More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  Which happened to be filled to overflowing with his household staff, including Bentley and Mrs. Brown.

  Damn!

  No less than twenty pairs of eyes settled on Becky and himself and, for perhaps the first time in his life, his tongue turned to lead. He couldn’t have uttered a bloody word if God himself had ordered it.

  As if remembering their station all of a sudden, his servants bowed their heads or curtsied. All except for Bentley and Mrs. Brown, who stood stoically, staring at them with apparent disapproval.

  As if they had any right to disapprove of him.

  Clearly sensing he’d lost all powers of speech, Becky stepped forward to explain. God, he hoped she was an accomplished liar.

  “Good morning, Bentley, Mrs. Brown,” she began, and Stephen couldn’t detect even the slightest apprehension in her tone. “His lordship and I were just on our way to the nursery. He has agreed to help me with the dancing lessons today.”

  Dancing lessons?

  “Dancing lessons?” Both Bentley and Mrs. Brown looked just as shocked as Stephen felt. What the devil was she doing to him?

  “Why, yes, of course,” she continued, an easy smile spreading across her face. “One can never start learning to dance too early. Dancing is…” Here, for the first time, she faltered. “It is…”

  “Inevitable,” Stephen supplied, amazed his voice didn’t come out like the squeak of a mouse. “At least, I believe that’s how you put it yesterday, is it not? After you, Miss Thorn—” He gestured to the staircase, hoping the servants’ stair also led to the nursery, “—we shouldn’t keep the children waiting.”

  And with that, he swept up the stairs, Becky close on his heels.

  ***

  “One, two, three, one, two, three. Are you watching our feet?”

  “Miss Thorn,” Stephen whispered, his teeth clenched in an unwavering smile. “I have a great deal of work to attend to this morning.”

  She responded with the same, tight smile. “You should have thought of that when you insisted on escorting me back to my room, my lord.”

  He sighed, knowing she was right, and hating it. But although it was the last thing he wanted to be doing that morning, he had to admit she’d done a fine job of keeping them clear of a scandal. He hoped.

  Now, the two of them waltzed around the nursery in a demonstration for the children.

  “How long will I have to do this?”

  “Long enough to make our alibi seem believable, my lord. Besides, you should be able to spare a few minutes for your niece and nephew.”

  His smile remained intact, but he said with his eyes what he could not say out loud: That she was very close to overstepping her boundaries.

  “Clarabelle, please inform Miss Thorn that I would like to dance with Uncle.” Lydia stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide with delight as she watched them twirl.

  Stephen’s muscles clenched. Good God. How was he to dance with a five-year-old girl?

  “She’s only a child,” Becky whispered tenderly.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He could hear the dread in his own voice.

  “Coward,” she teased and then laughed at the incredulous look he gave her. “Now, go on.”

  Stephen glanced uncertainly at Becky before gesturing his niece forward. She ran to him without abandon, placed her tiny hands in his and situated her feet on top of his boots. He glanced up at Becky, who was trying desperately to restrain her laughter.

  “You are going to be the one to explain this to my valet,” he said, irritated. How dare she laugh at him?

  “Come on, Max, it’s your turn.” Becky held out her hand to the boy, but he did not budge.

  “I don’t want to,” he said with a scowl. “Dancing is for girls.”

  “Do I look like a girl, Max?” Stephen asked as he struggled to keep Lydia balanced on his shoes. “Do as Miss Thorn says.”

  “No!” came Max’s defiant cry. “I said I don’t want to!”

  Stephen stopped the awkward dance to level Max with his icy-blue glare. “You will dance with Miss Thorn. Now.”

  Max gave an insolent shrug and matched Stephen’s calm contempt, which stoked his ire even more. “No.”

  There was a tense pause to follow and then Stephen’s temper got the better of him. He charged at his nephew, prepared to throttle him. “You impudent little brat!” he exclaimed as Becky stepped into his path.

  She pushed hard against his chest to keep him from getting to Max. “My lord, may I have a word with you? In the hall?”

  “Certainly,” he replied, his voice cold to his own ears. “Just as soon as I’m done with my nephew.”

  “It cannot wait,” Becky insisted. Blast her! Who did she think she was to keep him from punishing the insolent...

  He shook his head. He was not going to win this one, and he knew it. There was a desperation in her eyes and voice that told him that much.

  With one last derisive glance at his nephew, he stormed from the room. His infuriating governess followed, closing the doors behind her.

  “What is the meaning of this, Miss Thorn?” he asked, agitated that he had allowed her to gain the upper hand. How in the world had that happened? Clearly, he was losing his touch.

  “He will still be there in five minutes, my lord.”

  “Five minutes? Five minutes? Do you really think I’m going to stand here that long while you tell me what an awful man I am?”

  “No, my lord,” came Becky’s calm reply. “We don’t have to speak at all actually.”

  “Then why are we out here?”

  “My mother always said that when you’re angry you should take five minutes to calm down so you don’t say or do something you might regret later.”

  “Believe me,” he bit back, choosing to ignore the way her voice caught at the mention of her mother, “I would not have regretted what I was about to do.”

