Gift-Wrapped Governess

by Sophia James

  ‘Dear God, what on earth am I going to do?’ Gazing out at the river, he threw back his head and laughed, a deep, wild, slightly crazy laugh, because the situation was beyond absurd. He, who didn’t believe in love, was in love. He actually loved. He could actually love. Only love would make him happy. He could not be happy without love. He loved. He loved. He was in love. And was loved in return. Of that, he also had no doubt whatsoever.

  His laughter faded as he contemplated the tangled web of the situation he found himself in. The Three Graces. The three children. His mother. The family name. Regan had no dowry, no connections—none who acknowledged her—she was hardly the biddable, tractable female he had sought. She was in every way the antithesis of the wife he should be taking. She had nothing that in the eyes of the world would make her eligible.

  Except that he loved her. And she loved him. And the existence of their love changed everything. It would be a sin not to claim the happiness that they could share. As Regan said, it was a gift. The most precious of gifts. To be cherished.

  Gabriel threw another snowball, and then another, arcing them up into the air without aiming at anything in particular. They flew, soared, as he felt his heart was soaring. A wonderful lightness of spirit imbued him, seemed to cast a glow around him. Despite all the difficulties, the single fact of Regan, his love for Regan, her love for him, made the world a very bright, wonderful place. To hell with the difficulties. He would overcome them. He had to see her. He had to be with her. Now and always.

  Gabriel set off back across the bridge as if the devil were at his heels. He arrived back at the Hall breathless and agitated. His steward, his mother and his butler awaited him. Lady Olivia, Lady Sarah and Lady Lucinda awaited him. Portia, Land and Jack called out their greetings. Everyone except the one person he sought was gathered. Various pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. He bowed. ‘Later,’ he said, with an airy wave of his hand and promptly left the room.

  He found Regan eventually, thanks to Mrs McGlone, in the stillroom. ‘I’ve got something important to say to you,’ he said, grabbing her hand.

  ‘Your mother is looking for you, and your steward, and the children want to know—’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Gabriel said, dragging Regan out of the room and up the nearby backstairs, ‘I am the Duke, after all, and one of the benefits is that they must all wait on me. Not a privilege I often exercise, mind you, but I am in extremis and needs must.’

  He was walking so quickly she had to run to keep up. There was a gleam in his eye that made her heart bump. She couldn’t help but smile when he looked at her like that. He looked different. Younger. Reckless. As he used to look when about to embark upon something outrageous. His mood was infectious. ‘Gabriel, where on earth are we going?’

  He pulled her to him roughly and planted a brief kiss on her mouth. ‘You, too, must wait, but just for a moment. All will become clear directly.’

  Along the long corridor that ran across both courtyards. Past the kitchens to the turret. Up the stairs. Through the connecting chambers to the one containing the clothes. He pulled her in, pushed shut the door and threw open several chests before he found what he wanted.

  The red-velvet cloak was draped around her shoulders. ‘Now you look the part,’ he said.

  ‘What part? Gabriel, what—?’

  ‘Regan. Regan, Regan, Regan.’ He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. ‘I’ve never done this before. I never want to do it again, so be sure of your line,’ he whispered. ‘My line?’

  ‘I will ask you a question and you will answer, and the answer you must give is yes.’

  ‘Gabriel?’ Hope, wild, improbable, fantastical hope fluttered and soared like a flock of starlings in her stomach. She couldn’t breathe She daren’t think. He dropped to his knees before her. Blue-grey eyes looking up at her, suddenly very serious, glittering with intent. Her heart stopped. The air stilled.

  ‘Regan, I love you. I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you. I’m in love, just as you said it would be. I want to be with you always. I need you to be with me always. I love you deeply, passionately and completely. I love you with all my heart and soul. Be my Duchess, Regan. Be there for me first thing in the morning and last thing at night and all the hours in between. Be my lover, Regan. Be my wife.’

  ‘Oh, Gabriel.’

  ‘That’s not your line,’ he said, trying to smile, though he was quite terrified for a horrible moment, wondering if he had misjudged the situation.

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Dear God. Truly. Utterly. Your line, Regan,’ Gabriel said, a little desperately.

  ‘Yes.’ She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him so violently that they toppled over. ‘Yes. Oh, Gabriel, yes. But, Gabriel, you can’t. What about—?’

  He laughed and kissed her. ‘I don’t care about anything else. At least I do, but only if you’ll be my wife. If you won’t, nothing will have any meaning. If you will, anything is possible. Am I making any sense at all?’

  ‘Perfect sense. I love you so much, Gabriel. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Say it again.’

  She was crying and laughing at the same time. ‘I love you. I’ll be your wife. I’ll be your Duchess. I’ll be your lover. I’ll be anything you want me to be.’

  ‘Just be Regan. My Regan,’ he said, kissing her.

  ‘My Gabriel,’ she said, kissing him.

  ‘My love, my very own love,’ he said, pulling her hungrily into his arms.

