The Nobleman's Governess Bride (The Glass Slipper Chronicles Book 1)

by Deborah Hale

  “Miss Beaton.” He acknowledged her with a respectful bow, hoping she would not guess the kind of fancies he’d been entertaining about her. “I hope you are well.”

  “Well enough.” She cast him a hesitant smile, as if she was not certain whether it would be welcome. “I wondered if I might ask a small favor of you?”

  Could he refuse any favor she chose to ask of him? Sebastian feared he might be powerless to. “Do you wish to claim payment for sketching my portrait? Would it not have been simpler to accept my offer of money?”

  Her smile disappeared, leaving Sebastian to reproach himself for having chased it away. “I am not seeking an exchange. The sketch is yours to keep whether or not you oblige my request.”

  “What is this favor, then?” He tried not to feel suspicious but where women were concerned, it had become second nature.

  “Would you consent to walk with me back to Rose Grange? I assume you and Mr. Stanhope came here in your gig. I believe he might like to offer Hermione a drive home.”

  Sebastian was far from certain he could trust his brother not to make a dash for Gretna Green. Still, he could not keep from offering Rebecca his arm. “It is no favor you request, Miss Beaton, but one you confer. I would be honored to escort you home.”

  They exchanged a few words with his brother and Miss Leonard on the way out, just enough to acquaint the younger couple with their intentions.

  “Capital.” Claude looked like a schoolboy who’d just been given a treat. “We’ll meet you back at Rose Grange, then.”

  Once the others were out of earshot, Sebastian grasped for some harmless topic of conversation.

  But Rebecca appeared to have other ideas. “I must confess I did not ask you to walk me home only for Hermione’s sake. I have been thinking a great deal about our conversation the other day and I felt I must speak to you.”

  Despite his best effort to remain impassive, Sebastian flinched. “Must we spoil a nice walk by dredging up all that unpleasantness again?”

  It was pleasant to walk beside Rebecca, adjusting his gait to hers, savoring the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm, drinking in the mellow music of her voice. If only she would talk about something else.

  Apparently that was too much to ask. “I appreciate you taking me into your confidence and I do not wish to distress you. But for the sake of Hermione and your brother, and most of all for your sake, I feel I must.”

  Perhaps reluctant to let him reply in case he might protest further, she hurried on. “I believe it is vital for you to forgive your late wife.”

  Her suggestion fell like a fresh blow on an unhealed wound.

  “Forgive Lydia?” He nearly gagged on those words. “She must answer to a far higher power. My blame or forgiveness will not matter now.”

  “Not to her perhaps,” Rebecca persisted with well-meaning stubbornness, “but to you and those around you. The bitterness you still harbor toward her is creating a blight upon an otherwise fine character. Though what happened is in the past, it still affects your actions to this day.”

  “You mean my opposition to Claude’s engagement. I thought we agreed to cease any further discussion of that subject rather than risk ill feelings between us.”

  “I shall be sorry if you think badly of me for raising this matter. But it is a risk I must take because I think so highly of you.”

  Sebastian could not resist the warmth of her concern. It touched him more deeply than he was comfortable being touched, yet somehow it soothed the very feelings it inflamed. “What you ask is impossible. Lydia used me. She broke my heart and put me through two years of torment. Even if it would do any good, I would not know how to begin to forgive her.”

  Rebecca seemed encouraged by his response, which was quite the opposite of what he’d intended. “Understanding is always a worthwhile place to start. If you cannot understand Lydia, at least try to have a little sympathy for Hermione... and me.”

  He already had far too much sympathy for her. “I don’t understand what you have in common with them.”

  “When we last met, you asked if I could swear Hermione would wed your brother if he were poor. When I could not, you assumed I meant she does not truly care for him. That is not what I meant at all. You see, it is not possible for a person of limited means to approach marriage in the same way as one with a comfortable, secure income. A woman especially, since she has few opportunities to earn more than a pittance.”

