by Syrie James
The Earl of Longford was different from the other English lords she’d met. He didn’t simply complain about his problems, he did something about them. He worked on his own lands. He’d found a way to earn an income to help support his family and estate. She admired him for that.
She admired him for so many other things as well: his artistic talent. His love for literature. His concern for his staff and his tenants. His newfound interest in and devotion to his sisters. His kindness to her. He was sensitive. He was thoughtful. And he was a man of principle. All the reasons why she loved him.
All the reasons why, she realized, the notion hitting her with the force of a tidal wave, she could never leave him.
For weeks on end, she’d wanted to go home, to finish her education. Now, her wishes were very different. With all her heart, she loved Lord Longford. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She’d often told herself she wanted to do something important with her life. Well, what could be more important than rescuing Polperran House from ruin and saving it for future generations? There could be no more honorable use for her father’s wealth, she thought, than to bring this impoverished community back to life.
If they married, she’d be partnering herself with a man she adored and respected. A man whose children she’d like to have. A man she could love to the end of her days.
She wasn’t sure, however, how he felt. If he would want her.
Alexandra rolled over in bed, her stomach clenching in desperate worry. He’d been so deeply hurt in the past, he’d insisted that true love didn’t exist, that he would never marry. She had no idea if she could persuade him otherwise.
She knew he felt great affection for her. After what happened at the pond, there could be no doubt about it. But although everything that had passed between them felt as real and true to her as her own heart, in fact, it was based on a lie.
The comment he’d made weeks ago, about the fiancée who’d betrayed him, again came back to haunt her: She was no different from any of the other title-grubbing American heiresses who’ve been invading our shores.
Alexandra had been so afraid to admit the truth. But the charade had gone on long enough. Whatever the outcome, she now had no choice. If they were to have any possibility of a future together, she had to tell him.
Thomas strode the entire length of the gallery and back, then repeated the process all over again. If he kept this up, he feared he would burn a hole in the carpets. But never in his life had he felt so unsettled and restless.
The night had come and gone. Outside, dawn had long since broken. But all those hours of pacing hadn’t brought him any clarity or peace of mind.
He could think of nothing but Miss Watson. Her wet body in his arms. Her naked breasts in his hands, his mouth. The sound of her moans as his fingers brought her to climax. The passion in her eyes. The intensity of feeling that had washed over him as she lay beneath him in perfect nudity, willing to give herself to him.
It had taken every reserve of his strength and honor to stop things when he had. Could he trust himself to do so another time? He wasn’t certain.
Did he want there to be another time? Yes. For the love of God, yes, he did.
He knew that in the weeks ahead it would be difficult—perhaps impossible—to stay away from her. His mind leapt to the time beyond that. Three months, she had said. That was the longest she could stay. Which meant only seven weeks remained. As soon as she’d earned her fare back to New York, she’d be gone.
The idea of her leaving hit him like a physical blow. The past weeks had been among the sweetest he had ever experienced. Julia and Lillie were happier than he had ever seen them. Miss Watson had broadened the girls’ minds, taught them things they never would have learned under anyone else’s tutelage. He was beginning to enjoy his sisters’ company so much, he could hardly credit the distance that had once existed between them.
He and Saunders were friends again. Good relations had been restored between Polperran House and Trevelyan Manor. He had even started painting again. All changes that were due to Miss Watson. Without him even being aware of it, she had changed everything.
He tried to imagine what life would be like without her. The days stretched before him like an endless void. The girls would miss her. But the girls would recover. Would he?
He shook his head. No. No. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted more of the conversations they’d shared. He felt he could talk to her about anything, and she would always listen, understand, and challenge him in unexpected ways. He wanted to sleep with her every night and wake up beside her every morning. He wanted to share all the best moments of life with her. Because he loved her.
Dear God. He loved her.
He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but there it was. He had told himself that he would never love again, that love was a fairy tale. Women broke your heart. They left. They were treacherous, not to be trusted.
But perhaps not all women were untrustworthy. He trusted her. Trusted her so much that he had lost his heart. He had fallen in love.
With a governess.
What on earth was he going to do? He couldn’t marry a governess, could he?
The scene he’d witnessed at the garden party at Trevelyan Manor came to mind. The horror on people’s faces as they had stared at Miss Watson during her tirade. Every word had rung true, and he had admired her for saying them. Yet those very people who had been offended were his neighbors. It was not an issue for him to marry an American; that was done all the time now.
But he was uncertain if they would accept a governess as his wife, his countess.
Uncertain if his children, should they be so lucky as to have any, would be accepted if their mother was of such lowly status.
With her fierce intelligence, fine education, and sympathetic heart, he knew Miss Watson would make him a fine companion, a wife of whom he could be proud. He did not know, however, if others would see it that way.
It was a conundrum he had no answer for. He required input from someone of his own class, a friend whose opinion he respected.
Then he realized he had such a friend.
