Governesses Under The Mistletoe: The Runaway Governess / The Governess's Secret Baby

Dead. Dead? The word flamed inside him, dried his mouth, slapped him back into the world he’d left behind. He didn’t know if he’d spoken or not. And her face, it didn’t shudder in fear at the words passing through her fragile lips, nor did she gasp at the finality of what she said.

‘Yes. I will change my name, alter my hair, use face powder, perhaps spectacles and I will find a reputable place away—far away.’

She might have said more. He could not comprehend. His legs tightened. He turned himself into a wall of stone. ‘No.’

‘Why is that not a grand plan?’ Eyes clear and innocent fluttered at him.

He took everything he felt from his words and his body, and made himself an empty slate. ‘I need an heir.’

She put a hand on her hip and pointed out the window. ‘Tell your cousin to get married. It shouldn’t all fall on your shoulders.’

‘It doesn’t work that way and you know it.’

‘I was not born to be a governess. But I don’t think I was born to be a wife either.’ She indicated the inkstand. ‘I was just writing to my friend Joanna and I didn’t know what to tell her, so I told her almost nothing but that I was married and would write more later. That is when I realised how confused I was with the events raining about like a tempest. We don’t know each other and yet we are married.’

‘I know you well enough. You are a good wife—these past few hours. I see no reason for that to change.’

She cleared her throat, which if he was not mistaken was a feminine growl. The sound pulled him back into the light.

‘It’s not working out too well,’ she said.

‘I thought you might want to stay in London, if for no other reason than to sing again.’

She shuddered. ‘I do have a good voice, but singing doesn’t appeal any more. I cannot bear the thought of it.’

She stepped back into the light, rubbing under her chin. ‘Some moments I can still feel the knife. Mr Wren had watched me from the audience and I had not suspected it anything but enjoyment of the song. And he had such other plans. I walked about with pride, singing, and I was no different than a hare playing in a field being watched by a hawk.’

William’s mind raced ahead. His mouth dried. The thought of other men viewing Isabel tumbled around inside him. He would certainly make sure she had a strong servant with her when she ventured about and he’d tell the coachman personally to keep close to Isabel when she was outside the house. He didn’t want any harm to come her way. Instantly, he added plans to tell the butler to hire a sturdy servant who could always be spared when Isabel went out.

She waved a hand. ‘I will disguise myself if I leave London. You will not have to fear anything. And if by some chance I am recognised you can merely say some sort of truth. Perhaps that I disappeared and you lied to protect me. That you feared me mad.’ She smiled. ‘A dead, mad wife would surely cause you no censure, but sympathy. If I need to act like Lady Macbeth, I can. I am quite good with theatrics.’ She shivered and let her hands wrangle over each other.

‘You are quite good with the imagination.’ He’d seen the same smugness she wore on each of his sisters’ faces—when they were not listening to a word of reason and had no intention of unlocking their ears.

‘You’re needed here,’ he continued, his words almost a retreat because dealing with his sisters had taught him that was the best way of attack. ‘While you were born to sing, I was born to be a viscount, to produce children and take care of the properties that I inherit. And I rather hoped you would help with some of the parts of that which I cannot possibly manage alone.’

Her hands stilled, but remained clasped. She looked at the floor. ‘I am sorry that my leaving will prevent the heirs, but I do not know how I could leave children behind, so...perhaps I should go soon.’

‘It doesn’t work that way, either.’

She twirled and plopped down on the bed. ‘I have your interests at heart, of course. I know you do not want to be married.’ Her shoulders wobbled, but it wasn’t in weakness, more of a stance he’d seen on a bull as it locked hooves into the ground, ready to charge ahead.

Life with Sophia, Rosalind and Harriet had prepared him for this. ‘You are very correct.’ His sisters would have pulled a face, but Isabel had not heard him make that same remark a score of times.

He gave her a chance to absorb how correct she was, then added, ‘We do not have to think of ourselves as married. We are merely two friendly people under the same roof.’ With his sisters, he would have retreated before they realised they’d been contradicted, but they were used to his instruction. Instead, he planted his feet firm. ‘Friendly.’

