The Earl and the Governess

by Sarah Elliott

  ‘It’s rather refreshing, Isabelle, that you have a mind as lovely as your face.’

  She blushed at the compliment. ‘Well, I…I’m grateful to be educated, but perhaps I’d rather have…gone to parties on occasion and at least learned to dance. Do you know I’ve never had one fashionable dress?’

  ‘In that case I very much look forward to corrupting you.’

  She made a face at him, but she couldn’t quite hide her smile. ‘You’ve done enough of that already, thank you.’

  ‘Have you thought about my offer?’

  At first she’d no idea what he was referring to. It took her several seconds to answer. ‘You didn’t mean it.’

  ‘No, I hadn’t planned to say it. Hadn’t even thought of it. But I did mean it, Isabelle.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. You don’t want to marry me.’

  ‘I don’t know what I want, except that I don’t want to lose you. You wouldn’t consent to being my mistress, would you?’ Before she could retort, he added, ‘Might I point out that I’ve already asked the honourable question, and you’ve turned me down?’

  They were both quiet for a minute. He crossed the room and sat next to her on the sofa.

  ‘I cannot simply let you leave without any consideration for what will happen to you. Henrietta has suggested I give you money, so you can live quietly in the country for as long as it takes for this scandal to fade.’

  ‘I will not accept it.’

  ‘Yes, I know—and you don’t need it any more, either. Won’t have to rely on me again, it seems.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, while we’re on the subject, for repaying me. You didn’t need to. I’ll insist on returning it.’

  ‘I don’t want to be in your debt.’

  ‘Then consider yourself free.’

  She glanced out of the window, watching small, fleecy clouds sail across the blue sky. She didn’t feel free at all. ‘I wondered where my father’s money went. It never made any sense that he could have spent all of it and left me destitute. How…?’ She paused, uncomfortable asking such a direct question. ‘How long do you think it will last me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I haven’t counted it. A long time, I’d imagine, but not for ever. You’d have to curb your taste for expensive racehorses.’

  She almost smiled at his jest, but she felt too worried to manage it. The money might last an even shorter time than he’d guess, at least if anyone else learned what Sebastian Cowes had.

  ‘A question, Isabelle.’

  She looked at him, waiting.

  ‘Why would your father have been hiding it inside the bust in the first place? Why not just give it to you?’

  ‘I don’t think he was hiding it, exactly. He’d no idea that anyone would discover his deception when he gave it to me—Mr Cowes didn’t learn of it until after his death. I suppose he meant to surprise me one day. It was just an elaborate and fanciful gift.’

  ‘Was there no note?’

  ‘No. Perhaps he meant to write one.’

  ‘He obviously was successful to have made such a sum.’

  She knew that she would have to tell him the truth. ‘I lied to you yesterday.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘When you asked if Mr Cowes was the only person my father deceived. He wasn’t. As I told you, he made an arrangement with an Italian dealer to have marbles shipped to him from Rome without first inspecting them.’

  His expression registered no surprise, and it occurred to her that he might’ve suspected she’d lied all along. Still, he offered her father the benefit of the doubt. ‘And therefore his mistake is understandable.’

  ‘Except I don’t think it was a mistake. From what I can tell, he must have felt that his business was threatened by the war—’

  ‘Because he couldn’t travel to the Continent to find new artefacts to sell himself?’

  ‘Nor could any such things easily reach England. I imagine supplies must have thinned and he became desperate, which is perhaps why he resorted to other means. I’ve seen his records. I inspected them immediately when Cowes first approached me. Compared to what he paid for similar but genuine marbles in earlier years, he paid far less.’

  ‘But still sold them on for the same amount.’

  She nodded. ‘The profit, in the end, was significantly greater.’

  He considered that, returning his gaze to the broken plaster bust. ‘It seems possible he knew someone would discover his secret eventually. If he’d still been alive when that day had come, he perhaps preferred playing bankrupt and serving his debt in prison, all the while keeping the money safely hidden for you.’

  ‘I assure you my father would not have enjoyed prison.’

  ‘He probably assumed it wouldn’t come to that. It seemed a risk worth taking. Obviously he just wanted to provide for you.’

  ‘It miscarried greatly, if that was the plan.’

  ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘No. Only Cowes. And as far as I know, he thinks he was the only one to be so deceived.’

  Will nodded, but she saw doubt in his eyes. ‘He might start to wonder, though. He might investigate—he’d love to have something else to hold over your head. I threatened him never to bother you again, but it would be fairly difficult to prevent him. Particularly if you’re on your own.’

  Silence again. She was well aware of the danger she faced.

  ‘How many others, Isabelle? Do you know their names?’

  She rose and fished the heavy ledger from one of her bags. ‘They’re at the back. Starting in 1803, all sent by Signor Ricci—that’s how Mr Cowes found out, you see. He went to the man’s shop in Rome and realised what was happening. There are ten more buyers, not including Mr Cowes.’

  ‘Ten doesn’t sound a lot,’ he said, perusing the names. ‘What do the figures in the right column signify? Not how much they spent, surely.’

