The Forbidden Passion of a Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Lucy Langton

  “I must apologise again,” Emilia said.

  “It’s too late. Leave me, Miss Stewart.”

  “As you wish,” Emilia replied, exiting the library and closing the door behind her. In the hallway there was only silence and very little light. A warm glow from the single taper burning in the library could be seen underneath the door, but aside from that the only thing to light Emilia’s way was the moon shining through nearby windows. How wretched everything seemed in that moment. Despite the tense electricity that she felt when the earl grabbed onto her so, in the wake of the excitement there was a dull pain and achiness that Emilia could not comprehend. Had the earl’s opinion of her truly been ruined forever? Would he never trust her again? It was too early in her service at Glastonbrook for everything to go so miserably wrong.

  *

  Back within the library, the earl sat in quiet contemplation, willing the racing of his heart to cease. The governess was so young, so fragile, and yet when he placed his hands upon her, something deep and hungry stirred within him. He would need to stay away from the girl as much as possible in order to quell the intense sensations that she created within him. For the rest of that night, he was determined to focus on the affairs of Glastonbrook, the future of his sister, and tasks that needed to be completed. Anything to keep his mind off of Miss Emilia Steward.

  *

  As Emilia walked back to her room, she wondered how she might amend the situation. The following morning she could serve the earl his tea with her own two hands. She could take pains to go into town to procure fresh flowers to adorn the home. There were little things she could think of to express her apology, and possibly endear her to him.

  Then a far more wretched thought came to mind: what if the earl decided to banish her completely? It was easy to do. He could very well make arrangements to send her to a different home. He could even send her away with no future prospects. It was entirely within the realm of possibility.

  A cold chill came over Emilia’s body as she thought of it. Where would she go? To whom could she turn?

  Not yet to her room, Emilia heard footsteps and a whisper. She thought that perhaps Winnifred might still be awake, but the footsteps were so gentle in nature that it must not be possible.

  “Emilia,” the whispered voice said, and she realised it was coming from an adjacent room where the door was ajar. The light of the moon flooded in, and near the window she could perceive a crouched figure wrapped in a blanket.

  “Lady Deirdre,” Emilia said in shock. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, I could not sleep.”

  “It seems that no one in this house can sleep tonight.”

  “It is the five-year anniversary, this night,” Deirdre whispered.

  “Oh?” Emilia replied, not wishing to enquire more about it lest she give away what she had read in the journal.

  “But let’s not talk of that. Joshua has been so stern all day, and I think fragile,” Deirdre went on.

  “That is a very good observation,” Emilia replied, seating herself beside the girl and putting a loving hand on her back.

  “Sometimes I come here when I’m worried or afraid, to look out over the countryside.”

  “Yes, it is a remarkable vantage,” Emilia said, turning to look off into the distance as well.

  “And it’s always warm here. The kitchen is right below us, you see, and the heat travels up, up, up,” Deirdre explained.

  “Yes, I can feel the warmth.”

  “What do you do when you feel worried and frightened?” Deirdre asked.

  “I read, I suppose,” Emilia said, holding the book aloft. “It comforts me to do so, and it transports me.”

  “I do wish that I liked reading as much as you do. Sometimes I find it so dull. But I did like the Shakespeare.”

  “Shakespeare is a great place to start, but there is so much more,” Emilia explained. “You need only take one turn through your brother’s library to understand that.”

  The momentary peace was supplanted by the memory of what had just transpired in that library. Guilt and fear filled Emilia yet again.

  “Does it frighten you when your brother is stern?” Emilia asked.

  “It does not frighten me, but it makes me sad. He did not used to be so.”

  “What was he like, if I may ask?”

  “I think he was very happy. He’s always been very focused and serious, but he was definitely happier once.”

  As Deirdre said those words, Emilia was enveloped in a wave of sadness, that much she could see. She wished to know more, everything that had happened. But with only a few words from that journal, Emilia felt as though she could fill in the rest with her own imagination.

  “He looks at you in such a funny way,” Deirdre finally said, breaking the silence.

  “What do you mean?” Emilia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Deirdre went on, her brow knit in childlike confusion. “I sometimes catch him looking at you when you walk by, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Maybe he does not like you.”

  Emilia was grateful for Deirdre’s candour, but the last statement made her heart clench. It was the same fear that she was having before happening upon Deirdre in the moonlight.

  “I certainly hope that’s not the case. I do like being here, and I do not wish to leave.”

  “I like having you here. You’re so easy to talk to, and it seems like you’ve had so many adventures. Oh, how I long to have adventures, too.”

