Regency Surrender: Defiant Lords: His Unusual Governess / Claiming the Chaperon's Heart

‘Oh, you do not need to tell me. I was so mortified I could have died.’ Francesca turned to her and hugged her. ‘You mustn’t be hurt, Sarah. If Rupert is mean to you, I’ll tell John to put something horrid in his bed.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Now that you must never do, dearest. Besides, it might result in the cane for John and you would not want that. Lord Myers takes his duty seriously and I think you must both respect his wishes.’

‘I was looking at those books you gave me. Is that what really happens? It looks awful. I can’t see why anyone would want to do anything like that...’

‘I think that feelings come into it,’ Sarah said with a smile, but then the door opened and she shook her head. ‘You might wish to go up now, dearest, and I shall follow.’

Francesca nodded. She approached Lord Myers and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Goodnight, sir. I am sorry if I offended you earlier.’

‘Good grief, child. I was not offended, but your reputation might suffer in company. I wanted you to be aware.’

‘Yes, Uncle Rupert. Sarah has explained that I may ask her anything in private, but not speak so openly in front of others.’

‘Good. Run along now. I wish to speak to Miss Goodrum.’

Francesca threw a speaking look at Sarah and went out.

‘Miss Goodrum—’ Lord Myers stood looking at her uncertainly. ‘Will you honour me with a game of chess this evening? You do play chess, I hope?’

‘Yes, my lord. My father taught me. I played often with him.’

‘I thought that might be the case. Will you oblige me?’

‘If you wish.’

‘I do wish. I also want to apologise for my display of bad manners earlier. I did not intend to squash the child—and I thank you for putting things right.’

‘It was a misunderstanding all round, my lord. I do not think it will happen again.’

‘I suppose I cannot prevail on you to call me Rupert in private?’

Sarah hesitated, then, ‘I hardly think it wise, sir. If I could add uncle I would do so, as the others do, but I cannot—and so I feel that it would not be right.’

‘Make it sir, then. I cannot stand to be my lorded all the time. I would even prefer Captain Myers, as I was known in my army days.’

‘Yes, sir. You were in the army?’ Sarah asked politely, as she set out the beautiful ivory-and-ebony chessboard with delicate carved figures. ‘I thought perhaps you might have been. My father always said it was easy to tell a military man by his bearing.’

‘Indeed? I think I should have liked to know your father, Sarah.’

‘Yes, you might. I think he might have liked you—he was very direct and to the point and honest.’

‘Like you, I imagine?’

‘I resemble my father in some ways. I cannot say all.’

Sarah was acutely aware of her lies. She was beginning to hate them and wished that she dare tell him the truth—explain why it had seemed such a good idea and why she wanted to stay here as Francesca’s governess. Yet he would not understand. He would revile her for lying and worst of all he would dismiss her and install a new governess in her place.

Even though she had made mistakes on her first day, Sarah felt that she was helping Francesca. She had gained the girl’s confidence and affection, too. It would hurt her if Sarah left—and she might become sullen, taking against Lord Myers and the new governess.

Sarah was doing no harm. She would be careful in future to temper every opinion she gave with the counter-argument and explain why Francesca must conform to what society expected even though she might disagree privately, but she could not desert her.

She dismissed her qualms and brought her mind to the game. Lord Myers showed his mettle by his first few moves, but she was with him.

* * *

Sarah had learned from a chess master and she was well able to keep up her end. By the end of an hour she had beaten him twice and been beaten herself once when an early move on his part had sealed her fate almost from the beginning.

At the end of the third game, she stood up.

‘I believe I should leave you now, sir. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Sarah,’ he replied. He was on his feet, standing so close to her that she could scarcely breathe. Her heart was beating fast and she felt the heat start low in her abdomen and sweep through her. She was being drawn to him like a moth to a flame. In another moment she would be in his arms. He would kiss her and then...

She stepped back, breaking the fine thread that had bound them.

‘I should go.’

‘Perhaps you will let me try for revenge another evening.’

