival on a blind bend. The result had been fatal. The mail coach had been coming in the other direction.

  At first, Lord Turnbull had been very supportive of his future wife. But it had slowly emerged to the surprise of all, not least his daughter, that Lord Beaumont had been completely under the hatches. He may have launched his daughter in style, but a series of bad investments, poor management, and a lavish life
style, had completely cleaned him out. The rumour that he had purposefully taken such an insane risk on that final bend, began to circulate. In short, the whisper was, that he had all but committed suicide.

  The ton began to turn its back on her. Although society might have countenanced the boldness and confidence that marked Sarah’s character when they thought her wealthy and unmarked by scandal, it did not like to be duped. Even her intended, who had not long before declared himself completely at her feet, turned cold. Lord Turnbull had not protested when she had released him from his obligation.

  She had been left bewildered, alone, and without a feather to fly with. She had, at first, been excessively grateful when her father’s aunt, Lady Sadler, invited her to live with her as her companion in the depths of the Kent countryside. However, her situation had not been an easy one. Lady Sadler proved to be curmudgeonly and impossible to please. It was also difficult to bear with her frequent, disparaging remarks about her father, or the condescending glances of her many visitors.

  The pride and independence that had been bred into her, had ensured that she eventually rebelled against her subservient situation. She thought it would be better to completely remove herself from the sphere she’d been born into, and so briefly reigned over. She decided that she would rather be paid an honest wage for her labour, rather than live on the crumbs occasionally thrown her way by Lady Sadler. And so, not long after her twentieth birthday, she had found herself at Miss Wolfraston’s Seminary for Young Ladies.

  Whenever Lord Seymore visited his ward, Sarah played least in sight. Miss Wolfraston had not failed to inform him that Charlotte’s improvement was largely down to Miss Hayes’ careful handling of the child, and he had claimed that he wished to thank her in person. But she had not wished to be reminded of all that she had lost, or to see the admiration that had once shone so brightly in his eyes, turned to pity, and so she had stubbornly refused. Miss Wolfraston had not pressed her, on the contrary, she had been pleased at such a show of becoming modesty, for even Miss Hayes’ work-a-day clothes could not dim her beauty.

  Sarah may have, at times, questioned her decision to become a teacher at a school that was so unenlightened as to the education necessary for a young lady, but she had gradually come to terms with her lot over the last five years. It had not been easy however, and now, it seemed that her hard earned equilibrium was to be tested. Although she was reluctant to put herself in a position where she could again become an object of derision or false sympathy, her affection for Charlotte, and her wish to be assured that she was happily settled, had forced her out into the world once more. A wry smile twisted her lips as she acknowledged that a long-hidden part of herself rejoiced at the prospect of leaving behind the stultifying routine of the seminary.

  As they at last, passed through the gates of the school, her eyes turned towards her charge.

  “Do not look so worried, Charlotte. Judging by the tone of Lady Carstairs’ letters, she is very much looking forwards to welcoming you into her home. You are not afraid of her, surely?”

  “No, no,” Charlotte said quickly. “How can I be when I do not know her? It is only that…”

  Sarah smiled gently at her. “Go on, dear.”

  “Well, what if I do not please her? Great Aunt Augusta is very adventurous you see, and I am not.”

  “If we were all pleased only by those who reminded us of ourselves, how intolerably conceited we would be! Come, tell me all about her.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I have been thinking about her a great deal recently, but I know very little really. And I am not sure if what I think I remember is accurate, or partly imagined.”

  “Let us begin with what you do know, then. Lady Carstairs went to India. When?”

  “I cannot say exactly when, but it was a few years before I was born, I believe,” Charlotte said thoughtfully.

  “Let us call it twenty years. Now, why did she go? Was it perhaps because she was connected to somebody who worked for the East India Company?”

  A reminiscent smile curled Charlotte’s lips. “Now that I can answer. My mother told me the story many times. The short answer is no. She was not. My mother was very proud of Great Aunt Augusta, even though she flouted convention. She always looked forwards to her infrequent letters.”

  Sarah looked interested. “In what way did she flout convention?”

  “She did not at first. She was not a beauty, you see, although my mother thought her very handsome. She said that she was always outspoken. Perhaps that is why she did not take. She eventually became a companion to a Lady Brabacombe, I think. She was a widow. Mama said that she was very crusty, but she cannot have been that dreadful because my aunt stayed with her for fifteen years.”

