Stolen Encounters with the Duchess

by Julia Justiss

  Standing before his door, knowing he was within and that her whole future hinged on what happened in the next few minutes, she hesitated. Trying to banish the anxiety that made her dizzy, she told herself to focus instead on the wonder that was Davie, and how glorious it would be to be held in his arms again.

  With a firm knock, she walked in.

  * * *

  Wondering why the porter hadn’t announced the visitor who had just entered, Davie looked up from his newspaper, ready to toss a disparaging remark at Ben or Christopher or Giles. He had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, when instead, Faith’s lovely form filled his vision.

  Jumping to his feet, he went over to meet her. ‘Faith, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you send me a note, I would have—’

  Seizing his shoulders, she cut off his protest by pulling him down for a fiery kiss that made him forget, for a moment, that she’d just risked her reputation by paying a forbidden call on a bachelor establishment. When they finally broke the kiss, he had to struggle to make his mind focus on anything beyond his body’s urging that he carry her into his bedroom.

  ‘I trust this means you’ve decided to accept my proposal?’ he asked, sure—almost sure—but greedy to hear her say the words aloud.

  ‘Yes, I’ll marry you. I’m only sorry I made you wait so long for my answer.’

  Wild exultation was running through his veins, feeding the barely banked fires of desire. ‘Thank you, God,’ he whispered, gathering her against his chest, the very idea that she was agreeing to marry him so spectacularly wonderful he couldn’t quite get his mind around it. For long moments, he simply held her, imprinting into his brain the marvellous feel of her in his arms, the even more marvellous news that he would be able to keep her there.

  The reality of the situation finally penetrating both desire and delight, he gently pushed her away. ‘But you mustn’t stay here! We must smuggle you back out, my foolish angel, and hope no one but the porter ever learns of your visit.’

  ‘I don’t care a fig for my reputation, and I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, with you, tonight. Oh, make love to me again, all night, Davie! Let me feel down to my bones how right we are together, how right we will always be!’

  ‘Do you trust that, now?’

  She shook her head a little, tears glimmering on her lashes. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. All I do know is you make me happy, and for however long it lasts, I love you and I don’t want to live without you.’

  ‘It will be for ever, my darling. I’ll send you to Maggie’s—in the morning,’ he added before she could protest, ‘I’m not saint enough to turn you away tonight—and get a special licence, so we may be married immediately. But first, I’ll do this. Wait here.’

  ‘Couldn’t you show me in the bedchamber?’ she asked, giving him a pout.

  ‘Once we get there, I intend for your attention to be totally occupied by other things,’ he promised.

  She grinned. ‘I like the sound of that. Very well, get whatever it is you wish—but quickly.’

  Davie hastened into his chamber, to a small box he kept on the table beside his bed. Carefully lifting out the ten-year-old article within, he carried it out to the sitting room.

  ‘Hold out your hand.’

  When, still looking mystified, Faith complied, Davie tied around her finger a small length of twine, soft and fragile now with age. ‘Remember the night, just before you left for London, when I tied that on your finger, promising I would be your friend for ever?’

  ‘You kept it all these years?’ she marvelled.

  ‘In words, I promised friendship, but in my heart, I vowed to love you for ever. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do anything about it, but I kept this as a memento to that love—and the chance that some day, it might come true. If I could keep this all those years with so little hope, how can you doubt that I’ll love you even more passionately when you’re my wife? I’ll give you another ring, with gold and diamonds and whatever you wish, but nothing else could demonstrate how long and faithfully I’ve loved you. Or underscore my promise to love you to the future and back. But let’s make it official.’

  Going down on one knee, he took the hand with the twine ring and said, ‘Will you marry me, Faith Wellingford Evers? To have and to hold from this day forth, for ever?’

  She leaned down to kiss him. ‘I will. And I’m ready to begin that marriage of minds and bodies right this minute.’

  ‘Whatever you desire, my love.’ With that, he snuffed out the candle, picked her up, and carried her to his chamber.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  make sure you check out

  the first book in Julia Justiss’s

  HADLEY’S HELLIONS mini-series

  FORBIDDEN NIGHTS WITH THE VISCOUNT

  Watch out for two more books in

  this series, coming soon!

  And don’t miss these two stories, also linked to

  STOLEN ENCOUNTERS WITH THE DUCHESS

  THE WEDDING GAMBLE

  FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE CINDERELLA GOVERNESS by Georgie Lee.

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  The Cinderella Governess

  by Georgie Lee

  Prologue

  August 1811

  ‘Joanna, what are you doing in the library?’ Rachel gasped from the doorway.

