The Governess's Secret Baby

by Janice Preston

  ‘Clara likes Mrs Sharp. You need not think she will be unhappy staying in the kitchen with her. Besides, it will do Clara good to be watched by someone other than you, in case—’

  ‘In case what? In case I leave her?’

  Nathaniel put down his knife and fork to give himself time to think. Why had she almost bitten his head off? Her head was bent, a muscle twitching in her cheek as she pushed her food around her plate with her fork.

  She flicked a glance at him. ‘I apologise. I did not mean to interrupt.’

  ‘If you had allowed me to finish my sentence, I was about to say in case you are ever ill or indisposed,’ he said. ‘Mrs Sharp may be a little...sharp, for want of a better word, but she is fond of Clara.’

  ‘I am aware of that. It was not for that reason I spoke as I did. I should not have done so, but...’

  She had begun speaking with such resolve, but now she hesitated, her eyes searching his, the golden flecks in her irises reflecting the light of the candles. Nathaniel’s nerves jangled a warning that he might not care for what she was about to say. He waited for her to continue.

  ‘When I first came here, you said Clara had faced enough disruption in her life.’

  ‘You cannot believe that staying with Mrs Sharp constitutes disruption.’

  ‘No, of course I do not. But...your inference was that Clara should not have to cope with losing anyone else from her life.’ Her head tilted and she raised her brows. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me?’ His voice deepened into a growl. ‘What the dev...deuce do you mean by that?’

  Her indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence. ‘Her parents died. She has been here only a few weeks, getting used to you, and then I arrive. Other than this afternoon, she has not set her eyes on her Uncle Nathaniel since last Tuesday.’

  He liked the way she said his name. Nathaniel. He thrust that wayward thought aside and concentrated on her meaning. And, with a sense of shame, he realised she was right. That afternoon he had accepted he must change, but he still had not recognised the effect of his behaviour on Clara.

  He recalled Miss Bertram’s gentle rebuke: ‘Clara is happy to see you, my lord.’

  In his efforts to shield himself he had failed to protect Clara from the very thing she must fear—losing someone else she loved. No wonder she had been so delighted to see him earlier and no wonder she had clung to him later, when he had said goodnight to her as she was about to go upstairs to get ready for her bedtime.

  Miss Bertram continued to eat her meal, but her attention did not waver, stirring...what? Not discomfort. Not any more. Already he was becoming accustomed to her presence. And he wasn’t annoyed by her presumption. Rather, he was intrigued by her pluck and determination. He could not condemn her concern for Clara’s happiness.

  ‘I stand chastised,’ he said. ‘And I thank you for pointing out my dereliction of duty.’

  Her eyes blazed, shooting golden sparks. ‘Duty?’

  He stiffened. ‘You forget yourself, Miss Bertram.’

  She took no notice. ‘A child does not require duty from those upon whom she is entirely dependent. She requires...needs...love. And...and time. And—’

  Nathaniel held up his hands, palms facing her, fingers spread. ‘Enough! I concede. It was poor phrasing on my part and you are right. I shall ensure I spend more time with Clara in future. In the meantime, I hope you can accept she will not suffer if Mrs Sharp cares for her on Monday. Bill is docile, but I do not think harnessing a horse to a carriage should be undertaken with a young child underfoot. She will be much better off in the warm kitchen.’

  Miss Bertram bowed her head. ‘Agreed.’

  They finished eating in their now customary silence but, as Sharp brought in the brandy at the end of their meal and Miss Bertram stood to withdraw, an unexpected yearning for company beset Nathaniel.

  ‘I shall take my brandy in the drawing room tonight, Sharp. And please tell Mrs Sharp to send in an additional cup with the tea tray.’

  ‘Very well, milord.’

  ‘Do you play chess, Miss Bertram? I have a fancy for a game.’

  ‘I do not, my lord.’

  ‘Would you care to learn?’ He easily interpreted the doubt in those gold-green eyes of hers. ‘There is no compulsion. I shall not dismiss you from your post if you refuse. We could as easily play a hand or two of cards.’

