The Governess's Guide to Marriage

by Liz Tyner

  She opened her mouth, but words failed her. Surely her grandmother would not...? But the woman had left her beside the road. ‘How long do you wish me to stay here?’

  ‘Until the criminals are caught.’

  She faltered.

  He studied her face. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t be long.’

  ‘I will be cautious.’ She touched the pin in her hair. ‘I’ll take extra precautions. Extra precautions for the rest of my life if needed. Let us move past this. They could never be caught and I want to resume my duties. I want this behind me.’

  ‘We must find these people. They may fear our memory of them. You saw the men’s faces as well as the woman’s. They may return. They likely will. I’ve not uncovered a reason for the crime.’

  ‘You said funds.’ Her stomach churned. She was misleading him. Purposefully. ‘We escaped so quickly that you don’t know if they were lax on finishing up. They’re lawbreakers. Villains. They don’t make good plans.’

  ‘But she didn’t take the buttons on my coat, except for one? It makes no sense... Yet they’d been planning for some time on the abduction. One told me that.’

  ‘They’re not well organised. How long could it take to prepare a bolt on the door, cover a window and put food inside, then nab the person?’

  ‘So, they must be hanged or transported. They could do this again. But I’ve received some news that should keep everyone safe. The cottage has been found. Questions asked of it. It’s an old gamekeeper’s cottage on the boundary of Earl Rothwilde’s land and he doesn’t use it any more.’

  She remembered mention of an earl when she was a child, but she didn’t know which one.

  ‘We found where a camp had been set up, but it was deserted. No one knows which direction they went, but it can’t be hard to find. I’m having men sent out to ask questions at nearby homes. The place is so sparsely populated someone will notice seeing the old woman and the cart, then we’ll keep asking questions until we catch up with them. The hag will be first to the scaffold.’

  Her throat burned as if she could feel the rope.

  ‘But what if she fancied she was doing good? What if she didn’t think herself bad?’

  ‘The old woman pinched my arm. I know she was the leader.’ His voice soothed, but his eyes locked on hers. ‘Maybe she worked with others, but I heard her tell them what to do.’ His words softened, but didn’t weaken. ‘I do not assume she worked alone.’ He stepped to her. ‘You’ll go free, but she won’t. If she’s blackmailing you, then give me a chance to put her away for ever.’

  Miranda was stunned at the suggestion. ‘I’m not being blackmailed.’ She held herself erect. ‘You have to do something to be blackmailed for.’

  Then she paused. ‘Except once. I spent the night in a cottage with a duke.’ She dropped her shoulders, and shut her eyes. ‘I can only hope she never thinks of that.’

  Miranda made a fist and put it to her lips before rushing from the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The small table gave the appearance of close friends in the intimacy of a private family dining room. Miranda’s stepmother and the Duchess had returned late in the day, burdened down with purchases, and dinner had followed immediately afterwards.

  ‘Oh, you should have been with us. We had such a wonderful time.’ Her stepmother radiated goodwill.

  The enthusiasm of her father’s wife flummoxed her. Perhaps the woman’s proximity to the peerage had tempered her nastiness. Possibly she would accept Miranda into the family, although Miranda wasn’t certain she wanted to be in the same room with her stepsisters.

  ‘I’m sure she found plenty to do here to keep her occupied while we were gone,’ the Duke’s mother said and Miranda watched the older woman give her son an appraising glance.

  The Duke continued eating without an apparent awareness of the females at the table.

  Miranda stared at her own soup, aware of her stepmother, sitting with shoulders proud, splitting gazes of admiration between the Duchess and Chalgrove.

  ‘I think the red you chose will go so lovely with anything you select—’ her stepmother smiled at the Duchess ‘—Marjorie.’

  Marjorie. Her stepmother was on a first-name basis with the Duchess. Goodness, next—

  ‘When you visit us, you must bring what you’ve had made,’ her stepmother continued.

  ‘I certainly will.’

