Not Just a Governess

by Carole Mortimer

  Not only was she a splendid addition to his household, in that she appeared to have already developed a very caring relationship with his young daughter, but she was in his employ. And whilst some of the male members of the ton might feel few qualms in regard to taking advantage of their pretty and young female household staff, Adam had certainly never done so. Not even at the worst moments of his marriage to Fanny had he stooped to seeking comfort or solace from one of the young women working in any of his own households. Nor was it his intention to start now with this one.

  He straightened abruptly. ‘I suggest that we eat the rest of our meal before making an early night of it.’ Adam gave a pained wince as her face became a flushed and fiery red. ‘By that, I meant, of course, that we should then retire to our respective bedchambers.’

  ‘I did not for a moment suppose you meant anything other, my lord,’ she answered sharply.

  Adam pulled his chair out noisily and resumed his seat. ‘Good,’ he growled, more than a little unsettled himself, both by their conversation, and the things which had not been said…

  Thankfully Amanda seemed to have recovered fully the following day as they resumed the last part of their journey, the weather warm enough that Elena had been able to lower the windows and so allow some air into the carriage, and also making it possible for Amanda to poke her head out of the window when she saw something that interested her.

  Lord Hawthorne had been noticeably absent when Elena and Amanda ate their breakfast earlier in the private parlour of the inn and he had again ridden on ahead once they resumed their journey, no doubt anxious to arrive at his estate so that he might begin to deal with whatever business had brought him to Cambridgeshire in the first place.

  Elena sincerely hoped that it had nothing to do with his wishing to avoid her own outspoken company.

  She had woken early this morning to the sounds of certain other inhabitants of the inn already being awake: the grooms chatting outside in the cobbled yard as they fed the horses prior to travel and the sounds of food being prepared for the guests in the kitchen below.

  A quick glance at the neighbouring bed had shown that Amanda was still asleep, thus allowing Elena the luxury of remaining cosily beneath her own bedcovers for a few minutes longer, as she thought of the time she had spent alone with Adam Hawthorne yesterday evening.

  It had taken only those few minutes’ contemplation for Elena to convince herself she had imagined the intimate intensity of his gaze, both on her lips and breasts; her employer was not a man known for displaying desire for women of the ton, let alone the woman who was engaged to care for his daughter.

  ‘Is it your intention to spend the evening, as well as all of the day, seated inside the carriage, Mrs Leighton?’

  Elena’s cheeks were flushed as she came back to an awareness of her present surroundings, looking out of the open carriage door to see Lord Hawthorne standing outside on the gravel looking in at her mockingly. While she’d been lost in contemplation, the carriage had come to a halt in the courtyard in front of two curved-stone staircases leading up from either side to the entrance of Hawthorne Hall. Amanda had already stepped down from the carriage and was even now skipping her way up the staircase on the left to where the huge oak door already stood open in readiness to welcome the master of the house and his entourage.

  Elena stepped slowly down from the carriage to look up at the four-storeyed house; it was a grand greystone building, with a tall, pillared portico at the top of the two staircases, with two curved wings abutting the main house, dozens of windows gleaming in the late evening sunshine.

  It was, Elena noted with some dismay, a house very like the one at her grandfather’s estate in Yorkshire, where she and her mother had moved to live following the death of Elena’s father, and where the late Duke of Sheffield had met his end so unexpectedly two months ago.

  ‘Mrs Leighton…?’

  She smiled politely as she turned to look at Hawthorne. ‘You have a beautiful home, my lord.’

  For some inexplicable reason Adam did not believe her praise of Hawthorne Hall to be wholly sincere. Indeed, the strained look to her mouth and those expressive blue-green eyes convinced him of such.

  He turned to look at the house with critical eyes, looking for flaws and finding none. All was completely in order. As it should be, considering the wages he paid his estate manager.

  He turned back to Elena Leighton. ‘Then do you suppose we might both be allowed to go inside it now?’ he prompted drily.

  ‘Of course.’ She nodded distractedly, her smile still strained as she preceded him up the stairs, her dark curls hidden beneath another of those unbecoming black bonnets, her black gown reflective of that drabness.

