The Scottish Governess: Regency Romance

by Arietta Richmond

  ~~~~~

  'God damn it Perry, you're talking to a human being, a female one, a very female one, not a committee of the House of Lords!' His internal voice castigated him, and he almost winced at how pompous he’d sounded.

  He felt himself a little overheated, felt his face flush – what was it about this woman? He watched her, waiting for her reply, hoping that she had not noticed his heightened colour. She was, he noted, also flushed, but seemed to be making a determined effort to ignore that fact as she responded.

  “In my short time here, I've been very happy, your Lordship, happier than I've been anywhere, but unfortunately, circumstances force me to give notice and leave without delay.”

  'Well, she'd do better in the House than you would Perry, for a certainty.'

  That damnable internal commentator would not give him any peace, it seemed. He looked down at her, unsure what to say next, and found himself distracted by what a fine, full, and shapely figure she had, which the plainness and shabbiness of her dress couldn't hide. But it was her eyes, a bright green, alive with hidden glints of light like the waters of a quick-flowing, tree-shaded, river which arrested him, set so perfectly equidistantly in the beautiful pale oval of her flawless face. And the mouth! - the fruit-like fullness of her bow-shaped lips, so finely outlined above the softly pointed, lightly dimpled chin - it seemed to have a life all of its own, as it shifted with her expressions!

  'For God's sake man. You have a job to do. Get on with it!'

  “But... Mrs Leslie, I've been told that there's some 'matter of honour' involved. Could you please enlighten me? I swear that whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest of confidence. If there is a problem – a serious problem within my household - you will surely do me the honour of telling me what it is? It is, I believe, a fair, a just request, and I don't ask it lightly.”

  ~~~~~

  Constance sat, her gaze fixed on his eyes, which were a deep sea-green, as near black and beguiling as the deepest depths of the northern waters. His broad chest and shoulders were bent so solicitously toward her, and, she couldn’t help but notice that the quickness of his breathing was agitating his whole, so well-proportioned frame. No, she thought, he certainly didn't seem to be asking it lightly. But what could she say in reply? Should she tell him the truth of it? Would that be wise?

  Perhaps not, but she found that she wanted to, that to lie to this man, even to obfuscate the truth, was beyond her. He would not, she expected, be at all happy to hear the details of his daughter’s behaviour, but she hoped that he was a good enough man to accept it as truth, rather than denying it.

  So, taking a steadying breath, and trying desperately to ignore the fact of just how attractive the man before her was, she told him of her treatment by his daughters, and without repeating the wording of the insults which Lady Amelia had used, painted a graphic picture of the scene which had played out at the garden party that afternoon. She waited, unsure of what to expect, as he took in her words. His natural paleness had taken on an extra pallor as he’d listened.

  When she had finished speaking, he stood up abruptly and walked to the fireplace, where, leaning against it a moment, he turned. His voice, when he spoke, was deep, and full of what sounded almost like pain. It resonated within her, to her very bones. She had no doubt, in that instant, of his sincerity.

  “Mrs Leslie – I am truly sorry for this. Please believe me when I say that I had no idea that you were being subjected to this kind of treatment. Oh, I know, we all know, that my daughters, and Amelia especially, can be sharp-tongued with the staff. But... to this degree... it simply staggers me. I am... appalled, ashamed on their behalf. I am ashamed on my own behalf.” He sat down heavily in the remaining fireside chair. “I understand completely now and... I accept in full your desire to resign. But... and I have absolutely no right to ask you this... But... could you bring yourself to stay on here just a few days – a week at most, I hope – to give us time to find someone to fill your place? I'll pay you a full month's salary in advance, a full month, regardless of whether you stay only a day or two, or more. I insist. Will you?”

  Looking at him, so genuinely distressed, as if it were he, himself, who had insulted her in front of the whole household, she couldn't help but agree to his request. She'd never seen a man, and a man of his standing, so affected; had never believed that there could be such a man, with such an apparent depth of feeling. Yet here he was.

