Falling for the Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abby Ayles

  It was clear to all in the room that the end was coming. The duke’s body could last no longer with the frailty of his lungs. Isabella feared greatly a dramatic parting that might be scarring to the child. She hoped that with the sense of love and release of pain over his oldest son, Lord James, the duke would be able to pass into the next life in peace.

  “Oui, Grandmère,” she said.

  She watched her grandfather’s hand between her own continuing to softly rub her warmth into him, while she sang her lullaby.

  “Underneath the moonlight

  My good friend Pierrot

  Please lend me a pen

  So I may write a note

  My small candle’s dying

  There is no more light

  Open up your door, please

  Pity me this night.”

  As Jaqueline continued her song, the duke’s eyes closed softly, and with the escape of one last tear, his breath quieted and he drifted off peacefully.

  Isabella didn’t need to hear the choked sob from Lady Wintercrest, holding his other hand, to know his time had passed. She waited till the child finished before scooping her back into her arms.

  “Is Grandpère asleep now?” Jaqueline asked her governess.

  “Yes, you did very well my little cherub. Let us find your own bed now.”

  She paused to hold the hand of Lady Abigail for just a second before quietly exiting the room.

  Chapter 32

  The weeks after the duke's death passed in a quiet blur. Lady Cunningham, in the end, determined to stay the year through to help her friend through her grief. Isabella understood Lady Cunningham wanting to be next to a close friend in her time of need, but couldn’t help but regret that the joyous holiday season would now be spent in the presence of Lady Lydia.

  Lady Wintercrest was grief-stricken by the passing of her husband. Though Isabella had never thought their marriage one of romance, it was clear that Lady Wintercrest did have deep admiration for her husband and would miss his companionship dearly.

  Shortly after his passing, the duke was laid to rest in the family graveyard next to his son, Lord James. It was at this time that Lord Bellfourd was now required to take on the land, title, and seat of his father.

  He did hesitate at first, often not leaving his room all the day long, so deep was he weighed down by the prospect before him.

  Though he knew, with the passing of his older brother, this day would come eventually, he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Even as the late duke’s health continued to deteriorate, Lord Bellfourd was certain he would right himself in the end.

  Now, Captain Christian Grant was the Duke of Wintercrest. It was a weight and responsibly that he didn’t feel ready for or suited to, but it was his, none the less, and so he took it upon himself.

  Unfortunately, even with the sullen state of the house, life seemed to continue elsewhere. This regrettably included continued correspondence from Mr. Smith. Isabella, though she certainly didn’t enjoy her letters, was settled to the fact that he was, at least, only writing to her and had, as of yet, not sent any word to the household.

  “What are you ladies doing today?” a male voice came through the school room door just after the passing of the holiday season.

  The newly instated Duke of Wintercrest by the House of Lords had not been to visit his niece much over the last few months. Isabella’s face lit up with joy to see him there now and notice some of the old light in his eyes.

  “We were examining our caterpillars to see if they wiggled. Nursie said she saw them dance, but I don’t believe her,” Jackie said, coming to stand before her uncle.

  “Do you think, perhaps, that you could watch your little friend while I speak with Miss Watts?”

  “Alright, I’ll let you have her if you must,” the child said, coming into her own childlike personality, “but you must promise to give her back.”

  “Upon my honor,” the Duke of Wintercrest said, hand over heart. “If you don’t mind too much that is, Miss Watts?”

  “Of course not,” Isabella stood up from her crouched seat next to the small jar of critters.

  He held his arm out to her and she slipped in her hand happily. They walked in comfortable silence as they made their way down to the duke's office. It had been moved, once again, to its original room after the removal of bedchamber items.

  The duke escorted Isabella inside and shut the double doors behind them. Instead of going over to his desk, he instead walked to the two chairs in front of a warm fire.

  He more collapsed in his seat than sat. Covering his face with his hand, he exposed his true feelings that he had yet to share with anyone else.

  “Oh, Christian,” Isabella said taking a seat across from him. "You have looked so tired as of late. I have been so worried about you. Please, tell me what I can do to help you.”

  He lifted his head from his hand, ruffling his hair in the process, and relaxed into a soft smile.

  “I am not sure what is to be done anymore.”

  “I could at least call for some tea,” she suggested. “Perhaps it would calm your spirit?”

  “No, thank you though.”

  “Perhaps just a friend to talk to, then?” Isabella asked with a hopeful tone.

  "Now that, I would be happy to accept. I actually called you here because of this,” he pulled a letter out from his pocket.

  Isabella’s heart caught in her throat. Had Mr. Smith written to the duke after all?

  “It comes from a Mr. Jenkins,” he said, opening it, and Isabella relaxed into the back of her chair. “He tells me that he is your father’s lawyer.”

  “Well, he was. He is just a good friend now, I suppose.”

  Christian nodded in understanding.

  “He explained that he was charged with sending your quarterly allowances from your father’s business partner and making sure they were given to you.”

  “Yes, I was given a small yearly sum upon my father’s death.”

