My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance)

by Counts, Wilma

  “Miss Palmer.” He greeted her cordially if somewhat coolly as she entered the breakfast room.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “I have had the children’s ponies brought to the city. They arrived yesterday.”

  “How wonderful. The girls and Geoffrey will be so excited.”

  “I thought as much.” He paused. “I also had the Lady Titania brought up.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “I gave the order before we knew of your plan to leave.” Was his tone slightly accusatory? “You may as well enjoy riding her while you are yet here.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “There you go—‘my lording’ me again.” This time, his tone was lighter and some of the customary warmth had returned to his smile.

  “I’m sorry, m—Adrian. Force of habit.” She smiled back at him and their gazes locked for a moment. She looked away first, but in that instant felt some of their old rapport had been reestablished.

  “Uh ... Elinor ...”

  She looked at him expectantly.

  “I think there is no reason to tell the children just yet of your plan to leave. I do not want them upset.”

  “As you wish, Adrian.”

  “Time enough to tell them when the event is closer.”

  Elinor readily agreed, for she wanted to postpone her good-byes to the younger members of the household as long as possible.

  For a few days, her life assumed its usual routine with the welcome addition of rides in the park. Often Elinor would go alone in the early mornings—alone, except for the ever-present groom who accompanied her. She noted that her companion on these rides, as well as on the rides she took with the children, was invariably the same man, one who had, she knew, joined Trenville’s staff only recently. At Whitsun Abbey, their companion had always been whichever groom was free at the moment. She wondered about this, but other matters pushed it out of her mind.

  As she knew they would be, the children were ecstatic about having their beloved ponies with them again. Recalling happier days when she and Peter had ridden together, Elinor enjoyed watching the pure pleasure Geoffrey, Bess, and Anne took in their riding ventures.

  Leaving these little people was going to be very hard. Leaving his lordship would be even harder. Enough. She would concentrate on being happy with the time she had left. To this end, she found herself spending more of her free time with the children, indulging them more, and hugging them more often and more tightly. Sometimes it seemed her arms just did not want to relinquish those small bodies.

  She longed for the comfort of Adrian’s arms about her. If only she could unburden herself to him. She had occasionally seen him look at her with—what? Speculation? Regret? Longing? Then he would seem to catch himself and in the next instant his emotions would be carefully veiled.

  His reaction to her resignation had gone beyond an employer’s disappointment at losing a valued employee, had it not? Surely those kisses meant something to him, too.

  Perhaps she should confide in him as Harriet Palmer had suggested. Why? So his overdeveloped sense of duty would compel him to help her? So his rigid sense of honor would trap him into doing something he did not want to do?

  No. She simply could not put him in such a position.

  Adrian was preoccupied with the private dilemma of trying to find out who Elinor really was and devising a means of postponing her departure. Then, suddenly, a monumental public issue intruded and intensified his own problems.

  Canning had invited Nathan Olmstead to join his closest advisors in a morning meeting.

  “Bonaparte has escaped,” the Secretary said without preamble.

  “What?!”

  “It cannot be!”

  “You heard me correctly. He fled. Managed to get off the island of Elba. Just sailed away with a small army of followers one night.”

  “My God.”

  “Now what?”

  “Napoleon is on his way to Paris, apparently gathering strength as he goes. Wellington has left Vienna to take command of the armies in Belgium.”

  “What about the Congress in Vienna?” Morton asked.

  “And the treaty?” Dennington added.

  “No treaty. The Congress has broken up, though the alliance is still more or less intact.”

  “So England is ‘more or less’ on her own again,” Morton said flatly.

  “More or less.” Canning flashed a grim little smile. “Which brings us to our most pressing matter. It is absolutely imperative now that we apprehend this spy.” He looked at Adrian who had sat quietly throughout this exchange.

  “Captain Olmstead and I have a plan that might work,” Adrian said slowly.

  “Well, out with it, man,” Morton demanded.

  “Suppose we put it out that certain information is so sensitive that it can only be passed on to a special courier at an isolated location. Our man—”

  “Or woman,” Olmstead interjected.

  “Or woman,” Adrian continued just as though he had not been interrupted and just as though his heart had not skipped a beat, “will feel compelled to intercept the message.”

  “And can do so only at the rendezvous point.” Dennington crowed in delight.

  “Actually, he will probably observe the rendezvous, then follow the receiving courier,” Olmstead explained. “He will be intercepted when he attempts to take the message from our man.”

  “Won’t he suspect a trap?” Morton asked.

  “Possibly,” Adrian conceded. “But Napoleon needs information. Whoever it is will have to take the risk.”

  The meeting continued with their working out details. The spy would undoubtedly enlist the aid of some of his—or her—cohorts in trying to obtain information ostensibly destined for Wellington in Belgium. The receiving courier would be followed by the foreign agents and, discreetly, by the Crown’s men who would move in at the point of interception.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Morton said. “Trenville receives a message that important information is not being handled in the usual manner. Instead, it is to be delivered to a courier at the Golden Hart Inn.”

  “Right,” Olmstead said.

