“I am afraid not,” Charles replied, a surge of gratitude rushing through him at his father’s astuteness. “I have business with an acquaintance from High Wycombe. I intend to depart on Wednesday and stay for several weeks.”
“Is it someone we know?” His mother’s eyes lit with curiosity, undoubtedly eager for some gossip.
“I do not believe so, no.” Charles placed a generous fork full of boiled egg in his mouth and chewed, effectively putting an end to his mother’s inquiry.
* * *
Bridget had been sitting by the lakeside for goodness knew how many hours, but after the night of sleep that she’d had, she was thankful for the solitude. Resting her chin on her raised knees, she watched as the sun rose in a glorious symphony of colours and light. A bird flew gracefully across the sky, its feathers unruffled by the persistent cool breeze. Would that she could grow wings and fly away to a new land to escape all her troubles.
Bridget supposed that it was time to return to Mason Hall, though she would rather remain by the lake and enjoy the sound of the birds and insects greeting the day. If good fortune was with her, her advertisement would garner at least one response. If that were so, then she would be wise to change into something appropriate and wait in the parlour for callers.
She stood, patting at her skirts, then made her way back to the Hall.
Pulling loose the ribbons of her bonnet, she entered through the French doors in the drawing room, the warmth enveloping her all at once.
“Where the devil have you been?” Lane’s voice boomed.
Bridget jumped and spun, nearly toppling over an armchair. “Lane!” The sun’s rays from the French doors gave his hair an amber glow, only slightly softening the taut anger on his features. “What in heaven’s name are you doing hiding in the corner?”
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug of feigned dispassion and stepped toward her. He halted a few paces in front of her and leaned his hip against the back of a pink, floral-patterned settee. “I have had the servants searching for you for the past two hours.”
“Why would you have them do such a thing?”
He frowned, combing his hand through his already dishevelled hair and crossing his arms over his chest. “You weren’t in your room when Helen went in to wake you. She alerted the others in the house, and we have been searching ever since.”
Bridget dropped her bonnet and gloves on the armchair, then stepped around it, toward Lane. “You needn’t worry about me. I merely took a walk about the gardens, then watched the sun rise at the lake.”
The muscles in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. He was silent for several moments, his gaze averted. “I would prefer it if you inform someone the next time you choose to leave.”
Bridget frowned. “If I receive a position as a governess, I will not be under this roof much longer. I would rather you have confidence in my ability to take care of myself.”
Bridget knew that she should be heartened by his worry, but annoyance filled her, instead. Did they think her so incapable of being independent? Did she require a chaperone everywhere she went? Her frown deepened.
“Whatever you think of me, Lane, I am not as frail as you seem to believe I am. I may have been prone to weepiness of late, but I vow that that has changed. I have changed.”
His expression quickly altered from worried anger to compassion…and pity, blast him. “For the better, I hope.” He smiled at his own quip, then sobered once more. “I know that you are not frail, Bridget. I have never thought it. I know that something happened between you and Charles that the both of you will not discuss—other than what you have informed me of already—and I accept that. I fear, however, that regardless of how old you become, you will never be too old to fret over.” He leaned down and placed a brief kiss on her forehead.
He knew something had happened between Charles and her, indeed. The man hadn’t the faintest idea what had happened. And she was grateful for it.
“I appreciate your concern, big brother, but please, have faith in my ability to look after myself.”
The muscle jumped in his jaw. “Very well. Now, if you will excuse me, I must inform the staff of your return.” He sketched a quick bow, turned, and left the room.
“That was peculiar.” She picked up her bonnet and gloves from the chair and made her way to her bedchamber to freshen up and change her frock.
She rang for her maid and selected her favourite of Katherine’s creations for the day, a flowing, pale green muslin morning gown with an overlay of a sheer white lace. If she was to receive callers or a summons, she should like to appear at her best.
What felt like an eternity, but was likely a mere hour later, Bridget sat in the front parlour with freshly brewed tea and a book. She rather enjoyed novels, but not nearly as much as Annabel or Lane.
A knock sounded at the door and their housekeeper, Mrs. Buttersworth, entered with a note in her hand. “This just come for you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Butter.” Bridget eagerly accepted the note, tearing the seal open as their housekeeper curtsied and retreated quietly.
Bridget read the letter, excitement bubbling through her as she did. She finished, then reread it several times, a sigh of happiness escaping as she scanned the last line again.
The door burst open and Katherine, Emaline, and Anna dashed into the room.
“What does it say?”
“Is it an offer for a position?”
“I just knew someone would respond!”
Bridget laughed at her sisters’ delight and enthusiasm, feeling rather enthused herself. “It is an offer! I hardly know what to say; I had hoped it would happen, but…” she shook her head as joyful tears threatened.
“Where is it located? Do they wish to meet you?” Anna sat beside her, placing an arm across her shoulder.
