The Governess and Mr. Granville

by Abby Gaines

  The kiss did not feel convenient. Not like the kind of embrace he anticipated in his marriage.

  It felt right. Perfect.

  It can’t be. Dominic’s rational mind stepped in, pointing out the obvious. Yes, Serena was kind and giving and a young woman—emphasis on young—of admirable faith, but Dominic still loved Emily. His wife. The wife of his heart.

  He didn’t know Serena the way he’d known Emily. He didn’t love her.

  So now, even though his senses screamed to deepen the kiss, he pulled back.

  Serena pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide. She looked...innocent. She was innocent. He’d shocked her. Probably appalled her. Frightened her, even.

  “Dominic,” she said uncertainly.

  Before he even knew what he intended, he blurted, “Will you marry me?”

  She gasped. “Dominic!”

  Dear heaven, what was he thinking?

  He’d kissed her, that’s what he was thinking.

  But now, images of Serena from the past few weeks filled his mind, images of her with his children, his sister. It’s a good idea.

  “Serena...Miss Somerton—”

  Her slightly wild laugh told him it was too late to revert to surnames. “Serena, I mean it, will you marry me?”

  He’d shocked her into silence. He wondered with grim humor if anyone had ever done that before.

  When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. “Are you saying...you love me?”

  Right away, he knew he’d made a big mistake. Yet some stupid, stubborn part of him wouldn’t let the idea drop.

  “I won’t deceive you,” he said. “My reasons for wanting to marry haven’t changed. But I hope you’ll consider—you love my children, and they love you.” As he began to enumerate the reasons she should accept his proposal, his conviction grew. He took both her hands in his, and was aware of a faint tremor, though he wasn’t sure if it originated with him or with her. “Marianne relies on you, and already loves you like a sister,” he continued. “You’ll never lack for material comfort. You’ll be mistress of your own home, and a mother.”

  “Dominic...” Serena found her voice. “This is crazy. You just said opposites cannot be happily wed.”

  He had said something like that. But not exactly that. “I expressed a view that to build a relationship on the attraction of opposites would be inherently unstable,” he said carefully. “But I’m asking you to build our relationship on practical reasons. Despite the attraction, not because of it.”

  She pulled free. “I was under the impression you’re asking because you kissed me.”

  He wanted to take her hands again, but “practical reasons” didn’t necessitate such contact. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he admitted. “And, yes, my proposal contained an element of wanting to put that right. But, Serena, the more I think about this, the more it makes sense.”

  “You said you wouldn’t enjoy the conflict inherent in a union of opposites.”

  Confound it, she’d never listened to a word he said before! Now she seemed compelled to fling his every hastily spoken opinion back at him.

  “No marriage is perfect,” he said. “Both persons must commit to working toward harmony.”

  “Was your marriage to Emily perfect?” she demanded.

  She had no right...no, she had every right, if she was considering marrying him. The very thought that she might accept his proposal filled him with excitement. And trepidation.

  About to say that his marriage with Emily had been one of those rare, perfect unions, he realized that couldn’t be true. No marriage was perfect.

  “You know me well enough to know I’m not always easy to live with,” he said.

  “Very true.” She sounded somewhat grim. Grimness didn’t seem a particularly positive emotion in this situation.

  “Emily and I almost never argued,” he said. “Very little is important enough to be allowed to disrupt marital harmony. But I know my tendency to make decisions for the good of the family without consulting her rankled.”

  Serena gurgled a laugh.

  “Yes,” he said sheepishly, “I, too, am guilty of deciding what’s best for others.”

  “So you were imperfect,” Serena said. “Which I already knew.”

  “Emily was imperfect, too.” He expected a shaft of guilt, but it didn’t come. “She changed her mind often. She would choose one course of action, then a day later regret it. Whether she changed course, or complained about the fact she couldn’t do so, it was a source of irritation. Mild irritation,” he clarified. “Our marriage flourished despite both our faults.”

