The Forbidden Passion 0f A Governess (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  “How funny of you to say that,” Emilia replied, considering Winnifred’s words. She had to admit that there was truth to it. The earl preferred dark tempests to anything else. It suited his inner climate, she supposed.

  “Did you get enough supper?” Winnifred asked.

  “Yes, plenty. The stew was marvellous.”

  “So many good vegetables this time of year,” Winnifred said with a smile. “All you have to do is get down on your hands and knees and dig them up, then throw them in the pot.”

  “I’m sure there’s much more involved than that.”

  “No, not really,” Winnifred replied.

  A loud crash of thunder came from outside, and the rain fell ever harder than before.

  “I’ll never be able to sleep tonight,” Emilia said darkly.

  “This is chamomile tea. It’s going to solve all that,” Winnifred said. As if sensing that something was amiss, she inspected Emilia carefully. “The storm has left you anxious?”

  “Many things have left me anxious, I suppose,” Emilia said, looking up to where she could hear Hugh’s feet. Winnifred looked up as well, then back down at Emilia.

  “I guess everyone is anxious in this house. Not me. I’m as calm as a clam, but at my age it’s a little harder to get riled up, you see.”

  “Can you tell me a story? Of when the earl was a boy?” Emilia asked, not knowing from whence it came. She merely longed to hear about him in his absence. Winnifred clearly did not think Emilia’s request strange in the slightest, for she began to tell the tale.

  “As a very young boy, the earl was not as cold and serious as he is today. In fact, when he was a small lad, he was a ray of sunshine.”

  “Is that so?” Emilia asked.

  “Indeed. He was always out in the garden, picking flowers and bringing them to his mother. In fact, every morning he’d make her an arrangement and deliver them to her at the breakfast table. His mother would beam like the happiest woman in the world. They loved each other, those two.”

  “And his father?”

  “Well, that was another story. The earl and his father never got on.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, for truly, as the earl is today, so his father was back in the day. Cold, calculating, serious, dark. He thought that his son was too frivolous and unfocused. That’s why he sent him away to all the best schools, to make a man out of him.”

  “Well, it seemed to work.”

  “Yes, it did. But sometimes I still see that shining boy within him,” Winnifred said with a smile.

  “You do?”

  “Of course. When the sun is shining, and he catches glimpses of Deirdre in the garden – Deirdre looks so much like her mother – then I’ll see a smile come to his lips. He doesn’t let it last for long before he turns sullen again and goes about his business.”

  “All of that makes perfect sense,” Emilia said. “There is something boyish behind his exterior.”

  “Yes, but he covers it up with expert care. That young boy got so hurt, you see. I’m sure he’s afraid that if he were exposed to the world, he’d get hurt yet again.”

  Emilia marvelled at Winnifred’s wisdom and the strength it must have taken to witness the Cunningham history from start to finish.

  “And now if you’ll excuse an old lady,” Winnifred said, “I best be going. I feel a heavy sleep coming on, and no powerful storm can stop that.”

  “What if the earl calls for you upon his return?” Emilia asked.

  “Well, then. I suppose you’ll have to help him,” Winnifred said with a knowing glance, and then she departed.

  Emilia was left in her room alone again. The sounds above her had ceased, and she began to wonder if Hugh had not gone to sleep as well. Emilia knew that she would not be able to doze off until the earl returned. She’d wait up all night if she had to. So concerned was she for his safety and for his wellbeing.

  Just then, movement was heard upstairs yet again. This time it was not pacing, but rather Hugh seemed to be walking down the hall and towards the stairs. She wished to follow him, even though she knew that it was not right.

  Walking slowly to her door, Emilia took comfort in the fact that, due to the pelting rain and her soft bare feet, her steps would not be heard. She opened the door and peeked into the hall, seeing that there was no one there. Then she quickly tiptoed towards the stairs. She could hear Hugh in the kitchen and she followed. Reaching the bottom, she looked towards the kitchen, but Hugh could not be spotted.

  Had he gone into his office? She stepped into the kitchen and looked from side to side, then across the vast room to where Hugh’s office resided. There was a taper lit within and so she knew for sure that that was where he had wandered to.

  He was seated at his desk, that much she could now see, and he was writing feverishly. Every once in a while he’d look up, deep in contemplation, then return to the task at hand. Was he writing to Lady Spencer? Was he as restless as she was, awaiting word of how the supper had gone? Seemingly done with his bit of writing, Hugh got up from his seat and entered the kitchen again. Emilia ducked behind a countertop so that she could not be seen, but poking her head up above the base, she could see that he was staring out of the window and looking at the rain.

  “Any time now, any time now,” Hugh muttered.

  That was confirmation for Emilia that he was indeed waiting in anticipation for the earl. He was as restless and weary as she was.

  “When the clock strikes ten it will be time,” he added.

