The Governess' Debut

by Wendy May Andrews

  Gertrude continued to sniffle inelegantly until they pulled up outside her house. She scrambled down before the footman had properly let down the step and she stalked off in a huff without a backward glance.

  As soon as she was gone, Penelope hurled herself into her father’s lap. “Did you mean it, or were you just trying to make that awful lady be quiet?” Penelope uttered the words that were running wildly through Felicia’s mind.

  Victor answered his daughter’s question while looking steadily into Felicia’s tear-filled eyes. “I meant every word, sweet pea.”

  “Oh goody!” Penelope resumed her bouncing, oblivious to the turmoil experienced by the adult occupants of the carriage.

  As they pulled up in front of their own address, the earl helped his daughter alight and then advised her, “You run along with Mrs. Hill, my dear. Felicia and I have a few things we need to discuss.”

  Felicia had maintained her silence for a worrying length of time. Victor was anxious to get her to his library where they could speak in peace. She had managed to prevent the tears shimmering in her eyes from spilling until she heard the click of the door. She launched into speech as they spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

  “Oh, my lord, why did you say something so rash? How will you ever extricate yourself from this situation? You can be sure the nasty Lady Gertrude will not keep silent on the matter.”

  “I have no wish to extricate myself from the situation. While it is, no doubt, the least romantic proposal in history, I stand by my words. You are the next Countess of Standish.”

  Felicia looked at him blankly for a moment. “But she was right, you cannot marry your daughter’s governess. It just isn’t done, my lord.”

  “I really do think that by now you must be able to call me by my name.”

  Felicia managed a watery chuckle despite shaking her head. “My lord, you must see reason.”

  “I do see reason. You shall be a most excellent countess.”

  Felicia now thought of another wild possibility. “Are you trying to pinch pennies, my lord? Do you think to avoid paying my salary by making me your wife?”

  Now it was the earl’s turn to chuckle. “Do you really think I am that much of a simpleton, my dear? Surely you have noticed that countesses are far more expensive than governesses.” Victor managed to gain possession of Felicia’s hands and stop them from their wringing before he continued. “You brought light into this house that I don’t think has ever been here.”

  Felicia’s tears were drying up and she was listening to his words attentively. Joy and hope, which she had been studiously holding at bay, began to well in her breast, but she strove for reason. “But I can remain in the household as Penelope’s governess. You needn’t marry me in order to keep me here. I had no thought of leaving.”

  “That shan’t be sufficient for me, my dear. Quite simply, I find that I cannot possibly live without you. Please say that you will marry me and make me feel whole.”

  Felicia stared at him quite seriously for one moment before throwing herself into his arms with a whoop of joy. She welcomed his warm embrace with her own innocent enthusiasm.

  ***

  The current Countess of Standish, Victor’s loving mother, had been awaiting their return from their drive. She stood in the hallway outside the library with a satisfied smile upon her face at this turn of events. She quietly backed away, closing the door behind her. Finally, her first born was getting his happily ever after.

  About the Author

  Wendy May Andrews has been reading whatever she could get her hands on since the age of five. She has been writing for almost as long but hasn’t been sharing those stories with anyone but her mother until recently.

  Georgette Heyer got her hooked on the world of Regency Romance. Her aunt got her hooked on Georgette Heyer. Her husband dared her to write a book and she hasn’t looked back since.

  Wendy lives in Toronto with her own real-life hero. When not writing or reading, they love to travel wherever the mood takes them.

  Also by Wendy May Andrews

  Chapter One

  Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom. Rose’s stomach tumbled and a wave of heat swept her as she took in his rugged handsomeness. He had changed since she saw him last, three years ago. She had always thought Alex’s beautiful sea-green eyes were his best feature, but the sight of them had never caused goose bumps to march up her spine as they did now. Previous to this, it had always been her opinion that girls who sighed over handsome men were silly widgets, but now she had an unforeseen empathy for them. The air of maturity that emanated from him suited him, she thought absently, as she struggled to breathe through the uncharacteristic fluttering of her heart.

  He had not yet descended the stairs so he was clearly visible, but she was surprised that he even noticed her, tucked away in the corner of obscurity such as she was. Her surprise turned to shock when she recognized the look of appreciation warming his eyes as his gaze remained on her for what felt like eons, but was undoubtedly a couple of seconds. She was torn with a maelstrom of conflicted feelings. A part of her preened under the admiration of the handsome nobleman, while another part bristled with indignation that he would even dare to look at her, considering their history. She could feel her mother’s indignation smoldering behind her, but she was unable to tear her eyes away. She almost wished she could go back to how she had been feeling just a couple moments before.

  Moments earlier…

  Rose tapped her foot with impatience. Glancing around the room at the crowd of glittering High Society, she wished fervently that she could be elsewhere. Even though this was the so-called “Little Season,” there were an uncomfortable number of people crowded into the fashionable ballroom. Despite the multitudes, or maybe because of them, a sense of loneliness was stealing over her.

  “Stop that tapping, Rosamund,” her mother hissed.

  Rose twitched in surprise. She had quite forgotten that Mama was nearby.