  “I will. And thank you your Lordship.”

  Constance rose from the chair – as if it was she who was closing the interview – and as she did so, he stood too, and coming close to her, so close that she could admire the tight silk of his dark emerald-green waistcoat, he silently held out his hand.

  She offered hers and he took hold of it lightly but securely, his long fingers wrapping completely, if briefly, around hers. Her heart began to race as if trying to stem the strange flood of heat which rushed through her, threatening to make her drop to her knees. What was it that made this man affect her so strongly, just by his very presence?

  ~~~~~

  “Thank you, thank you very much indeed, Mrs Leslie.”

  Perry went back to his desk and leaned against it once more, gripping its rim, and watched as she closed the library door behind her.

  He remained, leaning there, for quite a few minutes more, after Constance had left. Still seeing her face, her beautiful figure before his eyes, like the after-image of the sun or a candle; and realising, with a shock, that she was the first woman since the death of his beloved Lydia who had seriously affected him.

  Chapter Six

  Though Constance had been deeply impressed by the heartfelt force of the Earl's apology for the behaviour of his daughters, when she left his presence, she began to doubt whether she'd done the right thing.

  How could her pride allow her to have anything to do with Lady Amelia again?

  As she lay in bed that night, she tried to think of ways to circumvent this problem, while simultaneously trying not to think of the Earl, and how closely, massively, he had towered over her, holding her hand, and how fast he'd made her heart race, so thunderously fast that he had surely heard it?

  But she soon dropped off to sleep, exhausted by the day's highly emotional events, and the next day her problem regarding Lady Amelia was solved, temporarily at least.

  Wondering at the bustle apparent in the house, Constance approached Mrs Templeton and asked her what the reason for it was.

  “Ladies Clara, Harriet and Amelia are going to London this afternoon to stay for a week at Blackwood House. Their grandmother, his Lordship's mother the Dowager Countess of Blackwood, is to supervise the purchase of a complete set of new clothes for the girls in preparation for the Season – you can imagine how happy and excited the girls are – they'll be gone for around a week. And, just between you and me, Constance, their absence will give all of us a much-needed rest.”

  Constance assisted in the packing of the girls’ trunks, mostly Lady Harriet’s, and was so busy with the fine details of this exhausting process that she barely had time to notice Lady Amelia. Though Lady Amelia, her mood transformed by the prospect of the imminent departure for London, could spare none of her attention for anything so lowly as a housemaid, and kept mostly to her own room.

  Late that afternoon, peering cautiously over the first-floor balcony, Constance watched Ladies Clara, Harriet, and Amelia sweep, with an air of importance, one by one toward the main door, where they allowed themselves to be kissed farewell by the Earl. Then they moved eagerly through the door and down the steps to the waiting carriage. The Earl, after seeing them off, came back, closed the door slowly, and then, with what appeared to be a momentous sigh of relief, leaned his back against it.

  Over the following days, it became obvious that Mrs Templeton was right. Though the routines of work continued as usual, the absence of the Earl's daughters seemed to lift a deep burden of pressure from the house. The staff, particularly the upstairs maid
s, went about their duties with an easier step, not having to be continually on the alert for the sharp voice of Lady Clara, Lady Harriet, or Lady Amelia.

  Constance heaved more than one or two sighs of relief when she woke up each morning, knowing that she could get her work done at her own pace, without the risk of being called on at any moment to solve some petty problem which the girls could easily have dealt with themselves.

  The very timbers and stones of the house seemed to be at ease and Constance, in between her duties, drifted happily through its centuries-old halls and galleries admiring and envying the generations that had lived in them. Though she could barely admit it to herself, she was hoping, at every moment, with every soft carpeted step she took, that she might see his Lordship going about his business.

  The merest glimpse would do. It was ridiculous of course, for as soon as he found a replacement for her, she'd be gone, and she'd never lay eyes on him again. So why was she so consumed with eagerness to catch sight of him?

  On the Thursday afternoon before their ladyships were to return from Blackwood House, Constance was dusting in his Lordship's library. It was a beautiful day, and the motes of dust that she was disturbing as she worked were transmuted into flecks of gold in the sunbeams lancing through the windows. It was peaceful and quiet, the ranks of books standing like regiments of soldiers at ease on the parade ground, their spines glinting with silver and gold. Constance ran her fingers lightly along them, reading the titles.

  If he’d read all of these, his Lordship was extremely well-read, she thought; a man as intellectually capable as he was sensitive and cultivated, if all of these historical, philosophical, geographical, and literary works were any indication.

  Her finger stopped at one small slim blue-leather bound volume and she drew it out with a smile of delight, it was Sir Thomas Browne's 'Religio Medici and Urn-Burial'.

  One of her father's favourite books, and her own, though she hadn't seen a copy since the day she'd left Edinburgh.