  Sarah repressed a shudder. “I admire her fortitude.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Well, even if it was horrible, it was worth it in the end. When she died, she left my aunt some money. Not a fortune, but enough to make her comfortable. But she did not wish to be comfortable. She wanted an adventure.”

  “And so she went to India,” Sarah said softly. “How marvellous. I think I like her already.”

  “Yes, she did, alone, apart from a maid. My father was well connected through his years in the navy, and he arranged for her passage when she informed him roundly that she would go whether he helped her or not. It was there she met Lord Carstairs, although he was only Mr Fancot, then. Mama and Papa were very surprised when she wrote to inform them of her marriage for she was well into her thirties. He worked for the supreme court, as a judge. As a matter of fact, until I received my aunt’s letter, I was unaware that he had become Lord Carstairs.”

  “Well, we must be grateful that he has,” Sarah said firmly. “For I assume that is the reason he has returned home. I can see no reason for you to be anxious, Charlotte. We know that your aunt was not fond of writing letters, yet she maintained a prolonged, if infrequent, correspondence with your mother. Does this not suggest a fondness on her part for your mama?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does,” Charlotte admitted. “She did call her my dear departed niece in her letter.”

  “Precisely. Then is it not also reasonable to suppose that she might extend this fondness to her daughter?”

  A tentative smile curved Charlotte’s lips. “You are right, of course.”

  “Then stop being such a worrywart, and be prepared to enjoy this new adventure.”

  They broke their journey at The Red Lion Inn at Shaftesbury. Lady Carstairs had not failed to bespeak rooms and a private parlour for their use. Sarah was very grateful for this forethought for, judging by the noise issuing from the coffee room, the inn was very busy. The maid who showed them to their rooms, confirmed it.

  “We’re fit to bursting, ma’am. It’s the Blandford races. Every inn for miles around is as full as it can hold.”

  She led them up the stairs and down a long, dim corridor, before pausing in front of a door. She opened it and offered a perfunctory curtsy. “This is your room, miss, and the young lady’s is next door.” She dropped her voice, leaned towards Sarah, and said, “Your private sitting room is directly opposite the coffee room, miss. I’d steer clear of all the public rooms today if I were you; there’s already more than one gentleman downstairs who is a bit on the go, if you get my meaning.”

  “I think I understand you,” Sarah said calmly. “Thank you for the warning.”

  Her room was clean and comfortable. Its only disadvantage was its situation. It appeared to be directly above the coffee room, and although the ceiling that separated the two rooms managed to muffle the revelry below, it could not completely eliminate the murmur of voices, or the sudden shouts of laughter that would rise above them at regular intervals. She sighed. It would be useless to request another room when there was clearly none to be had.

  She suggested to Charlotte that they take a stroll around the small market town. It was set atop a hill, and the only remarkable thing about it was the breathtaking views over the surrounding c
ountryside. As it was far too hot to attempt to walk down any of the steep cobbled lanes, they soon returned to the inn to take their dinner.

  The carpet in the parlour was a trifle threadbare, and the furniture somewhat rudimentary, however, the food was surprisingly good.

  The walk seemed to have done Charlotte good. There was a delicate pink bloom in her cheeks, and the tension seemed to have gone from her.

  “I like this,” she said softly.

  “Yes, the chicken is very good,” Sarah agreed.

  Charlotte laughed. “I do not mean the food, Miss Hayes, I meant this…” She waved her hand back and forth between them. “Us, eating a meal together, alone. I believe I could quite easily become accustomed to it.”

  Sarah smiled. “It does feel like a holiday, doesn’t it? But do not call me Miss Hayes any longer when we are in private, Charlotte. It makes me feel quite ancient, and although I sometimes feel it, I assure you I am only five and twenty. I am no longer your teacher, after all, but your companion, and we are old friends, are we not?”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Yes, I suppose we are. And I do not think you ancient, far from it. You are very beautiful. I have often wanted to tell you so.”

  Sarah’s brows rose in surprise. “Well, now you have. Thank you.”

  “And it is not just that this feels like a holiday,” she continued. “I am more comfortable with you than with anyone else.”

  “At the moment, yes,” Sarah said, carefully. “But your experience of the world is very limited as yet, Charlotte. I am sure you will make many friends when you have gained the confidence that will come from being part of a family again.”