Breaking the Governess's Rules

by Michelle Styles

  ‘No, that person is dead,’ Louisa said as firmly as she could and hoped he believed her. She wished she believed it.

  Chapter Seven

  Louisa clutched her fan tightly, and straightened the skirts of her evening gown as she stopped in the middle of an unfamiliar corridor. She had been far too busy reviewing her rules on the proper way to behave in Jonathon’s presence to pay attention to the many twists and turns of Chesterholm Grange’s passageways. The way had seemed so straightforward when the underhousemaid had showed her yesterday that there had been no need to ring for an escort.

  Louisa attempted to retrace her steps but found herself in another corridor. There was no escaping the obvious: the pictures on the walls were far from familiar; the carpet was far more faded, but there was a certain well-worn comfort about this hallway that the more formal rooms lacked.

  The urge to explore nearly overwhelmed her sensibility. But her common sense reasserted itself when she regarded the hastily written schedule she kept in her reticule. Lord Furniss and the Blandishes had arrived earlier in the day. Separate carriages, but within an hour of each other. Jonathon had been true to his word—it was a proper house party. And it would never do to be whispered about as being tardy to supper.

  She turned around and started to retrace her steps.

  A door crashed open. Louisa jumped and dropped her fan and reticule. As she bent down to pick them up, a naked little boy rushed out of the open door, closely followed by a plump middle-aged woman dressed in a dark gown, enveloping apron and cap.

  ‘You scamp, come back. You were supposed to stay still!’

  The little boy gave a merry peal of laughter and wriggled past the nurse’s skirts.

  ‘Somebody help me catch him afore he catches his death or worse.’

  Louisa bent down and blocked the toddler’s way just before he dashed down the stairs. His skin smelt of soap and young child and his hands and feet created damp patches on the white silk of her evening dress.

  ‘What a little angel,’ Louisa said and the boy beamed up at her. When she had first arrived at the Ponsby-Smythes, a portrait of Jonathon with angelic dark curls and a white dress leaning against his mother’s knee had hung in the hallway near the schoolroom. This little boy was the near mirror image. ‘Who do you belong to?’

  The boy put his thumb in his mouth and stared up at her with solemn grey eyes.

  ‘Thank you, miss, for rescuing him.’ The rather large nurse puffed up and attempted to take the boy from Louisa. The boy gave a determined shake of his head and clung tighter to Louisa.

  ‘Perhaps it might be easier if I took him back to the nursery for you,’ Louisa said. It was far too late to worry about the damp patches.

  ‘It is kind of you, miss.’ The nurse gave a small curtsy. ‘He has a right mind of his own, this one. He decided that he was not going to wash and wear his fine clothes for company.’

  ‘What happened?’ Louisa asked as she deposited the little boy in the well-equipped nursery. The nurse quickly gathered him up and towelled him, before pulling on his clothes.

  ‘I turned my back for the barest second to get the soap, and he was gone. The master will have my hide if this rascal appears at less than his best. Can’t have him shaming the family.’

  ‘Whose child is he?’ Louisa asked as her heart began to thump in her ears.

  ‘This here is Arthur Fanshaw, the master’s son and heir,’ the nurse said.

  Louisa sucked in her breath. Jonathon had a son. Clarissa was dead. She had died hours after giving birth. He had said that when they’d met, and she had not thought to ask about a child, a living child. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. For nearly four years, she had actively avoided children, and now she was confronted with Jonathon’s little boy. All her promises of no regrets and no thinking about what might have been seemed hollow. She had lost her baby to a fever and the doctor had said that she would never bear another child. But another of her rules was broken.

  She gave an inward smile. Somehow, her heart failed to ache as much as she thought it might. Maybe the rule had been unnecessary.

  ‘Are you all right, miss? You look as if you want to cry.’ The nurse’s voice came from a long ways away.

  ‘I am fine.’ Louisa put her hand over her mouth. Jonathon must never know. Thankfully he had not guessed why she had gone to Venetia Ponsby-Smythe. And now, she did not want him to. The future was important. She could adapt her rules. ‘Perfectly fine.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  Louisa swallowed hard and looked again at the little upturned face as he clung to her skirt. This little boy, this Arthur, knew nothing of the past. He only wanted to be her friend. She could do this. It was a test of her resolve.

