The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  Why did this fact seem to matter? She’d taken the job with him so she could have experience and a reference, but his name acted like poison. ‘I don’t understand. I know I haven’t been there long, but that is easy enough to explain. I’m not being asked to leave—it’s just that he’s sending his ward back to school and will no longer need me.’

  ‘I am sorry, Miss Thomas. Despite your lack of experience, I really would be willing to give you a chance. In every other way you seem perfect. I would like to help you, but I cannot.’

  Isabelle rose, furious. ‘Why?’

  The lady’s kindness disappeared behind a cool mask. ‘Now, now, Miss Thomas, I see no need to create a nasty scene.’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d know. Lord Lennox is a prominent member of society. Did you think no one would notice?’

  ‘Notice what?’ she demanded.

  The woman blushed. ‘I’d really rather not say. Let it suffice that I do not wish to bring infamy upon my house. But that is your fault, not mine. Good day, Miss Thomas.’ She rose, too, in order to show Isabelle to the door.

  Isabelle just stared at her, still not understanding and not ready to leave until she did. ‘Infamy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  The woman sighed, glanced at the door as if wondering whether her servants were listening in, and then whispered, ‘Your affair, Miss Thomas.’

  It took several seconds for her meaning to sink in. ‘You are accusing me of…of having…improper—’

  ‘I am merely repeating what I’ve heard. Lord Lennox has been much talked about in the past few days, and your coming here only supports the accusations lodged against him. I can only imagine he asked you to leave his employ as a result of the scandal.’

  ‘There is no truth to what you say!’

  ‘None the less, I will not have someone such as you in my house. Should I invite you here to…to make love to my husband, Miss Thomas?’

  ‘Your husband?’ Isabelle said, staring at the round-faced man in the portrait. She couldn’t believe what she was being accused of. With the exception of one stolen kiss, she was completely innocent. She no longer cared about being polite, and she nodded in the direction of the painting. ‘That man?’

  The woman, apparently, no longer cared about being polite, either. ‘How dare you?’ She walked briskly the rest of the way to the sitting-room door, flung it open and called for the butler. Before Isabelle had the chance to be forcefully ejected, she pushed past the woman and marched across the hall to the front door. It didn’t open easily. She yanked, yanked again, and then the butler was there, stepping in front of her to turn the doorknob in the opposite direction. With a withering look, he opened the door effortlessly. And she felt like a fool.

  Dragging her dignity behind her, she left the house.

  Isabelle wandered home slowly, weighted down by the knowledge that she’d very little chance of finding other employment—unless, that is, she chose not to use Will as a reference. But then she’d be back where she’d started, with apparently no experience and no one to recommend her. She’d have to stay in his employ—if he would keep her. He might not. He was already known as a rake and didn’t seem to care, but even he couldn’t be impregnable to such a damaging scandal. Carrying on an affair with the governess of one’s ward went well beyond the pale.

  But if she stayed…how long would it be until the rumour came true?

  She turned down his street, wondering who could have started it. Was it simple, mischievous gossip, or was something more malicious afoot? Did Will have any enemies who’d want to blacken his character?

  She stopped in front of his house, staring up at the imposing façade. Did any of the servants know? She’d detected no change in their behavior towards her; all were perfectly polite, except for Mrs Graham and Rogers who never bothered to speak to her unless necessary anyway. But eventually the rumour would trickle down below stairs. Servants liked to talk as much as anyone.

  How could she go inside and give Mary a geography lesson now? How could she pretend nothing had happened? Maybe Dr Collins could help her. He’d offered, although he hadn’t specified what form his help might take. She thought he could be trusted…

  ‘Miss Thomas.’ A man addressed her.

  She turned around, his voice—familiar, but not immediately recognisable—slowly registering in her brain. It seemed like such a long time since she’d heard it, although in fact less than two weeks had passed. So much had changed.