  “Even so...”

  “This isn’t working, you know?”

  “Really? Because the purple color seems to have drained from your face.”

  Stephen turned to Becky, ready to snap at her, when he saw she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Was that meant to be a joke, Miss Thorn? Because really, this is no time for jokes.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, her green eyes dancing with amusement. “I promise, you turn a rather alarming shade of violet when you’re angry.”

  At that, Stephen couldn’t help but be amused and his lips twitched upward. Damn her and her beguiling ways. “All right, Miss Thorn, you’ve proved your point. But that does not discount the fact that the boy needs to be punished for his insolence.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said proudly, and stuck her nose into the air as she opened the doors to the nursery.

  “One, two, three, one, two, three...”

  Stephen froze in the doorway, his eyes glued to the picture of the two children, arms about one another, swaying back and forth to an internal beat. They stopped when they realized they had an audience and Max straightened to his full height, a sheepish look on his face.

  “Max, is there something you wish to say?” Becky asked.

  He nodded, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Becky folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorjamb, her brow raised, as if daring Stephen to challenge her methods now.

  “There is only one explanation for this,” he muttered. “You must be a witch.”

  Thirteen

  Becky both cried and rejoiced the day she received the letter from Ravenscroft Castle heralding the birth of Lady Charlotte Lucinda Wetherby. It was somewhat devastating to her that she hadn’t been there for the birth, or for Phoebe, but she was of course thrilled that both mother and baby were well and healthy. She was even more homesick now, though, than she had been before.

  At the news, Lord Hastings had issued invitations for the house party to be held the last week of July. At the time, it still felt too far away with many long weeks until she would s
ee her friends. But here it was, the day of their arrival, and she couldn’t really account for where the time had gone. Her days continued to be long, teaching the children all they needed to know to be at a level with other children of their age and station. Even her interactions with Lord Hastings had dwindled. She wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t wish to see her, or because he simply, like she, had a great deal on his plate.

  “The guests are starting to arrive, miss.” Mrs. Brown stood in the doorway to the nursery. She looked far more haggard than usual. No doubt she'd been working round the clock to prepare for the house party.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brown.” Becky stood from her place on the floor next to Lydia. “Come, children. We’re going to meet your uncle’s friends.”

  The children rose obediently and followed Becky from the room.

  “How long are they going to be here?” Max asked, seemingly disgruntled that there were going to be strangers living in his home.

  “Only a week, Max,” Becky replied. “And you must always be on your best behavior.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  Becky laughed at the child’s candor. “It might be fun, you know. I daresay we’ll take trips into the village and play lawn bowls and other games. And I won’t make you practice a word of Latin.”

  Max predictably beamed at this news.

  When they arrived at the top of the stairs, she paused to straighten Max’s little bowtie and to fluff Lydia’s skirts. They were the picture of innocence, and a sense of pride and accomplishment filled her.

  Max had not had a single outburst since the dance lesson, and little by little, Lydia was coming out from behind the vise of her imaginary friend. She still would not speak directly to any live person, but on occasion, she forgot her ruse and took direction that had been given to her and not to Clarabelle.

  “All right, children, big smiles.”

  They both spread their mouths to reveal toothy grins and flanked Becky as they walked down the stairs, hand in hand. They met with a flurry of activity in the entrance hall as the servants rushed to attend to last-minute details. Becky could see a caravan of elegant coaches lined up in the drive outside, and her heart gave an expectant leap as she saw Phoebe alight. She could not wait another minute to see her, and so, dragging the children behind, she flung the front door wide and practically ran down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she let go of the children’s hands and ran to meet her friend.

  “Becky!” Phoebe exclaimed as she gathered her into a warm embrace. “Oh, I’ve missed you so!”

  “Not nearly as much as I’ve missed you!” Becky replied, giddy with excitement. “But where is Charlotte? Please say you’ve brought her with you.”

  “She’s right here with her favorite uncle.”

  Becky whirled around to see Lord Andrew holding the beautiful baby girl. She planted a kiss on Charlotte’s forehead and another on Andrew’s cheek before welcoming hugs from Lord Eastleigh and Lord Michael. She had never been so elated in all her life.

  “Miss Thorn?” Max stood next to her, tugging lightly on her skirts.

  “Oh, my goodness! How rude of me. Max, Lydia, please say hello to Lord and Lady Eastleigh.” Max gave a distinguished bow and Lydia a prim curtsey. “These are Lord Eastleigh’s brothers, Lord Andrew and Lord Michael. And this little angel is Lady Charlotte.”

  “Clarabelle, please ask Miss Thorn if I may hold the baby.”

  There was an awkward silence as the newcomers looked around for Clarabelle. Becky smiled and knelt down next to the girl.

  “Clarabelle, please tell Miss Lydia that she may hold the baby later, with my help.”

  Lydia’s face lit up at the news, and she wrapped her little arms around Becky’s neck just as a determined pair of boots made their way across the graveled drive. Becky hoisted the child off the ground and turned to see Lord Hastings striding towards the party.

