A Family for the Widowed Governess

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘I did it right?’

  ‘You did it perfectly.’

  The anxiety still niggling at the back of her mind stilled. She really had. Done it perfectly. ‘It was lovely.’

  ‘Yes. Perfectly lovely.’

  She heaved a sigh of happiness. She wasn’t cold. She had simply been unlucky in her marriage. ‘I should return to my room.’

  ‘I am afraid so. It is nearly four. I will walk you back.’

  ‘No need. Indeed, it would be better if you did not.’

  He helped her off the bed. He ran his hands down her shoulders and arms and took her hands in his, stepping back to admire her. ‘I love this nightgown of yours.’

  Oh, she had enjoyed wearing it for him. ‘I am glad you approved.’

  ‘It is a shame to cover it up.’ He held up her dressing gown and she slipped her arms into it and stood still as he tied the belt.

  Then he drew her into his arms and held her close, kissing her deeply. ‘Until next time, my sweet.’

  She slipped out of the door and made it back to her room without seeing anyone.

  * * *

  The next day, a storm had rolled through in the early morning, leaving the sky a leaden grey in its aftermath.

  She had sent a note to Jack, letting him know she was indisposed for the day, and after dressing she had lain on her bed, knowing her nemesis would not care how ill she was and he would expect her to keep the appointment later that evening.

  When Mrs York brought her dinner tray along with a tisane, she managed to sit up and eat the soup, but the rest was beyond her.

  She sent the tray away and sat in the chair with her eyes closed. She could do this. She must. Marguerite wrung out a cloth and placed the cold compress across her forehead. She had been forced to cancel the girls’ lessons for the day because of her headache. Although the rain had now ceased, the headache was a low thrum at her temples, likely caused by the knowledge of her upcoming meeting.

  At the appointed hour, she forced herself to put on her cloak and slipped down the servants’ stairs. She was glad when she did not run into anyone. She used the side door that led to the stables and then cut across the edge of the lawn to the drive.

  A prickle across the back of her neck caused her to whip around quickly. Her head spun. She closed her eyes until she was steady. There was no one there. It was her imagination, her guilt.

  The air was cool on her skin and smelled of spring, of growing things and clean fresh rain. She inhaled a deep breath and forced herself to stroll calmly to the gate and out into the lane.

  The faint smell of cigar smoke and the small point of glowing of red gave the man’s location away. She approached slowly. He was standing close to the hedge a little way from the gatehouse. She could see little more than a dark shadow.

  ‘You are late,’ he said.

  ‘I am here now.’

  ‘Do you have my money?’

  ‘I do.’

  A gloved hand shot out, palm up.

  ‘Be warned,’ she said. ‘The next payment will be the last.’ She fumbled for the purse inside her reticule.

  ‘I told you it would.’ His voice was sullen and she did not believe it for a moment.

  ‘I mean it. I will publish it myself, if you ask for one penny more.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he sneered in that oddly familiar way that struck a faint chord in her memory. A painful chord.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone who wishes you well.’

  ‘Liar.’

  He chuckled. She knew that laugh. Somewhere she had heard that laugh before. If only she could place it.

  He counted the money she had given him. ‘Well done, Yer Ladyship.’

  Now he had changed his voice. Made it sound rough. Like a Londoner. Why would he do that? He must be someone she knew. One of Neville’s friends? One of those who had smirked at her drawing?

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. He was wearing a mask. Why would he do that if she did not know him? She tried to see his eyes, but it was too dark.

  ‘One week from today, I want full payment.’ He closed his hand around her wrist so hard it hurt.

  She cried out with pain. She tried to twist free, but he was too strong. ‘You will have your money when I am back in Westram, as arranged,’ she said through the pain of his grip.

  He glanced up and down the lane. ‘Eight sharp. Behind the Green Man as before. Do not fail.’

  He pushed her and she stumbled away.

  She rubbed at her arm. ‘I will be there, but mark my words well—it is the last payment I make to you.’

  He walked away as she was speaking. She did not know whether he had heard her or not.

  Mouth dry, heart racing, she hurried back to the drive and the safety of Bedwell. Who was he? Why did that voice seem familiar? Why could she not remember?

  He’d spoken in a whisper before, in the church and in the alley behind the Green Man, likely in case he was overheard. Here there was no one to hear him and he had let her hear his real voice.

  ‘Lady Marguerite.’

  A shadow loomed in front of her, large and menacing.

  Startled, she halted, with a gasp. Then she realised who it was. ‘Jack? I—’

  ‘Out for a stroll, I see.’ His tone was dry.

  She swallowed. ‘I—Yes. I needed fresh air after being cooped up all day.’

  ‘Your headache is better, then?’

  Her head was pounding. But there was a note of disbelief in his voice. ‘Much better, thank you. What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Keeping an eye on you. I saw you leave the house and was concerned for your safety.’

  Her heart stilled. Had he seen—‘As you can see, I am quite safe.’

  ‘Are you returning to the house? May I escort you?’

