The Unconventional Governess

by Jessica Nelson

  And consequently, Henrietta felt the first stirrings of loneliness. The library became her sanctuary. One evening after dining alone in her room, she perused the available books while ruminating on her day. It had been a good one. Louise had eaten all of her meals and taken a careful walk around the gardens. Perhaps tomorrow they might begin lessons.

  Which was another reason why Henrietta found herself in the library. She wasn’t certain where to start. Literature or arts or sciences. Sewing could wait for a rainy day. Dancing... Dominic would have to hire a dance instructor.

  How easily his first name flowed into her thoughts. Sighing, she pulled a novel from the third shelf. A cloud of dust billowed outward and she sneezed. Waving her hand in front of her face, she turned and encountered the earl.

  His silent presence took her by surprise. “My lord, what are you doing in here?”

  “I thought you might wish to have company.”

  She looked past him. No servants nearby, but the door to the library remained open. “I am looking for tomorrow’s studies. Something interesting. Botany, perhaps. Or the study of insects. Louise enjoys butterflies.”

  “Pinning them to her collection, you mean?”

  “I shall encourage her to study them whilst they are alive.”

  “You were in the gardens today.”

  Henrietta’s gaze shot up. “You saw us.”

  “Yes. Louise is recovering well. Her ankle has healed?”

  “It was a minor sprain, enough to keep her stuck in that...folly. Is that what you call it?”

  Dominic laughed, a husky sound that tickled Henrietta’s senses. What scientific reason could she attribute to such a reaction? Wetting her lips, she smiled back.

  “Yes, a folly and it is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. I try to forget it’s there.”

  “Louise quite likes it. I believe the fanciful nature of such a place stimulates her imagination and will provide a good backdrop for multiple history lessons. Perhaps even philosophy, if I can get her to believe it to be a place where Plato might hold his lessons.”

  “Who?”

  She gaped, and Dominic laughed again. “I jest. Do not look so affronted. I am sure whatever you have planned will be beneficial.” His lips quirked. “Am I to understand you believe in flights of fancy? That hardly sounds practical or scientific.”

  An acute sense of embarrassment stole over her in hot waves. Surely this was not the usual banter between an employer and his governess.

  Squaring her shoulders, she looked up her nose at him. She could not very well look down as he stood a good head taller than her. Nevertheless, she attempted a stoic and tutorial look. “You would be surprised by the wide range of studies in the academic field. There is room for many objects of study.”

  “Chemistry, for instance?”

  “For those with an interest, I suppose.”

  Dominic ran a finger along the shelf, picking up dust and staring at it with a lazy grin. “Some of us, Henrietta, are more interested in chemistry than others.” His gaze met hers, and the mellow lights of the candles caught the sparkle in his eyes.

  Swallowing, she clutched the book to herself.

  “It is quite a bit of dust,” he murmured.

  “More than what is acceptable.” She had noticed other problems as well, but it was not her place to mention them. With great purpose, she pressed her lips together to avoid speaking out of turn. “If that will be all, I shall go up to my room now.”

  He turned to her, brow furrowed. “All is to your liking?”

  Words jammed against the roof of her mouth. She squeezed the book, pressing her fingers into it as though she could halt the flood of opinion fighting to be freed. “My room is comfortable. Good night, my lord.”

  He nodded, his eyes watchful, and she felt his gaze boring into her back as she skirted out of the room.

  * * *

  Dominic shoved the papers on his desk to the side. The piles seemed to grow every day and so did his frustration. He jammed his fingers through his hair, groaning. Sunlight streamed across the desk that used to be his brother’s.

  Edmund had most likely kept it much neater.

  He plucked the note that had been delivered this morning, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. In a burst of temper, he swept his arm across the surface of the desk, scattering everything to the floor. Inventories and bills and documents to be signed.