  “You loved her,” Serena pointed out, “and that covers over a multitude of sins. You wouldn’t be bringing love into a marriage to me.”

  She spoke calmly of a fact they both knew, and he was in no way ashamed of his desire to marry for practical reasons. But, somehow his offer sounded mean-spirited.

  Lord, help me to say this right.

  “Nor do you love me,” he pointed out carefully. “You said you don’t wish to marry soon, but with your father’s future uncertain and your reluctance to be beholden to the earl, your brother-in-law—” Marianne had told him these things “—maybe you should consider my proposal. Unless you wish to be a companion for the rest of your life.”

  He couldn’t imagine that. If she said yes to his proposal, he could kiss her again. He quelled that thought.

  “Will you have me?” he asked.

  Serena pressed a hand to her chest, unable to explain the ache behind her ribs. Dominic was being logical. Practical. She could be mother to his children, never have to leave them. A part of her wanted to accept this man who made her laugh, who challenged her assumptions, whose touch produced butterflies in her stomach. But those were romantic notions, and his proposal had most certainly not been about romance.

  In her heart, she knew what he was offering would never be enough for her.

  “I would never marry for anything other than love,” she said. “And by that I mean a love that fills my heart and my husband’s.” She was embarrassed to say such things, but if she didn’t, he might try to convince her that some pale imitation of love, some “friendly fondness” was enough. “Therefore, although I am honored by your proposal—” how ridiculous, to be employing the socially correct means of rejecting a marriage proposal in a linen closet! “—I must regretfully decline.”

  He seemed shocked, though surely he couldn’t have imagined anything he’d said would persuade her.

  “You may never find the kind of love you’re talking about,” he pointed out.

  “You did.”

  “My love for Emily... I knew her all my life,” he said. “I cannot see how that kind of complete love can grow between people who’ve known each other only a few weeks or months.”

  “Complete is exactly the right word,” Serena declared. “Dominic, maybe you’re right, maybe I expect too much. But I won’t accept less. And if you feel that kiss obligated you to propose marriage...well, please don’t. You—you’re not the first man to kiss me.”

  It took Dominic a moment to absorb her meaning. Then it slammed into him, leaving him winded. She’s jesting. The thought, the hope, burst into life. But, no, her face was serious in the dim light.

  “You’re too young to have given your heart,” he said uncertainly. Though hadn’t he and Emily loved each other from childhood?

  “I was sixteen,” she said. “Not too young to form an attachment.”

  “And to whom were you attached?” The harshness in his voice surprised him, and made her flinch.

  But she didn’t shrink from the question. “A young man from Piper’s Mead, my village. A soldier.”

  “Did he return your feelings? How old was he?” Dominic sounded like a betrayed lover. I don’t love her. There was nothing to betray.

  “He was eighteen, and yes, he felt the same.”

  Dominic’s fingers curled into his palms. “Did you kiss him?” Hadn’t she alre
ady confessed as much?

  “You have no right...” she said in a low voice.

  “Did you?” He didn’t care a fig about his rights. He wanted—needed—to know.

  “We were betrothed,” she said.

  Despite the sudden coyness, her implication was clear.

  Dominic was shocked to feel cheated. “But you didn’t marry him.” He felt as if he was clutching at straws. “Did he jilt you?”

  Because if that young man—nameless, faceless, but he didn’t want to know any of those details—had hurt her, Dominic would make sure he regretted it.

  “His regiment, the 36th Foot, was fighting the French in Portugal, at Almeida,” Serena said.

  “The Siege of Almeida,” Dominic said. “In 1811.” Five years ago, but he remembered it because it had already gone down in history as one of Britain’s less glorious wartime moments. Somehow the French troops they’d been attempting to starve out of their blockaded fortress had slipped out, blowing up the fortress behind them. Most of the French had got clean away, much to the Duke of Wellington’s disgust.

  “The 36th Foot was ambushed,” Serena said. “They lost thirty-five men, including Alastair.”

  Alastair. Dominic hated the name instantly. Hated the man, even though he was dead. Which was surely the most reprehensible thought of his life.

