The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  He followed close behind her.

  James, Eleanor and Henrietta were descending the staircase as the study door burst open. James and Eleanor were no doubt preparing to leave, but Will knew Henrietta would stay until forcefully ejected.

  ‘What are you going to do, William?’ she demanded.

  He didn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to tell her his decision, didn’t want her trying to talk him out of it. But she was watching him, waiting for him to say something. Defiance, as much as anything else, made him speak.

  ‘I’ve asked Miss Thomas to marry me.’

  That was the wrong thing to say, for both Henrietta and Isabelle. Isabelle stared at him, furious and aghast.

  ‘How can you?’ she asked very quietly.

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ Henrietta’s voice grew louder and higher in pitch.

  ‘No,’ he said tightly, ‘I have not.’

  ‘I don’t want to marry you.’

  The words hurt. Why the hell was she being so difficult? He didn’t bother looking at Isabelle properly, just glanced at her dismissively. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  ‘She’s being perfectly sensible. It’s one thing to have an affair with a governess, but you can’t seriously propose to marry her.’

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘Please stop. I don’t want to marry you,’ Isabelle pleaded.

  ‘There. She doesn’t even want to marry you. I can hardly imagine a less suitable match.’

  Isabelle glared at Henrietta and opened her mouth to retort. Thinking better of it, she bit her tongue. Will wasn’t so polite.

  ‘I think you should leave.’

  Henrietta flushed. ‘What?’

  ‘Leave, Henny. When you can be civil you can return.’

  Henrietta pursed her lips before marching to the door. She slammed it behind her, making the pictures on the walls shake.

  Will returned his attention to Isabelle. He’d never seen anyone look so miserable, and he wished he’d handled himself better. It wasn’t her fault she been thrust into this situation, but she was the one who’d been humiliated.

  As for Eleanor and James…they just looked at each other uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps we should leave, too,’ James said.

  Seemed like a good idea to Will. ‘Come round tomorrow.’

  But they didn’t turn to leave. Just stood there and glanced at each other again.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Perhaps Miss Thomas should come with us.’

  He frowned at his sister-in-law. ‘Why?’

  ‘She can’t stay here, Will. It’s bad enough already. I…I don’t know what you should do, but for now—’She stopped, addressing her next words to Isabelle. ‘Have you anywhere else to go?’

  Isabelle wanted to lie and say yes, he knew it, but at the last minute she shook her head instead.

  ‘Then come with us tonight, Miss Thomas. You can decide what to do in the morning, but it’s getting rather late to find new accommodation.’

  ‘I want to come with her.’ Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice. Clear and young. Mary stood at the top of the landing, looking down nervously. Nervous but not ready to back down.

  Will stared up at her, accepting that there was some superficial resemblance between her and Isabelle. They possessed completely different features, though. How could anybody suspect…?

  But it was enough. He could admit that much. ‘Go back to your room, Mary.’

  She stood her ground, and he realised that arguing with her would be pointless. Like him, she cared for Isabelle. If she’d overheard even half of what Henrietta had said, he couldn’t blame her for feeling protective.

  ‘If it’s all right, Will, why doesn’t she come?’ Eleanor asked.

  He had no reason to object, other than the house would seem empty without them. He felt rather as if he were being abandoned by a makeshift, adopted family. Adopted, but his.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Ten minutes later, they’d all left. Will retired to his bedroom, where he was least likely to be disturbed. He stretched out on his bed and thought about Isabelle, as he’d done many times since he’d met her. His thoughts were different today, though. Had he made a mistake? He’d just proposed to do something that went against long-held views, and he felt instinctively that he should be panicking.

  He wondered why he wasn’t.

  All that really worried him was that she hadn’t accepted him yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabelle awoke the next morning to a light knocking on her bedroom door. She’d slept badly and had spent much of the night tossing and turning in the strange bed, trying to get comfortable.

