A Family for the Widowed Governess

by Ann Lethbridge

  Gratitude shone in her eyes. ‘The meeting is set for a week from tonight. I am to meet him behind the Green Man. Promise you will not take any action without talking to me first. Please, Jack.’

  And with that pleading look in her gaze, she tied his hands. He clenched them into fists. ‘You should talk to your brother about this. It is his right to know what is going on and to see to your safety.’

  ‘I would prefer not to put this burden on his shoulders. Once I know who it is, if I discover I cannot deal with him myself, then I will go to Red. I promise’

  It was the best he could hope for. ‘Very well.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘Now you really must excuse me. I am tired and I need to rest if I am to depart in the morning.’

  Damn it to hell. He was going to miss her like the devil and so would the girls, but it was for the best. For them both. Wasn’t it? If she didn’t trust him, how could he ever trust her?

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘That is everything, my lady?’ Mrs York said, looking at the small trunk in the middle of Marguerite’s sitting room. The sitting room that would soon be the domain of the new governess.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs York.’

  She and Nell had spent the morning packing.

  ‘We will miss you at Bedwell,’ Mrs York said. ‘The house has been a happier place since you arrived.’

  Marguerite stared at the woman in astonishment.

  Mrs York blushed. ‘I have not seen the master so happy as he has been these last few weeks. Likely because his daughters are happy.’

  ‘I am glad to have helped. I am sure Lady Elizabeth and Lady Jane will be just as happy with their new governess.’ She did not address the question of Jack’s happiness. It was not her concern. Though he had looked decidedly unhappy last night when she told him about the blackmailer.

  And so he should. She had brought her trouble with her to his home when he had been so good and kind and generous. She glanced around her room one last time. She was going to miss this place. Dreadfully.

  ‘I think it is time I said goodbye to them.’

  She left Mrs York supervising the removal of the trunk. It was to be delivered to Westram later in the day, by way of a carter. She did not want the villagers seeing her arrive home in His Lordship’s carriage, so she would drive herself in the trap, just as always.

  When she entered the nursery, Lucy was there with the three girls and Nanny James. Jane was sitting on the horse, while Lizzie rocked her back and forth.

  When Elizabeth turned her head and saw Marguerite, she left her sister’s side and went to the window, staring out with her back turned.

  ‘I came to bid you farewell,’ Marguerite said, trying not to feel hurt by Lizzie’s obvious dismissal.

  Janey slid down off the horse and came running. ‘Papa told us you were leaving. I don’t want you to go.’

  Marguerite picked her up. ‘You knew it was only a temporary arrangement, until you got a proper governess,’ she said, giving her a squeeze and inhaling the scent of soap and little girl. ‘I will miss you, too, but I am sure I will see you again in the near future.’ She put her down. ‘So be a good girl and mind your new teacher. That will make your papa very happy.’

  ‘I will,’ Jane said.

  Marguerite shook hands with Nanny James and gave Netty a kiss on her downy soft cheek. ‘Look after them well,’ she said around the lump in her throat.

  Lucy dipped a curtsy. ‘I will, my lady.’

  Nanny James gave Marguerite a sharp look. ‘You’ll be back, mark my words. My rheumatism says so.’ She rubbed her papery-skinned hands together. ‘Thank you for the ointment, my lady. Made all the difference it has.’

  Marguerite crossed to the window and stood behind the stiff little back that refused to acknowledge her presence.

  ‘Will you not bid me farewell, Lady Elizabeth?’ she said softly. ‘We have been good friends, have we not? One does not ignore the departure of a friend, you know.’

  ‘You are not a friend,’ the little girl said, her voice husky.

  ‘I will always be your friend,’ Marguerite said firmly, ‘whether you want me to be or not. And I will expect you to write to me once a week and tell me how everyone is doing here.’

  The little girl spun around. ‘Why? Why would I do that when you do not care enough about us to stay? Everyone I care about always leaves, because they do not care enough to stay. So why should I care to be your friend?’

  Marguerite’s heart ached for the little girl. ‘Lizzie,’ she said, softly, ‘leaving does not mean a person does not care.’

  ‘Yes, it does, or you would stay.’

  The logic was faulty, but terribly sweet. ‘Not everyone is leaving. Only me. Your papa is here, and Nanny James and Lucy. I have my own home and I must return there. If you write to me, I promise I will write back and tell you all my news.’

  Not that she expected there would be much. Oh, she really did not want to leave these little girls who had become such a large part of her life these past few weeks. For their sake, though, it was better if she departed.

  The little girl’s lower lip trembled. ‘I do not want you to go at all.’ She burst into tears and threw her arms around Marguerite’s waist. ‘We all want you to stay,’ she said through her sobs.

  She crouched down until they were at eye level. ‘Listen, Lizzie. You and I will always be friends and, when you are old enough, you can ride over to Westram and visit me. What do you think of that?’

  ‘I can’t ride.’

  ‘But soon you will learn, I am sure.’

  She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I shouldn’t be at all surprised to learn in your first letter to me that your papa has bought a pony to add to his stables.’

