Breaking the Governess's Rules

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Just think about Lord Furniss and the pleasure he took in your voice.’

  Miss Blandish brightened and then a frown marred her features. ‘Of course, it might all change when Margaret Ponsby-Smythe arrives tomorrow.’

  Louisa froze. The room swayed slightly and then righted. She swallowed hard and tried to keep from being ill as a sense of supreme betrayal coursed through her. Margaret was expected tomorrow. And that would mean Mrs Ponsby-Smythe arriving as well. She could not see Margaret being allowed to travel on her own. Jonathon had kept that intelligence from her. Despite everything they had shared, despite her sharing her secret, he was still playing games.

  He had been the one to send the driver away. He’d known where the hut was. Louisa pinched her brow. He could not have predicted the broken carriage wheel or the storm, but he had taken advantage of her. He had sought to bind her to him before she had a chance to confront Venetia. He had kept it from her.

  ‘Miss Sibson? You have gone pale.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that Margaret was arriving so soon.’ Or at all. All her excitement tasted like ash in her mouth. She remained a naïve fool. Louisa stiffened her shoulders. No, that was wrong. She had been deceived.

  ‘Apparently Lord Chesterholm has been put out at her taking so long. He anticipated her and Mrs Ponsby-Smythe this afternoon. You must sit down, Miss Sibson, before you fall down.’ Miss Blandish put a hand under Louisa’s elbow and led her to the sofa.

  Louisa gulped in air. ‘How did you learn this intelligence?’

  ‘My sister overheard Lord Chesterholm when he returned from your journey. She listens at doors. Apparently he let out a roar that could be heard two counties away.’

  Ice-cold shock coursed through Louisa, closely followed by white-hot anger. Why had she learnt nothing? Once again she had been living in some fantasy world of her own making. She had even considered his disreputable offer.

  ‘It is a terrible habit to listen at doors,’ Louisa said, concentrating on the candles above the mantelpiece and how they glowed and tried to remember Miss Mattie’s mantra: calm, cool, reasonable. Jonathon could only hurt her if she gave him the power to do so and she refused to allow her heart to be broken a third time. She should have remembered that storms always pass.

  ‘But a useful habit.’ Miss Blandish tapped her mouth with her fan. ‘Lately Nella has proved invaluable with certain information. I wish she would learn to hold her tongue on other matters, though.’

  Louisa allowed Miss Blandish’s words to flow over her as she concentrated on a single candle flame. The knowledge of Jonathon’s betrayal kept circling through her brain. He was seeking to use her. She had been wrong to think that there was anything real or lasting between them. He wanted all her secrets, but was not even prepared to tell her that his stepmother was expected.

  ‘Miss Sibson, are you sure you are quite the thing? Your cheek grows paler and paler.’ Miss Blandish waved her fan in front of Louisa’s face.

  ‘I never faint.’ Louisa pushed the fan away. ‘We were speaking of Lord Furniss. I’m sure he will prove a faithful squire to you.’

  ‘You are good to say that, but until he actually makes an offer, I cannot count on the faithfulness of his heart. There have been many a slip between cup and lip.’ Miss Blandish gave a little high-pitched laugh, but Louisa could see the fear in the young woman’s eyes. ‘I have no idea what Miss Ponsby-Smythe is like and I would hate to give my heart only to have it broken.’

  ‘If you never give your heart, how can you expect him to give his?’ Louisa kept her voice light. Miss Blandish would make a good match with Lord Furniss. At least some happiness could come from this house party.

  ‘But is she pretty?’

  Louisa closed her eyes, remembering Margaret’s somewhat mismatched features. Clarissa had been cruel, and often pointed out what a graceless elephant Margaret was and how her nose was far too large for her face.

  ‘Not conventionally so, but she had a certain liveliness to her conversation.’ Louisa tapped her fan against her teeth. ‘But knowing both of them, I would be surprised if Lord Furniss would find Margaret a compatible companion in life.’

  Miss Blandish pressed Louisa’s hand. ‘You do not know how it does my heart good to hear this. I have no wish for Lord Furniss to become distracted. A man with a title is sought after and he does have the dearest smile. When he smiles, my entire being lights up.’

