The Highlander And The Governess

She brightened. ‘You are correct, Locharr. Under normal circumstances, I would never do such a thing. However, I intend to take notes on what lessons you’ll need. That way, I can be of use to you.’

‘You’re no’ staying,’ he pointed out. ‘I am granting you a meal, but there’s no need for notes. I ken how to use a fork.’

Miss Goodson set down her pen and took her napkin, folding it in her lap. ‘Of course, you know that. But there is still a great deal to learn about etiquette in London. There are many unspoken rules.’

Lachlan eyed the door, wondering if it had been a mistake to allow Miss Goodson to join him at supper. He was accustomed to taking a tray alone in his room. It had been years since he’d had a formal meal, and he wasn’t about to change his habits.

The governess appeared entirely too cheerful, as if she thought she could talk her way into becoming his tutor. There was a brightness about her, of a woman filled with joy and enthusiasm. Perhaps she thought it would change his mind about sending her away. Far from it. It made him want to push back, to behave like a wicked barbarian. And so he glared at her, letting her glimpse his bad mood.

‘Is something the matter, Locharr?’ Miss Goodson appeared concerned. ‘You seem angry with me.’

Good. His plan was working.

‘It doesna matter what I think of you. You’ll be gone, soon enough.’ He kept his tone deliberate, not bothering to be nice. It would be cruel to lead her on, to let her think she had a chance of staying—even if she did need the position to support herself.

Miss Goodson’s expression dimmed, but she picked up her pen once more. They waited for Alban to bring in the food, but there was nothing yet. The clock ticked away a few more minutes, and finally, Lachlan called out, ‘If you dinna bring the food out soon, Alban, you’ll have to fetch shovels to bury us! For we’ll both be dead of starvation!’

Miss Goodson’s eyes widened at his shouting. Her pen scratched rapidly over the paper, but she did not correct him. Aye, he knew he wasn’t supposed to bellow for his servants, but Alban might not hear the bell. The elderly man’s hearing had worsened over the years.

His younger footman, Gavin, entered the room, carrying a tureen of soup. He plunked it down on the table and ladled out a healthy serving to Lachlan before he turned to Miss Goodson. She did not say anything, but Lachlan corrected the footman, ‘You should be serving the lady first, Gavin.’

‘I’m sorry, Locharr. Miss Goodson.’ The footman gave a slight bow and took the tureen away.

Lachlan eyed the soup, waiting for her to eat first. The governess was staring at him. When it became clear that she was not going to taste the soup until he did, he picked up his spoon and took a small sip.

‘Very good,’ she said.

‘I wasna going to pick up the bowl and drink it,’ he told her.

There was a veiled smile playing at Miss Goodson’s lips. ‘No, of course not.’ She wrote another note on the paper and then set her pen down. ‘I can tell that you have had some instruction, Locharr. Your table manners are not bad at all. They only need some minor adjustments.’

‘Which are not your concern,’ he reminded her.

‘It could be.’ She smiled at him, and the encouragement in her eyes caught him unawares. For a moment, he watched her eat. Her hands were small and delicate, her motions graceful. There was a strand of curling blonde hair that had slipped free of her chignon, and it hung against her neck. Although she had done nothing untoward, there was something about a good girl that made him want to discover if there was more beneath the surface of propriety.

‘Why did you seek work as a governess?’ he asked. Miss Goodson was quite pretty, with the fresh face of innocence. Surely, she could easily find a husband. Why, then, had she travelled alone to Scotland?

‘Poverty is an excellent motivation for employment,’ she answered. Though she spoke with a lightness of mood, he believed there was far more to her story.

‘You were a lady once, weren’t you?’ he predicted.

Her face flushed, but she did not answer his statement. Which meant it was likely true. If she had fallen upon difficult times, being a governess or a wife was her only option. It seemed that Miss Goodson was a woman of secrets, and Lachlan wondered what they were. He supposed he would never know. He reached for his goblet of wine and drained it.

She eyed him and bit her lower lip. Then she frowned and dipped her pen into the inkwell, writing furiously.

