The Governess and Mr. Granville

by Abby Gaines

  But why should he put himself through that? Confound it, he had enough to worry about with his children! To marry a woman who would demand the love and intimacy he’d sensibly turned his back on, a woman like Serena...that would require a braver man than he.

  As he traversed the southwest corner of Berkeley Square, Dominic thanked the Lord he hadn’t done anything so stupid as to fall in love with her, despite the considerable attraction she held for him.

  All he had to do now was stop thinking about her. That should be much easier in London, in the society of people who thought the way he did.

  A few minutes later, Dominic arrived at the Laceys’ house in Half Moon Street. After checking that the ladies were at home to visitors, the butler showed Dominic to an upstairs salon where Hester and her mother were sewing.

  “Mr. Granville, how kind of you to call.” Mrs. Lacey extended a hand for the old-fashioned courtesy of a kiss.

  Hester dropped a small curtsy as she shook his hand. “How are you, Mr. Granville?”

  When Emily was alive, Hester had called him Dominic. The two women had been best friends, so there’d been no formality. But he wouldn’t expect such familiarity now.

  “Miss Lacey, I trust you’re recovered from your illness?”

  “Completely,” Hester said.

  Her mother contradicted her with a fond glance. “She’s still very pale, poor dear, and weak as a kitten.”

  Hester’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Luckily, I still have the energy to mend the sheets.” She set her sewing aside. Emily had been like that, as well. Susceptible to illness, but never wallowing in it, always at peace with her situation.

  Dominic smiled and took the seat she indicated. “Marianne and I missed you at our house party.”

  “No doubt it was a great success.” There was the faintest hint of a question in her tone.

  She knew, of course, the reason for the house party. Doubtless the whole of London knew. Was she asking if he had found a bride?

  “Marianne tells me it was so,” he said carefully. Was that enough to convey that he was still unspoken for?

  Judging by her mama’s quickly quelled look of delight, it was. “We were sorry to miss it,” the older lady said. “I remember Woodbridge Hall has the most exquisite rose garden.”

  “Mama has a great passion for roses,” Hester said. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but a fine-looking woman, her features having perhaps a little too much character to be universally admired. Looking at her now, Dominic could see she was attractive. He recalled from their earlier acquaintance that she was sensible and kind. The Laceys were a very respectable family, well-to-do; Dominic imagined her settlement must be more than adequate. It seemed odd that she wasn’t married, when she must be thirty years old.

  A footman arrived with tea and macaroons. Mrs. Lacey poured, then passed the cups around.

  “What brings you to London, Mr. Granville?” she asked.

  “Several reasons,” he said, “but primarily the Countess of Spenford’s ball on Thursday. Marianne’s companion is a sister of the countess, so Lord Spenford invited us all to attend.”

  “The earl’s sister a companion? How unusual,” Mrs. Lacey said. Which proved exactly why Serena couldn’t have remained a governess, even lower on the ladder. “We also have been invited to the ball—the dowager countess and I came out together in 1775 and have been friends ever since—so I daresay we shall see you there.”

  “I shall hope to secure a dance or two with you, Miss Lacey,” Dominic said.

  “Of course,” Hester said calmly. “Mr. Granville, how are the children? I think of them often—most especially of my namesake, of course.”

  “They’re all well...and were grateful for the gifts you sent last Christmas.” Just in time, he remembered she’d done so. Small trinkets, but thoughtful nonetheless. He hoped Serena had overseen the writing of suitable thank-you letters.

  “They all wrote beautiful notes of thanks,” Miss Lacey said. “I could picture them sitting in the nursery, bent over their pencils.”

  He smiled at the idyllic image. The reality might well have been different, and involved more coercion, but Hester certainly had a knack for putting a man at his ease.

  “They don’t sit for very long,” he said ruefully. “Thomas is forever bringing insects and rodents into the house, and Charlotte’s most recent escapade saw her running after a beggar with a leg of lamb.” With the distance of time, the image amused him, and he chuckled.

