The Governess's Secret Baby

by Janice Preston

  ‘What...?’

  ‘Help me, my love.’ He placed his cheek against hers and rubbed skin against skin. ‘We need to get you warm.’

  She scrabbled at his arm with weak fingers. ‘Clara!’

  ‘Hush. She is safe. The men are with her.’

  Her entire body was shaking as he tugged again at her dress.

  ‘Wha...no! You...you...’

  Her words were slurred and weak, but still she managed to struggle as he worked the sopping woollen dress up her body and over her head.

  ‘Miss Bertram!’

  She stilled momentarily at his command, then thrashed her head from side to side. ‘No, no. Noooo...’

  Grimly, Nathaniel continued to disrobe her, until she was clad only in her shift. He lifted her to his lap and reached for his greatcoat, wrapping it around her, pulling her wet hair out from the collar. He rubbed her with brisk movements, praying the friction would warm her, talking to her to keep her awake.

  ‘Stay with me, my darling. Don’t leave me. Think of Clara.’

  The welcome thud of hooves eventually sounded and Tam appeared. He slid to the ground.

  ‘Thank God, milord.’

  ‘Miss Clara?’

  ‘Ned’s driving the gig back to the Hall. Is Miss Bertram...?’ He paused and peered more closely. ‘I don’t like her colour, milord. We need to get her home.’

  ‘We do, Tam. I’ll take Miss Bertram on Sammy and you can ride Zephyr to the Hall.’ The stallion would never tolerate a double burden. ‘Tell Mrs Sharp what’s happened and to heat plenty of water ready for us.’

  He wrapped his coat more securely around Grace and handed her up to Tam before regaining his feet and pulling on his boots. It took him two attempts to mount Sammy. His legs were about as much use as lengths of string and agonising pain ripped through the muscles of his right arm and shoulder as he dragged himself into the saddle.

  ‘Where’s Brack?’ Tam asked.

  A hard lump lodged in Nathaniel’s throat. ‘I’ve not seen him since he went into the water after Miss Bertram.’

  Tam hoisted Grace up in front of Nathaniel, then he stripped off his own heavy coat.

  ‘Here, milord. No good you coming down with the ague on top of all else. We’ll come back out and search for the dog once Miss Clara’s safe and I’ve spoken to Mrs Sharp.’

  He swung up on to Zephyr and galloped away. Nathaniel blinked back hot tears, then muttered yet another curse. He was getting soft. But... Brack had been with him a long time. A loyal companion.

  Grace stirred and he wrenched his attention back to the matter in hand. He flung Tam’s coat around his shoulders, blessing the immediate warmth as it blocked the chilly December air from his still-damp skin, and then shifted Grace into a more secure position on his lap.

  She was so very delicate. How would she survive? He pressed his lips to her temple, willing her to keep fighting. Her shivers were ever more violent. He must warm her. He loosened the coat around Grace and pulled her close into his bare chest, skin to skin. They would warm each other. He rearranged the coats around them and nudged Sammy into a walk, leaving the reins lying slack on his neck. He could not risk going faster and cause either of the coats to slip off.

  His arms encircled Grace beneath the tent of the coats and he rubbed her slender limbs in turn. The delicate bones of shoulders and hips, elbows and knees revealed the lack of flesh beneath her skin. She weighed little more than a child.

  ‘Stay with me, my darling. We will soon be home.’

  Home.

  Her presence had changed the Hall into a home for him after nine long years of it being nothing more than a roof over his head. She belonged there, with Clara and with him, and yet he had done everything in the past fortnight to make her feel unwelcome and unwanted, using his anger to hide from reality. He had seen the pain in her eyes and he had ignored it, more concerned with protecting his own heart and peace of mind.

  They settled into a rhythm, with Grace huddled against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head, his thoughts ranging free. He had not failed this time, as he had with his father. He relived his terror when he had seen her tumble into the river. His muscles tightened without volition, nestling her closer into him, willing the heat of his skin to warm her.

