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

by Lucy Langton

  “He is always furious, is he not?”.

  To that the only response was silence. Emilia, for whatever reason, no longer felt afraid. The earl could banish her that very moment and she would show no remorse. What had happened between the Earl of Cunningham and herself had felt right. She could not deny her passion and she had given into it, feeling an intense pleasure that she had never felt before. Emilia Stewart was ready to face her fate.

  “He’s in his chamber,” Hugh said, closing his umbrella once they had entered the kitchen. “Be sure to warm yourself and dry off before you speak with him.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Emilia replied, deciding instead that she would come to the earl as she was, soaked to the bone and courageous. She walked up the stairs, feeling the water trickle down her legs and off her face.

  Reaching the earl’s door, she knocked gently and rather quickly the door was opened for her. There was shock and terror on the earl’s face.

  “What have you done?” the earl asked.

  “I have been for a walk,” Emilia explained.

  “In this weather? What has got into you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The earl opened the door further and Emilia stepped in, immediately feeling the warmth from the fireplace

  “Come and stand here,” the earl said, taking her by the shoulders and leading her to the flames.

  “I thank you,” Emilia replied.

  “What has got into you?” the earl repeated.

  *

  In truth, it was a silly question, because he knew exactly what had got into Emilia. He did not intentionally wish to hurt her with his silence, but he was struggling so greatly with what had transpired that he could not even find the words to explain. How could he say that his heart was breaking as much as hers? What would be the proper way of saying that he would think of her, and her alone, as he lay in bed at night? What’s more, how was he to express to her that their coupling, their union, was utterly impossible, in the light of society’s standards? Instead of explaining any of this, the earl remained mute, silent in the face of his own desires.

  “Sit down,” he said, pulling up a chair.

  “Very well,” Emilia replied.

  Once seated, Emilia put up her hands to warm them in front of the fire. She closed her eyes and seemed to delight in the warmth.

  “There’s something that I must tell you,” the earl began. Actually, there were a hundred things that he must tell her, but there was only one that he could possibly utter.

  “And what is that?” Emilia asked, turning to him.

  “I have decided, in the past few days, that I need to take another course.”

  “What course is that?” Emilia asked, amazed by her own ghost-like detachment.

  “I have chosen to take a wife,” the earl said.

  *

  Emilia’s heart leapt and then sank. The first notion was constructed in her imagination, that she might be his wife. The next thought was a realisation, that the earl was not referring to her at all.

  “And who will it be?” Emilia asked, turning back towards the flames.

  “I have decided to court Lady Spencer, yet again.”

  If Emilia’s heart had already sunk, it proceeded to sink deeper, down through the floor and out the other side of the earth. Emilia was convinced that it was not possible for her heart to break and dissipate any further. The earl’s words were destroying her, and yet she remained looking at the flames placidly, as though she had no feelings at all.

  “And do you think that’s a good idea?” Emilia asked.

  “I think it’s beneficial for the Cunningham name, yes,” the earl went on.

  “And is she amenable to this courting?” Emilia asked, her voice hushed and distant even to her own ears.

  “I think that she is, yes,” the earl replied. “It is not only for the sake of duty that I do this,” he went on to explain, pacing the room with his hands held tightly behind his back, “but it is also the course of action that would have made my mother happy. I still believe that she is watching down over me. It was her express wish that I should marry Lady Spencer, and with haste.”

  “Did your mother ever ask you if having Lady Spencer for a wife would make you happy?” Emilia asked, challenging him.

  The earl looked to her as though what she said were blasphemy.

  “What does it matter what will make me happy?” he asked.

  “I think your mother would want for you to be happy, do you not? Not merely to give your life over to her own happiness.”

  All Emilia’s hope was gone. There was nothing left between her and the earl. The intimacy that they had shared could not be continued, that much was clear. Yet still her fighting spirit would not give over to the earl’s plan for marriage. She did not trust Lady Spencer. Emilia was unable to describe it, but every instinct in her body dictated that the woman had sour intentions. And although the earl could not be hers, Emilia was still committed to protecting him at all costs.

  “I think that you will grow to like Lady Spencer, with time,” the earl reasoned.

  “You will keep me at Glastonbrook?” Emilia asked, thinking it improbable and strange.

  “Of course, I will keep you. Deirdre needs you,” the earl said.

  “And do you need me, as well?” It was an enormous risk, asking him that question. But Emilia could not help but confront him in that moment, no matter what the consequences might be.

  “Miss Stewart . . . ” the earl went on. “Of course, you know that . . . your presence here at Glastonbrook is of the utmost importance to me.”

  The earl’s eyes were imploring, boring into hers. Emilia felt that physical intensity yet again. She desired to reach out to him, to be in his arms once more, to feel the warmth of his skin.