  Sebastian seized the opening she’d provided. “That is precisely why I feel marriages of equal fortune are preferable.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Just because a woman must consider her future does not mean she would wed only for fortune. Since we met you have often commended my prudence and good sense. If I had an opportunity to wed, would I be prudent to marry a man who could not provide for me?”

  “Of course not!” The notion of Rebecca wed to another man tore at him, especially if the match would doom her to a life of hardship.

  “But that is the only kind of man who would be of equal fortune to me,” she reminded him. “Now consider another possibility. If I were to receive a proposal from a man who could provide well for me, giving me a home of my own at last and allowing me to raise my own children rather than always other people’s, would you condemn me for accepting him?”

  Though he still shrank from the thought of her as another man’s wife, how could he blame her for pursuing a union that would give her the kind of life he wanted for her? “I hope you do not doubt my answer to that. I could not be so unfeeling.”

  “Thank you.” She gave his arm a squeeze, as if he had done her some great favor rather than simply responding to a conjecture. “Yet it would be an unequal match. I have only my small salary and very little saved.”

  “I know where you are leading with this,” Sebastian grumbled. “I will admit there may be times when such matches might be acceptable, as long as fortune was not the only consideration. Still I do not see how this has any bearing on Lydia and my... forgiving her.”

  “Imagine I had a family who’d fallen on hard times and relied on me to assist them,” Rebecca urged him. “What if I were young and beautiful, capable of attracting the ardor of a wealthy man? Perhaps I would be too foolish and immature to love this man as he deserved. I might care for another whose lack of fortune would make him unacceptable to my family. What would you advise me then? Should I please myself at the expense of my family or be a dutiful daughter by wedding a man I did not love?

  “No!” Sebastian came to an abrupt halt. “I cannot have you compare yourself to Lydia, even in fancy. You are nothing like her!”

  Except in the pull she exerted upon his heart. “If you had been in the situation you describe, I know you’d have found some way that would not have deceived and hurt... the man who cared for you. You would have told him frankly of your circumstances and your true feelings then let him choose whether to walk away or try to win your love. You would not have led him on to milk him for every farthing you could get.”

  Rebecca sighed. “I hope I would act with such integrity, but I cannot be certain. Hurt, fear and desperation make people do terrible things. We cannot condone their actions, but surely we can try to have compassion for their motives. It becomes easier if we ask ourselves what we would do in their place. I believe that is the beginning of forgiveness.”

  As usual, she was making arguments Sebastian could not altogether refute. But the possibility that he might come to pity Lydia after everything she had put him through was like the cold barrel of a cocked pistol biting into his belly.

  He began walking again as if fleeing pursuit. “I know the Bible bids us to forgive, but the best I can do is try to forget. Even that is not easy when I fear my brother is about to fall into the same trap.”

  “Can you not see?” Rebecca gasped as she exerted herself to keep up with his brisk pace. “That is how your bitterness is hurting you and others. When we first met, you told me you would never wed or sire a fami
ly. You also said you had saved your brother from past romantic entanglements. Even if you manage to part him from Hermione, I fear he might never find a wife who would meet with your approval. In the end, he might come to resent your interference as much as you resent Lydia.”

  That sounded like a threat—one with a terrifying ring of truth. Was it possible he might alienate his brother and end up a bitter old man, entirely alone?

  That fear provoked Sebastian to lash out. “What gives you the right to lecture me on this subject? I am not one of your pupils, learning proper deportment or whatever it is you teach them. What do you know about suffering and bitterness? Shut away from life, training young girls in all the arts and graces they need to snare well-to-do husbands!”

  Rebecca let go of his arm and shrank from his outburst. In her wide, changeable eyes, he glimpsed the sharp sting his words had inflicted. It made him thoroughly despise himself. She was the last person who deserved his censure and the very last he wanted to hurt.