  Cold killed. He saw it happen every spring, when an ewe lambed earlier than expected. If the weather was unkind and the lamb couldn’t get dry and warm, it would soon succumb, the cold numbing it, slowing everything down until it sank into death.

  He would not allow that to happen to Grace. That terror he had felt...he knew, with heart-stopping certainty, that it had been more than the horror he would have experienced had it been Tam or Ned who had fallen.

  A low moan reached his ears and again his arms tightened reflexively. He could not lose her now. She felt so frail in his arms, but she had a strong will. She would survive.

  She must survive.

  For Clara’s sake.

  For his.

  ‘Stay with me, my darling Grace. Stay with me.’

  He had thought that by keeping her at bay his growing feelings might wither and die, but he had been wrong. They had continued to twine around his heart until he could no longer ignore the truth.

  He was in love with Grace Bertram.

  Fool that he was.

  He needed to say the words. If the worst should happen, he needed her to know.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered and pressed his lips to the cool skin of her forehead.

  He had fallen in love with her, even though he knew she could never love a damaged soul such as he, and even though she deserved all the things in life he could not provide: friends, fun and laughter, parties and dancing.

  It seemed the heart did not respond to logic.

  He cringed at how he had treated her since his mother’s visit.

  God, please. Let her live, and I promise to change my ways. Even though I can never tell her how important she is to me, I will show her. I will make her happy. Every single day. I swear.

  He rode right up to the back door. Everyone piled out, faces creased with worry, and Mrs Sharp and the other women carried Grace off to get her warm and dry.

  ‘Tam’s gone out to look for Brack,’ Sharp said, as Ned took charge of Sammy.

  ‘I must go, too. I need to find him.’

  His legs buckled as he turned to follow Ned and he stumbled. Sharp was by his side in an instant, tugging Nathaniel’s arm across his shoulders.

  ‘Yer in no fit state to go anywhere, milord. There’s a tub of warm water a-waiting in your chamber—best you get yourself warm and dry and some food inside you before you think about that. There’s nothing you can do that Tam can’t.’

  ‘I’ll go out, too, once I’ve settled Sammy, milord,’ Ned called over his shoulder. ‘Don’t ’ee fret. We’ll find ’im.’

  Sharp helped strip Nathaniel, who could not even summon the energy to shield his scars as he normally would. Sharp took his wet clothing away, leaving Nathaniel to his thoughts. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the rim of his bathtub, feeling the heat of the water seep through his flesh and thaw his chilled bones. He had nearly lost her. Grace. She smiled in his imagination, her clear, soft skin radiant, her expressive gold-green eyes warm and sparkling, her blonde hair as fine and delicate as strands of silk. Then another picture took its place—river-drenched hair straggling across her face in dirty strands, lips blue and pinched, pale eyelids, fragile as a moth’s wing, closed in utter exhaustion.

  He exploded from the bathtub, unheeding of the water that sloshed on to the floor. A towel was draped over a chair near the fire, warming. He grabbed it and scrubbed at himself, then pulled the waiting shirt and trousers on to still-damp skin. He shrugged into his banyan and strode from the room towards the n
ursery wing.

  He tapped at Grace’s bedchamber door. Annie—Tam’s wife—answered.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Sleeping, my lord. She—’

  ‘Stand aside. I want to see her.’

  He must see her. He needed reassurance. He needed to know she was safe. That she would survive.

  ‘But—’

  ‘You will be here the entire time. There can be no impropriety.’

  He pushed the door wide, leaving Annie no choice but to move out of his way. He crossed to the bed and stood staring down at her.

  So small. So fragile. But her cheeks were pink, as were her lips, and her breathing was even and regular. The fear that had seized him loosened its hold and the tight band around his chest eased.

  ‘Has the doctor been sent for?’

  ‘No, my lord. She is bruised and battered, but Mrs Sharp is certain she will recover.’

  He had faith in Mrs Sharp’s experience in treating injuries and illnesses.

  ‘She said Miss Bertram’s chest sounds clear,’ Annie continued, ‘so she doesn’t think she breathed in any water.’

  ‘That is good. Has she regained consciousness at all?’