  The bed was right there. The very same bed where they had shared so much of themselves but days before. It was all becoming too much for Emilia, and a warm flush came to her cheek.

  “I know that this situation is, not ideal,” the earl went on.

  “No, it is not.”

  “But please trust that . . . ”

  “What should I trust?”

  The earl sighed. “Emilia . . . ” he began. “There is no solution to the dangerous situation in which we have found ourselves. No words will serve to . . . ” he drifted off.

  “There is something that I must leave with you,” Emilia said, rifling through her pocket to find the letter. She had folded it up tight, waiting for the opportunity when she could leave it in the earl’s presence, willing him to finally open it and face the truth. Emilia set the letter down upon the desk, then proceeded to walk back towards the door.

  *

  “Where are you going?” he asked. He only briefly glanced to where the letter sat, still not able to open it.

  “I’m leaving this room, M’Lord,” Emilia explained placidly. “I am afeared of what happens when we’re here.”

  The earl felt a cold rush of terror run through him. Did Emilia think that what they had done was wrong? Had she regretted it, and was she resolved to never be alone in his presence again? The thought pained him, and he wondered how he should survive if Emilia denied him so.

  She left the room and he let her go, knowing that it would be wrong to make her stay, as he wished to do. He needed to be alone to think, to consider what he had, and what he was doing in the future.

  Courting Lady Spencer was the only sensible thing to do. It would fulfil his duty as the Earl of Cunningham, and it would allow him to create heirs to the family name as soon as possible. Those were all things that were utterly necessary considering his position. Yet selfishly, he hoped to never let Emilia go. To always have her near, no matter whether he was married or no.

  The real truth of the matter he was still having difficulty facing: he could have Emilia’s heart and her soul – he would seize them if he must – but he could not have her body. Not in the way that he had taken it – almost devoured it fully
– the other evening. That was something that was forbidden to them. How excruciating to remove what he had just had the most delicious taste of. The earl had got close to reaching his desires, dangerously close. But they would go no further. To do so would be to go past the point of no return, and that was not something that the earl was able to bear.

  He knelt in front of the fire and willed himself to think of something other than Emilia. Anything would do. He looked over at the letter on the desk and shook his head. Perhaps he would look at it later that night, or maybe the following day. One thing was for sure, he would not pay any more attention to it now.

  The rain continued to pummel outside, and all felt lost. He wished for Emilia to return to his room, to remain by the fire where he could see her from time to time and tell her of things that were on his mind. He would not have his wishes met, but he did take comfort in the knowledge that she was under his roof, and safe. That was something that he could control. Everything else seemed to be going up in flames.

  Should he take that letter and throw it into the fire? Should he embrace his plan to take Lady Spencer to wife, and banish any fears that Emilia had planted inside him?

  He walked over to the desk and grasped the letter in his hand, considering things. Finally, he set it back down again and walked away.

  Chapter 21

  In the days that followed, Emilia was intent upon being polite. Each time the earl passed she gave a gently curtsy and went about her business. The earl would respond in kind, politely bowing his head, and move on to his next task.

  But all the while the tension was mounting.

  The longing and yearning in Emilia’s heart and body would not cease, and the sensation of it was palpable.

  The only thought that brought Emilia solace was that all was impossible. She and the earl could never be one in the manner she craved. There must always be a separation between them, and as long as she held on to that fact, she could not get lost in musings of an impossible future.

  With her new sense of focus, Emilia found that she was able to accomplish the tasks at hand each day, and with renewed stamina and vigour. Deirdre was learning at a rapid pace, inspired by her governess’s passion and clarity of thought. They carried on in the afternoons, taking lessons in the garden when the weather was bright, and when the storms returned they would light a fire in the study and sip on cocoa whilst they read Virgil and Sophocles.

  It was on one evening in particular when this interval of peace would be destroyed in Emilia’s mind. The earl was hosting a dinner party – something that was rare for him to do – and only after the guests began to arrive did Emilia discover that Lady Spencer was a member of the party. Of course, it was to be expected, but the presence of the imposing woman only drove home the painful reality that Emilia had come to find peace with.

  What hurt more than the woman’s mere presence was the fact that she looked like a goddess, dripping with jewels and finery and wrapped in the finest satin that Emilia had ever seen. Everywhere that Lady Spencer stood it was as though all attention was on her. And she positively glimmered and shone.

  Emilia did her best to ignore her, escaping as much as possible so as not to be seen by the earl. She wished for him not to see one touch of sadness in her expression and for the most part, jealousy. Emilia was not going to give in to that horrible vice on this particular occasion.

  “Miss Stewart, would you be so kind?” Hugh said when Emilia was passing through the kitchen on the way to the servants’ staircase. He was holding a silver tray in one hand, bidding Emilia to take it from him.