  ‘Mr Cowes. I—’ She broke off, her gaze drawn to the stocky, dark-haired man who stood behind him, looking bored. She immediately remembered him as the man who’d followed her that day in the slums, although now he was dressed in a watchman’s uniform. So he’d managed to find her after all. She’d been foolish to think Mr Cowes would give up easily. To forget that he remained a threat just because her life had grown so comfortable.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, taking a step backwards, bringing herself marginally closer to the house.

  ‘For a moment I thought you might not recognise me,’ he said, taking a step forwards to match hers. ‘I should hope not. I was beginning to worry…you do remember what we discussed?’

  ‘We’ve discussed nothing, sir.’ She glanced at the house, wondering if anyone would notice her distress. Rogers tended to hover by the door, but she put little faith in him dashing out to rescue her.

  She’d have to rely on herself. ‘Have you been following me?’

  ‘Afraid I’ve more important things to do. Robert, on the other hand…’he paused to nod towards his companion ‘…has been following you for weeks. Easily corruptible, London’s watchmen—he’d sell his grandmother for a pint of gin. But it is good to have the law on my side. He informed me immediately when he saw you leave the house alone this morning.’

  ‘Well, consider me suitably reminded. I don’t think there’s anything further we have to discuss.’

  ‘No? Well, there is that small matter of the money you owe me.’ He, too, looked at the house, taking in its obvious grandeur. ‘I imagine you’re rather flush these days.’

  Will paid her well. Governesses were normally paid in arrears every six months, but he knew her situation and had advanced her a liberal sum accordingly. But it wouldn’t go very far. Not where Cowes was concerned. ‘I can give you some. Not all, but a—’

  ‘How, Miss Thomas? His lordship must be very generous.’

  ‘I am merely paid for my services.’

  ‘I’ve heard about your services and I must say I’m disappointed in you. Did I drive you to it?’

  He was alluding to the spiteful gossip, and it suddenly occurred to her that he might be behind it. She flushed angrily. ‘How dare you?’

  He took a small step forwards. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Thomas, but I’ve been extremely patient.’

  Robert followed his lead and began moving closer, menacingly, as if to grab her.

  She took another step back, but Cowes held up his hand to halt him. ‘Unless—perhaps we could discuss new terms, Miss Thomas? Something suitable to your newly…elevated station in life.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to say anything at first, or even to nod or shake her head. She knew what he meant. He’d stated his terms implicitly before, and now he was forgoing subtlety altogether. He thought she was Will’s mistress, and he was asking her to become his instead. She could capitulate or he’d punish her, by destroying her father’s good name or worse. Fleet Prison itself wasn’t an improbability, and although she’d prefer it to giving in to his evil demands, frankly she would rather forgo both options.

  But perhaps she could play for time…

  ‘This could all have been avoided,’ he said, filling the silence, ‘if you’d been willing to listen to me earlier. But I still might be persuaded to forgive you for putting me to this trouble.’

  She nodded slowly, weighing her options. He was close, but not so close that she hadn’t a slim cha
nce of running away. But run where? She couldn’t go to the house—that would solve nothing. It would only alert the servants, and she’d then be forced to tell Will everything when he returned. And she didn’t want him to know—not about her debts, her father’s crimes, about how low she really was…

  And running off blindly into the streets wouldn’t solve anything, either. She hadn’t a chance of surviving on her own with no money and no place to stay, and she might not even get the chance to try. How much hope had she of outrunning two grown men?

  So she stood her ground.

  Cowes reached out for her face. She closed her eyes at the sight of his blunt fingers, but when they touched her cheek she jerked her head from his grasp in revulsion. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘So you’re not ready to be reasonable.’ He grabbed her hair this time, pulling painfully so she couldn’t move.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Will had meant to stay at Harry’s for at least a week, but after a few days he found himself longing for home. He felt relieved as his carriage began to rattle down familiar streets—unusual, since he much preferred the countryside to the cold, treeless elegance of Mayfair. He was afraid it had nothing to do with a newfound love for London, however, but rather with the freckled girl who inhabited his small upstairs bedroom and who was gradually inhabiting his heart and mind as well.