Thomas made his way to the stables, intending to saddle up Merlin and ride to Trevelyan Manor. Saunders had sent a note the day before, saying he was returned from London. But as Thomas reached the outbuilding, he heard approaching hoofbeats and seconds later, Saunders himself appeared on horseback out of the trees.
“Longford!” His friend reined to a halt before him. “You are out and about early.”
“As are you. What brings you here at this hour?”
“I had a sudden urge to ride. Before I knew it, I found myself at your gate, so I thought I would drop in.”
“I am pleased. I was going to come see you,” Thomas admitted.
“Oh?”
“I am in a quandary and need your advice. Can we walk?”
“Certainly.” Saunders dismounted and handed his reins to the waiting groom.
Thomas gestured toward a path leading into his gardens, and Saunders accompanied him as they strode in that direction.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“A woman.”
Saunders’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You would ask my advice about a woman?”
“It seems I have no one else to turn to.”
“Well, I am honored, and happy to help if I can. I had no idea you were involved with anyone.”
“Nor did I. But it appears that I am.”
“Are you in love?”
“Yes. I love her.”
Saunders smiled. “This is wonderful news. Who is this paragon of virtue, who has captured your affections?”
Thomas looked Saunders in the eye. “Miss Watson, my sisters’ governess.”
Saunders’s smile disappeared. He let go a long breath. “I see your dilemma. I pray that you will start from the beginning, and tell me everything.”
Alexandra paced back and forth in the nursery, her mind in a whirl
.
All night long, she’d tossed and turned, trying to conjure the words for the admission she needed to make. She still had no idea how to begin. But she had to tell him, and let the chips fall where they may. She just prayed he would understand and forgive her.
Glancing out the window, she thought she glimpsed Longford in the distance, vanishing into the trees. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait another minute to speak to him. Grabbing her hat and shawl, she raced down the back stairs.
As they walked up one path and down another, Thomas told Saunders the whole story, beginning with the day Miss Watson raced out of that alley in London, and up through the preceding weeks, in which she had become so dear to him.
“I can tell she adores Julia and Lillie. They love her. And I love her as well.” He made no mention of their sexual liaisons, preferring to keep that private. Saunders listened with attention, giving the matter the gravity it was due. “What should I do? Would you marry a governess?”
“Probably not. But it is not my decision. It is yours.”
“That helps me not at all, I am afraid,” Thomas said with a light laugh.
“Perhaps it is not such a difficult decision after all,” Saunders mused. “Miss Watson is an educated woman, is she not?”
“Indeed. She has attended college in New York.”
“What class would you say she is from?”
“Her family was apparently well-off, until her father lost his fortune by some means or another.”
“The American equivalent of the gentry class, then, am I right?”
“It would appear so.”
“So it is not as though you want to marry the chambermaid.”
Thomas frowned. “But what will people think?”
“Do you really care what people think?”
“Don’t you?”
“I do not know. I suppose we do care, because it has been drilled into us all our lives that we must.”
“We have to live with those people, Saunders. Without their approval, we would lead a very reclusive life. You must have heard what happened at the garden party at your house. Miss Watson defended women of her station in the most direct and conspicuous manner. She has thoughts and opinions, is not content to sit quietly in the background, as Englishwomen do.”
“A common trait among Americans.”
“Yes.”
“And yet, forgive me if I am wrong, but I suspect that is what you like about her.”
Thomas opened his mouth to refute this, but found he could not. Another realization hit him. Glumly, he said: “It is a moot point, in any case. I do not know why I am even bothering you about this. I cannot afford to keep a wife. I am barely managing to keep my head above water as it is.”
“Is it as bad as that, Longford?”
“I am afraid it is.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Can I help? Father keeps a tight rein on the purse strings, and I am on a rather strict budget. But if there is anything I can do . . .”
“No thank you. I would not dream of it. I will get by. But how can I ask a wife to join me under such circumstances? To live in a house that is falling to pieces?”
“Perhaps it will not matter to her. She has lived there for a while now. From what you said, she is not a stranger to financial difficulties.”
“True.”
“Do you truly love her, Longford?”
“I do.”
“Do you imagine that you would be happy, sharing your life with her?”
“Very much so.”
“Then you have to ask yourself: what is more important, the approval of society, or your own personal happiness? Do not forget, we are peers of the realm. Your wife will be a countess, no matter who she was before. By virtue of her title alone, people will be obliged to look up to her. If she is a worthy woman, I believe she will win people’s respect. Regardless of their mothers’ origins, your children will be lords and ladies, and I believe they will be accepted as well.”
Thomas turned that over in his mind. “A fair point.”
“You are lucky, you know. You have it far easier than I do, when it comes to planning your future.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you may choose whom you marry. You do not need anyone’s permission. My parents nearly flayed me alive over the Miss Townsend affair. I had to give my solemn vow never to repeat such a mistake. My fate is sealed now.”