  At least the room was nice. She’d assumed they’d put her in the servants’ quarters somewhere, but instead she’d been given a proper bedroom with a four-poster bed—the sort normally bestowed upon esteemed guests and elderly aunts. Will’s brother and his wife hadn’t spoken much during the ride back to their house, but they seemed kind enough. Isabelle was grateful for their restraint; she didn’t want to be there and would have refused their offer if she’d anywhere else to go. She felt certain they didn’t really want her there, either. By the end of the day, she hoped to have secured new lodgings.

  ‘Isabelle?’ It was Mary, whispering through the door. She reluctantly rose to open it.

  Half an hour later they were in the park, walking slowly. Mary had suggested the outing—apparently she, too, had suffered a restless night. Isabelle needed the distraction, and she didn’t want to remain in the house, where she’d have to make polite conversation with people who probably were embarrassed by her. On the other hand, she didn’t want to speak to Mary, either. She didn’t know how much the girl had overheard last night, but much of what had been discussed was unsuitable for twelve-year-old ears. She no doubt had a score of embarrassing questions to ask.

  Her feet felt heavy, and she had to force each step. It was hard to imagine how her once dull life had become so…so horribly unpredictable. And what was she going to do now? Eleanor had told her she could decide what to do in the morning, but it was now the morning and she’d still no idea. She certainly wouldn’t marry him, not that he’d actually meant it.

  ‘Miss Thomas?’

  She glanced at Mary. They’d spoken very little so far, and the girl looked anxious.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That story I told you—about why I cut off Amelia Fitzgerald’s hair…’

  Why bring it up now? She waited patiently for her to continue.

  ‘It wasn’t true.’

  ‘You didn’t do it?’

  ‘No, I did.’ Mary sighed. ‘But not for the reason I told you.’

  ‘What other reason could you have, then?’

  ‘I disliked her completely. She was the most unpleasant girl at school.’

  Isabelle frowned, but in fact, she was relieved to have something to think about other than herself. ‘Disliking her is no reason to cut her hair off.’

  ‘I only cut off a little. I meant to do more, but I couldn’t—’

  ‘But why do it at all?’

  Mary looked at the path. ‘Celia suggested it. I kept telling her that I wanted to be sent away, and she said I’d have to do something really dreadful, since Miss Hume was being paid to keep me. I’d only met Lord Lennox a few times, but he seemed nice enough, and not too strict, and I knew he’d been my father’s friend. Cutting Amelia’s hair was the worst thing I could think of, and I thought her parents would insist I was sent away.’

  ‘It worked.’

  ‘Yes, but once I got to my godfather’s house I realised he planned to send me away, too. I didn’t want to like him any more. Or you.’

  That was why she’d been so unfriendly. ‘Then why lie about it? Why invent that ridiculous story about the girl trying to curl her hair?’

  ‘Because by then I’d decided that you weren’t so bad. I lied because I knew how awful the truth sounded, and I didn’t want you to disli
ke me.’

  Isabelle put her hand on Mary’s shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off. ‘I do like you. Lord Lennox likes you, too. And you don’t know for certain that he still plans to send you away. I know for a fact he’s made no provisions for such an event.’

  ‘Maybe not, but he probably will now. I heard what was being said about me.’

  Isabelle understood Mary’s fear. The girl’s situation was no less precarious than her own. Presumably Will still planned to find a wife to produce his dratted heir—and she didn’t think for one minute that he truly hoped she’d fill the position. But what future Lady Lennox wouldn’t refuse to cross his threshold as long as his bastard daughter remained inside?

  And yet she knew he’d never send Mary away against her wishes, no matter what anyone thought. He would never be that cruel.

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry.’

  ‘Celia’s mother will never let her visit now,’ Mary continued.

  That was no doubt true, although Isabelle opened her mouth to reassure her otherwise. But she didn’t get the chance.

  ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What?’ Mary asked. She followed Isabelle’s nervous gaze. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Yes, Mary, exactly. Try to ignore her.’