  Then the Duke’s mother turned to her son. ‘And, Chalgrove, while we were gone, what progress did you make with the criminals you’re going to bring to justice?’

  ‘Not as much as I’d hoped, but the constable is confident that we will soon know more.’

  ‘Thank you for providing the extra men to make certain the carriage was safe.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Duchess finished her meal. ‘If our guests would like to read in the library or perhaps play the pianoforte...’

  Miranda stood, putting her napkin by her plate. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I retire. I’m not completely recovered.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Manwaring.’ The Duchess smiled.

  Miranda’s stepmother glared for an instant, then was wreathed in smiles as she told Miranda goodnight.

  * * *

  Chalgrove conversed with the Duchess and Mrs Manwaring, but he kept hearing Miranda’s words about her stepmother.

  If he were to place a wager on integrity, he would bet on Miranda.

  The other woman spoke perfectly. A charming guest.

  Charm, an asset for a man or a woman. But it really told nothing of the person underneath. That hadn’t been an easy lesson to learn.

  When the two ladies finished talking and decided to retire to their rooms, he told them both goodnight, but he took his mother’s arm.

  She assessed his face and joined him in the study.

  He closed the door.

  ‘Mother, would you go to Miss Manwaring’s room and check on her before she goes to sleep? I want to make sure she is all right and I don’t want the servants knowing.’

  ‘Of course. I don’t think she prefers my company, but as you never ask for much from me... Well, other than me finding you a wife. I do have someone picked out.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked. His heartbeats increased. She was going to say Miss Manwaring.

  ‘Miss Antonia Redding.’

  Chalgrove hid his reaction. ‘Who is Antonia Redding?’

  ‘You may not have met her.’

  That was the last thing he wanted to concentrate on, but he appeased his mother. ‘I suppose I must, then. At least before the ceremony.’ After meeting her, he could pick out a few flaws.

  ‘I’ll see that you get acquainted, but for now I’ll go and check on Miranda. Sad that her heart is taken by two youngsters, but really she’s not good enough for you, Chal.’

  Chalgrove locked his teeth together. Miss Manwaring was suitable for his mother to call her by her given name, but yet she wasn’t good enough? He refused to ask his mother exactly what flaw she had found in Miss Manwaring, or Miranda, as she called her.

  * * *

  A quick rap sounded on Miranda’s door and her stepmother immediately walked inside. Her dress fitted her with the same give of a suit of armour covered in flounces and draped in silk. Hailstones might dent, of course, but this woman would never be caught in a storm to find out.

  ‘Well, well...’ She paused. ‘Well—’ Her stepmother made each word sound twice as precise as the one before it. ‘The prodigal has returned and has brought her own fatted calf. I have already sent a message to have your things brought here. I said you would not be returning to your governess post.’

  ‘You did not.’ Miranda gasped.

  Only her stepmother would jump to do such a thing.

  She ignored Miranda’s words. ‘I like your methods. I wish to have a little ducal grandson.�
�� She lifted a candlestick and stared at the bottom of it. ‘I expected Lydia to be the one to catch the prize. Not sweet, plain Miranda with the over-large mouth and bedroom eyes. Beautiful golden-haired Lydia whom the elderly baron fancies. I only hope he lives long enough to put the ring on her finger.’

  She studied the painting on the wall and slid it askew, examining the signature. ‘This is of quality. I like it. When you marry, be sure and ask if you might give this to me.’

  ‘I am not courting Chalgrove and he is not courting me.’ Miranda crossed her arms.

  ‘You marry that peer...’ her stepmother spoke through clenched teeth ‘...and we’ll all be one happy family. But if you do anything to confound me and I discover you have other ideas, you’ll never be able to work as a governess again. No one would let a wanton like you near her children. You disappeared for days with a man. I’ll tell the whole world you were in your little love nest with a lover. I’ll say you bedded every footman and stable boy in my house.’

  ‘And you’d be lying.’ She stared at the woman who’d moved into her mother’s house, leaving soiled fingerprints on the tablecloths her mother loved, destroying all the memories, making the house appear as if her mother never existed.

