Page 4 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 3

As the tour continued, it became increasingly apparent to Tia she was not to have as much freedom in her new home as she’d hoped. Various places were out of bounds, including the croquet lawn at the front of the house. The entire east wing of the building was utterly forbidden, since that was where Lord Ansford held sway, and he didn’t want to be disturbed. There was mention too of the folly, within the grounds and in use, therefore also forbidden.

In use? Surely the whole point of a folly was that it had no use, apart from being a blatant show of wealth and adding interest to the gardens. Tia would have liked to question the housekeeper about the hermit she’d seen but dared not. Letting herself think about the semi-naked man had a powerful impact on her composure and would definitely put her to the blush.

The end of the tour brought them to the west wing of the house where she and Mama had been allocated their own bedchambers with attached dressing rooms, and a private sitting room to share between them.

“Miss Pelham sleeps in the nursery further along, where she’s looked after by Nurse,” Mrs. Dunne stated. “Now, shall I have tea sent up to your sitting—ah, here’s Nurse herself. Miss Oates, meet Mrs. Wyndham and Miss Wyndham.”

Miss Oates, who’d just issued from one of the nearby rooms, bustled forward to make her curtsy. She appeared kindly enough, but there was a wariness about her Tia found odd.

As Miss Oates and the housekeeper headed toward the stairs, Tia and her mama investigated their new living arrangements. Yet she couldn’t help but think on the tragedy this household had suffered a little less than three years ago. Perhaps there was a reason for its inhabitants to seem somewhat . . . haunted.

Lucy had informed them of the horrid event in a letter she’d sent to confirm the final arrangements for their removal to Foxleaze. Lucy’s husband the duke had shared what he’d come to know about Lord Ansford through the man’s political successes and his vociferous campaign to hasten the abolition of slavery in every land subject to the British Crown.

A cause deemed worthy by many, but one taking up so much of the baron’s time, he was reputed to have neglected his wife, a bright young thing with whom he was known to have been deeply, if unfashionably, in love.

What followed, Lucy declared to be mere rumor, and she’d begged Tia to tear up and burn the letter after she’d read it, lest Lord Ansford should ever chance upon it.

Tia wandered across to the small sitting room’s stone-set window and gazed down onto the croquet lawn and the carriage drive below. She opened the window, despite the steady drizzle of rain. The habit of opening virtually every window she came upon had developed after her grim sojourn in Selbury Poorhouse, where she’d never been able to look out of one because they were too high up.

Briefly, Tia pondered Lucy’s last letter. Ansford’s neglected wife supposedly took lovers while her husband was up in Town. She had remained at Foxleaze for Polly’s sake, as she loved to play with the child.

If the late baroness’s affaires had been conducted in London, there would doubtless be more than mere gossip about with whom, how often, and when she’d had them. But in the country, it was possible to evade such eagle eyes and wagging tongues—if one was careful about it.

What had happened at the end of the baroness’s short life was unclear. Officially, she had fallen from one of the towers. Asking further was indelicate, to say the least. Perhaps Lord Ansford, when Tia got to know him better, might give her the story himself.

But the most important fact remained, Lucy’s husband and every one of their acquaintances completely rejected the gossip laying the cause of Lady Ansford’s fall at her husband’s door.

“Tia, come away from the window, or you’ll catch a chill.”

“Sorry, Mama. I’ll shut it.”

But Tia wasn’t ready to sit down yet. She’d been cooped up in a coach for two hours, bursting with curiosity as to what her new home—and her new relations—would be like, and she was itching to explore further. “I’m going to stroll to the end of the corridor and back while we wait for tea to be brought up. I haven’t stretched my legs enough.”

At her mother’s nod, she left the room, then hesitated. There were voices coming from the chamber she’d been told was the nursery.

Her heart flipped. One of the voices was high and childish. Polly, no doubt. The other was deep and strange. Was Lord Ansford himself in the very next room, talking to his daughter? Would it be dreadfully rude of her to poke her head in and see, and introduce herself to him?

Curiosity won out. The nurse had left the door ajar, so Tia peered through the crack into the room beyond and was astonished to see only one occupant, a small girl with tow-colored hair and dark eyes, sitting straight-backed in a wicker chair and dandling a doll on her lap.

Tia smiled. A child who played with dolls was normal enough, even if said doll was dressed in trousers and had an eerily deep voice.

“Now Polly,” the male doll was made to say, “you must eat up all your porridge, even if it reminds you of sick. If you are a very good girl, I might let you have a kitten, but you must keep it out from under my feet, d’ye hear? Yes, I will come and see you more often, I promise. It’s only that I’m so busy all the time.”

Polly replied, in her own voice, “You always say that, Papa, and you hardly ever come. You know I’ve no mama anymore, so you should come and see me twice as much, to make up for it.”

“You are such a bad child,” Polly’s pretend father retorted. “You always ask for far too much.”

Perhaps I’m not going to like Lord Ansford after all.

Even so, Tia plastered on her most cheerful expression and marched into the room.

Polly immediately stowed the doll beneath a cushion and got to her feet. She stared briefly before looking at the floor, then executed an awkward curtsy.

“I am Miss Wyndham. Your new—” Tia paused. Goodness, what was she? A companion, a teacher, a distant cousin? “I’m your new governess,” she continued, thinking the title would serve for now, although she hoped she might one day be accorded the title of friend.

The girl gave no answer but remained standing with her back ramrod straight, studying her shoes.