  She bent down and held out her hand. ‘It is good to meet you, Arthur. I’m Louisa Sibson.’

  ‘Excuse me, miss, did you say Sibson? The one who found our Annie?’

  ‘Annie? Annie Sims?’

  ‘She’s … my … niece and I wanted to say thank you for returning her. Safe like.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’

  Arthur gave an infectious laugh and launched himself into Louisa’s arms.

  ‘Would you look at that!’ the nurse exclaimed. ‘He is normally shy with strangers, but you, you he has taken to.’

  Louisa stroked his fine hair, which curled about his cherub-like face in dark brown ringlets. ‘He’s a beautiful boy. His eyes remind me of his mother.’

  ‘Most comment how like his father he is,’ the nurse said with a hint of ice in her voice.

  ‘That, too,’ Louisa said carefully, wondering what she had said, ‘but I met his mother several times and she had the most remarkable grey eyes.’

  Arthur put his thumb in his mouth as his other hand curled tightly in her hair.

  The nurse’s face broke out into a wide smile. ‘Well, I’ll be!’

  ‘I suspect he is a friend of my heart.’ Louisa inhaled his fresh baby scent. ‘It is what a dear friend of mine used to say when you met someone and felt an instant connection.’

  ‘That is a good way of putting it. A friend of your heart. Yes, I like that.’ The nurse gave a nod. ‘I can understand it, like. I shall have to tell the master, mind. He wants to know everything that happens to Arthur. He will be interested to hear about Arthur’s new friend of the heart.’

  ‘But I have not been properly introduced. I did not even know … Lord Chesterholm had a son.’

  ‘The master will not mind. He gave orders this morning that Arthur was to be dressed and presented before supper. Arthur hates wearing fine clothes, particularly the ones Mrs Ponsby-Smythe gave him, but they make him look like an angel. And I wanted such fine a company to have a good impression of him.’

  ‘I am certain we will.’

  ‘I will cry when Arthur’s curls are cut and he is put into long trousers.’

  Dressed and presented. Louisa used to cringe when the orders were given, generally by parents who never saw their children at any other time. She had always found her charges were excited the whole day and invariably acted badly. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had been a great one for treating Margaret like an object, rather than like the lively girl she was. And Louisa was always blamed if things went wrong.

  ‘Does Lord Chesterholm often come to the nursery?’

  ‘When his duties permit, Miss Sibson. His lordship is a busy man. My poppet understands that about his papa.’

  ‘Papa, Papa,’ the little boy sang out. ‘Lady, lady.’

  She gave Arthur a hug as he nestled his head into the crook of her neck with a contented sigh.

  ‘You have a magic touch with Arthur. He normally screams when a stranger comes near, and don’t speak neither, just makes little grunting noises.’

  ‘I suspect that Arthur will speak in time.’

  The nurse pressed her lips together before beginning to clean up the spilt puddles of water. ‘Lord Chesterholm worries about Arthur’s speech.’

  ‘Perhaps he has
not been listening carefully enough. Children often bill and coo, but they are really trying to talk.’

  The nurse gave a laugh. ‘You try telling his lordship any thing.’

  ‘I shall be delighted to tell him.’ Louisa handed the little boy back to the nurse. Her heart panged slightly. Jonathon’s child was a handsome boy who cried out for proper love. ‘He is not so old. Lord Chesterholm is worrying for nothing.’

  The nurse sighed. ‘I keep telling Lord Chesterholm about some of my other babies. Lord Coltonby’s youngest took an age but now he is all grown up, you cannot keep him quiet.’

  ‘Have you been with the family long?’

  ‘Since a few days after Arthur’s birth, miss.’ The nurse gave a small curtsy. ‘The mistress had died and the master wanted someone experienced to look after his son. Not the woman his in-laws suggested either!’ She stopped and her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you related to the Newtons? Is that why you said about Arthur’s eyes?’

  ‘I was acquainted with them once—before Lord and Lady Chesterholm married.’

  ‘I should have thought.’ The nurse nodded. ‘His lordship is unlikely to have any Newton relation in the house. Not after he threw them out. They tried to take Arthur.’

