by Laura Martin
Quietly Selina opened the door to the girls’ room, seeing the two forms still lying peacefully in the bed. She crept over to satisfy herself neither was burning up with fever and then hastily retreated before she could disturb them.
‘Let them sleep,’ Lord Westcroft commanded. ‘It was a tiring day.’
‘I will check on them again soon,’ Selina said, hoping her reassurance would prompt him to return to his own room. Either that or investigate the enticing smells wafting up the stairs.
Lord Westcroft hesitated, then something in him seemed to soften and he motioned for Selina to follow him.
‘Accompany me to breakfast,’ he said, walking off down the corridor before she had a chance to answer.
She contemplated returning to her room instead, but knew she would have to properly face Lord Westcroft some time. Better to do it now when there was no one else around to witness the awkwardness.
* * *
Matthew stomped down the stairs, not bothering to turn and check to see if Selina was following him. He was in a foul mood. All night he’d been tormented by vivid images of Selina. Selina dropping her head back as he pushed her nightgown from her shoulders, Selina arching against him as he kissed her breasts, Selina underneath him as their bodies came together again and again. The last one was, of course, pure imagination, but Matthew had always been blessed with a vivid imagination and last night it had spun image after image until he was tense and frustrated.
The lack of sleep wasn’t the main reason for his foul mood. As he’d lain awake, trying his hardest to occupy his mind with anything but Selina’s naked body writhing underneath him, he’d had plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to remind himself why even a flirtation with his nieces’ governess was a bad idea.
He couldn’t deny it was a bad idea. Of all the women in England she should be the last he was imagining taking to his bed. He needed her, for the future of his nieces, but also for his future. Selina’s presence in his life meant he would one day soon be able to return to India and take up his old life again. That was what he wanted.
He stomped a little harder on the stairs to quiet the voice that asked him if that was really what he wanted. In India he was a success. A self-made success. Here in England he was constantly reminded of an unhappier time and of the foolish young man he’d once been. In India he could forget his shame, forget his weakness in not standing up to his father and brother. Here there were reminders around every corner.
Good manners prevented him from slouching in a chair as soon as he reached the private parlour downstairs. Instead he held out the chair for Selina, felt a rush of guilt for the rude way he was treating her and noticed his resolve already beginning to crumble.
‘Please accept my apology,’ he said as he sat down.
Selina was prevented from saying anything by the bustling into the room of Mrs Ruthers.
‘Good morning. It’s lovely to see you up so bright and early. I trust you slept well. Have you seen the sunshine? I think finally our luck with the weather may have changed.’ She spoke as she moved around the room, drawing the curtains and setting down a pot of tea on the table between them.
‘What are you apologising for?’ Selina waited until they were alone again to speak.
Not last night. Never last night. He knew he should regret it, but he couldn’t. Last night when he’d been kissing Selina he had felt a thrill like he’d never experienced before. He couldn’t bring himself to regret that.
‘This morning. I was rude. I apologise.’
She blinked a few times as if trying to get his words straight in her head, then dipped her head in acceptance.
‘I didn’t sleep very well,’ he said in explanation.
‘Nor I,’ Selina said, her eyes not able to meet his.
‘Perhaps we should discuss what happened.’
Quickly she shook her head, busying herself with preparing two cups of tea. ‘There is no need. It was a moment of foolishness on both our parts. We were overcome by the events of the day and allowed ourselves to forget our relationship to one another.’
‘A mistake, then?’ he asked mildly.
Emphatically Selina nodded. ‘A mistake,’ she agreed.
‘Even though we both wanted it.’
As her eyes met his he saw a moment of panic in them and realised that however difficult this was for him it was ten times that for Selina. She had her position to consider, her livelihood. And her home.
‘Yes,’ she said curtly.
‘And what if we both happen to want it again?’
‘That will not happen.’
He felt a sinking inside him, a disappointment that he barely dared to acknowledge. He might know nothing good could come from a dalliance between him and Selina, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it anyway.
‘Who knows what may happen in the future?’ he mused quietly, jumping a little as Selina crashed her teacup back down on the table.
‘I know,’ she said firmly. ‘I know that the next man I kiss, the only man I kiss, will be my husband. I will not be anyone’s mistress or lover. And if I never marry then so be it.’
‘So be it?’
‘I will live a life without any passion.’
‘Then our kiss will have been your only one? The one to remember—’ He broke off with a frown. ‘You haven’t ever kissed anyone before?’ The idea of an over-eager suitor pressing her into a dark corner occupied his mind and he found himself jealous at the thought.
‘I do not think that is any of your concern,’ she said primly.
‘No,’ he mused, ‘I don’t think you have.’
‘Can we talk of something else?’
‘Certainly. What do you wish to converse about? The weather? The children?’
‘The children,’ she declared, standing up with purpose, even if that purpose was to flee. ‘I should check on the girls.’