  From whence she crouched, Emilia could see the clock within the kitchen, and sure enough, it was a quarter till. How was it that Hugh knew the earl would be home exactly at ten? And what had kept him so long? Surely a country supper usually did not last till such a late hour, but it seemed Lady Spencer wished to keep the earl for as long as possible. Seeing that she could never escape from the kitchen in the position that she was in, Emilia began to crawl from behind the counter and towards the kitchen door. Hugh remained at the window, and her journey went unnoticed.

  Once she reached the door she abruptly stood, holding onto the door, and it creaked in such a way that it called Hugh’s attention. He turned, and Emilia managed to fully stand up before his eyes met hers.

  “Miss Stewart,” he said, as though she had just stepped into the room.

  “I’m sorry I . . . came for a spot of warm milk.”

  “I see,” Hugh said, annoyed as ever.

  “Horrible storm,” Emilia said casually, trying to lighten the mood with small talk. She knew there was bad blood between she and the head servant, but Emilia wished to smooth it out, if only for the time being.

  “Common for this time of year,” Hugh said haughtily, turning back towards the window. “You should go back to sleep, Miss Stewart, the earl will not return for some time.”

  “But you said ten,” Emilia replied, and then felt her heart catch in her chest. Had she truly just said that aloud? Was she trying to get herself fired, or worse? For truly, there was no one else in the house except Winnifred, and she was fast asleep. Hugh could do with her whatever he chose, and there was no telling what he was capable of.

  Hugh looked at her, sinister at first, and then a warm smile came to his lips.

  “The earl will likely arrive past ten, in my experience. Lady Spencer is a superior host, and often plies his lordship with cigars and brandy after supper. He once attended a dinner at her home and did not return until midnight,” Hugh said, brimming with pride at the mere mention of Lady Spencer’s home.

  “She seems like a most agreeable lady,” Emilia said.

  “Agreeable does not even begin to describe her. She is a lady without comparison. The earl knows that as well as do I,” he went on, his voice suggestive and sure.

  “She must be a good influence on Deirdre. I know how important it is to her to have a woman to look up to.”

  “Soon enough, when the earl takes a wife, she’ll have the female guardian that she needs.” />
  Emilia’s blood went cold. Why did Hugh say that? From what she could tell the earl was in no way looking for a wife, so why did Hugh sound so confident? It made her feel sick to her stomach, and she wanted further explanation, but it was a subject she would not be able to enquire after.

  “I see,” Emilia replied.

  “You do see,” Hugh said plainly, putting Emilia in her place.

  “Hugh, would you like me to fix you some milk, as well?” Emilia asked, not wanting to give away her trepidation and weary fears. He cocked his eyebrow suspiciously and considered her offer.

  “I shall have tea, instead,” he decided.

  “Very well,” Emilia replied, taking out the milk and putting water in the kettle.

  They prepared their beverages in silence, each of them waiting up for the earl for different reasons. The silence was tense, but they both moved within it freely, each not wanting to give the other the upper hand.

  “Lady Deirdre seems to admire you,” Hugh finally said, by way of making conversation. He glanced at the clock yet again as a tremor passed along his jaw.

  “I think that we enjoy each other’s company,” Emilia replied.

  “It’s not about enjoying one another’s company,” Hugh said sternly, “it’s about completing the appropriate lessons so that Deirdre might grow up to be the young woman that the earl wishes her to be.”

  “Yes of course,” Emilia replied. “But there is no reason why that time should be torturous.”

  “I’m of the opinion that exercises of the mind must be torturous, in a way. The brain will only be filled with knowledge after it has been dragged kicking and screaming,” Hugh went on, pouring the boiling water into his cup.

  “I see,” Emilia replied thinking Hugh’s explanation of education to be ghastly.

  “When Lord Joshua was at Eton, he complained to his mother of terrible headaches, but I think it was because his mind was expanding so.”

  “Did his mother feel pity?” Emilia asked, thinking it horrible that the earl had to suffer so for education.

  “Lady Cunningham was upset, of course. But the former earl insisted that it was for his son’s own good. And in that I believe that he was right, without question,” Hugh said, seating himself at the kitchen table.

  Emilia sat as well, looking through the large windows at the rain. She couldn’t help but think that Hugh was one of the last persons in the world she would want her children to have anything to do with. And yet, for Emilia, the question of children was, well . . . entirely out of the question. Was it not?

  “I see the carriage,” Hugh said, excitement and duty filling him. He left his cup where it lay and sprang from his seat, walking to the entrance of the home.

  “All right,” Emilia said, putting down her own cup and following.

  “Don’t be a nuisance, Miss Stewart,” Hugh said, turning to her. “The earl shall be quite tired and won’t want your interference.”

  “But I would like to ask Lady Deirdre how supper went,” Emilia said.

