My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance)

by Counts, Wilma

  “That is probably a good idea, especially in view of Geoffrey’s sense of adventure.” She smiled indulgently, apparently recalling some incident with Geoffrey. Was it quite proper for a man to envy his son?

  “Tomorrow is all right then?” he asked, again observing her carefully.

  “Yes, of course, if that is your wish.” She looked at him in surprise.

  He shook himself mentally. Her surprise was natural—after all, his slightest whim was to be satisfied by an employee, was it not?

  “Will that be all, my lord—Adrian?” She quickly added his name on seeing his eyebrow lift.

  “Yes.” Instead of waving her off as he would an ordinary servant, he rose and took her hand to lift her from her chair. When she stood before him, he still held her hand and she seemed in no hurry to retrieve it. “I do wish you would reconsider your decision to leave,” he said softly.

  “I—I wish I could do so.”

  She looked into his eyes and he knew it was true—she wanted to be here, with him. “Elinor—” His voice was husky as he moved his hands to her elbows to pull her closer. “Are you sure?” he whispered as his lips brushed hers.

  Then he was holding her tightly, pressing his mouth firmly to hers. She entwined her arms around his head and he felt her fingers in his hair. He deepened the kiss, and with a soft moan, she allowed his tongue to probe. She responded with a fervor that threatened to push him over the edge. He pulled back slightly to shower kisses on her eyelids, her ear, trailing his lips down her neck, pushing his hands through her sweet-smelling hair.

  “Are you?” he whispered at her ear.

  “Am I what?”

  He laughed quietly at the distracted note in her voice. “Are you sure you must leave?”

  This seemed to bring her to her senses. She stiffened and stepped back; her hands pushed against his chest. He refused to release her.

  “Please, Adrian,” she begged, a catch in her voice. “I must.”

  He dropped his arms and stared into mossy green orbs that reflected his own longing and despair.

  “I must,” she repeated and turned to leave.

  He watched her go, cursing himself for losing control. Just cannot keep your hands off her, can you, Trenville?

  But his heart sang at the thought that she had so readily agreed to an outing that might take place at the very same time the spy would be trying to intercept an important message. She had not so much as flinched a muscle or fluttered an eyelash at the suggested time. She was either innocent—or the consummate actress! He did not doubt her sincere reaction to his embrace. No acting there.

  Still worried, but more hopeful than he had been previously, he picked up his hat and set off for his club.

  Elinor returned to her chamber, flung herself on the bed, and let the tears flow. Earlier she had taken little comfort in knowing her instincts were right in the feeling of being watched. She knew the man with whom Huntington spoke was not representing the Earl of Ostwick, but the young earl’s guardian. Her uncle was on to her. Only Huntington’s greed had given her a temporary reprieve.

  Huntington. What a cad he turned out to be. Having thought of him as a friend, she was shocked and sickened to discover he would sell her out to the highest bidder. On the other hand, had he not let drop subtle hints that he enjoyed the high life? His wardrobe bespoke a man of wealth, if somewhat questionable taste. He made no secret that his social life included gambling and associating with some of society’s high flyers. Thomas liked to drop the names of exalted acquaintances into his conversations. Why had it not occurred to her that he was living beyond his means?

  But, then, why should it have mattered to her? Thomas’s behavior was not a subject for her concern—until now. Where on earth could she hope to come up with such a sum as he demanded in only four days? Impossible. And even if she could produce it, how much would he demand the next time? Elinor Richards was not so naive as to believe a successful blackmailer would not come back for more.

  She could see no other way out—she would have to break her word to Adrian and leave before he found a replacement governess. On that fourth day, when Huntington came to assert his claim, she would simply no longer be around.

  As a governess, she had hoarded her wages, spending very little on “fripperies” that Lady Elinor would not have thought twice about. If she still had not heard from Mary MacGregor in three days’ time, she would board a stage for the north anyway. Once there, if she were turned away, surely she could find someplace to hide for the few months until her birthday. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Meanwhile, she would savor each moment she had left with Adrian and the children. She looked forward to the promised outing. It would be her last chance to share a positive experience in their lives.

