RUNAWAY GOVERNESS, THE

by TYNER, LIZ

  William had shown them the spear tip and they’d all made up stories about the ferocious knight who’d carried it. Her knight had been named William and he’d given the spear tip to his mother as a token. She’d taken it and said she’d keep it always.

  They’d returned home to another feast. His mother had had a coughing spell at Christmas dinner, right after sitting down. She’d said she wasn’t hungry and left, insisting they stay. His father had followed her and William and his sisters had eaten, never raising their eyes from the food.

  No knight could save her.

  William picked up the ring and slipped it on the second knuckle of his smallest finger. It wasn’t a pretty ring. Not at all. He’d seen so many more that were more elegant. A daisy shape, and each petal held a small gemstone and the centre a larger one. The biggest gem wasn’t perfectly cut and it was more obvious than on the others, almost like a lop-sided face. Even the precious metal holding the gems had a primitive feel, except for the leaves which led around the band.

  A seventeenth-century baroque ring worn by his mother. The one his father had asked him to take from her hand after death. William, at thirteen, had wanted it buried with her, because how could his mother be his mother without the ring she’d worn every day of his life.

  But it had been his grandmother’s and the Viscount insisted it would be for William’s wife some day.

  He examined the ring, and then touched the stones to his cheek.

  *

  Isabel stepped into Sophia’s house, lamps shining to make the room bright as day. Taper candles burned, adding a festive air. A red velvet cloth draped at the table beside them. Someone took her pelisse and William’s frock coat. Since the night before, he’d not said one word to her other than the most basic of pleasantries on the way. He didn’t seem angry, but as if he’d pulled away. Already she’d got used to having him in her life and the distance ate away at her. She pushed the ache in her chest from her body. She would not acknowledge how bleak she felt inside at the thought of spending the rest of her life unloved. Even the thought of seeing her good friend Joanna didn’t fill her with the pleasure she’d expected, but increased the emptiness of her heart when she realised she would never have the bond Joanna had with Luke.

  They walked past another draped swag of fabric and on a table she noted the bough of evergreen resting on a wooden platter with dried berries and twigs around it, giving the room a holiday scent.

  A smiling Sophia, dressed in a yellow-silk gown, and wearing jewels to match, rushed to greet them. ‘I am so happy you decided to come. It will be so nice to—it will be glorious to hear you sing, Isabel.’

  Isabel instantly stopped. ‘But I am not going to perform.’

  Disappointment flicked in Sophia’s eyes, causing a similar pang in Isabel.

  ‘You’re not?’ Sophia’s eyes took in her brother. ‘But I have planned—’

  ‘Leave it, Sophia.’ William’s voice spoke a gentle command. The warmth of his hand rested at Isabel’s back. ‘Let’s enjoy the evening.’

  ‘Very well.’ Sophia smiled. ‘It is enough having good friends here. But I was certain you would sing for us. I thought that was why…’ Her words faded. First her eyes searched her brother’s face, then she gave Isabel a smile.

  ‘I think I hear another carriage,’ Sophia said. ‘My husband is with the other guests. Pardon me while I greet the newcomers.’ She moved away.

  Isabel turned, clasping her hand over William’s arm so she could pull him close and whisper, ‘You told her I would sing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How could you?’

  ‘I wanted you to have a chance to reach to the skies.’

  ‘You wished to force me into it.’

  ‘No. Well, perhaps. But only because it is right for you.’

  ‘How could you think you know what is right for me?’

  One side of his lips quirked up. ‘Do you not believe you know what is best for me?’

  She paused. ‘Well, of course. But I do.’

  He took her gloved hand, pulled it to his lips and placed a kiss at the back. ‘Sophia gave you a safe place to stay on the night you were attacked. Would it not be a wonderful gift for her to introduce your voice to London, on the night before Christmas?’

  ‘Isabel,’ a feminine voice called out.

  Upon hearing her name, Isabel turned to see her friend Joanna rushing towards them, with her husband Luke following, adoration for his wife in his eyes.