  Entranced, she sat down on one of the stools used for reaching the higher shelves and opened it.

  “'Certainly, there is no happiness within this circle of flesh, nor is it in the Opticks of these eyes to behold felicity'” she murmured, grinning at its truth, Sir Thomas was such a comfort. “'...we are happier with death than we should have been without it: there is no misery but in himself, where there is no end of misery; and so indeed, in his own sense, the Stoick is right.’” She murmured on, reading, becoming so immersed in Thomas Browne's mellifluous prose that she was completely unaware of the opening of the library door. “'...Whoever enjoys not this life, I count him but an apparition, though he wear about him the sensible affections of the flesh...'”

  Suddenly, aware of a presence in the room, she lifted her eyes from the little book. The Earl was standing next to the bust of the Emperor Augustus by the door, staring at her.

  She jumped up, flushing, her mouth, without any control, bubbling out apologies, 'so sorries' and 'what must you think of me's' while his Lordship, his surprise quickly melting into pleasure, approached.

  “I'm so sorry your Lordship, Agatha, the downstairs maid has sprained a wrist and I offered to... to do her work, just for this afternoon.”

  “Please calm yourself Mrs Leslie – may I call you Constance? Yes, thank you – please don't be agitated. I'm certainly more thrilled than annoyed to find one of my staff perusing my library with such earnestness. What is it that has distracted you so magnetically? Ah! Sir Thomas Browne, one of our finest prose stylists. Are you familiar with him?”

  “A little, through my father, your Lordship.”

  “Your father must be quite an enlightened man.”

  “He is, your Lordship, and he is a strong believer in the education of women.”

  “A sound idea, though not one which meets with widespread approval, unfortunately.”

  “No, though he did at least achieve some success with me.”

  “Obviously so.”

  His Lordship’s eyes were wide and glowed with such intentness that Constance wondered if it were really her educational attributes he was impressed by.

  It was another very warm day and she suddenly recalled that the dress she was wearing was a simple round gown with a rather loose and low-cut front. She surreptitiously drew her hands over her breast and turned to replace the book on the shelf.

  “No Constance. Please take it. It will give me great pleasure to think of you turning its pages.”

  “Thank you, your Lordship. It's most kind of you. But I must get on with my work, thank you.”

  “My 'take it' was not meant as a dismissal, Constance. Would you do me the honour of sitting here for a few moments to converse? Do tell me what effect Thomas Browne has upon you? Does his Christian Stoicism appeal strongly to you, or do you prefer the purer, perhaps harsher waters of the stoic source – I mean Epictetus, or do you perhaps prefer Marcus Aurelius?”

  “Both have helped me with life's troubles your Lordship, but I think that I prefer the more melancholy tone of Marcus Aurelius to the more aggressive one of Epictetus.”

  “Yes! I know exactly what you mean by Epictetus' aggressiveness. But come, sit here.”

  Excited by the discovery of another educated and philosophically curious mind under his roof, apart from Mr Collins, the Earl indicated one of the two leather armchairs before the fireplace and, once Constance was comfortably seated, sat down himself in the other chair.

  “And do you prefer the Stoics exclusively? Do the Epicureans have no appeal for you?”

  “Well, I think that they both have things in common. The importance of the mind for instance. The Stoics stressed that we must control the mind, the Epicureans that we should cultivate the pleasures of the mind rather than the body. I think both have their place.”

  “And you think the... pleasures of the body to be nothing?”

  She noticed a slight quaver in his voice as he said this, and was conscious again of her less than ideal dress.

  “They are not nothing, far from it. But I'm no Cyrenaic. I think Aristippus went perhaps too far.”

  “Yes, he did dwell on... carnal pleasures… to an inordinate degree... but there is so much in Greek philosophy is there not? Do you think that we would have Leibnitz without Plato for example?”

  The Earl leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands drinking in the vision of this beautiful young woman, frowning with seriousness as she gathered her wits to answer his question.

  As the afternoon advanced, philosophy gave way to more personal issues. Constance had been brought completely out of herself, stimulated by the Earl's philosophical questions, and felt that she could tell this, by turns sage, by turns almost boyish, gentleman absolutely anything that came into her head. She felt as if a window had been opened within her, expanding her, letting in air and light. Somehow, she found herself telling him the story of her life, and in more detail than she had given to Mrs Templeton during her interview. The shock of finding her betrothed's body, his face contorted by the lethal intensity of the apoplectic seizures of his heart failing; how she had agonised over her decision to marry George, her young soldier husband, and how her grief at his death was tempered by the knowledge that at least she had given him some happiness before he fell in battle for his country.

  She also touched on her experiences working as both a companion and a governess, and of her distress when the son of one of her employers had tried to make unsuitable advances.

  There was simply something about this man which made her trust him, which made her relax in his presence, and forget the disparity of their social positions. He was so very different from any man that she had ever known.

