The Unconventional Governess

by Jessica Nelson

  He locked his arms behind his back, regarding her so seriously as to make her wonder how she’d ever thought him careless and lacking in soberness. “That will be all, Miss Gordon. I will ring for Mrs. Braxton, the head maid. She will show you to your room, the schoolroom and the general layout of the servants’ quarters. I trust you will tell me should you feel unwelcome in any way.”

  “How I feel is of no consequence. My job is to teach Louise, and that is what I shall focus on.” Speaking of the girl, she hadn’t seen or heard her. Which struck her as immensely odd. “Where is she?”

  St. Raven paused. “It is odd that she has not come to greet me.”

  He called for the head housekeeper. She appeared promptly.

  “Where is Louise?” asked the earl.

  Her fingers fluffed the folds of her dress. “She heard she was to have another governess, and to prove her lack of need for one, she ran off again.”

  “How often does this occur?”

  “As often as she wishes.”

  “And you allow it?”

  His housekeeper looked surprised. “She did it with her parents and they were not alarmed.”

  “Well, they should have been,” he snapped. “Assemble the servants in the hall at once.”

  Henrietta nodded with approval. Until she could do more research, there was nothing more to be said about his epilepsy. Standing there looking into his handsome face accomplished nothing. He wasn’t even trying to be charming, and yet she found herself studying the lines and curves of his features, storing the scent of his cologne in the back of her mind.

  It was positively the most disturbing response she’d ever had to a man, and becoming a governess was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but Lady Brandewyne had backed her into a tight and inescapable corner.

  Besides, she now felt a deep concern for Louise’s whereabouts. “What do you mean to do?” she asked St. Raven.

  “I mean to find the girl.” He pivoted, leading Henrietta into the hall. Mrs. Braxton stood as stiff as a marble statue, her features settled into a frown. “Don’t you ever look for her? Doesn’t anyone chase her down and tell her to stop running away?”

  “My apologies, my lord,” she replied. “But why on earth would we do such a thing when her parents allowed it? Where can she go?”

  “Those questions are irrelevant. She should not have left at all. When she returns, she shall have warm tea and biscuits waiting for her. Mrs. Braxton shall put hot irons at the foot of her bed to heat her toes, and it will not be allowed again.”

  “Hot irons? Tea and biscuits?” Henrietta crossed her arms. “You are rewarding negative behavior. This simply will not do.”

  His head tilted, then his gaze shifted past her. “Mrs. Braxton, call the servants. We must find Louise.”

  At that moment, a crack of thunder shook the house. Rain tapped the roof, picking up speed and then turning into wild dance of sound.

  “This weather is not good for her lungs.”

  “We will find her,” he said, his features strained.

  Servants filed into the hallway, lining up by rank.

  St. Raven crossed his arms behind his back, posture ramrod-straight and mouth firm. “Please welcome Miss Gordon. She is Louise’s new governess.”

  She did not miss the exhalations of relief many of the servants tried to hide. Was Louise so terrible? Perhaps these people just did not know how to contain an excitable child. Not that Henrietta had much experience with child-rearing, but common sense told her that consistency and a gentle attitude went far toward taming mischief and being spoiled.

  “We will be looking for my niece, and she is not to run off like this anymore. Does anyone have an idea of where she might’ve gone?”

  “She likes the horses,” a young footman volunteered.

  “Or the pond,” said Mrs. Braxton. A portly woman with a severe set to her chin, she nevertheless carried a twinkle in her eye. “Always catching the minnows, though I tell the young miss it isn’t sightly.”

  “Excuse me?” A maid at the back stepped forward. “I’ve seen her at the folly...a few times, my lord.” She bowed, looking apprehensive as she did so.

  “The folly?” St. Raven stroked his chin. “That does sound like a good place to hide and it would appeal to a twelve-year-old’s imagination. Very good, thank you. Stay here and set out tea and sandwiches for when the others return. Check the stables and the pond. Look through the house. I will search the folly.”