“The position is for a man called…” Bridget glanced down at the letter in her hands, “Mr. Bramwell Stevens and his son, Henry. They live on a grand estate in High Wycombe. He says that should I wish to accept the position, he would send a carriage for me, set to arrive this Thursday morn.” She looked up at Katherine and Emaline, who were now seated on the settee across from her, then at Anna beside her. “What do you think? Should I accept the position?”
Katherine sat forward in her seat. “I suppose that depends on what your feelings are on the matter.”
“Feelings on what matter?” Lane stepped into the room, Charles on his heels.
Bridget’s stomach fluttered and heart began to pound as she set eyes on Charles’ fine figure. One could not help but admire how his tan trousers fit snugly on his thighs, and his blue coat brought out the piercing blue of his eyes. But what affected her most were the memories: the small scar on his chin from when he’d fallen from a tree as a boy, the countless times she’d pushed his hair away from his forehead, or the flavour of the cakes they would sneak each other when their governesses weren’t looking…
Bridget ground her teeth together in an attempt to resist the foolish tears that threatened.
Anna rose to greet Charles with a hug, then gave Lane a quick buss. Charles joined Bridget on the settee, and Lane and Anna sat in nearby armchairs. Bridget was acutely aware of Charles’ nearness. Her stomach quivered again.
Anna reached a hand out to pat Lane’s knee. “We were just discussing a rather exciting letter that Bridget just received, my love.”
“Exciting?” He looked inquiringly at Bridget. “Go on, what is your news, Bridget?”
She smiled nervously, studiously ignoring Charles and his intoxicating, clean scent. “It is an offer for a governess position in High Wycombe. The gentleman’s name is Mr. Bramwell Stevens and his son’s name is Henry. This letter states that he is a recent widower in need of a caring and understanding governess able to brave his son’s wilfulness and woeful ignorance. The poor boy is a seven-year-old in need of a guiding hand. I believe that I would be suitable for this position, but I am hesitant to accept it due to the simp
le fact that I have not met Mr. Stevens. Nor have I heard of him prior to receiving this letter.”
A sharpness entered Lane’s eyes as he glanced to Charles, then back to Bridget. “It was what you had hoped for, was it not? You had decided to become a governess, and here is an offer for a position. I have met the man; he seems a good sort of chap.”
“You have?” A slight frown touched her brow, and then cleared. “Why is it that I have never heard of him?”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“So you think I should take the position and ride out to his estate on Thursday, without having met him? It is only four days from now.”
“I do not see why you shouldn’t.” Lane smiled reassuringly. “High Wycombe is not twelve miles from here; it should not take you much more than an hour, depending on the weather.”
She cast him a calculating gaze from beneath her eyelashes. “I would have to bring Helen, of course.”
“Of course,” Lane muttered.
“Yes.” Emaline smiled. “And if Mr. Stevens is amenable, he may just be your future husband!”
Charles stiffened in his seat. Bridget hoped he was vastly uncomfortable with this topic of conversation.
She shook her head. “You know that I have no intention of marrying, Emaline.”
“But why not?” Katherine folded her hands in her lap. “Surely, if the man is to your liking, and he returns the sentiment, you would consider marriage.”
“Oh!” Anna clasped her hands together at her chest. “It would be something straight out of a novel! The governess and the master of the house falling madly in love and raising the children together; how lovely would that be?”
Not the romantic tale I’d had in mind. She smiled indulgently at her family. Better to placate them on this topic or she would not hear the end to their fantasies. “We shall see. Should he capture my heart, I will not hesitate to accept a proposal.”
The strangled sound of someone suppressing laughter came from beside her, and she turned to gaze sharply at Charles. He had been the cause of her predicament, darn him, and if he found this amusing she would be furious.
“Do you find humour in my circumstance, Major Bradley? Or perhaps you would care for refreshment?” she asked between clenched teeth. “Tea?” She stood and brushed at her skirts, the letter still in one hand. “I believe my family is capable of obliging you. If you will all excuse me, I have a response to write, and trunks to begin packing.” She turned as gracefully as she was able, but the frailty of her nerves, and the rush of anger surging through her at the moment, had her trembling.
* * *
Charles watched Bridget leave the room, guilt and jealousy warring within him. He knew what had upset her, but he was certain that she had misunderstood.
She thought he had been suppressing laughter, but truthfully, he had been suppressing a cry of protest. The last thing that he cared to think on was Bridget falling for Stevens. He might be working with Charles, and like Lane said, Stevens was a decent chap and a fine man, but Charles did not want the man to become intimate with Bridget.
Another rush of jealousy raged through him. He must remember to speak to Stevens and remind him that Bridget was to be monitored and protected, not thought of as a potential wife or, God forbid, a lover.
He surged to his feet. “I should speak to Lady Bridget.” He bowed to the group. “Please excuse me.”
He heard their murmured responses as he exited, but paid them no heed. He was tired of hurting Bridget’s feelings; it may be too late to reverse the effects of his previously ill behaviour, but he would make an attempt to correct what had occurred today.
The need to protect her from harm, should she be seen associating with him, was now moot. His feelings had been found out, and she was in danger regardless of his attempt to distance himself from her. Ultimately, he had ruined their relationship, their friendship, and their future for no reason at all.
