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

Chapter Three

The carriage creaked to a stop and instantly Isabel saw William’s eyes shutter, then he straightened, slipping his arm from behind her.

‘If you will wait for a moment,’ William said, hand on the door. ‘I’d like to send my sister’s butler on an errand so you can go into the house without being seen. It’s better if it’s assumed you arrived with Sophia.’

He lowered his voice. ‘And you can trust the coachman to keep his silence, I assure you.’ Jumping out, he exited into the dark night. She pushed her hand against the warm leather of the seat, loneliness creeping about her. She wished he hadn’t left her—now the memory of the knife resurfaced.

She was alive and, except for a detour, her life was going to continue on just as planned. Now she could embrace being a governess. She’d seen the truth of what a singer’s life was really like. Her mother had warned her countless times that people assumed all singers were really paid to do other things. That hadn’t mattered then, but now it did.

She shuddered and opened the carriage shade. Enough light filtered from the moon so she could see a mansion. A mansion. William hadn’t told her his sister was wealthy. Immediately, she dropped the shade and worked with the pins in her hair, ignoring the sting the movement caused to her arm.

She was arranging pins when the door opened and William looked inside. His lips quirked up. ‘Songbird, do not do yourself up too pretty. My sister is used to looking at me.’

Her hands stopped. ‘I’m a sight.’

‘You—’ he reached in, took her hands and pulled her with him, as he backed from the carriage ‘—are a sight like a swan in the moonlight. And all swans do not have their feathers always perfect. Sometimes the birds flutter about and feathers fly everywhere, but not for one moment do they stop being swans.’

‘You’re quite flattering.’

‘You deserve it,’ he said, leaning low so he could speak quietly as they walked up the steps. ‘But with three sisters, I’ve had lots of practice, not that they don’t deserve it as well. But my sisters gave me a list once.’

‘A list?’

‘Yes. A list of compliments. They had sat around one evening and decided what wonderful phrases they should like to hear from me instead of my asking if they had memorised their lessons, or practised pianoforte or were kind to each other. Every time I corrected them in any way, I was to repeat one of their compliments and add one of my own.’

‘I should have liked to have had a brother like you.’

Opening the door, he ushered her inside. ‘Sophia said she married in spite of having a brother and Rosalind claims she and Harriet are unwed because if I am among the best of men, then she fears for her sanity should she end up with someone only twice as good as I am.’

Gazing at him, she tried to think of suitable words to thank him for what he’d done. But her voice fled. She brushed a hand to her neck, wishing she could find something to say that explained what she felt.

‘Oh...’ Gently, he took her hand from her throat and his forehead almost touched hers. ‘Please don’t look so stricken.’

‘I owe you—’ she breathed out ‘—so much.’ She clutched his lapel to remain upright.

With the lightest touch at the small of her back, he kept her steady, his whisper caressing her. ‘I would have done the same for anyone.’

She tightened her clasp on his lapel. ‘That only makes you...even better.’

He shook his head, darting a glance upwards, before returning his gaze to hers. ‘I’m only two whiskers away from being a drunken, gambling, rakish, penniless, thankless, conceited heir to a viscount. Please don’t let anything else get out about me and ruin my carefully earned reputation.’

‘You were the only one who came to my rescue and I screamed. I’m sure I did.’ She flattened her palm against the wool of his coat. ‘I’m so fortunate you were there.’

‘I just wish...things had been more like you wanted,’ he said and his eyes fell to her arm.

‘I couldn’t have...’ She tugged at the gown’s shoulder, aware that only a bare inch held the garment. ‘It was almost worth it to know there are men like you in the world.’

He grunted a denial and he watched her hand struggle with the fabric. ‘Do not think about that, Isabel.’ His words softened into a whisper. ‘It is beyond your repair.’ He took a smallest lamp from the side table and held it aloft so she could manage the stairs.

When they reached the sitting room, he led her to an armed chair upholstered in burgundy. He lit another lamp and put it on a table at her side.

‘I’ll get Sophia,’ he said, leaving.

She’d expected him to ring for a maid, but he’d acted much like someone of her own means would. Her mother’s maid-of-all-work wouldn’t have been roused this late in the evening because it would have taken more time than the simple task of fetching someone.

Isabel glanced around the room and found it little different from her parents’ home. The lamps were more plentiful and the painting above the fireplace had quite a large frame, but other than that, the chamber could have been in a country squire’s house.

William returned, and shook his head. ‘She has to put her hair up.’

Immediately Isabel took in a breath.

‘Do not concern yourself,’ he said, his face reassuring. ‘It’s Sophie. My sister. The one with—’

‘With...?’

A woman walked in, hardly looking old enough not to have her own governess. Her hair frazzled around its pins. The dressing gown had the same capped sleeves of a day dress, but the drape and sheen of a something one could wear at a soirée.