  “I will ready the horses.” A whiskered man bowed and left quickly.

  Henrietta lifted her skirts, prepared to follow the man.

  St. Raven put out a hand to stop her. “Not so fast, Miss Gordon. You’ve just overcome a lung disease. You’ll stay here.”

  “It was an infection.” She narrowed her eyes, dodging out of reach of his imperious touch. “I certainly will not stay. I am going with you. I’ll wear an extra layer. You might need me. Louise could be hurt.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was harsh, his eyes glints of green. Another shock of thunder resonated.

  She took the thick shawl a footman handed her. The butler opened the door and rain sluiced into the house, pelting the floor in huge, splattering drops.

  St. Raven gestured her out and, summoning fortitude, and aware of a simmering panic for Louise’s safety gaining ground within, she stepped into the storm.

  * * *

  Dominic didn’t think he’d ever felt such intense fear in his life. His jaw ached from clenching, and his neck kinked. The ride to the folly had been arduous and bumpy, the carriage traversing the rain-slicked path and mud holes with ferocious dexterity.

  The folly loomed behind the flickering lightning and sheets of rain. It was as though someone had shattered the sky. And Louise was out in this.

  The carriage came to a stop and he exited, then turned to help Henrietta out. Her bones were as light as a bird’s, and he felt her shiver when he put his arm around her waist. Mouth tight, he set her gently on the ground. A maid stayed in the carriage with warm blankets and hot tea, for when they returned.

  He turned, trying to see past the torrential waterfall drenching the landscape. The folly’s artfully constructed columns rose like pale sentries against the smeared horizon. His brother had constructed the thing at his wife’s request. Many in the ton created ornamental buildings in their gardens. This was located a bit farther from the main house and had been designed to look like a Greek pavilion. With this wind-driven rain, however, the odds of the pavilion’s interior remaining dry were low.

  He swiped his hand across his face, seeking relief from the stinging nettles of precipitation. “We shall look within,” he shouted.

  Henrietta replied, her words lost in the noise. The downpour slammed against the ground, making hearing anything impossible. They trudged toward the folly, picking through debris strewn across the path.

  Jacks held a lamp, but the flickering light did little to ease the way. Henrietta moved ahead of him, her steps nimble and quick. She dodged up the steps of the folly, disappearing into the cavernous blackness that was its entrance.

  Dominic muttered under his breath and picked up his pace. Infuriating woman. He’d have two to worry about if she wasn’t careful. He eased into the darkness, taking the lamp from Jacks and holding it up to see inside the oval-shaped orifice. Henrietta stood in the middle, eyes wide. She shook her head when the light fell upon her face. She was speaking but the words were silently whipped away into the night.

  Leaning close, he put his ear to her mouth to hear her better.

  “She’s not here.” Worry crowded her syllables, and his chest tightened.

  “We’ll find her.”

  He straightened, pushing back the urge to hug Henrietta and tell her everything would be fine.

  Before he knew what she was doing,
she grabbed his hand and Jacks’s. He glanced down, and realized she was praying. Holding up the lamp, he saw that her eyes were closed and her lips were moving softly and though he could not hear her words, he felt them.

  The pattering of rain and the growling of thunder all coalesced into one strange moment of peace in which he wondered if God would hear this unconventional woman. Would He answer in the way they wanted him to? He closed his eyes, her small hand enfolded in his, her fingers tiny yet strong.

  And then she let go.

  Jacks met his eyes, shrugging as though the foibles of woman fazed him not. For his part, Dominic just wanted to find Louise. The more time that passed, the more likely she’d caught sick.

  She could be at home, of course. Just because she was missing didn’t mean she’d been outside. But the twisting pain in his gut told him otherwise. She was out here, somewhere, alone.

  Henrietta had left the center circle. She explored the circumference of the folly, going from pillar to pillar, her skirts wet and dragging.