Aye, it wasn’t right for a man to finish his wine in one gulp. Even so, he couldn’t deny the urge to tease her. He reached for the decanter and poured himself another glass. There was a pained look in her river-green eyes, and she bit her lip, drawing his attention to its fullness. She was a bonny lass, indeed. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Goodson was a danger to herself. She might be posing as a governess, but this young lady was a walking temptation.

‘Would you be wanting some wine?’ he offered, holding out the decanter.

‘No, thank you. I do not partake in spirits,’ she answered. ‘And next time, you should ask your butler to pour the wine. Or a footman.’ She dipped her pen in the inkwell and wrote a few more sentences on the scrap of paper.

‘If I waited for them, we’d have no food,’ he pointed out. ‘They’re no’ exactly making haste to get here.’

‘Be that as it may, if you are a guest at a supper party, wait for the servants to pour the wine.’

A few minutes later, Alban brought out the next course. It was a mutton pie, and Lachlan cut into it with his fork, while steam rose from the pastry crust. Miss Goodson was still writing furiously, in between bites of her own meal. What could she be worked up about now? He’d done nothing wrong.

Finally, she set down her pen and took a sip of water from her glass. ‘How long ago was this marriage arranged with Lady Regina?’

He stabbed the crust with his fork and brought up a bit of mutton and gravy. ‘Our fathers went to school together and were good friends. They spoke of it for years, though ’twas only in jest. After my father died two years ago, Havershire wanted to fulfil Tavin’s wish. We set the wedding date for this May.’

At that, she set down her fork. ‘Without asking Lady Regina? And you haven’t seen her in ten years?’ Her expression was aghast.

‘Nay. But she’s an obedient lass.’

Miss Goodson took a bite of her mutton pie, but he could see her thoughts turning over the matter. ‘Why would you agree to marry a woman you haven’t seen in that long?’

Because it had been his father’s greatest wish. Lachlan had wanted to give that gift to Tavin, even if he hadn’t been able to save his life. A dark twist of guilt rose at the memory, prickled with grief. He didn’t want to marry anyone, and he knew he was hardly a fit candidate for a husband. Lady Regina would be horrified by the sight of his scarred face. But if he fulfilled his father’s last desire, at least it was one thing he could do for the man.

‘As I said before, Lord Havershire and my father wanted to unite our families together.’

‘Even so, why would you agree to wed her without meeting her first?’ Miss Goodson enquired. ‘You might not like her any more.’

‘I like the twenty thousand pounds her father has promised.’ Lady Regina’s dowry was money he needed, because repairing a five-hundred-year-old castle was costly. The offer of marriage was a welcome means of absolving him from financial ruin, for he hadn’t realised how deeply Tavin MacKinloch had fallen into debt. Lachlan had already cut back on as many expenses as possible, but he didn’t want to dismiss any of his staff. They needed their wages, and he’d do whatever he had to if it meant protecting his clansmen.

‘That is a great deal of money,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t understand why Lord Havershire would offer so much.’ She set her fork down and pondered a moment. ‘Lady Regina has plenty of suitors. She simply turns them all away.’

‘Because she’s promised to me,’ he countered.

‘She doesn’t want to marry anyone,’ Miss Goodson predicted. ‘I have met her on several occasions. They call her the Lady of Ice.’

Lachlan didn’t concern himself with his fiancée’s reluctance. There was no reason for her to raise objections to the marriage—particularly since he intended to let her live her life as she chose.

‘Lady Regina values a gentleman with manners,’ Miss Goodson warned. ‘If you wish to marry her, you will need to make a good impression. I could help you with this.’

‘I’ve no need of your help.’

But the young woman ignored him and held out her list. ‘I’ve written down possible lessons for you. Dining, dancing, conversation, and so on.’

Dancing? Lachlan despised dancing, and he would never engage in such a pastime. ‘I won’t be dancing, Miss Goodson.’ He loathed the very thought.

‘Oh, but you must. At a ball, you will be required to dance with Lady Regina. Only once, of course, but it is necessary to making a good impression upon her.’

Lachlan would rather cut off his thumbs than dance in public. ‘I willna make a fool of myself.’

‘Of course not,’ Miss Goodson answered. ‘I will ensure that you are well prepared. And you may find that you enjoy dancing. It can be delightful.’