‘With the most beautiful smile in the world,’ William continued.

William introduced them, talking as smoothly as if they were at a morning call and the day was dawning with the promise of sunbeams and wildflowers.

When Sophia saw Isabel, her mouth opened and she said nothing at first. Then she said, ‘Your arm... I must get a cloth to clean your arm.’

Isabel stood. ‘It’s dried now. And only stings a little. Your brother saved me.’

‘Oh, him.’ She shrugged the words away. ‘I slipped and fell into a stream head first and he tugged me home by my ear because he said I scared him so.’ She thrust her hand sideways, giving a punch to William’s arm. ‘I still haven’t forgiven him for making one ear crooked.’

William examined her ears. ‘Yes. Hideous. Makes me shudder.’

Sophia waved his words away and stepped towards Isabel. ‘So let us get you all mended.’

‘Soph—’ William interrupted. ‘There is one other thing. I would not want to send a rider in the darkness, but you must pen a quick post in the morning for delivery to her employer. Just make up something about her rescuing you and a companion from a horrible attack of wasps or something and how she could not leave you abandoned... You know, the same story you told Aunt Emilia.’ He winked. ‘It is a shame to let such a tale fade away when it could be used twice.’

Sophia shook her head. ‘I don’t think Aunt Emilia believed me.’

William snorted. ‘I know she didn’t. She told me I must get you married off immediately, so I looked about and tossed a suitable fellow your way.’

Sophia raised her chin, smiled and added drama to her voice. ‘And all it took was one dance and he was smitten.’

‘See, Miss Morton...’ William tucked his hands behind his back ‘...she is good at folderol.’ He turned to leave, then stopped and looked at his sister. ‘You might let Aunt Emilia know of the tale. Just in case.’

‘I shall. But she’ll not be awake early in the morning. She’s attending a dinner at the Brownings’ tonight and she’ll not be the first one to leave as she has put on her marriage-mart gloves again. She thinks our sisters should not rusticate away in the country.’

‘She may be right.’

‘Oh, please.’ Sophia’s voice turned whimsical. ‘Once it’s known that Ros and Harriet are interested in courting, Aunt Emilia will be sorting out the proposals and you will be complaining because the suitors are not worthy. Aunt Emilia is planning to get an early start on the Season. Even the people who have been in the country for the summer are returning to be at the dinner. Apparently it is quite the event because they all wish to discuss Nash’s plans for our town. We can’t let Bonaparte outshine us.’

‘I’m surprised I found you at home.’

‘Only because I do not wish to get into a heated discussion about architecture or Napoleon and prefer to spend the evening with my smitten husband.’

‘Now you will be hearing about Nash’s plans from Aunt Emilia, or her battle plans for capturing beaus for our sisters.’ He raised his chin and smiled at Isabel. ‘Our aunt does like to go about. Even though she has a home in the country near my father, she prefers her residence here. She considers good society vital.’

‘Which means she has to ignore tales of my dear brother,’ Sophia inserted.

He inclined his head to his sister and Isabel. ‘And now your dear brother must take his leave as I trust two such enterprising women will have this night well in hand.’ His glance lingered on Isabel’s face, then her injured arm.

‘Miss Morton, it might be best if you stayed at my sister’s an extra day or so, unless you have a dress with long sleeves with you. That cut on your arm might raise questions.’

‘Yes,’ Sophia inserted. ‘I’ll be able to get you a gown with longer sleeves, but wearing too much covering in this heat might cause more notice. You even have a slight bruise...’ She tapped a spot near her cheek. ‘But after all, the wasps were chasing me at a rapid pace before you flung your bonnet like a sword and frightened them away.’

William’s smile turned to Isabel alone. ‘Do not let her get too carried away or she will have you saving scores of infants and battalions of soldiers, and it will get difficult to remember the details.’ He leaned so close to Isabel that she could feel the flutter of his lashes, but the motion was in her chest. Almost whispering, he said, ‘But don’t even tell her one tiny little untruth and expect her not to remember every last detail.’

‘I heard that,’ Sophia said, voice loud. Then she resumed her regular tone. ‘It’s true.’

William murmured assent and spoke to Isabel. ‘I regret we met under such unpleasant circumstances and I hope you forget all about this night soon.’

The doorway framed him, then he left. His footsteps faded into distance and the room became just a room and she could feel the bruise on her face without touching it.

* * *

William trod down the stairs, forcing himself not to turn around. He rang for the butler and waited, tapping the pull against the wall.

Finishing the last two buttons of his coat, the butler arrived and asked, ‘Yes?’

‘I realised my sister has a friend visiting, so I’ll not be staying.’

‘Yes.’ He pulled his coat tight.

