The Nobleman's Governess Bride

by Deborah Hale

  Rebecca shook her head. “This is not something I would joke about. As for the other, I wish I knew how to reconcile that contradiction but I am at a loss.”

  “What answer did you give him?” Hermione demanded. “I know you have a far better opinion of him than I do and it would be a brilliant match for you. But do not forget the advice you gave me. Marriage means committing the rest of your life to this man.”

  “That’s what frightens me.” Heaving a sigh, Rebecca rose from the settee and crossed to the window overlooking the garden. “That is why I have not given him my answer yet. I have been thinking of almost nothing else ever since.”

  She gazed out at the garden where she and Sebastian had first met. Some of the flowers in bloom then had gone to seed while new ones had blossomed to take their places. She marveled at how much their acquaintance had ripened in such a short time. What if those feelings faded just as quickly? “I know you have not seen the side of him that I have. But I believe I would never regret marrying him if I could be certain he would not regret marrying me.”

  “If he were any other man,” Hermione muttered, “I could assure you with complete confidence that would never happen.”

  Her young friend had hit upon the difficulty, Rebecca mused. Lord Benedict was unlike any other man she’d ever met. While she admired and treasured his uniqueness, it was not without its dark side.

  Just then the Leonards’ housemaid appeared bearing a message. “A footman brought this from Stanhope Court, miss.”

  “Thank you, Mary.” Hermione bounded up from the settee with her hand extended to receive the note.

  “No miss.” The girl held the folded, sealed paper out toward Rebecca. “I was told to deliver it to Miss Beaton.”

  “Me? Are you certain?” Taking the note gingerly, as if it might grow teeth at any moment, Rebecca confirmed it was indeed addressed to her.

  As she broke the seal and began to read, Hermione dismissed Mary, who looked frankly curious. “What does it say?”

  “We are summoned to Stanhope Court.” Rebecca labored to read Sebastian’s spiky scrawl for the first time. “Lord Benedict will send his carriage to collect us.”

  Turning the note over in her hand, she murmured, “He must have gotten tired of waiting for my answer.”

  That did not explain why he wanted both of them to come.

  “Have you decided what you will tell him,” asked Hermione.

  Rebecca shook her head. “I shall soon have to make up my mind.”

  A chill snaked down her spine. Whichever choice she made, she was afraid she might end up regretting it for as long as she lived.

  “The ladies will be here soon.” Sebastian glanced from the mantle clock to the housemaid. “You know what to do?”

  “’Course, sir.” She pursed her lips in a suggestive smirk that turned his stomach. “Not a hard task, is it?”

  “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.” Sebastian strove to conceal the worst of his aversion.

  He needed this creature’s assistance, though he wished there had been some other way. Unfortunately, time was fast running out for his brother and several sleepless nights had left his mind too muddled to devise a better plan.

  “Practice?” She laughed the way women did when they wanted to flatter a man that they found him witty. “Why, you and me could have a dress rehearsal right now if you like?”

  “That will not be necessary.” His lip curled. “Your part may not be difficult but proper timing is essential. So keep your wits about you.”

  “I will, sir.” She walked past Sebastian, deliberately brushing against him. “You can count on me.”

  Pulling a cloth from the pocket of her apron, she pretended to dust the windowsill.

  Sebastian turned on his heel and strode away to await the arrival of Rebecca and Miss Leonard. As he neared the entry hall, he caught a passing glimpse of his reflection in a mirror and scarcely recognized himself. He looked haggard, disheveled and bleary-eyed—almost as bad as during the worst days of his marriage. Rebecca hadn’t even accepted his proposal and already she was putting him through the same misery as Lydia had.

  Every hour that passed, he grew more certain that asking her to marry him had been as terrible a mistake as his brother proposing to Hermione Leonard. Why had she kept him hanging for days on end, waiting for the ax to fall, when there could be no question she would take advantage of his fatal lapse in judgment? His fortune and the security it provided would be too great a temptation. Marriage to a viscount would also raise her rank, perhaps higher than her relatives. She would be free to flaunt her new title in the faces of those who’d once cast her out.