  Hester’s smile was more hesitant, for which he couldn’t fault her.

  “It’s lovely to see children showing some enterprise,” she said. “I remember my governess was very good at diverting energy that might otherwise be disruptive into activities that were still fun, but a bit more disciplined.”

  “Exactly what the children need,” Dominic said. She’d said precisely what he thought himself, only she’d couched it in words that wouldn’t rile even a free spirit like Serena. “It’s too long since you’ve seen them,” he said. “You and Mrs. Lacey must visit us soon.”

  He spoke impulsively, full of fond memories of what Hester’s friendship had meant to Emily, and appreciation for her delicately expressed views. But of course, it was a silly thing to say. Neither she nor her mother would know how to take such an invitation. “Marianne is all talk of another house party,” he said quickly. It wasn’t true, but the release of tension was palpable.

  Did courtship have to be such an awkward thing? And was that what this visit was...the start of a courtship?

  It could be. Marrying Hester Lacey would require no courage at all.

  * * *

  The Spenford ball was an enormous success, if the number of people crammed into the spacious Spenford town house was anything to go by.

  Dominic and Marianne arrived at nine-thirty—the ball had started at nine—and had to wait several minutes to greet the earl and countess. Serena wasn’t with them. She’d been invited to dinner beforehand, the big surprise for her sister.

  The countess looked nothing like Serena, Dominic observed. Though beautifully dressed, she was plain, with brown hair and a rather pointy chin. But she possessed a quiet strength that Dominic imagined might enable her to hold her own in a society that admired dazzle.

  He escorted Marianne to greet the dowager countess, whose poor health prevented her staying on her feet for long. Then, at last, he could look for Serena—for Marianne’s sake, of course. He hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in Serena’s company over the past couple of days; he’d taken her father’s words to heart and spent much of the time with Hester. At the level of his courage.

  He found Serena immediately, over by the French doors to the terrace. She would expect Marianne to head for the cooling breeze.

  “Serena, hello, what a crush!” Marianne had turned bright red during the greeting process, and now turned redder as she kissed Serena’s cheek.

  Dominic couldn’t say a word.

  Serena was a vision in a pale gold dress with a sheer white overskirt. Matching satin slippers peeped from beneath her skirt, and at her neck, a string of pearls. Her hair had been swept into a style that looked too simple to have been easy.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she said. Excitement rippled through her voice. “Good evening, Dominic.”

  “Serena.” He felt compelled to bow. “You look enchanting.”

  She smiled. “There are so many lovely dresses here, but I think Madame Louvier did a particularly good job for me and Marianne.”

  Marianne’s dress, like most of her clothing, was too fussy, designed to draw attention from her face. But the blue color suited her, so Dominic was able to agree without resorting to untruth.

  “I’ve never seen so many people in one room,” Marianne said. “So many beautiful women.”

  Serena agreed. Dominic wondered if she knew she was one them. Several gentlemen were staring, speculating about who she was. Any moment now, one of them would— Even as Dominic watched, he saw
three or four start in their direction.

  “Miss Somerton, may I have the honor of the next dance?” he asked quickly. It would be the height of rudeness not to dance with her at some stage during the evening.

  He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, where they lined up with the other couples for a cotillion. Her gloved hand in his was strong, yet delicate. The feel of it did the oddest things to Dominic. Made him want to keep her to himself, to protect her, yet also to show her off to the world and claim her as his own.

  No. Dash it all, he’d spent days acquainting himself with Miss Lacey, and enjoying it most tolerably. So why did he still hanker for something he knew was impossible?

  The opening bars of the dance required them both to concentrate on memorizing the steps of the chorus, which would be repeated between the changes. Serena put all her effort into looking as if she wasn’t on such tenterhooks with this proximity to Dominic that she might fall over her own feet. She caught sight of her father, dancing with her sister Amanda—forbidden to dance with anyone except Papa—and just the thought of what he would say if he could read her mind cooled her fevered thoughts.

