Page 2 of A Sense of Misgiving
‘On the contrary, ma’am. I hang on your every word.’
‘That’s because you’re a silly goose who is paid to humour me. I won’t cause you to blush by telling you precisely what I got up to in my younger days. Suffice it to say that when I enjoyed the protection of my maharajah, I saw and did things that would make your hair curl.’
‘Did you indeed?’ Flora leaned forward, her expression teasing. ‘What things? Do tell. I am inordinately interested, and promise not to blush if I can possibly help it.’
The countess huffed. ‘Never you mind. Despite your assurances, it would probably shock you into giving notice.’
‘And then you would finally be rid of me, which is what you desire anyway, so I have no idea what could be holding you back.’ Flora enjoyed her ladyship’s increasingly inventive efforts to behave outrageously. As far as Christianity was concerned, she had grown accustomed to the dowager’s forthright and radical views on the subject. At first totally astounded because she had never heard anyone speak quite so blasphemously before, the countess’s genuine doubts about God’s existence had actually caused Flora to take a fresh look at her own faith and the reasons why it was so deeply ingrained. Habit or true belief? A year ago, the question would not have crossed her mind. But now…
Flora’s crisis of faith had not arisen solely through the mischievous efforts of a wily old lady. Remus was responsible for the changes, too. Flora had always been able to sense when danger threatened. She had no idea how she knew, but when prescient visions flooded her mind she felt compelled to warn whomever they concerned. Her father had flown into such terrifying rages whenever she did so that she had quickly learned to keep her perceptions to herself.
Her paternal grandmother had enjoyed the gift of second sight and was often branded as a witch—the worst possible impediment to overcome for an overly religious son with fierce ambitions to take holy orders and rise up through the ecclesiastical ranks. Grandmamma had been kept out of sight of Papa’s fellow clergy for fear that she would disgrace him, but she knew that Flora had inherited her gift and encouraged her to make good use of it.
That had not been possible in the Canon Chancellor of Salisbury Cathedral’s strict household. But when Flora had defied her family and taken this position with the dowager countess six months previously, she also found herself with the spiritual freedom to think as she pleased. Which is when Remus, her spirit guide, had first appeared to her. Thanks to his warnings she had saved the current earl from a disastrous marriage and helped his brother Charlie to overcome various obstacles placed in the path of true love.
Remus had been quiet since then, and Flora had enjoyed a delightful summer at Beranger court in the heart of the Wiltshire countryside, where she was treated as a valued member of the earl’s family. Of the earl himself she had seen little. He had come and gone, dealing with the myriad duties that fell to his lot. There had been no occasion for her to spend more than a minute or two alone with him, and only then to discuss his grandmother’s state of health. He didn’t believe in her gift, even though he had been forced to acknowledge that it had helped his family on two occasions. He now seemed determined to treat her with polite distraction.
Flora told herself it was just as well.
‘I suppose my irresponsible grandson will return sooner or later and remember that I am alive,’ the dowager groused.
Flora could see that she was chilly, despite her earlier protests, and stood to drape a rug over her knees.
‘Don’t fuss so, child.’ But she didn’t push the rug off.
‘I understand he is due back from his shooting party in Scotland any day.’
‘Just so long as he hasn’t got himself engaged to be married without my first meeting his intended. The boy doesn’t have the sense he was born with when it comes to the fairer sex. Good looks are not everything, but Luke cannot always see past a pretty face. Ambitious fortune hunters abound, are often attractive, and are becoming wilier by the day.’
Flora felt an inappropriate acceleration of her heartbeat at the prospect of seeing Luke Beranger again. But her anticipation was tempered by the prospect of his finally having committed himself to matrimony. She enjoyed an unorthodox relationship with him, which a future wife would likely misunderstand and frown upon. Flora was a servant, and had no business having the earl’s ear, or offering him advice that he listened to and acted upon more often than not. She had always known this day would come. It was ridiculous to resent his happiness, and if he had found a suitable bride she would be the first to wish him joy.
She absolutely would.
‘His lordship has more sense than to be taken in by scheming females,’ Flora remarked, wondering whom she was attempting to convince.
‘Ha! Time will tell.’
‘You’re finding it hard to adjust, I expect. Emma is married and settled, and Mary has been staying with her for most of the summer,’ Flora said, referring to the countess’s two granddaughters.
‘It makes no difference to me. I never saw their faces from one week’s end to the next.’
‘They visited you every day and endured your bad temper with good grace, and well you know it.’
‘I am never bad tempered,’ the countess replied with another lofty toss of her head. ‘I simply cannot abide nincompoops despite being surrounded by them.’
‘I am sorry if I try your patience, ma’am.’
‘You are tolerable, I suppose, but far too opinionated.’
Flora bit her lip to prevent a smile from escaping. ‘Praise indeed,’ she muttered.
‘I keep telling my family that I don’t need a companion, but Luke will insist. You are by far the best of the bunch that they’ve inflicted upon me so far, which isn’t saying a great deal. I would send you back but for the fact that even I wouldn’t subject you to all that praying and repenting that you’ve managed to escape from.’
‘I am sure I’m much obliged to your ladyship.’ This time, despite her best efforts, a smile did slip past her guard.
‘You come of age next month and will be free of your family’s influence once and for all,’ the dowager said, in an abrupt change of subject.
‘Yes, I shall be one-and-twenty. Positively ancient.’
