He held himself back. Even only a newly titled man knew not to beg, especially in front of the servants.
‘Miss Salinger?’ he asked, recalling the name in the letter from the agency. A name he’d given heartfelt thanks for after two long months of searching for a governess for the unhappy girls in his care.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Lord Westcroft,’ the petite woman in front of him said, sounding anything but pleased. He looked at her properly, looking past the mud, and realised that underneath the layer of grime she must have picked up on the journey here her clothes were of fine quality and fitted well. Her skin was clear and bright and her hair, where it peeked out from underneath the hood of her cloak, was windswept but shiny and healthy. He wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a beggar woman.
‘Come through to my study,’ he said, motioning down the dingy hallway. ‘The fire is roaring and the room warm.’
‘Thank you.’
She followed him, her movements stiff, her skirts leaving a wet trail on the floor behind her.
‘Governesses looking like beggars, how am I supposed to tell the difference,’ he heard Mrs Fellows, the housekeeper he’d inherited along with everything else in this house, mutter.
‘Come in, get warm,’ Matthew said, watching as Miss Salinger stepped towards the ornate fireplace, seeing the tension begin to seep from her shoulders. For a moment in the hall he’d thought she might carry out her threat, that she might turn around and head straight back to London. He wouldn’t really blame her after the welcome she’d received, or after seeing the imposing façade of Manresa House. It wasn’t the most inviting of houses or locations, isolated as it was on the edge of the moor.
‘I am sorry about my appearance,’ Miss Salinger said eventually. ‘The coachman refused to bring me past the gates and the driveway was treacherous.’ She grimaced as she raised a hand to her head, touching the wispy strands of hair that framed her face. She turned to face him and gave a little half-smile. ‘I fell in a puddle.’
As her eyes came up to meet his he felt a jolt pass through his body, a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a very long time. Quickly he suppressed it, suppressed the urge to glance over her pretty features and the soft curves of her body. He wouldn’t even contemplate jeopardising her role here with an inappropriate look.
‘I hope your journey was not too arduous,’ he said, wondering how long he needed to make polite conversation before he could usher the new governess up to the nursery and officially hand over the responsibility of his two nieces. It had been a responsibility that had weighed heavily on him these last two months and he could not wait to return to being accountable for no one but himself.
Miss Salinger looked at him, her dark eyes probing his, a hint of a smile on her lips. It was almost as if she could discern his impatience, carefully hidden though it was.
‘You are a very long way from London,’ she said.
‘It is your first time in north Yorkshire?’
‘Yes.’ She shivered, glancing past him and out of the window. ‘I’m woefully poorly travelled.’
‘You hail from London?’
‘Cambridge. Forgive me, Lord Westcroft, it seems as though you have somewhere else you wish to be.’
He frowned, not at the directness of her words, but at how she’d detected his eagerness to usher her upstairs.
‘The children are keen to meet you,’ he lied smoothly.
At the mention of her new charges he saw something soften in her and a spark light in her eyes.
‘Tell me about them,’ she said, shrugging off her cloak and looping it over her arm. Underneath the dripping garment she was dressed in a sober grey dress. Something entirely suitable for a governess. It was practical with its dark material and long sleeves, and designed to be as unattractive as possible, but it couldn’t entirely hide Miss Salinger’s narrow waist or the curve of her hips.
‘Priscilla is nine, a quiet, watchful young girl who enjoys reading and music. Theodosia is seven...’ He paused, wondering how to sum up his younger niece’s character diplomatically. ‘She’s lively and curious about the world and enjoys being outside.’
‘They sound delightful. Have they had much schooling before?’
‘A little.’ In truth he didn’t know. Before his brother’s death almost a year ago now he hadn’t even been aware he had nieces. The rift in the family had meant communication had been limited to only what was absolutely necessary and his brother hadn’t seen the birth of Priscilla and Theodosia as important information. For his part Matthew had enjoyed the freedom, the lack of responsibility.
Not any more, he thought grimly. There was no running away now. He was the Earl, he was guardian to his nieces, he had responsibility for the estate and all the people who lived on it.
‘Let me take you to meet them, then Mrs Fellows will show you your room,’ he said, reaching forward and taking the still-dripping cloak from Miss Salinger’s arms. As he did so his hand brushed against hers, the softness of her skin a contrast to his still-callused hands. She pulled away quickly, her eyes flashing up to meet his, a wariness about her that made him take a step back. ‘This way.’
He deposited the cloak in the hall, leading Miss Salinger up the sweeping staircase to the first floor and then up a smaller, much less grand staircase to the second floor where the nursery was situated. She walked a couple of steps behind him, her hands held demurely together, her eyes moving to take everything in. There was a quiet energy about her, an energy this house sorely needed.
He paused outside the nursery, steeling himself for what scene he might find inside.
‘Go away,’ a flat voice called out as he pushed open the door.
The nursery was tidy, eerily so, and the two girls sitting side by side on the window seat were both looking out the steamy windows at the rain.
‘Girls, this is Miss Salinger, your new governess.’
Theodosia began to turn round, interest on her face, but a quick tug on the arm from her sister stopped the movement. Matthew felt a bubble of irritation welling up. He knew the girls were grieving, knew it would take them a long time to feel anything approaching happiness again, but rudeness was still unacceptable.
‘Girls,’ he chided. ‘Come and greet your new governess.’
Slowly both girls got to their feet, Priscilla flashing him a dark look before tossing her blonde hair back over her shoulders and looking defiantly at the mud-spattered governess.
‘Good afternoon,’ Miss Salinger said. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you both, Lady Priscilla, Lady Theodosia.’
‘Did you walk here?’ Priscilla asked haughtily. ‘In this rain?’
‘Only from the end of the drive,’ Miss Salinger said, her calm demeanour making Matthew want to step back out of the room and hand things over to her immediately.
‘That was foolish.’
‘It was necessary,’ the governess said with a shrug. ‘And a little mud never hurt anyone.’
Priscilla wrinkled up her nose, but Matthew caught her younger sister trying to stifle a smile.
‘I look forward to getting to know you girls,’ Miss Salinger said. ‘Tomorrow we can decide what you would like to learn.’
‘We can choose?’ Theodosia stepped forward with shining eyes. ‘I want to learn archery—all the bravest fighters can shoot a bow.’
‘I’m not sure archery is quite what Miss Salinger meant.’
Theodosia pouted, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the governess wink at the little girl. Matthew felt himself relax. He might not be able to manage his two nieces, but it seemed that Miss Salinger was more than up to the job. It would allow him to recede into the background, to spend the next few weeks sorting out the house and the estate. Then, when the girls had settled with Miss Salinger he would be able to escape back to India, back to the life where he belonged.
&nb
sp; Copyright © 2020 by Laura Martin
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ISBN: 9781488065552
The Tempting of the Governess
Copyright © 2020 by Janet Justiss
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Tempting of the Governess Page 25