RUNAWAY GOVERNESS, THE

by TYNER, LIZ

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, closing the space between them. She patted his elbow, then let her hand drop away. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. And, truly…’ she grimaced ‘…it shouldn’t be hard for me to select something new. I can have a grand time of it and take the maid along for her opinion.’

  ‘The maid?’

  ‘Bessie. She helped me select this one. It’s a pleasant painting, but…’ she ran her hand slowly along the gilded wood at the top of the frame, then stopped movement ‘…not for me.’

  ‘Perhaps Sophia. She has an eye for such things.’

  He touched the wood, his forefinger at the edge of hers. From a distance one would not have been able to see the space between them.

  ‘I really wish you would go,’ she said.

  ‘Then let us get another picture for you. It will only take a few moments to select a painting. I will attend to it with you and you will have to leave Bessie to her own devices.’ He shook his head. ‘We should be friends. It will make the rest of it easier.’

  Friends to make the rest of it easier? She looked up into a face she couldn’t read.

  ‘I wish for you to sing again, Isabel. I’ve listened to you hum. At Pensum Manor, I spoke with your friend Joanna while you weren’t in the room and she said your voice is magnificent.’

  ‘I cannot stomach the thought of performing. I cannot. Not again. It…the memories of the knife at my throat. What if someone, anyone, heard me sing and truly thought I was singing for them when I wasn’t? What thoughts might someone have? Mr Wren said men imagined my eyes wanting them. My lips on their body.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Isabel. You must toss that from your mind as the words of a brothel owner. His life deals in such things. Men who are like that will not be in the audience—they will be at Wren’s. And if one man thinks such, it is on him, not you. If he is going to think vulgar thoughts, he would think them if you were reading a prayer book.’

  ‘I can’t sing again around others. I cannot.’

  ‘You’ll learn how to again. You must push yourself into it.’

  Stepping to the side, she picked up a piece of evergreen that had fallen from the mantel when they’d moved the painting. She held it close to her nose before putting it into place. She kept her shoulder turned in his direction and locked her gaze with his. ‘I could say the same for you. And our marriage.’

  ‘You can’t squeeze water out of a rock.’ No smile flashed at her.

  ‘If you are as heartless as you think to be, then spending a few moments with a new friend at the holiday season shouldn’t be too much of a hardship. So let’s select a painting and spend the day at shops.’

  ‘Songbird, that sounds almost as pleasant as listening to a beautiful voice. Since I’m going with you, will you sing for me?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Very well. I’ll go to the shops and content myself with your speaking voice, and perhaps you’ll even hum a bit. I’d like to spend the day with you.’

  She gave herself a moment, then moved so that the toes of her slippers almost touched the toes of his boots. She put both her palms at his cheeks, the feel of his skin thundering in her body. She tiptoed and, with eyes open, she kissed, moving just so that the barest amount of lips brushed briefly, then she moved away. Neither blinked. ‘What are your plans for Christmas?’

  ‘I have not finalised them.’

  She covered her confusion by sitting on the sofa and looking to the window. ‘Sophia has invited me to Christmas dinner.’ She had assumed they would attend together, although Sophia had warned her that William hadn’t attended in the past. He’d refused and said he ate with friends, but she suspected he stayed alone.

  ‘Do you wish to travel to your parents?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No. I would not wish to be on the road in winter and taking the servants from their family. I’m quite happy to be dining with your sister Sophia on that day. We’ve already been discussing the puddings we might like.’

  She splayed her fingers and patted her knees with several quick taps. ‘I have made friends with your sisters and have Rambler. I am beginning as I should go on. For Christmas I have instructed the cook that the servants should have a splendid dinner and will be free from their duties except for the absolutely most dire ones on Christmas Day.’

  ‘Do not expect me to be here.’

  She ignored the words. ‘The time we spent at Joanna’s was one of the best times of my life,’ she said.

  He sat across from her and reached for a biscuit.

  ‘It was enjoyable for me as well.’ He moved forward and tapped the back of her hand. ‘You are indeed a delightful woman.’