  The urge to tell him what was happening, to unburden herself to him, was almost overwhelming. But the thought of what he would think of her when he knew the truth blocked the words that wanted to tumble out. He was a magistrate. A man who liked rules and order. He would be appalled to know about the sort of trouble she was in. Just as Red would be appalled.

  No, she did not want him to think of her that way. Not after the wonderful moments they had shared. Besides, with a new governess in the offing, their liaison would soon be at an end, and she ought not to trouble him with her problems.

  She just hoped she was right about the woman she had suggested. She really wanted to feel that she had left the girls in good hands. She was going to miss them so much. And Jack.

  Oh, she was really going to miss Jack.

  ‘Let us go in by the front door,’ Jack said as they approached the house.

  What could she say?

  In the entrance hall, a surprised-looking footman took their outer garments.

  ‘Join me for a nightcap in the library,’ Jack said, tucking her arm through his, giving her no opportunity to refuse without causing some sort of scene in the hallway.

  That she would never do. He did not deserve it.

  She winced as he inadvertently touched the spot where the blackmailer had hurt her. He glanced down, but there was no expression on his face. She could not tell what he was thinking.

  A footman followed them into the library, but Jack waved him off. ‘I can manage, thank you.’ He saw her seated and then brought her a brandy.

  She sniffed at it and then put it aside. ‘Strong drink will not help my headache, I am afraid.’

  He frowned. ‘If you indeed have a headache.’

  She stiffened. ‘What do you mean.’

  ‘I saw you meet that man in the lane. Saw you kiss him.’ He sounded disgruntled.

  She stared at him in shock. He thought she had kissed... How dare he?

  ‘I did not kiss him.
’

  His frown deepened. ‘I know what I saw. I also saw you give him money. Why else would you sneak out of the house in the middle of the night, if not to meet another of your lovers? I have to say it is extraordinarily clever of you to take money from one lover to give to another.’

  Anger rose in a hot red tide. ‘My God. What sort of person do you take me for? If you did not go creeping around at night poking your nose—’

  She stopped herself. He clearly didn’t trust her—why should she bother to be upset by his accusations? She turned her face away so he would not see how badly his accusations hurt. ‘Think what you wish.’

  He made a sound like a growl. ‘I have to think what I wish when you will not tell me what is going on. I have to use my own eyes and ears and come to logical conclusions.’

  He sounded so...hurt. He was...jealous.

  A pain pierced her heart. She had not wanted to hurt him. Never wanted to hurt him, she cared for him too much.

  A lump rose in her throat. She didn’t just care for him, she had fallen in love with him. She’d known it for days and had refused to admit it.

  ‘It is not what you think,’ she said. ‘Yes, I gave him money, but he is not nor would he ever be my lover.’

  ‘You owe him a debt.’ His voice was flat.

  She hesitated. It was as good a reason as any other and better than the truth. ‘Yes.’

  He paced to the console and back. ‘Why are you lying?’

  She risked a glance at his face. Yes, she had hurt him, but now his eyes were sharp and his expression one of puzzlement.

  ‘You are lying,’ he said. ‘I can hear it in your voice. See it in your face.’

  She winced. ‘Only because you are asking for information that is none of your concern. Why can you not accept that?’

  He sat down beside her and took her hand in his, gently, firmly. ‘Because I care about you,’ he murmured. ‘Why will you not let anyone care for you?’ His hand closed around hers and a twinge from her wrist made her flinch.

  He pushed up her sleeve. The skin was red and already beginning to darken. He glanced up at her face, his eyes full of anger. ‘He did that to you? Damn him. I won’t have anyone hurting a woman under my protection. Who is he?’

  She put her hand over his, felt the warmth in that big hand and felt the slight tremble that spoke of the anger running beneath the surface. ‘Please. Do not concern yourself. It was a misunderstanding.’ She pulled her hand free of his and he let it go. He did not try to hold her fast against her will and for that she was grateful.

  ‘You know I can find out who he is for myself.’

  She stared at him. ‘How?’

  ‘I doubt it will take me long. As a magistrate, I have access to all sorts of information about people who enter and leave this Parish.’

  He spoke with such confidence, she believed him. This could be the answer. If she knew who this man was, maybe she could put a stop to his demands. Permanently. Because for all her brave words to that horrible man, she would never willingly publish that drawing.

  * * *

  Why would she not trust him? Jack stared at her, saw the longing in her eyes, the battle going on behind her fearful expression.

  What was it about him that the women he cared for most in the world did not trust him with their secrets? Was it him?

  This man, whoever he was, had hurt her. Why would she keep his identity hidden if he was not a lover? Or perhaps he was a relative. It was certainly someone she cared about more than she cared about Jack.

  Oh, that was a stupid thought. He wasn’t jealous. He was simply trying to get to the truth. And to help her, because she seemed so distraught. She had nigh on fainted when he had spoken to her on the drive.

  ‘You could really find out who he is?’

  Was that a hopeful note in her voice? ‘I can and I will, if you do not give me his name.’

  She shook her head. ‘I cannot.’

  Because she did not trust him. He wanted to hit something.