  Becky’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen very little of the viscount since the dancing lesson, and he looked even more handsome than she remembered. His tan breeches accentuated his lean legs, his dark hair tousled haphazardly in the breeze and his coat did little to hide his powerful chest and arms.

  He smiled cordially as he shook hands with the marquess and his brothers and offered a deferent bow to the marchioness. They exchanged pleasantries while the luggage was carried into the house and then Mrs. Brown, along with several other servants, showed the guests to their rooms.

  It did not escape Becky’s notice that the viscount did not pay her even the slightest glance before he rushed off to his study as soon as the guests had been taken care of.

  Once Phoebe had settled and put Charlotte down for a nap, she and Becky met for tea on the terrace so the children could play on the lawn while they chatted. The clouds threatened rain, but until they actually felt drops, they would enjoy the fresh air.

  “My darling Becky, how are you? I heard all about your awful black eye. That must have been dreadful!”

  Becky poured the tea and slid the plate of sweet biscuits toward Phoebe. “It really wasn’t all that bad, and it’s completely healed. Besides, it was an accident.”

  Phoebe took her hand and stared at her with great concern. “You would tell me if it had not been an accident, would you not?”

  “Phoebe!” Becky laughed in spite of herself. “Of course I would. And I certainly wouldn’t have stayed here if I felt my life in danger.”

  “That’s what Benjamin said.”

  “You should listen to your husband.” She pushed a stray curl from her face. “It was truly good of him to come to my rescue, even if I did not actually need rescuing.”

  “Yes, but what of Lord Hastings?” Phoebe leaned in with a wicked gleam in her eye. “He is rather dashing, isn’t he?”

  She should have expected this from Phoebe—she’d been under the matchmaking tutelage of Katherine for almost a year now, after all—but Becky couldn’t help but be appalled. “Phoebe! I am his governess. I could never think of him in such a way,” she lied. “Not to mention, he’s far too temperamental.”

  “Hm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Phoebe, what is it? What do you want to say?”

  Phoebe said nothing, but primly went about smoothing the white table covering.

  “You’re going to tell me anyway, so you might as well go ahead and get it over with.”

  The marchioness stopped her fidgeting and narrowed her eyes on Becky. “I saw the way you looked at him in the drive. How you blushed when he approached...You’re even blushing now.”

  Becky felt the heat spread from her cheeks to her ears, and to places that made her blush even harder. “I’m not blushing,” she replied defiantly.

  “You look as if your face is going to explode, Becky Thorn, and I demand that you tell me what is going on.”

  “Nothing!” Becky exclaimed a little too loudly, drawing the brief attention of the children who chased squirrels on the lawn. “I mean, nothing,” she repeated in more hushed tones.

  “I’ve known you for a long time, Becky. You are not telling the truth.”

  As if on cue, a loud crash of thunder crackled through the air, and the skies began to pour with fast and heavy rain. Becky breathed a sigh of relief as she called for the children. They ran full speed toward her, shrieking with delight. The foursome pushed through the doors of the terrace and landed in the long gallery that ran the width of the house. Rain pelted against the windows with deafening force as they all shook the excess water from their clothes.

  “Not even ten seconds in the rain and we’re all soaked!” Phoebe laughed.

  “I’d better get them upstairs and changed before they catch a fever. Come, children.”

  Becky and the children started down the hall, their shoes squeaking loudly on the marble floors.

  “Don’t think you’ve escaped me, Miss Thorn,” Phoebe called after them. “I will get to the bottom of
this!”

  Becky laughed, never doubting her friend's words. She knew well that she would tell all eventually. It was only a matter of time.

  Fourteen

  After changing Max and Lydia into dry clothes, Becky deposited them in the nursery. She was still soaked herself so she left the children to play and made her way through the house to the servants’ quarters. The entire floor was quiet thanks to the new arrivals—and the impending ones as well—and Becky let herself into her room, unable to keep the smile from her lips.

  She was so elated to have Phoebe there for the week. Phoebe was the closest thing to a friend that Becky had ever known, and it made her downright cheerful to be with her again. She only hoped the topic of her “dashing” employer didn’t come up a second time, though deep down she knew that was simply wishful thinking.

  Becky peeled off her sopping day dress and went to the armoire to retrieve another, but before she could open the mirrored door, she gave a frightened yelp at the reflection she saw there.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed, trying to cover her exposed skin.

  A roguish grin pulled at the corners of Lord Hastings’ mouth. “Did I frighten you?”

  “What do you think?” she answered indignantly. “I’m standing here in my unmentionables, thinking I’m alone, when I see a dark figure staring back at me in my mirror! Wouldn’t you be frightened?”

  He sauntered closer to her. She backed away.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again, her voice breathless in her own ears.

  His brow knitted into a serious frown. “I needed to see you.”

  “Didn’t you just see me in the drive?”

  “You know what I meant,” he drawled, inching ever closer to her until she was flush against her armoire. “I know I shouldn’t, but I miss you. I can’t help it.”

  “Then why have you been avoiding me? And why did you not even spare me a glance earlier?”