Matthew didn’t stop her. It would have been cruel when she was so flustered. As he took a sip of the perfectly made tea he asked himself what he wanted from Selina. What he truly wanted.
His first priority had to be securing her services as governess to Priscilla and Theodosia, that was what he needed most. In a world of his design he would also have Selina in his bed, his lover for the few short months he had remaining in England. That was what he wanted—her to look after his nieces during the day and slip between the sheets with him at night.
Matthew grimaced. He’d heard her protestations, her reasons why she didn’t want to become his mistress. He felt a slither of guilt at thinking about trying to persuade her when her reasons made so much sense, but he couldn’t give up on the idea of the pleasure and passion they could share. And if he was cautious they could have the pleasure without any of the scandal Selina was so afraid of.
Carefully he replaced the teacup in its saucer and drummed his fingers on the table. Now he knew what he wanted it was just a matter of making it a reality.
Chapter Fifteen
Matthew urged his horse forward, leaning low across his neck and revelling in the whip of the wind against his face. He rode at full gallop for another twenty seconds and then allowed Autumn to slow. The chestnut-coloured horse snorted, stamping its hooves in appreciation of the gallop and tossing his head once and then again.
‘Calm, Autumn,’ Matthew instructed, laying a reassuring hand on the horse’s neck.
‘He’s a spirited beast,’ Richard Rowlands said as he arrived at a more sedate pace on the back of his own horse.
‘He is.’ Like everything else on the estate Matthew had inherited a whole stable of horses from his brother. It still felt strange to think they were his now, that everything here was his. He felt like an impostor much of the time, as if his father or brother would suddenly pop up and demand to know what he was doing on their land. It was one of the reasons he wished he was back in In
dia. There he was master of his own business, not just a successful man but a man who had been responsible for his own success. Here he felt as though he didn’t belong.
‘I heard about your trip to Whitby,’ Rowlands said.
An image of Selina with her nightgown slipped from her shoulders popped into his mind and he had trouble refocusing on what Rowlands was saying.
‘It was a pleasant day out until the accident.’
‘No one was hurt?’
‘No. At least not then. Priscilla is in bed with a chill from being out in the abysmal weather.’
‘I wish her a speedy recovery,’ Rowlands said, his expression serious. A chill could turn to something much more deadly in no time at all.
‘The rest of the trip was delightful,’ Matthew said.
‘Whitby in winter?’
It wasn’t the typical time to visit the seaside, but Matthew knew he would never forget the day. It had been eventful in more ways than one.
‘Must have been the company,’ Rowlands said quietly.
‘Indeed.’ Matthew smiled, unable to stop himself. He seemed to be smiling a lot recently.
‘Did the delightful Miss Salinger enjoy herself?’
‘Very much so.’
The land steward gave him a sidelong look. ‘I’m glad you’re doing something to make you happy. You deserve it.’
Matthew grimaced as he slid down from Autumn’s back. For the last decade, ever since Elizabeth had passed away and he’d regained his freedom, he had felt as though he needed to do penance. It wasn’t that he denied himself pleasure, but everything he had done had been tinged with the need to prove to himself that he wasn’t a completely lost cause. He’d worked hard, built a life he could be proud of, and that had often meant sacrifice. While other men of his class were gallivanting around London he had been serving in the navy, duty had superseded fun. And even when he had moved on, starting the shipping business, there had rarely been any time to devote to leisure.
Carefully he crouched, inspecting the old stone wall that ran around this part of the perimeter. It was waist high, built of cracked and worn stones, falling down in places. The wall was the only thing separating his estate from the moorland beyond.
‘We need to rebuild here,’ he said, testing out the adjacent portions to the crumbling part. For a structure with nothing to stick the stones together it was surprisingly sturdy.
‘I’ll get a couple of the labourers to bring their tools up tomorrow,’ Rowlands said.
Matthew paused for a moment, looking out to the moor beyond the wall. It was beautiful even at this time of year with the trees half-bare and the plants died back. It was his home, more so than anywhere else, but still even after a few months back here it didn’t feel like it. He yearned for the turquoise of the ocean off the very tip of India, the scorching sun, the rolling hills.
For an instant he pictured taking Selina back there with him, swimming with her in the warm waters and taking her to see the majestic elephants and deadly tigers. He could imagine sharing his world with her, imagine her expressions as she came across something completely new, imagine her in his arms as they built a life together away from the social confines of England.
Matthew physically shook himself. It was a ridiculous thing to imagine. He’d kissed her twice, no more, and she’d made it perfectly clear there would be nothing further between them.
‘You’re thinking about her,’ Rowlands said as Matthew remounted. There was no need to ask who Rowlands meant, the man was as sharp as a carefully honed sword-point and had spotted the desire coursing backwards and forward between Matthew and Selina even after seeing them together for a mere few seconds.
‘She does seem to occupy my thoughts much of the time.’
‘You’re smitten.’
