As he turned from the window to seek out the housekeeper, Preston caught a glimpse of Miss Claywell on the lawn and then entering the walled garden.
Yes, he did need to speak with Mrs. Wilson right away and voice his concerns. However, he might not get another opportunity to visit with Miss Claywell away from the prying eyes and ears of his staff.
Setting his brandy aside, Preston left by way of the terrace door and made his way to the open gate of the walled garden, and stepped inside.
This had been his mother’s favorite place to spend her spring and summer afternoons and she had arranged to have a table and chairs placed in the center where she enjoyed taking tea and reading while surrounded by fragrant flowers. Given it was January, the glorious blooms of roses, hollyhocks, bellflowers, delphinium, and lavender were long gone.
He found Miss Claywell sitting at the table, glancing about, and he suspected that she might be imagining the beauty of this enclosure, but could only assume. When her gaze shifted to his direction, she stilled, then stood. “I hope that I am not intruding on a place I should not venture.”
“Of course not,” Preston assured her as he marched forward. “I thought you were going to spend the afternoon reading.”
“I find that I’m not much good with idleness,” Miss Claywell confessed. “I’ve never been one to sit long.”
“Yet, you play chess,” Preston reminded her.
“Chess is a challenge and enjoyment. Reading is simply pleasure with no other purpose.”
“Some of the greatest pleasure serves no purpose but for the enjoyment and relaxation.”
Miss Claywell smiled. “I suppose you are correct.”
“What do you find enjoyable, Miss Claywell?”
She stared up at him with a frown as if she needed to think about the question. “I enjoy teaching your nieces,” she finally answered.
“I’m glad, but that is not a simple enjoyment, such as riding or reading a book.”
“Yet, it is a simple enjoyment to me,” she said softly. “A new discovery, and perhaps the reason why I experienced a little loss as to what to do when given a day to myself.”
“What did you do for enjoyment before you came here?”
Miss Claywell took a deep breath then began to stroll the white graveled path. Preston in turn walked beside her and offered his arm. Instead, she clasped her hands together behind her back.
Undeterred, he kept his pace with hers.
“I can think of nothing that I did simply for pleasure,” she finally answered. “During the Season, there were always entertainments I was required to attend. Before the Season, I was preparing for the Season and when everyone returned to their homes, I like many others, traveled to various house parties.” She stopped and looked up at Preston. “When not engaging in one of these activities, I suppose I was resting.” A smile pulled and she continued walking. “Perhaps that is why I enjoy being here. No expectations, other than your nieces’ education, of course, and no endless rounds of activities, or matrons judging my unmarried state, or my uncle’s concern that I’ll become a spinster, or always being cognizant of what I say, my tone, who I grant a dance, or befriend. It is all very exhausting, and now that I’ve free time, I’m not certain what to do with myself.” She chuckled again.
Even though Preston last attended a full Season nine years ago, the month he’d been present this past spring was exhausting enough. Not simply that, but he hated every moment of standing in a ballroom, feigning interest for the sake of his uncle, and hoping nobody bothered him.
No wonder Miss Claywell embraced the simple life of a governess. He would have gone mad if he would have endured the four years she had.
“You must think me silly for going on so. While I was attending entertainments, you were at war,” she said more seriously.
“Each setting has its own battles. In a ballroom, a misstep, whether it be by word, dance, or deed, the gossips will destroy,” Preston offered as he recalled his very first Season and the humiliation he’d suffered. “At least on the Continent, there is a structure, routine. Even in the heat of battle, one knew what to expect and hoped that neither bayonet nor cannonball found you.”
She winced. “Was it terribly frightening?”
One did not talk of battle horrors of war to an innocent miss. However, Preston also didn’t want to hide the truth.
“At times it was terrifying,” he answered honestly. “That only occurred when the battle was over, and I realized how close I may have come to losing life or limb.”
She nodded. “Those who came back spoke of the glories of war and acts of heroism and I found it difficult to believe they willingly, and nearly joyfully, ran into battle to face the enemy.”
“Few soldiers will ever admit to being scared or even retreating. There is absolutely nothing glorious about war, Miss Claywell. We’d all be better off if we do not suffer through another one again.” Had Preston not inherited and needed to care for his nieces, he would have likely returned to the Continent and fought at Waterloo. So many had died, and he may have been one of them. And likely, his one regret would have been not having kissed Miss Claywell.
She stopped and turned, looking up at him. “I’m sorry to have mentioned what was probably far more horrifying than anyone is willing to admit.”
“I do not mind, but gentlemen are told never to speak of war except in the most positive manner, so as not to upset a lady’s delicate sensibilities,” he returned.
