The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see him or the dark-haired ruffian he’d paid to follow her, but the path was clear. Just because she hadn’t thought of him in a few days didn’t mean he’d given up. And what would she do once her position at Will’s house ended? Mary would return to school, and then she’d be out on her own again.

  She returned her attention to the path ahead. It was still fairly early, but already fashionable carriages were moving gracefully along the smooth lanes. A trio of elegant ladies trotted by, their high-stepping horses blowing hard through flared nostrils. One of them glanced at her as they passed, and Isabelle followed the line of her patrician gaze to her own drab dress. She’d liked it when she had bought it five years ago; it was sensible, the sort of garment a capable woman with informed opinions would wear. But now, confronted by the modish ladies of London’s upper crust, she became painfully aware of her deficiencies.

  Standing alone in the park, she couldn’t remember feeling so dejected. How had her life come to this? And where, while she was asking herself searching questions, was Mary?

  She turned around, scanning the area, trying to remember what the girl had been wearing. Green? Yes, bright green…but no green dresses in sight.

  Thinking that perhaps Mary had wandered far down the path while she’d been staring at the clouds, she picked up her pace. But after thirty seconds of brisk walking she stopped suddenly. She couldn’t have gone that far in such a short time. Was she hiding? Had she been lured away by some villain?

  If she had been, it would be entirely Isabelle’s fault.

  ‘Mary!’ she called, quietly at first, but then louder. She didn’t care if she caused a spectacle in front of the well-dressed denizens of the park. She had to find her—and hadn’t she just been waiting for the silly girl to do something like this, true to form. She’d probably run off simply to get Isabelle into trouble. Mischief for mischief’s sake.

  She stood in the middle of the road, not knowing what to do. Dratted girl. Ungratef—

  And then she was sitting on the hard road, feeling as if her legs had been stolen right from underneath her. A sharp pain in her foot, and a riderless horse galloping past. Her chest ached dully from having all the air squeezed so suddenly from her lungs.

  Most of all, she was embarrassed.

  ‘Miss Thomas?’

  That was Mary. Isabelle looked up. The girl was standing fifteen feet in front of her, and her expression indicated she didn’t know whether to laugh or express concern.

  ‘It isn’t amusing,’ Isabelle said, wanting to clear up any ambiguity.

  Mary bit her lip, trying to control her smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where were you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Sitting by that tree—just over there.’ Isabelle glanced in the direction she indicated. A book lay open on the ground; she hadn’t run off or been hiding after all. The urge to scold her dissipated. It wasn’t Mary’s fault that she’d lost track of her.

  ‘I should not have panicked.’

  Mary shrugged and extended her gloved hand. ‘I didn’t hear you until the horse was nearly on top of you. Are you…injured?’

  She took a deep breath and ascertained that all her ribs were intact and unbroken. ‘Just my pride.’ She accepted her hand and rose, wincing sharply as she put pressure on her left leg. ‘And perhaps my foot. I think the horse might have stepped on it.’

  ‘Can you walk?’

  She tried. Although it hurt, she didn’t think it was broken. ‘Slowly. I think we should be able to walk home, but it will take a while. There’s no choice, is there?’

  Mary opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a raindrop landing on her nose. She cast her sceptical gaze up at the sky instead.

  Then another character entered the scene. ‘Miss? Have you injured yourself?’

  Isabelle closed her eyes, dreading the sound of the unfamiliar voice. She’d been hoping to pretend that no one else had witnessed her humiliation. But when she turned around, a handsome, concerned-looking gentleman greeted her. He held his smart black hat in one hand and the offending horse’s reins in the other.

  She felt perfectly in order rebuking him. ‘Is that your horse?’

  ‘No, I’ve just come from my carriage. I saw you fall and I—’

  He broke off as he noticed a stout, breeches-clad boy waddling in their direction. He appeared no older than Mary and was as red-faced as Isabelle.

  ‘Does this horse belong to you?’ the man asked sternly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He handed him the reins. ‘You will be more careful.’