  ‘It all depends on the woman.’ Louisa squeezed Miss Blandish’s hand. ‘Some women have lots of proposals and others need only one. But I am sure the right man is out there.’

  Miss Blandish’s colour rose and she pressed Louisa’s hand tighter. ‘But I do think he could be the one. He has even praised my singing. I mean, it is as if he looks at me and sees me, rather than my dowry. It is amazing how many men simply see my father’s mills and factories. I want to be loved for me. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘I am sure the right man will find you,’ Louisa said quietly as she disentangled her hand. To be loved and cherished for oneself—wasn’t that what everyone hoped for? It was that sometimes what one wanted, one could not have.

  She had misjudged Miss Blandish. Miss Blandish was more than a feather-brained débutante. She was a woman who wanted love. Louisa was as guilty as those who looked at her and saw a former governess. It was the person who mattered and not the label. ‘You are quite beautiful, Miss Blandish. When I was younger I yearned to have your sort of complexion—all roses and cream, the sort that suits ball gowns.’

  ‘I can’t afford another scandal. Not one little hint. I have to be so very careful.’ Miss Blandish gave a soft sigh and raised her handkerchief to her eye. ‘If that happens I might as well give up and go to the Continent. Lord Edward—’

  ‘The man who died earlier this summer. You must be upset about that. Did you love him very much?’

  Miss Blandish blinked at her, shocked. ‘I never loved Edward Heritage. I would have like the title, but as a man, no, not in the same way I feel about Lord Furniss, you see. There is just a connection between us. I find it impossible to explain. Have you ever loved someone, Miss Sibson?’

  ‘I thought I did,’ Louisa said without thinking. ‘Then I was sure I didn’t.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now everything is muddled,’ Louisa admitted. ‘And you?’

  ‘I was sorry, of course. The aftermath was dreadful. No one seeks another’s death, even if it was heroic.’ Miss Blandish’s eyes widened. ‘Mama encouraged me to be far too free with him. It could have been much worse. We were never caught together.’

  Louisa pasted a smile on her face and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Much worse. She knew all about much worse.

  She had stumbled blindly into a trap of Jonathon’s making again, and she knew that it would be impossible to blame anyone but herself.

  ‘It is why I have to avoid darkened garden paths and moonlit walks. Lord Ravensworth gave me the advice before he left, and I suppose he should know. Nella said that his list of conquests was legendary.’

  ‘But he has settled with Daisy.’

  Miss Blandish’s brow furled. ‘I do not believe she ever walked down a garden path with him. Miss Milton was quite the stickler for convention. Her curtsies were always the correct height for the occasion. I always admired her for it.’

  Darkened paths. And cottages in a rainstorm. She should have insisted on walking with the coachman, anything but staying with Jonathon. And yet an insistent voice in the back of her mind whispered that given the chance she would do it again. Every part of her hummed with vitality. Before now she had existed, but suddenly the impossible seemed possible.

  ‘They are coming into the room.’ Miss Blandish’s whisper held a note of excitement. ‘They did not linger over the port tonight.’

  ‘We are agreed. We will not give into the temptation of a stroll in the garden,’ Louisa whispered back.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Sibson.’ Miss Blandish squeezed L
ouisa’s hand. ‘I felt you had a kind and understanding face. I have no wish to spoil my London Season unnecessarily. A good marriage means a lot to Mama and Papa. Lord Furniss has not declared his intention and I understand his mother is a great friend of two of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s.’

  ‘Where I can help, I will.’ Louisa unfurled her fan and hoped the gesture would make the gentlemen think her heightened colour was due to the temperature in the room rather than the heat from Jonathon’s glance. Seeing how Miss Blandish’s eyes sparkled, Louisa knew she had been right in refusing to allow Lord Furniss to speak the other night.

  ‘Susan!’ Mrs Blandish called out from where she sat. ‘I believe you were going to sing an air for Lord Furniss. The one we practised this morning. Now there’s my girl. A simple country tune.’

  Louisa’s gaze tumbled into Jonathon’s amused one as he and Furniss stood framed in the doorway. The conversation about the singing seemed such a long time ago.