  Now the desk gleamed at him, dust gathered in the spots where the papers had not sat. He didn’t want an earldom or epilepsy. He wanted to be in London. Lounging at White’s with his friends or sitting at Ascot to marvel at the horses primed for racing. Right now, he could use a few pugilistic bouts to release the tension building within.

  But no. He was stuck in the country. Getting blackmailed.

  How it rankled to be threatened with losing Louise. At least she was thriving beneath Henrietta’s tutelage. He would continue to resist both Barbara and his blackmailers until he could find a cure.

  Getting up, he stalked out of his office. He prowled the house until he spotted his niece and Henrietta from the huge window in the breakfast nook. They were on the lawn. Playing some sort of game.

  Last night had been dangerous. He needed more to divert his attention. When he’d wandered into the library and found Henrietta’s delicate features absorbed in the books, then her dark and forward eyes fastening on him, he’d felt a strong current of attraction that had been difficult to ignore. They were growing closer. Perhaps he should not have told her to call him by his given name.

  Frowning, he stood at the window and watched them running across the grass, apparently laughing if one could judge by the thrown-back heads and happy movements. The arms across the stomachs as they bent at the waist, trying to contain something that could never be contained.

  Henrietta was good for Louise. She understood the girl, somehow. What he’d felt for her was nothing more than appreciation of her good looks mingled with respect. That was all. He’d been gone from London too long.

  This attraction to Henrietta, his governess, could be nothing more than boredom. In fact, he’d go outside and prove it to himself.

  It took only minutes for him to reach the two females. By the time he’d walked up on them, they had collapsed on a sizable blanket, where their hats were strewn and a lunch basket was filled to the brim, their giggles feminine and irresistible.

  He loomed above them, the noon sun casting very little shadow to announce his presence. “Shouldn’t you two be in the schoolroom?”

  Their laughing ceased.

  Louise jumped up. “Dom!”

  She propelled herself into his arms and he hugged her, thankful for the energy pulsing through her, the life, the healthy shudders of exertion rather than fever.

  “This is our schoolroom.” She twirled, her skirts fluttering. “Henrietta says we’ll learn more out here than we ever will in a stuffy old room.”

  He let himself look at Miss Gordon then. A jolt jerked through him. Her hair was a messy mass of blond-streaked strands floating about pink-stained cheeks. Her flushed lips looked like roses after a spring rain and her eyes shone like melted chocolate.

  “I hope you don’t mind, my lord, but I gave her permission to call me by my given name. It seemed appropriate considering the circumstances.” Her smile was plucky, and a twinge wrenched its way through his chest.

  “It’s unorthodox.” He managed to squeeze out a coherent answer, though he wasn’t sure how as his heart galloped faster than the racers in the Royal Ascot. Yes, he needed to escape back to his home in northern England, away from the emotions assaulting him.

  “But not uncommon in America.” She pushed to her feet, swiping at her skirts as if she could undo the wrinkles growing there.

  “In my presence, Louise, you are to call her Miss Gordon.”

&n
bsp; “That’s very crotchety of you, Uncle.” Louise put her hands on her hips. “She says in America no one uses titles. People are practical and on the same social level.”

  “She’s teaching you already, I see.”

  Henrietta’s grin widened. That spontaneous curve to her lips quickened his pulse, sent his thoughts flying into a mass of confusion. Louise grinned, too, her top teeth a tad too big for her face, giving her a puckish, piquant air.

  “Everything in life is teachable.”

  “Then shall we resort to nicknames? We can’t let those Americans have the upper hand.” He waggled his eyebrows at them both. “I hereby dub you Retta.”

  “Retta?” Louise squealed and grabbed him in a hug. Her face turned up to him, nose wrinkled. “That’s atrocious.”

  “If I pronounce it like the French, will you like it better?” He said in a deep and guttural voice, his r a throaty purr, “Retta, Retta.”

  Louise collapsed into a fit of giggles, dropping on the ground and throwing her head back in the most unladylike, unrestrained fashion he’d ever seen. He chuckled, noticing how the smile on Henrietta’s face was like sunlight first breaking through a cloud, one timid crack at a time, until she laughed, too.

