RUNAWAY GOVERNESS, THE

by TYNER, LIZ

  ‘I know I would not. That is one of the reasons I have not considered marriage in the past. I think it a suffocating, strangling gaol. It is not a leg shackle. It is a throat shackle. I have said it is likened to having leeches attached to bleed the body dry and leave it a desiccated shell. Much like the body left behind centuries after death.’

  She pulled her hands away. ‘You have worked long on this proposal?’

  ‘Twenty-four years.’

  ‘Am I the first to hear it?’

  ‘Yes. This is a first.’

  ‘I dare not ask…’

  ‘I don’t think I should talk of my life if we are to be married. Last night I thought never to see you again so I didn’t care overmuch. If we might be seeing each other at a marriage ceremony, then I don’t care to discuss how I spend my nights.’

  ‘The socks and night caps would probably not make a good gift for you.’

  ‘No.’ He gave the saddest smile she’d ever seen. ‘All that I ask is that you stand at my side and answer a few words.’

  ‘Those vows and nonsense?’ She might end up the desiccated shell, but she was not quite doing as well on her own as she’d hoped. And she had no desire at all to be a governess. None.

  ‘Yes.’ He stood. ‘I see a bit of concern on your face. But you do not have to worry I will be a brute like Wren. I will not…be unkind.’

  She didn’t speak.

  ‘Ours would be the most perfect of marriages.’

  She lifted her brows.

  ‘Yes. If you have need of me once we are married, you will only have to give a note to my butler and he will see that it is delivered and I will read it immediately. We won’t see a great deal of each other. I truly do not like to be home.’

  ‘You did rather help me,’ she said. When she looked into his eyes, it was as if they begged her to say no. Forces behind him pushed him her way, much like a pirate would shove a person into the deep. ‘Do you not think you are making a terrible mistake?’

  He shook his head. ‘All my sisters’ lives I have been there for them. Perhaps even when they had no one else. I have had one unselfish task, only one, and that has been to see that they are safe and have a home. When that is provided, they content themselves. I cannot bring disgrace upon them. A few tales about my revelry doesn’t hurt—that is shrugged away. But that I might harm a woman would not be tolerated. A man who hurts weaker people for his pleasure is condemned. His family—particularly sisters of a marriageable age—would be tarnished.’

  He moved to the window, looked out, shook his head and returned to her. His smile was directed inwards, but the question in his eyes was for her alone.

  ‘Can you not think of another solution?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at this moment. If I could, I would give it.’

  His words rested in her like a wooden ball rolling down a stair, clunking to the bottom.

  ‘If you do not wish to wed,’ he said, ‘I understand. But, Sophia will be damaged if you do not. So will my other two sisters and my Aunt Emilia. My father will manage to consider Cousin Sylvester his heir. I will be tossed from my home. At least half of the servants will be without employment.’

  ‘You do not play on someone’s sympathies…do you?’ She brushed her fingertips over the sleeve of his coat. They had only met the night before, but they were not strangers. Nor friends. Nor enemies. But they had shared a moment of decisions together that few ever faced and her life would plunge one direction or the other based on her response.

  ‘And there is the fact that I found you a place to stay last night. Although I understand if you have no wish to marry,’ he said. ‘I certainly can understand that. Perhaps better than anyone.’

  That he could understand her wish not to marry ‘perhaps better than anyone’ was not a resounding push in his favour.

  ‘I must give this some thought,’ she said. ‘But you should give it a great deal more consideration as well. Marriage is about love and holding the other person in the highest esteem. At least it is for me.’

  ‘As a governess you would not be allowed to have a marriage.’

  ‘I can eventually leave a governess post. Or I might fall in love with a tutor, or stable master, or linen draper—on my half-day off. And if that person loves me back, just a little, it is more than you’re offering.’

  ‘I’m wealthy.’

  She paused. One shouldn’t marry for money. But one shouldn’t overlook funds either. ‘How wealthy?’

  ‘My children will have a governess. A tutor. And if you wed me—’ He shrugged. ‘Your children will have a governess. A tutor.’

  ‘My son would be a viscount,’ she mused.

  He frowned. ‘Bite your tongue. There is never any rush for that.’

  ‘He would. Just not until he was very old.’

  ‘So we will wed.’

  ‘My daughters would be able to have the finest things.’

  He nodded. ‘I can also ensure that you have reputable avenues for your talent. I would consider it a way of thanking you for taking on the misfortune of marriage.’

  ‘I don’t— Marriage is not such a thing.’ She turned away. ‘As your wife I wouldn’t wish to sing. That’s over for me and I can accept that easily.’

  ‘You would be giving your chance at love away, but it would enable more choices for the children you might have. A sacrifice, for sure.’

  The clouds inside her head cleared. A mother did such things, or should.

  ‘You may wed me,’ she said. She could pretend. Perhaps if she didn’t pay attention to the marriage words they would not quite count as much and she could pretend to be a governess with the children away on holiday. That could be pleasant. And she would not mind to have a little family for herself. And if the boys favoured him, oh, she would preen, and it would not be a problem for the daughters to inherit her hair colour or his.