  “We assume the spy will be there to see the delivery?” Morton went on.

  “Won’t he be afraid Trenville will recognize him?” Dennington asked.

  “Yes. And that is precisely why the delivery must be made by one of you, not Trenville,” Olmstead said.

  “What about you?” Morton asked Olmstead.

  “Captain Olmstead was a frequent guest at my home in Devon. Assuming this agent is someone within my household, he might be put off at seeing Olmstead show up.” Adrian refused to think of the agent as a possible she.

  “You gentlemen are all known to be privy to sensitive information and are well enough known in polite society to be readily recognized by our man,” Olmstead said.

  “Well, it would not make much sense for the foreign secretary to be delivering such information himself,” Dennington said with a gesture toward Canning. “I volunteer.”

  “Here, now,” Morton objected. “Why you instead of me? I volunteer as well.”

  “Now consider carefully, gentlemen,” Adrian said. “This could prove quite dangerous.”

  “No more so than your little jaunts to the continent,” Dennington argued. “Morton’s wife is expecting to be confined shortly. You two”—he indicated Canning and Trenville—“ are out of the running. I am afraid, my friends, that leaves me as your logical choice. Jonathan William Prentiss, Viscount Dennington, at your service.” He gave a smart little bow of his head and shoulders.

  “That settles it, then,” Canning agreed. “Thank you, Dennington. This will not go unnoticed.”

  “And there will be adequate protection at the inn,” Olmstead assured him.

  “We need to act on this immediately, gentlemen.” Canning turned to Olmstead. “Captain, can we have the necessary men in place in, say, three days’ time?”
/>   “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Trenville? You can handle your end by then?” Canning asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Adrian left the meeting with mixed feelings. At last they seemed on the verge of catching the enemy agent who had proved so elusive. But what if Elinor were involved? How could he protect her?

  Well, he could not be the one at the inn, but he could certainly be on the scene later. If necessary, he would simply whisk her away.

  Fourteen

  Elinor could not shake the feeling that she was being watched whenever she stepped outside the confines of Trenville’s town house. She told herself she was being silly. The fact that she often observed two or three men on the street with seemingly little to do was irrelevant. They were undoubtedly neighborhood servants trying to avoid or postpone unpleasant tasks.

  She had listened patiently the morning after her visit to Miss Palmer as Trenville gently, but firmly dressed her down for going off alone. He explained that his government position dealt with sensitive issues and materials as she well knew and that members of his household might thus become targets for unscrupulous persons. That was, of course, why both a maid and a groom always accompanied her and the children to the park. The same precautions were to be in effect when she went out without the children. She had apologized and that had been the end of it. Still, there was this nagging feeling that the situation was not as innocuous as his lordship would have her believe.

  London drawing rooms buzzed with news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and his triumphal march to Paris. Fashionable matrons, society misses, and gentlemen of the ton who called on the marchioness talked of little else. The women whispered fearful tales of atrocities and the “monster’s” brutalities, savoring the most outlandish details. The men blustered about how the British army under Wellington would make short work of dealing with the Corsican upstart. After all, it had been done once....

  Listening to this venting of fears and bravado, Elinor was struck by the artificiality of it all. The real danger lay across the English Channel. These women were safe enough and, as far as she could see, delighted in their shock and fear. It was better than a scary gothic novel. As for the men—they mostly brought a suppressed little snort of disgust. Elinor knew few of these darlings of the ton would shed their showy coats by Weston for an army uniform. Many of them did not even bother to keep abreast of matters before Parliament, let alone take their seats in that venerable body.

  One afternoon, the children having been relegated to their own quarters, Elinor joined the adult members of Trenville’s household for tea in the formal drawing room. It was rather a large and motley gathering of folk, with little groups scattered here and there. Elinor was not pleased to find the fawning, socially ambitious Lady Vincent among the guests. However, she remembered the woman as a favorite of the marchioness, the two of them sharing their love of gossip.

  Elinor accepted a cup of tea with a smile for the footman serving it and found herself a place on a window seat somewhat removed from the rest of the room. Soon Huntington came to stand near her. She gave him a warm greeting of welcome.

  “Ah, Miss Palmer. Hiding yourself way from the rest of us, are you?” he asked teasingly. There was a speculative look in his eyes.

  “Not really. Sometimes it is fun just to watch people.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean.” His gaze followed hers to where Adrian seemed trapped by a bevy of females. “I see the tenacious Lady Gabrielle has joined her mother-in-law’s efforts to find Trenville a new wife.”

  Elinor felt a piercing jolt of pain at this comment, but she managed to say lightly, “He does not appear to be suffering unduly.”

  “But appearances can be deceiving, can they not ... my lady?”

  Elinor was startled at the sort of pregnant little pause he used before the title. Her eyes connected with Huntington’s knowing look. “I—I suppose so,” she said slowly, looking away and attempting to keep her tea from sloshing into the saucer while she tried to think. What did Thomas Huntington know? And what danger did he pose?

  “Come now, my dear,” he said edging her over to sit beside her. “You are no governess. Though why an earl’s sister would pretend to be one is beyond me.”