  Nathaniel laid the backs of his fingers against the silken skin of her cheek. It was warm. As it should be.

  Reassurance.

  There was a graze on her forehead that had begun to swell, but otherwise she appeared unscathed.

  ‘She came round when we bathed her, as she warmed up,’ Annie said. ‘But she didn’t make much sense. She was gabbling about Miss Clara. And Brack.’

  At her words, a crease appeared between Grace’s eyebrows and her lips pursed. ‘Brack.’ Her voice sounded hoarse. ‘Where’s Brack?’

  Annie came to stand beside Nathaniel. ‘We told her Miss Clara was safe. Alice brought her before Miss Bertram went to sleep,’ she whispered. ‘But we didn’t know about Brack.’

  Grace’s lids slitted open and she fixed her gaze on Nathaniel. She ran her tongue along her lips.

  ‘Is he safe?’ She pushed her bedcovers down and held her hand out to Nathaniel.

  Annie tutted and pulled the sheet and blankets up, tucking them around Grace, but she resisted the woman’s efforts to fold her arm back under the covers.

  ‘Nath...my lord.’ She spoke with urgency. ‘He saved me. Brack.’ Her lids drifted shut, then she sucked in a deep breath. He could see the effort it took to force her eyes open again. ‘Tell me. Is he all right?’

  He could not lie, not when those green eyes were fixed on him so beseechingly. He took her hand in both of his, resisting the urge to press his lips to her skin. Never, by word or deed, would he embarrass her by revealing the extent of his feelings for her.

  ‘I do not know. Ned and Tam are out looking for him now.’

  Her fingers clutched at his. ‘He saved me. He pushed me towards the bank and I grabbed a branch, but he...he was swept away.’

  She gulped, her eyes sheened with tears and her anguish wrenched at his heart. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from anything and everything bad in this life. He stroked her hand, cursing the inadequacy of his efforts to comfort her. Unbidden, an image of Ralph Rendell arose in his mind’s eye and a silent growl vibrated in his chest.

  ‘I saw him...I could not...’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘Hush.’ Nathaniel smoothed her forehead. ‘We will find him.’

  Somehow. Alive or dead, we will find him.

  ‘You must sleep now. Please, do not worry.’

  ‘You will tell me the truth?’

  ‘I will.’

  That image of Rendell would not go. Nathaniel knew he should only care about what was best for Grace, but still he hesitated. He did not want the man here. But...the curate had the right to know what had happened. He must set aside his feelings for Grace’s sake.

  ‘Shall I send for Mr Rendell?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Am I dying?’

  ‘No!’ He gripped her hand. ‘Of course you are not dying.’

  ‘Then why...?’

  ‘He is your...friend. I thought you might want to see him.’

  Her lids lowered. ‘No. There is no need.’

  His spirits rose. Was she not as smitten as he thought?

  Grace stifled a yawn. ‘I am so very weary.’

  ‘Sleep then. I shall see you later.’

  After I have found Brack.

  He headed for the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nathaniel rode out on his bay hunter, Caesar, dread clogging his throat and that tight band once again clamped around his chest. He was afraid of what he might find but, at the same time, he could not rest until he knew what had happened to Brack.

  The sun was low in the sky, the shadows lengthening and he reckoned he had an hour before it would become too dark to search. He aimed straight for the place where he had found Grace, and began to follow the course of the beck, scouring the bank and the undergrowth for any sign of his faithful dog. The failing light did not help his search. Brack’s black-and-tan colouring would be easily camouflaged by the dark earth and fallen leaves under any bushes, unless he was out somewhere in the open. That was not likely. He would hole up somewhere, as long as he had an ounce of strength when he got out of the water. Nathaniel refused to accept the dog might not have succeeded in getting out.

  After five minutes of riding Nathaniel muttered an oath, reined Caesar to a halt and slid from the saddle. He’d not been thinking straight. From a nearby hazel he cut a long, straight stick and, pulling the reins over the horse’s head to lead him, he began to walk. His entire body ached, but he ignored the pain. There would be plenty of time to recuperate after he found Brack. He trudged on downriver, poking the stick into and under every bush, whistling and calling from time to time, ears straining for any reply.