‘You won’t be here to give any lessons,’ he reminded her. ‘The coach will be here first thing in the morning.’

‘But I just thought that—’

‘You’ll find another position,’ he said. The last thing he wanted was a woman staring at him and making lists. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t want you here.’

She grew quiet, and the melancholy on her face made him feel like he’d just killed her cat. It took an effort to stop from apologising, though he hadn’t been the one to hire her. This was all due to his mother’s meddling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Her river-green eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘It’s just that, I had such hopes.’

‘Go home, Miss Goodson. Your family can take care of you now.’

She shook her head, gripping her napkin. ‘I cannot go back to them.’

‘Why?’ He levelled a hard stare at her.

Her expression grew strained, as if she didn’t want to speak of it. After a pause, she said, ‘It’s complicated.’

He could tell she was trying to avoid the topic by any means necessary. But her past intrigued him, and he pressed further. ‘Are they cruel to you? Or violent?’

She shook her head but kept silent. He found himself wanting to know more, despite her reluctance. At last, he offered, ‘If you tell me the truth about why you don’t want to return home, I will grant you a second day here.’

Hope dawned in her green eyes, and her mouth softened, almost in a smile. She said, ‘As you guessed earlier, I wasn’t always a governess. My father was a baron.’

‘Then why would you seek employment?’

‘The desire to eat,’ she admitted. ‘My father disappeared one afternoon with his mistress. I never saw him again, and he left us destitute.’ She took a sip of water and said, ‘My sisters were already married, and I had no wish to be pitied and live with them. I had a good education, and so I decided to put it to use.’

‘What of your mother?’ he asked. ‘Why not go and live with her?’

Her expression tightened. ‘Suffice it to say, I preferred supporting myself without relying upon anyone else. I might have been arrested for murder, had I stayed with my mother.’

He could understand her desire for independence and respected it. If she were sent home, it would make her feel like a failure, though it was through no fault of her own.

‘One more day then,’ he repeated. ‘And I will have the coach take you wherever you wish to go, after that.’

She paused a moment and said, ‘Whether you believe it or not, I can help you. Especially in understanding the complexities of the London ton. It’s very different from Scotland.’

He was well aware of that, though he cared little about London mannerisms. ‘And you know this by being here a matter of hours?’

She nodded. ‘Indeed. Scotland is breathtaking. Whereas in London, I prefer to hold my breath.’ A spark of humour creased her mouth with a smile. ‘But all that aside, I am going to prove to you that I can be the most useful governess you’ve ever had.’

‘You’re the only governess I’ve ever had,’ he pointed out. But in Miss Goodson’s face he saw a stubbornness that revealed an inner strength. This was not a woman who would falter in the face of adversity. And though she was young, he found that he respected her mettle.

‘I look forward to our lessons.’ Her eyes were bright with interest, and he felt the need to correct her.

‘I’ve offered you one day. But I’m no’ going to spend hours learning about forks or God forbid, dancing.’

There was a gleam in her eyes as if she’d accepted the challenge. ‘One day, Locharr. And you’ll see everything I can teach you.’

‘Alban will show you to your room,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to sleep, and I may see you in the morning, after I’ve returned from riding.’

Her face held such wistfulness, as if she wanted to say something but held herself back.

Against his better judgement, he asked, ‘Do you ride?’

‘I do love it,’ she admitted. ‘Though it has been a few years since I’ve had the opportunity.’ From the expression on her face, she was itching for an invitation.

‘If you’re wanting to go riding, I’ve no objection,’ he said.

Although he had no desire for company, he supposed there was no harm in her taking one of the mild-tempered horses and trotting around the castle grounds. It would make it that much easier to say farewell the next day, knowing that he’d given her that consolation.

‘I am so grateful, Locharr,’ she breathed, a light shining in her eyes. ‘Is there someone who could chaperon us?’ she asked. ‘Alban, perhaps?’

Us? He had no intention of riding with her. But he supposed he could ask his footman to accompany Miss Goodson on her ride.

‘I will ask him,’ he promised. ‘Whenever you’re wanting to go on your ride, just ask Alban, and he’ll see to it that you have a horse.’

