“Thank you, Lady Genevieve.” Carrie almost sagged with relief at finding her patroness so pleasant a person. She realized how worried she’d been. “I am very grateful.”
“Call me Gwen, please. I am sure we will become great friends.”
While Carrie hoped they would become friends, the elegant, sophisticated lady before her made her feel like a country bumpkin. Carrie feared she might cause her some displeasure, especially as she’d refuse any gentleman’s offer if he were not suitable for her family. If she rejected several offers, she imagined Gwen would justifiably grow impatient with her. And Gwen’s husband wasn’t happy about her being away from home for months. And what might Nicholas say about it?
Carrie went upstairs to change. What had once been her dream of an exciting time in London when Papa was alive now made her stomach churn with nerves.
Anna came in and prattled on about something she heard in the servant’s hall. Carrie barely listened, her thoughts remaining on the problems ahead, when something the maid said claimed her attention. “What did you say, Anna?”
Anna paused with Carrie’s primrose muslin in her hands. “About what, milady?”
“His lordship.”
“I tried to find out why Lord Pennington dismissed the housekeeper without a character. Apparently, he had called her into the library to talk to her, a maid told me. She was crying when she left the next day.”
The poor woman would never find work without a reference. “But what did she do that was so terribly wrong?”
“They merely shrug when I ask them. If they know, they don’t wish to tell the likes of me. I’m not one of them.”
“You sound sad. Don’t you like it here?”
“I do, Miss Carrie. My ma always said one cannot moon over something that will never happen. Shall I tidy your hair first?”
Carrie’s nervous fingers had destroyed the arrangement. “Yes, please, Anna.”
Anna removed the pins, and Carrie’s long hair swung over her shoulders. She closed her eyes as her maid brushed it with calming, smooth strokes. Was Nicholas hardhearted and tyrannical? What would she do if Bella wrote to her in London to say she was miserable here at Elm Park? It didn’t matter so much about Jeremy. He would not be here very often, as he had years at Eton and then university.
Her hair tidied, Carrie rose from the stool. She wished she could take Bella and go back to Leeming Hall, though she knew it was impossible. Another family lived there now. Her breath seemed to catch in her chest as she raised her arms for Anna to fit the dress over her head.
Chapter Five
In the early afternoon, Nicholas returned from attending to a matter with his gamekeeper. He walked from the stables and entered through the front door where Abercrombie waited to greet him.
“Lady Genevieve wishes to see you in the music room, my lord.”
Nicholas stripped off his gloves. “Send word I’ll be there after I change out of my riding clothes.”
After he bathed and changed, Nicholas entered the music room. They had moved the furniture back against the walls and rolled up the carpet. His sister, seated at the piano, searched through music sheets, while Carrie, Bella, and the governess sat as if waiting patiently for something to happen. With an uneasy feeling, Nicholas crossed the parquet flooring to the piano.
“Ah, there you are,” Gwen said, glancing up at him. “I wish to see if Carrie requires dance lessons.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And you need me because?”
“You are to partner her.”
He frowned. “I have a busy afternoon ahead, Gwen. That is why I asked you to come. Work awaits me at my desk.”
“Surely you can spare an hour or two, Nicholas.”
He sighed, aware he sounded unreasonable. “What do you have in mind?”
“Ask Carrie to dance. I shall play a Polonaise. We have four to form a set for a quadrille. We are two people short, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
When he approached Carrie, her dark eyes met his, reflecting glimmers of light from the long windows, her expression hard to read.
He bowed. “Will you grant me the pleasure of this dance, Miss Leeming?”
“I should be delighted, my lord.” She rose solemnly and took his arm.
With a giggle, Bella curtsied to Miss Scotsdale.
“La Pantalon.” Gwen announced the first movement and began to play.
Carrie’s eyes widened when he took her soft, slender hand in his. Really, Gwen might have warned him. He would have worn gloves.
They moved through a truncated version of the first eight bars, then faced each other. She looked at her feet instead of him. Nicholas noted the tension in her body beneath the white gown embroidered with green ferns, the high, green sash lifting with each anxious breath, her cheeks flushed. When she finally raised her gaze to his, she appeared as uncomfortable as he felt. And worse, faintly disapproving. While questioning what he had done to upset her, he led her through to the end of the dance.
“Well done,” Gwen said, clapping her hands.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Nicholas began.
“But Nicholas, you can’t leave yet. You must dance the waltz with Carrie. That is most important.”
Oh no, he wouldn’t. Nicholas shook his head. “I’m afraid it will have to wait for another time. I’d forgotten Mr. Crumpton.”
Gwen had the audacity to cast him a suspicious look. “Who is Mr. Crumpton?”
Nicholas lifted his eyebrows. “A tenant who needs
