Breaking the Governess's Rules

‘I have returned to the north-east. Not to Warwickshire. And only temporarily. Miss Daphne wished to visit those places she remembered from her childhood.’ Louisa swallowed hard, hating the way her breath caught in her throat. She curled her hand about her fan and concentrated on taking calming breaths. ‘You must remember me to your sister, Margaret. When will she have her first Season?’

‘Next Season, if my stepmother gets her wish.’

Louisa took another deep breath. Icy politeness, talking about inconsequential acquaintances. But equally she had to know—what had happened to her rival. Had he married her?’And Clarissa Newton?’

‘We married a year after you … disappeared,’ Jonathon said in a measured tone. ‘Clarissa nursed me back to health and everyone agreed that it was the correct thing to do. Chesterholm needed an heir.’

They had married. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had told the truth. Louisa’s insides churned as she forced her back to be ramrod straight. Clarissa had been everything that she was not—well connected, accomplished and possessing looks that were in fashion. With the little misalliance out of the way, he had married Clarissa, no doubt in a huge wedding with all the ton in attendance.

‘And is Lady Chesterholm with you?’ Miss Daphne asked.

‘Regretfully, Miss Elliot, Lady Chesterholm died eighteen months ago. She contracted a fever and died hours after giving birth.’ Jonathon inclined his head and his face showed genuine sorrow.

Died. Louisa’s retort withered on her lips. Clarissa was dead. Despite everything that Clarissa had done, all the petty remarks about governesses getting above their stations and all the boasting about how she’d rule the ton as Jonathon’s wife and how they had been betrothed in the cradle, Louisa had never wished for the woman’s death.

‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she whispered.

‘As am I,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘It is so tragic when a young woman loses her life in childbirth.’

Louisa silently put the shawl about Miss Daphne’s shoulders. If she was very lucky, she would be able to escort Miss Daphne home now. Miss Daphne loved a good weep. This night and her meeting with Lord Chesterholm would be behind her. Tonight demonstrated how easily she could lose everything she held dear if she failed to keep to her rules.

‘And now, my dear lady, it is my turn to offer condolences.’ Jonathon captured Miss Daphne’s hand, and prevented Louisa from leading her off. ‘Lord Furniss informs me that your sister recently died. You both visited Furniss several times at Eton for the Montem celebrations.’

‘How good you are.’ Miss Daphne’s eyes shimmered. ‘We always brought iced buns. They were Rupert’s favourite.’

‘My dear mama always forbade them as she thought it bad for my figure,’ Lord Furniss said, puffing up his chest. ‘But there is something glorious about an iced bun—sugar on the top and soft dough underneath.’

‘And now you have returned to the land of your birth, Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said.

Louisa frowned, trying to work out why Jonathon was determined to prolong the painful encounter. Silently she willed him to give up and go.

‘For a fleeting visit. Dear Louisa wishes to return home as soon as possible.’

‘I am hoping to persuade them both to stay in the country,’ Lord Furniss said, reaching for Louisa’s hand.

Louisa avoided it. Tomorrow, she promised silently, tomorrow she would check the steamship timetable.

‘I regret, Lord Furniss, our schedule …’ Louisa said, inclining her head.

‘How long are you here, Miss Elliot?’

‘Louisa took charge of all the arrangements, even though England holds few good memories for her. She has a wonderful talent for scheduling and making sure all the details are sorted.’ Miss Daphne gave a tremulous smile. ‘But then you know Louisa, how kind she is and what a wonderful eye for detail she possesses.’

‘Yes, I do know her.’ His eyes shone like cold emeralds. ‘I will take your word for her kindness. And I’m pleased to learn her eye for detail has improved.’

Louisa flinched. Once he had proclaimed her the kindest of women and told her that he’d love her until he died. She refused to let his words have any lasting sting. They were only words. And she wanted nothing from him. She needed nothing.

‘I think it might be best if I checked on the carriage, Miss Daphne. We would not want to put the schedule in jeopardy.’ Without giving Miss Daphne a chance to answer, Louisa marched away, clinging to the remnants of her temper. It was better to leave than to fight.