  “So kind?” she asked, unsure what Hugh was imposing on her.

  “The tray,” he said, his brow lifted. “It needs passing.”

  Emilia wished to ask Hugh if he was indeed being serious. Was he asking her to pass a tray around the party like a common servant? And yet, she could not disparage servants. Many of them were her best friends and confidante. But to pass a tray under the given circumstances seemed as though it was too much.

  “Yes,” she replied, before her tongue could speak what it truly wished.

  Taking the tray from his hand, Emilia walked out of the kitchen, her heart sinking, and passed into the parlour where all the guests stood mingling. Deirdre looked her way, shock and dismay on her face, and Emilia shook her head, bidding Deirdre to dismiss the slight that had been thrust upon her.

  “And as I was saying,” the earl said, speaking to a small group that had gathered around him, “I think that with time the hunt will improve. But considering the consistent weather . . . ”

  The earl stopped mid-conversation, seeing that Emilia was standing to his right, tray in hand.

  “Miss Stewart?” the earl said.

  “M’Lord,” she replied with a bow of the head. She was determined not to cry, but her body did will her to do so.

  “My, my,” Lady Spencer said, looking Emilia up and down. “It seems that you’ve procured a new staff member.”

  “You’re mistaken, M’Lady,” the earl replied, his face sunken and cold. “This is Miss Stewart, whom you have met on a previous occasion.”

  Shock and dismay spread across Lady Spencer’s face, but Emilia knew deep within her soul that her ladyship knew all the while who she was. The woman was feigning non-recognition in order to scorn.

  “I hope that the earl is upping your weekly allowance,” Lady Spencer said with a laugh, prompting the rest of the party to laugh in kind.

  “I assure you, I do this of my own volition,” Emilia replied, showing no emotion.

  “How charming,” Lady Spencer replied with a tight smile.

  As Emilia continued her rounds through the room, the food upon the tray was quickly exhausted and so were Emilia’s spirits. She sighed to herself when she looked down at the empty tray. Would Hugh make her go for another turn?

  She looked off to the corner where Hugh stood, his gaze upon Lady Spencer, who met his gaze. And then, of all things, Emilia saw Lady Spencer wink!

  No further confirmation was needed. Emilia was sure, to the depths of her soul, that something was amiss. Lady Spencer and Hugh had a secret plan, and Emilia was on a mission to uncover it. Her first instinct was to flee the room as soon as possible, to return the tray to the kitchen and run up to her room, weeping into her pillow. But to do so was not in Emilia’s nature and so, instead, she casually walked over to where Hugh stood.

  “A pleasant gathering,” Emilia said with a forced smile.

  “Indeed,” Hugh replied, taking his eyes off Lady Spencer and scanning the room.

  “I am glad that the earl has decided to embrace society,” Emilia added. “Particularly the presence of Lady Spencer. It seems advantageous for you both.”

  Hugh darted a glance at Emilia that could cut glass. Emilia was not deterred, but rather chose to continue her assault upon his anxiety.

  “Lady Deirdre looks so happy, does she not?” Emilia added.

  “Never happier,” Hugh replied, lifting his brow.

  “I suppose that Lady Spencer will be an ideal mother for her. So free of gall, so like an open book. It’s just the type of character that Lady Deirdre needs in her life.”

  “Quite,” Hugh replied.

  From his tense expression, it was entirely clear to Emilia that she had got under his skin. Just where she hoped to be.

  “Isn’t it time for you to retire, Miss Stewart? It seems you’re up way past your bedtime. And besides, it must be so difficult to watch the earl in love as he is. That is, knowing the schoolgirl crush that you have upon him.”

  Emilia’s heart sank. Just moments before she felt as though she had been winning, but Hugh’s words cut her to the quick. Without responding, she fled, doing just as Hugh insultingly instructed her to do. She returned to her room.

  Emilia didn’t even bother to return the tray to the kitchen. She discarded it upon a side table, ran up the servants’ stairs and directly into her room where she crashed upon the bed, face first. It was to conceal
her tears, although there was no one else in her room who might see. Still, the shame and embarrassment were such that she couldn’t admit to her tears, even to herself.

  Luckily for Emilia, her weeping hastily turned into sleeping and her dreams were wild and vivid.

  She was woken by the sound of those familiar boots coming down the hall. Emilia had memorised the sound, the only sound that she could perceive. She arose with a start, and from the relative still of the rest of the estate, she assumed that the party had concluded and the guests had departed. It brought her solace, but still she could hear the earl drawing nearer.

  He opened the door gently, and at first Emilia pretended that she was still asleep, unsure why it was that, yet again, the Earl of Cunningham found himself in her room. Perhaps he would just stand there, unsure what to say, and then be on his way. Should that be the case, it was best for her to lie incredibly still until he had departed.