‘Yes, of course, if you wish.’

With that she walked to the door and went out. He made no move to stop her or call her back, though she thought she heard a muffled groan as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Alone in her room, Sarah closed the door, locked it and then stood with her back against it. She felt weak and knew that she had escaped by a hairsbreadth from a fate that was described as worse than death—another few seconds and he would have seduced her. She would have allowed it. She had wanted it, longed for his kiss—and what came after.

It was those feelings she’d warned Francesca of—feelings that would lead to her downfall. Even as Miss Sarah Hardcastle she would not have expected a marriage proposal from Lord Myers, unless he needed a fortune, of course. Somehow she did not see him as lacking wealth or the determination to make it if he had none. He was not the kind of man to need a Cit’s daughter as a wife.

Sarah was well aware that as the daughter of a mill owner she would not be thought suitable to marry into the best families—unless of course they happened to be desperate.

Sarah was trembling as she undressed and dived beneath the sheets. The awful thing was that she suspected she would enjoy being seduced by Lord Myers—and that would be stupid.

‘Foolish, foolish, foolish!’

Yet the temptation to remain, to let him kiss her and do what he would on the rug before the fire had been strong. Why did he have this effect on her, something that no other man had before now?

She pounded her pillow. Before this, Sarah had resisted every advance, deflected every unwanted offer with ease—but something told her that if she stayed here she was in danger of succumbing to her wretched feelings. Even worse than being seduced was the fear that she might learn to care for him—and that must lead to terrible unhappiness.

‘No, I shall not. I refuse to care about him,’ she whispered and closed her eyes on the tears as they insisted on falling. ‘I am not so silly as to care for a man who merely wants to seduce me.’

In future she would have to be constantly on her guard. Friendly but cool, even aloof.

She would be the perfect governess. In private, she would be open and friendly with Francesca, but whenever Lord Myers was around she would keep her distance.

* * *

God damn it! Rupert groaned as the door shut behind her, leaving him with the scent of her perfume in his nostrils and the want of her surging through his blood. What was it about Miss Hester Goodrum that had sent his senses haywire? He could hardly remember feeling such urgent lust before in his life. For a moment it had taken every last ounce of his strength to keep from dragging her into his arms, kissing her to within an inch of her life and carrying her to his bed.

His thoughts were outrageous and he knew it. If she was the governess she claimed to be, he would be doing her an extreme disservice and she did not deserve such treatment from him. Yet what if she were indeed an adventuress? There were things that did not sit well with her claim to be merely a governess—and why had she told Francesca to call her Sarah? Surely if her name was Hester a pet name would be Hetty or some such diminutive?

If she had been another man’s mistress, then she was fair game and he would be justified in hunting her down until she agreed to be his. It was odd, but he did not wish that to be the case. Indeed, he feared that her appeal would be tarnished if he discovered that she was a schemer and a liar.

Why would she come here if she were not what she professed to be? The question bothered him, chasing round in his mind like a puppy after its tail. He could see no advantage to it—unless she hoped to seduce her employer, but she could have hardly hoped for that since the marquess was nearly three times her age and seldom visited his country house.

Was she hiding from someone or something? Had she been accused of theft or worse? Lurid thoughts chased through his mind—had she murdered her protector, stolen her employer’s heirlooms or been snubbed by society?

A smile touched his mouth for he did not see Sarah as a fugitive from the law. Yet he would swear her name was not Hester Goodrum, nor had she been a governess until recently. So where was the real Hester and why had they changed places?

Yes, of course, it was what must have happened! Rupert felt certain of it, though he could see no reason for the masquerade. Sarah did not strike him as a

society miss who would do something like this for a jest or a wager. No, she had a perfectly good reason for what she was doing.

If that turned out to be the case, she was a consummate liar and Rupert hated liars. His mouth thinned. In his experience women lied without thought for the harm they caused or the pain they inflicted.

He determined that he would discover the truth and unmask her and then—then he would show her no mercy. He would offer her an ultimatum: become his mistress or risk exposure and the scorn it would bring.