‘Don’t forget my shawl … Louisa.’ An elderly voice floated out over the crowd. ‘You promised …’

Jonathon watched the swinging mauve skirt of the very much alive Louisa Sibson disappearing into the crowd. He wanted to shake her insolent shoulders for vanishing in the way she had. For years, he had thought her dead, religiously visiting her supposed grave on the anniversary of her death, but she was alive and far more beautiful than his last memory of her.

Why had his stepmother allowed him to think Louisa was dead? That he had accidentally killed her? Even with his stepmother’s legendary efficiency she could not have achieved the deception without Louisa’s active co-operation. Louisa had to have participated in the deception.

For months he had lain, staring at the white walls of the Newtons’ sickroom, waiting to heal, willing his body to prove the doctors wrong and to walk again. And the first thing he had done was to walk to Louisa’s supposed grave. He had taken such pride in standing in that windswept graveyard, solemnly vowing to live his life as she would have wanted him to. But the entire thing had been a monstrous lie.

Now, he wanted answers, answers from the one person who could give them—Louisa. She was not going to find it that easy to dismiss him. With a few quick strides, he reached Louisa and caught her by the elbow. ‘Oh, no, no more disappearing tricks. You are staying.’

‘What do you think you are doing, Lord Chesterholm? Unhand me!’ Louisa pulled away from his grip, but Jonathon tightened his hold. ‘Jonathon, please, people are beginning to stare! For propriety’s sake!’

‘We are going to have a conversation, Louisa,’ he said through gritted teeth as white-hot anger seethed through him. ‘One we should have had four years ago. We can have it here in this public space or we go into one of the private card rooms, but we will speak. You may begin by explaining why you faked your death.’

‘I have nothing to say to you!’

‘But I have things to say to you.’ Jonathon kept a leash on his temper. For years he had thought about what he would have said to her if he had had one more chance.

The woman had never been dead. She had left, leaving others to heal him and his broken heart. And now she had returned, more desirable than ever. The innocent promise of four years ago had blossomed into a sensuous combination of rich, autumn-red hair, amber eyes and dusty-rose lips—all staring provocatively up at him. ‘And you will listen.’

Without giving her a chance to protest further, he led her to a small room that was often used for card games when balls were given and shut the door with a distinct click, then turned to face his adversary.

She crossed her arms and her amber eyes blazed with fury. ‘You have precisely two minutes before I scream, Lord Chesterholm. We finished a long time ago.’

‘You may have finished, but you neglected to inform me personally.’

Her mouth opened and shut several times. ‘Your stepmother served as your emissary. The Kingdom of Two Sicilies was her suggestion. She paid for my passage. It was a chance for me to start again.’

A red mist settled on Jonathon. ‘You asked my stepmother to help you rebuild your life?’

‘She was my employer. What reason did she have to lie? There was nothing for me here, as she so helpfully pointed out. You were engaged. I was an unwanted reminder.’ Her crown of auburn hair quivered with indignation. ‘I shall leave now. Miss Daphne will worry.’

‘Furniss can guard his aunt.’ Jonathon held up his hand, stopping her. Louisa was going to stay and they would speak under his terms, not hers. ‘Why did you return to England?’

‘To allow Miss Daphne to visit the places of her youth. She wants to see them one last time.’ Her lips turned up in a false smile. ‘You need not worry. I intend to depart from these shores as quickly as possible. England is anathema to me.’

‘A pity. And what charms does Italy hold?’ He looked her up and down, noting how she no longer tried to hide behind demure high-necked gowns but chose instead to wear a décolleté gown that barely skimmed her breasts, proclaiming she was a woman of the world instead of the naïve and somewhat gauche governess who blushed so charmingly. ‘For a woman like you.’

The beauty-spot mole in the corner of her mouth flashed. ‘A marriage proposal. To a baronet. Think of that. Sir Francis Walsham wishes to marry me, honourably, with a large church wedding.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I have rebuilt my life, Jonathon. Give my regards to your stepmother. Her instincts were correct. Italy has been far better to me than England ever was.’

‘When rebuilding anything, Louisa, you should have a care that the foundations are not made on sand.’