  Bursts of warmth exploded with his touch, but his eyes didn’t give her the contentment she had wished for.

  She touched the handle of the tea cup, but didn’t lift it. Keeping her eyes on the china, she asked. ‘Did you not think we shared something—precious in the country?’

  ‘I did.’

  The richness of his voice reassured her, until she looked into his face.

  ‘I’ve not felt quite so since my youth. I felt more alive than in a long time.’ His lips pressed into a smile. The kind one formed when not thinking happy thoughts. ‘I thought of little else when I returned. Your friends are very absorbed in one another. Much like my mother and father were.’

  He pulled back and interlaced his fingers. His gaze drifted to the window. ‘I felt compelled into that moment. Different. I had to leave to think about what was happening. I’d thought I might be changing. That I’d see things differently. But I’ve examined my thoughts over and over and over and I’m not the same as others are. I care for people, but the thoughts of them fade as soon as they are out of my sight.’

  He stood, returning to stare at the painting. His back was to her and his voice softened. ‘It would be foolish of us to fall into any traps that might cause us regret later.’ He stood. ‘Our marriage is perfect, Isabel. I am thankful for it. It is not some heart prattle which absorbs and taints the outlook. It is a marriage as successful people have had for centuries. A joining of a man and woman who each continue to follow the path they were meant to follow. It is as near perfect as it could be.’

  ‘I want more.’

  His head bowed. ‘I am so sorry. Three years ago, one of my best friends was thrown from his horse and died within hours. At the funeral, Sylvester was in tears. Everyone talked of it for days at the club and I did the best I could to commiserate and offer condolences, but I didn’t feel the loss. It has been three years and I’ve had not one moment of sadness.’

  ‘You care for the horses, though.’

  ‘Yes. They’re good stock. I’ve had them for years and they should be treated well—but still, if they were to die, I don’t know that I would mourn. I don’t believe I would.’

  He lifted his head and turned back to her. She’d never seen such compassion—or pity, she wasn’t sure which—in the eyes that watched her.

  He reached into his pocket, stepped to the table by her reticule and put something on the table. A tiny click sounded when it touched the wood. ‘Your hairpins. I know you won them in truth. It was kind of you to make the game longer by letting it play out as it did. But I don’t know what I was thinking to keep them, except as enjoyment of our game, the pleasure of your company and a chance to make the wagering last longer.’

  He left and his boots tapped down the stairway and she heard him calling last-minute instructions to his butler to have someone prepare the painting for return and ready the carriage.

  She moved to the table, picked up the pins, tossed them into the burning coals and left the room.

  *

  William stood in the tiniest shop he’d ever been in. It barely contained the three of them, but the paintings were floor to ceiling.

  ‘Another by the very talented Mr Lawww-rence.’ The man’s footsteps clacked along and he drawled the word out as he showed them the painting. One empty place must have
been from the art Isabel purchased.

  ‘It is exceptional.’ Isabel examined the painting of a sad child with a sad mother. Isabel’s gloved hands clasped. Her coat quite covered her. In the back, the collar came above the bonnet edge and he didn’t know quite how they both managed to keep in place. Her bonnet was unlike any he’d ever seen. Darker brown, and circular, but edged all around by a wide row of wispy feathers which never stayed still even when she did.

  And yet, the garment didn’t overpower her. He surmised that whatever footwear she had on added to her height and the extra fluff of feathers made her appear even taller. She appeared as tall as he stood in his bare feet.

  ‘Very.’ William stared at the signature. T. Lawrence. But this was not by Thomas Lawrence although it was similar in style.

  ‘I would prefer to think about it.’

  ‘Ah.’ The man’s shoulders slumped.

  Isabel’s actions mirrored the man’s. Then she chatted with the proprietor for a few moments. William watched as the man melted under the infusion of blue eyes, siren’s voice and something else that he could not quite name.

  The man shook his head. William’s attention flashed from Isabel to the conversation. The proprietor had just suggested he had a painting in the back which he might show her.