  It was over an hour before they could disentangle themselves. ‘We must now go and face the music. Which is likely to be very loud and dissonant music, I’m afraid,’ Gabriel said with a rueful smile as he watched his future Duchess struggle to pin her hair back up. ‘But you know, I don’t see why I should justify my actions to anyone. I love you. I will never love anyone else. I want to announce to the world that I love you, but I don’t owe the world an explanation.’

  ‘After all,’ Regan said with a smile, ‘you are the Duke.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Gabriel said. ‘And you are going to be my Duchess, and no one will dare say a word against it, or they will answer to me.’

  ‘Yes, but in all seriousness, Gabriel, I’m hardly the stuff that suitable matches are made of.’

  ‘Listen to me, Regan,’ he said sternly, ‘that is the last time I will tolerate such comments, even from you. I know I’ve been the one pontificating about breeding and lineage and whatever else was on that damn-fool list of mine, but I was wrong, just as I was wrong to think that I could not love, that love did not exist. I was wrong about it all. What matters is that I love you and you love me, and that makes us a perfect match. Now that is an end of it, do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’

  ‘We will be a family, Regan. You and me. And Portia and Land and Jack. A ready-made family. I need you to know—I want them to be my family because I have come to love them for themselves, not just because of you. But I also need you to know that it is you, and will always be you, who holds first place in my heart. Now what have I said to make you cry?’

  ‘Nothing, everything. I’m not crying. I’m just so happy,’ Regan said and promptly burst into tears.

  Tears fell again when she retired to her bedchamber to dress for the Yule party. Laid out on the bed was the most beautiful evening gown she had ever seen. The cut was deceptively simple, a fitted bodice of claret velvet, puffed sleeves slashed with cream silk, a full cream-silk skirt and a deep ruffle of claret. A pretty paisley shawl embroidered in golds and reds lay beside it, along with a pair of long kid evening gloves. There was even a pair of claret-velvet slippers. Regan held the dress against her in the mirror.

  ‘Do you like it?’ She whirled round. Portia was grinning from ear to ear. ‘We made it, Lady Lucy and I,’ she said.

  ‘But how? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How on earth…?’

  ‘I said to Lady Lucy about how you were fed up wearing the same gown to
dinner every night, and she said did you not have another and I said no, and I said how you felt like Cinderella. Which you did, Regan, you know you did.’

  ‘Oh goodness, Portia, I know, but I did not expect you to repeat it.’

  ‘But it was true, Regan, you were like Cinderella, and Lady Lucy said how sad it was and—you don’t mind, do you? Only we meant it as a surprise, and—did I do wrong?’

  Regan laid the dress down on the bed and enveloped her sister in a warm hug. ‘It’s beautiful. The most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. And you are the most thoughtful sister I could ever have. And Lady Lucinda is most kind.’

  ‘She had me measure your other gown and she sent express to London for the cloth and then we had to do some adjustments,’ Portia said, ‘to the sleeves here, and the neck—the deco—deco…’

  ‘Décolletage. Dearest Portia, thank you. Will you help me dress once I have bathed?’

  ‘Yes, but we have to hurry because Gabriel has arranged for me and the boys to be in the parade and I don’t want them to set out without me.’

  It was the tradition for everyone on the estate to join the parade, carrying flaming torches. Portia, Land and Jack set off in a horse-drawn sled driven by one of the grooms, to meet the main procession at the end of the carriageway.

  Gabriel, resplendent in black evening clothes, stood at the steps, waiting to greet the crowds. Beside him the Duchess. To his right, the Three Graces and Regan. His Regan. Time after time he found his eyes straying towards her. A tiny knowing smile passing between them. It was an agony, this waiting. The pulse at her ear beat wildly. If only the procession would hurry up.

  Finally, the flicker of the flambeaux grew. Singing, laughing, the procession made its way over the hump-backed bridge, along the final stretch of carriageway and through the portcullis. The sledge containing the children—with several new friends in tow, Gabriel noticed—pulled up at the rear. His mother bid everyone welcome. He bid everyone welcome. His butler threw open the doors to the banqueting hall and a small army of his footmen made sure that everyone took their places according to the Duchess’s careful seating plan.

  With four exceptions. Portia, Land and Jack were placed at the far end of the high table. Regan was placed at his right, ousting Lady Sarah. Only when she saw what had happened did the Duchess begin to have an inkling of the rather more earth-shattering news that was about to be announced.

  ‘There is no place at high table for a governess,’ she hissed.

  ‘You are quite right, your Grace,’ Gabriel said blandly. ‘It is as well she is about to discard that role.’

  ‘What the devil…?’

  ‘Your Grace! Such language, and at high table, too.’

  Turning to help Regan into her seat, he pressed a quick kiss to her neck. An action noted with utter astonishment by Lady Olivia, who until this moment had been quite certain that tonight would be the night she would be declared the future Duchess. Lady Lucinda, who also noticed the kiss, was immensely relieved. Not even the handsome Duke could compensate for the vast responsibility that being his Duchess would entail, nor the terror that being the Duchess’s daughter-in-law would bring. Lady Sarah, whom the Duchess had quite persuaded would be Gabriel’s choice, did not see the kiss, and consequently was the person most shocked by Gabriel’s announcement, for Mrs McGlone had long hoped, and the Duke’s staff had long guessed, which way blew the wind.