‘Watch over them.’

‘I always do.’ The knowledge of the first time William had visited Sophia in the middle of the night with his own key and nearly got his head bashed in by the servant reflected from the man’s eyes.

‘I know.’ William stayed a second longer, acknowledged the memory with a grim-lipped smile and walked out into the night.

The bolt in the door clicked.

William looked at his carriage, the three-quarter moon and the houses with mostly dark windows.

He heard the woman’s voice again and turned to the open window well above him. Murmurings and a ‘Goodness!’ from Sophia, and then more murmurings and a shocked exclamation. Sophia should know better than to let in the night air, but he stood until one of the carriage horses whinnied and then he turned to go home.

He sat in the carriage, crossed his arms and leaned back into the leathered cushions. A hint of her rose fragrance remained in the vehicle. The knowledge of how close he’d been to leaving Wren’s earlier in the night gnawed at him. He needed to push all recollections of the past hours away and think of nothing but the fact the woman was safe, alive and cared for.

The vision of her face when the knife had been at her throat stayed in his mind. He’d been so close to walking out the door and the Songbird’s life would have been altered for ever. If not for the waggling feather, he would have.

He ran a hand over his knuckles and swollen fingers, inspecting them. When they healed, he might visit Wren again.

Then he brushed a smear of dried blood away. But before the singer left London, he would make his way to his sister’s house and ask Isabel to sing something for him. He smiled. He imagined them standing side by side at his sister’s pianoforte and music filtering through the room.

* * *

The thought remained in his head until he walked inside his parlour. The view from the window was not fascinating, but he never seemed to tire of it. He stood at the middle of the three windows looking down and could hardly see outlines in the darkness below. Another row of town houses, just like his. Another row of windows, just like his. He didn’t care to see the interiors of them or what lay beyond the panes. He feared he might see a rug, just like his. But he knew he wouldn’t see furnishings like his. The room had almost none except for the two tables, the stiff-backed chair and a pretence of a desk with serviceable lamps. The servants’ quarters were better fitted than this room, he hoped. The starkness suited him. Kept him from getting too close to the memories of the past where the picture of home could be painted by the fripperies spread about and the little flower shapes sewn into table coverings.

None of that appeared in his domain and his bed was the only softness in the entire house. A large beast of a bed that had once been his grandfather’s and had been no easy chore for the workman to reassemble.

But he didn’t want to go to bed because he kept reliving the quiet moments with the woman in the carriage, trying to think of the exact tilt of her nose. The colour of her hair was easier to recall and in all the upheaval he wasn’t quite sure what had happened to the plume.

He shook his head. He was standing at the window, thinking of a bit of fluff just as a schoolboy would do. His head must have been hit harder than he realised. But the moment he’d stepped into the room at Wren’s and seen the knife and her eyes widened in fear had left more than a few scrapes on his hand. The knowledge of how fast a person’s life could turn to dust shook him. Now his insides shivered.

His eyes flittered to the decanter on the side table. Half-empty. The servants were not allowed to refill it until it became completely empty. If his father had walked into a room in the family home and not found it full, someone would have heard about it. If not everyone.

His father. William wished the man still looked at the world through hazed eyes.

William resisted the urge to walk forward and put a boot through the bottom glass. That would change the window, but as soon as a servant became aware, the window would be fixed.

One by one he could smash out each pane, yet the world would go on as it always did before. He could not change the way the world rotated and even if he broke the glass, other people would rush to bring the order back.

And his father, after years of a waking sleep, had truly awoken and decided he needed order back and he wanted the world on his path, a path he’d ignored the presence of for years. His father didn’t remember the broken panes swept into the dustbin. He didn’t remember the shattered glass.

Now, the Viscount just cared that his son be married and provide an heir. He had instructed William much like he might tell him to go to a sideboard and pick a confectionery.

The man planned to force marriage on to his son by any means possible—taking the rents William lived on would accomplish a lot. Removing the funds wouldn’t hurt William alone, though, and William knew it. Twelve servants lived in the town house. Thirteen if he counted the little child he pretended not to know about—a boy who had some claim on the cook the housekeeper had hired the year before. He’d only found out about the lad because one of the servants had hidden a badly written note near William’s pillow. Apparently life always didn’t run smoothly among the staff either.

William took the decanter and filled his glass almost to overflow—just to see how close he could get to the edge without a spill. He placed the decanter on the table and slowly brought the liquid to his lips, not spilling a drop. He drank the liquid in one gulp, enjoying the burn.

The glass still in his hand, he stretched and strode to the windows. The servants needed their employment.

William would somehow get the horses back, then he would attend a soirée and dance with all the unwed ladies. Give his father some hope. Fruitless hope, but it wouldn’t do to torment the man.