  Louisa rapidly sat down and concentrated on breathing steadily. It was hard not to remember the way Jonathon’s skin had felt under her palms. Or how his mouth had absorbed her cries earlier. But it was under false colours. He had planned on springing Venetia Ponsby-Smythe on her without warning or consideration.

  ‘It appears rather warm in here, Miss Sibson,’ Jonathon said, coming up to her. ‘Furniss, do you not think it is warm in here?’

  ‘Stifling.’ Furniss ran a finger around the edge of his stock. But Louisa did not miss the significant glance between Jonathon and Furniss. It was all too easy to guess what the topic of conversation over port had been. And she could easily imagine what would happen. They would start off as a foursome, but one or the other of them would find cause to linger and become lost.

  ‘I thought it rather chilly,’ Louisa said, looking hard at Miss Blandish. ‘And it rained earlier. The pathways are bound to be muddy.’

  ‘There might be another storm,’ Miss Blandish agreed. ‘Rain is in the air and I would hate to think of my hairstyle being spoilt. Or my dress being ruined.’

  ‘Aunt Daphne, do you think a turn about the garden might be in order?’ Lord Furniss made a bow. ‘As the younger ladies appear to be melting in front of a rainstorm.’

  ‘My bones are old, Nephew.’ Miss Daphne pulled her shawl tighter around her and stayed seated. ‘English summers are far colder than Italian ones. I long for indoor entertainment.’

  ‘It is settled, then,’ Louisa said, giving Miss Blandish a significant look. Miss Blandish gave a wide smile back. ‘We should open the French windows if the gentlemen feel rather close. And perhaps a game of cards would be in order. Miss Daphne, shall we have a game of whist?’

  ‘What a clever idea, Miss Sibson—whist,’ Mrs Blandish said with a smile. ‘It is the perfect thing to pass the time. Perhaps Lord Chesterholm will be so good as to partner me in this endeavour.’

  Jonathon lifted a brow and mouthed coward at her. Louisa smiled her brightest smile back at him. Round one to her.

  ‘A game of cards would be an admirable suggestion.’

  ‘Is it true, Lord Chesterholm, that your stepmother and sister are expected tomorrow?’ Mrs Blandish asked, shuffling a pack of cards with expert hands. ‘Mrs Ponsby-Smythe is reckoned to be an expert card player.’

  ‘Your intelligence is admirable, Mrs Blandish. I was unaware my stepmother’s proposed arrival was common knowledge.’ Jonathon’s eyes became cold and Louisa knew that he had not intended for the news to get around.

  ‘But will she arrive tomorrow? I believe your half-sister and my Susan are about the same age. They might be companions during the Season,’ Mrs Blandish persisted.

  ‘My stepmother arranges her schedule as she sees fit and travelling tires her. I have learnt through experience only to look for her after she arrives,’ he said, making a low bow.

  ‘It is impossible to keep a secret in a house this size. The very walls hum with anticipation of such momentous events,’ Miss Daphne called out from where she sat next to Nella Blandish. ‘It always amazes me when people forget that their voices carry or that servants will talk, even in the best-regulated households.’

  ‘I will try to remember that for the future.’ Jonathon lowered his brows and glowered at Louisa. ‘Listening to gossip without seeking clarification can lead to grave misunderstandings.’

  ‘Or enlightenment, when someone persists in keeping secrets,’ Louisa replied, lifting her chin.

  ‘Sometimes, things are withheld to protect others.’

  ‘I believe there was a game of whist in the offing,’ Louisa said smoothly. She intended to behave as if Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s arrival meant nothing to her. Calm and dignified.

  ‘A game of cards is the proper way to pass an evening,’ Mrs Blandish commented.

  Louisa tilted her head to one side. ‘Respectability is everything, particularly when there is gossip in the air.’

  ‘Except during thunderstorms,’ he said in a low murmur as he pulled out her chair for her.

  ‘That was unworthy, Jonathon.’ Louisa glanced back at him.

  ‘But the truth, Louisa. Why are you so afraid of the truth?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Try trusting me for once. We are friends. My intentions are good.’