  A drabness that suddenly irritated Adam intensely. ‘If I might be allowed to speak frankly, Mrs Leighton?’ He fell into step beside her as they neared the top of the stairs.

  She glanced up at him. ‘My lord?’

  ‘I intend to ask Mrs Standish to arrange for a local seamstress to call upon you at her earliest convenience.’

  A frown appeared between the fineness of her eyes as she came to a halt at the top of the staircase. ‘Mrs Standish, my lord?’

  Adam had spent all of his adult life answering to that title—but it had never before irked him in the way it did when this woman addressed him so coolly!

  Which was utterly ridiculous—what else should she call him? She was not his social equal, but a paid servant, and as such her form of address to him was perfectly correct. Should he expect her to call him Adam, as if the two of them were friends, or possibly more? Of course he should not!

  He scowled his irrational annoyance. ‘She is the housekeeper here and as such in charge of all the female staff, and consequently the clothing they are required to wear within the household.’

  Elena’s expression became wary. ‘Yes, my lord…?’

  Adam sighed. ‘And I am tired of looking at you in these—these widow’s weeds.’ He indicated her appearance with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I shall instruct Mrs Standish to see to it that you are supplied with more fitting apparel.’

  She raised surprised dark brows. ‘More fitting for what, my lord?’

  Oh, to the devil with it! Another of those questions this particular woman seemed to ask and which took Adam into the realms of the unacceptable.

  As it did now, as he instantly imagined Elena Leighton as his mistress, all of that glorious ebony hair loose about her shoulders, her naked body covered only by one of those delicate silk negligees Fanny had been so fond of parading about in. Not black as with Fanny, but rather white or the palest cream, in order to set off the almost luminous quality to this woman’s ivory skin and allowing the tips of her breasts to poke invitingly and revealingly against that silky material. What colour would her nipples be? he wondered. A fresh peach, perhaps? Or, more likely, considering the colour of her lips, a deep and blushing rose—

  His mouth tightened with self-disgust as he realised that he had once again allowed himself thoughts of this woman that were wholly inappropriate to the relationship that existed between the two of them. ‘For spending so many hours a day with a six-year-girl who has already suffered the loss of her mother, without your own clothing reminding her of death on a daily basis,’ he rasped harshly.

  ‘Oh!’ She gasped. ‘I had not thought of that! And I should have done so. I am so sorry, my—’

  ‘I believe I have already made clear my feelings regarding this constant and irritating need you feel to apologise to me for one reason or another.’ Adam looked down the long length of his nose at her.

  ‘But I should have thought—’

  ‘Mrs Leighton…’ He barely controlled his impatience at her continued self-condemnation. Damn it, he had thought only to get her out of those horrible clothes—Well, not exactly out of them—Oh, damn it to hell! ‘Mrs Leighton, I am tired and I am irritable, furthermore I am in need of a decent glass of brandy, before sitting down to enjoy an even more
decent dinner cooked by my excellent chef here, before then spending a night in my own bed!’

  She blinked at his vehemence. ‘I—please do not let me delay you any further.’

  ‘If you will excuse me, then? Jeffries will see to it that you are shown the nursery and schoolroom as well as your own bedchamber.’

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’ Her lashes lowered with a demureness Adam viewed with suspicion.

  ‘It is indeed as I wish.’ He scowled, adding, as she made no further comment, ‘Goodnight, Mrs Leighton.’

  ‘My lord.’ She nodded without so much as glancing up.

  Adam gave her one last irritated glance before entering the house, pausing only long enough to hand his hat and cloak to the patiently waiting Jeffries, before striding down the hallway to his study without so much as a second glance.

  Where, Adam sincerely hoped, he would not be haunted by any further lascivious thoughts about the widowed Mrs Elena Leighton.

  Chapter Five

  ‘I believe there has been some sort of mistake…’ Elena viewed with consternation the brightly coloured materials the seamstress had laid out on the chaise in the bedchamber for her approval. They were predominantly green and blue, but there was also a cream silk and a lemon, all with matching lace.

