‘Very well,’ he said. ‘A walk would be most pleasant.’
Perhaps it would be the best way to spend the time, as he waited for Miss Wilmot. The situation could not go on. As soon as she returned, he would have to tell her what he knew.
* * *
She had to tell him.
The bluebells were still out in force and their fragrance was heady as Maud followed the path through the woods. Butterflies played above the blooms, but for the first time in her life Maud did not stop to look at them, even though she had come out with her butterfly net.
She had to tell him the truth.
The opportunity had been there, the night before. She knew it. But she had pulled back.
She could not allow herself to be held in his arms, to be entwined in his embrace, without being honest with him. There was now a chill in the air. She wished she had brought her shawl.
As she walked the now-familiar path, it became clearer and clearer.
She had to tell Dominic.
Dominic.
The name stopped her in her tracks.
When had he become Dominic, not Sir Dominic, in her mind?
He had told her to use his first name.
She creased her forehead. When he’d asked to use her name, it had almost seemed as if he already knew that she was not Martha. But that was impossible. She pushed the idea away.
There could be no delay. She had to reveal her real identity, that she had disobeyed the instructions he had given her at the start.
But that was not all.
It came in an overwhelming rush.
In her months at Pendragon Hall, in her time spent with him, near him, close to him, she had developed much, much more than romantic notions.
It was more than infatuation.
She knew it then, with every part of her being. She had fallen in love with Sir Dominic Jago the moment she saw him in a swirl of steam on the railway station platform.
She no longer cared if he was master and she was governess. She did not care if he was a railway magnate or a railway worker. She loved him. She loved Sir Dominic Jago.
It was a force of nature, surging through her. Her heart was now pounding so loudly in her chest it threatened to leap out.
He had brought her to life again.
A cuckoo called overhead. Spring was ending; summer would soon come.
How could she tell him anything without revealing what had happened to her in her previous post?
She couldn’t bear to think about it, let alone speak the awful words.
How could she trust anyone, with that terrible tale?
‘I want you to trust me,’ he’d said to her.
The safety and security she had experienced in his arms, the connection of his touch, the taste of his mouth on hers...
Surely that could be trusted.
She froze.
Footsteps came on the path behind her.
It was not Dominic. She knew his tread. These footsteps were heavier on the leaves and she could hear deep breathing.
She picked up her skirts and started to run.
A branch caught at her hair as she thrust her way through the bushes.
Something caught at her leg. She stumbled, almost fell.
The footsteps came, heavy near her, and the sound of a laugh.
She could not outrun him.
Maud raised the butterfly net and spun around.
Chapter Eighteen
Mix not memory with doubt;
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
‘Well, well.’ Lord Melville bowed. ‘If it isn’t Miss Wilmot. When Averill told me about the charming governess who told fairy tales with such imagination, I guessed it must be you.’
He stood in front of her, blocking the path back to Pendragon Hall and safety. Perfectly attired, he was dressed in a black top hat and black riding coat, with a pair of white jodhpurs and boots. His cravat was red. His light-coloured hair was smooth, his eyes a pale blue. In his gloved hand he held a horsewhip.
A wave of nausea swept her, dizzying, utterly debilitating. She was planted in the woodland path, like a tree buffeted by breeze. She couldn’t move her legs.
She stared up at him. It was the weight of his body, the way she had been crushed beneath him, that she remembered most of all. That weight was what came back to suffocate her in the night terrors she experienced, those that Dominic had finally pulled her out from under, as if releasing her from beneath a stone.
But now that weight threatened to crush her again. His stare, his physical presence, was all it took. She couldn’t move. It was as if she had become Princess Swallowtail, trapped in the strands of the spider’s web. She wanted to run away, yet that dreadful feeling, numbing her limbs, silencing her voice, held her in terrible captivity.
‘How delightful to see you again.’ Holding the whip in one hand now, with the other he caressed its tip. ‘Still chasing butterflies, I see.’
Maud gripped the butterfly net tighter.
‘You’re just the same,’ Lord Melville said. ‘But I must say I prefer the recollection of how you looked when I last saw you.’
Again, Maud tried to speak, tried to move. Still, she stayed frozen. Her legs would not obey her.
‘You left my employ so hastily,’ he drawled. ‘It quite caught me by surprise. We’d only just begun to get to know each other. There are so many lessons you needed to learn. A governess’s place isn’t only in the schoolroom. Sometimes she needs to be governed elsewhere.’
Bile rose in Maud’s throat. ‘You’re disgusting.’
He smiled without it reaching his eyes.
‘Get away from me,’ she whispered. Her voice seemed choked in her throat.
‘Now, now. Is that any way to greet an old friend?’
‘We’re not friends.’
‘But we became very close before you left. How sorry I was when you departed like a thief in the night.’
‘I am no thief. You spread rumours about me that weren’t true.’ The accusation still stung. ‘You said I had stolen from you.’