  “He informed me that he is most concerned about your welfare because he has not been able to give these sums to you, as agreed. Apparently, Mr. Smith is refusing to pay the amount agreed. He was concerned that without it you might not be living as comfortably as you should. Were you aware of this matter?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Well, I was aware that I was no longer receiving money from Mr. Jenkins after the first quarterly amount. I know him to be a trustworthy man, however, and believed that he would send them along when, or I suppose if, he ever received them.”

  “Had I known you were in wanting…”

  “I’m not. I promise you that, Christian.” Isabella answered quickly. “I have more than enough for my needs.”

  “I suppose I just wished you would have told me when this Mr. Smith started to treat you poorly again.”

  Isabella half thought to tell him of the constant streams of harassment she was still receiving, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. “You have been through a very rough time in your life. I didn’t want to burden you with anymore.”

  “You seem to be the only one to feel that way at this time," the duke said with spite as he looked into the fire.

  “Please, tell me. Perhaps I could help.”

  “I suppose that is the real reason I asked you to speak with me today. I am hoping you can help me.”

  “My mother,” he said with a huff, “is of the opinion that, with my father passed, it is of the utmost importance that I seek a wife and secure the family name, as it were.”

  “It is a very practical suggestion of her,” Isabella said, her heart fluttering in panic.

  “I’m sure you could guess that she has a very particular lady in mind.”

  “I suppose she would,” Isabella said, doing her best to hide her sorrow.

  “I told Mother that I can’t stand the thought of being married to Lady Lydia,” the duke exploded, standing before the fireplace. “She is completely opposite to me in every way. In my mind, such a
situation would only have a dastardly end.”

  “Your mother has a lot of affection for her friend Lady Cunningham, and naturally she sees the match a good opportunity for strengthening the bond between two households. Would she not understand, if you shared your feelings with her?”

  “I have,” he answered, staring into the fire. “Mother thinks my concern is just the reason that we would make such a good match. You see," the duke said, turning to Isabella in explanation, “she and my father were not in love. I’m not even sure how much affection ever ran between them. It was an arrangement most agreeable to both families. Just as I am counter to Lady Lydia, so my mother was the opposite of my father.”

  “She feels that having such a relationship can temper each other's vices and provide stability. In her mind, the whole of success in marriage isn’t on matters of compatibility but on the constraints of society.”

  “Surely the constraints of the town do not limit you to one lady? I’m sure Lady Wintercrest will be happy for you to find affection for someone else who is in accordance.”

  The duke sat back down in his seat. There was something on his mind, perhaps the root of the whole conversation, that he was trying to find the right words for.

  “What if I have already chosen another?” he asked, looking at her with a deep gaze. He held his hand to his chin while he studied Isabella processing the new information.

  “Then I see no reason why your mother wouldn’t accept your choice. She is a very reasonable woman. If you choose a lady from the proper breeding, she would be overjoyed at your decision.”

  “What if the woman I chose was not of a proper family? What if I knew, that though my family thought kindly of the lady in question, they might not agree with the unconventional choice I was making?”

  Isabella’s heart was in her throat as the duke spoke with pleading eyes. She was hoping in the depths of her soul that he was speaking of her, that the Duke of Wintercrest would defy conventions and his family’s wishes, to confess his love to her.

  She stopped in her thoughts, however. She could never ask Christian to hurt his family on her account, nor should she ever wish to add to Lady Wintercrest’s current sorrow.

  She swallowed hard to choke down the emotion she was holding back.

  “I think…” Isabella said, fighting the tears that were beginning to pool, “I think you should do what is best for your family.”

  He dropped his hand in shock. He couldn’t believe he was hearing her right.

  “You know who I speak of, do you not?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Isabella barely choked out with her eyes cast down at the rug.

  “And you will honestly tell me that you do not feel for me as I do for you?”

  “No, I will not tell you that. I won’t lie to you. I care for you deeply.”

  “Then, why?” Christian asked bewildered.

  “Because I also care deeply for your sister, your mother, your niece. I won't bring them more pain. There is enough sorrow just now.”

  “For just now, or for finality?” the duke questioned.

  He came down on his knee in front of Isabella and took her hand in his. He looked up at her emerald eyes, not a direction he was accustomed to.

  “I know the duties that are laid before me. I have settled myself to the task. I know, however, that I cannot do them without you by my side.”

  “You have been the friend to comfort me, to listen to me, as I struggled to come to terms with reality. You have brought light into the life of every person you have met. I know with you, I will have the courage to overcome whatever may come my way.”

  “Christian,” Isabella said softly, taking a moment to reach up and feel the smoothness of his cheek.

  The duke closed his eyes and relished her soft touch.

  “I could not bear to hurt them,” she repeated softly.

  He opened his eyes to her, “Then we shall wait. I could wait as long as necessary, if I only knew that you too felt the same for me as I for you.”

  Isabella smiled down at the man kneeling before her. If he only knew how long she had held him in her heart secretly, he would laugh at asking such a question.

