The Governess's Secret Baby

by Janice Preston

  Elizabeth beamed, her dark eyes sparkling. ‘I do hope so.’ Then her smile faltered. ‘But until Ralph gets a living of his own, we will have to remain here. It would be so wonderful to have a home of our own,’ she concluded in a wistful tone.

  ‘I am sure it will not be long before he is able to progress.’

  ‘You will not tell Ralph—or anyone—that I told you? We did agree we must keep our love to ourselves until he speaks to Papa. I only hope it may be soon.’

  ‘I will not breathe a word, Elizabeth, but I am delighted for you.’

  ‘Ralph.’ Clara looked from Elizabeth to Grace and back again. ‘Ralph.’

  ‘He is Mr Rendell to you, sweetie.’ Grace tickled Clara under the chin, then held out her arms. ‘Come, Clara. It is time to go home.’

  ‘You call that place home, Grace, but does it truly feel like home to you? I heard it was—oh! I am sorry, that was most indiscreet of me.’

  Grace did not need to think about it. Despite the occasional longing for her old friends, she could not imagine living anywhere else.

  ‘Yes, it does feel like home. I make no doubt Mr Rendell told you the house is sparsely furnished and dark, but his lordship has allowed me to make a few changes and I think it is an improvement.’

  ‘Well, I think you are very brave, living there.’

  Anger stirred. ‘Lord Ravenwell is not an ogre and I have no need of bravery, I can assure you.’

  ‘I did not mean—’

  ‘And I did not mean to snap at you.’ Elizabeth’s stricken expression roused Grace’s remorse—she was only reacting to the stories that circulated about Nathaniel. ‘His lordship is kind to me and he loves Clara; how can people say such cruel things about him?’

  ‘They tell their stories to fit the facts as they see them, Grace. If his lordship came into the village on occasion, they would base their opinions on what they see, not what their imaginations conjure forth.’

  ‘If only they knew him as I do—’

  Grace bit her tongue, her cheeks scorching as understanding dawned in Elizabeth’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, Grace... I did not suspect you had developed feelings for him. Please, do take care. You are a lovely young woman, but even if he did return your...your affection you surely would not wish to spend the rest of your life in such an isolated spot, cut off from everyone.’

  ‘I have no expectations beyond my present position.’ Grace stood up, preparing to depart.

  ‘Now I have angered you. I am sorry for speaking so bluntly. It was unforgivable in me.’

  Grace had no wish to leave Elizabeth on bad terms. ‘No, it is I who must apologise. You spoke out of concern for me. And I truly have no expectations, Elizabeth, but...people can change, can they not?’

  ‘Only if they truly want to, my dear. Do not forget, his lordship has lived his chosen life for several years now and therefore must be content. If he did crave a more sociable existence, do you not think he would have shown some signs of change by now?’

  Grace hesitated. How could she put into words what she wished for, deep in her heart? She longed to cry: Love can conquer all, but she knew such a sentiment would worry Elizabeth and embarrass them both. No, she would keep her own counsel. And hope she was right and Elizabeth wrong.

  ‘We must go now, Elizabeth. Goodbye.’

  * * *

  It was pleasant to have Mr Rendell’s company on the drive home. He tied his horse to the back of the gig—much to the delight of Clara, who spent the entire journey on her knees, facing backwards, and chattering to the animal—and rode in the gig with Grace and Clara. They pulled up in the stable yard, handed the horses over into Ned’s care and walked to the house.

  ‘I will go and find his lordship,’ Grace said, showing Mr Rendell into the drawing room.

  ‘This room is much improved since my last visit.’ He turned a circle. ‘Is that your doing, Miss Bertram? You have an eye for colour, I see.’

  Grace felt her cheeks heat with pleasure at his compliment.

  ‘She certainly does.’

  Grace spun round. Her heart gave a tiny lurch at the sight of Nathaniel, his brown hair windswept, filling the open doorway.

  * * *

  Nathaniel scowled. That delicate blush told its own tale. Her beau had escorted her home and Grace could not disguise her pleasure.