  ‘I’m wondering if Madame Dubois would notice if I took this book with me.’ Joanna Radcliff clutched the thin volume of fairy tales between her hands and threw her friend a mischievous smile. ‘In case I have to thump the son of my soon-to-be employer should he make any untoward advances at me.’

  Rachel rolled her brown eyes. ‘Sir Rodger’s sons are still boys and away at school. You won’t even be teaching them.’

  ‘Then I’ll use it to make his daughters behave.’ She laughed and Rachel joined in.

  Joanna’s cheer faded as she slid the book in the gap on the shelf. This had been her favourite one as a child. It was as difficult to leave behind as her friends, but she couldn’t steal it. It would be a poor way to thank Madame Dubois for all her years of kindness.

  �
��Come on, the carriage will be here soon.’ Rachel took her by the hand and pulled her to the door. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  They hurried out of the dark library and into the brightly lit entrance hall. Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies was a stately house on Cathedral Close facing Salisbury Cathedral. At one time it had been the home of a squire. Echoes of its history remained in the classical cornices above the doorways and the endless lengths of chair rails. The furnishings were less regal, but sturdy to accommodate the many young ladies who’d passed through its rooms over the years. The old rumour whispered to the new students stated it was one of Madame Dubois’s lovers who’d deeded her the house. To see the woman in her stern black, her dark hair shot with silver and pulled into a bun as severe as her stance, no one could believe she’d ever been swept away by a passion worthy of property.

  At the far end of the entrance hall stood a wide staircase. Rachel pulled Joanna towards it and past a sitting room filled with little girls sitting on benches.

  ‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ Madame La Roche said, pacing in front of her pupils.

  ‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table,’ the girls repeated in high voices.

  It wasn’t so very long ago when Joanna, Rachel, Isabel and Grace had sat in the same room repeating those phrases. Their time as students was over. They were at last taking up positions as governesses. Today, Joanna would be the first to leave.

  ‘Hurry.’ Rachel rushed up the stairs.

  ‘Any faster and I’ll fly.’ It wasn’t possible, not with the many memories weighing Joanna down. Madame Dubois’s school was the only home she’d ever known. She wasn’t ready to leave it, but she must. This was what she’d been trained for by Madame Dubois and the other teachers who’d raised her. It was a parting, but also an opportunity. Perhaps as the governess to the Huntfords, she might finally experience what it was like to be part of a real family.

  At the top, Isabel came around the corner, stopping so fast the hem of her skirt fluttered out before falling back over her ankles.

  ‘What’s taking so long? I’ll die if we can’t give Joanna a proper farewell before we’re all sent into exile.’ Isabel pressed the back of her hand to her head with all the flair of the actress they’d seen performing in the seaside resort of Sandhills last year.

  Rachel crossed her arms, not amused. ‘It isn’t so bad.’

  ‘Says the lady going to the country of Huria and not Hertfordshire.’ She waved one hand at Joanna, then pointed at herself. ‘Or Sussex. Although I don’t intend to stay there for long.’

  ‘What are you plotting, Isabel?’ Joanna focused suspicious eyes on her friend.

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Come along, Grace is waiting.’ Isabel tugged Joanna down the hall and Rachel followed.

  ‘You’ll be sure to write me when your nothing turns into something,’ Joanna insisted, knowing her friend too well to be put off so fast. ‘I’d hate to find out about it in the papers.’

  ‘I told you, there’s nothing,’ Isabel insisted, adjusting a pin in her copper-coloured hair.

  ‘Too bad, I might need some savoury story to enliven my days in the country.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Isabel nudged Joanna in the ribs and they laughed together before Rachel placed her hands on their shoulders and pushed them forward.

  ‘Keep going, before we run out of time.’

  They hurried to the last room at the end of the hall and stopped at the door to the bedroom they’d shared since they were all nine years old.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Rachel insisted.

  ‘Why?’ Joanna didn’t like surprises.

  ‘You’ll see. Now do it.’ Isabel raised Joanna’s hands to her eyes.

  The two girls giggled as they led Joanna inside. The faint dank of the chilly room warmed by the morning sun combined with the lavender used to freshen the sheets, the sweet smell of Rachel’s favourite biscuits, and Grace’s Lily of the Valley perfume to surround Joanna. It reminded her of the coming winter, their Christmas together last year and how far away from one another they’d be this December. Sadness dulled the thrill of the surprise.

  ‘All right, open your eyes,’ Isabel instructed.

  Joanna lowered her hands. Isabel, Rachel and Grace stood around a little table draped with linen. Rachel had baked Joanna’s favourite lemon cake and it sat on a small stand surrounded by three wrapped presents.

  ‘Congratulations!’ the girls chorused.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ Joanna exclaimed, amazed at what they’d done and their having kept it a secret. There wasn’t much they’d been able to keep from each other over the last nine years.