Her face dimmed slightly. ‘I thought you might accompany me. To show me the surrounding area and tell me about it.’

‘Alban can do the same. I intend to leave at dawn. Alone.’ He preferred riding when it was quiet outside. It gave him the chance to inspect his land and make his plans for the day.

‘A true gentleman would wait upon the lady,’ she chided.

Lachlan shrugged. ‘Then, ’tis a good thing I am no’ a gentleman yet.’

Frances awoke when it was still dark outside. The faint light of dawn illuminated the horizon, and she stretched and yawned. The laird had said he intended to ride at dawn. Well, it was nearly dawn and if she hurried, she could join him on his ride.

She said a silent prayer of thanks for this day. Though he fully intended to send her home tomorrow, Frances was determined to stay. She loved this castle, and the challenge of helping the laird was important, even if he was somewhat intimidating. But more than that, she couldn’t afford to return to her boarding house in London. There was nothing for her there, and she didn’t want to be a failure at something else, once again. Her mother would never stop blaming her for the sins of her past.

And so, she would do everything in her power to protect the future.

Frances lit a candle and set it down on the table. There wasn’t much time, and she had only three gowns to choose from. At least she owned attire that allowed her to dress herself without the services of a maid, even if it had been mended and remade several times.

She walked over to her trunk of belongings, realising that she should have unpacked it last night. Undoubtedly her gowns would be full of wrinkles. Although she had no riding habit, she chose a serviceable blue gown that she could wear and ride side saddle.

A thrill of anticipation soared within her. She adored horses and could not wait to go outside. It was still cool and damp, so she added a warm cloak and a bonnet to her outfit.

While Frances tucked a few escaping curls back into her bonnet, her mind turned over the idea of educating the laird. He was rather…rough around the edges. Truthfully, she could not imagine Lachlan MacKinloch marrying someone like Lady Regina. The shy young woman would be terrified of such a large, brash man.

Frances, in contrast, believed that she could see beneath his fierce exterior. The laird needed softening up, but she felt confident that he would win the heart of Lady Regina with time and effort. The laird was a decent man, though his clothing was quite…vivid. And he would need his hair cut.

As for the scar…she decided that there should be a heroic story to go with it. Something that would make Lady Regina see him differently. Frances would have to think upon it.

She opened the door to leave her room and stepped into the hallway, only to bump into a maid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Frances apologised. ‘I didn’t see you.’

The woman was elderly and plump, and she wore a grey skirt with a white blouse. A tartan arasaid was clasped beneath her chin with a brooch. The tartan left a small portion of the grey skirt uncovered, and it revealed the blouse in a similar manner of a cloak. The woman gave her a nod and a smile but did not speak.

Frances followed the maid down the hall to the staircase. Alban met her at the bottom of the stairs, and she bid the maid, ‘Have a good morning.’ But again, the elderly woman said nothing but only smiled.

‘Elspeth doesn’t hear verra well,’ the footman explained, ‘but she understands everything you say to her, so long as you shout. She will shout her answer, as well, when she has something to say.’

Frances nodded. ‘I see.’ The older footman was about to escort her outside to the stables, when she asked, ‘Lady Locharr summoned me here, Alban, to help her son. Do you not think I should stay and tutor the laird?’

‘’Tis no’ my place to say, Miss Goodson.’

It was clear that the man was refusing to take sides. Frances considered another alternative. It was an extreme measure, but she might not have a second chance.

‘I truly do wish to help Locharr. He is a good man, and I want him to win Lady Regina’s heart. However, if he arrives in London, he may have some difficulty. He might frighten her.’

‘The laird is a fierce lad with that scar, aye.’ The footman’s gaze narrowed. ‘What did ye have in mind?’

Frances dug into her pocket and found a penny. Though it was hardly anything, it was all she had to offer. ‘Alban, all I am asking for is one week. A single day isn’t enough to help him. Could you…delay the coach? Perhaps tell the laird that the axle is broken. Or something of that nature.’

‘Ye want me to lie?’ The footman stared at her in disbelief.

‘I want you to let me give the laird lessons in etiquette. Allow me to do my job.’ She held the penny closer. ‘Take it. It’s all I have, but I can promise you more, if I ever receive wages.’ She wasn’t certain that would ever happen, but she could dream of it.