  He’d missed Isabelle. Missed her a lot. It had been…odd not seeing her every day, she’d become such a habit. Odd and rather lonely not having her to tease or talk to, even though he’d been in a busy house with good friends. Harry had remarked that he seemed distracted, and he knew he had been. It didn’t help that Isabelle and he hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he half-feared that she’d have disappeared during his absence. She’d seemed so unhappy the last time he saw her, and she’d already told him she planned to leave. He’d all but dismissed her words, safe in the knowledge that she didn’t have anywhere to go. But what if she left anyway?

  He now wished he hadn’t gone away in the first place. The only reason he’d done so was…Well, blast it all, at the time he’d thought distance would give him some perspective. He hadn’t anticipated that he’d only think about her even more.

  What should he do when he arrived? Find her? Tell her how much he’d missed her?

  No, he should not. Not immediately, anyway.

  He stretched out on his seat and sighed. She had some strange effect on him. He should have enjoyed his short time away, but the happy family scene created by Harry, his wife and their child had made him feel Isabelle’s absence even more acutely. For the first time in his life, he’d felt like he wanted a family himself. Like he wanted to come home to the same woman night after night, and to wake up each morning with a familiar warm body. The problem was, the only woman who figured into these novel fantasies was Isabelle. Isabelle, who he couldn’t marry—and he wasn’t yet so far gone that he proposed starting a family without the sanctity of marriage.

  Then again, could he marry her? Although she worked as a governess, she was by no means base-born. She was merely…reduced in circumstances. After all, at one time she had been quite well off, and her father had even been knighted—not a hereditary title, not enough to make her his social equal, but worth something none the less. She was intelligent, beautiful—what would the response be if he were to marry someone like her? A great deal of amusement at first, mostly directed at him. But any man would just have to look at her to understand why he’d done it.

  Will frowned. What was he thinking? Marriage did not apply to this situation. He didn’t want to marry anyone. He wanted Isabelle as his mistress, nothing more, and there was nothing to stop that from happening—except, of course, for the fact that she’d certainly refuse him at first. Eventually, though, she’d come around. He knew she liked him and that she responded to his touch. It would be the best possible arrangement. He could give her everything she wanted, and as for himself…he’d be able to make love to her, to touch her whenever he felt like it and to spend every day with her if he bloody well pleased.

  And it pleased him, at that moment, to see her, even if his impatience was unseemly. The carriage turned into Grosvenor Square, and he closed his eyes, imagining what she would look like. She’d be in the garden on a day like this, with the sun filtering through the trees to touch on her face and hair. He’d have to invent some excuse to take her away from Mary’s lessons.

  He opened his eyes as the carriage took a turn and eased to a stop. As he sat up, he realised that he would see her sooner than expected. She was standing in front of his house with a man. A man whose arm rested on her shoulders, whose hand appeared to be cupping the back of her neck.

  A jolt of possessiveness coursed through his body, so strong and so primitive that his vision clouded. But then his vision cleared. Her pretty face showed terror. Her head tilted back slightly, forced into that position by the man’s tight grip. Any attempt to pull away would cause her pain.

  The welcome rumble of wheels. A carriage stopping—Will’s carriage, and Will climbing out. He was supposed to be in the country, but he was here, instead. He’d come to save her. Isabelle’s heart surged with relief and gratitude, eclipsing the enmity that had soured her week. Mr Cowes was no match for him.

  He let go of her hair as Will approached, but he let his hand grip her shoulder instead, the pressure so strong it would leave bruises. He was not yet ready to give up.

  ‘I think, sir, you should remove your hand,’ Will said. He didn’t raise his voice; he sounded calm, arrogant and firm. Cowes retained his hold, but she knew he was scared. She could sense the tension coursing into her shoulder.

  ‘Remove your hand,’ Will repeated, taking another step forwards.