  She took a deep breath and something in her expression cleared. She actually looked relieved as if he had lifted some sort of burden from her shoulders. She was going to tell him after all. He’d seen such relief before when questioning those accused of some petty crime. The need to tell someone what they had done. Not that she would fall into that category. But the look was the same.

  She gave him a quick hesitant glance and looked away.

  His stomach dipped. Whatever she was going to tell him, it was not going to be good.

  ‘The man I met out there in the lane approached me some time ago. At my sister’s wedding. He was behind me in church, so I did not see his face, but he told me he has something of mine that would cause me and my family a great deal of embarrassment if it became public.’

  His jaw dropped. This he had not expected. ‘He is blackmailing you?’ He could not keep the shock from his voice. Or the anger. If he had known, he would have taken that bastard out there in the lane and put his fist right through his face. What a blackguard. ‘Tell me who he is and I will deal with him.’

  She drooped and leaned back against the sofa cushions, staring at her fingers as they twined around each other. ‘That is the problem. I do not know who he is. He has never revealed his face and I believe he disguises his voice.’

  He frowned. ‘Then it must be someone you would recognise if you saw him.’

  ‘Yes. I have come to that conclusion myself, though not as quickly as you.’

  Hah! She thought to flatter him, did she? Well, that would not wash. She had been lying to him for weeks, not to mention that this person, this criminal, was hanging around outside his house, close to his daughters and—He stopped his racing thoughts at the sight of the sorrow on her face.

  ‘I apologise, Jack. I should not have come here.’ She shook her head slightly. ‘I needed the money. I had no idea he would follow me. I am to make the final payment next week. Tonight, I threatened to deal with him another way if he asked for more money after that, but I honestly do not think I will ever be free of him. I will leave first thing in the morning.’

  She had read his concerns as if he had written them down and handed them to her. But he felt her hurt like a blow to the solar plexus. He was wrong to hold her responsible, it was the man holding her hostage who was to blame.

  ‘No. You will stay here until we get to the bottom of this.’

  She stiffened. ‘I think not. Up until now, he has behaved like a gentleman.’ She shuddered. ‘Almost. But I think he is getting desperate. I do not want him coming here again.’

  ‘Marguerite,’ he growled.

  ‘Jack, this truly is not your concern.’

  ‘As a magistrate, it is very much my concern.’

  Her gaze shot to his face. ‘Please. I do not want any sort of scandal.’

  Damn it all. ‘I will be discreet, I promise you.’

  She winced. ‘When you find out who he is, would you send a note to Westram cottage and let me decide what to do? Perhaps if I meet him this last time, he will abide by his word and leave me in peace.’

  ‘What you will need to do is lay charges.’

  Her soft green eyes widened. ‘But that would mean a trial and—’

  ‘What the hell does he have that causes you to fear him so much?’

  She met his gaze full on and he saw her brace for his reaction. ‘It is a series of salacious sketches on a single sheet of paper. Cartoons, if you will, depicting the Prince and Mrs Fitzherbert doing what people do in the privacy of their bedrooms.’ She winced. ‘In great detail.’

  He gave her a blank look. ‘What on earth does that have to do with you?’ Understanding dawned. ‘You drew them.’

  She nodded. ‘I drew them and I signed them when I was still in the schoolroom. My father was always talking about the Prince, how he despised
him and his philandering and I guess he sparked my imagination after I saw them together when we visited London. The images do not flatter the couple, especially not the Prince. I should have burned it. When Neville, my husband, found it in my portfolio he showed the sketch to some of his closest friends.’

  Good lord. Of all the political disasters for her brother that one was a fine one. ‘One of them took them?’

  She nodded. ‘I have come to believe so. Tonight, I thought his voice sounded familiar, but he only spoke a few words and I simply could not place him.’

  ‘We will find out who he is and get them back. He will not receive another penny.’

  She looked unconvinced. ‘Even if we knew who he is, how can I force him to give up the picture? Oh, I really would prefer not to have Red embarrassed in this way.’

  ‘Leave this blackguard to me.’

  ‘No. This is not your problem, it is mine. What if he drags you into it and you are embroiled in the scandal? Think of your daughters.’

  The thought gave him pause. Given the Prince’s strange starts, the man could just as easily blame Jack as he would blame the Westrams. Guilty by association. Damn it all.

  She put her small hand on his, the long artistic fingers so pale and white against his own skin. ‘It is all right, Jack. This is not your problem. I will deal with it. I beg you not to concern yourself. Indeed, I would prefer that you would not. I will leave first thing in the morning as I said.’

  Damn it all, she was refusing to let him help her at all, because no doubt she had seen his hesitation when it came to his girls. He could not help but admire her selflessness in putting his daughters before her own interests.

  ‘I insist—’

  ‘No, Jack. I will not allow it.’

  Devil take it. He could not force her to do his bidding. He had no right to offer her his protection. They were lovers. Nothing more. And she was another woman who would not put her problems into his hands and let him deal with them.

  And in that case, there was nothing more to be said. ‘Very well. Go if you must. And I will find out who he is and let you know. At least, let me do that much for you. Exactly how much time do I have?’