Dismay flitted across her face, but then she looked up.

Her shoulders relaxed. ‘But I could go for a while to the Americas. Do not rule out the value of having a wife who doesn’t live in the same country.’

This would not be the time to agree. ‘I want you with me.’

‘But you left. In the night,’ she said.

‘I went to Sophia’s.’

‘You left.’

‘Yes. I felt the need to.’

‘I understand.’ Her lips tightened after speaking. She looked at the healing mark on her arm. ‘I suppose it is all right.’

‘We hardly know each other.’

‘Which can only be corrected one way.’

He moved to her and knelt on one knee. He clasped her fingers and waited until her eyes met his. ‘I do not have it in me...to form a close attachment.’

‘Not if you are leaving before morning.’

He squeezed her fingers, hoping to soften the determined chin with his earnest words. ‘I can’t change the side of the world the sun rises on. I can’t change much in this life. I had thought to love before, but I discovered it cannot be done.’

‘Give me a chance. Just to know that you like me would be pleasant.’

‘I do like you, Isabel. Of course, I do.’ Of course. Of course.

‘Then why does it matter that I stay?’ she asked.

‘I need an heir.’ The next words almost hurt his mouth and he chose them carefully, realising them for the first time himself. ‘And I would not mind some respectability in my life. While I don’t intend to become a doddering old saint, I would like, should I have children, for them to have a pleasant childhood. I would like them to have a mother, and a woman trained such as yourself would be the best, absolute best, mother a child could have.’

She lowered her chin and gazed up. ‘I was not the top student at the governess school.’

‘I’m sure you’ll make a good mother.’

She looked at the side table. ‘If they were my own little ones, I think it might be wise if a true governess were hired—I did not pay as much attention to the lessons as perhaps I should. I planned to forget every study as soon as I walked from the door.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Sometimes my plans are successful.’

‘You’ll be able to love the children and that’s what’s important.’

‘Of course.’ Her smile beamed. ‘I did like it when a new student arrived and I loved them all. Miss Fanworth sometimes chose me to take them around the first few days, but she never chose me to help them with lessons.’

‘I can help with the studies,’ he said, leaning just close enough that he could get a whiff of roses. ‘And you can bring sunshine into their lives.’

‘I could.’

He rubbed the knuckles of her hand against his cheek. ‘And why don’t you get a larger bed—one big enough for two to be comfortable?’

A quick dart of her head took her full expression from his view.

‘And would you be spending the night in it?’

‘It would not do for a lady’s maid to walk in to help you wake and find me half-naked.’

‘My parents were quite comfortable to sleep in the same room. It is not entirely unreasonable. A servant can wait until summoned.’

‘But the town house is large enough for comfort. In the country, roosters crow to wake the house. Here, servants open the curtains.’

She took in a breath and her eyes didn’t return to him. ‘It is indeed unfortunate that no roosters are about.’ Pulling her fingers from his, she tapped her chin. ‘But, in that case, I want to keep my present sleeping place. In the night, I need to be able to feel both sides of the bed.’

‘I understand.’

She took in a breath and moved her body aside and hopped to her feet. ‘So do I. I will not trouble you. You will not even know I am here. I will send notes to the butler when I need something from you and he will relay it. You need not see me except for the briefest moments and a few events needed for respectability. I know that I owe you and I will repay you in heirs.’

At the door, she grasped the frame, but turned to him. ‘Please do not get too attached to me as I do think the idea of moving and changing my name has much merit.’

In two steps he was at the door.

‘Is—’ He put his hand over the one she rested on the door frame, holding her steady. ‘You must give me your word you will not act on that thought.’

‘I would ne—’

‘Isabel.’ Innocent, innocent, innocent eyes stared at him. ‘Your word.’ He could not risk her rushing off to some destination only she thought wise.

A frown. A pause. ‘I will not leave.’ She met his eyes. ‘I will make this my home. I will make this a home.’

Chapter Eight

Isabel listened to the clattering of the carriage wheels over stones and the sound vibrated into her ears and stayed. The maid sat beside her. The servant was a good two score older and would be the proper chaperon. Isabel didn’t want to be alone. Choosing whom to call on was easy because the only person she knew was William’s sister and the driver knew the direction there.

