Lord, I should have behaved better!
Oh, but he wanted her, even now. His heart ached to think he had vexed her.
More confusing questions followed. Why on earth had he thought of marriage? He had no notion of becoming leg-shackled any time soon. Was the notion driven by simple lust?
He took a breath. Until he was calmer, he could not know if his desire to wed Mary was real or simply a figment of his heated passion. There was danger in acting on the impulse of the moment. All his life he had valued rationality, reason, temperance, moderation. Now...he barely recognised himself. Losing control with an innocent maid in the woods, almost blurting out a marriage proposal, even now having to restrain himself from seeking her out...
No. There was a better way. He must find himself again. His rationality. His true self, not this crazed madman.
‘I must subdue this!’ he declared aloud, glancing guiltily around as if he might be heard. With deliberation, he sat in his usual armchair and picked up his book. Normally, Mary and Beatrice would be with him at this time. But the ladies were not long awake and he did not know where Mary might be. He pictured her then, her eyes heavy with desire, and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He started reading the same passage again, as he had not taken it in before.
No. Exasperated with himself, he uttered an expletive. This time, his mind had wandered back to a concern for her present well-being. Had she returned safely to the house? Lord, why had he not thought to check with the servants? The library door opened, causing him to lift his head in anticipation.
It was his sister. Resisting the urge to take out his irritation and disappointment on her, he gave a bland greeting.
It was not well-received. Bristling with indignation, she sat opposite him, clearly ready to divulge some Gothic complaint.
‘Please be seated, Sister,’ he murmured, his tone dripping with sarcasm at her intrusion.
‘Sister? Sister, is it? Is that what you have to say to me?’
He refused to rise to this provocation. ‘Are you not my sister?’
‘Indeed I am and as such I believe I have the right to censure you when deserved!’
Now she had his full attention. ‘Censure me? For what reason?’
Lord, did someone see us in the woods?
She raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Do not trifle with me, Nicky. I can give you five years, you know, and I was not born yesterday.’
‘Indeed not. Why, you are now almost elderly, I would say.’
‘Elderly?’ Her chest heaved with outrage. ‘Elderly? How dare you?’
‘Apologies. Not elderly, no. Perhaps, older?’
‘My age has nothing to do with the case!’
‘Why, then, did you bring it up?’ He frowned. ‘Really, Susan, if this is how you behave with Mr Fenhurst then I can understand why he sends you here for so long each spring.’
Two angry red spots had appeared on her cheeks. ‘Mr Fenhurst does not send me here. I shall have you know that he is very fond of me and misses me when I am gone.’
‘Would that I had such felicity,’ he murmured.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Her tone was sharp. ‘Never mind. I shall not allow you to divert me. I mean to speak of Miss Smith, the governess that you hired and whom I never asked for!’
‘Miss Smith?’ His heart sank. Hoping he was displaying something approaching genuine puzzlement, he asked, ‘Why should you speak of her?’
‘Because, Brother dear, you and she were seen at the dancing ogling each other and in full view of my impressionable daughters!’
Damnation.
‘Ogling?’ he said lazily. ‘My dear, such an inelegant word. Vulgar, almost.’
‘Then you do not deny it?’
He shrugged. ‘Miss Smith is an attractive young woman, I will allow. Both Bramber and myself have noted it. We both danced with her last night. Really...’ he laughed ‘...you cannot expect us to not notice an attractive young lady. Besides...’ he leaned back in his chair ‘...what business it is of yours I do not know.’
‘It is my business when you waltz with her before any other lady in the district—and she a governess! It is my business when she might influence my innocent daughters with wantonness!’
Thank goodness they had not been seen in the woods. What if he had not stopped? ‘My dear sister,’ he drawled, ‘I believe you may trust me as a gentleman to behave with honour.’
Even as he said it, he was conscious of his own dissimulation.
I have no choice!