  Upon the nod from his butler that all glasses were filled, Gabriel got to his feet. His speech started conventionally, with thanks for the hard work of the year past and best wishes for the year to come. ‘But before you raise your glasses, I have a special announcement,’ he said. ‘For five years now, Blairmore Hall has been without a mistress. These five years have been hard for all of us, and a lonely burden for me. I know many of you, my mother included,’ he said with one of his most charming smiles, ‘have been wondering whether the Hall will ever ring with the patter of little feet. Well, it is my most pleasant—’

  Gabriel broke off. ‘You know,’ he said, abandoning his formal tone, ‘it’s much more than pleasant. It’s my absolute pleasure to introduce you to my future Duchess.’ Casting a quick glance along the high table, he saw with relief that both Lady Olivia and Lady Lucinda were looking at Regan. He had been careful never to give either lady reason to start buying their trousseau, but they could have been under no illusions about the reasons for their presence here. Lady Sarah, however, was looking at his mother. Who was looking like thunder.

  Gabriel returned to his audience. ‘My Duchess,’ he said with a grin, ‘is a woman whom many of you will have known as a girl. Whose father knew and loved this estate as much as I do. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Regan Stuart.’

  As he helped Regan to her feet, proudly noticing that the clenched grip of her hand was the only thing to betray her nerves, the banqueting hall filled with the sound of applause. Chairs were scraped back. Halloos were bellowed. Portia, Land and Jack, their faces shining with astonishment, came running to join them. To his mother’s chagrin, Gabriel lifted each onto the table. ‘The patter of not-so-tiny feet,’ he said, causing much hilarity. ‘My new family.’

  Lady Olivia then, making an admirable attempt to smile, offered her polite felicitations. Lady Lucinda hugged Regan, tears sparkling on her lashes. ‘I’m so happy for you. You look so lovely.’

  ‘Thanks to you and Portia. I hope you are not disappointed?’

  Lady Lucinda giggled. ‘Oh, goodness, no. That woman terrifies me.’

  That woman was at that moment being reluctantly forced to her feet by her son. ‘Unless you wish to be banished, you will now and for ever accept my choice of wife and treat her with the respect she deserves,’ he said firmly.

  The Duchess did not smile, but she nodded regally. Later, Lady Sarah, loyal to the end, would pass the Duchess her vinaigrette and offer to burn feathers. The Duchess was apparently heard to mutter that she would prefer to have a certain person burned at the stake, but most likely that was just a malicious rumour.

  Toasts and more toasts followed. Goose, roast pig, a whole roast ox, and then puddings were consumed. A whoop from Jack heralded the finding of the golden sovereign. To his delight, he was decked in a laurel crown, crowned King of Fools, and passed from shoulder to shoulder along the room to cries of ‘All hail his Majesty’.

  ‘He’ll be insufferable after this,’ Land muttered.

  ‘You don’t mind, dearest, coming to live at the Hall?’ Regan whispered to Land later, as they gathered round the fire in the long gallery to listen to the estate children singing.

  ‘Mind? It’s the most fantastical, wonderful thing. Does that mean I am to be a lord?’

  Regan laughed. ‘No, but you shall live like one.’

  ‘Will you still want us when you have your own family, though?’ Portia asked.

  ‘You are our family,’ Gabriel said.

  Regan cast him a glowing look. ‘Thank you.’

  He put his arm around her. ‘You don’t have to thank me. You just have to love me. Always.’

  For the third time that day, tears of happiness filled her eyes. ‘Darling Gabriel, that is the easiest thing in the world. I love you. Always.’

  As he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, a cheer went up.

  A similar cheer went up two months later, when he kissed her again, outside the church on the estate on the occasion of their marriage. And another, even louder cheer at the Yule party exactly a year later, when he held up the tiny bundle who was his first born, the Lady Cordelia Portia Lucinda Olivia Sarah Beatrice Toward, named in memory of her maternal grandmother, for each of her four godmothers, and—finally—for her paternal grandmama who doted on the child in a manner both heart-warming and bewildering to all who knew her.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve failed to produce your son and heir,’ the Duchess of Blairmore said, taking the lustily squalling babe from the Duke. ‘We’ll just have to try harder.’

  ‘I’m looking fo
rward to it already,’ her besotted husband replied with a loving smile.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-1578-8

  GIFT-WRAPPED GOVERNESS

  Copyright © 2011 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  CHRISTMAS AT BLACKHAVEN CASTLE

  Copyright © 2011 by Sophia James

  GOVERNESS TO CHRISTMAS BRIDE

  Copyright © 2011 by Annie Burrows

  DUCHESS BY CHRISTMAS

  Copyright © 2011 by Marguerite Kaye

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