It was a damned shame.
His heart was heavy with regret, but for now, he must make things clear to Bridget.
Charles made his way up the stairs and into the family wing. He knew the location by memory. In their childhood and youth, Charles had visited Bridget here on many occasions. Whether sharing a private repast on a blanket spread on her floor, or reading to one another…
Charles missed their time together.
He came to her closed bedchamber door and knocked lightly.
The door opened, “I told you, Helen, I do not need—oh.” Bridget frowned. “It’s you.”
The door began to swing shut, but Charles put a hand out to stop its movement. “Please allow me entrance, Bridget. I wish to speak with you.”
“I do not think that is a wise idea, Major Bradley. And I have not given you leave to address me by my given name. I would prefer it if you address me formally.”
“Ballocks.”
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth dropped open at his crudity.
She recovered quickly, however, as her shock turned into annoyance, her beautiful emerald eyes glinting at him from beneath perfectly fierce blonde eyebrows. “I would thank you not to use such language in my presence, sir.”
“I believe at one time you found my sense of humour amusing. But for now I will do as you ask, so long as you allow me a moment to speak with you alone. Please.”
Charles could see Bridget’s internal struggle play over her expression, her eyes full of indecision. He resisted the desire to look down at her delectable body. She was positively edible in her pale green confection of a gown. It brought out the fierceness of her green eyes. Her cheeks flamed under the intensity of his stare.
“Please, Bridget. Allow me the chance to speak with you.” He paused as she remained silent. “I shan’t kiss you.”
She hesitated, but nodded and stepped aside, opening the door wider to allow him to pass. As he did, he caught her sweet honey scent, and his heart began to race. Good God, but the woman had a strong effect on him.
Bridget crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his gaze down to her voluptuous form. His mouth went dry and his skin began to prickle. He must make this quick, or he would do something he would regret.
He cleared his throat and rushed forward. “I came to assure you that I do not find your gaining a position as a governess amusing. I congratulate you on your steadfastness and determination, and I wish you luck.”
Bridget gazed at him sceptically. “You congratulate me?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“And you would have no objection to my falling in love and marrying my new employer? Or anyone else, for that matter?”
He squelched the jealousy burning in his gut. “No. I would not object if you found someone with whom to share your life.” But the good Lord knew that if he could earn her love once more, he would not squander it as he had before. That would, however, mean the end of his career, as well. Unless, of course, he could attain a position high up in the Home Office. Then he could have a life with Bridget without the threat of constant danger hanging over their heads.
She looked down at her slippered feet. “Good. Then you would not intervene should I wish to take a lover?”
“What?” he roared.
Her head shot up and she hurriedly closed her bedchamber door. “Keep your voice down, will you?”
“Of course I would intervene!” He hissed. “You are a lady, not a courtesan.”
“You had no objections five years ago, why should you do so now? Is it because I would not be in your bed? Are you the exception to the rules of propriety, Major Bradley?”
His heart thudded in a sickening manner, his stomach twisted tightly. “Have you lost your senses? You are worth more than a few quick tumbles and you know it. Stop speaking nonsense.”
“Am I worth more? I hardly think so. I am resigned to a life of spinsterhood; I might as well enjoy myself now and then. With the money I earn as a governess, I will purchase a small estate in the country. I have no intention of mouldering
away by myself; I will require companionship. If I manage my own home, no one shall complain that I entertain a lover or two, so long as I pay my servants handsomely.”
Charles grabbed Bridget’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “What of the other dangers? What of pregnancy?”
“I will take precautionary measures, but if it were to happen, I should be delighted. I would have a child to love.”
“Delighted?” He felt as though he’d swallowed a stone. “That child that you adored would be branded a bastard, and you a whore.”
Bridget flinched at the harsh words, but she still stood steadfast against him. “I hardly see that it is any business of yours what I do with my life. You are no longer my fiancé… nor are you even my friend.”
Charles grimaced, his grip on her shoulders tensing. “You are correct. I have no right to tell you what to do or how to behave.” He pulled her closer, bringing his face down to hers, breathing in her intoxicating honey scent. “But I can certainly alter the status of our association.”
He brought his lips to hers in a haze of jealousy, frustration, and poorly restrained lust. If he could not convince her to continue on as a respectable lady, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her take on any lover other than him.
She tasted of teacakes and passion. So addictive. Good God, he didn’t want to let her go.
Coaxing her mouth to open beneath his lips, he plunged his tongue inside. A groan escaped her as he pulled her tighter against his body, letting her feel his arousal.
He pulled his lips from hers and looked down into her glazed eyes. “Let me be your lover, Bridget,” he whispered, shocked at the roughness of his own voice. “Become my mistress.”
Chapter 6
Bridget stared at Charles as shock rippled through her. She did not know whether to be flattered or insulted. She had mentioned taking a lover just to see if she could provoke him, not because she had any genuine intention of doing so.
The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2) Page 6