  ‘I don’t see that either of us have many other choices. You are all the things a woman would want in a husband,’ she said, giving a smile that didn’t reach her heart. ‘And all the things she would not.’

  *

  Isabel sat at the writing desk which had been moved into the room. She didn’t feel like opening the ink bottle. She’d never written a letter while wearing a borrowed chemise, but the garment would do her well to sleep in and by the time she woke, her own laundered dress would be dry. She didn’t have to worry about choosing matching slippers, as she should be pleased her slippers were mostly free of the muck.

  She would be quite the lovely bride in the patched-together dress. Her marriage would take place some time the next day as William was getting the special licence and telling all his friends how delighted he was to be married.

  She could marry, or, she could go home in disgrace.

  She chose to take the stopper from the ink bottle. The letter would be easiest. She would write her parents of how wonderful everything was as she had met the man of her dreams… She shut her eyes and tapped her closed fist at her forehead. Oh, this news had to be delivered in a letter. They would never believe it if she said it to their faces.

  Or they might.

  She remembered her father picking daffodils for her mother each spring. Roses in the summer. Walking hand in hand in the crisp autumn air and calling her the best gift of his life—one he could hold each day of the year.

  Her parents loved her. She knew it. But when they looked at each other an affection shone in their faces, along with something else. It was much like a clockmaker might want to see how the mechanisms worked to turn the hands of a timepiece. Isabel had imagined how it would feel when her own husband cherished her so.

  When she had realised that she was being trained to be a governess and a governess didn’t have a husband, she’d felt tossed into a rubbish heap. She could never be loved in the same manner her parents loved each other. She’d put all of her spirit into her song the next time she sang—the very first time she had noticed tears in a listener’s eyes. Her dreams had soared. Singers c
ould marry. They could have their own family.

  She imagined the devotion she wished for. She began to write. The man she wrote of in the letter was so deeply devoted that he could not bear to be away from his beloved one moment more. He had cherished her from afar…

  She tapped the nib against the inside of the bottle, planning just how it would have been.

  Her parents had missed one of the events where the school had let her sing, so that was where she had met William. And he had been instantly smitten. Tears had flooded from his eyes—no, scratch that. He had shed one lone, intense tear as he had thanked her for the overwhelming performance and called her a songbird. She smiled when she penned the word songbird. He had called her Miss Songbird.

  She dipped the pen again. He’d begged, yes, begged that they might correspond. She had refused, most assuredly, but he had managed to get his letters to her, and after great personal dilemma, she read them. Slowly her heart had melted—but, no, she’d insisted, she could not neglect her dream to become a governess. Over time, however, his devotion had overtaken her and she had agreed to wed.

  *

  William stared at the darkened ceiling in his bedchamber. The ceremony would be in a few hours.

  He’d not slept at all. He’d kept remembering the deep love his parents had had for each other and then his mother had died. The world had gone silent that night after her last breath. Then he’d had to remove her cherished ring from her finger. None of them had been the same after that night. His father began to substitute liquid for air.

  Love had destroyed his father. Took him from them in the guise of drink. But William didn’t blame his father for that weakness.

  William had heard the noises the second night after his mother’s death and crept to his mother’s room. His father had been huddled on the floor, arms around himself, rocking. He’d been crying out his wife’s name over and over.

  William had pulled the door shut and walked the hallway. Silence had followed, and permeated deep into the walls around him. In the days afterwards, he’d watched the family move about and it had felt as if he watched a play. He could see the actors and hear them. But he wasn’t even standing near the stage.

  He rolled in the bed, kicking the last of the covers to the floor.

  Marriage. Children. Such a risk.

  But he didn’t love Isabel, so marriage could not destroy their lives. He would not allow her to love him either. He imagined himself standing beside Isabel as the vicar asked—

  He had forgotten a vicar. No one might be standing there to marry them.

  He’d been so concerned with getting the special licence, the town coach, and telling as many people as he could think of to expect the happy event, he’d forgotten someone to make the words official.

  Within moments, his boots were on and his shirt stuffed into his trousers. He tied his cravat as he rushed down the stairs and he had no idea of how to progress but he was certain the butler would know of someone who could perform a marriage.

  The butler chuckled as he gave William direction to a vicar’s home.

  *

  William had had a bit of difficulty finding the house in the darkness, but he banged on the door. He heard a voice grumble out, and then he waited, rubbing his chin, feeling the stubble.

  The vicar, a wisp of a man, finally appeared, his hair falling in snowy frazzles around his face and a scrap of a belt around his nightshirt covering. Without speaking, he waved William inside.

  ‘I have a special licence.’ William shot out the words. ‘I need to be married quickly.

  ‘Is the babe arriving now?’ the vicar asked, tugging the belt tight.

  ‘No,’ William said, taking a step back. ‘There’s no child.’

  ‘Well, then, what’s the rush?’ He squinted.

  ‘I’m marrying today and I didn’t remember I needed someone to speak the words.’

  ‘Are you going to battle?’ the man questioned. ‘Leaving soon?’