  ‘I should like to learn the game. I have been told in the past that chess is a game the female mind cannot comprehend.’ Her lips firmed, then she smiled, raising her chin. ‘I viewed that as a challenge, but had no opportunity to discover whether he spoke the truth.’

  ‘He?’

  Grace did not immediately respond. They walked side by side to the drawing room and a sideways glance revealed a frown line between her brows and a wash of pink across her cheeks.

  ‘He was an old friend.’ There was the slightest tremble in her voice. ‘He went away to be a soldier.’

  A suitor, perhaps?

  She had told him the barest of bones of her life before she had come to Shiverstone Hall. Would she ever reveal the flesh of her past? He would not ask. Why would he need to know about her life before? She was a governess. That was all he needed to know. That, and how well she cared for his niece.

  They entered the drawing room.

  Ah. He halted.

  ‘The chess table,’ he said. ‘I forgot. It was stored away.’

  There had been no need to keep it out: gathering dust, creating work for Mrs Sharp, reviving painful memories for him. David had been his only opponent since he had moved here after the fire. And now...with David gone...

  He tamped down the stab of pain and regret, turned on his heel and strode towards the dining room, grabbing a candlestick from a table as he passed. A patter of feet followed him.

  ‘I can manage,’ he said.

  ‘It will be easier with two of us,’ she said, sounding a touch breathless.

  Nathaniel shortened his strides and a gurgled laugh reached his ears. He glanced down at Miss Bertram, now by his side.

  Her eyes twinkled. ‘It is hard work to keep stride with you, my lord. You have very long legs compared to mine.’

  Nathaniel grunted at that naïve remark, his imagination delving under her ugly brown dress to the slim legs he suspected were hidden beneath. It took no effort to recall that glimpse of shapely ankle on her first day here. He tried to empty his mind of such thoughts the second they surfaced, but it was too late—his pulse had already accelerated. And the picture his wayward mind painted was not easily dismissed.

  He directed his thoughts to the whereabouts of the table in a room filled with numerous unrecognisable items draped in holland covers.

  ‘There.’

  He pointed to a shrouded shape near the window. He tugged at the sheet covering it, revealing the chess table, a gift from Hannah and David. He smoothed his hand across the cool surface of the chessboard, created from sixty-four squares of attractively veined Italian marble set into a fine rosewood surround. Memories of a very different kind flooded his brain, dousing that inappropriate surge of lust.

  ‘It is beautiful.’

  He started as she copied his action, stroking the table with reverence. The sight of her elegant hand, with its slender fingers and perfect oval nails, next to his ugly skin churned his stomach and he snatched his hand away.

  He sensed her quick glance, but kept his eyes averted.

  ‘How can you bear to hide such craftsmanship away?’

  He bent to lift the table. ‘It is not heavy. I do not need your help.’

  ‘Where are the chess men?’

  ‘Inside the table. The top is hinged.’

  He carried it to the door, then hesitated, looking back. Miss Bertram stood stock still, gazing around the room, a sp
eculative look on her face.

  ‘Do not forget the candle,’ he said.

  She snatched up the candlestick and hurried after him.

  He set the table near the window and dragged the two wooden chairs close so they could play. As he did so, Miss Bertram lifted the top of the table and peered inside.

  ‘Draughts! We used to play draughts sometimes at the school, my friends and I.’ At first delighted, her tone became wistful. ‘Isabel taught us.’

  ‘Isabel?’

  ‘One of my best friends at school. There were four of us.’ Her head snapped up, her eyes sparkling. ‘May we play draughts? I do know how to play that game.’

  ‘Are you backing away from that challenge you spoke of, Miss Bertram?’

  She blushed. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Good. I shall teach you the basics tonight: what the pieces are called, how they may be moved and the aim of the game, which is to trap your opponent’s king in such a way he has no safe square to move to.’

  ‘And then you can kill him?’