For a moment in his anger he dwelled on the prospect with pleasure, but then the picture faded and his expression hardened. He had never forced a woman into his bed and it would bring only a hollow victory. No, he would put the woman out of his head and, if he discovered she had indeed been lying to them, he would dismiss her.

Sarah Goodrum, or whatever her name was, would discover that she had made a mistake when she decided to try to fool him. By the time he’d finished with her she would wish she’d never been born.

* * *

It had rained during the night, which meant the grass would be wet if she chose to walk first thing. Sarah decided to forgo her exercise. Perhaps the afternoon would be warm and dry. In the meantime she would take an early breakfast and then spend some time in the library, preparing lessons for that day. She would try to be more conventional, and perhaps in the afternoon, if it were still damp, they could play the pianoforte. Francesca had told her she played, but needed help to achieve a higher standard. Since it was one of Sarah’s chief pleasures and something she did well, she had hopes of achieving at least this much for her pupil.

* * *

She was the first in the breakfast room and had eaten when the door opened to admit Lord Myers. He looked at her coldly, his manner markedly reserved as he perused the chafing-dishes and then brought his plate to sit opposite her.

‘Good morning, Miss Goodrum. I trust you slept well?’

‘Yes, sir. I took my breakfast early since it was still wet out.’ She pushed back her chair and stood, hesitating a moment. Why had he changed so much since the previous evening? He seemed a man of many moods.

‘There is no need to leave on my account.’ He frowned at her.

‘I had finished, sir. If you will excuse me?’

‘Yes, of course. You should prepare your lessons for the morning—a little more carefully today, if you please.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Tears stung behind her eyes, but she gave no sign as she lifted her head and swept from the room like a queen.

How dare he speak to her that way? For a moment anger rolled over the hurt, but then she remembered that he was here in place of her employer and had every right to address her as he chose. He could send her away if he wished.

Sarah bit her lower lip. She had no idea why he was angry with her. The previous evening she had sensed that he was on the verge of making love to her—so why had he changed so suddenly?

Obviously, he was a law unto himself. He was an aristocrat and had no interest in the feelings of a lowly governess—any more than he would in the daughter of a Cit, even a wealthy mill owner’s daughter.

Sarah would be a fool to allow herself to care for a man like that—even if one of his sensual looks could make her feel weak at the knees and keep her sleepless in her bed.

She had made up her mind to keep her distance during a restless night and his manner this morning had made that easier. If they both kept their distance, except when in the children’s presence, everything would be fine. She would conquer this temporary weakness and her heart would remain untouched.

Sarah would spend a few months in retreat from her own life and do what she could for Francesca—John, too, if he needed her, though he seemed to have taken to his mentor and hung on Lord Myers’s every word. She would stay for as long as she could, but if life became unbearable she would leave.

Chapter Six

The rain had lasted for almost a week, making it impossible to hold the picnic John had wanted so badly. However, he spent most of his time either fencing, studying or riding with Lord Myers and seemed well pleased with the change. Francesca had told Sarah that he was learning to shoot.

‘I hardly see him now,’ she complained as they closed the pianoforte after an hour spent most enjoyably. ‘I am so glad you are my friend, Sarah. I do not know what I should do if you were not here.’

‘I dare say John will seek your company when he is ready. You must understand that this is the first time he has received the attention of a man like Lord Myers. He must feel pleased, excited and even flattered by it. After being neglected by his tutors he is suddenly of importance.’

‘How understanding you are,’ Francesca said and got up, wandering over to the window. ‘Did you know that Uncle Rupert has decided to employ a dancing master for me? He is French and should be here any day now.’

‘Oh...’ Sarah bit her lower lip. Lord Myers had neglected to tell her, but then, she’d hardly seen him all week. At dinner he spoke to Francesca and John, but, other than asking if she were well and had what she needed, he had not directed a whole sentence at her for seven days. ‘I had thought he might teach you himself.’