He had to protect Miss Smith’s reputation by pretending no interest in her. At least Susan was only outraged by the waltz. At least she did not know the rest.
She leaned forwards. ‘Ah, but therein lies the problem, Nicky. I know you well enough to see that you are besotted with the chit. I am sure that you will not throw yourself away on a governess, but I want your assurance that you will not do anything to demean the Denny name!’
He eyed her blankly. ‘Besotted? No!’ Even to himself, it sounded unconvincing.
She shook her head sadly. ‘Tell me truly—if I were to say to you that I no longer need her to assist with the children, would you not fight to keep her here?’
Yes! With everything that is in me!
Aloud he replied, ‘Of course not. She is a passing fancy, nothing more. I should forget her within a half-hour of her leaving.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I do hope you are telling me the truth, Nicky.’ He remained expressionless. ‘Very well. But I beg you, pay her no more attention. It is being noticed—and that is not good for our family reputation.’ She hesitated. ‘And there is something else.’
Lord, what more?
‘Yes?’
‘A person called to see Miss Smith today who, according to the London footman, had all the appearance of a Bow Street Runner. Now, we have no way of knowing what he spoke to her about. Equally, we cannot be sure that she can be trusted. My children are my most prized possessions and if I cannot be safe leaving them with her, then...’ Her voice tailed off.
Nicholas was frowning. ‘Did Miss Smith say why the person had called?’
‘She did not. Indeed, she went straight to her room after his departure, and no one has seen her since. She will have to come down for nuncheon shortly, though.’
‘I see.’ He did not see, not at all. Was Mary in some sort of difficulty? His heart turned over at the thought.
‘I shall leave you to consider my words, Brother. I assure you, I did not speak them lightly.’
She departed in a rustle of self-righteousness, leaving him alone with thoughts even more disordered than before. He was angry with his sister and with himself. He should have behaved better. As a gentleman, and as head of the family, he ought to have been more responsible. Now a Bow Street Runner had entered the stage. Thinking back, there had been times when he had noticed a worried furrow on Mary’s brow. Each time he had asked her what was vexing her, she had laughed it away, or made some excuse. Now, his instincts told him there might be more to it.
‘You are a damned fool, Nicky!’ he said aloud. If only he had not kissed her today, not put her away from him, he might have been able to call her here and ask her directly about whatever was troubling her. As it was, he had no doubt that her justifiable anger against him following their encounter in the woods would make that impossible. For now.
Somehow, he needed to make things right between them again. He needed to regain their fragile friendship and protect Mary from his sister’s ire. Briefly, he put his head in his hands. This mess was entirely of his own making.
‘Damnation!’ He recalled his sister’s words, her scathing tone. He must not let Mary be hurt by anyone.
A Bow Street Runner! No doubt his sister was just as curious as he about the man’s reasons for speaking to Mary today. He glanced at the clock. Nearly tim
e for their late nuncheon. Having intended to stay away, he abruptly changed his mind. Mary would need to be protected from his sister’s barbs and pointed questions. Knowing that he himself was in a discomposed frame of mind, he yet understood that he needed to do everything in his power to protect Mary from an instant’s distress. He rose, determination commanding the rabble of thoughts and emotions within.
Silence! he told them. She needs me. All else must wait.
* * *
The gong sounded for nuncheon. To Mary, it had a funereal tone. Not only might she be forced to face Sir Nicholas, but the ladies would no doubt question her on her visitor, and she had no idea what to say. Squaring her shoulders, she set off for the dining room.
Unusually, they were all there before her. As she entered, her gaze swept around them all, noting their various expressions: Mrs Fenhurst with a face like thunder, her daughters curious, Miss Cushing gleeful. No surprises there, then.
Sir Nicholas was seated in his usual chair, being served by a footman. He showed no emotion, displaying a bland affability that pierced Mary’s heart. He did not as much as look in her direction.