  The boy nodded shame-facedly, giving Isabelle a pitiful look.

  As he walked away, Isabelle realised she owed the man an apology. He’d been trying to help, and she’d scolded him like a fishwife. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed—’

  ‘No need to explain.’

  ‘There is, though. I deserved to be run over, standing in the road like that.’

  ‘You’re limping.’

  ‘He grazed my foot, I think.’ She took a careful step. ‘I think I can make it home well enough.’

  ‘It’s raining,’ Mary pointed out prudently.

  He frowned slightly. ‘I am a doctor, Miss…?’

  ‘Thomas.’

  ‘Miss Thomas. Shall I have a look?’

  She shook her head. ‘Please, no. It is merely tender.’

  ‘Probably just a mild sprain. Still, you shouldn’t walk on it. Allow me to drive you home.’

  ‘I can walk.’ The rain came faster, now. Walking home at a snail’s pace didn’t seem an appealing prospect.

  ‘It will be no inconvenience. Please.’

  ‘Yes, but—’ A fat drop splashed on her cheek.

  Mary was looking at her as if she were out of her mind. ‘It’s raining,’ she repeated under her breath.

  Isabelle wiped the water away and continued. ‘We would be grateful.’

  Their handsome rescuer was Dr Collins. His manners were very correct, and he asked only polite, impersonal questions, unlike Will who asked whatever strange questions took his fancy. Isabelle found it a relief, and by the time they’d reached the house she rather wished she didn’t have to get out of the carriage. Any chance she’d had of avoiding Will for the day had pretty much vanished, unless—please God—he’d gone out for the afternoon. She hadn’t been that lucky in years.

  Matters were made worse by the fact that they had returned in such an unseemly fashion—damp, accompanied by a total stranger and, at least on her part, dirty and injured, as well. She now realised that she should have told Will she was taking Mary out in the first place. She’d no right to make such decisions, since she’d only been working there a few days. She wouldn’t be surprised if he dismissed her on the doorstep.

  She allowed Dr Collins to help her from the carriage. ‘I must thank you again. I fear we’ve spoiled your morning.’

  ‘My morning has been improved immensely by this meeting. Hold my arm, and try not to put any pressure on your foot.’

  She did as he asked, since he was a doctor.

  Mary walked ahead and rang the bell. Isabelle crossed her fingers and hoped she wouldn’t announce that the reason they’d arrived in this state was that Isabelle had nearly lost her.

  A footman opened the door—not the supercilious Rogers this time, but Mayhew, his kinder counterpart. He looked at them bemusedly. His brow furrowed slightly when he noticed that Isabelle was holding on to Dr Collins’s arm.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mayhew. I can…’

  But she didn’t get the chance to explain, or even to enter the house. Will emerged behind the footman, obviously having been drawn away from his work in the study. He looked at Collins, then he looked at her. His gaze narrowed.

  ‘Miss Thomas? What in the name of God is going on?’

  ‘I’m so sorry—’

  Mary stepped in—literally, to stand in front of her. ‘Miss Thomas took me to the park and was nearly killed b
y a runaway horse. Dr Collins brought us home because she can’t walk.’

  ‘Mary, stop. I can walk perfectly well. My foot’s just a bit swollen and Dr Collins is being cautious.’

  Will had walked on to the portico now. He looked at Dr Collins again, but still didn’t say anything. Isabelle was mortified. How must she look to him, returning like this?

  Dr Collins tried to alleviate her discomfort. ‘It was my fault entirely. I saw the horse, but did not intervene in time. I’m Collins, by the way.’

  Will looked completely unimpressed by this explanation, as well as uninterested in Collins’s identity. He was uninterested to the point of rudeness and didn’t bother to introduce himself.

  ‘No, no, it’s not your fault. I…I wasn’t paying attention,’ Isabelle hastened to explain, hoping Collins wouldn’t be offended by this treatment.

