The Governess's Secret Baby

by Janice Preston

  I must. He can’t survive out here. And I can’t see to examine him properly.

  ‘Sorry, old lad,’ he muttered, ‘but I’ve got no choice.’

  He lifted Brack as gently as he could, then carried him to Caesar. Mounting was awkward—he had to search for a fallen tree first, to make it possible—but they were soon on their way home, Brack’s inert form lying across Nathaniel’s lap.

  He’d found Brack but would his faithful friend survive?

  * * *

  When Grace roused, the house was quiet and her room dark, just a residual glow from the banked fire to penetrate the gloom. She shivered, closed her eyes again and wriggled around, snuggling deeper under the covers, vaguely conscious of aches and pains in various parts of her body. Eyes still shut, she lay cocooned in the warmth, her mind scrambling its way from the depths of sleep, remembering her sense of achievement in harnessing Bill to the gig, and—she sat bolt upright, the covers falling unheeded to her waist.

  Oh, dear God! Clara! She is safe... I’m certain she is safe. I saw her...they brought her in to see me.

  Didn’t they?

  She threw back the covers and—ouch. What had started as a leap from her bed turned into a crawl. She had never felt so battered and bruised. She gritted her teeth against the pain and felt around for her slippers. She slipped them on and then found her chamber candle on her nightstand and took it to the fire to light it with a spill. Her shawl was draped at the end of the bed. She snatched it up, flung it around her shoulders—it was so large it almost reached the floor—and went to the door that connected her bedchamber to Clara’s. She raised the candle to light the room and her terror subsided at the tiny form sleeping peacefully. Her pulse steadied. A movement caught her eye and she realised someone else slept in there, on a truckle bed. It was Alice, presumably to attend to Clara if she woke, so Grace wouldn’t be disturbed.

  Grace stood watching her daughter, digging into her memory for what she could recall of the day before. She remembered Mrs Sharp giving her a dose of laudanum to help her to sleep. She relived the moment she had tipped backwards into the icy water and the unexpected strength of the flowing water that swamped her clothes and tumbled her along until she was beyond the ford and in the deeper water. She shivered, nausea squeezing her throat as she remembered swallowing mouthful after mouthful of filthy water, desperately gasping for air every time her face broke the surface, and Brack...

  She backed out of Clara’s room. Had they found him? She frowned, the action prompting a pain in her temple. She touched her forehead, feeling the swell of a lump and the rough soreness of abraded skin. She should return to bed and yet, even as that thought crossed her mind, her stomach rumbled. She would give anything for a warm drink and something to eat. She would go down to the kitchen—the range would have been banked for the night, but there would be enough heat to warm some chocolate and, besides, she could not sleep without discovering Brack’s fate. If they had found him, he would be in the kitchen, where he slept every night.

  Grace left her bedchamber and descended the stairs, wincing as she put her weight on her left leg. As she crossed the hall to the door that led to the servants’ domain at the rear of house, the longcase clock struck two, making her jump, thereby setting the shadows cast by her candle to dance across the panelled walls. She shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her.

  She followed the passageway to the kitchen and lifted the latch, pushing the door open to reveal the soft glow of a single candle on the dresser. Stepping lightly, Grace rounded the table. There, stretched out on a folded blanket before the range, was Brack. His ear flicked and he thumped his tail gently against the floor, but did not lift his head, his neck being pinned down by a loudly purring Sweep, who was draped over it.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

  The soft query came from the gloom at the far end of the kitchen. A tall form unfolded from Sharp’s favourite overstuffed armchair, leaving a huddle of blanket behind. Nathaniel stepped into the light. The sight of him...the memory of what he had done for her... Grace shook her head, mutely, swallowing down the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘What is it, G... Miss Bertram? Are you unwell?’

  He was by her side in an instant. Large, safe, comforting. Heat radiated from him and his scent—citrus soap with an undernote of warm male—invaded her senses. He slipped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

  ‘You should not be down here. Come. Sit down.’

  He urged her towards the chair. She resisted.

  ‘No. I am well, I promise you, apart from a few bruises. It was only that I...’ She turned within the circle of his arm and tilted her head, capturing his gaze. ‘Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.’

  His eyes darkened as they searched hers. His lips parted as his head lowered, but then his shoulders jerked and he raised his head, breaking eye contact. She searched his expression. His lips were now a tight line. A frown creased his brow and a muscle bunched in his jaw.

  ‘You have no need to thank me.’ His voice was gruff as he removed his arm from her waist and shifted a fraction, putting space between them. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’

  She knelt by Brack, stroking him to cover the slap of humiliation.

  ‘And you, handsome, steadfast Brack.’ She leant over to press her lips to his domed head. Her eyes blurred with tears. ‘Without you, I would certainly not be h-here.’

  She gulped back a sob. Giving way to her emotions would achieve nothing other than to embarrass both her and Nathaniel. She would not have looked up at him so...so invitingly...but...had she imagined those tortured pleas? Those endearments? She brushed those unanswered questions aside. Whether she remembered truly or not could make no difference. She had acted without thought and Nathaniel’s rejection was plain. And painful.