  With all that to entice her, why had she fled from him in the garden, then? And why was she taking so long to give him her answer? Could it be that she did not care for him and shrank from spending the rest of her life with him?

  He welcomed the sight of his carriage speeding up the lane for it distracted him from the vicious spiral of doubt that had plagued him ever since he blurted out that blasted proposal.

  A few moments later, he bowed over the ladies’ hands as they alighted from the carriage. “Miss Leonard, Miss Beaton, thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice. Shall we go join my brother for tea?”

  Though habit and inclination urged him to offer Rebecca his arm, Sebastian resisted. Thrusting his hands behind his back, he strode off, leaving the ladies to follow.

  “Lord Benedict?” Rebecca’s voice rang with a note of tender concern. “Have you been ill? You do not look well.”

  “I am no worse than usual, I assure you.” He raised his voice to alert his accomplice of their approach. She was one woman who had better not betray him.

  As they reached the door to the sitting room, Sebastian stood back to let the ladies enter first. It was more than simple courtesy. This way, they would have an unobstructed view of the proceedings.

  A sharp gasp from one and a shrill cry from the other assured him the housemaid’s timing had been flawless. Perhaps she would find success on the London stage as she so desperately desired.

  Sebastian entered the room to find Claude blathering on about how the servant had suddenly thrown herself at him and kissed him.

  “It’s not how it looks, Hermione. I can explain. Well, perhaps not explain, but...” From his wild gestures and frantic tone, it was clear Claude knew there could be no hope of his fiancée believing such an improbable story.

  “Get out of here!” Sebastian growled at the housemaid. “I will deal with you later.”

  The girl sidled away, still smirking.

  In the brittle silence that descended upon the room, Sebastian waited for Miss Leonard’s reaction. She had said nothing since her first squeak of dismay. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

  Protective as ever, Rebecca moved closer and put her arm around her young friend. But she did not speak. Like Claude and Sebastian, she seemed to hold her breath waiting to hear what Hermione would say.

  For a long moment Hermione locked gazes with Claude, who appeared to offer a silent plea for understanding. Then she turned those enormous, childlike eyes in Sebastian’s direction. In them he read a question and a wrenching depth of innocent pain he could not bear to witness.

  Her whispery voice shattered the expectant hush. “I believe you, Claude.”

  The young man’s bated breath exploded in a gasp and a sob. The question that rose to his lips was the same one that echoed through his brother’s mind. “You do?”

  She did? Where was the outrage he’d expected, the possessive hysteria?

  Hermione gave a shaky nod. “I know you are a good, honorable man. I am certain you would never betray my trust.”

  He should have known, a persuasive little voice in the back of Sebastian’s mind hissed. The girl must be so greedy for the advantages she would gain by wedding his brother that she was willing to turn a blind eye to flagrant evidence of infidelity.

  “Thank heaven!” Claude s
tumbled toward her, his hand pressed to his chest. “And thank you for being such a sweet, trusting angel. I was so afraid this would make you change your mind about marrying me.”

  When he reached for her, Hermione retreated into the shelter of Rebecca’s arms. “I’m afraid... it has.”

  Claude flinched. “But you just said you trust me. I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps you should ask your brother.”

  “My brother?” He glanced toward Sebastian. “What has he got to do with...? Oh, no. Sebastian. Tell me you were not behind this!”

  “I had to. You forced my hand. After the banns were read tomorrow, there would have been no going back. I know you may be upset now, but you will soon forget. You always do.”

  “Forget?” With a feral cry, Claude lunged toward Sebastian, his fist raised.

  Sebastian stood unflinching before his brother’s attack, not out of courage or resolution but because he was concentrating so hard on Rebecca. The sharp intake of her breath was followed by a faint, wounded whimper. In her gaze he glimpsed a desperate yearning to deny that he could be capable of such a thing.