  ‘I was up on the fells and I saw you driving up the track.’ The eruption of jealousy when he had seen them had threatened to overwhelm him. It was contemptible. He must learn to be pleased for her—for them both. ‘Good of you to see Miss Bertram safely home, Rendell.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’ Rendell strode over to Nathaniel, his right hand thrust out.

  From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel noticed Grace’s gaze drop to his hand. It was gloveless and her expression revealed her qualms as clearly as if she spoke.

  She is afraid I will snub him.

  As she lifted her gaze to his, he raised a brow, stepped forward and clasped Mr Rendell’s proffered hand, conscious of the whisper of relief that escaped her lips as he did so. When had she become such an important part of his life he was constantly aware of her and what she was feeling?

  His instincts urged him to leave now, but his pride forced him to stay.

  ‘I have asked Mrs Sharp to send in refreshments. You will take tea with us before you leave, Rendell?’

  Nathaniel gestured towards the cluster of seating around the fireplace. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  He followed the curate across the room, but did not sit. Instead, he poked at the fire, stirring the flames into life. Mrs Sharp carried in the tea tray and departed again. Grace then poured the tea whilst Rendell made a fuss of Sweep—who had jumped on his lap—exclaiming over how big he’d become. Nathaniel accepted a cup from Grace and finally sat down.

  The minute he did so, Rendell spoke, as though he had waited for the right moment. ‘I had an ulterior motive in escorting Miss Bertram home, for I have a request to make of you, my lord.’

  Random thoughts and suspicions darted through Nathaniel’s head. Chief amongst them was that Rendell meant to ask his permission to court Grace.

  Nonsense. Why would he need my permission? I am not her father.

  But there was Clara. Nathaniel swallowed. Hard.

  What if he knows the truth? What if he wants them both? What if...?

  He slammed a door in his mind against those increasingly frantic conjectures.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Clara bustled over to Rendell. ‘Ralph,’ she said, gazing up at him. ‘’n Sweep.’

  A punch to the gut could not have stolen Nathaniel’s breath more effectively. Ralph? He stole a glance at Grace, who was struggling not to laugh.

  ‘Clara! This is Mr Rendell. You must not call him anything else. Can you say Mr Rendell for me?’

  ‘Mr Wendell.’

  ‘Good girl. That is better. I apologise, Mr Rendell, I fear Clara must have overheard something she should not have done.’

  The curate’s cheeks had bloomed red. ‘It is of no matter, Miss Bertram,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Now, your lordship, if I might move on to the purpose of my visit—I am here to request permission for myself and some of the villagers to gather holly in Shiverstone Woods.’

  ‘Holly?’

  ‘Er...yes. I have searched the woods on the other side of the village, and the holly there has barely any berries and—’

  ‘And the berried holly is needed to decorate the church for the Christmas services,’ Grace said. ‘You should blame me if Mr Rendell’s request has angered you, for it was I who told him of the abundance of berries in Shiverstone Woods.’

  Nathaniel hastily smoothed his frown away. If only he could admit to them it had been incredulity that creased his brow, not anger. Holly...
he had worked himself into a panic, and all Rendell wished to discuss was holly? Although there was still the small matter of Clara calling him by his first name. She had heard that somewhere.

  ‘Yes. You have my permission.’

  Grace beamed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We will gather it over the next few days,’ Rendell said. ‘And we will then decorate the church on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. It is quite an occasion. Most of the village helps and then we have a short service, with carols.’

  ‘It sounds magical.’ Grace’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘Might we... It would be lovely to take Clara, if you will allow it, my lord?’

  ‘Your entire household would be welcome to come along, my lord.’

  ‘I understood it was your intention to decorate the Hall on Christmas Eve, Miss Bertram?’ She had told him of her plans over dinner the night before.

  ‘It is, but we shall collect the greenery in advance, to give us time to make garlands, and then all we need do on Christmas Eve is bring them indoors and decorate the rooms. We should be finished in time to help at the church.’