  ‘How careless of you,’ Will said, his gaze roaming over her. She couldn’t read his expression. It held none of the warmth and teasing of last night.

  ‘It wasn’t carelessness.’ That was Mary. Isabelle cringed slightly, worried about what would come next. Don’t tell him I was panicking because I’d no idea where you’d gone…‘Miss Thomas was just watching me so vigilantly that she didn’t notice the horse.’

  At least her words drew Will’s attention away from Isabelle. Instead he frowned at Mary, but the girl just shrugged and walked inside.

  Dr Collins looked over his shoulder at his carriage, obviously eager to exit the uncomfortable scene. ‘I must go, Miss Thomas. Might I call on you tomorrow to see how you fare?’

  Will snorted. She couldn’t imagine a more churlish response. ‘I assure you I feel better already, Dr Collins. I thank you again for your trouble.’ She hobbled inside unaided to prove her point, but as she was about to turn around to bid him goodbye, the door closed with a loud bang. Will had closed it.

  She stared at the door for a second, unable to believe what he’d done. She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it when she saw the hard glint in his eyes.

  ‘You will tell me in future if you decide to go out,’ he said coldly.

  She would. She knew she should have today. But he’d been horrible to Dr Collins and she didn’t like his tone. She crossed her arms and stared levelly back.

  ‘That was very rude.’

  ‘Of him, yes, to propose to court my employee.’

  ‘Rude of you, sir! He only asked out of concern. He’s a doctor.’

  ‘Well, that’s bloody convenient.’

  ‘It was my idea, actually,’ Mary said suddenly, her cheeks heightened by Will’s inadvertent oath. They both turned to look at her, having all but forgotten her presence. ‘I told Miss Thomas that I’d told you we were going to the park—I did it because I wanted to avoid my lesson. I’m sorry I lied.’

  Isabelle continued to stare at her. Why was she trying to protect her?

  He sighed. ‘Mayhew, see to it that Mary has her lunch and returns to the nursery. I will have a word with you, Miss Thomas. In my study.’

  Isabelle didn’t miss the worried look Mayhew gave her as he ushered Mary off.

  Her hopes plummeted to the floor. She was dreading the conversation. Will would ask her to leave. She knew it. Because she’d endangered his ward, because she’d made a spectacle of herself, and because she’d been rude to him—each reason alone was ample justification. She walked gingerly to his study.

  Chapter Ten

  Will closed the study door behind him. Isabelle was sitting in an armchair, looking nervous. He didn’t know why he was so angry, since she hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t really care if she took the girl to the park. Yes, she’d spoken out of turn, but he’d thoroughly deserved it. What was wrong with him?

  He knew the answer instantly. He hadn’t liked seeing her, from his study window, climbing out of another man’s carriage and resting her hand on his arm, particularly when he hadn’t even known she’d left the house in the first place. Using his arm for support was understandable, in light of her injury, but he hadn’t known it at the time. He’d responded in the most primitive way.

  ‘What Mary said isn’t true,’ Isabelle said, finally breaking the silence. ‘She’s trying to protect me, although I can’t imagine why. I know I should have told you we were going out. I will next time.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  He walked a few steps closer. ‘You needn’t worry. You don’t disturb me.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘And I was afraid I’d been rather…impudent last night. I thought you might, um…’

  ‘I’ve got very thick skin, Miss Thomas, and I think impudence is quite refreshing sometimes.’ She blushed and looked away, and he felt a strong urge to kiss her pink cheeks.

  He crossed the room to pour himself a glass of brandy, needing to turn his back to her more than he needed the spirits. ‘And I should apologise. I suppose I, ah, might have overreacted. You can, of course, go to the park whenever you please.’

  When he turned around, she was looking at him again, seemingly more collected. ‘I will always tell you in the future.’

  He wished he felt as composed as she looked, but ‘future’ sounded delightfully promising and reassuringly permanent. Bloody hell, he’d known enough women—why was this one having such an effect on him?

  She tried to rise. ‘I must let you continue doing, um, whatever it is you’re doing.’