Motherless herself since childhood, she had heard enough advice from well-meaning matrons to understand that men often became overcome by their body’s needs and did not always have any attachment to the lady concerned. That was why, she understood, so many serving maids were sent away to the country to raise fatherless children. It had always seemed unfair to her.
But this is different! she told herself, as she slipped into an empty seat. We have a meeting of minds, as well as bodies!
Yet doubt remained. He had put her away from him so decidedly, so finally. ‘I am your employer,’ he had said. ‘We cannot and should not do this again.’
Because, the undeniable conclusion presented itself, he does not wish to get me with child.
As a gentleman he was attempting to behave honourably by ending it. Discovering evidence of his sense of honour could not have come in a more distressing manner. He clearly had no thought of marriage—and why should he? Instead he sought only to save her from her own lustful folly.
She was still angry with him, but half-knew that her rage came from hurt. The Bow Street Runner had added to her distress and her mind, hampered by lack of sleep, seemed unable to handle the various conundrums before it.
Cutting a piece of fish on her plate in an attempt to disguise her distress, Mary carefully diverted her thoughts away from her troubles. It would not do to exhibit waterworks at the dining table. So she avoided looking at anyone, desperately trying to present an air of calm unconcern.
The others were chattering away about last night’s party. Miss Amabel and Miss Beatrice were discussing with great animation who they had danced with and how many people had been there, and how wonderful it was to dance in real life and not just with each other.
Oh, I know, thought Mary sadly. She felt a hundred years older than them.
‘I believe you had a caller earlier, Miss Smith.’ It was Miss Cushing, the excited gleam in her eyes not matching her casual air. ‘I did not know you had acquaintances in the district.’
Instantly the air in the room seemed to sharpen. To her right, Mary sensed Sir Nicholas stiffen slightly, while the girls glanced at each other and Mrs Fenhurst eyed Mary with a steady malevolence.
‘Actually, I now have a number of acquaintances in the area,’ replied Mary, with a calm she did not feel.
‘Really?’ Miss Cushing was now openly disdainful. ‘Are they all as well-bred as the man who called this morning?’
Mary opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. The viciousness of Miss Cushing’s barbed question had entirely pierced her already wounded heart.
‘Enough!’ Sir Nicholas threw down his cutlery and glared at Miss Cushing. The words seemed to erupt from him. ‘I have endured for weeks now your jealousy, your crushing remarks, your attempts to undermine Miss Smith with my sister. It is plain as a pikestaff that she is a hundred times the better governess, but you refuse to be grateful for her efforts, or her assistance. Because of your own fears, you hurt others. If you wish to remain welcome in this house, you will treat Miss Smith with respect!’
There was a stunned silence, as the shock of Sir Nicholas’s intervention sank in. Mrs Fenhurst gasped, as did her daughters. Miss Cushing herself, realising the enormity of his rebuke, looked at him, slack-jawed and pale for a moment. Then her face crumpled and the tears began to flow.
‘Oh, spare me the Cheltenham tragedy,’ Sir Nicholas retorted, pushing back his seat and standing. ‘I shall be in my library.’ He threw his napkin on to his chair. ‘Feel free to keep her to yourselves until she is ready to behave in a more rational manner!’
He stalked out, leaving the door open. Both footmen in the room stared steadily ahead, as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring.
As soon as he had gone all of the ladies, including Mary, jumped up and went to Miss Cushing, who was in severe distress. Despite her own wretchedness, Mary could not help but feel sorry for her. Between her hysterical hiccoughs and wails, words eventually began to come through. She was so very sorry. She never intended to upset dear Sir Nicholas. She held Miss Smith in the highest esteem. She did not know what had come over her.
Mary sensed the elderly lady’s genuine terror. With each second that passed, even as she issued soothing words to poor Miss Cushing, Mary became increasingly—and entirely irrationally—angry with Sir Nicholas.