  She would focus on the reality. She had survived. Her terror would fade and she would continue with her life. Much as she had after she had given up Clara. Grace had learned the value of resilience then and she would use that lesson now. She would survive Nathaniel’s rejection.

  Grace smoothed Brack’s head, giving her time to compose herself. Sweep had by now roused, seeking some of her attention, and Grace tickled him under the chin.

  ‘Is he injured? Will he recover?’ she asked.

  ‘We think that, like you, he is battered and bruised and shocked, but nothing broken. He should be back to his old self within a few days.’

  Sweep set himself to wash Brack’s ear and then moved on to his eye. Brack seemed not to object. Grace patted him.

  ‘Where did they find him?’

  ‘About half a mile down river from where you were.’

  ‘I am so relieved.’

  Grace regained her feet, stumbling slightly. Nathaniel cupped her elbow—no supporting arm around her waist this time.

  ‘I came down to find out if Brack was safe,’ she said, keeping her gaze on the dog and the kitten, ‘but I am a little hungry. Do you mind if I—?’

  ‘Sit down and I will find something for you.’ Nathaniel ushered her, again, towards the chair in the corner.

  Weariness settling in her bones, Grace sank into the chair, folding her legs and tucking her feet under her as she snuggled into the still-warm, still-smelling-of-Nathaniel blanket. Nathaniel watched her until she was settled, an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. She heard the vague noises of food preparation and soon found a plate with a slice of Mrs Sharp’s fruit cake thrust into her hands.

  ‘Thank you.’ She nibbled at the cake, the plate balanced on her legs, until Nathaniel returned with a cup of chocolate. She drank it gratefully, her lids growing heavy with the effort of trying to stay awake. Vaguely she felt the bowl and plate being removed and then she remembered no more.

  * * *

 
‘Ooh, miss! Such goings-on yesterday.’

  Alice was wide-eyed as she lit the fire in Grace’s bedchamber. Grace winced at the protest of her sore muscles as she rolled over.

  ‘How is Miss Clara? Is she awake yet?’

  ‘Not yet. She was awake in the night for a while, so she is making up for it now.’

  Which meant Alice, too, had been awake but she was as cheerful as ever this morning, despite her disturbed sleep, as she cleaned her hands with a damp cloth and dried them on her apron. Grace felt like nothing more than snuggling back down and sleeping the day away, but it was time she got up. Clara would wake soon, wanting something to eat... Grace sat up abruptly, her hand to her mouth.

  ‘What is it, miss? Have you got a pain?’

  ‘No. No, I am all right. I had a recollection of something...’ Or was it a dream? ‘Alice. Did the men find Brack yesterday?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  Oh, no. Poor—

  ‘But his lordship did.’

  ‘His lordship?’

  He had brought her home and then gone out again for his dog? Her heart swelled with admiration for his loyalty and courage.

  ‘Yes, miss. Half-dead he was. The dog, I mean, not his lordship, although he didn’t look much better.’ Alice bustled over to the bed and handed Grace her shawl. ‘I’ve never seen him so...so...anguished. Nothing would do for him but to sit up all night in the kitchen in case Brack took a turn for the worse.’

  So it wasn’t a dream. She had gone down to the kitchen and talked to Nathaniel. And invited him—albeit wordlessly—to kiss her. An invitation he had refused. Nausea churned her stomach. But how had she got back to her bedchamber? She had no memory of anything after drinking that chocolate...

  Alice walked to the door and opened it, then paused to look back at Grace. ‘That’s the trouble with animals, isn’t it, miss? They can’t tell you what hurts. Not like people.’

  Not like people... Grace flopped back against her pillows. But people can choose not to tell you what is wrong. And not all pain is physical.

  Nathaniel...

  Alice was still speaking.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Alice. I’m afraid I missed what you said.’

  ‘I said, Mrs Sharp said you must stay in bed and she will bring you some breakfast directly.’

  ‘But...’ Grace levered herself up to a sitting position.

  ‘Now, miss, you’d best do what Mrs Sharp says, or...’ Alice rolled her eyes, then laughed. ‘I’ll look after Miss Clara. Mrs Sharp said to take her to the kitchen for her breakfast today.’

  ‘Bring her in to see me first, Alice. Please? I need to see she is all right.’

  ‘Oh, bless you. Miss Clara’s bright as a button. It’s you that needs looking after.’ And with that Alice bustled from the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Grace relaxed back into the pillows again, picking over the events of the day before, her thoughts circling and circling...avoiding...too afraid to confront the truth...too terrified to admit, even to herself, the awful thing that could have happened yesterday as a consequence of her actions when Bill had jibbed at the water’s edge.

  What if...?

  The sound of the door opening dragged her from her thoughts. She plastered a smile on her face. But it was not Clara, or Alice, who appeared.

  It was Nathaniel.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Good morning, Miss Bertram.’ His dark brown eyes were filled with concern. ‘Alice said you were awake. How are you feeling this morning?’

  ‘Sore.’ Her burgeoning guilt forced her to admit, ‘And ashamed.’

  He came closer. ‘Why ashamed?’