  Dominic gave the lamp to Jacks. “Stay here in the middle. If Louise is out there, she’ll see your light.” He strode to the stairs and, shielding his eyes, looked out over the landscape for anything that could be construed as human. Nothing but rocks and trees and sloping land in the grayish dirge.

  A shout filtered through the noise of the storm. Pivoting, Dominic saw the light swinging crazily back and forth.

  He strode back into the folly and there was Louise, lying in Henrietta’s lap. They were shivering and when Henrietta looked up, he couldn’t tell whether her eyes were wet with rain or tears. Louise’s hair was plastered to her head, and violent spasms wracked her body.

  He kneeled, taking her from Henrietta. His niece snuggled into him, not talking, which was worrisome in and of itself.

  “Her ankle is twisted.”

  Dominic followed Henrietta’s pointing finger to Louise’s right foot, which was without a shoe and garish in the flickering, black-blue light. As round as an orange, and puffy. He pulled Louise closer to his chest, beckoning with his chin for the others to follow.

  Henrietta took the lamp to lead the way, and Jacks attempted to hold his coat over Louise as they stumbled back to the carriage. Jacks went in first, then Dominic handed Louise up to him. In the carriage light, her lips were tinged blue and her eyes closed. He had never seen such pale eyelids, devoid of coloration.

  He helped Henrietta in, then followed. Jacks laid Louise on his lap, and every so often, her body shook with tremors. Tension rode back to the house with them, and Louise said nothing. Dominic could not recall ever feeling so helpless in his life, except in the aftermath of his own seizures. The full scope of humanity’s fragile hold on life glared at him accusingly.

  Louise might have died. Could still die.

  He would do anything to keep her safe. Including paying the blackmail demands so that Barbara did not find out about his epilepsy. Now that he had a governess, he simply needed to find a cure.

  Jacks and the maid were silent spectators in the carriage, their eyes huge with worry. But Henrietta reached over and smoothed hair from Louise’s forehead. She took the girl’s hand and rubbed it between hers.

  “Keep her warm, St. Raven.”

  “I’m trying.” His voice cracked. “Will she die?”

  Henrietta looked up at him then, her pupils giant black orbs. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I am not going to let you die.”

  “It is a possibility?” Louise’s voice rusted out the question, dry and cracked.

  Henrietta dampened a cloth, wrung it, then wiped it gently over her clammy forehead. “Perhaps it would be, if you did not have such a skilled nurse at your side.”

  The little girl’s lids closed, blue-veined and papery thin, but a tremulous smile shook her lips. After a scary night, her fever had finally broken this morning.

  “She’s awake.” St. Raven appeared in the doorway.

  “Yes, you leave for ten minutes, and she opens her eyes.” Henrietta placed the cloth back in the washbowl, then wiped her hands on a towel. “I think she may have gone back to sleep. Did you finish your work?”

  St. Raven lifted one shoulder casually, as if he couldn’t be bothered to notice if he’d finished or not. “An earl does not work, Miss Gordon.”

  She nodded, though in truth she didn’t understand. Work carried various connotations. Everyone worked in one way or another.

  “Have you come to sit with her again?”

  “Yes, and to inquire if you have need of anything.”

  The fever that had invaded Louise had been alarming, but she already showed signs of improvement. A good thing, as Henrietta had been up with her for much of the night. So had St. Raven. Purple crescents shadowed the skin beneath his eyes.

  “She may wake and ask for water. I have been bathing her forehead, but she is no longer feverish.” Henrietta glanced down. Louise looked so very frail beneath the covers. Helpless and tiny, a wisp of a human on the cusp of adulthood. Heart twisting, Henrietta stood. “She will be well within days. Then she will need to be taken to task for her antics.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Are you on that again?”

  “Do you enjoy seeing this?” She swept her hand in an arc. “Do you wish to repeat this situation every few months? If not, then take her in hand, my lord. Teach her how to handle disappointments.”