She had to get something in her head other than the repeat of marriage vows and a sigh. And the memory of William’s eyes begging her forgiveness while his words ran through her like a pike.

The maid darted a look at Isabel.

‘It is just...nothing...’ She kept her next sigh internal. It was nothing. Her marriage. Nothing. She felt no different. Just odd. Everything around her except her clothing was different. Even her name.

The clatter of thoughts in her head didn’t cease when the carriage stopped. She didn’t want to leave the vehicle, but she put her hand on the door, and descended.

She had to speak to someone and William’s sister was most likely to understand. Besides, Sophia already knew the details and Isabel would not have to guard her words.

Once inside Sophia’s home, she was taken to the sitting room with light-coloured walls and matching brocade on the sofa. This was a far cry from Madame’s school where all the furnishings could withstand constant use. In the centre of the room, a small table for a tea service had an oval rug under it and two chairs were aligned for easy conversation, with the sofa just on the other side in case two more people wished to join in.

This was the same room she’d visited before, and yet, she didn’t recall any of it.

She waited, careful not to disturb anything. A clock pealed in the distance and a dog barked several times, then stopped.

Finally Sophia entered the room, steps slow. She took a breath. ‘He is not here.’

They only knew one person in common. Thoughts buffeted Isabel. Sophia thought William had already left the marriage. ‘I know.’

Sophia’s lips turned up. Her face eased. ‘He was here. Almost all night.’ She added the last words quickly. ‘He has a chamber of his own here. He often comes to the house early in the morning and sends his coach home. Then we have breakfast and he falls asleep, and slips out in the evening.’

Sophia indicated Isabel sit, but Sophia remained standing.

‘Does he talk much?’ Isabel asked, making herself comfortable.

‘No. But we don’t have a lot to say. It is almost like a pair of slippers who’ve been stored side by side. He goes his places and I go mine, but we spend time together while nothing else is happening.’

‘Oh.’ Isabel imagined herself as another pair of slippers. Now she understood the marriage William wanted. But she preferred to be the same shoe and match. The one that was part of a pair.

She dismissed her thoughts. The marriage was still fresh. It would take at least a few days for him to understand how wonderful it was to have a wife. A cold thought hit her. Just as it had taken her parents a few days to understand how much they missed her and return.

Sophia interrupted Isabel’s memories. ‘William says you have a voice like a songbird.’

‘I am pleased with it.’ Isabel smiled.

‘Would you sing something for me? I would like to hear it.’

Isabel opened her mouth, then stopped. Never before had she felt the slightest hesitation for singing. If someone asked a question, she had to prevent herself from giving the answer in song.

Shaking her head, she touched her throat. ‘I can’t. Today I woke up with a soreness and it would hurt to sing.’

‘Later, then?’ Sophia asked.

‘Of course.’ Isabel smiled, but her thoughts didn’t match her face. Her desire to sing had fled in the same way a clock that had ticked a whole lifetime suddenly stopped and would not work again. She could not bear the thought of being watched while singing. Just could not. And it had been her favourite part of the performance before.

‘I look forward to meeting your sisters and your husband,’ Isabel said, turning the conversation in a different direction.

Sitting in the chair adjacent to Isabel, Sophia shrugged. ‘You’ll know sooner or later—my husband and William do not get on overly well. They are friendly.’

‘It is not uncommon for a man to not think someone good enough for his sister.’

‘It’s not that.’ She waved away the words. ‘My husband is a few years older and he treats me as if I were born on a cloud and my feet shouldn’t touch the ground. He feels William does not take life seriously enough.’ She grimaced. ‘William does take life seriously. Too seriously, I think.’

That was not quite how Isabel saw him. She raised her brows in question.

‘He is quite determined to wring all the excitement out of it he can,’ Sophia said. ‘He may be out at all hours but it is a seriousness in itself—to grasp the spice of life. I became aware of it about a year after our mother died. He does not talk of what he does much. Sometimes he checks with the man-of-affairs to see how the finances are going and watches over what our sisters are doing. He has been counting on Aunt Emilia to find them matches. Usually, he is ready to sleep when he is here as he has been awake the night.’