‘He said he had considered it, but felt himself unable to convey the finer points. I think he finds that John takes up most of his time—and he has friends. You know he has dined out twice this week and he spent most of yesterday afternoon with them.’

‘Yes, I dare say he wishes for some company of his own age, men he can converse with,’ Sarah agreed. ‘John was out with the groom all afternoon. I hear he is doing very well with his new pony.’

‘Yes. He finds Blackie much more of a challenge than dear old Dobbie was, which was why Uncle Rupert purchased the pony for him.’

‘Yes, that was thoughtful.’

Sarah could not fault Lord Myers for the way in which he was directing the youth’s studies, giving him enough sports and activities to make the written work acceptable. She had paused outside the marquess’s study on one occasion and heard Lord Myers reading aloud in Latin. Every now and then he’d stopped to ask John what he understood and to explain the story. His blend of authority and charm had carried John along and the boy seemed completely under his spell.

Francesca was respectful of the man she addressed as Uncle Rupert, even though he wasn’t actually her uncle, but some sort of cousin.

‘Rupert thought it better if I called him uncle. He says it is a matter of keeping up a respectable household that will give no one a chance to gossip about us. I told him that as long as I had you as a chaperon no one could possibly imagine there was anything improper in our domestic arrangements.’

Sarah resisted the temptation to ask what he’d replied. Since that night when they had played chess alone he had been reserved, even cold towards her, and she had followed his lead. It was better this way than allowing herself to imagine there might be something warm and exciting between them. If she had thought so a week ago, she did not think it now. She knew that it was the only way she could remain as Francesca’s governess, but there was an ache in her heart that she could not quite banish.

Sarah stood up and joined her pupil by the window. The afternoon was pleasantly warm with just a slight breeze.

‘I have some letters I should like to go first thing in the morning. I think I shall walk down to the Royal Oak and leave them. There might be something for me.’

‘One of the footmen will take the letters in the morning and they bring back anything that has come for us.’

‘Yes, I know, but I want these to go off—besides, I should have to rely on Lord Myers to frank them for me and I would prefer to pay some sixpences to send them myself. I was wondering if you would like to walk with me?’

‘I think I would rather stay here and practise my music, if you do not mind?’ Francesca looked at her. ‘You will be back in time for tea. Perhaps Uncle Rupert and John will join us today.’

‘Yes, perhaps. I must go up and put on my bonnet. I shall not linger, but walk straight there and back.’

Sarah left her pupil sitting at the pianoforte and the sound of music followed her up the stairs. Francesca was still playing when she returned and left the house by a side door. She had the piece almost right, but there was one passage that she rushed every time. Sarah would show her how it should be played another day.

It was the first time she’d gone for a walk alone since it had rained. The air was fresh with the scents of early summer and the hedgerows were bright with flowers, wild roses twining amongst them and bringing the countryside alive with colour.

* * *

She had reached the village without incident and entered the inn, having noticed a horse with a white mark on its rump. She thought it might have belonged to Lord Myers, but wasn’t sure. If he were here, she hoped they would not meet. It would be embarrassing if he thought she’d sought him out. As far as she’d known, he’d ridden over to a neighbour’s house on some business.

She was met by the host’s wife, who took her letters and asked her for four sixpences, to cover the cost of sending them post.

‘It would be less if they waited for the mail coach, miss, but if you want them sent urgently it must be two shillings.’

‘That is perfectly all right,’ Sarah said and handed over her two shillings. ‘Do you have any letters for Miss Hardcastle care of Miss Hester Goodrum?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact one arrived by post this afternoon.’ The innkeeper’s wife looked at her curiously. ‘You’re Miss Goodrum, governess to the children up at Cavendish Park, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Sarah saw the curiosity in her eyes. ‘Miss Hardcastle is...well, I am accepting letters for her.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s all right, as it says “care of”,’ the woman said a little doubtfully. ‘I normally like to be sure a letter is given to the right person.’

‘I assure you I am the right person to receive this letter—and any others that are similarly addressed.’