  He walked closer. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘You’re busy.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And you’re injured. Sit, Miss Thomas.’

  She did, instantly, as if his touch had burned her. He pulled up a chair to face her and sat down as well. ‘Give me your foot.’

  She didn’t. ‘Why?’

  He frowned at her. ‘Just give me your foot and don’t act like such a ninny.’

  He knew he sounded autocratic, but since what he really wanted to do was drag her into his lap, for the moment a bit of gruffness was in order. She lifted her foot warily, and he took it in his hand. She flinched when he made contact. ‘I’m going to remove your boot, Miss Thomas.’

  She nodded, but she was staring fixedly out of the window, patently embarrassed.

  An angry streak of dirt left by the horse’s hoof marred her soft leather boot. He loosened it and carefully pulled it off. Her foot had swelled slightly, but would probably be better in a day or two. He could tell that the pressure of his hands hurt her, so he lay her foot down gently on his thigh. It was a lovely foot, even swollen and encased in pristine white stockings. He could judge its normal size by the slim dimensions of her ankle and the few inches of calf that were revealed. Again, he found himself responding in the most inexplicable way.

  ‘Did Dr Collins look at your foot?’

  She was still too embarrassed to meet his gaze. ‘No. He offered.’

  Will snorted.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, finally turning her head.

  ‘Nothing.’ He carefully removed her leg and placed it on his chair as he rose. ‘Keep it elevated. And, uh, perhaps some cold water for the swelling.’

  Normally he’d ring for a servant to bring the water, but this time he left the room himself. He needed the distance. Hell, he probably even needed the cold water more than she. It was utterly ridiculous that his body should be so undisciplined around her. For God’s sake, it was only a foot.

  He returned a few minutes later, feeling only somewhat more composed. She was still sitting on the chair with her leg propped up, although her posture had relaxed considerably. Tobias, the cat, had appeared from nowhere and was sitting on the floor by the chair, contemplating the potential comfort of her lap. She stiffened and straightened when Will entered.

  ‘A footman will bring some cold water soon.’

  He returned to his desk, where he’d been steadily employed until she’d arrived. He couldn’t concentrate now, though. His attention kept straying to her flushed, prett
y face. The sun streamed in from a large window, making her hair glow like copper. Tobias had finally settled on her lap and was allowing her to stroke his head—remarkable, really, considering the cat’s contrary nature. Periodically he kneaded her thigh with a lazy paw. Will cleared his throat and shoved some papers around, trying to look busy.

  ‘I’m sorry I made such a disaster of today,’ she said quietly.

  He felt sorry himself. She must think he was permanently ill tempered, when actually quite the opposite had been true until she’d appeared in his life. He’d been perfectly good humored that morning, his mood only souring when he’d seen her with Collins. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He wanted to make her smile again, but instead he’d never been less charming to a woman. He wanted to protect her, from the dangers of the street and from the lascivious thoughts of the Charles Prestwicks and John Dewhursts of the world. Never mind his own lascivious thoughts; never mind his questionable motives. The problem was, he didn’t know what he wanted.

  Or, more precisely, he knew exactly what he wanted and also knew he couldn’t have it. It was driving him mad.

  Still, he couldn’t excuse his boorish manners. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Miss Thomas. I’m sorry myself. Just a bit distracted today. Rather a lot that I have to do.’

  ‘Oh.’ She paused. Then, ‘What…what are you working on?’

  She asked it hesitantly, as if she were aware that it wasn’t the sort of question she should ask her employer. It certainly wasn’t, but he didn’t care. He didn’t class her with the other servants. She looked, spoke and thought differently, and her family background, if she told the truth, had at least been educated, if not terribly affluent. Besides, it wasn’t as if he were doing anything confidential. Mostly he was just signing his name, giving his consent for various building works and requests from tenants. His steward managed Wentwich Castle when he was in town, and every week he forwarded Will a large batch of letters, all awaiting his attention.