A crease appeared between her perfectly arched brows and for the first time, she appeared less certain. ‘You have lost me, Jonathon.’

‘You admire plain speaking.’

‘Wherever possible.’ A smug smile crossed her lips. She tilted her head upwards. She believed she’d won.

Jonathon waited, savouring the moment.

‘Unlike some I could mention, I am an admirer of the unvarnished truth,’ she said with absolute assurance.

‘Your besotted beau’s proposal might prove difficult to accept.’

Her eyes narrowed and her smile trembled. ‘Why?’

Jonathon leant forwards, his breath brushing her cheek. ‘I have a prior claim.’

Chapter Two

A prior claim. Claim to what? To her? To her hand, or her body? Louisa stared openmouthed at Jonathon as the words echoed around her brain. His hooded eyes held a sensuous promise and his lips were a mere turn of her head away.

She stumbled backwards, away from him, away from his body, narrowly missing a gilt-edged chair.

Louisa put out a steadying hand and grasped its back, shifting the chair so it was between her and Jonathon. She attempted to get her emotions under control. Emotions and dreams were the enemy. They had destroyed her before. They could again. Once she had longed to be married to him and to belong body and soul to him. She had considered them already married, soul mates, and had disregarded all the warnings and well-meant advice to wait until the wedding night. She had mistaken a young man’s lust for all-conquering love and had paid a heavy price. But she had finished paying, years ago.

‘Do you agree I have a prior claim, Louisa?’ His hands closed over hers, pressing them against the giltedged wood.

‘Words said in jest can destroy a person’s reputation, Lord Chesterholm.’ Louisa gave a light laugh to show that his betrayal no longer had the power to hurt. It was in the past and she no longer pined for him or her girlish fantasies. She had rebuilt her life on rock-solid foundations. She had learnt from her mistakes. Her heart might bear scars, but it was whole and safe.

‘I am deadly serious.’ He released her hands and moved the chair so it sat squarely between them. ‘Perhaps you chose to disregard such things. But will your intended? Does he know that you bolt? Does he know you are promised to another?’

‘Hardly promised. What was between us ended years ago.’

‘We were engaged, Louisa,’ his voice purred. ‘We were as close as a man and woman could be, but forgive me—when did you sever our relationship?’

Just after your stepmother informed me you were engaged to another woman, and had been promised to her for months before. You seduced me when you were not free. Louisa kept her breathing steady and wished she had not done her laces up so tightly. ‘Your memory is indeed failing. You never returned.’

‘I was in an accident. It was nine months before I could walk any distance, before I was released from my sickroom.’ An ironic smile played on his full lips. ‘Forgive me for being remiss, but then I was otherwise occupied—attempting to survive.’

‘Nobody told me,’ Louisa whispered.

‘Did you ever ask?’ His words were intended to cut, but instead they gave her strength.

She pushed away from the chair and drew herself up to her full height, regretting that she only reached his chin. ‘I am a respectable person. I always have been, despite what passed between us. Despite your stepmother’s dismissal for loose morals.’

The covered tables and gilt-edged chairs with their air of north-east respectability seemed to leer at her and mock her—as if they too knew about her lapse and how, in her headlong rush towards matrimony, she had ruined her prospects for ever. And no matter what happened in this room, society would deem it all her fault and turn its collective back, just as it had done the last time.

‘You had a choice, Louisa. You knew my habits, my friends, yet you contacted not a single one.’

‘And risk further humiliation?’ Louisa gave a strangled laugh. Even the innocent girl she had been knew the sort of company he kept and how women were passed around like gaily wrapped parcels. She had had their child to think of. No child of hers was going to be abandoned in a foundling home while she warmed another man’s bed. ‘I think not, sir.’

‘And do your swains know about your past? Did Miss Elliot?’

‘Do not threaten me, Lord Chesterholm. I have paid for my sins.’

‘Surely you know me better than that.’ He brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his cuff. ‘I never threaten. I make promises and I always keep my promises.’

‘And that is supposed to make me quake in my evening slippers?’ she asked scornfully.