  The following morning at breakfast, Adrian informed her the proposed outing was to be postponed until the next evening by his sister’s request.

  “Well, then, we should postpone mentioning it to the children,” she said. “I am quite sure the prospect of viewing a fireworks display tomorrow would totally eclipse any lessons today.”

  Adrian chuckled. “I suppose you are right. We will tell them tomorrow. Meanwhile, you may have their undivided attention.”

  “I would never be so overly confident as to assume that,” she said, smiling, “but I need no additional competition for their attention.”

  As it turned out, there were few distractions that day. Overcast weather, threatening showers, discouraged outdoor activities. The children contentedly devoted themselves to the three Rs, though Elinor thought reading and ‘riting took precedence over ’rithmetic on this day.

  She made a mental note to leave detailed accounts of each child’s strengths and weaknesses in their various studies, since she would not be available to ease the new governess into the job. This thought saddened her, but what could she do?

  Lessons finished for the day, Elinor regularly turned her charges over to the nursery help. Occasionally, she shared the children’s “tea,” but more often than not, she pursued some interest of her own. Sometimes that was reading; sometimes she played the pianoforte in the music room; and often she would take a long walk. At Ostwick Manor, she mused, she would be in the garden encouraging some fragile specimen to survive and produce. Governesses, however, did not usurp the Trenville gardeners’ chores. So, on this day, she walked.

  She was accompanied by Millie, one of the upstairs maids who was often her companion on such ventures since Trenville had decreed that she never go out alone here in the city. In truth, Elinor welcomed the girl’s company. Millie chatted amiably about gossip belowstairs and about her family back home in Staffordshire.

  The two had left Trenville House with Millie carrying an as yet unnecessary umbrella. They had gone about a quarter of mile, neither paying much attention to the traffic on the street, which, in any event, was not very heavy at that time of day.

  “Now me younger brother is a dreamer,” Millie was saying, “Mum says he musta been a changeling, but she be only teasin’, o’course.”

  Elinor was only half listening, but murmured seemingly attentive sounds as Millie chattered on. Suddenly, the sound of a team’s hooves on the cobblestones sounded very close and a carriage stopped just in front of the two young women. Elinor noted it was a plain, closed vehicle, sporting no crest, nor uniformed attendants.

  The door opened and a large man jumped out, grabbed Elinor by the arm and shoved her toward the open door. Surprise and terror seized her.

  “No! Stop! Let me go!” she screamed, while frantically jerking away from the iron grip on her arm.

  “ ’Ere, now,” Millie shouted and swung her umbrella at the attacker.

  The man gave Millie a hard slap, knocking her to the ground. Then, effortlessly, he lifted Elinor, shoved her into the coach, climbed in after her, and even as he closed the door, the vehicle was moving away at a fast clip. Stunned, Elinor raised herself to her knees.

  “What
. . . ? Who ... ? You!” she shrieked.

  “Now is that any way to greet a long absent relative?” her uncle asked with a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Do get off the floor, my dear. It is a most unladylike position.” She ignored the hand he extended and took the seat opposite him and his henchman.

  “Stop this coach immediately and let me out of here,” she demanded, thinking a show of bravado might carry the day.

  It didn’t.

  “I am sorely afraid that is not possible,” Brompton said smugly. “You just relax. We will reach our destination in due time.”

  “Which is where? Where are you taking me?”

  “Your bridegroom awaits.”

  His words came like a splash of icy water. She sucked in a deep breath and longed to smash the smirk off his face.

  “If you think for even an instant that I will marry that degenerate old roué you have chosen for me, you can just jolly well think again,” Elinor said through gritted teeth. “Now, stop this coach, or I will jump out as it moves.”