  “You will one day,” Emilia said, putting out her hand, taking Deirdre’s in her own. “I promise you that there will be many adventures.”

  “What is this book?” Deirdre asked, pointing to the volume in Emilia’s hand.

  “It is called One Thousand and One Nights. It’s the earl’s favourite book.”

  “I did not know my brother had a favourite book.”

  “He suggested that I read it.”

  “What is it about?”

  “I know the premise, because the book is quite famous. It’s a series of tales that a woman tells in order to entertain the king each night. If she should run out of tales, then he chops off her head.”

  “How ghastly,” Deirdre replied.

  “Indeed, but throughout the course of the tales, the king falls in love with the girl.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Yes, it is indeed romantic.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” Deirdre asked, leaning in.

  “I . . . don’t believe that I ever have, no,” Emilia replied, and immediately felt a constriction in her chest. Why, when she was asked that question, was her body filled with heat at the memory of how the earl had clasped her arm. The look of ferocity in his eyes that seemed to mask some kind of tenderness. No, Emilia was probably making it all up in her imagination, the physical chemistry that she had felt. The earl was under duress and no doubt had gone further than he had intended, and that was what left the strange and new sensations that Emilia was feeling throughout her body.

  “My brother once told me he would never love again. He vowed it.”

  “Is that so?” Emilia asked, her heart constricting again.

  “Yes, he made a promise. I think he said it in vain, though. I would imagine that no one can will themselves to not love. The heart has its own mind.”

  “You’re wiser than you know, Lady Deirdre.”

  “But I would very much like to see him fall in love. I want him to fall in love with you.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Emilia said in shock.

  “Then I can have you here all the time,” Deirdre said, reaching out and embracing Emilia. “I don’t like it when people come and go.”

  “You sweet thing,” Emilia replied, gently petting Deirdre’s silky hair.

  “We can put on plays!” Deirdre said with jubilation, pulling herself out of the embrace. “Shakespearean plays. I will make the costumes with my own two hands. Then we will perform them for my brother, and he will fall in love with you. That is
our plan.”

  “Oh Deirdre stop, I’m laughing so hard!” Emilia said, bringing her hands up to her face.

  “Or you should read to him from this book,” Deirdre went on, holding the volume up. “Every night you can read to him from his favourite book so that he will fall in love with you.”

  “It does not work like that.”

  “Why not?” Deirdre asked with a frown.

  “Because, first of all, the notion of the Earl of Cunningham having any kind of feelings for me other than disdain is unfathomable. Second of all, he is my employer. And most importantly, we are situated in very different places in society.”

  “Because you have no money,” Deirdre said moodily.

  “Not only that, but you must understand that social classes do not mix. When it’s time for you to marry, your brother will find someone who is of equal or higher ranking to yourself. Most likely the latter.”

  “And what if I wish to marry a fisherman.”

  “It is not possible.”

  “Or a baker.”

  “That as well cannot happen.”

  “But what if we’re madly in love?” Deirdre asked, falling backwards and lying upon the ground, looking up at the ceiling.

  Emilia remained silent, contemplating just how much of the truth she should share with Lady Deirdre. No, it would be impossible for her to marry a man in the lower classes, just as it would be impossible for Emilia to marry aristocracy. There were certain ways of doing things in proper society, and all classes must adhere to those precious rules. Love did not factor anywhere.

  “I’m going to marry a confectioner,” Deirdre went on, unfazed by Emilia’s words. She pulled a couple of pieces of wrapped toffee from her pocket. “Would you like to split this?”

  “Where did you get that?” Emilia asked.

  “When Joshua and I went to town I was allowed to procure a new hat, only after he approved of it, of course. And when he paid a call to the bank, I slipped into the toffee shop and purchased a whole handful. I smuggled them into the house, you see.”

  “You’re so devious , Lady Deirdre.”

  “One must be, in this household.”

  “Why don’t we have just one each? And then both of us must go to bed. The hour is late and our lessons will begin early tomorrow.”

  “Very well then,” Deirdre replied with a sigh, unwrapping the paper and sharing the toffee between them. “You eat yours first,” she added, handing Emilia the toffee.

  “How about we eat it at the same time?” Emilia said with a smile.

  “That sounds excellent.”

  The two ladies placed their toffee in their mouths and smiled at one another, delighting in the rich flavour.

  “How divine,” Deirdre said, her eyes rolling back into her head. “I wish I could do that every day.”

  “Yes, there’s something extraordinary about it. I will be chewing it for hours!”

  “Maybe you can feed my brother toffees. That would make him fall in love with you.”