  She sat up, hugging the covers to her chest. ‘For the trouble I have caused. For the danger I p-put you in.’ Her eyes swam as she finally confronted her worst fear. ‘When I think...if you had not been there...what might have happened t-to...Clara...’

  Her daughter’s name strangled in her throat as she choked back a sob. This was the first time she dared to put that dread into thought, let alone words. Until this instant, it had remained a black spectre hovering around the edge of her consciousness. She had put her precious daughter in danger through her own stupidity. Tears burned her eyes and stung her nose.

  Nathaniel perched one hip on the bed, facing her. ‘You are not to worry about something that did not happen. It was an accident.’

  ‘But she might have...she could have...’ The tears spilled from her eyes, and she covered her face with trembling hands. ‘I was so proud of myself,’ she muttered through her fingers. ‘Stupid! Stupid! I had proved I could harness Bill without any help and I did not want to turn back. My own pride almost cost my life. And yours. And Brack’s. And Clara’s...’

  She ended on a wail. Strong arms came around her and she was hugged close to his solid chest, the steady thump of his heart in her ear as she cried out her guilt and her distress.

  ‘Do not blame yourself. The fault was ours.’ The rumble of his words vibrated through her, soothing her. How she wished she could stay cocooned in his arms always. ‘We should have warned you the current is treacherous after heavy rain, even though the ford appears shallow enough to cross safely. We all know you are not used to country ways.’ His hands cupped her shoulders and he moved her away, ducking his head to peer into her eyes. ‘If it will make you feel better, Mrs Sharp is, even now, in her kitchen worrying herself sick that she had said nothing.’

  ‘Mrs Sh-Sharp? B-but she does not even l-like me.’

  A handkerchief was pushed into her hands.

  ‘She is becoming accustomed to you.’ There was a wry note in his voice. ‘I thought you knew that.’

  ‘I had begun to hope it was true.’

  Grace dried her eyes and blew her nose, then tucked the handkerchief under her pillow.

  ‘I might have need of it again,’ she said in response to Nathaniel’s raised brow.

  ‘I can see I shall have to replenish my store of handkerchiefs. I recall you promised me at your interview that you would not succumb to your emotions again.’

  Grace’s heart lurched. ‘You cannot...do you mean to send me away?’

  ‘For crying? Or for depleting my stock of handkerchiefs? It was but a jest, Miss Bertram, albeit a poor one.’

  I no longer even recognise a joke at my expense. I am useless.

  The vague recollections that had plagued her since waking suddenly came into sharp focus. She could not contain the gasp that escaped her as she remembered Nathaniel carrying her from the river. Disrobing her...

  ‘My dress.’

  The words blurted out before she could stop them. Better she had waited to ask Alice, but it was too late and Nathaniel waited for her to expand that comment with raised brows.

  ‘I...that is... I wondered...I remembered...’ The sick feeling in her somach invaded her throat as she felt her face burn.

  All the planes of his face seemed to harden. ‘You remember correctly, Miss Bertram. Please understand that you were dangerously cold when I pulled you from the beck. You needed to be warmed and that was impossible with your clothing sodden with icy water.’

  ‘Oh.’ She plucked at the fringe of her shawl. ‘I see. I do understand. Is... Did you... Are my clothes here? At the Hall?’

  ‘Ah. No, they remain where I discarded them. On the riverbank.’

  ‘But I will need—’

  ‘You will not wear those garments again. Not whilst you are in my employ. I do not wish to be reminded of—’

  He fell abruptly silent, a scowl upon his face, and Grace’s heart sank. Of course he did not wish to be reminded of her stupidity and how it had almost killed him and Brack, not to mention the risk to Clara. But she needed her dress and her cloak.

  ‘But I only have—’

>   ‘Enough.’ He raised his hand, palm facing her. ‘I will replace your clothing. There are lengths of fabric stored somewhere—you may choose whichever takes your fancy and make...or, no. Speak to Mrs Sharp. I believe there is a seamstress in the village who will make up some dresses for you. You will hardly have the time, with Clara to care for. And, for God’s sake, do not choose brown or grey or any of those other dull colours you are wont to wear.’

  Grace stared, flummoxed. ‘But, my lord, I am a governess. I should wear clothing suitable to my—’

  His gaze snapped to hers. ‘And I, Miss Bertram, am your employer. If I choose to order my employee not to wear dresses that transform her into a drab, then I expect to be obeyed. Without question. Is that clear?’

  The warmth in his voice belied his harsh words. Her heart lifted; he was not so very angry with her after all.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  She smiled tentatively. Truthfully, it would be no hardship to accept his offer. Dark colours always drained her complexion. She should not really care about her appearance, but she was woman enough to want to look her best, especially in front of Nathaniel.

  ‘Thank you. And—and I am pleased Brack is safe. I did not know, last night, that it was you who found him.’

  He raised a brow. ‘Does it matter who found him?’

  ‘I meant...that is...you went out again for a dog when you must have been as exhausted as me.’

  ‘Not quite,’ he said, with the glimmer of a smile. ‘And Brack is not just a dog. He is my dog. I look after my own.’

  ‘And you love him.’

  ‘You think it strange that I care for my animals?’

  ‘No! I think it admirable.’