  ‘Since you’re the first to take up your new post, we couldn’t let you go with only a goodbye,’ Grace insisted with the seriousness which still haunted her after her unfortunate incident. ‘We don’t know when we’ll see each other again.’

  Joanna threw her arms around Grace. ‘Stop, or you’ll make me cry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you never cry.’ Grace hugged her tightly, then released her. ‘Let’s have our cake.’

  They ate their treat while Joanna unwrapped the pen from Rachel, the stationery from Isabel and the ink from Grace.

  ‘It’s so you can write to us,’ Rachel explained through a mouthful of cake.

  ‘Thank you all, so much.’ She clutched the items to her chest, deeply grateful. These three women had been the closest she’d ever had to sisters. She didn’t want to lose touch with them, or the deep bonds they’d forged.

  Their happy celebration was interrupted by a knock.

  Everyone froze as Miss Fanworth stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The short, brown-haired teacher with the soft plumpness of a mother hen tapped her foot in admonition. ‘What’s this? Food in your bedroom. Madame will have a fit if she finds out.’

  ‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Isabel pleaded with more drama than earnestness.

  A smile spread across Miss Fanworth’s full lips. ‘Of course not. Now cut me a slice.’

  This wasn’t the only secret their favourite teacher had kept for the girls. The other would see Grace ruined and all Madame Dubois’s faith in her best teacher and her favourite pupils destroyed.

  ‘I have a present for you, too.’ Miss Fanworth exchanged her gift for the slice of cake Joanna held out to her.

  Joanna unwrapped it to reveal a small leather pouch half-full of coins.

  ‘It’s for the postage, so you can pay for the letters we send you,’ Miss Fanworth explained as she tasted her cake. ‘I expect to receive a few in return.’

  ‘Of course, how could I not write to everyone?’

  Miss Fanworth set aside her plate, then rose. She laid her hands on Joanna’s shoulders. Tears made her round eyes glisten. ‘You were just a little babe when we first found you on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a torn slip of paper with your name on it. Now look at you, all grown up and ready to leave us.’

  ‘I hope I can do you, Madame Dubois and the school proud.’

  ‘As long as you remember everything we’ve taught you, you will.’ She laid one full arm across Joanna’s shoulders and turned them both to face the others. ‘In fact, you must all remember your lessons, especially those I told you of the gentlemen you might meet. Don’t be taken in by their kind words, it never ends well—why, look at poor Madame.’

  She tutted in sympathy as she shook her head, making her brown curls dance at the sides of her face.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Isabel asked. All of them leaned in, eager for more. This wasn’t the first time Joanna or the other girls had heard Miss Fanworth allude to something in Madame’s past. Perhaps, with them leaving, Miss Fanworth would at last reveal the headmistress’s secret which had teased them since their first day at the school.

  M
iss Fanworth’s full cheeks turned a strange shade of red. She was as horrified by her slip as their interest. Then the clop of horses and the call of the coachman drifted up to them from the street below. Miss Fanworth blew out a long breath, as relieved by the distraction as she was saddened by what it meant. ‘Joanna, it’s time for you to go. Are you ready?’

  No. Joanna laced her hands in front of her, determined to be brave. She’d stay here as a teacher if they’d let her, but Madame Dubois had insisted she seek a position. She hadn’t argued. She never did, but always went along, no matter what she wanted. ‘I am.’

  ‘I wish I was going with you.’ Rachel huffed as she took Joanna’s one arm.

  Isabel took the other. ‘Me, too.’

  ‘I wish we could all go together,’ Grace echoed from behind them, at Miss Fanworth’s side as they left the room.

  ‘We wouldn’t get a stroke of work done if we were in the same house together.’ Joanna laughed through the tightness in her throat.

  They walked much slower down the stairs than when they’d ascended, all but Joanna sniffling back tears between jokes and shared memories.

  Madame Dubois waited beside the front door, watching the girls reach the bottom. Her black bombazine dress without one wrinkle fell regally from her shoulders. The woman was formidable and more than one small girl had burst into tears at the first sight of her, but they soon learned how deeply she regarded each of her charges. She wouldn’t hug or cry over them like Miss Fanworth, but it didn’t mean she didn’t care.

  Though she didn’t care enough to keep me here. Joanna banished the thought as soon as it reared its head. The school was full of little girls who’d been sent away by their families. She shouldn’t expect to be treated any differently by Madame Dubois just because Madame Dubois had helped raise her.

  In a flurry of hugs and promises to write, the girls said their goodbyes.

  Reluctantly, Joanna left them to approach the headmistress while the others remained with Miss Fanworth. She stood straight and erect before the Frenchwoman. Outside, the coach driver tossed her small trunk containing all she owned up on to the top of the vehicle.