  “Come now, Lady Deirdre, it’s time for bed.”

  “I suppose,” Deirdre replied with a sigh.

  Emilia helped Deirdre, who was still wrapped tightly in a blanket, to her feet.

  “Pleasant dreams to you,” Emilia said, giving her a kiss upon the cheek. Deirdre yawned and drifted along the hall in a daze, as though she were already half asleep.

  Emilia had to admit that she was exhausted as well. So much had transpired that evening and she longed for her bed.

  Finding her way to the servants’ stairs, she went up two more flights and was home at last, down the hall and into her room. Closing the door behind her, she lay down upon the bed and stared up at the ceiling, her shawl still around her shoulders. It was silly of Deirdre to wish that the earl might fall in love with her. Absolutely ridiculous. In fact, Emilia was quite certain that he hated her, and the following morning she was convinced that she would be awoken to her fate. Did she regret reading from the journal? No, she could not do that either. That bit of information had informed so much of what she examined in the earl’s behaviour. There was no turning back.

  As Emilia lay there, sleep kept threatening to take over. She was too tired to get under the covers, or to scrub her face. Her body gave over to the firmness of the mattress and her muscles relaxed. As she hastily fell into a dream, the first figure that appeared was none other than the Earl of Cunningham himself. He came before her dressed in a robe and wearing a crown, a sceptre in his hand. Emilia was seated before him, her feet bare, as she read from a book.

  Just as the dream began to fully envelop her, Emilia was awoken by the sound of boots thudding down the hall, shaking the walls and her small bed. Someone was coming to her door. As she heard her door knob turn, Emilia felt as though she could scarcely breathe.

  Chapter 8

  The door opened abruptly, and Emilia darted up to a seated position, holding the blanket across her chest. She was still wearing her sleeping costume, and therefore had sufficient cover, however the sleeve had fallen haphazardly off her shoulder, exposing her skin to the dark light of the room.

  It was not Hugh who stood in her doorway, that much was certain. The unbearably tall form could only be the Earl of Cunningham, and from the moonlight that poured through the window, she could tell that he was furious.

  She was trembling and knew not what to say. Had the earl truly just barged into her room in the middle of the night, unaccompanied and with his shirt so carelessly unbuttoned as it was? His whole person was in a state of disarray, hair wild, eyes wide, as though he had seen a ghost. Approaching the bed, his boots made the floors and walls reverberate yet again.

  “M’Lord?” she asked simply, not able to conjure any complex thoughts or responses.

  “What have you done?” the earl asked in a low growl, finally standing over where she sat and forcefully placing his hands upon her shoulders, both the covered one and the exposed one.

  “I have already apologised,” Emilia began to say.

  “I don’t want your apologies, I want answers,” the earl replied, his voice gaining in volume. He brought one knee upon the bed to give him leverage and then pushed Emilia backwards, clutching her tightly. She was afraid that he might shake or beat the answers out of her, but instead he held on to her for dear life. “How much do you know? What did you read?”

  “I . . . I –” Emilia tried to reply, but the words were choked and strangled in her throat. Her mouth went dry and her senses rattled. His touch was warm, animal-like, ferocious in a way that she had never experienced before.

  “You will speak when I bid you to.”

  “Please, let me go. I can scarcely breathe,” Emilia managed to reply.

  The earl would not relent. Rather, he pushed her back down on the bed and hovered over her, pinning down her hands. Emilia feared that she might scream, but then, looking deep into the earl’s eyes, something put her at ease. Behind the fury and rage she saw compunction, and a kind of curiosity as he met her gaze. Her heart pounding in her chest, Emilia softened under the earl’s grasp. She felt encaged by him but was not afraid. Rather, a delicious warmth came over her entire body, and from the softened expression on his face, he clearly felt the same.

  The earl released her hands and sat up, giving her space to breathe and calm herself down again. He did not look down at her but merely sat on the bed, glancing towards the door that remained ajar.

  “What do you now know?” the earl asked, his tone more measured. He ran his hand through his tousled hair and seemed to be steadying himself, shaken in much the same way that Emilia herself was. For a moment, she felt bad for him. She saw how deeply and completely the information that she had read troubled him, and to what degree her knowledge of it vexed him.

  “To be honest with you, M’Lord,” Emilia began, remaining where she lay in the bed, not daring to move one inch. “what is in that journal is none of my business.”

  “But you read it, nonetheless, did you not?” he
asked, still not turning to look down at her.

  “There was a passage that I momentarily glanced at, yes.”

  “And what were the contents of that passage?”

  “It is not my business to say. I have erased it from my memory.”