  He had searched maybe a quarter of a mile of bank when two figures on horseback materialised out of the gloom.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing, milord.’ Ned touched his finger to his cap. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We’ve ridden up and down this stretch twice, as far as the bridge, and we’ve seen no sign, milord.’ Tam said. ‘But we did meet Gil Brown from the Braithwaite estate and he promised to alert their men to keep an eye out. I doubt there’s more we can do tonight.’ He cast a meaningful look at the sky, darkening by the minute. ‘It’s going to be a cold one, by the looks of it.’

  It felt hopeless, yet Nathaniel couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not while there was still light to see by.

  ‘You two get off home,’ he said. ‘I’ll just walk on a bit further.’

  The two men exchanged a look.

  ‘We’ll stay and help.’ Tam started to dismount.

  ‘No!’

  Tam slowly swung his leg back over the saddle.

  ‘Sorry. I did not mean to snap.’ The men’s stares burned into Nathaniel, shaming him. ‘Thank you both for your efforts.’

  He knew the men were concerned about him, but he needed to be alone. Hope had faded. If the worst had happened...he wanted to face that alone.

  ‘You have ridden this stretch. I’ll walk it, until it gets too dark. It will not take more than one of us to do that.’

  Their hoofbeats faded into the distance and Nathaniel resumed his lonely search, praying silently even as he called Brack’s name. He needed to know. He could not bear to imagine his faithful Brack injured and in pain. He would rather he was already dead than lying somewhere alone, hurt and slowly dying.

  Finally, the night had drawn close all about him. He knew he must abandon the search. Heart a lead weight in his chest, throat aching with unshed tears, he flung the stick away into the darkness, threw the reins over Caesar’s head and put his left foot in the stirrup. He had be
nt his right leg ready to propel himself into the saddle when Caesar threw up his head, his ears pricked as he stared at something off to their right, away from the river.

  Probably a fox. Or a rabbit. He had nothing to lose, though, so he took his foot from the stirrup and walked towards whatever had caught the horse’s attention. Caesar followed without hesitation. Nothing too strange then, or he would plant his hooves in the ground and refuse to move. Nathaniel swallowed, nerves playing havoc with his insides. What if...?

  Feeling foolish for that sudden upwelling of hope, he called, ‘Brack? Are you there, boy?’

  He strained his ears. Nothing. He glanced round at Caesar, still on high alert, staring...staring...not wild-eyed, but focussed and intent. Nathaniel walked in the direction of Caesar’s gaze. Ten yards. Fifteen. Caesar halted, snorting quietly, soft nostrils vibrating. Nathaniel stroked his nose, looking around, trying in vain to see...something.

  He whistled.

  The barest scuffle sounded from the undergrowth in front of them. He dare not drop the reins, for fear Caesar might finally take fright. He pulled the reins over the horse’s head again and moved towards the sound. When his arm and the reins were at full stretch, he stopped, trying desperately to penetrate the darkness, wishing he had not discarded his stick.

  Then he heard it. A low whimper. Heart in mouth, he cast around for somewhere to tie Caesar. If it was Brack he would need the horse—well accustomed to carrying deer carcasses—to get him home. He tied Caesar to a sapling and then ran back to where he had heard that sound.

  ‘Brack?’

  A rustle. He honed in on it and moved forward with care. A bush loomed in front of him. Dropping to his knees, he felt beneath. His fingers met with damp, matted fur and another whimper.

  ‘Thank you, God.’

  With both hands, he felt along Brack’s body, eliciting several whines. Hopefully they were bruises and not broken bones. He was horribly aware that Brack—stretched full-length on his side—had not even raised his head. He could not leave the dog here all night; he had no choice but to move him. He eased Brack from under the bush, closing his ears to his whines and one weak yelp. Dogs, unlike horses, were always vocal at the slightest hurt; he must trust that was the case this time. Nathaniel stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Brack, who was now panting in distress. Nathaniel’s nerve almost failed him. What if he caused lasting damage?