  ‘You have a chance to redeem yourself, you little wanton. Marry him. Or I will see you starve.’

  Her stepmother moved backwards because something in Miranda’s eyes must have warned her. ‘I suppose it will make no difference to you. But it does to me,’ her stepmother said.

  Miranda knew if she let her, her stepmother would take her over. ‘I’ll not marry him. I’ll not marry anyone. You ruined my chance at marriage when you refused me proper clothing to go about in society. You did everything you could to destroy me, even spreading lies to the one man who considered me, but you did me the greatest favour of all. I’m happy with the job of governess.’

  ‘Ha. Proud words for a little nobody. Fortune has smiled on you now. Take him.’ Her gardenia perfume choked Miranda’s nostrils. ‘Or tuck your tail between your legs and run for the stews.’

  Her stepmother chuckled, shaking her head. ‘I don’t care anything about your courtship—just get the ring on your finger quickly. Men tire so easily. I think his mother already knows you’ve been compromised. If I spread the tale quickly of your abduction, she’ll have no choice but to push for a marriage.’

  Miranda’s jaw dropped as her stepmother walked forward and actually gave Miranda’s hand a squeeze. Miranda recoiled.

  ‘I couldn’t have planned it better myself. You’re truly a smarter girl than I ever realised.’

  She jerked her hand from her stepmother’s. ‘I am a governess. Men such as the Duke do not marry the governess.’

  ‘We just won’t tell him you’re a little beggar bastard.’ Her stepmother put a hand to her bosom, long fingernails flittering like curtains in a breeze. ‘Easton so kindly took you in as his ward simply because his wife wanted to keep you. Use that to your advantage.’

  Miranda’s voice rose. ‘And you so kindly said you’d inform all and sundry of my parentage should I ever step foot in society, along with speaking those hideous lies Royce told.’

  ‘Those were not lies.’ Her stepmother moved to stare at her. Even though Miranda was taller, the woman ruffled out, not letting her size diminish her. ‘They were not lies. My son Royce does not lie.’

  Miranda spoke, unable to control her voice, the rage of years pulsing through her. ‘They were lies he wished to be the truth. Your wicked son tried to touch me every chance he got. I couldn’t live in the home I grew up in because he is there and he frightens me. And I will not try to force the Duke into marriage. I will not.’

  Miranda dodged, but the slap caught her. The sound cracked in the room. Miranda showed no emotion, her jaw stinging.

  ‘You will marry the Duke or I will see you ruined,’ her stepmother hissed.

  ‘Well.’ The Duchess stood, holding the door open.

  Miranda whirled. She’d been so engrossed she’d not known the woman had entered.

  ‘I suppose I should have knocked.’

  ‘This was a private discussion between a mother and her daughter.’ Her stepmother’s voice dripped sweetness.

  The Duchess squinted down her nose. She smiled and her eyes had power behind them. ‘In my house. About my son.’ She opened the door wide for Miranda’s stepmother. ‘I’ll have the carriage readied immediately for you. Your things will follow. If I hear any aspersions about my son or Miss Manwaring, I will hold you personally responsible.’ She touched where the coronet would have sat on her head. ‘I’d think long and hard about stirring up any rumours.’

  Mrs Manwaring blustered, ‘I meant nothing disparaging.’

  ‘Nor do I and I’d like to keep it that way. We will, or may, see each other at future events and I would prefer us both to be cordial and pleased to see one another. Wouldn’t you? It would be so ridiculous for this to become the topic at Almack’s or one of the Regent’s dinners, but I assure you I can keep this private as long as my son and Miranda are not mentioned. And I believe you do have two other daughters to be concerned about.’

  ‘Well, I—I suppose you have a point.’ She held her chin high. ‘I will be getting back home now. Come along, Miranda.’

  She bustled through the door.

  Miranda started to follow. She would find a way to return to the children.

  The Duchess held out a hand, stopping her. ‘Oh, Miss Manwaring, stay. I insist. And I do. You will stay.’

