A Family for the Widowed Governess

by Ann Lethbridge

  He got up from behind the desk and came around to her side. He loomed over her, meaning to press home his point, to show her he would not back down.

  Instead of buckling under his fierce stare, she rose to her feet and poked him in the chest. ‘Stand back, sir. You need not think to intimidate me.’

  He did step back. Intimidate? Was that his goal? No. He just wanted her to see sense, that was all. ‘I will not have my daughters deliberately put in danger.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous. I would never put a child in danger. You are the one putting them in danger. Not only are you making them afraid of their own shadows, they are not learning first-hand about the world around them. Do you think they will not rebel at some point? If that occurs, you can be sure they will unknowingly end up taking all sorts of risks.’

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Why had he ever asked her to stay as governess? He should have known she would be far too independent minded to follow his rules.

  Was it for the sake of his girls, or had it been for his own sake? His need for—He cut the thought off. He didn’t need anything. He simply wanted his household to run smoothly.

  ‘I am sorry if you find my rules too onerous.’

  She shook her head. ‘I do not find them in the least bit onerous. I find them illogical and ridiculous and unkind.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘Unkind?’

  ‘To say the least.’

  ‘Nonsense. I want nothing but the best for my children.’

  ‘But you are going about it all wrong. They need the freedom to explore—’

  Her mouth was beautiful, even if the words she spoke annoyed him intensely. He could not keep his gaze from her lips, from the way she formed her words and the way her little pink tongue flashed out to add a bit of moisture to them at intervals.

  She had stopped speaking and was looking up at him. Her green eyes were bright with passion. Such passion regarding so simple a thing as a supervised walk. Her lovely mouth—it had been the second thing he noticed about her, after her hair. The finely drawn bow of a mouth that begged for a kiss. It called to him like no other mouth ever had. He could not help but wonder what those lips would taste like, how they would feel against his own.

  Her expression softened. Her skin, so pale and delicate, flushed a bright enchanting pink. A pulse jumped and flickered on her throat as if begging for the touch of his tongue. His body hardened.

  Was he mad?

  He made to turn away, but her hand on his forearm held him in place. There was a slight smile on those luscious lips and a softening in her eyes, that made him feel...longing.

  The only point of contact between them was her hand resting on his sleeve, yet his blood heated as if licked by flame.

  She reminded him of a timid bird poised ready for flight even as it gazed at the seed it wanted so badly. He didn’t want her to fly away and so, as he would with a bird, he held his breath and slowly, ever so slowly, bent his head. When she did not move, or startle, he brushed his mouth against hers.

  The kiss was sweet, it was tender and it was unlike any kiss he had ever experienced. He wanted more.

  She drew back with a gasp. ‘Oh.’ She touched a finger to her mouth as if she could not believe what had happened.

  He caught her shoulders gently, held her in his palms the way he would hold a fledgling fallen from its nest, firmly so it would not hurt itself, softly so it would not fear. ‘Thank you. That was delightful.’

  ‘It was.’ Her skin turned vermilion. ‘Oh. I should not have said that. I cannot think—’

  He stopped her words with another kiss. Something a little firmer, but still gentle. More of a question than a demand. She might take flight at any moment and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she relaxed. Her parted lips invited his tongue to wander a little. He tasted her slowly. She tasted of rain and brisk winds and freshness. She smelled heavenly. Like damp earth and lilies of the valley. He inhaled deeply, knowing he never wanted to lose the memory of that fragrance.

  She moved closer and he enfolded her in his arms, not capturing her, not holding her fast, but simply offering her an embrace from which she could move at any time. Now she was so close he could feel the rapid beat of her heart and, when her arms came up around his neck, he deepened the kiss.

  The next second, she was kissing him back with all the heat and passion of a woman on fire for a man.

  Chapter Nine

  Marguerite revelled in the feel of his lips against hers, the way his tongue stroked her mouth, the way his hands, so large and warm, gently held her close against his chest, yet did not leave her feeling trapped. Desire rushed hot through her veins and she brought her body flush to his, risking everything for the most exhilarating sensations she had ever experienced. Her head spun with the pleasure of it.

  She desired him. Against her every instinct of self-preservation that she had built up during her marriage, she wanted to be held by this man. Gruff as he was. Tyrannical as he seemed. Was there something wrong with her?

  She pulled back. He released her swiftly, his hands dropping to his sides, his gaze warm, his lips plush from their kiss. He evinced no anger at her withdrawal, as Neville would have done, showed no indication he would make a grab for her. Indeed, he was already moving away, easily accepting what he must think was her rejection.

  Disappointment filled her. Perhaps he did not like the way she kissed. Or found her presumptuous. She had not meant to invite his kiss. She had intended to tell him that their arrangement would not work, but he had been looking at her in such a way, with such warmth and longing, and his mouth had been so very enticing, she had been unable to resist. How could she have done anything so foolish? She must never let it happen again. It would be inviting trouble.