  A smile appeared amid the tears. ‘I would like that.’

  ‘I know. But you must be a good girl and help your papa, for he has a great deal of responsibility. Indeed, you must help him all you can by making your new governess welcome. After all, you are the lady of this house, you know.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘You are indeed.’

  ‘Oh.’ She thought about it for a moment or two. Her little shoulders straightened and she nodded. ‘I will try.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Marguerite kissed her cheek, her heart feeling as if it might crack open at the sight of such bravery, and stood up. ‘I bid you all farewell until we meet again.’

  To a chorus of rather wan goodbyes she left the room.

  She had not expected it to be so hard. She had not been upset when she left her father’s house to get married all those years ago. She had been full of expectation and hope. Now she felt terribly sad.

  She halted at the sight of Jack leaning against the wall outside the door, his arms folded across his chest. He looked grim.

  ‘Are they all right?’ he asked. ‘I had hoped to make the parting easier, but they were in floods of tears when Lucy shooed me out earlier.’

  Fondness for this man who cared so much for his children rose in her throat and seemed to stick there like a solid lump. She swallowed hard before she could speak.

  ‘They are not jumping for joy,’ she said. ‘But they are accepting, I believe.’ She remembered her words to Elizabeth. ‘I did tell Lizzie you would soon be purchasing a pony for your stables.’

  He started. ‘Did you now?’

  ‘I am sorry if I spoiled your surprise, but she needed something to look forward to. Do not forget that loss of riding privileges will prove to be a better threat than Great-Aunt Ermintrude and will help with the settling in of the new governess.’

  He put up a hand. ‘No need to say any more. I admit you are right.’

  ‘You are a good man, Jack Vincent.’

  He looked disgruntled. ‘Your trap is at the d
oor.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Good.’ She continued down the hallway and was surprised when he followed her.

  ‘I will be in touch as soon as I learn anything,’ he said in a low voice.

  The reminder of why she was leaving made the pain inside her sharpen. ‘Thank you.’

  At the bottom of the stairs, he bowed. ‘Thank you for your help, Lady Marguerite. I am ever in your debt.’

  Unable to speak for fear she would disgrace herself, she nodded and walked out of the front door.

  * * *

  Marguerite was not surprised that she had heard nothing from Jack when the following Wednesday rolled around.

  Likely he had been happy to wash his hands of her and his promise to discover the identity of her blackmailer merely a sop to his conscience.

  No, that was unfair of her. Likely he had been unable to discover the man’s identity after all. He said he would try and she trusted him enough to believe he would make every effort.

  She trusted him. What a strangely comforting sensation to know that there was one man she trusted to keep his word. Unfortunately, it was that reliability, his adherence to rules, that also made her uncomfortable.

  She just wished she did not miss him so much. Him and the girls. She had been thrilled to receive her first letter from Elizabeth. She really hadn’t expected it. Children were notoriously bad correspondents. Her own brothers and sister, for example, hadn’t written a word once she got married and left the house, despite their promises.

  She had written to them, though. Most of the letters had gone unsent, because Neville had insisted he read everything before it left the house. She had been shocked when he had called her to his study to tell her that her letter to her father, a litany of misery, must be rewritten if she wanted it to go in the mail.

  When she refused, he had forced her to sit at her writing desk and had dictated her letter. He had made her write to her family weekly thereafter and had reviewed every one of them. She never received any replies.

  Or had she? She had never thought to ask Petra if she had written back. She had simply assumed her family had moved on with their lives and forgotten all about her. Was it possible Neville had not given her their answers?

  In hindsight, she certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

  The letters she’d written expressing her true thoughts about her life as a married woman, she had burned as soon as they were finished. In some odd sort of way, putting those things down on paper, even if no one else ever saw them, had brought her a measure of comfort. Oh, how she had vilified Neville in those little notes to herself. He would likely have given her a good beating if he had ever seen them.

  Instead, he’d left her with a blackmailer to deal with, damn him. And deal with him she would.

  She’d worked hard at the last of her drawings these past few days and had sent them off. In the meantime, a payment for work she’d sent previously had arrived, so she had enough money to meet the blackmailer’s demands. And once she had been paid for these last drawings, she would have enough to live on for the rest of the year.

  Dread was a hollow ache in her stomach. What if he was not satisfied with what she had paid him and continued his demands?

  She would be forced to carry out the threat she had made. First, though, she would need to write to Red and confess the whole before she carried out her plan to redraw the picture and send it to the newspapers anonymously.

  She really hoped it would not come to that.

  * * *

  At four in the afternoon, in preparation for her meeting, she counted out the sum demanded and placed the coins in a small velvet bag. She ensured the pistol Ethan had given her before he left for Bath was clean and loaded and placed it in the pocket of her cloak. She could not believe it would come to that, but she had decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

  When it was time to make dinner, she discovered that she had no appetite. The knowledge of the upcoming meeting was like a lead ball sitting in the middle of her chest. It left no room for food. Instead, she sat in in her chair beside the window and watched the shadows slowly lengthen, until it was time to leave for her appointment.