  She said it with such relish, he was startled into laughing.

  ‘I trust you refer to the king and not your actual opponent?’

  ‘For the moment.’ She peeped saucily at him through her lashes, triggering a tug of response deep inside him.

  How long was it since he had enjoyed a joke? He concentrated on keeping their conversation to the rules of chess.

  ‘No, the king can never be removed from the board. It is sufficient to have surrounded him. Your opponent then surrenders his king and you have won the game. It is called checkmate.’

  Her fine brows gathered into a frown. ‘That seems very odd to me. I should rather kill the king. Then there would be no room for doubt.’

  Nathaniel listed the different pieces on the board, explaining how each man could be moved and how important it was to plan several moves ahead and guard against losing the most valuable men.

  ‘So...this one...’ she reached out and picked up the black knight ‘...can move like so?’ She put the piece on the wrong square.

  ‘No, no. The knight’s movement is the trickiest of all the moves to remember. He can move in an “L” shape. So—’ he used his left hand to demonstrate ‘—from this square, this knight can move to here...and here...and...’

  ‘And here!’

  Her hand darted out and, before he could withdraw his own, she grasped his hand and tugged, sliding hand and knight together across the board to the fourth possible position. Her skin was warm against his, her fingertips soft. Fierce concentration creased her brow as she studied the board.

  She pulled his hand again. ‘And here!’ She looked up, beaming. Then her mouth opened. ‘Oh!’ She snatched her hand from his. ‘I am sorry. I...’ Her cheeks bloomed beetroot red.

  ‘You were carried away with enthusiasm?’

  ‘Yes!’ Her lips stretched in a tentative smile. ‘Do you think I am ready?’

  Nathaniel swallowed hard. She was so young. Naïve. ‘Let us leave all that information to sink in,’ he said. ‘If you have time tomorrow, you might come in here and try to remember what each man is called and how he moves and then, in the evening, we will play.’

  Her face clouded.

  ‘And now...I shall challenge you to a game of draughts,’ he said.

  Her expression cleared. ‘Oh, yes. That will be fun.’

  Fun. An alien word to use in connection with himself and his life. He cleared the chessmen away and set out the draughtsmen whilst Miss Bertram poured the tea, brought in several minutes since by Mrs Sharp.

  ‘You talked of your school friends earlier.’ Nathaniel moved his counter in his opening gambit. ‘Are they also governesses?’

  What happened to your ‘I don’t want to know’? Or does that only apply to former beaux? Nathaniel dismissed that sneering voice as Miss Bertram played her opening move and he replied. He owed it to Clara to know more of the woman who would be raising her.

  Didn’t he?

  ‘Yes. I am longing to hear how they go on.’

  Miss Bertram studied the board, the tip of her tongue playing with her top lip, stirring long-suppressed needs deep inside Nathaniel. He forced his gaze to the board, but time and again it drifted back to the woman sitting opposite him.

  ‘I asked Miss Fanworth to pass on my address to them so I hope they will soon write to me.’ She moved another man, before adding, ‘Although Rachel’s letter might take a long time to reach England.’

  ‘She has gone overseas?’

  ‘Yes. She went to be the governess to the children of a sheikh, in the Kingdom of Huria. It is in the desert.’

  ‘That does sound exotic. Did you not hanker after a similar adventure?’

  She hesitated. ‘No,’ she said, finally. ‘I think the North Country is enough of an adventure for me. Rachel’s parents travelled much of the time, leaving her behind, and I think that is where her dream of travelling to faraway places began. She loves teaching children, so I am sure she will be happy.’

  Silence fell whilst Miss Bertram again studied the board. She reached out and moved a man, jumping one of Nathaniel’s, and grinned triumphantly as she made great play of removing it.

  The devil. He would have to pay more attention to the game and less to his beautiful opponent.