  He could not resist the plea in her eyes. He had sworn not to stand in the way of her having friends in the village, even if those friends did include the handsome curate.

  ‘Of course you may attend. I am sure Clara will enjoy it.’

  She beamed again—a smile that tore at his heart. If only she might always smile at him like so. He did not want to lose her, even though it seemed inevitable. His mind shied away from the complication of Clara. He would not let her go. But could he part mother and daughter? Clara, he knew, could be the means to keeping Grace at Shiverstone Hall even if she fell in love with another, such as Rendell. But...could he be so cruel? So selfish?

  Loving Grace meant he wanted her to be happy. Always.

  Impatiently, he thrust aside his conjectures. He would deal with these issues if...when...they arose. In the meantime, he would do everything in his power to keep Grace and Clara happy and content. And if that meant throwing himself into preparations for a Christmas he saw little point in celebrating this year, then so be it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Not one, but two letters, Miss Bertram. You are popular.’

  It was four days before Christmas and Ned had been to the village as usual to collect the post. Spying them on the table in the hall, Nathaniel used them as an excuse to pay a visit to his niece and her governess in the nursery.

  ‘Two?’

  Grace held out her hand and he gave her the letters before swinging a clamouring Clara up into his arms and spinning around with her.

  ‘Oh, how lovely.’

  Grace’s cheeks were pink with pleasure and Nathaniel found his thoughts wandering in a completely inappropriate direction: Grace...hair wild and unrestrained...beneath him...pink with a completely different kind of pleasure. He forced his attention from Grace and to Clara, bending to tickle her face with his hair.

  ‘They are from Joanna and Isabel,’ Grace said. ‘Is it not kind of them to write again, even though I have not yet replied to their letters?’

  Her pleasure from something so simple humbled him. She had been through a difficult childhood, a heartbreaking experience, and she was in effect all alone in the world—he had not failed to notice her uncle had not replied to her letter—and yet still she saw the good in people and remained full of positivity. Was that due to her youth? Would she, like him, grow more cynical over time? Or was it simply in her nature to see the goodness and kindness in everything? Her attitude was contagious. It had changed his household, and for the better. Even Mrs Sharp had shed her misgivings about Grace.

  Grace placed the letters, unopened, on the mantelshelf.

  ‘Are you not going to read them?’

  She shook her head, her blonde hair escaping from her pins in delightful tendrils that caressed her neck. ‘I shall wait until I may give them my full attention, when Clara is asleep.’

  ‘Read them. I shall play with Clara, so you will not be distracted nor feel you are neglecting her.’ He sat on the floor next to his niece and began to stack brightly painted wooden blocks one on the other.

  Grace smiled her thanks and reached for the first letter. From the corner of his eye he watched the expressions chase across her face. When she had finished, she looked thoughtful.

  ‘I hope it did not contain bad news?’

  ‘I beg your...? No. No, not bad news. It was from Isabel. Do you recall...my friend who married William Balfour, Viscount Langford’s son?’

  Clara, crowing in delight, dashed Nathaniel’s tower of blocks to the floor.

  ‘Indeed, I do.’ Nathaniel scooped the scattered blocks into a heap. ‘You were worried about her, I remember.’

  And we disagreed about the need for love in marriage.

  ‘I need worry no more, it seems. They have been to stay with Joanna and her new husband, Luke, at his family home in Hertfordshire. Isabel seems much happier than last time she wrote. Indeed, she talks of her husband in glowing terms...and, yet, still it feels as though there is something she is hiding. Oh, how I wish I could see her face to face and know that everything is all right.’

  ‘If the other letter is from Joanna, could that shed some light?’

  Nathaniel grabbed Clara and tickled her. She squirmed, giggling. When he released her, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the other side of the nursery. Nathaniel promptly started to rebuild the tower.

  After a silence whilst Grace read Joanna’s letter and during which Clara charged at Nathaniel and demolished the tower once more, Grace set the second letter aside with a sigh and a look of longing on her face.