  He reached for her. “Rebecca, I didn’t mean... Please, forgi—”

  How did he dare ask her forgiveness when he had spent the last quarter-hour railing against it?

  She stumbled back as if she feared he might strike her if she let him get within reach.

  Suddenly Sebastian realized they had arrived at Rose Grange.

  He opened his mouth once more to apologize. But before he could force any words out, he heard the distinctive rattle of the gig behind him.

  “Sebastian! Miss Beaton!” cried Claude. “Wish us joy! After you left, we spoke to the vicar and set the date for our wedding. The first reading of the banns will take place next Sunday!”

  Sebastian’s first reaction was alarm that he had less than a month to rescue his brother. Then Rebecca’s warning echoed through his mind and he found himself questioning whether that would be the right thing to do after all.

  Chapter Eight

  “ISN’T IT THE loveliest ring, Miss Beaton?” Hermione dropped the pillowcase she’d been embroidering and fluttered her fingers in front of Rebecca, showing off the engagement token Mr. Stanhope had brought her from London. “He said being away from me for even a few days made him all the more determined to marry me, no matter how much his brother objects.”

  In the middle of writing a letter, Rebecca nodded absently. She found it difficult to concentrate on either her letter or Hermione’s conversation as Sebastian’s accusations gnawed at her. All the previous night, she’d tossed and turned, wrestling with them. Hard as she tried to persuade herself he was wrong, deep in her soul she knew the truth when she heard it. She had no right to lecture him or anyone else about forgiveness. Not because, as he believed, she had never been wronged or mistreated but because she had.

  To this day, she still held a grudge against her mother’s family. Never once, since they’d sent her away to school, had she made any effort to contact them. Never once in her prayers had she mentioned them. Like Sebastian with his late wife, she tried to think of them as little as possible. When that could not be avoided, she’d dwelt on the wrongs they’d done her. Never had she tried to do what she’d so glibly advised Sebastian—considered the events of the past from their perspective, honestly seeking to understand why they might have acted as they had.

  Hermione heaved a sigh. “Dearest Claude assures me that his brother will give us no peace until we are either parted or united irrevocably. Since we cannot bear to be parted, we must be married as soon as possible. He says once we are man and wife, Lord Benedict will accept the situation.”

  Raising her hand to her lips, she bit her thumbnail, a nervous habit of which Rebecca had spent several years trying to break her. “I only wish I could be certain Claude is right about his brother. The viscount is so disapproving, I shudder to think what he might do if we wed against his wishes.”

  “I agree with Mr. Stanhope.” Rebecca recalled Sebastian’s fierce denial when she had raised that very possibility. “Once you are wed, his lordship will accept you as his sister-in-law with as much grace as he can muster. I only wish you would not let his opposition push you into marrying before you are both quite ready. Remember the old saying, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’”

  “I shall never repent marrying Claude!” Hermione protested... a bit too much, Rebecca thought. “I hope you have not let Lord Benedict turn you to his way of thinking just because he is so attentive to you.”

  “Of course not.” Rebecca tried to grasp her young friend’s hand but Hermione rose from her seat and backed away. “I only want you to be very sure of your feelings and Mr. Stanhope’s before you commit yourself to him for the rest of your life.”

  “I am sure of two things.” Hermione edged toward the door. “Sure that Claude Stanhope is the man I want to marry and sure that you have been heeding his brother. For shame! How could you let that horrid man turn you against me?”

  Before Rebecca could insist upon her innocence once more, Hermione stormed off, shutting the door hard behind her.

  Rebecca rubbed her temples in an effort to ease the crushing headache her worries and regrets had spawned. She had tried not to heed Sebastian’s misgivings about the engagement, but she’d been could not deny a few of them had merit. What a cruel irony it would be if his antagonism brought about a hasty marriage the young couple might later repent. She knew he would take no pleasure in being proven right if they ended up unhappy together.