Once the housekeeper had arrived with hartshorn and the ladies had led Miss Cushing gently to the sofa in the next room, Mary slipped out. Her anger, born of hurt and frustration, and shock, was all-consuming. Marching directly to the library, she flung open the door and stamped inside.
He was at the window, his back to her. On hearing her enter he turned, his expression one of surprise. ‘Mary! Miss Smith! What—?’
‘How could you? How could you do such a thing to Miss Cushing?’
His mouth fell open in shock. ‘I was defending you, Miss Smith, as you may have noticed.’
‘I do not require your assistance and I did not ask for it!’ She marched up to him, wishing for a moment that he was not quite so much taller than her. ‘Miss Cushing is crushed by your unkind words and is even now lying down and being offered hartshorn. Have you no thought for her?’
‘Miss Cushing,’ he replied slowly, ‘has been vexing everyone in this household for many weeks. Including you!’
‘And what has that to do with the matter? Yes, she can be irritating, and illogical, and small-minded. She should not have said what she did. But she is poor, sir. She has nothing except Mrs Fenhurst’s favour and the hope of remaining useful to her mistress. Can you not see what that must be like for her?’
She almost saw him withdraw behind a haughty mask. He was suddenly every inch the Baronet. Never had she seen him like this. His lip curled. ‘If she truly wishes to remain in service to my sister, she would do better to behave in a reasonable manner, avoiding pestering everyone with her empty chatter and her unwelcome opinions.’
Helplessly, knowing she had lost control of her temper, Mary continued to press him. ‘And why should her opinions be less welcome than those of any other person? Is she of less value simply because she is a governess? Are servants not people?’
He gave a puzzled shrug. ‘I had not taken you for a revolutionary, Miss Smith. It is the duty of servants and employees to be of use. That is why they have employment. Yet fear not, my sister will not abandon Miss Cushion in her later years.’
Mary shook her head, allowing rage at this evidence of arrogance to fuel her hurtful words. ‘You simply refuse to understand. The woman’s name is Miss Cushing, not Cushion. I had thought your misnaming of her a humorous curiosity. Now I see it as a sign of your callous unconcern for her.’ She stabbed an angry finger into his chest. ‘I see you, Sir Nicholas, and I do not like
what I see!’
Now he was truly listening. Pale and grim, he bit out, ‘We have had this conversation before, I believe.’ He straightened, goading her. ‘Tell me more. What is it you see?’
Lost to all sense, she told him. ‘I see selfishness. Indolence. Unconcern for the needs of others. Tell me, what is your sister’s opinion of me?’
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, seemingly unwilling to voice it.
Mary nodded grimly. ‘Let me answer that question myself. She does not like me. She does not like the attention you once gave me. It was her enmity driving Miss Cushing’s words. Miss Cushing is nothing more than a vessel for your sister’s desire to be rid of me. Instead of attacking a defenceless elderly lady, you would have done better to discuss it with your sister.’
Now he looked incensed. ‘I did in fact discuss you with my sister not an hour ago!’
Now it was her turn to be taken aback. ‘You did? And what was the outcome?’
‘I said that if she were to let you go I would forget you within a half-hour!’ he revealed angrily. ‘Now tell me, Miss Smith, why was a Bow Street Runner in my house this day?’
Mary drew herself up to her full, limited height. ‘That,’ she declared, ‘is my own business and no concern of yours!’
‘Anything that occurs within these walls is my business!’
‘Then why do you act with such indifference regarding the truly important matters?’ Driven by a need to make him see, she continued, ‘You are so absorbed by your books, and your own comfort, that you do not see the troubles of those around you. How can anyone think of asking you for assistance when you are so removed from others? Your nieces and nephews crave your attention, but you are too lazy to bother with them, apart from Beatrice. Your sister seeks your good opinion. You could guide her, instead of sneering and making it clear that you barely tolerate anyone except me and Bramber! Well, at this moment I can barely tolerate you, sir!’
A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess Page 17