  When he brought it out, the aroma of paint lingered around it. A little girl sat alone on a bench in the central part of the picture, her face shadowed by the bonnet. The trees and greenery in the background faded away and emphasised the girl, hands clasped, thinking thoughts a viewer could only guess at.

  ‘It’s not finished.’ The proprietor smiled, looking at the art. ‘I’m Theodore Lawrence Bryant.’

  ‘Perhaps you might sign this one with that name,’ William suggested.

  The man shrugged. ‘I should. But the other sells better even as I tell the people I painted them. I suppose they put it on the wall and hope no one asks too many questions.’

  William stepped closer to the art. He looked at Isabel. ‘Could you change the hair colour on the little girl to something closer to this?’ He held his hand by Isabel’s face.

  ‘Most certainly.’ The man stood taller.

  ‘And perhaps, in the tree behind her, birds—listening. And a tiny, tiny feathery fluff in the bonnet.’

  ‘I’m sure I could add those,’ he said.

  ‘Please send it to my home when finished and, if Isabel likes it, we will keep it.’

  ‘Most certainly.’ The proprietor looked at William. ‘But your friends will be more impressed with a T. Lawrence painting than a Theodore Bryant.’

  ‘I’m not purchasing it for them.’ William looked at Isabel and, in one second, he glimpsed something that caused a feeling of his heart rolling down an embankment. He couldn’t decipher if the look in her eyes made him need to clasp her tight to be saved or if the gaze was thrusting him into a chasm deeper than his father had been in.

  Quickly, he led her from the room and guided her to the carriage, ignoring the howl of the wind and the darkening clouds which dampened the air. But before he got to the steps, something caught the corner of his eye.

  He turned to see Lord Robert and his brother, the Duke of Wakefield, trudging towards them. With each step, the Duke’s coat beat the air like a raven’s wings.

  *

  Isabel felt William’s pause and turned to see what had captured his attention. Two men walked in their direction and the older one looked up. Recognition chased the sadness from his lips, but not his eyes.

  ‘Balfour.’ The older man’s thick silvery hair gave him an air of knowledge and his shoulders gave him a fortress of sturdiness.

  Isabel sensed William’s indecision. Lines of strain appeared at his temples.

  In brief sentences, William introduced the Duke of Wakefield and Lord Robert, the Duke’s younger brother.

  ‘So pleased to meet you,’ Wakefield said, warmth infusing his words to Isabel. ‘I played cards with Balfour recently. He is a happier man now that he’s married.’

  Isabel examined the Duke’s eyes for falsehood.

  William stilled.

  ‘It does me good to see a young man so in love.’ The Duke’s smile faded like a snowflake on a warm coat. ‘I remember so well…’

  William’s stance tightened, one foot pointed away, ready to trudge off. ‘We must be going. I would not want anyone to catch a chill.’

  ‘Nor would I,’ the Duke said.

  The only thing appearing cold was William’s eyes, Isabel thought. ‘Do not worry about me. When I was in Salisbury, one of the other girls at the school challenged me to see who could stand longest in the snow barefoot. I won.’

  ‘A school?’ the Duke asked. ‘You attended a school?’

  The damp air suddenly penetrated Isabel’s clothing. She didn’t want to embarrass William because of her training to be a governess. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am not from London. But my parents wished me to have some education.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ the Duke said. ‘I am always pleased when I meet women who have had the opportunity to learn. Balfour knows I have long been concerned with education and feel that it is vital to our country’s progress.’

  ‘I agree,’ Isabel said. ‘Although I do not know how the school is faring as I received a letter from one of the teachers, Miss Fanworth, that the owner, Madame Dubois, is ill. She has never been sick before and now she can’t seem to leave her bed.’

  ‘Dubois?’ The Duke’s eyes widened. ‘You attended Constance Dubois’s school?’

  Lord Robert’s gaze switched from boredom to an intent perusal of his brother.

  ‘Yes. I attended Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies. In Salisbury.’ Isabel answered.