  Walking through the village, clutching the little velvet bag in her hand, she tried her best to look as if she was on an important errand. She did not want people stopping her and engaging in conversation. She didn’t dare be late. Fortunately, not too many villagers were about at this time of the evening. Most were indoors with their families or happily ensconced in the parlour of the Green Man.

  The days were lengthening now that spring had arrived and the shadows were not quite as deep as they were the last time she had walked up the lane behind the Green Man.

  A few yards along, the telltale scent of cigar smoke alerted her to the presence of the man she had come to meet. Last time, she had been the first to arrive. This time he was waiting for her.

  ‘Hand it over,’ he growled.

  Yes, that really was a note of desperation she heard in his voice and again she had the sense of familiarity. She peered at him, but his face was hidden by a scarf up around his mouth and his hat, a workman’s cap, pulled down low over his eyes. Perhaps she had been wrong after all in thinking him a gentleman.

  He poured the coins out into his palm and counted them.

  ‘It is all there,’ she said tersely. ‘Please give me the picture as you promised.’

  ‘Now, why would I do that?’ he said with that increasingly familiar sneer. If only she could remember...

  ‘I’ll not pay you one penny more.’ Her threat sounded weak. She steadied herself. ‘I mean it. I will not give you so much as a ha’penny.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He sounded amused. She wanted to hit him. She clenched her hand around the pistol in her cloak pocket, determined to make him understand.

  Another figure loomed out of the gloom. For a moment she thought it must be an accomplice. Until the figure grabbed her blackmailer by the shoulder, swung him around and planted a very neat blow to his chin.

  The blackmailer lay on his back, looking up at his assailant. ‘Who the devil are you?’

  ‘No,’ Jack said. ‘You are the devil. Now hand the picture over.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘Then it is off to jail for you.’

  ‘What? No. You can’t—’

  ‘I can and I will.’

  The man struggled. ‘Then I will show everyone what I have.’

  The identity of the blackmailer came to her in a flash. Horror and disgust roiled through her.

  ‘You!’ she said. ‘How could you?’

  ‘You know this man?’ Jack asked, yanking the fellow to his feet by his coat collar.

  ‘He is my deceased husband’s youngest brother, David Saxby.’

  Jack gave him a shake, then marched him over to the patch of light coming from the Green Man’s window. ‘Saxby, is it?’ he said, glaring down into the young man’s face.

  David looked green about the gills. ‘Unhand me,’ he said, in more of a squeak than anything. ‘I’ll have you up on a charge of assault.’

  ‘And I will have you charged with blackmail,’ Jack said through gritted teeth. ‘How will your family like that?’

  ‘They will not like it at all, will they, David?’ Marguerite said, suddenly enjoying herself. ‘No doubt your grandfather will cut you off without a penny.’

  Her husband’s grandfather was feared by all and sundry in the Saxby family. He was the holder of the purse strings and it was he who had arranged for her and Neville to marry. He had wanted his family to go up in the world. Having one of them sent to prison for a crime would not suit him at all.

  David reached into his pocket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He flung it at Marguerite. ‘Take it. I wouldn’t have published it anyway,’ he said sullenly. ‘Why would I want my family�
�s name associated with that sort of smut?’

  Jack grunted his disapproval and gave David another shake. He looked at Marguerite. ‘Is that it?’

  She opened the paper. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with this blackguard?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She plucked free the velvet purse David was still clutching. ‘I will have this back, though.’ She moved closer to her persecutor. ‘I happen to like your grandfather and would not see him hurt, but know this, David Saxby—if you ever come near me or anyone in my family, I will let Lord Compton do with you as he wishes and the devil take the scandal that ensues, for I do not give a fig for it.’

  ‘Neville always said you were a difficult bitch,’ Saxby sneered. ‘Had to keep you in line the hard way, he said.’

  Jack put his fingers around the man’s throat. ‘One more word from you and you will breathe your last, do you understand?’

  David nodded.

  Jack pushed him away. ‘Go. Get out of here before I change my mind.’

  David stumbled off.

  Jack put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’

  She leaned against his lovely warmth and strength. ‘Thank you.’ She wanted to weep out of gratitude and out of love. And kiss his dear lips. And weep on his shoulder with relief.

  She did none of those things. They were friends, nothing more, and she could not allow her feelings to make him think otherwise.

  ‘Come, let us get you home,’ he said brusquely.

  The sharpness of his tone wounded her. But it was no more than she deserved.

  * * *

  Jack had never been so furious in his life. It was all he could do not to strangle Saxby when he had had his hands on the blackguard. If it were not for the fact that he sensed Marguerite was on the brink of collapse, he might have done so and devil take the consequences.

  His arm about her shoulders, he swept her along, half-carrying her, half-walking her. Well, he might not have murdered David Saxby, but he was damned if the bastard was going to get off scot-free. Jack was going to have a word with this grandfather of his at the first opportunity.