  “Burt.” Brompton nudged his man who moved over to the seat beside Elinor. “If you don’t behave yourself, my dear, Burt will have to tie your hands and feet. Pity if that should be necessary. He is not a gentle fellow.”

  Elinor swallowed the panic that threatened to engulf her. Her immediate thought was that she had to keep her hands and legs free. There might still be opportunity for escape. Her shoulders slumped as she moved farther back in the seat.

  “Good. You are beginning to see reason,” her uncle said.

  “I see you have the power to hold me against my will, but there is no way you can make me marry against my will.”

  “Oh, I think there is.” Brompton’s voice was deceptively soft, but carried an undercurrent of triumph and menace. “If you care about your brother at all, you will be eager to marry exactly where I tell you.”

  “Peter! What have you done with him? If you’ve harmed him . . .”

  “You will do what?” he sneered. “I am calling the shots here, my dear. And unless you do exactly as I say, your brother is likely to suffer a very serious accident. This is not the way I wanted to do this, but you have given me no choice, my girl.”

  “Where is Peter? I want to know he is safe.”

  “You will see him soon enough. He will serve as an additional witness as you become the baroness, Lady Pennington, before the night is over.”

  Fifteen

  Adrian was sitting in the library with Nathan Olmstead, going over details of the plan to catch their spy in the act, as it were.

  “If our man takes the bait, I don’t see how this can fail,” Adrian said.

  “You are sure the main culprit is a male of the species?” Olmstead’s voice was even.

  “Not absolutely. But I am sure that it is not Miss Palmer.” Adrian had decided to confide this much about Elinor.

  “You have proof then?”

  “Not the kind that would stand up under scrutiny, but I know I am right.”

  Olmstead measured his words carefully. “Adrian, you are not allowing your feelings for her to cloud the issue, are you?”

  “My feelings? Is it that obvious, then?”

  “Only to someone who has known you since boarding school days—twenty years, more or less.”

  “Well, my feelings—”

  At this point, they were interrupted by a clatter of noise in the hall and a hurried knock on the door which opened to reveal an agitated footman and a disheveled maid.

  “She’s been nabbed, sir,” the footman said. Both the servants were breathing hard as though they had been running.

  Adrian stood. “Get hold of yourselves. Who has been nabbed?”

  “Miss Palmer’s been snatched, my lord,” the maid said with a sob.

  Adrian felt an iron fist reach into his innards and twist hard. Fear held him for only an instant. Then the mind that had seen a naval officer through terrible battles and a diplomat through Machiavellian subtleties took over. Knowing it was important to get the details immediately, Adrian poured two glasses of sherry and handed them to the footman and maid, ignoring their surprise.

  “Here, drink this. And tell me exactly what happened. Rowlands, isn’t it?” he asked the male servant.

  “Yes, sir. Graham and Seaton followed the coach what took her. Said Millie and me should come back and tell you what happened.”

  “Begin at the beginning.”

  Millie squared her shoulders. “Me an’ Miss Palmer was jus’ takin’ a walk when outta nowhere this carriage ...”

  With an occasional interruption from Rowlands, she related the events of the last half hour.

  Even before they were finished, Adrian issued an order to have his and Olmstead’s carriages brought around and he named another servant who was to report to him immediately—with weapons. At the end of the narrative, he and Olmstead asked a few questions to refine details, then dismissed the maid.

  “They saw clearly only the man who shoved her into the carriage,” Olmstead said. “Big. A shock of red hair. Not much to go on.”

  “And another man in the coach, but Millie did not get a good look at him. She guessed he was Quality.”

  “I seen that redheaded feller somewhere,” Rowlands said. “But danged if I remember where. Mebbe Graham or Seaton will know ’im.”

  “Graham, Seaton, and Rowlands are Bow Street Runners,” Adrian explained. “And there are more. They have been helping in our investigation.”

  Olmstead whistled in appreciation. “Well, that should be to our advantage.”

  “The coach is ready, my lord,” a figure at the door announced.