‘Perhaps I am. She is an attractive woman.’ Selina was attractive, but there was so much more to her than just her appearance.
‘A governess isn’t that far beneath you on the social ladder,’ Rowlands said quietly. ‘Especially if you don’t care too much what the rest of your equals think of you. She could make a fine wife.’
Matthew gently urged Autumn forward, trying to hide his surprise at the direction of Rowland’s mind.
‘Wife?’ he managed to ask eventually.
‘Miss Salinger didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would be happy being a man’s mistress.’
‘No...’ Although that was what he was contemplating trying to persuade her to be. She was a sensual woman, three nights ago in the tavern in Whitby had shown that, a woman who could be ruled by her passion. She would get as much pleasure out of an affair as he, if only she could be persuaded.
‘And if she won’t be your mistress...’
Anything else was out of the question. He would never marry again, not after the first disastrous union. It was a secret liaison or nothing, no matter how much he wanted her.
‘I’ll not marry again,’ Matthew said, pushing on ahead to close the subject. Rowlands urged his horse on to keep pace, his face set as if he had more to say.
‘Never?’
‘Never.’
‘One bad experience when you were eighteen shouldn’t put you off for the rest of your life.’
‘I’m better off single,’ he said, trying to inject a note of finality into his voice.
‘Nonsense. No one is better off alone. We are made to be mating pairs, just like in nature.’
‘Not everyone is.’
Rowlands considered this for a long moment, looking out thoughtfully over the moors as they rode along the perimeter boundary.
‘Think about it: a loving wife at home, looking after your estate and your nieces, a good woman to slip into bed beside every night. Tell me that isn’t a tempting proposal.’
Matthew couldn’t deny it. What man wouldn’t want a woman looking after his interests, looking after him and warming his bed? Especially a woman like Selina. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted her in his life. Even having her as his mistress would be a little too close, but the benefits would overshadow the feeling that he was risking too much.
‘I’ll never marry,’ he repeated quietly. Rowlands must have seen something in his expression because the older man fell quiet, a sadness permeating his features.
* * *
The schoolroom felt empty without Priscilla sitting scowling in her usual seat. Selina had spent her morning dashing backwards and forward between Priscilla’s bedroom and the little room off the nursery she used for the children’s lessons. Theodosia had been unusually subdued, worried about her older sister and unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. Whenever Selina went out to see if Priscilla needed anything she returned to find Theodosia staring out the window with a vacant expression on her face. In the end they had given up on trying to learn anything useful and Selina had placed a piece of paper and some paints in front of the little girl and told her to make her sister a painting to wish her a quick recovery.
Theodosia was now painting with more concentration that she had ever shown a single of her lessons, her little pink tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth. Selina suspected Theodosia thought the quality of her artwork would impact how quickly her sister recovered.
Fifteen minutes ago when Selina had gone to check on Priscilla the little girl was tucked up under her sheets sleeping peacefully with her hair spread out on her pillow. She was healthy but small and Selina had a fear of winter chills—they could all too easily turn into a congestion on the chest which was often deadly.
With Theodosia occupied Selina took out a sheet of paper of her own and began to write. She hadn’t written a letter for eighteen months, not a personal one at least. She had felt so adrift in the world she hadn’t wanted to drag anyone into her misery.
Something Lord Westcroft had said a few days ago ha
d been circling in her mind. He’d asked if none of her friends would have helped her. Many of her acquaintances would have shied away from scandal such as the one Selina had been caught up in, but not Violet or Felicity. They were kind, generous, and Selina knew if she had turned to them they would have defied the gossips and the snobs and given her refuge.
Selina wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t asked for their help. It hadn’t just been pride, more a mix of grief and shock over what had happened, the feeling of needing time to understand everything that had befallen her before she shared it with anyone else.
Now she was ready. Not to reach out for help—in a strange way she felt secure here despite only having been in her position a matter of weeks—but to let her friends know why she had vanished, to reassure them she was well.
Carefully she began the first letter, the familiar scratching of the pen across the paper taking her back to her little desk in the corner of her father’s library where she used to spend an hour a day writing correspondence in her old life.
Dear Violet,
I apologise for not writing sooner. My life has changed so much this past year and a half I felt the need to be at least a little settled before I could put pen to paper and explain what has taken me from Cambridge.
I am living in north Yorkshire, as far north from Cambridge as you could get without crossing the border, and a stark contrast to the flat meadows of our city. After a series of less-than-ideal positions I have taken a job as a governess to two lovely young girls in the household of Lord Westcroft. They are his nieces. He was appointed guardian when both their parents died.
Selina paused, wondering what to say about Lord Westcroft. She desperately wanted to confide in someone, to tell them exactly what she thought of the man who should be nothing more than her employer. She wanted to tell them how her body felt as though it were on fire whenever he walked into a room, how every moment of every day he occupied a small corner of her mind. She wanted to tell them about the dreams that plagued her sleep, making her wake pent up with desire and longing.