  “As you were taught?” he asked quietly.

  Who was this serious man? She almost hoped he’d return to the bantering, superficial creature of days ago. “No,” she returned. “As you were.”

  “Touché.” He made way as she slid past him. “You will put this entire house in order?”

  She stopped at the doorway, hearing the amusement in his voice and strangely glad for it. “Will you be paying me? Because the breakfast was cold. The oatmeal gelatinous. And there is dust along the windowsills. Someone needs to take charge here.”

  “I have a housekeeper.”

  “Mrs. Braxton, yes. A busy woman.”

  He nodded, but she could tell that she had sobered his levity. That had not been her intention. “Louise shall awaken again and I’ve no doubt she will be happy to see you. In the meantime, I will rest before preparing the schoolroom, though she’s a bit old for it. I would recommend that she be put in a private school once I’ve left. Not a finishing school. Those are becoming obsolete. There are places you can send her where she’ll learn more than the art of being a man’s decor.”

  St. Raven appeared startled, and indeed, Henrietta had surprised herself with the bold words. Heat suffused her face, but she refused to take back the opinion.

  “Your advice is noted.” He studied her further, his handsome features pensive. “Rest assured, she attended a prestigious school before the headmistress dismissed her.”

  “Dismissed...that does not surprise me. This was after her parents died?”

  His eyes flickered in acknowledgment.

  She gave him a gentle smile. “She’s a strong-minded young lady who will need to be carefully handled. Your brother and his wife would’ve been proud, my lord.”

  He looked down. “Her aunt feels that Louise would be better off in a school on the Continent. She has asked me several times for guardianship of her.”

  What to say to such a confession? It was not that she disapproved of a girls’ school, but she could not help but think that such a place would stifle Louise’s natural enthusiasms.

  “And what do you think?”

  “I have spent the last few months in northern England at my cottage, but I had no intention of allowing Barbara to raise the girl.” He glanced down at the sleeping girl, contemplation a heavy curtain across his features. “Now I wonder if I am up to the task.”

  “Raising a child is a monumental feat,”
she murmured, thinking of her own family and how she’d maneuvered them into letting her live with Uncle William.

  “Indeed. We are in a strange situation. One in which you are a governess who is not really a governess.”

  “Not really a governess? Really, St. Raven, that is slightly offensive.”

  “I insist you call me Dominic.” Sunlight glinted off his hair, the shiny strands as dark as a raven’s wing. Not a hint of brown in there, she realized obtusely. He wore an inscrutable expression, his lips serious, his eyes fastened upon her. “It is not my intention to offend, but surely you understand my meaning.”

  “I simply do not see the point in using our Christian names. Yes, the Americans are not so formal and it is true that I prefer informality, but I am trying to teach Louise the value of her cultural mores. The correct use of titles is important in English society.”

  “But it is not important to a family, nor to a child who needs to feel involved.”

  She pursed her lips, studying him, and the earnestness that had blotted out the teasing. Why did she feel uncertain, as though he was asking her to cross an invisible line?

  And yet didn’t she find him intriguing? The idea of using his name was both thrilling and terrifying. A comfortable segue to their relationship.

  “Very well. Dominic. And you may call me Henrietta. But in society, we must adhere strictly to expected standards. This is for Louise’s benefit.”

  “But of course,” he murmured, dipping his head.

  She gave him a terse nod and left the room.

  For the next week she busied herself setting the schoolroom to rights, finding outdated books that might still retain some kind of pertinence for Louise. Her bedroom was small but comfortable. Set near the nursery, she had few opportunities to encounter servants and she had discovered that the sitting room was rarely used. Although she’d been out of England for many years, she was familiar with the duties of a governess. Including the desired goal of teaching her pupil to be ready for marriage to a peer.

  What she had not expected was the distance with which the servants treated her. In fact, they hardly spoke to her.