The footman sighed and took the penny. ‘I will do what I can, lass.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him and followed the older man outside towards the stables.

Morning rays of sun spilled over the horizon, and the sky was tinted grey and rose. The laird was speaking with the groom, who was bringing a stallion by the reins. Once again, MacKinloch wore a tartan with his shirt and trousers, but this time, Frances took a closer look at his physical form. He had broad shoulders and was so tall, it made her wonder if it was even possible to reach his neck if she stood on tiptoe. For that matter, he appeared strong enough to lift the horse in front of him. The laird’s legs were powerful, his thighs thick as if he were ready to ride out with a conquering barbarian horde. And heaven help her, she could only wonder what it would be like to embrace such a man.

You are his governess, she reminded herself sternly. Stop staring.

Frances swallowed hard and gathered her composure. ‘Good morning, Locharr.’

He gave her a nod in greeting. ‘You’re awake early.’

‘You said dawn. And here I am.’

He had a slight expression of irritation. Oh, she knew full well that he’d wanted to ride alone, for he’d said so. But she wanted to accompany him, both to get a sense of the land and to gauge him.

The groom brought out an older mare for her, and she supposed that was a logical decision, given that he knew nothing of her riding expertise. The poor mare looked as if she would rather be grazing than cantering through a field. But perhaps there was some spark to her, beneath the surface. Frances greeted the horse, giving the animal the chance to learn her scent. ‘There’s a sweet girl.’

‘Pip is a gentle one,’ the laird said. ‘You’ve naught to be afraid of.’

‘I’m not afraid of horses,’ Frances answered. ‘But I would be glad if you could help me up.’

The laird caught her waist, but instead of lifting her up, he held her a moment. His hands were so large, they nearly spanned her waist. She was acutely conscious of his touch, and God help her, it was nearly an embrace.

‘Could you—? That is—’ Her nerves were prickled and, oh, dear, he knew what he was doing. There was a slight smirk at his mouth, and she felt utterly bewildered on what to do now. Should she step backwards? Push his hands back? But then again, she had asked for his help.

Before she could speak, the laird picked her up and plunked her on the side saddle. ‘Er…thank you,’ she said. Frances adjusted her skirts and her cloak as a distraction before she took the reins. Though she understood that he was trying to intimidate her, she refused to acknowledge it. He wanted her to leave Scotland, and she could not do anything to threaten her place here. And so, she pretended that he’d done nothing at all.

‘We will need a chaperon. Shall I ask Alban or Elspeth to join us?’ she suggested.

‘It’s no’ necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s an open field, and everyone can see us.’

She wasn’t so certain if that was a wise idea. True, there were likely a dozen servants watching from the windows, but he also needed to adhere to convention. ‘What about the groom?’

He didn’t answer, but instead mounted his bay stallion and took the lead. Well, then. She would have to speak with him about the etiquette of not leaving the lady behind.

He didn’t want you to come with him, her brain pointed out. True enough. But she was so accustomed to life as a lady instead of a governess. It was hard to remember sometimes that she was naught but a servant.

But better to be a servant than to live with her mother. Frances couldn’t bear to endure Prudence’s constant reproach for the sins of the past. Her stomach twisted, but she forced back the hard memories. That part of her life was in the past and it would only bring back raw grief if she allowed herself to remember it.

She urged her mare into a trot as they followed a path towards the open meadow. Then the laird nudged his horse into a canter, glancing behind to see if she would follow. Frances had the feeling that this was a test of some kind to determine her mettle. She followed at a reasonable pace—nothing too difficult for the mare, though Locharr was leaving her behind.

Instead, she chose to enjoy the brisk air. It was cool and misty, with a breath of rain lingering in the air. In the distance, the loch gleamed silver, and she spoke words of encouragement to Pip. The mare eventually perked up and managed a canter. She closed her eyes, enjoying the morning chill and the joy of being on horseback.

The laird drew his stallion into a gallop, leaving them behind. MacKinloch was a man of fierce independence, she decided. And not one who liked being told what to do. He hadn’t really wanted her to come along, though she’d invited herself.