  “An earl’s sister?” she repeated foolishly, trying to marshall her thoughts even as the conversations and laughter in the rest of the room sounded in her ears. She took a long drink of tea and calmly asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Doing it too brown, Elinor—I may still call you Elinor, may I not?”

  “I—what do you mean? How—?” Dear God. This could not be happening. Not here. Not now. She looked around, seeking an escape. She saw clusters of people laughing, talking, flirting, gossiping. For an instant, they all seemed to be talking about her, looking at her. She closed her eyes and quickly opened them. No. They were all fully occupied with their own concerns. She carefully set her empty cup on a small table within reach.

  “It’s all right. You mustn’t panic,” Huntington assured her with a friendly pat on her hand. “No one else knows—yet.”

  Elinor felt cold and numb. Her shoulders slumped. “How did you ... ?”

  “I was in the library this morning copying out some letters when a fellow came to ask whether Lady Elinor Richards was a guest here. Trenville was out, so I spoke with the man. When he said he represented the Earl of Ostwick and described her ladyship, it occurred to me that yes, indeed, we did know her.”

  “Have you told Ad—Lord Trenville?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” She was amazed that she could be so calmly curious as her careful disguise—indeed, her future—was disintegrating.

  “Why? First off, I’ve not seen Trenville since early this morning—that is, until right now. And secondly, I was, frankly, wondering if you would be able to make it worth my while not to tell him.”

  “Worth your while? ... Money? You want money?” She had not raised her voice, but there was a note of panic in it. “But that is—You? Thomas—you would blackmail me?”

  “Such an ugly word, my dear.” He patted her hand again.

  This could not be happening. She looked around the room once more, shocked at how ordinary it seemed. Her gaze locked with Adrian’s for a moment. She quickly looked away. Think. She had to think.

  “What did you tell the man who came inquiring?” Her voice was controlled, despite the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

  “Nothing, yet. He gave me his direction, though. Seemed pretty sure you—that is, her ladyship—had been to this house. Offered a reward for information.”

  “I—I see. And if I ‘make it worth your while’ you will not tell him I am here? And you will not reveal any of this to Lord Trenville?”

  He nodded. “You have the right of it. Can we come to an agreement then?” He named a sum that caused her to blanch.

  She heaved a long sigh. “I will need some time. Needless to say, in my present situation, I haven’t a sum like that readily available.”

  “I shall give you time. After all, neither of us is going anywhere.” His laugh signified the warm friendliness they had shared before, but there was a hollow ring to it and his blue eyes were hard. “Say—three days?”

  She gasped.

  “All right, then—four. But no more.”

  Elinor picked up her cup and casually made her way to the tea table, speaking and nodding to those who acknowledged her. She had to get out of this room. She had to think. She passed behind the settee on which Lady Vincent sat with Gabrielle, the two of them holding court, as it were. Elinor was stunned to hear her own name.

  “No, my dear,” the woman was saying. “They’ve not found Lady Elinor Richards yet. But her uncle is a determined man. Arabella is certain he will succeed.”

  Arabella again. Drat that woman. Elinor set her cup and saucer on a tray held by a footman and edged toward the door. She looked around the room and again caught Adrian’s eye. She had to get out of here be
fore anyone commented on the sameness of the names of a missing heiress and a governess.

  That evening Adrian sent word to the children’s rooms that he wished to speak with Miss Palmer. This afternoon, it had seemed to him that she was frightened or upset. He had to try one more time to break through the barrier she kept so firmly in place. The rendezvous with the spy was set for tomorrow night. Dressed to go out later to his club, Adrian waited for her in the library.

  “You wanted to see me, my lord?”

  She had apparently received his summons as she was preparing to retire. Her hair had been hastily piled atop her head and stray wisps sneaked out here and there. He thought removal of a pin or two would send the whole mass tumbling to her shoulders. His fingers itched to do just that.

  “Yes, Miss Palmer—Elinor.” He indicated a wing chair near a small table with a lamp on it. In the soft light, her hair gleamed and her skin glowed. She nervously licked her lips and he thought how very kissable that mouth was. He took the matching chair. “I—I was wondering if you have had any second thoughts about our conversation the other day?”

  “My leaving, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, my lord. I have written Lady MacGregor explaining the situation to her.”

  “I see.” He sat quietly for a brief moment. “My sister, Lady Tellson, is in town with her children. We have thought of planning a fireworks display for her son’s birthday. Would you care to join our families for this outing?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes lit with anticipation. “The children will love it—and so will I. When?”

  He watched her carefully as he answered. “I thought perhaps tomorrow evening? Or the next?”

  “Wonderful,” she said without hesitation. “I shall see that the children are prepared.”

  “Ogilvie has a large estate on the edge of town. He has offered the use of one of his pastures. We shall return by the children’s usual bedtime.”

  “You are not worried about a coach being attacked and robbed, traveling after dark?”

  “Not with two outriders and two footmen on each coach as well as Tellson and myself. The servants can also help us keep track of overly excited children.”