  After a quick greeting, Sophia ushered them into the ballroom.

  Isabel clasped her friend Joanna’s hands. The chatter of voices rose so loud at the soirée the women had to be close to hear each other.

  ‘William told me last night that you and Luke planned to be here.’ Isabel said. ‘I am so happy to see you.’

  ‘This Christmas is even more meaningful to me than the last one where we four were together at the school. I can imagine Rachel in Huria living in a palace. It suits her so. The more exotic something was, the more it interested her,’ Joanna spoke. ‘I hope she is as happy as we are. We have both found love matches.’

  Isabel dared not turn to William and see the look on his face when the word love was used. Her smile hurt, but she refused to acknowledge the pain she felt. She would have time for that later.

  ‘Have you heard anything of Madame Dubois’s illness?’ Isabel asked Joanna.

  ‘No. I haven’t.’

  Isabel quickly told Joanna of the conversation with the Duke of Wakefield. ‘It would be so sad if they are never reunited, but I cannot see Madame falling in love with anyone.’

  ‘But we did. Now we are spending Christmas with our true loves.’ She turned. ‘Did you imagine we would be so fortunate, Isabel?’

  ‘No. I rather thought I would end up like Madame.’ She smiled, but didn’t look into anyone’s eyes. ‘But without the school.’

  *

  William’s smile took in Lady Howell. He had insisted Sophia visit her house and invite her to the soirée.

  His plan on whom to invite had been simple, but was not going as planned. He’d invited Luke and Joanna to give Isabel support, but when Joanna had spoken of love—Isabel’s face had paled. He’d invited the Duke of Wakefield—who’d not attended—because the Duke’s approval carried a lot of sway. He’d invited Lady Howell and a few of her friends, whose voices just carried. But now that didn’t seem to have been a grand idea.

  He could not disinvite Lady Howell and he couldn’t force Isabel to sing.

  William looked at Isabel. ‘Please come with me for a moment.’

  Before she could respond, he led her out the doorway, securing privacy for them. ‘Isabel. Do not let one instance destroy the confidence you should have.’

  ‘How do you know? You have never seen me perform.’

  He leaned forward, letting her know with his face that he was not believing her words. ‘As we were leaving, Isabel, I told the butler to send the maid to your sitting room and find your music and select songs to send ahead.’

  ‘You cannot—’

  He touched her arms. ‘One song. Just one. Prove to me you cannot. Or prove to yourself that you can.’

  Her eyes fluttered and matching pangs hit his midsection. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to give her the dreams she had.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have planned this.’ He spoke the truth. He did want her to shine and he wished for her to have her glory, but part of the reason was a salve to his conscience. He wanted to give her something because he could not give her himself and that was what she wanted most.

  ‘I cannot tonight. Not tonight,’ she said. ‘Lady Howell and her pack of friends are here. And it was not right of you to arrange this without my permission. I will not.’

  ‘Is—’

  ‘You more than anyone else should understand what it is like for something to die within yourself.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He let his fingers brush hers. ‘If it no lon
ger means anything to you, then I agree that you shouldn’t sing.’

  William stood patiently. She didn’t answer. He held out his arm and she grasped it. They walked back into the soirée, moving to Sophia’s ballroom, but his sister wasn’t visible among the milling people.

  Luke called out to William and the two men moved away as they talked.

  Isabel heard a voice that could haunt a ghost.

  Lady Howell appeared at Isabel’s side. ‘Good to see you. I was afraid your duties would keep you away.’ She cackled. ‘I’m Lady Howell, in case you’ve forgotten. And you’re looking quite lovely tonight. This must be quite a treat for you to be among society as you were raised to be a governess.’

  ‘A noble occupation.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Lady Howell said. ‘And a good governess is so hard to select as they can be so full of airs.’

  ‘But the important thing is to have someone trustworthy for the children.’