  It was not a request, any more than the previous conversation had been.

  ‘The constable may need more information. You will be here for questions.’ Then the Duchess turned to Mrs Manwaring. ‘I will see that Miranda is well taken care of.’ She softly shut the door in the woman’s face, with herself and Miranda on the inside.

  The Duchess moved to the pull in Miranda’s room and tugged it, several times more than necessary.

  ‘Miss Manwaring. Occasionally my guests at soirées have too much to drink and misbehave. These things happen. They are best not dwelled upon. The true measure of good breeding is that you can sweep out the refuse with little more than a wave and maintain the dignity of the household.’

  She moved to the painting and straightened it. ‘When the maids arrive, please see that they help your stepmother depart.’ She stopped at the doorway and looked over her shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Miranda.’

  * * *

  The Duchess stalked into the study. ‘Mrs Manwaring is leaving. She’s ghastly.’

  Chalgrove stood. ‘Why?’

  ‘I could not trust her another minute.’ She poured herself a glass of wine. ‘The young woman you were with has more backbone than you’d think.’

  Chalgrove could not recall seeing his mother ever pour a glass of anything for herself. Pouring was a servant’s job.

  ‘Chal, the young woman can be firm if she makes up her mind. Reminded me of myself.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I cannot speak of it right now. I am incensed. It reminded me of your Grandmother Wincett.’ She held the stem. ‘Trust me. Your grandmother particularly loved stories of a beheading and she could snag a hem with her shoe, causing another woman to go flying. My own mother wasn’t much better. Father had to step between her and a footman twice her size once because she was threatening to throw him out of the window. For sneezing when he opened the door for her. If not for Father, we would have not been able to keep a servant in the place.’

  She emptied the glass. ‘Both your grandmothers were of the same ilk. Trust me, you never saw the truth of them. You were their chosen angel—and they had plenty of the devil in them. Your father and I had no choice in the matter of our marriage. They decided we were to marry and so we did. Luckily...’ she gave Chalgrove a wan smile ‘...your father was a stalwart man and one I would have chosen.’ She clo
sed her eyes, pleased memories softening her face. ‘We had a good run of it.’

  She marched to the door, pausing. ‘Be aware, Son, graciousness first, swiftness so straight and pounding they never know what hit them and graciousness last. It is what separates us from the heathens. The graciousness. You cannot blame someone for something that they forced you to do. If they’d known better, they would have done better.’

  She put down the glass, clucked her tongue and gave a chuckle he’d not heard since his grandmother had been alive. ‘Graciousness...’

  He moved to the entrance with her. He wondered if she could heft an executioner’s axe herself. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Mrs Manwaring slapped the girl.’

  ‘Why?’ Anger curled in him, spreading like smoke from a stuffed chimney unable to escape.

  His mother pulled the chain on her necklace, smoothing it into place. ‘I sent her on her way. You will not fathom this. The woman was trying to force her stepdaughter to wed you.’ Then she heard herself. ‘Oh, goodness, that sounds almost familiar. But I would never, ever slap you, Son.’

  She arranged the necklace again. ‘It was just horrible. Horrible. Overreaching.’ Then she searched his face. ‘Do you mind terribly that I have Antonia Redding selected for you? She’s had an upbringing suitable for a duchess.’

  ‘As I said, I’ve never met her.’

  ‘Neither have I. But don’t be harsh with our guest. Miss Manwaring is not a bad sort.’ She waved her arm, summoning a servant as she approached the door. ‘Just has that horrible stepmother. If only...’

  She put her knuckles under her chin. ‘Miss Miranda flatly refused to consider marriage to you. Flatly refused. I suppose she understands she is not of your calibre.’ She lowered her lids. ‘I have to respect her for knowing her place... Or I have to be irritated that she doesn’t care what a benefit it would be to her to join our family. That has been more worrisome than I expected.’

  She moved on. ‘Goodnight, Chal. Don’t stay up too late.’