  “She shall be tired as well. Don’t you have any sense of propriety?” he asked, becoming indignant.

  “Very well,” Emilia said, turning to leave.

  Just as she was about to exit towards the stairs, the front door swung open and the earl and his sister entered the house, soaked to the bone.

  “Welcome home, M’Lord,” Hugh said, hastily taking the earl’s coat and hat.

  “Lady Deirdre is in need of warm milk,” said the earl curtly.

  “I can prepare that,” Hugh replied.

  “I want Miss Stewart to do it,” the earl said, seeing her at the bottom of the stairs.

  Chapter 19

  As Emilia prepared the milk for Deirdre, she caught the earl staring at her all the while. His gaze was hungry, tortured, secretive, and Emilia could not tell what was haunting him so. It made her heart race every time she caught his eye, and frequently she had to look away for fear his gaze might melt her completely.

  “It was a lovely dinner,” Deirdre said, entering the kitchen with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Why don’t you wait in the parlour, Deirdre?” the earl said coldly.

  “But –” Deirdre began to protest.

  “Do as I say,” the earl added.

  When Deirdre left the room, Emilia was left yet again amidst the earl’s brooding silence. She didn’t know if she should speak, didn’t know if her words might anger him more. She wished to hear about the dinner, how Lady Spencer had behaved, and if anything had transpired to pique the earl’s suspicion. But instead of broaching the subject, Emilia decided to wait out the silence. Thankfully, it was the earl who spoke first.

  “I trust that you kept warm this evening. The storm is ferocious outside,” he said, still watching her.

  “It has been a dangerous storm. I feared for yours and Deirdre’s safe return.”

  “There’s nothing dangerous about a storm. It’s all sound and fury.”

  “Yet still, the ride home could not have been hospitable,” Emilia said, turning to him and meeting his eyes again.

  Emilia could not tell why the earl had decided to join her in the kitchen and watch her like a hawk. It were as though he had something to tell her, or something to scold her for.

  Nervously, Emilia dropped a wooden spoon into the scalding hot milk and immediately tried to retrieve it, burning her finger.

  “Ouch!” she cried, bringing her finger up to her mouth.

  The earl swooped in, taking Emilia’s finger in order to inspect it. He then held it tightly within his own hand.

  “You mustn’t be so clumsy,” he said, his words a mixture of frustration and concern.

  “It was a simple accident.”

  There was a pained expression on the earl’s face as he brought Emilia’s fingers to his mouth and gently held them there. She could feel the warmth of his lips, and the resulting warmth that flushed through her own body. Emilia was breathless and thought of pulling away, but the feeling was far too delicious to be relinquished. She allowed the earl to hold her fingers captive, feeling her knees weaken.

  “Emilia,” the earl said. She could feel his breath upon her fingers.

  “M’Lord,” she whispered back.

  As though in a trance, he took Emilia’s hand and brushed it down his chin and onto his neck. His eyes grew narrow and his breathing was deep. She explored the curvature of his thick, soft neck with her fingers and heard the earl release an almost inaudible moan of pleasure.

  “Why are you doing this?” Emilia asked breathlessly, unsure why he was making such advances, even though she wished to go further, so much further.

  The earl stopped and his face went sullen again, as though he came to the full realisation of what he was doing. He clasped Emilia’s hand tightly – the hand that no longer felt any scorching pain – and he held it over his heart, gazing into her eyes as though she were a creature that were taunting him, that he could not resist.

  With a sharp inhalation, the earl released Emilia’s hand and made an exit.

  “Bring the milk to Deirdre,” he said coldly.

  His abrupt departure left Emilia confused but also relieved. The fire that he ignited within her seemed too much to bear and had he not stopped things before they progressed, she was unsure that she would have been able to cease the escalation. She wanted it so badly, for the barriers between them to come crashing down.

  Emilia hastily poured the milk into a cup, hands shaking, and brought it to the parlour where Deirdre waited.

  “Be careful. It’s nice and hot,” Emilia said, placing the cup before her young charge.

  “I thank you,” Deirdre said, accepting it gladly.

  “You’re warming up now?” Emilia asked, placing a loving hand on the girl’s head.

  “Yes. I was frozen to the bone when we got home, but now I’m feeling much better.”

  “That is good,” Emilia said with a smile, then looked up to find the earl seated in a chair
across the room. He was staring into the fire, lost in contemplation, refusing to look at Emilia again. Was he penitent? Trying to understand the events that had just taken place in the kitchen?

  “We had fish for dinner,” Deirdre explained. “It had butter and lemon.”

  “A wonderful way to cook fish,” Emilia replied.

  “And there was cake.”

  “That sounds delicious.”

  “It was a fine meal,” the earl finally said with authority. “And Lady Spencer was a gracious host.”