  ‘You miss your friends, don’t you?’

  She started. ‘Yes. But it is not that. It is...they have both moved on with their lives. That, somehow, more than anything, brings it home to me that there is no going back. Our childhood is over and two of the four of us are already wed. And Joanna is so very happy, I—’

  She fell into silence. Had her thoughts drifted to Rendell? Was she envious of her friends’ happiness? Did she hope...wish...the curate would speak and give her the same joy?

  ‘Again! Again!’ Clara hopped from foot to foot and Nathaniel began to gather the blocks once more.

  ‘Joanna says Isabel and William have settled into their marriage,’ Grace continued after her pause, ‘and they are happier than they were at first.’

  ‘See. I told you a successful marriage has no need of love or romance.’

  She frowned, lips pursed. ‘She also believes that Isabel has fallen in love with William, but not he with her. Or, at least, he is denying his feelings.’

  Nathaniel found he could not hold her gaze and he focussed on Clara.

  ‘Now, Miss Bertram, I shall build my tower again and, this time, woe betide any young lady who tries to knock it down.’ He wagged his finger at Clara, who squealed excitedly from the far side of the room.

  Miss Bertram, it appeared, was not to be deflected. ‘I cannot believe that will make a happy life for Isabel.’ Her lids lowered, as did her voice, and he had to strain to catch her final words. ‘Unrequited love, surely, must be the most painful cross of all to bear.’

  This conversation needed to end. It was drifting too close to reality for Nathaniel’s comfort.

  ‘There is nothing you can do about it,’ he said, ‘so I suggest you put it from your mind.

  ‘Whooooaaaaa!’ Clara had launched herself across the nursery, straight at Nathaniel, landing with full force on his chest, knocking him backwards. He used her momentum to lie on his back and swing her up above him, face down. ‘Clara is flying, like a bird.’

  He happened to glance across at Grace and he caught her watching them with that same look of longing. If it wasn’t for Rendell, he might think...but no. To complet
e that thought would lead to madness. He had only to look at her and then at himself in the mirror. No, that yearning expression was no doubt a wish that it was Clara’s father playing with her. Not him.

  He sat up, standing Clara on her own two feet, and then stood up, brushing his hands over his breeches and coat. Again, Grace watched him, following the movement of his hands and Nathaniel’s pulse quickened, stirring his blood. If only...

  ‘I must go,’ he said.

  Grace also rose. ‘We are due down in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I said I would help Mrs Sharp make mince pies and gingerbread, and I promised Clara she might play with Sweep.’

  ‘Sweep? Play Sweep?’

  ‘Yes.’ Grace picked Clara up and kissed her cheek. ‘We shall go and see Sweep now. He has taken to staying in the kitchen,’ she added to Nathaniel. ‘I suspect Sharp feeds him titbits and Mrs Sharp is happy, now he is keeping the mice at bay. But Clara is not so happy, because she wants to play with him.’

  ‘Let us hope her new toys at Christmas will help take her mind off the cat,’ Nathaniel said as they left the nursery, side by side.

  Tam had made Clara a wooden Noah’s Ark and he and Ned were busy whittling animals to go inside it. Grace, too, had been busy making gifts. Some—her knitting and embroidery—he had seen, for she had taken to bringing it to the drawing room after dinner and working on it whilst he read aloud. But her painting, for the nursery wall, she said, was allowed to be seen by no one until Christmas Day. Her busyness had prompted him to set aside a little of his indifference for Christmastide and to purchase gifts for Clara and for Grace. In accordance with custom, the servants would receive their Christmas boxes on Boxing Day.

  They were at the head of the staircase. ‘Here, let me carry her downstairs. She is getting heavy; I have the bruising on my chest to prove it.’

  He reached to take Clara and his hand brushed against Grace’s. A faint gasp reached his ears, even as they jerked apart, Grace quickly relinquishing her hold on the child. Nathaniel’s heart pounded and heat flooded his veins even as the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck stood to attention.