‘I do not know where he is right now, but he’s not at his town house sleeping the day away.’ She smiled to take any censure out of her words. ‘But you know how we met so it is not as if it is a love match. I don’t think he quite wants that.’

Calling it a friendship was even an overestimation. She would have liked nothing better to have been discovering his life from him, but instead she sat with his sister.

‘I once had hope...’ Sophia ran her fingers along the wooden arm of the chair, letting her words fall away into the room. ‘I am only a year younger than he and closest to him. I was twelve when our mother died and our father grieved so much that William had nothing to do but take things in hand. My brother was quite the stickler with us. As he watched over us and made certain our lamps were out at a decent hour, he then bribed the coachman to take him about. He was tall even then and his ready smile helped get him wherever he wished to go. He told me the older men had no trouble testing the young pup’s mettle and challenging him to keep up with them.’ She grimaced behind her smile. ‘He did, I’m sure.’

Isabel remembered his form flashing across in front of her as he tackled Mr Wren. ‘Did he ever have cause to fight with someone?’

‘I would imagine he did after our mother died. He would say he fell from a horse, and yet, he’d taken Father’s carriage. The stories he tells me are all suitable for a grandmother’s ears. My husband has privately mentioned a few escapades of my brother and they weren’t saintly. William laughs it away when I ask and will not give a direct answer.’ She paused. ‘He never angers with me, except when I would jest at him about one of my friends hoping for his notice or ask him when he might marry. That is the only time he would anger. He would stay away longer as well.’

Isabel straightened her shoulders. William married because of his love for his sisters. He protected them. He wouldn’t have wed her if not for the disgrace that would have been visited upon him and his family otherwise. She mustn’t forget that.

‘I do not want to be too inquisitive.’ She used the same downward chin movement and the tilt of her head that could capture an audience’s awareness. ‘But has he ever been in love before?’ Her demeanour was relaxed, but her heart braced for the reply. If he had been in love once, then he could fall in love again.

The thought jarred her. She wanted him to love her. Very much. And it was not as if she loved him. She’d been serious when she mentioned wanting to leave. Leaving could be much happier than loving someone who gave the highest regard to a friendly marriage. A Mr Grebbins.

Sophia laughed, leaning forward. ‘You do not have to be jealous. I can assure you. Not long ago I asked him the same question. If you could have seen his face, you would have known he told the truth. He told me to bite my tongue. I have never known of any woman he has mentioned by name, although my husband has heard that William attended Drury Lane with someone on his arm.’

‘I am so relieved.’ Her shoulders dropped, but her smile might not have fooled friends who had seen her perform. William had not been in love. He’d started his adulthood earlier than many, yet had not even mentioned a woman by name to his sister.

‘Does the—?’ Sophia started, but then shrugged away her words.

‘What?’ Isabel asked. ‘Please tell me what you were going to say.’

‘I was going to ask about the ring. If he has mentioned it, or if you have it and have chosen not to wear it. I have not seen it since the night our mother died. William surely has it still.’

Isabel forced her hands to remain still and her eyes not to glance at the plain band on her finger. ‘I haven’t seen it.’

On the table beside her, Sophia touched the base of the lamp, turning it, staring into the glass. ‘Our mother always wore the ring. The night she died, I was at the door because I’d heard a flurry of movement and knew something had happened. Father insisted William take the jewellery. Told him he must marry some day and it would be his wife’s. William shouted he could not take something she loved so much. Father insisted.’

Isabel glanced at the gold band on her finger. It was like her own mother’s wedding ring and her mother’s band was a reflection of love. Now, the gloss on Isabel’s seemed a jester’s laugh, as practised as the words of songs.

She remembered the expression on her parents’ faces when they saw the other person enter the room—enchantment.

Kind Mr Grebbins and his wife had visited her parents often and both had the kindest words. Mrs Grebbins reminded Isabel of a fluffy hen clucking, preening happily in the sun, but almost unaware her husband was in the room. Mr Grebbins smiled often, in the way of a grandfather not seeing much more than a blurred shape.