  She moved away from the desk and went to the window to look out. The sky was already much brighter than when she and the girls had gone for their walk. ‘So tomorrow, we will be walking in the woods.’ She might be a foolish woman who kissed a man on a whim, but she was not going to back down.

  ‘And you will take both footmen with you,’ he said.

  She spun around. He was looking at her gravely, but the warmth was still in his gaze. And there was a slight smile on his lips.

  She did not have the strength or the will to argue with him about this. ‘Both footmen,’ she agreed.

  ‘And of course,’ he said, ‘you will join me for dinner, this evening.’

  ‘Oh.’ She frowned. She had expected to take a tray in her room, for a governess did not eat with the servants. But, yes, governesses quite often ate dinner with the family in the dining room. Usually, though, there was a lady of the house. But provided there were footmen present, and the butler, where could be the harm? ‘Very well. But now, if you don’t mind, I will go up to my rooms. I have work to do and we did agree that the hours after three are mine.’

  ‘We did.’

  She dared take a look at his face. There was nothing in his expression to make her feel uncomfortable. He was not leering at her or smirking. He looked as he always did. More or less. ‘And what happened just now was a mistake. We will not let this happen again,’ she said.

  His mouth tightened and he nodded. ‘As you wish.’

  It was not exactly as she wished, but it was how it had to be. He was far too tempting. She rushed up to her room.

  * * *

  The next few days settled into a routine for Marguerite. If the weather was fine, she and the children did lessons in the morning and walked out for an hour in the afternoon. Instead of the footmen serving as guards, they became useful additions to the party, lifting the children to see into a bird’s nest in the hedgerow or carrying their art supplies so they could practise sketching a landscape or a tree.

  Marguerite didn’t take them far from the house, but nor did they confine
themselves to the lawn or the formal garden. Although teaching the children was tiring, it was also satisfying and it certainly made a change not to worry about every penny any more.

  What had surprised her most was how much work she got done in the afternoons after her duties with the children were over. Today, she had completed the drawing of the primrose plant to her satisfaction and had only to add the colour and it was done.

  In the evenings, she joined His Lordship in the dining room for dinner over which they made small talk about their activities for the day while waited upon by the usual phalanx of footmen. After dinner, he would retire to his study, no doubt to indulge in a glass of port or brandy, while she would return to her chamber and the tea tray delivered there each evening. There had been no repeat of her disgraceful behaviour and she had been pleased to note that there had been no change in His Lordship’s respectful attitude.

  Perhaps it was because he had not enjoyed kissing her as much as she had liked kissing him. Her stomach fell away. Her face felt hot. He must have thought her quite wanton, to have thought of kissing her at all. He had certainly had no difficulty keeping his distance since that day. She sighed. Soon he would find a replacement governess and she could go back to her peaceful uncomplicated life. At least, it would be uncomplicated if not for the man blackmailing her.

  She put her drawing implements away in the desk located in the corner of what she had come to think of as her studio, a room off the schoolroom with a northern exposure. Her easel, set up near the window, took advantage of the cool natural light. She was going to miss this room. She did not have nearly such good light or space in her cottage. She also was going to miss her little charges, both their mischief and their smiles.

  When she had left home to get married at the age of eighteen, she had viewed the prospect of having children of her own with trepidation. She’d been taking care of her siblings for years and the year of her come out had made her realise that most young ladies had a very different sort of growing up. She hadn’t felt ready for marriage, but being a dutiful daughter, when her father presented Neville as her bridegroom, she had accepted his word as law.

  It had not been a happy union. Indeed, Neville was a horrid man.

  She pushed the intruding memories aside. She did not like to think about her life with Neville. Certainly, when she did not conceive a child during those miserable years, she hadn’t been the slightest bit disappointed. So, it was strange how fond she had become of these three little girls. She sighed. Now she was being maudlin. Perhaps it was a case of missing her sisters. Both had invited her to visit shortly after their weddings. Once her work for her contract was finished and she had recovered her scandalous drawing, she would start with a visit to Carrie in the north.

  She would write to both sisters and tell them her plan. She knew they worried about her living alone and this would set their minds at rest. And likely Red’s, too. She put the drawings of the primrose between the leaves of some tissue paper, closed her portfolio and went back to her chamber to dress for dinner where the tweeny, Nell, who had been assigned to help her after Lucy had taken over the task of nursemaid, was waiting to help.

  ‘Is this dress all right for you, my lady?’ Nell asked.

  It was her favourite blue one. The one she had bought when she and Petra had gone to London together. It was not at all appropriate for a governess having dinner with her employer.

  Marguerite removed the apron she had worn over her gown while working. ‘The grey one will be fine.’ The neck came to her throat and had a small lace collar, its sleeves covered her arms to the wrist and its skirts were straight and unadorned.

  Nell looked disappointed.

  Marguerite smothered a smile. ‘If you would be so good as to brush and pin up my hair, I would be most appreciative. The wind made a mess of it when I was out with the children this afternoon.’ It had been deliciously windy. If it was the same on the morrow and not raining, she would see if there was a kite the children could fly. They would like that. Perhaps Lucy could bring Netty along, too.