  She must warn him! Once the first banns were read, there would be all manner of speculation and gossip if the wedding was postponed. Now, it would only take a quiet word with the vicar to allow Hermione and Mr. Stanhope the time they needed to become better acquainted and lay to rest any second thoughts.

  Rebecca packed away her writing materials then hurried off to change clothes. Once she was properly attired to pay a call at Stanhope Court, she sought out Squire Leonard to ask for the use of one of the horses.

  “Why of course, my dear.” The squire’s kind, weathered face betrayed surprise at her request. “You are welcome to take the carriage if you wish.”

  Rebecca smiled and shook her head. “A horse will be less trouble for everyone. Besides, I am not going far and the day is fair and calm.”

  “Suit yourself then. By the by, Miss Beaton, I hope this whim of Hermione and her young man to wed so soon will not create any difficulty for you, finding a new position and so on. We shall miss you around Rose Grange after all these years.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rebecca’s throat tightened. She had always liked Hermione’s father, who kept busy with his small estate and his duties as local magistrate. He had trusted her to teach and raise his daughter and seemed pleased with the result. “I shall miss you as well. But I mean to write to Hermione often and hope to hear all the news of Avoncross.”

  She dodged his question about finding a new position, because her inquiries so far had met with no success. She’d written to all her school friends. But none of them had heard of any opportunities for her. Unless she could persuade Sebastian not to push his brother into a hasty marriage, she would have very little time to find new employment.

  Could that be why she was suddenly giving more credence to his doubts about Hermione and Mr. Stanhope? Rebecca asked herself as she thanked Squire Leonard for the use of the horse and headed away.

  On her ride to Stanhope Court, she thought it over and satisfied herself that Hermione’s future happiness was her prime concern, not her own convenience. Yet she would miss Avoncross and the comfortable life she’d made for herself at Rose Grange. As she rode out of the village into the countryside, her gaze lingered on the green hills and hedgerows with the wistful appreciation of one who must soon leave them.

  Almost before she knew it, she found herself turning off the road onto the winding, wooded lane that led up to Stanhope Court. As she rounded the first bend, she startled at the sight of Sebastian riding toward her.

  He seemed equally surprised to see her. His horse whinnied and reared slightly when
he reined it to an abrupt halt. .

  “Miss Beaton.” The viscount swept off his hat and bent low in his saddle. “You must have divined my thoughts. I was on my way to call on you and give you... these.”

  Juggling the reins and his hat, he freed one hand to extend a colorful nosegay of garden flowers. “And to offer my apology for the rude manner in which I rebuffed your kindly meant advice yesterday.”

  Rebecca leaned forward to accept the flowers. It was impossible to negotiate the transfer without her gloved hand brushing against Sebastian’s. Even with the double barrier of leather between them, a sweet whisper of sensation fluttered up her arm when they made contact. Much as she would miss the Cotswolds and Rose Grange, she feared she would miss the viscount’s stimulating companionship even more.

  She had fought her growing feelings for him, knowing nothing could come of them but disappointment and fruitless yearning. Yet her heart had refused to heed reason. Every time they parted company she felt a deepening void in her life. Every time they met again, a powerful rush of joy engulfed her. She knew there was no longer any sense hoping for a poor curate or a kindly widower to make her an offer of marriage. She could not wed any other man when her heart belonged to one she could never have.

  “They’re beautiful, thank you.” She lifted the flowers to inhale their fresh, sweet fragrance... and to hide her eyes so Sebastian would not glimpse the ache of longing in them and guess her feelings. “But you owe me no apology. What you said was true. I have no right to lecture you or anyone else about forgiveness.”

  “Perhaps not.” Simon turned his horse and urged it forward at a leisurely walk, while Rebecca’s mount fell in step. “But I know you meant well and some of what you said made an impression on me. Even if it had not, I had no call to speak to you as I did. My only defense is that anything to do with my marriage is a very sore subject with me.”