The Unconventional Governess
Page 4
He handed the invitation back to Jacks. “Send an acceptance.”
Chapter Four
Henrietta had definitely been duped. As the time for the house party drew closer, Lady Brandewyne’s intentions became completely clear.
She was trying to marry off Henrietta, no doubt with Uncle William’s blessing. His reasons for leaving were obviously a strategic tactic to aid Lady Brandwyne in her matchmaking.
Had he stayed, Henrietta would have been able to talk him out of this madness. But he had left to avoid the conversation, a realization that put her in a decidedly black mood.
To make things worse, Lady Brandewyne seemed to think Henrietta had forgotten the most basic tenets of How to Behave Like a Lady. When Henrietta emerged from the library or returned from a walk, invariably the woman gave her not-so-subtle etiquette lessons. Henrietta gritted her teeth and bore the verbal onslaught. After all, she was a guest in the dowager’s home.
It was not as though she had not considered leaving for London. Uncle William let a house in Mayfair, but the Season was in full swing and Henrietta had no desire to stay in an area where carriages would be bumping across the roads into all hours of the morning. If not for that, she’d leave at once for a more peaceful setting with less marital hints.
“The house party shall be a small affair, really.” Lady Brandewyne had called Henrietta in for tea in the parlor. She eyed Henrietta as though examining an infectious wound.
“I am expected to attend?” She knew she was, but she asked anyway, some puckish urge overtaking her mouth.
“But of course! It is, in a way, in your honor.” She ignored the horrified expression Henrietta could not stop from displaying. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring gowns based on the measurement of your other dresses.” She gestured to the maid, Sally, who came over. “Bring me those boxes that were delivered earlier today.”
Sally left while Henrietta struggled to control her temper. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the ferocious pounding. “You have bought gowns?”
“Only a few. I wanted to surprise you.”
Henrietta barely swallowed her snort. Surprise, indeed. More like browbeating. She feared this house party would best her social skills in unanticipated ways. She drew a deep breath, willing herself to smile, though her cheeks bunched unnaturally and her lips felt tight.
She foresaw nothing good about the coming event.
And she was right. After over a week of thinly disguised lessons in deportment and conversation suitable to ladies, the house party began. Guests arrived in various types of carriages, some more fancy than others. Lord St. Raven was among them, to Henrietta’s shock. Louise was nowhere in sight, as expected. No other guests had brought children, either.
A rich evening meal started off the party. The countess placed Henrietta next to a baronet. “My neighbor to the south,” Lady Brandewyne explained with an encouraging smile.
Henrietta did not don a return smile. She had no need to pretend to be anything other than herself. The man looked her over as though sizing up a horse at market. After the necessary introductions, he asked, “What part of England are you from?”
“North. My father was Lord Iversley but after he and my mother died, the second brother inherited the title and estate. My uncle, the youngest brother, took guardianship of me. He’s a physician and we spent most of our time in the Americas. On the battlefield,” she added, noting the crease between the baronet’s eyebrows. “Tending soldiers, keeping my uncle’s records. That sort of work.”
The man blanched and, satisfied she’d made her point, she turned back to her food. No member of the peerage, even a baronet who technically was not considered a peer, wanted a wife who had worked. Henrietta set about eating her meal, a delicious concoction of boiled fowl with oyster sauce. She ignored the pinched disapproval on Lady Brandewyne’s face and savored her food.
It was possibly the only good thing about returning to England.
After dinner, music had been arranged in the drawing room. Somehow Henrietta made it through the rest of the night without displaying a bad case of manners. She did not speak to Lord St. Raven, though she felt his eyes on her several times throughout the evening. When it seemed he might walk over and start a conversation, she avoided him. She couldn’t say what drove her to do so, only a curious sense of self-preservation. On Friday and Saturday, she escaped some of the more strenuous activities planned by citing physical weakness.
But Saturday night arrived, despite Henrietta’s prayers otherwise. She entered the ballroom with trepidation. It was not grandiose compared to London ballrooms, but for a country estate, it was fashionably large and comfortable. Sparkling chandeliers cleaned to luminescent perfection hung from the ceiling. A quartet played quietly in a corner, warming up their instruments.
The butler announced guests as they arrived. Off to the side, Henrietta sipped her punch and listened as each entrant’s name was called out. “Lord Dominic St. Raven.”
Her head snapped up. The earl strode into the ballroom, tall and confident. A grin filled with charisma and mystery shaped his lips. A smile carved a dimple into his cheek. His clothes emphasized the broad swath of his shoulders and the strong length of his legs. His hair gleamed. A strange sensation curled in Henrietta’s stomach as she stared at him from her safe little spot, where, thus far, no one had spotted her.
He was as cavalier as she’d expected, she thought as she watched him bowing over the pale, uncallused hands of the ladies present. He was laughing yet searched the room, as though his attention could not possibly be wasted on one person.