  “Alastair had only been gone from Piper’s Mead six months when the army informed his family he was missing, presumed dead,” Serena said. “For the longest time, I refused to believe he was gone.” She shook her head. “Perhaps it would have been easier to relinquish my feelings if his body had been returned to his family.”

  Conflicting emotions assailed Dominic. Sympathy for her loss. Relief that no living rival had a claim to her affections, a claim that preceded his proposal—which she had, of course, turned down. Resentment that he hadn’t been the first man to kiss her.

  “This is why you’re so fixated on second chances,” he said. “You want one for yourself.”

  Her gaze slid away. “Naturally, I would.”

  “Do you still love him?” Dominic asked.

  “I—don’t know,” Serena said. “I mourned him a long time. I believe I still mourn. Though now perhaps it’s more regret than sorrow.”

  He didn’t want to hear another word. “Miss Somerton,” he said stiffly, “I thank you for your openness.” Truthfully? He wished he’d never heard of Alastair. “It’s quite clear my proposal of marriage wouldn’t suit you. Indeed, I suspect you’re right, it wouldn’t suit me, either. I shan’t trouble you further.”

  Something flashed across her face—he might have said it was hurt, if she hadn’t just told him the tale of her great lost love. Then she inclined her head with a graciousness that made him feel like a jealous child.

  Before he could apologize, Serena opened the door wide, flooding their hiding place with light, and stepped out.

  * * *

  Serena flitted from one group of ladies to the next, making sure that all had refreshments, that no one appeared in danger of being a wallflower.

  It was the last night of the house party, the night of the supper dance. This was an informal, country occasion, carefully arranged for the dancing to look spontaneous so there would be no need for the rigorous protocols and rules of an official ball.

  There was a strong possibility Dominic would propose tonight.

  To someone else.

  He’d already proposed to Serena.

  And now, while a part of her was glad she’d refused, doubt had sprouted in a corner of her mind.

  Serena cooled herself with her fan, an old one of her mother’s, but still pretty. Goodness, it was warm in here. The doors between the drawing room and the blue salon had been folded back to form one enormous space, lit by hundreds of candles in the overhead chandeliers.

  Marianne caught her arm. “Serena, stop rushing around. I’m going red just looking at you.”

  About to refuse, Serena recalled that she was here to support her friend. Not to endlessly replay in her mind the marriage proposal from Marianne’s brother. Deliberately, she slowed her thoughts, checked her steps.

  “Would you like me to get you another lemonade?” she asked.

  “I would like for you to stand still for five minutes,” Marianne said. She’d been moving at her usual decorous pace and her complexion, though flushed, wasn’t outrageously red.

  Serena let out a long breath. “Will you dance tonight?”

  Ordinarily, Marianne wouldn’t risk the exertion. But Mr. Beaumont was here, and the two had been engrossed in conversation earlier. Serena was relieved Beaumont hadn’t attempted to monopolize Marianne, or done anything else that might start tongues wagging.

  “I believe I may dance, as a matter of fact.” Marianne sneaked a glance at Beaumont, currently dancing with Lady Shelton’s niece. “What about you?”

  “I have already had four dances,” Serena said. “It’s been fun.”

  She had enjoyed herself, truly. None of her dances had been with Dominic, who had avoided her since yesterday’s kiss. The strategy was mutual—she had no wish to talk to him, either. Or to dance with him.

  She’d given her full attention to each of her partners tonight, making sure to be vivacious and graceful. She almost hadn’t noticed Dominic smiling and chatting with Mrs. Evans and Lady Mary.

  The two ladies appeared to be his favored candidates. Now that Serena had removed herself from the running.

  In the bright light of the drawing room, with all these beautiful women present, the episode during Hunt the Squirrel seemed like a dream. And yet...Dominic had proposed!