‘Is something wrong, Miss Goodrum?’

Sarah jumped and glanced round as Lord Myers spoke. ‘No. I am just collecting some letters. Everything is as it should be.’ She took the letter from the woman’s reluctant hand as she seemed paralysed by Lord Myers’s arrival and was staring at him, seemingly mesmerised.

Sarah slipped the letter, which was quite a thick packet, into her reticule, but she feared that Lord Myers might have caught sight of the wording of the address before she could do so.

‘Is Francesca not with you?’ he asked, walking to the inn door and opening it for her. He walked out into the yard, standing for a moment in the sunshine as she hesitated.

‘Francesca wished to practise the music she is learning. I had some letters I wished to post.’

‘Do you write many letters, Miss Goodrum?’

‘Yes, several.’

‘To your family? Or are you seeking another post?’

‘I am not seeking another post at the moment. I have no reason to leave—have I?’

‘Only you can know that, Miss Goodrum.’

Sarah hesitated, then, ‘I understand you have engaged a dancing master for Francesca?’

‘Actually, her grandfather did so himself. I wrote and said I thought it might be a good thing and he sent word that he had seen to it. I heard this morning and told Francesca. I believe he is French—Monsieur Andre Dupree, I think he is called.’

‘Ah, I see. I had thought you might teach her yourself?’

‘I decided it might be wiser to employ a dancing master—for various reasons. Besides, most of my time is taken up with tutoring John—and there is estate business.’

‘You have been busy, I know.’

‘Yes.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘I should be returning to the house. My business here is done—and John should have had his riding lessons for the day.’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated, then, ‘Francesca wondered if you would both join us for tea today. I think she misses her brother.’

‘Yes, things have not quite gone to plan. We must have our picnic before the fine weather disappears again. Have you written the invitations?’

‘They need only the day and date. I was waiting for your approval.’

‘Then make them for this Friday. We must hope that the weather stays fine. I am told some of the strawberries will be ready for picking and that might amuse both the children and our guests.’

‘It will not amuse Francesca to be called a child. She will soon be seventeen.’

‘Not for a few months. I shall try to remember.’ He inclined his head to her. ‘I shall not keep you, Miss Goodrum—if that is your name...’

With that he walked away, leaving Sarah to stare after him in dismay. It was the first time he’d talked to her for a week, but she could not deceive herself; his manner was decidedly cool towards her. She was not sure if he was angry or whether he simply did not trust her.

Shrugging off her painful thoughts, she walked on towards the house. She would read her letter later, alone in her room. Sarah had recognised the hand and knew it came from the agent who oversaw her mills. Since he had written extensively there might be a problem.

Sarah sighed. For the past few years she’d dealt with the problems as they arose, but it had been pleasant not to have to think of them for the past week. It might be nice to be married and leave business to her husband, but it would have to be the right man for the sake of all those who relied on her for their living. Sir Roger would squander her money and care nothing for her people. Until she found someone she could trust and like enough to marry, she would have to carry on—but her agents must manage without her for a while. She would not leave Francesca in the lurch unless she was forced.

* * *

What was she up to now? Rupert was thoughtful as he put his horse to a canter. His business that afternoon had concerned the governess and he wondered why he had not mentioned it to her. Something in her manner had been guilty and it had made him hold back the news he thought might be interesting for her. She had definitely hidden that letter and so quickly that he hardly caught sight of the lettering, but he was sure it had been addressed to someone care of Miss Goodrum.

He’d sensed a mystery from the start and now he was certain that she was hiding something. Could she be collecting letters for Francesca? Had the young girl formed an attachment before he arrived, one she now wished to hide from him? Rupert frowned. Francesca was surely too young to have a lover—would her governess be complicit in such a deceit?

Or was it simply that Miss Goodrum was not what she claimed to be, as he’d suspected almost from the start? Why had she lied about her identity?

The mystery deepened and he decided he had been right to keep his distance these past few days. To allow himself to like the governess rather more than was sensible would be to invite all manner of problems.