He shrugged. ‘But you did steal something from me, my dear. You stole my pleasure.’
Maud shuddered.
‘I had anticipated us spending many more nights together. Once I’d found the way to your bedroom, I had planned to visit you there nightly. I told you so. You must recall.’
Maud clenched her fingers together around the net handle. Oh, yes, she remembered. The attic bedroom had been small enough to begin with. With Lord Melville in the room it had become stifling. Her lungs constricted as the recollection came. She felt ready to choke.
‘You’re...you’re a monster.’
He tutted. ‘Now, now. That’s not pleasant talk, is it? Hardly befitting a governess.’
He moved another step closer, his boots crushing the leaves. ‘I don’t want you telling tales about me. Especially since you have such a talent for stories.’
Maud leapt back and raised the butterfly net, like a weapon. ‘Stay away!’
He laughed. ‘What are you going to do with that net, my dear? Catch me?’
Fast footsteps and a voice came from behind her. ‘What in damnation is going on here?’
* * *
Dominic slid to a stop as he took in the scene on the woodland path in front of him. Miss Wilmot was backed against a tree stump, her butterfly net raised.
A tall, sleek man dressed in hunting attire stood nearby. He gave a low bow. ‘No need for alarm, old chap.’
‘No?’ Dominic asked shortly. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
In two strides he was beside Miss Wilmot. ‘Are you all right?’
She lowered the butterfly net, but that was all. Her eyes were huge in her face. When he moved a step closer, she shrank away from him.
Averill swept up beside him. She had been beside him on the woodland path, chatting of inconsequential and amusing matters. Now she glided forward. ‘Allow me to make introductions. You know Lord Melville, don’t you, Dominic? He is one of my guests at Trevose Hall. He is interested in the Cornish railway.’
Lord Melville bowed. ‘Sir Dominic. We haven’t met before, but we are members of the same club in London, I believe.’
‘Indeed,’ said Dominic, adding nothing more. The last thing he wanted just then was to engage in introductions. He’d seen Melville several times at the club, always at the gaming table. Melville was not a man whom he admired, nor one he would have wanted to meet, let alone consider as an investor in his railway company, but he had no choice other than to acknowledge him, now Averill had brought the man to Cornwall as a guest.
‘I was just becoming reacquainted with Miss Wilmot.’
Dominic stared from Miss Wilmot to Lord Melville.
‘You know each other?’ he asked, mystified.
‘We’ve most certainly met before,’ Melville replied. ‘We are very well acquainted.’
Dominic narrowed his eyes. There was something deeply repellent about the man, in spite of his courteous manner. ‘How so?’
Melville smiled. ‘Miss Wilmot was in my employ for some time as a governess, among other things.’
Dominic turned to Miss Wilmot. ‘Is that true?’
Wordless and white-faced, she gave a nod.
‘I don’t remember Lord Melville’s name from your character references,’ he said to her, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
‘Ah.’ Lord Melville shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to say that doesn’t surprise me, Jago.’
Dominic looked to Miss Wilmot, but the leaf-green eyes were cast down.
‘She’s been lying to you all along!’ Averill broke in, triumphantly.
* * *
The butterfly net slipped from Maud’s fingers. She stared down at it as it lay on the ground.
She couldn’t raise her head. She couldn’t face him.
His voice came, low and penetrating. ‘What is your name?’
‘I never wanted to lie to you,’ she whispered, still staring at the empty net. It was all she could manage to say. Her whole body was still numb, frozen. Her voice came out a dry croak.
Trembling, she looked up.
The expression on his face. She’d expected it to be as hard as the granite stone of Pendragon Hall. Instead, she saw the flash of comprehension in his eyes. ‘You knew.’
He nodded. ‘I discovered it today. Your handwriting did not match the first letter of application. Tell me. Are you Miss Wilmot?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘No.’
‘You’ll never get a straight answer from her, Dominic!’ With a swirl of her skirt, Averill Trevose moved between them. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you!’
‘My name is Maud.’ She could barely utter her own name. ‘My name is Maud Wilmot.’
He exhaled. ‘Ah.’
‘Martha is my sister’s name,’ she faltered. ‘She is, was, a governess, too. She’s married now.’
Dominic stepped around Averill. ‘I’m beginning to understand. When I sent Martha Wilmot a fare to come here to Cornwall...’
‘I used the ticket.’
‘You used your sister’s name to gain employment.’
She couldn’t bear to look at him. The shame of it. The betrayal. She bowed her head again, as if an axe was about to fall. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never heard of a governess being so deceitful.’ Averill’s lips pursed. ‘She’s not fit to be around children. I knew there was something about her, all along. I warned you, Dominic!’
‘That is fraud,’ Lord Melville commented. ‘A potentially criminal offence.’
‘I didn’t think of that. Not at the time. And you mustn’t blame Martha,’ Maud added quickly, looking up at Dominic, almost pleading. ‘It was all my idea.’