She sipped again, the punch doing little to calm her sudden case of nerves. Would he talk to her? Why was he attending Lady Brandewyne’s house party anyhow? Henrietta had assumed he’d leave the country as soon as he was well enough.
Unbidden, a memory of Louise chasing butterflies flashed through her mind. Perhaps she should ask after Louise. Their shared grief created an invisible thread and it had been difficult for Henrietta to forget the girl. Or the uncle.
She studied him as he wound his way through the room. It was a scientific improbability that she would not notice him. All of the other ladies fawned over him, and men regarded him with a certain mix of respect and envy. He was a specimen of strong heritage.
She refused to fault herself for noticing the thickness of his hair and the confidence in his stride. His skin shone with improved health and his white, cared-for teeth hinted at a fastidious nature.
Yes, even a doctor could note such things. The churning in her stomach was very natural, she assured herself. Simply a physical and chemical reaction.
And then he turned and saw her.
Quiet and unobtrusive, she edged as close to a wall as possible, yet he saw her. Their gazes connected. She looked quickly away, eager to discourage him from approaching her.
The tactic did not work. Trying not to frown, she nodded a greeting as he neared.
“I see you are walking without pain,” she said promptly.
“Is that why you were studying me so closely?”
Heat rose to her cheeks. Oh, where was that infernal fan Lady Brandewyne had shoved into her hands earlier? “You are a former patient,” she said, hearing a primness in her voice that quite pleased her. Let him do with that what he will.
“Which is why I’ve meandered over. To allow you all the inspection you may need.” His eyes crinkled, laughing at her.
It was probably better she didn’t have a fan or else she’d be tempted to swat him with it, and then Lady Brandewyne might need use of her smelling salts.
His proximity was sending her pulse speeding along her veins. He wore a light cologne that teased her senses, and his fashionable attire did not scream dandy as loudly as she thought it might. He looked rather dashing, and that was enough reason for her to lift her chin and straighten her backbone.
Those dratted crinkles deepened. “A good doctor would take more time with her patient.”
“Former patient, and I am not a doctor,” she huffed.
He inclined his head, accepting the response. Then he gestured about the room, his long, tanned fingers contrasting with the white crispness of his cuff. “So which man is to be the winner tonight?”
She followed the direction of his hand sweep, her gaze narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Your conquest...your intended. Who is it to be?”
Henrietta tilted her head, trying to figure out how he’d discovered Lady Brandewyne’s shenanigans.
His expression changed. “Don’t tell me you are not aware?”
“Aware of what?”
“Ah, that cross, suspicious tone. It tells me all I need to know.”
“You’re beastly, Lord St. Raven. Quit speaking in riddles and be out with it.”
“The guests here are a curious mingle of friends and men looking for a wife.”
“There are plenty of unattached females.” But her stomach was sinking. “Are you saying you know that this affair was created solely to marry me off?”
“There were several tells.” He tipped his cup toward her. “Your clothes, for instance. You are very pretty in that frothy confection of blues and satins. And slightly overdressed.”
“Says the man whose boots are reflecting faces.”
“They are Hessians, Miss Gordon. Do not fret, they can’t compare to your pearl-encrusted slippers that positively scream ‘marry me.’”
“I did not pick out the shoes, and the ruffles are a bit overdone.”
“Men like ruffles.”
She glowered at him, but then cast a surreptitious peek about the room, and realized he was correct. Several gentleman were staring at her. Waiting, perhaps? For her to finish her conversation with an earl who, by everything she’d overheard this weekend, had no intention of ever settling down.
To make matters worse, she had not heard from her governess-post inquiries. That left her at the mercy of Lady Brandewyne. Refusing to attend the dowager’s events would be the height of rudeness, in light of all that her ladyship had done for her.
“You’re looking very fierce, Miss Gordon,” St. Raven said lightly. “Is marriage such a loathsome prospect?”
“I have other goals.”
“When do you rejoin your uncle?”
Henrietta slid him a look. He had the appearance of sincerity, the clear green of his eyes inquisitive. “Why are you spending your time talking to me? Lady Anne is near the orchestra. She’s a beauty. Go cast your charm about her.”
St. Raven’s hand flew up, as though warding off attack. “Sharp words, and they would deeply wound me if there had not been the admittance of charm to soften the blow.”
Henrietta rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped. “Of course, that is all you heard.”
“I retain important statements,” he said solemnly.
“Obviously not—” Her laugh cut off as she spied the baronet heading toward her. “This is a disaster.”
“Future husband?” St. Raven puckered his lips in a way that was both funny and attractive. “A bit mule-faced if you ask me.”
“One cannot help the bone structure one is born with.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “We cannot all have symmetrical features, my lord, nor look as though we have been made to model for a Richard Crosse portrait.”
“You know your painters. I’m impressed. And I believe you’ve given me another compliment. Two in one evening are noteworthy.”
“Facts are not compliments.”
“Miss Gordon.” The baronet had reached them, a hopeful look upon his face. “Would you care to waltz with me?”