Isabel had overheard her mother and father discussing how lonely the couple was. Mr Grebbins’s first wife had died in childbirth and his heart had died with her. He’d married again, but he’d never danced with the same dash as he had with his first wife, nor had he laughed so heartily. He made the best of it and didn’t bemoan his lot in life as Mrs Grebbins was a good sort, he was a good sort and that is what good sorts did. They had spent thirty years of their lives together. Good-sort years.

Mr and Mrs Grebbins had always ambled back to their home—silent—their shadows remaining alone, never touching.

Love is priceless and cannot blossom for every couple, her mother had said, and then her parents had shared a lingering glance.

At William’s town house, when Isabel had left, William had wished her well with all the courtesy of Mr Grebbins suggesting to his wife they might leave before darkness descended.

Chapter Nine

Matrimony didn’t agree with him. In fact, the whole house seemed out of sorts since his marriage. A fortnight should have been enough time for them to adjust. If it had been a manor, he would have called it Bumbling Hall. Cook didn’t seem able to adjust to the circumstance of his asking for breakfast.

‘My apologies.’ The servant bowed her head as she exited his breakfast room, after replacing the drink. ‘I brought you the mistress’s chocolate and she does not wish for hers to be spiced as you do.’

He nodded, taking a sip from the glass left behind. The chocolate still wasn’t correct. He tasted it again, drinking half of it to see if he could discern exactly what error had been made. He paused, realising why it tasted bland. His cook had not made morning chocolate for him in years. The only time he drank it was at Sophia’s and he’d got used to the way her cook prepared it. If he ended the night at his own home, he sipped a brandy as he prepared for bed.

He left, returning to his sitting room. The newspaper lay on the table, but he had no wish to read it. He preferred his news from the club, either by men who had participated or men who’d seen it. Almost always the stories varied, but he sorted out the truth from them.

He picked up the print anyway. Reading through it, he then slapped it back down. Old news. He should have taken to the clubs. He would not make such a mistake tonight. All his friends would be abed now so he had no reason to trot out.

Sylvester had congratulated William on finding a bride who didn’t curtail the nights out and said he planned to do the same.

He looked closer at the arm of the chair and pulled a bit of feather from it, then flicked the fluff aside.

William wasn’t even certain if Isabel knew he was home or not.

Isabel was not like his sisters, always managing to burst upon him with some question, or leave this or that frippery for the servants to put away.

Moving to the door, he opened it and returned to his chair.

* * *

She’d not spoken with him since she had suggested she could leave and change her name. Perhaps that had been too imaginative, but still, she’d offered.

William had left each night at dusk since their wedding night, until the last one. He’d been arriving home some time after midnight because she’d listened and he didn’t return before she fell asleep.

She could not imagine that Husband would be expecting her to provide an heir without his help. She’d also kept the smaller bed and although it had started as a rebellion of sorts, she’d considered it carefully and kept the plan. She looked at the paper in her hand, blowing to dry the inkspot she’d mistakenly made. Well, her penmanship never would win any notice.

She would not be able to send this letter to Grace. She hoped that Grace might meet William some day and draw a picture of him. Grace could sketch up anyone’s face so quickly.

After Isabel realised she was to be married, she’d written to Grace, Rachel, and Joanna. Isabel had spent the entire day writing to everyone she knew—making sure they all knew of her good fortune so they would not suspect she’d made a judgement in error. She’d only admitted to Grace that the marriage was not exactly a love match, but more of a union of two sensible people in exact understanding of each other. Isabel’s teeth had ached after writing the letters, but she was certain it conveyed a certain sophistication and a smattering of newly gained maturity.

Isabel knew she was indeed more fortunate than Grace, with the uncertainty of finding a child, and how horrible it was that Grace had not been able to keep the little one in the first place.

‘Isabel.’ William’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She started. She hadn’t heard him enter her sitting room. Her throat tightened and she nearly knocked the paper from the table. She caught it in mid-air and looked his way. His white cravat looped in a single knot. His face was freshly shaven, which jolted her. The other men she’d met had never looked anything but whisker-peeled after a shave.