  At the last instant, Claude stayed his blow. Instead he hurled words that injured Sebastian far worse. “Forget her? Never! And I will never forgive you for what you’ve done.”

  He turned to Hermione. “Please do not punish me for my brother’s malicious mischief!”

  “I do not believe he acted out of malice,” she replied. “He only wants to protect you.”

  “I am not an infant!” Claude cried. “I do not need his protection, especially not from you! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  “You think that now.” Hermione’s voice broke. “But if we were to wed against your brother’s wishes, it would create a breach between you that might never heal. One day, you might come to blame me for it and wish you had not married me after all. I could not bear that.”

  As Claude begged her to reconsider, Sebastian felt his mind was about to burst trying to reconcile two entirely contrary ideas. Hermione Leonard was not clinging desperately to her engagement after all. Nor was she breaking it in a fit of jealous rage, but out of concern for his brother’s future happiness and hers... and perhaps even his. Could he have misjudged her so horribly?

  The harder Claude pleaded, the more gently implacable Hermione grew, like a slender sapling bending before a gale, but never breaking. When her eyes began to glitter with unshed tears, she turned and buried her face in her Rebecca’s shoulder.

  “Not now.” Rebecca advised Claude. “Perhaps later.”

  But it was clear from her tone that she doubted the passage of time would change Hermione’s mind. Casting Sebastian a final look that mingled pity and disgust, she led her young friend from the room.

  When the ladies had gone, Claude rounded on his brother again. “You have no idea, have you, of the harm you’ve done—of what you’ve cost me?”

  After what he’d just witnessed, Sebastian was beginning to grasp the devastating consequences of his actions. But he could only repeat the rote excuse that sounded feeble, even to him. “I was trying to pro—”

  “Protect me?” Claude bellowed. “Or punish me for finding the kind of love you have never known and never will? All these years, you’ve been more than a brother to me—mother and father and friend all in one. But today, I am ashamed of you.”

  With that final swipe, his handsome young features crumpled and he fled.

  Sebastian reeled from Claude’s accusations. He would never seek to punish his brother for finding happiness and knowing love! Would he? Until today he would never have believed it. Now he was not so sure.

  And could he be so riddled with bitterness that he would rather throw away his best chance of happiness than admit he might have been wrong? That appalling thought sent him flying down the main gallery, praying he would not be too late to catch Rebecca. Though after what he’d done, he feared he had no right to pray for anything.

  When he clambered down the steep stairs from the portico, he saw his carriage still parked at the head of the lane. Rebecca was helping Hermione into the vehicle with the tender solicitude she might have shown an ailing or elderly person.

  When he called for her to wait, she turned on him, her eyes flashing with righteous wrath. “Are you proud of yourself, Lord Benedict?”

  Proud? Sebastian shook his head. He had never been more ashamed of his actions.

  Rebecca raised her brows. “I thought you would be elated after accomplishing what you set out to do from the beginning. Arrogant, stubborn and ruthless, indeed. Only do not claim you acted in a worthy cause. We both know that would be a lie.”

  “Please, Rebecca.” He teetered on the brink of a black pit of guilt and despair and only she had the power to drag him back from the edge.

  “Who were you really trying to save today?” she demanded. “Your brother or yourself?”

  “Myself?” What could she mean?

  “Yourself,” she repeated, “from marriage to me. You must have known I could never wed a man who would stoop to something so vile.”

  He wished he could deny it, if not to her, at least to himself. But her charge had a sickening ring of truth.

  Rebecca shook her head slowly and sadly, as if she could not fathom anything so offensive. “You needn’t have gone to all this trouble, you know. I’d already made up my mind to refuse your proposal, in spite of how much I’d let myself care for you.”

  “You had?” Why would she reject such a fine match if she cared for him?

  “I knew you didn’t really want me.” Her gaze flitted away, but not before he glimpsed a bleak mist in her eyes. “I’m accustomed to that. I learned long ago that it’s best to leave without making a fuss.”