  Her silent sigh puffed past her lips with a disconsolate gust. “We most certainly are not in Vienna anymore,” she muttered to herself, careful that Mama didn’t hear.

  Mama was so rarely nearby in Vienna, for one thing. She had other things to preoccupy her than this obsession with getting her only daughter married off that seemed to have taken root of late. For another, the air of excitement that was ever present in Vienna was flat and stale here in the ballrooms of London. Maybe that was just her own perception though, she thought with despondency.

  Another sigh escaped her as she looked around at the other guests. It would seem that most everyone else was excited to be there. The couples on the dance floor were swirling in the familiar steps in a kaleidoscope of colors, most of the younger ladies in varying shades of pastel, of course. The smoke from the myriad candles was beginning to create a bit of a haze in the large room, but the evening was not yet so advanced that the ladies’ perfumes were overshadowed by the less attractive scents of that many bodies together in a warm room.

  She could see another waiter passing by with a tray laden with glasses of punch and sparkling wine. Once more they failed to approach the corner she and her mother had found themselves in. The wallflowers were not deemed to need the liquid refreshment as they were clearly not exerting themselves overmuch.

  Rose finally acknowledged to herself that part of her impatience with the evening was really envy. In Vienna she had never been a wallflower. She would have been on the dance floor from the first song struck by the orchestra. It was only when she needed to overhear a particular conversation that she would sit out a dance, claiming the need to rest her feet.

  Glancing down at her lovely new shoes, she reluctantly allowed that there was at least one good thing about being back in London. She would never have been able to find the exact shade of kid leather shoes to match her dress in any of the shops in Vienna. The darling bows and the fact that they were nearly as comfortable as a pair of slippers almost made it worth coming to this wretc
hed ball.

  Almost, but not quite, she thought to herself with another sigh she managed to keep silent. She looked away from her toes and forgot about her impatience when she noticed a change in the air. Her eyes scanned the crowd to ascertain the difference.

  It seemed as though things were about to get interesting. A stir rippled through the gathered revelers and Rose strained to see what was taking place. A latecomer was being welcomed by their hosts, Viscount Chorney and his lovely wife, Lady Catherine.

  From her perspective along the wall, near a corner, she could barely make out who had arrived. All she could see was the back of a head. Obviously he was a tall man, she noted with some interest, as she regularly lamented her own height. And she found it interesting how the light of the many candles glinted off his hair, making it difficult to determine exactly what color it was.

  The excited murmurs of the young women in the room as well as their matchmaking mamas made it obvious to Rose that this was clearly a single gentleman of some repute. It was surprising to see the blatant eagerness on the part of the debutantes.

  I know this is called the Marriage Mart, but really, have a little dignity, Rose thought with disgust as the young ladies fluttered and preened around her. She was reminded of the flock of peahens on the grounds of their estate.

  Rose turned to look at her mother when she heard another hiss coming from her. Lady Smythe was gazing transfixed in the same direction she had been looking. Intrigued, Rose turned back to see if she too could catch a glimpse of the gentleman causing such a commotion. She had never seen such a look upon her mother’s face. Her infernal curiosity moved her to discover its source.

  She could not see his face, but from the erectness of his posture and the lack of gray in his hair she assumed that he was a young nobleman. He walked with a slight swagger that she was surprised to find appealing. Arrogance was not a quality she would normally admire, but on him it seemed somehow fitting. She wished he would turn around so she could see if his face matched the rest of him. Rose held her breath as it seemed that her will was to be rewarded.

  ****

  Their eyes collided and locked for what was probably the briefest moment, but for Rose it felt like a lifetime passed. Her stomach dropped and a mysterious thrill shivered up her spine as she recognized who owned all of that handsomeness. Her lips parted on a whispered “Alex” as she took in the changes the past three years had wrought on her former friend. Time had definitely been kind to him. Gone was any youthful fleshiness. In its place his cheekbones were much more defined than she remembered and he had the beginnings of creases in his forehead and around his mouth.

  Rose now understood the cooing and fluttering of the many debutantes. The Duke of Wrentham was a sight to behold. His sea-green eyes were even more piercing than she could remember and she now saw that his hair had darkened to a rich chestnut. He had an air of detached authority that had certainly not existed when they had been friends.

  He has changed a great deal and clearly he has been worrying too much, she thought to herself with concern, before she remembered everything else and turned her back on her former best friend.

  It had taken great effort to tear her eyes away from him. He had been such a lovely friend to her when she was a child. Her only friend, really, it had seemed at times. It was clear to her that inheriting the dukedom had been a worrisome trial for him. He had never wanted to be the duke, she remembered rather absently, as she marveled over the changes she noticed in him.

  Rose didn’t have long to analyze her multitude of reactions to seeing him so suddenly. Resolving to think of it later, she had to attend to Mama, who was looking as near to apoplexy as Rose had ever witnessed. Mama’s mantra had always been don’t make a scene, so a sense of consternation swamped Rose at seeing her so close to losing her composure. Finding a reason to be glad they were socially insignificant, Rose managed to take her mother’s arm and escort her to a retiring room before anyone noticed their disturbance.