Thomas looked at him. “You will marry your cousin Sophie, then?”
“I have not made her an official offer. I will, in time.” Saunders sighed heavily. “But you! You have no one looking over your shoulder, insisting that you do your duty. You are already the Earl of Longford. You can marry anyone you like, and thumb your nose at the world.”
“I suppose I can.” Thomas realized he was smiling. “Thank you. You have been a great help after all.”
Saunders clapped him on the back. “Are you going to propose to her, then?”
“Yes.” Happiness shot through Thomas like a ray of sunshine. “I believe I will.” He would not waste any time about it, either. He would return to the house this instant and find her, unburden his heart to her.
At that moment, they emerged from the cover of the trees onto the lawn, and Thomas stopped short.
The woman who had made up the subject of their entire conversation stood but a few yards before them.
Alexandra had just crossed the lawn and was heading for a path that led into the gardens, when Longford emerged from the trees. Another gentleman was with him. He looked vaguely familiar. She wondered if this was the Earl of Saunders, who she’d once spied from the nursery window, but had yet to meet.
Longford looked particularly happy. Alexandra was about to say good morning, but before she could utter the words, she noticed the other gentleman staring at her in absolute astonishment.
“Miss Atherton!” he exclaimed in consternation. “It is you, is it not? Miss Alexandra Atherton, of New York? Good Lord! What are you doing in Cornwall?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alexandra froze, too shocked to speak.
“Forgive me,” the gentleman continued, coming forward with a small bow. “I am Charles Grayson, the Earl of Saunders. We met only briefly in town in April, at Mrs. Dawlish’s soirée. You were the belle of the ball that evening, so it is no surprise that you have no recollection of me. But I own, I am very surprised to see you here. I had no idea you were visiting Polperran House.”
“You are mistaken, my friend,” Longford interjected with a short laugh. “This is not—what did you call her? Miss Atherton?”
“But it must be. There cannot be two such women in the world.” To Alexandra, Saunders added: “The newspapers were full of your disappearance some weeks ago. ‘American Heiress Leaves Country,’ I believe the headlines read?”
Confusion reigned in Longford’s eyes as he stared at Alexandra. “American heiress?”
“Everyone presumed you had left England and returned to New York,” Saunders went on, oblivious to the maelstrom his observations were causing, “but then I think there was some other story about Switzerland and your health? I hope you are recovered now, Miss Atherton? You appear to be in the bloom of health to me.”
Alexandra’s body pulsed with alarm. She was so consumed by mortification, she couldn’t utter a word, could hardly breathe.
A dawning sense of horror and understanding registered on Longford’s face as he took all this in, perhaps recalling the newspaper articles in question. “Is this true? Are you Alexandra Atherton? The missing heiress?”
Alexandra met his gaze, hoping he could tell how desperately embarrassed and sorry she was. But all she saw on his face was a rising sense of consternation, hurt, and anger.
“What is it? What have I said? Surely Miss Atherton is a guest of yours, Longford?”
“She is no guest.” Longford’s building rancor was evident in every syllable. “She is my sisters’ governess.”
“Their governess? But that is im
possible. Miss Atherton is heiress to—” Lord Saunders broke off, glancing from her to Longford. Then, with a gasp: “Dear Lord. Do not tell me this is the Miss Watson you have been going on about?”
“It is.”
A tense silence fell. The blood drained from Saunders’s face. Alexandra finally found her voice.
“My lord,” she began quietly, addressing Longford, “I was planning to tell you. That was my purpose in coming to find you just now. I was going to tell you.”
“Going to tell me what?” Longford’s eyes were like flint. “That for weeks now, since the day we met, you have been deceiving me? Living under a false name? Playing me for the fool?”
“I didn’t—”
“Pray, forgive me,” Saunders interjected. “I see that I have spoken out of turn. I regret any distress I may have caused you both, and I will now take my leave. Good day, Longford. Miss Atherton.” With a brief tip of his hat, he sped off in the direction of the stables.
Leaving Alexandra and Longford standing on the lawn, staring at each other.
“My lord, I had a reason for—” Alexandra began.
“I am sure you did,” Longford spat out. “Tell me: what was the purpose of your little game?”
Alexandra had planned to ease into the truth. Now that it had been blurted out by someone else, she had no alternative but to defend herself. “It was no game.”
“You’ve never taught children in your life, have you? I should have known. You Yanks are all alike. You lied through your teeth, and like an idiot, I was completely taken in, allowed you to lead me along like a dog on a leash.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Alexandra cried, but he went on.
“I believed you were a poor governess. How you must have laughed, insisting that I pay for your new clothes, pretending to be thrilled by that new evening gown, when you must have trunks full of far more elegant gowns. What were you after in coming here? My title? Did you, somehow, become privy to my antipathy to heiresses? Did you think to worm your way into my affections in this backhand manner, and then reveal all, hoping to become my countess?”