  Before he could say another word, she turned and scrambled into the carriage.

  The kindest thing he could do for her, he realized, was to fold up the step, close the door and watch in silence as his carriage bore her away.

  Out of his life.

  Forever.

  Chapter Ten

  A MONTH AFTER Rebecca and Hermione had driven away from Stanhope Court for the last time, life at Rose Grange was finally settling back into its familiar pattern.

  She should have been happy about that, Rebecca told herself, or at least content. Instead she felt restless, often sad and sometimes angry. There were days when the only thing that induced her to get out of bed was the need to look after Hermione and try to cheer her, a little.

  That was proving a challenge. Hermione spent far too much time in her room with the excuse of headaches or indigestion. Why she would have indigestion, Rebecca could not fathom for she hardly touched her food. She was growing alarmingly thin and pale, with dark hollows under her eyes.

  It might have helped if she’d been willing to talk about what was clearly on her mind. But since that day she had refused to speak of Mr. Stanhope or his brother. Was Hermione trying to forget what she could not forgive? Rebecca knew from experience how futile, even dangerous that could be.

  Now, as Hermione sat at the pianoforte, listlessly picking out yet another slow, doleful melody, Rebecca could stand it no more.

  “Enough of this.” She surged up from her chair and dragged Hermione to her feet. “We are going to pay a call on some poor soul who is unable to get out and enjoy the fine summer weather.”

  Hermione tried to resist. “What if we meet someone on the way? I know the whole village must be gossiping about my broken engagement.”

  They’d heard that Claude Stanhope had departed for parts unknown. Lord Benedict was said to be in seclusion at Stanhope Court, seeing no one.

  “Nonsense!” Rebecca tugged her through the door. “I’m certain everyone has tired of the subject and moved on to some fresher local scandal by now.”

  She knew she must sound heartless, but this was the first spark of spirit she had seen from Hermione in days.

  Still she was quite surprised when her young friend gave a w
an smile. “Perhaps you’re right. I have spent too long wallowing in my misery. It will do me good to remember people with worse troubles. Let’s visit Mrs. Rollins. She is such a dear soul and I have neglected her of late.”

  To Rebecca’s immense relief, they had a very pleasant visit with Mrs. Rollins—only a little subdued on Hermione’s part. The few people they met on their walk through the village were all kind and tactful. It gave Rebecca hope that it would be even easier to coax Hermione out the next time.

  As they strolled home, arm in arm, Hermione glanced toward the church. Rebecca realized they were passing the spot where Sebastian had often parked his gig on Sunday mornings.

  “How could he do something so heartless to me?” Hermione asked in a small voice, as if thinking aloud. “I never would have done anything to hurt him, or... his brother.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” Rebecca slipped a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “But someone did hurt him very badly and he has never gotten over it. Bitterness warped his protective feelings for his brother into something hurtful.”

  “Can you still defend him,” Hermione cried, “after what he did?”

  “I do not condone his actions in the least, but I do have a little compassion for what made him act as he did. I hope someday you can too. Otherwise I am afraid you could end up the same way. That would be a great pity indeed.”

  She felt on firmer ground talking about forgiveness these days. One good thing to come out of all this was that she’d taken the first small step toward making peace with the hurts of her own past. She had written a letter to her Aunt Charlotte, not asking anything, but opening the door for further contact. Of course that had been almost three weeks ago and she’d received no reply. Perhaps her aunt wanted nothing more to do with her than she had when Rebecca was a child.

  But at least she’d tried. Somehow, making the overture had lifted a burden from her soul.

  Hermione gave a choked little sob. “I’m afraid I may be more like Lord Benedict than I care to admit. I made noble-sounding excuses for breaking my engagement, and I did mean them. But some spiteful part of me knew it might turn Claude against his brother. It felt like the only way I had to strike back at him. For that, I hurt the man I claimed to love and threw away my only chance for happiness!”