Henrietta felt the worst sort of panic at that point. Not only because she had not expected to waltz, considering it a fanciful and slightly inappropriate dance, but also because she hardly knew how. Before she could formulate a response, St. Raven moved forward.
“I’m afraid Miss Gordon has already promised this dance to me.”
* * *
Dominic slid his arm around Henrietta, guiding her to the floor as the musicians began the first strains of the waltz. They had hardly started when she stepped on his toe.
“You see,” he said, leaning close so that his lips were near her ear. She smelled of roses, of something soft and tender and sweet. “It is a good thing I wore sturdy boots to protect my delicate toes from your adventurous feet.”
“You are ridiculous, my lord.” A dusky hue invaded her cheeks.
Satisfied for some absurd reason, Dominic shrugged. “Better to be ridiculous than a snooze.”
“You should not have claimed a dance with me.”
“I was bored and you were near, and the waltz happens to be my favorite dance.”
They swept across the room, Henrietta doing her best to follow his lead. He slowed somewhat for her halting steps, intrigued. “It’s not often I meet a woman who cannot dance.”
“I have had no cause to practice,” she said in a small, stiff voice.
A hard part of him, one he did not realize existed, softened like butter on a warm day. He had no desire to cause her to feel badly about herself. “You have been saving lives, not spending your time learning silly dances.”
“Sometimes lives were saved.” A sad look overtook her face, and Dominic felt instant regret. His fingers tightened around hers and he was acutely aware of the slenderness of her body beneath his palm. “You never answered about when you plan to join your uncle?”
He swirled her past the bandstand, containing his wince when her knee knocked into his shin.
“I’m looking for a position somewhere. My uncle has decided to leave me in England, and I fear he hopes I’ll marry.”
“But you won’t.”
“No.” Her gaze flashed up to his for the first time since they began dancing. There were bits of gold hidden in the darkness of her eyes. They were forthright, honest eyes. As though no one had taught her the art of guile or flirtation.
“Whatever will you do?” The music was slowing, the song almost finished. He guided them to an alcove, fully visible to retain her impeccable reputation, but private enough to enable conversation.
“Governess, or a paid companion, I suppose. Just long enough to garner fare to join Uncle William.”
“He will not pay for your travel?”
She looked away, and Dominic realized that perhaps this lady was not without guile after all. For some reason, the notion amused him. “Does he know you’re coming?”
“To be frank, no, he has told me to stay here.” Those lovely eyes, earnest now, and somehow compelling, grabbed him. “But I cannot. I absolutely cannot stay. The only way for me to explain to him what I want is to speak to him face-to-face. Then he will see logic. I am quite sure of it.”
“So you will defy the will of your guardian?”
“Bah.” She waved her hand. “You speak of defiance as though he is the master of me.”
“Is he not?”
“No,” she said firmly. “And he knows that, which makes this situation altogether perplexing.”
The music had changed, and other guests crowded the floor, but Dominic found himself captivated by the determined purpose in Miss Gordon’s words. For many, many years his life had lacked direction. He had feared pursuing anything because of his affliction. Knowing he might die or be transported to an asylum at any time had put a damper on long-term goals.
“Why are you here?” he asked abruptly.
Startled, her lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
“Staying with Lady Brandewyne?”
“I suffered a bout with rheumatic feve
r.”
“Your uncle feared for your life and brought you home to England.”
“It was a small matter. He overreacted.”
But Dominic heard the doubt in her voice, and he had noticed the clothing that didn’t quite fit. Was it fair that she must surrender her freedom due to an illness? Or to the fears of an uncle? A plan was forming in his mind. He had simply wanted to get around to asking her what she knew about epilepsy, to get her opinion, but now he saw another, better option.
He flashed a grin. “You are looking lovely tonight. One would never guess you’d suffered from anything but an abundance of beauty and grace.”
She gave him a look, one that said clearly she saw past his flirtations and perhaps even found them tedious. The thought made him laugh.
“I presume you are cackling at your paltry attempt to charm me.” She crossed her arms, skewering him with an expression he might start calling her doctor look.
“Never. You are familiar with Louise and all her various quirks?”
“I would not call them quirks, but yes, I am aware that she is a strong-willed child.”
“Perhaps then, we can help each other?”
Chapter Five
Dominic paused, debating his next words. Most governesses were ladies of quality who had fallen on hard times. With no immediate family to take them in and no marital prospects, they were often forced to find employment.
He knew little of Miss Gordon’s family history, but he could not imagine the woman, with her quick tongue and keen eyes, succeeding in subservient positions. Though certainly she was intelligent enough to teach. It would be a matter of her nature conflicting with the expectations of her employer.
She had a genteel upbringing and extensive educational experiences. She had kept that doctor from sticking leeches all over him...but could she keep Louise in line? Could she make it so that Barbara did not take Louise?
If Miss Gordon discovered his epilepsy, would she be the type to send him to Bedlam? There were many who would agree with the decision.