  “If you speak to me with a French accent, then I shall certainly not dissuade usage of the name.”

  A crackle of emotion traveled through him when he met her eyes. How bright and cheery they were, as if she had never known sadness. But she knew his dark secret. His future was, in a sense, in her hands.

  Did she know how much power she had over him? The thought sobered him as he realized suddenly that the word of this woman, this doctor governess, could alter his life forever.

  Chapter Eight

  Henrietta was going to dredge up a talk with the earl.

  She surveyed the unrepaired cottage, its roof sagging in the middle beneath a crookedly hung front door. Her horse, Starlight, shifted beneath her, stomping its hooves as if feeling her exasperation. It was the third cottage she’d found like this.

  A chilly breeze nipped at her cheeks as she dismounted, tying Starlight to the post.

  Louise slid off her own horse. “Can I pick flowers?”

  “Find four different species to take home. We will catalogue them. I have a very good lens with which to study them.” Henrietta tied Louise’s horse up as well, watching with approval as the girl scampered across the grass to a patch of flowers near a copse of trees.

  Their afternoon ride had proven fruitful in countless ways, but was also eye-opening. They’d need to head home soon as clouds gathered in slate-gray bunches and the wind slowly grew chillier.

  “Missus, can we help you?” A woman appeared in the doorway of the cottage, her skirts as threadbare as the poorest farmers Henrietta had met in the Americas. Brown hair pulled back, the woman sported an infant on her hip and a toddler with smudged cheeks at her side.

  Henrietta strode forward, holding out her hand. “I am Miss Gordon, Louise’s governess.”

  The woman stared, as though having no idea what to say. Her gaze skittered to the girl, then rested on Henrietta once again. As if taking in the quality of Henrietta’s riding habit, the cultured cadence of her voice, the woman dropped her head and knees in a quick, dutiful curtsy.

  “Pleased be to meet you. I’m Mary Smith.”

  Henrietta had to listen closely to understand her due to the strength of her accent. “And I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Mary stared in a wistful manner at Louise. “I have not seen ’er since the accident. Her parents used to bring her out to visit. Those were good days, ’ey were. Nice people. Took care of their tenants.” She pointed to the roof. “Do ye happen to know if his lordship be fixin’ this soon? My ’usband has had a request in for months.”

  “That is not why I am here, but I shall certainly mention it to the earl.” Though she hadn’t ridden an estate in years, the state of the cottage caused concern. She noticed a mark on Mary’s arm and moved closer for a better look. “How long have you had that on your arm?”

  “Oh, this?” Mary held up her arm, examining the purplish rash as though unsure. “Months, and it itches something fierce. The apothecary gave me a cream, but it hasn’t done nothing for the better, nothing for the worse.”

  “May I see this cream? Did he say what’s in it?”

  “Aye, come in, if you’d like. I’ll make you a spot of tea.”

  Henrietta waved at Louise to let her know where she was going, and then stepped into the cottage. Small and square, the homey atmosphere stood at stark odds with the exterior untidiness. A clean sideboard held a bowl of fruit and nuts. A neatly made bed sat against the far wall, its bright quilt suggesting the owner’s skill with a needle.

  She waited near the door while Mary rummaged through a wooden chest on the other side of the room. She brought back the cream, handing the glass container to Henrietta with a frown. “The smell is something awful.”

  Henrietta sniffed it. Camphor and sage. Hardly beneficial for a rash. Perhaps the apothecary had mixed other things within, but one sniff told Henrietta all she needed to know. She gave it back.

  “May I examine your arm?”

  Though clearly surprised, Mary held out her arm, shifting her babe to the other hip. He gurgled, his toothless grin bringing a smile to Henrietta’s heart. “You’ve a lovely family here.”

  “Thank ye, miss.”