  She cringed. ‘I’m afraid so. This one…’ She paused, scanning for the name. ‘He spent three times what Mr Cowes did.’

  Will met her gaze briefly, and then looked back at the list. ‘I know him.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I know most of these men, actually. Ned Tilman—I went to school with his brother. Freddie Lathrope-Hughes—I see him about once a week at my club. What if they find out, Isabelle?’

  It was even worse than she’d feared. ‘They haven’t found out yet.’

  ‘They might. You’ll have to tell them the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’ She hadn’t even contemplated it, and wouldn’t.

  ‘It’s the honourable thing to do—rather than wait to be discovered.’

  ‘Why is it more honourable?’

  ‘Because the truth just is.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave honour to those who can afford it.’ She paused, wishing so much it hurt that she possessed the funds to repay everyone. ‘And what if it’s never discovered?’

  ‘Do you think you can live with that uncertainty?’

  ‘It looks as if I haven’t much choice.’

  They sat silently. He now knew everything. She glanced at him, wondering how he would take it. He’d asked her to marry him, but now that he knew she’d indirectly stolen thousands of pounds from his friends and acquaintances she didn’t expect the offer again. The best she could hope for was that he didn’t hate her.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ she asked quietly.

  He shook his head. ‘If you should ever want to, I could help you. But, no, I won’t. It would ruin you, and I don’t think that would be honourable at all.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Will you stay here?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean now that you’re an heiress and you could go anywhere. Just for a few more days. I can help you find somewhere to live, if you like. But I’ll need a bit of time.’

  ‘I don’t want to impose on your brother and his wife.’

  ‘I have already spoken to them this morning, before you returned. They don’t min
d—does them no harm since no one knows you’re here. It would be wise if you didn’t go out in public again, though, just in order to keep it that way. Can you manage?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ It would be easy. She didn’t even plan on leaving her room if she could avoid it. Did she have enough books to entertain her? What about food? The thought of having to venture to the kitchen or dining room…

  She watched him rise with a growing sense of apprehension. ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘I’ve a lot to do—a few people I might ask about accommodation for you. Will you be—?’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  After he’d left, she continued to sit for several minutes, wishing he hadn’t gone. How reassuring it was, though, to know that he was helping her find a home. How inappropriate, too, and how like the behaviour of a gentleman to his mistress.

  She should have insisted on taking control of her own future. Taking care of herself, as she claimed to be so good at.

  Only it was nice to have someone take care of her for a change.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Isabelle’s stomach growled late the next morning. It was nearly eleven, and she’d been awake and dressed for hours, but she hadn’t yet found the nerve to go downstairs to seek food. A maid had brought both her lunch and her supper to her room yesterday, and she’d been able to eat in private, off a tray. She’d thought it very considerate of someone to sense her unease and make the arrangement. Today, though, no such tray had arrived and she couldn’t wait any longer; she would find Mary and send her down to collect something.

  She opened the door slowly, having already acquainted herself with its tendency to creak. Mary resided just a few rooms down.

  ‘Hello.’

  Drat. Isabelle turned around guiltily. Will’s sister-in-law, Eleanor, was walking down the corridor from the other direction, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

  ‘Have you had breakfast, Miss Thomas?’ she asked, sounding friendly enough.

  ‘No. I…I was afraid I’d missed it. I will wait for lunch.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I was hoping to see you, in case you decided to go out.’

  ‘Lord Lennox suggested I not appear public.’

  ‘Yes, well, a wise suggestion. Would you like to come to the garden with me? I can have refreshments sent there.’

  Isabelle’s stomach rumbled again, forcing her to nod. She didn’t want to be rude, and she was certain Eleanor only asked for the same reason. No doubt she couldn’t wait for Isabelle to leave.

  ‘What did you wish to speak to me about?’ she asked as they descended the stairs.

  ‘Oh, just to tell you that my modiste is coming this afternoon. Mary will need a new wardrobe. And if there’s anything you would like—’

  ‘No. No, thank you,’ Isabelle answered quickly.

  ‘Will is coming for dinner tonight. You’ll join us, I hope.’

  She didn’t want to. It was painful, how polite her hostess was being. ‘If you wish.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I don’t think he’d be coming if you weren’t here.’

  That made her blush. ‘I’m sorry I’m here.’

  ‘Oh? Is it that awful?’

  ‘No, no, it’s lovely—what I meant—’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘You needn’t explain. You needn’t apologise, either. Will spoke to us yesterday, and it’s obviously what’s best.’

  She wondered what he’d told them. Presumably he’d made it clear that she’d never been his mistress—otherwise, they wouldn’t tolerate her presence in their house for more than one night.

  She hoped so.

  ‘Diana should be outside with Miss Baxter,’ Eleanor said as she opened the back door. ‘You must like children a great deal, to be a governess. That or have tremendous reserves of patience.’

  ‘I’ve spent little time with children as young as your daughter,’ Isabelle answered, looking suspiciously at the two-year-old girl sitting on the lawn, her white cotton dress spread out around her. Miss Baxter, her governess, was a pleasant-faced, slightly plump woman of middle years. She waved merrily at Eleanor.