  Mrs Hepworth was aged perhaps thirty and prettily plump, that plumpness shown to advantage in a gown of sky blue in a highwaisted style that perfectly displayed her excellence as a seamstress. ‘Mrs Standish was quite specific in her instructions concerning which materials I should bring with me for your approval, Mrs Leighton.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am very sure of Mrs Standish’s instructions, Mrs Leighton,’ the seamstress confirmed cheerfully.

  And Mrs Standish, as Elena knew, had received her instructions from the infuriating Lord Hawthorne…

  ‘Come,’ Adam instructed distractedly as he concentrated on the figures laid out in the ledger before him. The study door opened, then was softly closed again, followed by a lengthy silence. So lengthy that Adam was finally forced to look up beneath frowning brows, that frown easing slightly as he saw a flushed and obviously discomforted Elena Leighton standing in front of his wide mahogany desk. ‘Yes…?’

  She moistened her lips. ‘I am not disturbing you, my lord?’

  ‘I believe you have used the wrong tense, Mrs Leighton—you have obviously already interrupted me,’ he drawled pointedly as he leant back in his chair to look across at her.

  He had seen Amanda only briefly these past two days, and her governess not at all, having been kept busy dealing with the myriad of paperwork involved in running the estate. He frowned now as he saw the governess was still wearing one of those unbecoming black gowns that so infuriated him. ‘Has Mrs Standish not yet engaged the services of a seamstress—?’

  ‘That is the very reason I am here, my lord,’ she rushed into speech. ‘I fear there has been some sort of mistake. The seamstress brought with her materials that are more suited to—to being worn by a lady than a—a child’s governess.’

  Adam arched one dark brow. ‘And is that child’s governess not also a lady?’

  ‘I—well, I would hope to be considered as such, yes.’ Elena looked more than a little flustered. ‘But the materials are of the finest silks and of such an array of colours, when I had been expecting—I had expected—’

  ‘Yes?’

  She bit her lip. ‘I had thought to be wearing serviceable browns, with possibly a beige gown in which to attend church on Sundays.’

  Adam gave a wince at the thought of this woman’s ivory skin against such unbecoming shades. ‘That would not do at all, Mrs Leighton.’ His top lip curled with displeasure. ‘Brighter colours, a deep rose, blues and greens, are more suited to your colouring, with perhaps a cream for Sundays.’

  Exactly the colours, Elena realised, that the plump Mrs Hepworth had just laid out for her approval.

  ‘And I am not a churchgoer,’ Adam continued drily, ‘but you may attend if you feel so inclined.’

  ‘But is it not your duty to attend as—?’ Elena broke off abruptly, aware she had once again almost been inappropriately outspoken in this man’s presence. Inappropriate for the widowed Mrs Elena Leighton, that was. Which, considering she had not set sight on, nor heard sound of Adam Hawthorne these past two days, she probably should not have done.

  ‘You were saying, madam?’

  ‘Nothing, my lord.’ It really was not her place to rebuke him for not attending church, even if she knew her grandfather had made it his habit to always attend the Sunday service. Not because he was particularly religious, but because he maintained that conversation afterwards was the best way to mingle with and learn about the people who lived and worked on his estate.

  ‘This reticence is not what I have come to expect from you, Mrs Leighton,’ he drawled mockingly.

  ‘No. Well…’ She pursed her lips as she thought of the past two days, the time that had elapsed since she had last irritated him with her outspokenness. ‘Perhaps I am finally learning to practise long-overdue caution in my conversations with you, my lord.’

  Adam stared at her in astonishment for several seconds before he suddenly burst out laughing. A low and rusty sound, he acknowledged self-derisively, but it was, none the less, laughter. ‘Did you tend to be this outspoken when you were employed by the Bamburys?’ He continued to smile ruefully.

  ‘I do not understand.’