  The Duke reached into his waistcoat pocket and dotted a handkerchief to his forehead, but no moisture shone. ‘I once knew the woman you spoke of. In my youth. A fascinating woman.’

  ‘Madame Dubois?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘Quite fascinating.’ The reprimand in the ducal tone couldn’t be missed. ‘All these years…’ His words faded away. He shut his eyes. ‘All these years I have not heard of her.’ When his eyes opened, he didn’t seem to see his surroundings. ‘She… Everything about her was delightful. Full of optimism even when she’d lost so much. Full of laughter.’

  ‘I think you might have mistaken our Madame Dubois for someone else. Our Madame was not—I never saw her laugh.’

  He took in a breath.

  ‘She did smile, though. If our lessons were perfect or if we did something well,’ Isabel added, not knowing why she felt she must reassure him that Madame was not melancholy. ‘But she was quite serious with us.’

  ‘Constance Dubois was one of the most spirted women in the world.’ His eyes sparked and his voice commanded. Then the Duke’s eyes misted and his tone softened. ‘All these years…I have guarded against learning the location of her school. I had made certain I was never informed. And now I have heard without even asking.’ He shut his eyes and shook his head. He reached out, intent on Isabel’s answer. ‘She will recover?’

  ‘It’s said she is coughing constantly and her chest is in pain. The letter said her heart is beating fast and she is chilled, and cannot stop shaking.’

  His face paled. Isabel had to give him some respite from the strain in his eyes.

  ‘They have called in a skilled surgeon who will bleed her,’ she said, ‘so there is hope.’

  ‘My Constance.’ Wakefield dotted the handkerchief to his head again and backed away. ‘At least she is under a physician’s care.’ He paused, eyes seeing a long-ago memory. ‘The school is in Salisbury, you say? I must beg forgiveness for my abrupt departure, but I must see her again. I must.’ He turned to his brother. ‘You understand. I have to know.’

  He turned, darting down the street.

  Lord Robert watched his brother leave. ‘My brother has carried the memory of the Dubois woman in his heart since his youth. She was a governess to my sisters. Wakefield is considerably older
than us, so he and Dubois were closer in age.’

  ‘The whispers were true,’ Isabel murmured. ‘It was thought Madame Dubois had had an attachment.’

  ‘I would not have been so noble as he was,’ Robert said. He adjusted the patch at his eye. ‘My brother tossed aside his own desires and wed for fortune’s sake. He didn’t care for the funds—only that he might provide for his dukedom and his family. The tenants’ houses needed so much.’

  Lord Robert chuckled, but it lacked humour. ‘Love. I dare say when my brother finds this woman he adored in his youth, it will be too late. Or he will discover she has no memory of him.’

  He turned to leave. ‘I will find my own way home. Good day.’

  Standing silent for a moment, Isabel kept her eyes on the direction the men had gone.

  ‘Madame had warned us that when we were in fine households, never to forget our place,’ Isabel said. She studied William and repeated, ‘In fine households, we were never to forget our place.’

  ‘Your place is in a fine household, Isabel.’

  ‘I am sure. Of course. You are right.’

  ‘Don’t be like Wakefield is.’ William guided her to the carriage. ‘Rushing off. He has just escaped a mire of grief and now he is rushing back to find it again. I cannot understand someone’s wish to touch a fire to see how hot it is.’

  The driver spotted them and jumped from the perch to open the door.

  ‘But he has his brother for solace,’ Isabel said as she settled and snuggled into her coat.

  William snorted. The carriage wheels creaked as they began to roll. ‘His brother is a worthless rake.’ William brushed the moisture from the window, his leather gloves squeaking against the pane.

  ‘But the two of you are friends.’

  ‘We are,’ William agreed. ‘That does not mean we do not know each other, but that we do and tolerate each other.’

  ‘And you wish for us to be friends?’ Copper tendrils of hair escaped her bonnet and blended with the chocolate colour of her coat.

  He ducked so low that he could look at her eyes. ‘Isabel. We will have a completely different type of friendship.’

  Doeskin touched his face as she pushed him away. ‘I might decide not to be friends with you.’