  Isabelle couldn’t help but remark, ‘Miss Baxter would be appalled if she knew what people were saying about me.’

  Eleanor snorted prettily. ‘She might know, and I doubt it. She’d think you were an inspiration to governesses everywhere.’

  They started down a shady path bordered on one side by unruly perennials and on the other by well-tended lawn. Isabelle began to worry about thinking of something to say, but Eleanor spoke first.

  ‘I should not be so free, but…do you wish to marry my brother-in-law?’

  She realised then that, for all her charm, Eleanor was probably as determined as Henrietta that she would not. ‘No.’

  They walked in silence, stopping when they reached a creeping rosebush. Eleanor removed a small pair of shears from her pocket. Frowning in concentration at a particularly lush, pink bloom, she said, ‘You needn’t worry that he doesn’t wish to marry you.’

  ‘He feels he has to.’

  Eleanor looked up. ‘No, he’s never done anything simply because he felt as if he had to.’

  Why, oh, why had she agreed to come outside? Where was the food she’d been promised? ‘He wants to marry someone else. He’s told me several times.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘Someone not like me.’

  Eleanor returned her gaze to the rosebush and carefully clipped a stem. She dropped it on the ground. ‘Strange, then, that you’re the only one he’s ever asked.’

  ‘He’s never been in this situation before.’

  ‘I suppose not, although he didn’t have to offer to marry you. Most gentlemen would not have.’

  ‘He won’t ask again.’

  ‘That’s not what he told us yesterday.’

  ‘I assure you, he will not,’ Isabelle said firmly. ‘Undoubtedly he just wanted to ensure you’d let me stay here for a few more days until I can find other lodgings.’

  Eleanor clipped another stem, looking doubtful. ‘My brother-in-law is a contradictory character.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he seems to be a charming rogue who doesn’t take anything seriously, and yet he takes his responsibilities more seriously than anyone I know. He…’ She paused. ‘It’s an unhappy history, the one my husband and his brother share.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Do you know they had an older brother?’

  Isabelle nodded, wondering where this was headed.

  ‘Richard was a thorough reprobate. Prone to intemperance and cruelty. Will never suffered directly, in part because he’d been sent away to school, but mostly because he was Richard’s heir and full brother. Richard hated James, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he disapproved of his stepmother—’

  ‘Your husband’s real mother?’

  ‘Yes. He taunted him and, as years passed, his taunts escalated into physical cruelty. James’s parents weren’t alive to protect him, and Will knew nothing of it, since he was at school. By the time he finally did learn, James could no longer bear Richard’s abuse. He ran away before Will could intervene—didn’t come back for twelve years. Will has never forgiven himself for not stopping it earlier.’

  ‘But he didn’t know.’

  ‘No, and he was very young. Richard was seven years older than Will, who wasn’t yet eighteen when my husband ran away. Perhaps it’s the result of that experience, perhaps it’s just his nature, but Will is the sort of person who rather likes protecting others—’

  ‘And also the sort of person who knows the importance of marrying someone from his own background,’ Isabelle said, more sharply than she intended.

  ‘Of course it’s important, but it’s not the most important thing. He’s tenacious. It’s a most annoying family trait. If he really wants to marry you—and my guess is that he does—then he won’t give up easily’ Eleanor paused, giving her roses one last, criti
cal glance. ‘You don’t seem to be a fool, Miss Thomas.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘I think you would be if you refused him.’

  Isabelle thumbed the blue silk nervously. She didn’t know how she’d allowed herself to be talked into it, but she had a new dress. New to her, anyway, and even more novel for its stylish, low neckline. Eleanor had borrowed it—unbidden—from a sister who was apparently nearly as tall as Isabelle. The modiste who’d come to outfit Mary had only needed to make a few adjustments. Isabelle planned to insist that it was returned at the end of the night, but for now…she desperately needed the dress, even if it did make her feel quite naked. Without it, she would have felt even more out of place, and as it was she still felt completely unworthy of her seat at the elegant dining table.

  Will’s expression when he’d first seen her, however, had more than made up for any discomfort caused by her exposed flesh. He stepped out of his brother’s study just as she was coming down the staircase, and his eyes had warmed perceptibly, turning that peculiar shade of green that always made her heart beat faster. He made no bones about staring at her, to the point that James, coming out of the room behind him, had had to clear his throat. She’d never felt so beautiful—never so embarrassed, either, but no matter.

  She said very little over dinner. She’d no desire to talk about herself, and no one asked personal questions. Instead she mainly listened, enjoying the friendly banter between the two brothers. Luckily, James suggested a game of speculation as the plates were being cleared away. She was actually quite good at card games, and she hoped it would facilitate conversation.

  They all retired to the drawing room, but somehow the cards were missing, and both Eleanor and James disappeared to go and find them. Isabelle and Will were suddenly alone. She’d been alone with him many times before, but now it felt different. She glanced at the closed mahogany door, wondering if the cards had been intentionally misplaced.