  ‘Isabel,’ Miss Bertram said, as Nathaniel contemplated his next move, ‘was the only one of us who spent much time with her parents as a child. Her papa taught her to play draughts and she taught us. She has gone to a family in Sussex, and Joanna, my other friend, has gone to a place in Hertfordshire. She is...she has no family and was brought up by Madame at the school.’

  ‘You must miss your friends.’

  ‘I do.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you not miss yours?’

  ‘No.’ Nathaniel kept his gaze on the game during the ensuing silence. Finally, he looked up. ‘I no longer yearn after that frivolous way of life and my former friends crave nothing else.’

  Irritated as much by his compulsion to explain as by her question, he studied the board again. There. A move he had overlooked. He moved one of his men, putting two of Miss Bertram’s under threat. She peered more closely at the board.

  ‘Hmmph. I cannot save both but, equally, you cannot take both. So I shall do this.’ With another triumphant smile she moved a third man, reaching Nathaniel’s side of the board and earning a ‘crown’ to turn her man into a king. ‘Now I can move it forward and backwards.’

  Nathaniel secured one of her men and they played on, the conversation on the safer territory of the game. When they finished, Nathaniel found himself the target of a pair of accusing green eyes.

  ‘You allowed me to win.’

  He had not. He had been too distracted to give the game his full attention.

  ‘I thought it only fair to give you a taste of what you will be missing once we embark upon our chess challenge,’ he said, looking down his nose at her. ‘I want you to recall the taste of victory even as the memory of it fades on your tongue.’

  Miss Bertram laughed, revealing pearly white teeth. Nathaniel responded, but the stiff pull of the skin at the side of his face soon jerked him back to reality. What the hell was he doing?

  ‘Come. The hour grows late.’ He pushed to his feet and scooped the draughtsmen from the board. ‘Open the top, if you please, Miss Bertram.’

  She did as he requested and he returned the pieces to their place inside the table.

  ‘Will you...will you be joining us at church tomorrow?’

  Nathaniel reined in the temptation to snap a reply. She meant nothing by it. She was young and new to his household. She would come to accept his decisions and Shiverstone Hall would settle into a new routine.

  ‘No.’ He had no need to explain. He crossed the room to the d
oor and opened it. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bertram.’

  He held the door wide as she passed through with a murmured, ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

  Chapter Nine

  On Monday morning Clara sat happily at the kitchen table, helping Mrs Sharp knead dough.

  She barely looked up when Grace said, ‘Goodbye, sweetie. Be a good girl for Mrs Sharp.’

  Despite the wrench of leaving Clara, even for so short a time, anticipation for the morning ahead fizzed through Grace’s blood. She hurried from the kitchen and promptly collided with a wall of solid muscle. She teetered backwards and two hard hands gripped her arms as the scent of shaving soap and musk weaved through her senses. Her heart leapt and her pulse skittered.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Steady.’ A finger beneath her chin tilted her head up and two deep brown eyes studied her, provoking a flush of heat through her body and into her cheeks. ‘I had not thought you quite so eager to commence with your driving lesson, Miss Bertram.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lord.’

  Her voice sounded shaky. She cleared her throat and stepped back, tugging her upper arm free of his other hand. His hand fell away and her pounding pulse steadied.

  ‘I did not want to keep you waiting.’

  He held her gaze for a long moment, then smiled. ‘Well, you have not, so you may relax.’

  They left the house and, as they walked to the stables, a howl rent the air. Grace stopped, scarcely daring to breathe. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Brack.’ Ravenwell kept moving. ‘He objects to being shut up with the other dogs. I thought you might concentrate better with only Bill to worry about.’

  Grace hurried to catch him up. ‘It is not my fault I am unused to animals. I shall become accustomed to them, I promise you.’

  It was the Marquess who stopped this time. ‘I am sure you will. And to the human inhabitants also, I trust.’

  ‘Everyone has been welcoming. Except—’

  ‘Except Mrs Sharp. Yes, I am aware and I have spoken to her. It is not that she dislikes you but, as you must accustom yourself to the animals, so she must become accustomed to new people.’