‘You may do as you like—go dance around St Nicholas’s church in your petticoat if it pleases you, but answer my question. Why did you conspire to fake your death?’

‘You should be careful of your accusations. I have never abandoned anyone, nor have I ever pretended to be anything but alive.’ Louisa gripped her reticule tighter. Dance about St Nicholas’s church dressed only in her petticoats? The man was insupportable. ‘Simply repeating lies over and over does not make them suddenly become the truth.’

‘I never lie. Can I be held to blame if people choose to misinterpret my words?’ A muscle tightened in his jaw and Louisa knew she had scored a hit.

Once she had readily believed the words that had tripped off his tongue. I will love you for ever, Louisa. You are the only woman in the world for me. You are my wife in truth. What is a licence but a piece of paper? I will return. I know how to handle the ribbons of a curricle. I will always find you. Your life will be one of luxury. Instead she had discovered the humiliation and degradation of trying to find work without a reference and what it was like to be pregnant without a friend to turn to. It was then she had stopped believing in happily-ever-afters.

‘Piecrust promises, then—easily made and easily broken. Your servant, Lord Chesterholm, but there is no claim on either’s part.’ Her self-control amazed her, but he did not deserve to know of her heartbreak or the baby. She had decided that long ago. She had her pride. She gave a perfunctory curtsy. ‘You will forgive me, but I have other business to attend to.’

He took a step towards her, brushing aside the chair. It fell to the ground with a thump. ‘In the village churchyard where you grew up, there is a stone that bears your name. I have placed flowers there every year on the anniversary of your death.’

‘Your stepmother engineered my disappearance, as you call it.’ Louisa retreated and found herself pinned between the table, a pile of two chairs and the wall. ‘Why would I seek a life of shame? How could I stay after I had been dismissed? A governess has little choice in such matters.’

The shadows deepened in Jonathon’s eyes and his advance stopped. There was the faint hint of hesitation in his mouth as if he had never suspected his stepmother might do something like that. Louisa’s stomach lurched. He did know. He had to have known what Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had done, what she was capable of doing. A tiny whisper resounded in the back of Louisa’s brain—perhaps he hadn’t known.

She quashed it.

‘I was an innocent, Jonathon. You were infinitely more experienced.’ She paused and controlled the faint tremor in her voice. ‘You knew what you were doing. I had no idea, but I knew you were disappointed in me. We quarrelled. You broke with me. It was a late summer romance and then the chill winds of autumn came.’

‘You are wrong, Louisa, very wrong.’ Jonathon banged his fists together and took a step towards her, his face contorting in anger. ‘I wanted you.’

‘You may wish to live in fantasy worlds, Lord Chesterholm, but mine is solidly grounded in reality.’ She kept her voice steady and her eyes on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder. Dignity and hard-won poise would see her through this ordeal, rather than weeping uncontrollably or shouting. ‘You discarded me because I no longer excited you.’

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Interesting—that is not my recollection of the night. Untried, yes, but passionate and willing to learn.’

Louisa focused on the dust-sheeted furniture, forced herself to remember the awful words Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had said when Louisa had proudly boasted that she would marry Jonathon. ‘You left your stepmother to sort out the mess just as she had sorted out every other scrape from the Earl’s wife to the little dancing girl at Covent Garden.’

‘Which Earl’s wife? What dancing girl from Covent Garden?’ Jonathon tilted his head to one side, his lips a firm white line. ‘What fustian nonsense are you spouting, Louisa? Why would I ever ask Venetia to do something like that?’

‘The women that your stepmother had to pay off. She showed me a list of your women …’

Jonathon’s mouth dropped open and his eyes were wide with disbelief and horror. The expression vanished in an instant. He slammed his fists together. ‘I have never asked for any assistance from anyone in my family with managing my women, as you call them. I never would.’

‘You married another woman, a woman who was far more acceptable to your family. You were engaged to her when you made love to me,’ Louisa continued on, refusing to allow him and this pretended outrage to distract her. ‘You never looked for me.’