  His fingers traced a line down her back. Louisa forced her body to stay still and her lips to smile sweetly at Mrs Blandish.

  ‘I have no need of that sort of protection.’

  ‘I will keep it under consideration.’

  The ominous roll of thunder woke Louisa from a sound sleep. In the end, the game of whist had been unsatisfactory, particularly as Jonathon had readily agreed to it and seemed to relish in each hand that he and Mrs Blandish had won.

  At Miss Daphne’s suggestion, Lord Furniss and Miss Blandish had spent most of the evening going over possible songs for a recital later in the week.

  Every time Louisa had glanced over, Lord Furniss had inched closer to Miss Blandish; then, when he considered Mrs Blandish’s attention engaged elsewhere, he had attempted to put his arm about her under the pretext of turning pages.

  Louisa hugged her knees. It was good to see an attraction blossoming and to know that she had had a small hand in it.

  Worse was the knowledge that Jonathon had intended keeping Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s arrival a secret until the last possible moment. They might have been intimate that afternoon, but he had still kept secrets from her, even after she had shared hers. There was no need for explanations. This was no simple misunderstanding of intentions.

  With another roll of thunder, Louisa knew staying in her bedroom with the blue flashes lighting up the walls was impossible. She grabbed a wrap and lit her candle, heading for the library. Sometimes, the only thing to do was to read and hope the storm blew itself out.

  As she walked through the halls, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, she was surprised at how quickly the house had become familiar. She could never make the mistake of going to Arthur’s nursery now. The outside of the house might be austere, and overly formal, but there was respect and security in these walls as well. It had a way of winding itself around her heart.

  When she got to the library door, she saw a sliver of gold light coming from Jonathon’s study.

  She struggled to breathe. He was in there. Awake.

  Three times she tried to walk past, but each time her feet stopped. She closed her eyes. There was a thunderstorm outside and the only thing that had made her feel truly safe was Jonathon.

  Golden gaslight lit the room, through long shadows. A full decanter of port and an empty glass stood beside a winged chair. Soft breathing emanated from the chair and the tips of Jonathon’s boots were just visible. He was asleep.

  Louisa started to back out quietly.

  ‘Stay, Louisa.’

  Louisa gripped the shawl tighter about her shoulders. She wished now that she had stayed up in bed. She certainly should never have given in to the temptation to enter his study. ‘How did you know it was me?’

>   ‘Recognised your footsteps. At first I thought you might be a ghost that I had conjured up, but then I knew you had to be real.’ His hand lifted the decanter and poured two glasses of port. ‘Come, join me. Pass some time with me.’

  ‘Were you waiting for me?’ Louisa ignored the rubyred liquid. Her blood was fizzing enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

  ‘Should I have been?’ He shook his head. ‘I am not clairvoyant. You made your intentions clear this evening.’

  ‘I changed my mind.’ Louisa shifted on the balls of her feet. He had been waiting for someone, not her. Venetia? Had he thought that she would arrive tonight?‘Another storm has got up … and I went …’

  ‘In search of comfort and security.’

  ‘In search of a good book. Is there anything wrong with that? I like having security.’

  ‘If you had truly wanted security, you would have accepted Sir Francis’s marriage proposal rather than coming to England with Miss Elliot.’ He tilted his head. ‘You want something else, Louisa, and you are too much of a coward to admit it.’

  ‘A coward? Me?’ Louisa balled her fist. ‘I have weathered thunderstorms on my own. I buried our child on my own.’

  ‘It is not a case of any pair of strong arms will do?’

  Mutely Louisa shook her head.

  Jonathon stood up. His shirt was slightly undone and there was a distinct gleam in his eyes. ‘I am very pleased you came down, though.’

  Louisa gave a little shrug. ‘The thunder made me restless. Reading helps take my mind off the noise.’

  ‘There are other ways.’ His lidded eyes became beckoning pools of sea green blue. He took a step closer. In spite of all her vows, Louisa’s insides turned to molten heat. She wanted his skin against hers again. ‘Allow me to keep you safe from the storm, Louisa. Allow me to keep you safe for always.’