  ~~~~~

  Perry, though he’d had something of the outline of this biography from Mrs Templeton, was profoundly moved by its details. He understood, now, how she had been driven, by pride, and by misfortune, to her present position, and marvelled at her bravery, courage and tenacity.

  'Sh
e has a beauty, a nobleness of spirit to match the beauty of her body. She is a unique combination, a prize for the right man indeed!'

  The thought slipped through his mind, unbidden, and he set it aside, returning his attention to what Constance was saying.

  ~~~~~

  It was dusk when they eventually fell silent. There was a slight rap at the library door, and his Lordship, rather than calling for whoever it was to enter, went to the door himself, and only partly opening it, whispered an order to the person outside.

  Constance remembered herself. Here she was, a serving maid, lounging in an Earl's armchair. What would it be next? Brandy and cigars?!

  “I must be going your Lordship - Mrs Templeton will be furious. Everyone will be searching the house for me.”

  “Not at all, they know exactly where you are. But I suppose it is getting rather late, and I have one or two items of business upstairs that can't be put off.”

  She stood up and stepped tentatively past him toward the door. He stopped her progress with his voice.

  “I cannot thank you enough for our conversation. Not only for indulging my appetite for philosophy – poor old Collins is my only interlocutor here, and we both know each other's opinions rather too well now – but for trusting me with the story of your life. You leave me much to contemplate, much. Though I confess, it's hard for me to accept that you will leave me just now.”

  She looked up at him, startled, but not surprised by this last phrase. She stood quite close to him, and while he spoke, she could feel their two bodies being drawn together – it was as if, the closer she was to him, the closer she needed to be. She did not understand the cause of it, but the impact was so strong that she nearly swayed on her feet. She felt weak, and it wasn't simply her lack of food, it was a kind of dizziness, a lack of balance, as if, like some massive magnet, he was physically uprooting her, pulling her against him, into him. He too seemed to be struggling to maintain control of himself, to continue as if that force did not exist – yet she was sure that he felt it too.