  Adam knew Lord Geoffrey Bambury slightly, from their occasional clashes in the House in the past, and knew him as a man who believed totally in the superiority of the hierarchy that made up much of society; as such Adam did not see him as a man who would suffer being rebuked by a servant, which the other man would most certainly have considered Elena Leighton’s role to be in his own household.

  He shrugged. ‘I merely wondered if I was the exception to the rule as the recipient of this…honesty of yours, or if it is your usual habit to say exactly what is on your mind?’

  ‘Oh, I do not believe I would go as far as to say I have done that, my lord—oh.’ She grimaced. ‘I meant, of course—’

  ‘I believe I may guess what you meant, Mrs Leighton,’ Adam said. ‘And as such, I should probably applaud your efforts at exercising some discretion, at least.’

  ‘Yes. Well.’ Those blue-green eyes avoided meeting his amused gaze.

  ‘You were about to tell me my religious duty, I believe?’ he prompted softly.

  Too softly, in Elena’s opinion; she really did seem to have adopted the habit of speaking above her present station in life to this particular gentleman! Perhaps, on this occasion because she was still slightly disconcerted by the sound and sight of his laughter a few minutes ago…

  He had informed her only three evenings ago that he found very little amusement in anything, and yet just now he had laughed outright. Even more startling was how much more handsome, almost boyish, he appeared when he gave in to that laughter.

  She swallowed before speaking. ‘Of course I was not, my lord. I just—I merely wondered if attending the local church would not be of real benefit to you, in terms of meeting and talking with the people living on your estate and the local village?’

  ‘Indeed?’ The suddenly steely edge to his tone was unmistakable.

  Elena felt the colour warming Her cheeks. ‘Yes. I—I only remark upon it because I know it was Lord Bambury’s habit to do so.’ Her grandfather and Lord Bambury had discussed that very subject over dinner one evening at Sheffield Park…

  Adam raised dark brows over cold grey eyes. ‘And you are suggesting I might follow his example?’

  Her cheeks burned at his icy derision. ‘Perhaps we should return to the subject of the materials for my uniform, my lord?’

  ‘What uniform?’ He looked at her blankly.

  Elena’s eyes widened. ‘Did you not say two days ago that it was your wish for me to wear a uniform whilst I am attending Amanda?’

  He gave a slow shake o
f his head. ‘I do not recall ever using the word “uniform” when I made the request for you to wear less sombre clothing in future.’

  ‘But—’ Elena frowned, thinking back to that conversation when they had arrived at Hawthorne Hall. ‘I assumed…’

  He gave a tight smile. ‘It is never wise to make assumptions, Mrs Leighton.’

  When it concerned this gentleman, obviously not. ‘So it was your intention all along to supply me with new, prettier gowns, rather than simply a uniform?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no mistaking the challenge in his monosyllabic reply.

  Elena drew in a sharp breath. ‘And is this—would this be your way of—of circumventing my earlier objections about this matter?’

  ‘It would, yes.’

  Elena clenched her fists tightly to rein in her frustration as Adam Hawthorne continued to look up at her calmly, one eyebrow raised in mocking—and infuriating!—query. ‘In that case…perhaps I might ask something of you in return?’

  That dark brow rose even higher. ‘In return for what, madam?’

  ‘In return for my making no further objections to the procuring of new gowns for me to wear.’ In truth, Elena’s heart had leapt in excitement earlier just at sight of those wonderful colours and delicious fabrics. True, she should out of respect for the recent death of her grandfather insist upon retaining her mourning clothes, but having already worn black for her mother for half a year, and then greys and dull purple for the rest of the year, with only a matter of months to enjoy wearing brighter colours, her youth and vivacity now chafed at thoughts of having to wear the sombre clothing any longer. Especially when she thought of those beautiful coloured silks and exquisite lace draped on the chaise in her bedchamber…

  ‘In return for?’ Adam felt incredulous. ‘You make it sound as if you are the one doing me a service rather than the other way about?’

  She arched a dark brow. ‘And am I not?’

  Adam’s lids narrowed. Could this young woman possibly know how much he wished to see her in something other than those unbecoming black gowns she habitually wore? Or preferably in nothing at all!