  “Nate, I am going after Elinor.” Adrian unlocked a drawer in the desk at one end of the room and took out a set of pistols. “You are on your own tonight. Can you handle it?”

  “I think His Majesty’s forces can muddle through,” Olmstead said dryly.

  “Rowlands, you come with me. I have a couple of stops, then we will be on our way after that coach.”

  He was lucky. Harriet Palmer was at home when Adrian pounded on her door moments later. Miss Palmer stood in the doorway of her drawing room.

  “All right—who is she?” he demanded without preamble. “I have to know. Now. Elinor has been kidnapped.”

  “Kid—oh, my goodness.” She put her hand to her throat.

  “No. Don’t you faint on me.” Adrian reached out to steady her.

  “I shall not fall victim to the vapors, young man,” she said primly. “Allow me to catch my breath.” She led him into the room and took a seat. He refused the one she offered him.

  “Please. Just tell me what I need to know. I have to go after her.”

  She looked at him steadily, apparently weighing his words.

  “Good heavens, woman. This is serious. You must help me.”

  “Yes, I think I must,” she conceded.

  “Well ... ?”

  “Your Elinor is Lady Elinor Richards, daughter of the tenth Earl of Ostwick. Her younger brother is the current earl.”

  Adrian was stunned. “A title? She is a member of the ton?”

  “Her lineage is probably as noble as your own, my lord.” Miss Palmer’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “So why is she masquerading as a governess? There must be some profound reason for such behavior. And who would kidnap her?”

  “I doubt not that Brompton—with his monumental debts—is behind this,” Miss Palmer said. “He and that horrid old lecher, Pennington. Lady Elinor is heiress to a considerable fortune when she marries—or when she reaches the age of five and twenty.” She proceeded to give him an abbreviated version of Elinor’s problems since her father’s death.

  “Pennington. Pennington. I know that name.” Adrian searched his memory. “Good grief! Pennington?!”

  Miss Palmer nodded. “The two of them plan to divide her inheritance, though the money alone is not Lord Pennington’s only motivation.”

  Adrian hadn’t the heart to tell th
is nice old lady just how much danger her former charge was in. Stories of Pennington’s depravity were rampant among certain male enclaves.

  “I thank you, Miss Palmer.” He strode over to her, picked up her hand, and aimed a kiss at it. “You will not be sorry you confided in me.”

  “Just bring her back safe.” There was a catch in her voice.

  “I will. I promise.”

  His next stop was a gentleman’s club that operated on the fringes of respectability. It was frequented by people who would know Pennington well. He brushed by the doorman who was, in any event, obsequious in his welcoming such a high-toned newcomer to his establishment.

  A few minutes later, Adrian was back in his carriage, having obtained the information he required in the most blatantly undiplomatic manner of his entire career. Amazing how effective an out-and-out threat could be when it came from one of the most powerful men in the realm.

  He had, in fact, learned more than he wanted to know. Pennington had a hunting box about three hours out of London, though Adrian’s informants doubted it had lodged genuine hunters in some decades. It was, however, a well-used trysting place for Pennington and his cronies and their ladybirds. Occasionally, there were rumors of more sinister goings-on there, debaucheries of the most reprehensible sort.

  Adrian was worried, but refused to allow himself to panic. It was highly likely that Brompton, whose own resources were apparently quite limited, would avail himself of his friend’s property. Adrian also trusted that Graham and Seaton were on the scene. But they were only two men—against how many?

  Could not be too many, Adrian reasoned. One did not go around kidnapping ladies of the ton with a whole army to spread the tale later. He checked his pistols for the tenth—or twentieth—time. The waiting as the coach bumped and swayed along was interminable. He envied Rowlands and the other man, both of whom seemed to be catnapping.

  Elinor. Elinor. Her name beat a silent, steady refrain as his imagination conjured all sorts of ugly images. The usually cool diplomat was gone. If those bastards had harmed her . . .