  Louisa frowned, surprised at the nurse’s presumption and indiscretion. The woman did not even know anything about her. But the intelligence did not surprise her. Clarissa’s mother had very decided opinions and did not hesitate to voice them in private and sometimes even in public. And Jonathon hated being told what to do.

  At the look, the nurse’s cheeks coloured slightly. ‘I fear my tongue is worse than a babbling brook these days. I didn’t mean no harm. His lordship operates by his own rules, he does. He is determined to protect those who are dependent on him.’

  ‘Yes, he always was.’ Louisa closed her eyes, remembering how she loved it once. Jonathon had promised to remake the world for her and protect her from life’s storms. In those long-ago days, she would have been content to be a clinging vine, but now she was glad for the opportunity to fight her battles and to find her own solutions, rather than accepting misguided advice.

  ‘Then he hasn’t changed,’ the nurse said with a laugh. ‘The master does what he thinks is right and he is a good master. Not like some of the others, mind.’

  Louisa swallowed hard. Was Jonathon really that good or was the nurse proclaiming far too loudly? He had not brought Arthur down to meet the guests, nor had he really mentioned Arthur’s existence. And having met the boy, Louisa was convinced the fault lay with Jonathon.

  Louisa gave Arthur’s hair one last stroke. She could not risk coming again. Arthur was Clarissa’s child, not hers. Getting attached to any child, particularly one of Jonathon’s, would only lead to heartache.

  ‘Is this what you called dressed for company, Nanny Hawks?’ Jonathon’s rich voice boomed from the doorway. ‘Did I not say—promptly?’

  ‘Promptness is a virtue that Master Arthur does not possess,’ the nurse said. ‘He was born late and has stayed late ever since.’

  ‘Hung by my own words, Nanny,’ Jonathon said with a laugh. ‘But I have no wish to scandalise the guests with him appearing without a stitch on.’

  ‘And whose fault was that, sir? I like to have my lads well turned out…’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’

  Immediately Arthur gave a squeal of delight and started to run towards his father, but the nurse held him back exclaiming about wet hands on immaculate dinner clothes.

  ‘It is my fault, your lordship.’ Louisa stepped in front of the pair. ‘I became lost and Arthur rescued me. I am certain though I can find my way now.’

  ‘You are willing to take the help of an eighteen-month-old toddler, Miss Sibson, but not me.’ His eyes crinkled with amusement as if they were sharing a private joke. ‘I do hope this was in your famous schedule.’

  ‘I fail to see the humour. You should have told me you had a son,’ Louisa said, lowering her voice.

  ‘You should have asked.’ He reached out and captured the wriggling boy. ‘Arthur here is more than a son; he is a whirlwind of mischief.’

  Arthur gave a shriek of delight as Jonathon swung him into the air. Both faces were alight with the joy of being with each other.

  Louisa bit her lip. For years she had told herself that Jonathon would have made a terrible father, but here he was enjoying his son and he had obviously fought to keep him.

  Jonathon put Arthur down. ‘Now, my lad, if you let Nanny Hawks comb your hair and tidy you up, you may come down and see the pretty ladies.’

  ‘La,’ Arthur said pointing at Louisa.

  ‘Yes, I can see you have an excellent eye, son. Miss Sibson will be there.’ Jonathon held out his arm. ‘Shall we go and leave Arthur to his ablutions, Louisa? Nanny’s charges must be well turned out.’

  ‘I became lost,’ Louisa said once they were clear of the nursery. ‘It was purely unintentional. It won’t happen again. It would have been helpful if someone had provided a plan of the house.’

  ‘If you say so. None of the other guests have mentioned the problem.’

  ‘I know how nurses like to think of the nursery as their private kingdom,’ Louisa said to forestall the lecture she was certain was coming. ‘You needn’t worry. I will not lose my way again.’

  ‘It is well I found you. The company is beginning to assemble for dinner. I have invited a few people from the neighbourhood and would hate to send a search party.’

  ‘More guests?’

  ‘If one is to have a dinner party, one might as well do it properly.’