  ‘No.’ William shook his head. ‘I just need to be married.’

  ‘Ah.’ Again the man tugged on the tie at his waist and then stepped back, peering through squinted lids. ‘You might come back after breakfast and I’ll decide then.’

  The speck of a man was saying no? ‘It’s your job.’

  ‘A young man pounding on my door in the middle of the night when there is not a babe arriving before morning makes me concerned that he might not be considering the options.’

  William tightened his stance. ‘I cannot go into the details. Just tell me who might be able to say a few quick words to take care of this for me.’

  ‘I suppose you should prepare us a pot of tea and tell me about it.’

  ‘Tea?’ William gasped out. ‘I do not know how to make tea.’

  The man grunted. ‘And you expect to be able to handle a marriage?’

  ‘The servants will handle the tea.’

  ‘Would you like my advice?’ the vicar asked.

  ‘No. But if I stand here much longer I suppose I will be hearing it.’

  ‘Yes. And I know how to make tea, so I do have more knowledge than you on some things and I am not rushing about in the wee hours. So perhaps you should come in.’ He walked away as he talked. ‘You owe me that for waking me. And if your reason for pounding on my door has merit, then I can take care of the marriage for you.’

  William ducked his head, stepping into the scent of tallow candles and well-settled dust. A floorboard creaked under his foot.

  ‘Come into the kitchen with me and I’ll light a candle,’ the vicar said. ‘Don’t bother bolting the door. I always open it anyway, no matter what kind of person is pounding.’ He chuckled in William’s direction.

  After the kettle started, he whisked a glass and wine bottle from a shelf. After placing the glass in front of William, he poured without asking and then concerned himself with his own drink.

  ‘So,’ the older man asked after he finished preparations and settled to sip his tea, ‘what is all the rush about?’

  ‘A young woman and I need to be married. We do not wish for any tales about us to be spread.’

  ‘A compromising position?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re overreacting. Tales can fade.’

  William snorted. ‘Not this one.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know what I am to do. We are to be married and we won’t cause interruption in each other’s lives.’

  ‘I have never heard of a marriage which does not cause some interruption in life.’

  ‘I have the funds to see that it happens,’ William said. He stopped. ‘I am very adept at dealing with such things. I can live separately if needed.’

  ‘Marriage. The specialness in part is that it cannot be walked away from. That is what makes it different than, say, not marriage. Love is fickle, though.’

  ‘We are not in love.’

  The vicar sputtered into his tea and set down his cup.

  William continued. ‘We are in agreement. She and I have discussed it. I told her what nonsense love is.’

  ‘Ah.’ The vicar nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have told the truth on that. Not even to me. But if she agreed with that, then I suppose she will have no one to blame but herself.’ He chuckled, and mumbled, ‘Do not expect that reprieve, however.’

  ‘Isabel is not like that.’

  ‘You’ve known her long?’

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘A lifetime can be not long enough to know what a woman is like before you marry her—from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘The woman I am going to marry is…’ He paused. ‘She’s almost alone in the world, or that’s how she feels. I don’t want her to be alone. I may not be able to give her everything, but I can give her a home, safety and a haven. She’ll have servants. Children, perhaps.’

  In a flash of memory, he could see his parents laughing at the table and then his father throwing crockery about after her death, acting in the same manner as Rosalind when she’d bee
n cross. Only he could not send his father to his room and tell him that the governess would not be reading him a bedtime story.

  His father had never even raised his voice before his wife died. Never acted anything but sensible and selfless. Then he’d become senseless—and selfish.

  William’s eyes flickered to the small man who stared into him. ‘I need to marry her—for my own purpose, but it is not an entirely bad thing for her. Without me, she will likely remain unmarried and not have children of her own.’

  ‘Why do you think she won’t find someone else? Is she unappealing?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say she is unappealing. In fact, she is too appealing—to be safe—alone in the world. It isn’t beauty, though I am not saying she isn’t.’ William smiled, staring at the empty glass. ‘She has this copper-coloured hair.’ He held out his hand, thumb touching forefinger, making the movement as if holding a strand. ‘The light shone on it and she had her bonnet off, and the other men saw it and they saw her eyes, and ten years from now, she could walk into a room and they will remember her.’

  ‘There are other ways to protect a woman besides marriage.’

  William let out a deep breath. ‘Not this one.’ He put the glass on the table and leaned back, stretching his legs. ‘Not this one. She’s been at a school in the country or she would have had suitors lining up. Even at the school, someone found her who wished to take advantage.’

  The minister stood. ‘You think to love her later.’

  ‘No.’ William breathed out the word. ‘I don’t. That could never happen.’

  ‘If she is so appealing—’ He moved, standing by a shelf with a basin on it, keeping his back to William. ‘Another man should easily fall in love with her.’

  ‘That’s true. But I’ve seen what love does—I’m not in favour of it.’

  ‘My wife might agree with you,’ he said. ‘But you might fall in love if the two of you are married.’

  ‘No. I do not have it in me.’ William considered the words.

  ‘How does she feel about you,’ the vicar asked, ‘this daft woman who has agreed to wed you?’