Dominic’s dark eyebrows were still drawn together. ‘Do you mean you used your sister’s references to ensure you gained the post here at Pendragon Hall?’
She couldn’t deny it, but it sounded so much more dreadful now.
A muscle moved in his jaw. ‘I employed you as Rosabel’s governess based upon the excellence of your character, extolled by your references. You must realise what a predicament that puts me in, now I discover that they were not your own.’
‘I needed employment. My only skill is as a governess. I was desperate.’ She choked as she tried to explain, but she knew her excuses sounded weak.
Leaves rustled as he moved closer. ‘You could have come to me. Trusted me. Surely you realised that. You had more than one chance to do so.’
How she wished she had taken the opportunity!
‘And what, pray, of your moral example?’ Averill put in, with a toss of her ringlets. ‘A governess must be above reproach. Especially looking after our dear Rosabel.’
Lord Melville cleared his throat. ‘Being above reproach cannot be said of this governess, I’m afraid. I’m not surprised to hear she has no character references of her own, not after her dismissal from her previous employment with my family. No, indeed.’
Maud’s heart sank. She pressed her back against the tree trunk for support as tears stung her eyelids.
She mustn’t cry.
She hadn’t before.
She wouldn’t now.
With all the power in her, she blinked them back.
Lord Melville moved forward. Instinctively Maud slid further away from him. She wanted to run, to flee, to hide. The nightmarish sense of suffocation threatened to overwhelm her again.
‘Allow me to explain, Jago,’ he said smoothly. ‘Miss Wilmot accompanied the boys when they came to stay at my home. She often invited me to listen to her tales in the evenings. I had no idea what she was scheming. Soon enough she became all too...’ he paused ‘...familiar.’
Maud shuddered. Lord Melville was twisting it all around, but she still couldn’t bring herself to speak of what had really happened. The very thought of it made her feel ill.
‘That’s a lie.’ It was all she could say, but her voice came out merely in an anguished whisper.
‘Now, now. You’re not in a position to accuse your betters of lying,’ Lord Melville chided, with a glance of warning. ‘I believe we all know how fond this young woman is of telling stories. Too fond. And she’s here under false pretences—we all know now. One of the reasons I had to insist she was dismissed without references from my employ is that... No. I won’t go on. It isn’t appropriate to discuss such things in front of ladies.’
Melville gave Averill one of his polite smiles that made Maud feel sick.
‘I think I’ve heard enough,’ Dominic cut in.
He turned to Maud. His expression was inscrutable, his emotions reined, just as when she had first met him. ‘I should like to hear Miss Wilmot’s side of the story.’
Chapter Nineteen
Get thee hence, nor come again.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
‘Dominic!’ Averill exclaimed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to listen to any more of a governess’s fairy tales!’
‘There are two sides to every story, Averill,’ Dominic replied curtly. ‘Miss Wilmot has a right to tell hers.’ He glanced at Maud. ‘But perhaps we should return to the house first.’
‘Ooh!’ Before Maud could move, Averill set her hoops whirling as she stepped between them. ‘I knew there was something about you, something sly, from the minute I met you.’
Maud stared at her. Her throat choke
d. Then all the words she had kept inside for so long surged out of her. They could not be stopped. Not any longer.
‘How can you be so cruel to a member of your own sex?’ she asked, shaking. ‘I am a governess, but I am also a woman, just like you. I do not deserve you to be so unkind to me, simply because I have found myself in more straitened circumstances than yours.’
Averill’s cheeks reddened. ‘How dare you speak to me like this!’
Maud raised her chin. She had nothing to lose. Not any more. ‘I didn’t ask to have fallen on hard times. It was tragedy that propelled my sister and I into poverty. I took up employment as a governess, not merely because I needed the wages, but because I believe in education. If women are not educated, they are forced to rely upon the mercy of others. Without an education, women have no chance in life. You ought to thank governesses, not revile them.’
Averill gave a little laugh, turning from Dominic to Lord Melville in an attitude of amazement.
‘Governesses ought not mingle with their employers as if they are their social equals,’ Averill declared.
‘Perhaps,’ Maud replied. ‘But I have always done my job with pride, no matter what you think of it, and nothing you can say can diminish my belief in my work.’
Taking a deep breath, she put one foot in front of the other until she was in front of Lord Melville. Every step seemed like a mile.
‘And you, Lord Melville.’ Her voice had disappeared, becoming a whisper. She forced herself to raise it, even as she trembled. ‘You treat your staff as if they are nursery toys, not people. You disgust me. You are the worst of all kinds of men. What you did to me, what you do to all the female servants in your employ, is utterly immoral. You have said that a governess must be upstanding and of good moral character. What of your character? What example do you offer your nephews?’
‘That’s libellous.’ He didn’t meet her eyes.
‘Is it?’ she demanded. ‘You and I both know what occurred when I was in your employment. You are the one who has libelled me.’
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