  ‘Yes. Not some upstart who might want to catch the eye of one of the servants or a visiting relative and cause disarray.’ She leaned towards Isabel, breathing out the odour of soured milk. ‘And how did you and Balfour meet?’

  ‘I was singing at the school.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Her eyelids half-closed. ‘And why was William Balfour at a governess school?’

  ‘He’d heard of my voice and thought to see for himself.’ She raised her head straight.

  ‘So, your voice carries? I mean, tales of your voice?’ She patted her gloved hands together. ‘I’m sure you sing quite well.’

  ‘Well enough.’ The milky scent surrounding Isabel made her own stomach feel curdled.

  ‘So why don’t you gift us all with a song? I’m sure your husband’s sister would be pleased to let you sing at her soirée. I noticed she has the ballroom arranged so that people might sit around the pianoforte.’

  ‘I don’t wish to.’

  ‘Well, I can certainly understand that.’ She tapped her fan against her cheek. ‘But I would think a woman who might have a talent good enough to cause a man to search her out at a school might not be so reserved about it. Of course, Balfour wouldn’t have wanted to miss someone like you. Young men get trapped by their affections all the time.’

  When Lady Howell said the word trapped her eyes glistened with a touch of glee.

  And William was going to move from his town house and Lady Howell would hear of it, and it would become quite the chortling contest when Lady Howell talked about it with her friends.

  ‘I think I shall tell Sophia I’d like to sing.’ Isabel looked at Lady Howell. ‘I have quite the repertoire of songs.’

  She just could not remember a single one.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The instant the people assembled in the chairs, Isabel shut her eyes. Not one word from one song could she remember. At the school, she could not have forgotten them if she’d tried. They bubbled from her.

  But never had she felt the eyes on her in such a way. Now it was as if every blink batted her. It was not just the ones who wanted her to fail that caused the clench in her stomach, but the ones who wanted her to succeed as well.

  Every time she had performed in the past, she’d been at the school, or in her parents’ house. She didn’t know why she thought she could sing on a stage when she’d dreamed of singing for others. Nothing felt the same.

  William stood at the side, watching. She could feel his wish for her to succeed and that added to her fear that she could not.

  Joanna and Luke were sitting front and centre. Sophia sat at the pianoforte.

  Isabel looked at the music propped at the piano. She’d forgotten how to read the words even. She leaned over the piano, concentrating on the words, but it didn’t stop the feeling that she needed to run.

  ‘Are you familiar with this one?’ Isabel asked Sophia.

  ‘Very much.’ The puzzlement on Sophia’s face was obvious.

  Isabel looked at the song and could finally read the words.

  Then Isabel fluttered, adjusting her gloves, taking in a breath and trying to calm herself. One could not sing well when the voice quivered in fear. Sophia stared with concern. Joanna watched with a whisper to her husband and confusion on her face.

  Isabel turned, and reached to the music, switching out the songs. The notes wavered so she could hardly read them. She took one and put it on top, then put the others behind, one at a time.

  Her breathing would not slow.

  She handed the music to Sophia and indicated the first sheet. ‘Play this. Over and over.’ She had to get alone, away from the eyes.

  Then she held her palm up to the audience. ‘One moment.’ She rushed by William and left the room.

  She ran to the red cloth Sophia had put behind the evergreens at the entrance.

  Dashing the cloth around her, like a shawl that covered the hair, Isabel let the covering conceal her, drooping over her face and body. Then she began to sing softly to herself.

  She heard her voice, heard the quaver dissolve and felt the strength returning. Then she walked into the room as the verse began again, singing, sashaying to the front of the room, not looking at anyone. Just her own too-tight slippers.

  She stood front and centre, and didn’t move, the upper half of her face concealed except for her lips, as she sang about the loss of her love.

  *

  William watched. A spirit began singing. The audience could see her mouth clearly and the words fell into the room, adorned with the same velvet of the covering.

  No one moved. William wondered how he breathed. His chest felt too taut to let his heart beat.

  She continued and, near the end of the song, thrust the cloth back, letting it fall to the floor, and the volume increased with the sight of her face.