‘One does not look for the dead amongst the living, Louisa. Clarissa and I only became engaged after I thought you were dead,’ he said slowly, running his hand through his hair. A small shiver ran down her spine. He was serious. He had thought her dead. ‘As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I thought you dead—a fact you have not until now bothered to correct.’

‘I refuse to dignify that remark with an answer.’

‘What were you so frightened of that you had to disappear?’ His voice held a new note, a plea for something. In many ways, it was worse than his anger. Anger she could react against. ‘Did our love-making frighten you? There was so much passion between us.’

She gazed up at the ceiling, noticing the swirls and stains from the burning tallow candles. He was right in a way. She had been frightened, frightened of losing him, particularly after their bitter quarrel in the curricle as they had journeyed back to the house. Her cases had been waiting for her in the vestibule as Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had discovered her lie about her ill friend. And Jonathon had departed before she could ask for his help. Very quickly the enchanted afternoon and night had become a nightmare.

His stepmother had said the very words Louisa had half-expected to hear drip from Jonathon’s lips on his return from his great-uncle’s. She had been a mere plaything and had served her purpose.

A great weariness invaded Louisa’s being. This battle was four years too late. Taunting him was beyond her. Venetia bore some of the blame, but she had put her past behind her.

‘Your stepmother would have made a good general. She leaves nothing to chance. And never gives any quarter to her enemies. Should haves and could haves serve no purpose. What was between us ended and you married another while I began my life again.’ She smoothed the folds of her mauve silk gown, a small action, but one that served to remind her of her independence. Jonathon might threaten and bluster, but ultimately she would survive. ‘Let me go, Jonathon. It is over between us.’

In the silence that followed, Louisa could hear the concertgoers moving around outside the room. A woman had lost a glove, another wanted to find her carriage, little snippets of ordinary conversations that reminded her there was another life out there, waiting for her.

He took a step towards her, his blue-green eyes flashed and his fingers flexed as if only through the greatest act of will-power did he refrain from wringing her neck. ‘No, it is not over.’

‘Four years ago we parted,’ she said and hated the way her voice squeaked. She always promised herself that if they ever met she would be calm and collected. She would act as if nothing had happened and as if the grave in Sorrento did not exist because he had no right to know. And now there had to be a way of making him understand, of getting through to him before he did something that they both regretted. ‘The girl I was, the young man you were … they are gone. Dead, if you like. Unwelcome memories.’

He stopped, fingers outstretched as if he had been about to capture her and pull her to him. A small traitorous part of her was disappointed. Louisa quickly silenced it. Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe, now Fanshaw, Lord Chesterholm, had played her for a fool four years ago. His touch might feature in her dreams, but on waking she remembered the aftermath.

‘You are wrong, Louisa.’ He lifted a hand and brushed her cheek, a butterfly touch, but one that sent pulses of warmth throughout her body. ‘My memory of you is far from unwelcome.’

‘I have put the sordid episode behind me. I suggest you do the same.’

She waited. If anything, his eyes glittered more dangerously. The silence threatened to press down on her soul. He had to believe her. All she had to do was to stick to her rules. They were simple and straightforward.

‘The past has nothing to do with my future, Jonathon.’ Louisa started to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking the door. The cut of his evening coat made his shoulders appear broader than ever. ‘Neither of us wants or desires a scandal. Society has rules for a purpose and I for one intend to keep them … this time.’

‘But scandals can be enjoyable.’

Louisa ignored the sudden prickle of heat that coursed through her. It was simply a reminder of why Jonathon was dangerous. He lived and breathed sensuality in a way no man had before or since. In the intervening years she had not been tempted or felt one ounce of breathlessness. But now she spent a few moments in his company and the hot pounding of her blood started again. This time she was wise and mature and recognised it for what it was—a remembrance. She refused to give in.

‘Remove yourself from the door and allow me to be about my business.’

His hand reached out and grasped her waist gently, but firmly enough to keep her there. The prickle of heat threatened to become a flame. Louisa concentrated on breathing slowly. She had survived such things before. Jonathon would be no different than the major who had had too much to drink at the Trasemeno hotel. Her rules had worked then. They would work now.

‘About my business?’ The lights in his eyes deepened. ‘And what exactly is my business?’