  Only after he kissed me, she reminded herself. Something she should not have permitted, but all that talk of marriage and attraction had heightened her awareness of what a good, honorable man he was. It was because he was honorable that he’d felt obliged to ask her to marry him. And while in the end he’d agreed with her that a marriage between them would be the wrong thing—absolutely, it would—the whole conversation, not to mention the kiss, had been very unsettling.

  Disturbing was Dominic’s word.

  She tsked at her own sudden pang of hunger for something she couldn’t have. The sooner Dominic got on with proposing to Mrs. Evans or Lady Mary, the better. In fact, he was dancing with Lady Mary right now.

  “Has Dominic told you which of your guests he intends to marry?” she asked Marianne.

  “Hmm?” His sister’s attention was on the other side of the room. “Oh. No. I don’t think he would, do you? But Lady Mary and Mrs. Evans took tea in the nursery with me and Dominic yesterday while you were having your nap.”

  What? The one day when Serena had felt so exhausted that she needed an afternoon rest—oh, all right, she’d been hiding in her room after that kiss—Dominic sneaked off to see the children with his potential brides!

  Maybe not sneaking, since Marianne had gone with them. But had their kiss meant so little that he could blithely flaunt his prospective wife to his children five minutes after proposing to Serena?

  To think she’d been doubting the wisdom of refusing him! His kiss had stirred up all kinds of emotions. She felt...hungry. Hungry to be loved completely. She’d loved Alastair Givens with all her heart, just as he had loved her. As Dominic had loved Emily. Serena wouldn’t accept less from her husband.

  Dominic had made it plain he would never love her like that. She could almost appreciate his honesty, but now she’d learned he had so little respect for her that he’d hastened to introduce two other women to his children.... “I wash my hands of him,” she muttered. God loves me like that. He is enough for me.

  “What did you say, my dear?” Thankfully, Marianne was engrossed in ogling Beaumont. No, wait, that was a bad thing. At least, if Dominic was right about Beaumont’s intentions, though at this moment Serena wasn’t inclined to think he was right about anything at all.

  “He’s coming this way,” Marianne hissed.

  Serena’s pulse leaped, but sh
e refused to look. “Surely he didn’t just abandon Lady Mary on the dance floor?”

  “Not Dominic,” Marianne said impatiently. “Mr. Beaumont.”

  Annoyingly deflated, Serena observed that their neighbor was indeed threading his way through the crowd to join them. She tried to muster disapproval, but her resentment of Dominic overshadowed Beaumont’s reported crimes.

  “Oh, confound it,” Marianne said miserably, and Serena saw that her cheeks had fired crimson.

  She squeezed Marianne’s hand.

  “Miss Granville, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” Mr. Beaumont asked. “I believe it’s a waltz.”

  Marianne would have danced the waltz before, during her debut Season in London, but Serena was certain Dominic wouldn’t want his sister engaging in such close contact with a scoundrel.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t, Marianne,” Serena suggested. “Your, er, health.”

  “I’ll take good care of you,” Beaumont said to Marianne.

  She slipped her gloved hand in his. “I would love to dance, thank you.”

  As they left, Beaumont murmured to Serena, “Both my uncle’s gamekeeper and I have searched your woods and ours, Miss Somerton, and have found no sign of any tramp or poacher. The fellow must have moved on.”

  “Thank you,” she was obliged to say.

  Please, Father, let his interest in Marianne be genuine, she prayed, as she watched the couple assume their place among the dancers. Beaumont certainly appeared to have eyes for no one else, and the smile that played around his mouth seemed affectionate.

  Serena realized she was glaring at him as he led Marianne away. At this rate, she’d draw unwelcome attention. She forced herself to turn aside, to talk with Miss Peckham.

  From across the room, Dominic caught Serena’s eye. Before she could avert her gaze, he directed a speaking glance toward his sister, waltzing in Mr. Beaumont’s arms.

  “How was I supposed to stop them?” she muttered. Then had to assure Miss Peckham she’d said nothing at all worth listening to.

  Half a minute later, Marianne joined her, her face the color of claret.

  “Is your dance over?” Serena asked. The music was still playing.