  After one more thorough look at the skin, which was dry and scaly in some places, yellowish with a putrid smell in others, Henrietta straightened. “I will bring you a special soap. You must wash with it, using clean water, three times a day, keep the rash dry. I also have a liniment that may prove useful, and it smells much better than what you’re using now.”

  Mary nodded, but doubt was evident on her face.

  The English did not trust a woman for anything but help in childbirth, evidently. “My uncle is Mr. William Gordon. I have studied with him for many years. Would you be willing to try my methods? If they don’t work, you can continue using what the apothecary gave you.” Even though that obviously had not worked, either. But Mary’s wide eyes and clutching of the baby said some verbal compromise was in order. “I don’t like the look of the scaling of your rash. Do you see that yellow crusting? It could be infection.”

  “Infection?” Now Mary sounded panicked. “Could ye please just ask his lordship to fix our roof. We’ve paid our rent every month, and the leaking is damaging the floors.” She gestured to a spot nearby.

  “The message shall be passed on,” Henrietta said courteously. Obviously dismissed, and feeling curiously let down, she walked back outside. Mary waved and shut the door.

  She’d bring her the supplies tomorrow and hopefully Mary would use them. She didn’t want to arbitrarily call the village apothecary a quack, but his cream didn’t appear to be helping Mary at all and smelled odiferous.

  Sultry clouds crawled across the sky, blocking out the sunlight. The air had grown heavy with humidity while she’d been inside. Frowning, Henrietta called for Louise. They had better get home, and fast, before this moving, moody sky opened up on them.

  The ride went quickly and just after they’d dropped the horses at the stables, the first drop of water plopped against the ground. Louise squealed, and her look of genuine happiness inspired Henrietta’s own smile.

  They ran to the house, laughing and out of breath by the time they reached the side entrance. The lunch basket containing their pickings weathered the dash, but hopefully the flowers had not been crushed. She would need to take them up to her room to put the herbs in her medicine chest, and then the flowers could be arranged wherever Louise preferred.

  As usual, the servants had little to say when she and Louise trekked through their space, though Cook did take a second glance and one of the housemaids hid a smile behind her hand.

  Henriet
ta glanced down. Mud soaked her skirts. Louise burst ahead of her into the main hall, her splattered skirt flapping against the backs of her calves in reproachful whacks. Jacks approached them and bowed, effectively stopping Louise.

  “His lordship wishes to see you in his study.” His gaze roved over them, undisguisedly disapproving.

  Feeling the weight of that look, she plucked at her skirts. “Should we change first?”

  Before he could answer, Louise giggled. “Let’s go now. If we are messy, he will not lecture for so long.” She skipped around Jacks, giving him a friendly pat on his shoulder.

  Trying to get the image of a lecturing Lord St. Raven into her mind, Henrietta followed. The earl had his moments of seriousness, but mostly when she thought of him, she thought of crinkling eyes and crooked smiles. Did the man even know how to lecture?

  They entered his study. Or rather, Henrietta entered. Louise was already there, her voice a steady chirping as she regaled Dominic with their afternoon adventures. They had explored the wooded areas, gathering mandrake for her herb chest, and other flowers for decoration.

  Henrietta set the basket on the floor, observing his lordship’s personal space. A large, oval-shaped room, it boasted plenty of intricate candelabras for light and a sitting area near the fireplace. His desk, a mahogany giant, faced the door.

  Dominic was not behind it. Rather, he and Louise stood near the window as she gesticulated with her hands. An indulgent smile played around his mouth. The tips of his fingers rested in the pockets of his trousers and the strong slopes of his shoulders were relaxed.

  Not for the first time, she saw how deeply he loved Louise. The observation made her like him. Uncle William had often smiled at her in such a way. They had spent many evenings discussing medicines and the newest surgical techniques. She hadn’t heard from him since she left Lady Brandewyne’s. Had he even received her letter? She should pen another. A nondescript one with no mention of her plans to join him.

  The last thing she needed was her guardian telling her no. If she could but see him face-to-face. Explain her position. Then surely he would understand that her place was next to him.