  It seemed hardly possible that Miss Lytton should be walking up the path in the opposite direction. It was too late to turn back, and it was also too late to hope that she would just ignore them. Two friends accompanied her, and the chance to show off in front of them wasn’t one to be missed. A tight smile broke across her pretty face.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Thomas.’

  Isabelle debated not responding, but then she’d look like the rude one. ‘Miss Lytton.’

  And then in a louder voice, Vanessa explained to her friends, ‘You might have heard of Miss Thomas. My mother and I happened upon Lord Lennox and her a week ago. It was…most embarrassing.’

  ‘That is completely false!’

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘No need to scold me. If your behaviour has caused censure, then that is your fault, not mine.’

  Isabelle struggled for calm. ‘I have done nothing wrong, Miss Lytton. You concocted this rumour out of spite.’

  ‘Concocted this rumour? Mama and I merely decided it was time to spread the truth about Lord Lennox’s character. Everyone knows he wanted to marry me. He even asked me—begged me to forgive this lapse—but I had to turn him down. He was devastated.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ Mary’s eyes sparkled angrily. ‘He didn’t ask you to marry him. He doesn’t even like you.’

  ‘How would you know?’ Then, loudly again for her friends, ‘And this is Miss Thomas’s natural daughter. You can see the resemblance, I’m certain.’

  Isabelle put a hand on Mary’s shoulder, but the girl wouldn’t be calmed. ‘She is not my mother! My mother died when I was two.’

  Vanessa smirked. ‘Yes, well, I’m sure that’s what you’ve been told, and you’re gullible enough to believe it. She must be your mother, with that vulgar red hair.’

  ‘She is not! But I wish she were. And I’d rather have red hair than a brain the size of a pea.’

  Vanessa’s tiny, perfect nostrils flared, but it seemed for a fraction of a second that she might control her temper. She didn’t, though; she raised her hand and slapped Mary across the cheek. The girl’s head turned slightly with the force.

  And Isabelle, propelled by anger, slapped her back in just the same fashion.

  Mary stared at her. Vanessa’s friends stared at her. Vanessa stared, too, and Isabelle thought, for a moment, that she would return the favor. All the prettiness left her face, and she just looked mean. ‘I don’t believe you did that,’ she said.

  Isabelle couldn’t believe she’d done it, either, and she fought desperately to keep the shock and fear from her expression. She’d never struck anyone. She didn’t even like killing spiders.

  In a daze, she took Mary’s hand, turned, and walked back down the path in the direction they had come, her spine rigid with humiliation. She could hear outraged murmurs behind her back and knew they were speaking about her. She also knew that she’d added fuel to the rumour by losing her temper. But how could she have done nothing? Personally, she could take the insults—she could even have taken the blow. But she couldn’t let someone treat Mary that way.

  They walked numbly through the park back to the road, and then they wandered silently through Mayfair for well over an hour. Isabelle couldn’t face returning to Will’s brother’s house.

  ‘My feet hurt,’ Mary said finally.

  ‘Do you want to sit?’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  She nodded unenthusiastically. They had to eventually.

  ‘I’m sorry that happened,’ Isabelle said as they started back in the right direction. ‘You shouldn’t have been involved.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Miss Lytton already didn’t like me.’ Mary paused, looking ahead into the distance. ‘Why don’t you want to marry Lord Lennox?’

  It was the last subject she wanted to talk about. ‘He does not wish to marry me. He just offered because he thought it was the proper thing to do.’

  Mary shrugged, looking unconvinced. ‘Maybe not. I overheard one of the maids at his house saying that he’s a rake. But then he wouldn’t ask you to marry him just because he thought it was honourable to do so. Not if he’s such a rake, I mean.’

  ‘He’s an honourable rake, then.’

  ‘I’d like you to marry him.’

  Isabelle glanced at her. ‘You shall be disappointed, then.’

  ‘I think he loves you.’