  “Can you believe the gall of that man, showing up at a ball where we might be in attendance?” Lady Smythe demanded. She kept her voice low but the tone’s urgency was piercing nonetheless.

  Rose glanced around the small room set apart for the private use of the lady guests. She was relieved to see that they were alone except for the maidservant in the corner. That young woman quickly averted her eyes when she realized that they required her discretion more than her assistance. Smiling politely at Rose, she mumbled something about needing some more pins and scurried from the room.

  The dark paneling and velvet-upholstered furniture would have been appealing to Rose if she could have appreciated them in that moment, but all her attention was focused on her mother. Despite being alone in the room, she carefully kept her voice low.

  “But Mama, how could he know we would be here? We have been out of the country for nearly two years. He cannot be held accountable for our social calendar.” Rose tried to be reasonable but her own feelings were too divided on the subject; her argument came out sounding weak.

  “He should never show his face amongst decent people, regardless of our attendance,” Mama declared, her proper tones in strange contrast with the vehemence of her words.

  Rose could see that her mother was not going to be capable of thinking coherently at the moment. Even though she too resented the Duke, her mother’s words were going a bit too far. She couldn’t rightly say the man was indecent. Instead of trying to reason with her about Wrentham, she merely set herself to the task of calming her.

  “Mama, we are guests in the home of Lord and Lady Chorney. We cannot embarrass them or ourselves by causing a scene, no matter the provocation.”

  Lady Smythe drew a sharp inward breath at her daughter’s words. “I never cause a scene. What are you prattling on about?” As she looked down her narrow nose, her pride came to her rescue.

  “I know, Mama,” Rose tried to soothe, “but you were clearly upset by the sight of Alex.”

  “Do not speak his name with such familiarity! He is dead to us.”

  Despite the discomfort she was feeling, Rose could not stop a smile at her mother’s uncharacteristically dramatic words. Not wishing to upset her further, Rose tried to wipe it away before continuing. “All right, Mama, but do you think you can return to the ballroom, or shall we fetch Papa and call for our carriage?”

  Rose watched her mother’s effort to pull herself together, rather awestruck at the woman’s transformation. Within a moment she could see no evidence of her mother’s momentary distress.

  “Thank you, dear, for your concern, but there is no need to disturb your father. I shall be perfectly fine. We cannot leave now; we have practically just arrived. You have not yet set foot upon the dance floor. How are we going to get you creditably established if we return home at the first discomfort? Now come along, Rosamund, quit your dithering, we should be in the ballroom.”

  Rose stifled another grin at her mother’s commandeering of the situation. She would have been happier if Mama had agreed to go home, even though she hated the thought of being a quitter. But this debutante business was deadly dull in her estimation. With another suppressed sigh, she dutifully followed her mother back to the ballroom. Not even the unsettling presence of the Duke of Wrentham could make this irksome event more interesting.

  ****

  Back in the ballroom, Alex let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as she had turned away from him. His hand rubbed his chest absently as though to soothe away the ache in his heart. A sense of foreboding rested upon him momentarily. Rose being here for the Season was not going to help him in his quest for a quiet, unassuming duchess.

  Clearly their family feud had not lessened with the passage of time. His mother would disown him if she knew how he felt, but he considered the conflict that had divided their families to be idiotic. He sighed with resignation as he forced his eyes to stop gazing at the beautiful woman moving from the corner of the ballroom.

  Her
hair was piled up in some intricate, inexplicable way that young ladies so loved. It looked stunning on her; her elegant neck was accentuated by the one piece that dangled down from the complicated knot on top. She had blossomed into a woman in the past three years, he noticed, feeling the tug of attraction. She had always been a pretty girl, but now she was a beautiful young woman. As he was greeted and hailed by many in the crowd, the thought niggled at the back of his mind that she couldn’t possibly be a wallflower.

  “The Smythes are here, aren’t they, Your Grace?” his good friend, Wesley, asked him quietly, careful not to look at the subject of his question.

  “Have you seen them?” Alex asked, also keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, but trying not to appear as though he was whispering. Alex was well aware that if it appeared he had a secret the entire ton would be agog to know its source.

  “No,” Wesley grinned, “but I have heard that they are back in Town and I can tell from your posture that you are even more tense than usual.”

  “And you attribute that to the Smythes?” Alex was incredulous over his friend’s assumptions. “You do not think it is just the atmosphere of salivating mamas trying to sink their matrimonial claws into me for the sake of their darling daughters that has me tied up in knots this evening?”

  “But that is always the case whenever you attend one of these infernal affairs, Ancroft,” Wesley explained patiently, using his former title as a term of familiarity. “I am telling you, you are markedly different tonight.”

  With a snort, the duke chose to ignore his friend’s observation as he really could not effectively dispute it since the Smythes were in attendance and the headache that was beginning to form would confirm that he was, in fact, more tense than usual. He would be willing to argue the subject upon some other occasion, but clearly now was not the time.

  With a sigh that he tried to keep to himself, Alex turned back to survey the crowd. “We might as well invite someone to dance. Our hostess will look at us askance if we do not.”