  She sang for thousands, not just for the few in the room, and the listeners knew they sat near a woman singing for crowds.

  As the notes ended, she didn’t wait to begin the next, but turned to the pianoforte, pulled out the music she wanted, and then thrust herself into the rowdy tune, swaggering to and fro, stopping a moment here and there as she walked to William.

  William’s eyes met hers and he saw the uncertainty. He raised his chin, locking his gaze with hers, silently telling her that she controlled the room.

  Her eyes changed and her voice became stronger.

  She marched to William and he didn’t see Isabel, but an older, wiser version of her self. One who’d lived the words to the song. She reached out gloved hands and while she didn’t grasp him, her fists clasped as if she had and her head tilted back, but her eyes roved over the audience and she followed the words of the song, and when she moved aside, her hand flicked and she didn’t appear to know he existed any more.

  Then she did a song about a country miss who’d lost her beloved and was standing above his grave, only to admit it wasn’t truly his grave because she was forbidden to even visit the last vestiges of the only person who had ever cared for her.

  Handkerchiefs covered half the faces of the women in the room.

  Perhaps, he thought, when one plans an event with an explosive one shouldn’t use too much gunpowder.

  The song stopped. Isabel turned to Sophia and gave a forceful wave of the head. Sophia slid another sheaf of music into place and her eyes were transfixed on the notes.

  A joyous tune erupted, perhaps more suitable to a tavern, but Isabel stood immobile. He could see the governess in her smile. A lady singing a tune not meant to be imbued with polish, but Isabel corrected that, adding a strictness, but making the song a private joke shared with the audience.

  Oh, we are oh, so proper now, but some of us have perhaps known where I have substituted very proper words in exchange for less suitable ones, have we not?

  If one got the jest, one was a part of it.

  Then she sang her last song of the night. For William.

  His face became immobile. His arms were crossed. Eyes unfathomable. But she had seen that look before. When men l
istened to her sing and didn’t want their emotion to show on their face. It didn’t look valiant to be weeping as a woman sang.

  The song ended.

  Silence. Perfect silence. She curtsied.

  Then gloved hands patted with a vengeance and words of praise erupted. Handkerchiefs flourished, dotting eyes.

  ‘My wife,’ William’s voice broke through the other sounds and passed through Isabel’s ears and wedged in her heart stronger than any words of any song.

  She rushed to him, and threw her arms around him.

  ‘Is…’ He grasped her elbows and pulled her back. She met his gaze and, for one brown flickering instance, saw black before the smile took hold. Her knees locked in place.

  He stepped behind enough to pull her gloved hand out for a kiss above.

  ‘They love each other,’ Lady Howell grumbled to the woman at her side. ‘But who can blame them? He’s got funds and she’s spirited. I was sure he’d plucked her out of a brothel, but I found out she’s a country squire’s daughter and been her whole life at some governess school—’ Lady Howell grimaced. ‘Bah. Life doesn’t know what it’s doing half the time, but I’d say you can’t beat funds nor beauty with a stick.’ She paused. ‘Well, you can beat beauty with a stick and if you got coin, it can be a gold stick.’ She chuckled, turning her head to search the room. ‘Any more of that punch left?’

  Isabel turned as her hand slipped from William’s grasp. ‘Yes. Lady Howell,’ she said. ‘I believe I could have a drink as well. What more could I ask for as all my dreams have come true?’

  ‘Thank you for gifting us with a song, Isabel.’ William spoke and then tucked her hand over his arm.

  He retrieved a glass for her and moved them to Joanna, Luke and Sophia.

  ‘Now you know what she was like at the school,’ Joanna said. ‘She read Mrs Radcliffe’s novels and claimed them inspiration for her songs. Madame Dubois despaired of her, but Isabel could sing her way out of reprimands.’ She looked at William. ‘I must warn you, she can make herself cry when she sings if she wishes, so do not be surprised if you anger her and she returns later with tears in her eyes. It could be a trick.’