  The dance lasted half an hour. When the music ended Serena felt a pang of dismay at the thought of having to relinquish Dominic’s hand. But another gentleman was waiting to take his place. Besides, they couldn’t dance twice in a row without the world assuming a relationship that didn’t exist.

  She chatted inconsequentially with her next partner, trying not to watch Dominic. After that, she danced a minuet with her father, and was careful to give him the respectful attention he merited. When that dance was over, she sought Marianne, and found her once again at the French doors next to the terrace. They’d been chatting for a few minutes when her friend grabbed Serena’s arm. Serena turned to follow the direction of her gaze.

  Mr. Beaumont was here.

  He must have felt their eyes on him, for he turned. When he saw Marianne, he jerked backward. Serena would have said he was shocked.

  But a moment later, he walked toward them, all smiles.

  “Miss Granville, Miss Somerton, what a delightful surprise.”

  One look at Marianne’s face told Serena that though he might be surprised, she wasn’t. Serena came to her friend’s rescue. “Mr. Beaumont,” she said. “We didn’t know you were in London.” She and Dominic hadn’t, at least.

  A deepening of Marianne’s flush, despite the lotions she’d applied to her skin today, confirmed that she had in fact been aware of Beaumont’s whereabouts. Which explained why she’d been so keen to come to town. She and Beaumont must have been corresponding. And yet she’d not warned him of her presence tonight.

  “I hope to dance with both of you.” Beaumont cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “Perhaps, Miss Granville, you could dance this next quadrille with me.”

  Marianne’s color deepened. “Not just now, thank you. Serena, why don’t you dance with Geoff—Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Please do, Miss Somerton.” He extended a hand. “The quadrille is the most enjoyable of dances, I always think.”

  Serena enjoyed it herself, with its four different movements that kept one literally on one’s toes. If I dance with Beaumont, I’ll be keeping him away from Marianne.

  The dancers assembled in sets of four couples. The music began immediately.

  “How did you and the Granvilles come to be at tonight’s ball?” Beaumont asked casually, as they began to move.

  He seemed distracted as she explained the connection.

  “Perhaps it’s just as well you’re here,” he said, when they’d completed the first set. “I was wondering how I might discreetly inform you of some news from my uncle. He mentioned in a letter I received yesterday that his gamekeeper found the remains of a recent fire in the woods, along with enough feathers to suggest one of your hens or ours met an untimely end.”

  “He didn’t see the tramp?” she asked, alarmed.

  He shook his head. “But there’s definitely someone about. Probably not the same fellow, as they tend to move around. And he’s most likely harmless. But my uncle has asked the gamekeeper to watch out for him and to get rid of him.”

  Serena bit her lip. She agreed that after all this time, it was unlikely to be “Albert,” Charlotte’s tramp. Still, if they were going to have a steady stream of vagrants, it was beyond time she spoke to Dominic.

  At the end of the dance, Beaumont returned Serena to Marianne, then chatted with them for a few minutes before excusing himself. Marianne struggled to hide her disappointment as he walked off.

  “Where’s Dominic?” Serena asked her. “There’s something I must tell him.”

  His sister craned her neck. “I saw him a moment ago...ah, there he is. Dancing with Miss Lacey.”

  Miss Lacey? The Miss Lacey? Serena’s palms were damp as she turned to look.

  To see Dominic waltzing—waltzing!—with a lady whose hair was an attractive, rich shade of brown. Her plum-colored dress proclaimed her a spinster; young ladies hoping to attract a husband were required to wear more demure, pale colors. The plum suited Miss Lacey very well. Dominic was smiling down at her as they danced.

  “She looks nice,” Serena said, and was embarrassed to find her voice sounded thin.

  “I’d forgotten how much I like her,” Marianne admitted. “She and Dominic have been inseparable these past few days.”

  “Really?” Serena heard dismay in her own voice. “I mean, I didn’t know.” She’d spent most of her time with her family, and had assumed Dominic’s absences were related to the business he’d mentioned. “You obviously have met with her, too.” She hoped that didn’t sound accusing.