  ‘No one said.’ Louisa stared at him in astonishment. It all made sense now why Arthur was being made ready. Jonathon wanted to exhibit his son. No doubt the company would be the great, the good and the very worthy. And the poor boy disliked strangers. She could remember hating it when she brought down Margaret Ponsby-Smythe. Her evening dress had always seemed plain against the brilliant silks and satins. And everyone seemed to think her manners were awkward and gauche.

  ‘I am saying so now. You will like them.’

  Louisa straightened her spine. She was no longer a twenty-year-old orphan, but twenty-four with independent means. ‘It is well that I wore one of my better evening dresses.’

  His gaze travelled down her neckline to where it skimmed the tops of her breasts. Louisa wished that she had used lace, but it was not as daring as some of the dresses in Naples. ‘It will do. You used to wear simpler dresses. And your hair was not quite as elaborate.’

  ‘My style has changed.’ She gulped in a breath of air and regained control of her nerves. ‘I have changed. Become a woman of substance.’

  ‘You have said, but underneath there is a small bit of you who remains the wide-eyed governess I found cowering in the study.’

  ‘I was not cowering. I was waiting.’

  ‘There is no need to wait now.’

  He tucked her arm under his. A warm insidious curl went around her stomach and it took all of her willpower not to lean against him. She pulled away from his arm and made a pretence of straightening the ruffles on her gown.

  ‘What did you think of my son? You can be frank, Louisa.’

  ‘He is a darling and very like you except for his eyes.’

  Jonathon nodded, his face giving nothing away. Louisa wanted to scream with frustration. She wanted to know what he was thinking and how he felt about her discovery. But he was impossible to read.

  ‘And now you are ready to give me a lecture about seeing my son more often,’ he said. ‘Or, in some way, implying that I am an unfit father, that Arthur would be better off somewhere else.’

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ Louisa narrowly missed stepping on the hem of her dress.

  ‘You have an expressive face, and you were ready to do battle when I came into the nursery.’

  ‘You never said anything about having a son. I did not even know he was here. Why are you hiding him?’ Louisa crossed her arms. ‘There, I
have said it, Jonathon.’

  ‘Was it any of your business? What lies between us, Louisa, is confined to you and me.’

  ‘You like to keep your life in compartments.’

  ‘It can be useful.’ There was an arrogant tilt to his chin. ‘Isn’t that what you try to do with your past? People in glass houses, Louisa, and right now, yours is made of thin crystal.’

  ‘You should have said something.’

  ‘Would it have made a difference?’

  Louisa kept her gaze on his impeccably tied stock rather than on his eyes. ‘Yes, it would have.’

  ‘Are you always this arrogant, Louisa—assuming you know everything? I cannot undo the past.’

  ‘We are not talking about my past. I am speaking of the now and the fact you had a son with Clarissa!’

  ‘Is this about my son or the fact I married Clarissa?’

  ‘How am I supposed to answer that?’ Louisa drew a deep breath. ‘I simply know it is wrong to bring children out and exhibit them like a prized artwork.’

  ‘My son is the bright star of my life. I am determined to be a far better parent than either of mine were. I spend as much time as possible with Arthur. It is why he is with me, rather than with the Newtons. And if I wish him to meet people, he will. It is none of your business, Louisa.’

  ‘You are right. It is none of my business and thankfully it never will be.’

  ‘Arthur gives me a reason to hope for old age. Something I lacked until he came along.’

  Louisa stared at her hands. She had misjudged Jonathon. Again. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’ His eyes assessed her. ‘I wonder.’

  ‘Young Arthur Fanshaw is a perfect darling,’ Miss Blandish confided as they processed back to the drawing room after supper. ‘I knew Lord Chesterholm was a widower, but he is so good with his son. The little boy adores his papa.’

  ‘A man who is good with children is a prize beyond rubies, Miss Blandish,’ Miss Daphne said. ‘They are very rare. Don’t you agree, Louisa?’

  ‘Lord Chesterholm does appear to be devoted.’ Louisa ignored the tightening of her stomach. What was Miss Daphne up to, pointing out Jonathon’s virtues to Miss Blandish? Miss Blandish and he would be bored within five minutes. Louisa gritted her teeth. Or was it more subtle—a misguided attempt to provoke her to jealousy? Unfortunately, it nearly worked.