  She snorted, but Mary’s words actually hurt. She knew that he liked her, or at least used to, but love? There wasn’t a chance. ‘And I think you read far too many novels.’

  ‘Probably,’ Mary said reluctantly. ‘Do you—’

  ‘No, I do not. I don’t want to discuss it.’

  They reached the house fifteen minutes later. Isabelle planned to hide in her room for as long as she could, but Will’s carriage was parked on the street by the front door. She wanted to keep walking, head back to the park, go even farther, she didn’t know where. In the time that she’d been wandering around, he might have learned what had happened.

  Henrietta greeted them at the door of the drawing room. Isabelle was disappointed, but not surprised to see her. The woman was apparently ubiquitous.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘We’ve heard what you did.’

  Ubiquitous and annoyingly au fait. Isabelle apologised right away. Owning up to crimes immediately was always wise. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t know why you’re apologizing to me. You didn’t hit me.’

  Time to abandon diplomacy. ‘She struck Mary,’ Isabelle said, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

  Henrietta looked like she wanted to utter some cutting remark, but creativity failed her. ‘Oh, she is dreadful. I am sorry to have introduced her, but honestly, did you have to strike her back?’

  Isabelle didn’t answer. She took a deep breath, marshalling her thoughts, but in the end she had no defence. She walked quickly from the room before she started to cry.

  Several minutes later, Will knocked on her bedroom door. He opened it quietly without waiting for permission. Isabelle was sitting on a small, striped sofa, and she looked up as he entered. He closed the door and leaned against it.

  ‘I missed you downstairs. Hoped to catch you before Henrietta did, but I was having a word with my brother.’

  ‘Your cousin seems to be everywhere.’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. Miss Lytton arrived at her house hysterical after she left you. Henny then came to find me, and Bartholomew told her I was here…I’m so sorry. This is awful for you.’

  She shrugged, trying to appear as if she didn’t care. ‘I have survived awful things before. It will be far worse for Mary.’

  ‘I’ve just been to see her. Strangely enough, she seemed in quite good spirits. I think you impre
ssed her.’

  He crossed the room and sat on the mahogany window seat, just a few feet from her. She glanced away, knowing that she looked very tired.

  ‘I’ve caused you an inordinate amount of trouble,’ she said slowly. ‘You must hate me.’

  ‘Because you hit Miss Lytton? There you’re wrong. Nothing could make me prouder.’

  ‘I accused her of starting the rumour. She all but admitted it.’

  ‘I thought as much. By the by, whose poor image did I break last night?’

  He was looking at the bust, broken in a box on the floor at the foot of her bed. She’d gathered up the pieces while she’d been waiting for Mary’s bag to be packed. ‘Athena. She was made of plaster, so you didn’t break anything valuable. Worth nothing to anyone but me.’

  ‘Worth more broken than intact, it would seem.’

  She blushed. ‘My father gave her to me for my twenty-third birthday. He would have, anyway, except he died three days too soon. I couldn’t bear to open the gift for a month. When I finally did, there she was.’

  ‘Goddess of war, right? Rather apposite given this morning’s activities.’

  ‘And wisdom, which is less so. Sprang from her father’s head fully formed.’

  ‘That would be Zeus, would it? I did pay some attention at school, Isabelle.’

  She smiled at his teasing. ‘She was the favourite of his many children.’

  ‘You don’t talk about your father much.’

  ‘No, well, it’s been rather awkward. There wasn’t much I wanted to tell. He did love me, for all his faults.’

  ‘You say that as if it wouldn’t be evident.’

  ‘I don’t know that it ever was. I never felt terribly confident of his affection. He cared a great deal about my education, but otherwise took little heed of me. I’ve often wondered…if I’d shown no aptitude for languages and history, would he even have known what to say to me?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She glanced at the bust, feeling suddenly cross. ‘Well, if I hadn’t adapted my own interests to suit his, then I don’t think he would have been interested in me. If I’d cared instead about…say, fashion, or—’