  “She came shopping with me yesterday,” Marianne said, “when you went with your parents to see the Elgin Marbles. That’s when I bought this.” She held up her dark blue velvet reticule. “Miss Lacey chose it.”

  Serena knew a stab of something that could only be jealousy. Forgive me, Lord. What’s wrong with me?

  When the music stopped, Dominic released Miss Lacey immediately, as he should. Some small consolation. But of course, he would behave as he ought. He was a gentleman.

  And yet...he kissed me.

  When Lord Spenford announced that supper was served, it was clear Dominic planned to lead Miss Lacey in. At the last second, Beaumont turned up to escort Marianne. Serena felt suddenly and utterly miserable. Even being invited in to supper by a handsome gentleman with a nicely trimmed mustache didn’t improve her mood.

  The food was probably exquisite, but Serena barely tasted it as she conversed with her companion, and then with her parents and her sister Isabel. The two younger girls, Amanda and Charity, had already been sent to bed. Constance was so busy with her other guests Serena had hardly seen her tonight.

  She nibbled on an eclair, then accepted an ice—such delicious extravagance—from her dinner escort. Dominic didn’t seem to have noticed Beaumont’s presence; he was busy entertaining Miss Lacey.

  When they’d finished eating, Mr. Beaumont excused himself on the grounds that he’d engaged for the next dance with Miss Deverell, not having known Marianne would be here. Serena and Marianne visited the retiring room to wash their hands and refresh their appearance.

  As they stepped out again, Serena said, “It’s so much cooler away from the ballroom. Why don’t we spend a few minutes relaxing somewhere quiet?” She didn’t think she could bear to watch Dominic dance with Miss Lacey again, and Marianne never turned down the chance to restore calm to her complexion. “If we find the library, we might even be able to sit.”

  Truth be told, her feet ached and she had a tickle in her throat. She felt as if she was sickening for something.

  The library, when they found it, was deserted, with most of the guests still at supper. Serena and Marianne settled on a high-backed sofa facing the hearth. There was no fire, but none was needed. Above the mantelpiece hung a rather gruesome painting of a hunting scene, a deer cornered by dogs while two huntsmen dres
sed in pinks approached. The nameplate set into the frame titled it The Kill.

  Marianne shut her eyes. “Ah, this is better.”

  Serena followed suit, closing her eyes, and they stayed like that for a few minutes.

  Serena was jolted back to awareness by a male voice. “...so many people I want to avoid.”

  The owner of the voice was Mr. Beaumont, and the increasing volume said he’d advanced into the room. Marianne perked up, her flush almost pretty. She smoothed her skirt, ready to stand.

  Then another man spoke. “Is the red-faced Granville girl one of those you’re avoiding?” His voice and familiarity of tone suggested he was around the same age as Beaumont, and well acquainted.

  Marianne froze. Serena recalled her mother’s homily about eavesdroppers never hearing any good about themselves, and was suddenly afraid. Before she could reveal their presence, Marianne’s hand closed about her wrist in an iron grip.

  “Not avoiding, no,” Beaumont said. “But I wasn’t expecting to see her in town. She doesn’t usually leave her place up at Melton Mowbray. I had other fish to fry tonight.”

  “The Deverell girl,” his friend said sagely. “Saw her watching you earlier. Keen as mustard. She’ll look a jolly sight nicer on your arm than Miss Granville, too. A girl like that isn’t right for a man of style like yourself.”

  There was a pause.

  “Miss Granville has five thousand a year,” Beaumont said.

  Marianne’s face crumpled.

  His companion gave a low whistle. “That ought to buy her a decent husband. Poor girl, cursed with that complexion.” He didn’t speak unkindly, but still, Marianne pressed her lips together. She and Serena both knew this was how people thought of her, spoke of her—if not with malice, then with pity. But to hear it firsthand was difficult.

  Next came the sound of a decanter being unstoppered, and liquid gurgling into a glass.

  “Brandy?” the stranger asked.

  Marianne closed her eyes.

  “I’m abstaining,” Beaumont said. “Stuff’s not good for me.”