  She sat down at the dressing table and Nell soon had her set to rights. If the girl had added a couple of ringlets at her forehead and around her ears, what did it matter? There was no one to notice except a couple of footmen. And Jack.

  She shook her head at herself. She had to stop thinking of him as Jack. If she did not, she was bound to blurt it out at some inopportune moment. ‘Oh, my goodness, is that the time?’ If she did not hurry she was going to be late. She gathered up her shawl, also grey, and went down to the drawing room.

  Jack had his back to her when she entered. He turned with a devastatingly handsome smile. ‘Here you are.’

  The joy in his voice caused her heart to tumble over. Heat rushed to her face and she knew she was blushing wildly. As if somehow that charming smile was more than a simple greeting. She wanted to hide. Instead, she dipped a little curtsy. ‘Good evening, my lord. I apologise for my tardiness. I hope I have not caused dinner to be held back.’

  ‘Not at all. Indeed, if Laughton’s presence at the door is anything to go by, your arrival is timely.’

  The butler bowed. ‘Dinner is served, my lord.’

  Jack held out his arm, then led her to the drawing room. It was strange how comfortable she felt walking beside this man, her hand resting on his sleeve. Neville had always made her nervous. Jack made her feel as if no harm could ever come to her as long as he was near.

  Not exactly true, but comforting, none the less.

  He seated her in her usual place. A footman poured water for her and wine for him and proceeded to serve their meal.

  ‘Did my daughters behave well today?’ he asked as he always did.

  ‘They did, indeed.’ She recalled her earlier thought. ‘If the weather is the same tomorrow, I am going to see if I can remember how to make a kite. I expect one of the footmen can help me.’

  He looked surprised, then grinned. ‘It was windy today, wasn’t it? Do you think the girls can handle a kite?’

  Did he think they were made of glass? ‘I believe so, my lord. I know I did when I was their age.’

  He frowned. ‘You will need an open space to get it up. The lawn would be ideal.’ He hesitated. ‘Have to stay away from the ha-ha, though.’

  The man could not help himself. ‘I will certainly make sure we do so.’

  ‘You will be careful,’ he said.

  ‘I assure you, I can manage the flying of a kite.’

  ‘I am sure you can. I was thinking more of Lizzie and Janey.’

  ‘I will make sure they do not come to any harm.’

  He looked doubtful. Was he actually going to refuse to allow it? She adored the way he cared for his children so deeply. It drew her to him so much more than she could have thought possible—it made it difficult to maintain a proper distance. For some reason, she wanted to put her arms around him, kiss him silly and tell him he was a good father, with good intentions, but completely wrongheaded.

  Put her arms around him? Kiss him? Oh, my word, wouldn’t that be a mistake? What on earth was wrong with her, thinking such wicked thoughts.

  She changed the topic. ‘Do you think the war will end soon?’

  He frowned. ‘I believe Wellington has it well in hand. I certainly hope so.’

  The first course of roast beef with spring greens and potatoes à la dauphinoise was removed and replaced by a game pie.

  Marguerite always made a point of reading the newspapers while she ate her lunch so she could hold a sensible conversation with her dinner companion. ‘There have been far too many deaths over the Corsican monster’s ambitions.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He gave her a look of sympathy.

  Dash it, she needed no sympathy over Neville, but that was not the sort of thing one said. ‘It will be good to have the troops come home.’

  Jack took a bite of pie and
chewed thoughtfully. ‘Actually, that is something about which I worry.’

  ‘Worry?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘The country will be faced with the sudden return of a great many men in need of work. Men who have served their country well. They will need employment or I see trouble ahead.’

  ‘I had not thought of that aspect. Perhaps soldiers will be needed elsewhere. Canada, for example. Or India. Or even the factories in the north.’

  ‘Some, maybe. But not in the numbers we have sent to Europe. I wouldn’t mind a few more men on the estate, if they are willing to work, but I can’t pay anything like the mills do.’

  Dessert was a meringue confection with cream, which Marguerite declined. She found it far too sweet for her taste.

  ‘Perhaps you would prefer an orange,’ Jack said, indicating the bowl in the centre of the table. ‘My gardener says we have a fine crop this year.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He selected one, taking a knife to the peel, dividing it into quarters.

  There was something very sensual about the way his strong blunt fingers tore the peel away from the fruit and then pulled apart the segments and placed them on a small plate. He passed it to her.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ She pushed the plate back towards him a fraction. ‘May I offer you a piece after you worked so hard on my behalf?’

  He chuckled. ‘Not exactly hard, but, yes, thank you.’ He took two of the segments and placed them on his plate.

  She bit into the fruit and was rewarded with a flood of juice and a tart tang of orange. ‘This is delicious.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘Such a treat. I only wish I could grow enough to sell.’

  ‘You would make a fortune. Oranges are very expensive.’

  ‘Sadly, the British climate is too cold for them to grow out in the fields, so we have to stick to our apples and our vegetables. And oats for our horses.’