  Cowes eased his grip indecisively, but he still held on to her. Robert looked to him for instruction, but saw only fear on his face. No fool, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned and walked quickly off, abandoning his employer to fend for himself.

  Will didn’t bother to watch him go. His attention was focused solely on Cowes. ‘Did you not understand?’ Underneath his calm condescension there was fury, too. Barely concealed, but audible. He was walking closer.

  Cowes coloured in anger. ‘This is not your affair,’ he sputtered.

  ‘Let go of her.’

  Then it was over. Cowes knew he’d been defeated. He released Isabelle and pushed her away. Will grabbed her and pulled her close to his side. He led her a few paces back, never taking his gaze from Cowes.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he whispered into her ear.

  With his arm around her, she felt safe and protected; she realised she was shaking. For a few seconds, she didn’t even try to answer, just relished his warmth and his strength. If she said nothing, then maybe it would all go away.

  ‘Isabelle? Who is that man?’

  But reality wouldn’t just disappear. She’d have to tell him. She looked up at his face. He glanced at her briefly, but then returned his gaze to Mr Cowes. That made it easier. ‘He’s called Sebastian Cowes. I owe him a great deal of money.’

  He looked at her again, longer this time. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I…my father, as I told you, was an antiquarian—’

  ‘Quickly, Isabelle.’

  She took a deep breath and let the truth come out. ‘He sold Mr Cowes several forgeries. And he—’

  ‘Forgeries?’

  ‘Yes, um, dishonest copies. Only he…he—’

  Will understood the rest without her saying more. ‘Only he claimed they were real. And Mr Cowes has learned the truth.’

  She nodded unhappily. She’d admitted the worst—well, she’d not mentioned the scale of her father’s transgressions, but at least she’d told him the nature of the sin. How would he react? She looked at his eyes, wishing she could read his mind. Did he hate her?

  But there was no antipathy in his expression. Not directed at her, anyway. Cowes was another matter. ‘Has he been blackmailing you?’

>   She nodded again.

  ‘How long?’

  Mr Cowes broke in, holding his frame as tall as possible, which still left him considerably shorter than Will. ‘Sir, I am not leaving.’

  Will released her and pulled her behind his back. He walked forwards, closing the gap between himself and Cowes. ‘Then shall we have words inside? I don’t think my neighbours need to witness this scene.’

  Cowes now had a look of desperation about him, as if he realised his plan had crumbled. ‘I don’t care about your bloody neighbours,’ he hissed. ‘And if you’re bedding her—’

  Will pulled back his arm and punched him in the mouth. It was hard and unexpected, causing his head to jolt back and blood to trickle from his split lip.

  Isabelle just stared, unable to believe the force of the blow. Will wiped his knuckles on his jacket.

  ‘Go inside,’ he instructed her quietly without turning to look at her.

  She didn’t obey. She didn’t want to leave. Now that the immediate threat to her safety had passed she feared what Mr Cowes might say. She didn’t want Will to learn any more about her, at least if it didn’t come from her own mouth. ‘Please, let me explain.’

  ‘Go inside, Isabelle. I’ll be in soon.’

  She bit her lip and ran. Up the steps and through the front door. Bartholomew stared at her as she raced through the hall, but he didn’t try to stop her as she dashed for the staircase. She passed Mary on the landing, but didn’t pause, only mumbled a vague excuse for her haste. She didn’t stop running until she’d reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  She crossed the floor and stood by the window. She could see the street below from that position, and what she saw…

  Actually, very little detail from that distance, but it was enough to convince her she’d every reason to be worried. Mr Cowes was saying something to Will, gesticulating agitatedly, and Will appeared to be listening. Her heart sank. Cowes was telling him everything, she was sure—and even though she’d already alerted him to her secret, she was sure Cowes would portray her in the most unflattering light possible. Perhaps he’d even claim she was privy to her father’s misdeeds, or that she’d knowingly benefited from his ill-gotten wealth for years.