  “I do feel the same for you,” she answered softly.

  He smiled up at her, elated. He leaned down and softly kissed the delicate hand he held in his. Standing, he lifted her to her feet as well.

  “Then I will wait. For as long as it takes. When this time of sorrow passes, we will have our wedding day,” he said, looking down at Isabella’s glowing face with hope in his crystal eyes.

  Chapter 33

  Isabella held the memory of Christian’s hand in hers as she lay in bed. She had yet to open her eyes, but she knew that dawn was drawing near. The repetition of his words in her mind seemed to melt away all her fears.

  The pile of letters she kept hidden in the bottom drawer of her dresser held no weight. It didn’t scare her now. A part of her considered writing back to Mr. Smith. She wanted to tell him that she had been blessed with the affection of the duke and that he no longer had power over her. She was proud.

  With Lady Lydia out of the house, and the family beginning to heal from their wounds, it was only a matter of time before all of Isabella’s happiness would be complete.

  She only dared share her joy with Lady Louisa through correspondence. It was too delicate a matter—too unsure of a thing, as of yet—to tell anyone else. It was a terrible burden to hide her excitement from others, especially as she had grown so close to Betsy and Lady Abigail.

  With the beginning of spring, Isabella was about to complete her first year as a governess. She was happy to say that her student had changed and grown much over the last year. The most significant being, of course, her use of the English language.

  Isabella particularly enjoyed this improvement because it created a deep bond between the child and her nurse. Something Isabella feared greatly was that Jaqueline would miss the maternal care that most little girls received.

  With Mrs. Murray to take care of her, Isabella was assured that Jaqueline, though she, of course, could never replace her own mother, had a proper stand in. She was now able to write much on her own to her mother back in France.

  Isabella was happy that even with the English Channel between them, Jaqueline was able to have a relationship with one of her parents. Of course, she had never met her father, but Isabella had made it a priority, over the last year, for the child to be aware of him, and even encouraged the household to speak of him to Jaqueline.

  Isabella understood why, up until her coming, the family had rarely spoken of their deceased member. It was a painful thing, even to talk of happy memories, because it also carried unhappy reminders of departure with it.

  It wasn’t an easy hurdle to overcome, as Isabella had learned as a child. In fact, she supposed it was her mother’s own early departure from life, and learning how to live with a grief-stricken father that gave her the tools necessary to help the Wintercrest family overcome their own painful feelings toward sharing memories.

  “Miss Watts!” Jaqueline called excitedly as Isabelle entered the school room. “It’s happening! It’s happening!”

  “What’s happening, my dear?”

  “The caterpillars, they are coming out of their shells!”

  Jackie was bouncing up and down with joy, her golden ringlets free-flowing around her as she tugged on her governess’ arm.

  “Lil lass has been a ball of excitement all morning,” Mrs. Murray said, coming into the room from the nursery. “I barely got her rags out this morning. She has been nothin’ but wiggles.”

  Mrs. Murray had a pink silk ribbon in her hand that she was still hoping to get into the child’s hair. She was by no means irritated by the girl’s fidgety behavior this morning. In fact, it seemed that Jackie’s excitement had been caught by her nurse—she moved with lightness in her step. There was certainly more bounce in her movements than usual.

  “The only way I got the lass to eat
this morning was to move her little critter right to the table so she could continue to watch.”

  “Here, Mrs. Murray,” Isabella said, reaching out for the ribbon. “I will happily place the ribbon. I suspect there will be no point in arithmetic this morning, as it seems Mother Nature has made other plans today.”

  Isabella took the ribbon and tied it to pull back a portion of Jackie’s hair away from her face. Jackie was hopping up and down in place with her head close to the jar. Isabella suspected it was the best that could be done.

  They spent the morning watching as their little friend slowly made his way out of his cocoon and stretched his wings. Jackie was so enthralled that Isabella was right to estimate that no other school work would be done that day.

  When Betsy arrived at the schoolroom with the noonday meal, the newly emerged friend was just starting to flutter his wings in earnest.

  “Oh, Miss Watts, can’t we take him outside now?” Jackie asked, too interested to eat.

  “Let us have our meal first. Then, afterward, we will take him outside and see if he is ready to use his wings.”

  Jackie wasn’t happy about having to wait but she was an obedient child and went to fetch her nurse for their luncheon.

  Isabella wasn’t entirely sure if Jackie had actually eaten anything. She spent the whole meal telling Mrs. Murray a moment by moment account of what had been happening in the jar, from the second Mrs. Murray had left the room in the morning until the second they sat for lunch.

  “Miss Watts, may we take the jar outside now?” Jackie asked as plates and teacups were returned to the tray to be picked up.

  “Let us look out the window first to make sure that the weather is fine enough for him. I wouldn’t want to let him go if it was still chilly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, he has been warm and comfortable here in your schoolroom. The fire has made it warm and cozy in here while it was cold and snowing outside. His delicate wings cannot handle extreme cold.”