Temptation of a Proper Governess

by Cathy Maxwell

But he was home at last—and he had a problem that would take the wisdom of Solomon to resolve.

  Bolling met him at the door. “Did you have a good day, sir?”

  “Fine. What of Mrs. Severson?”

  The butler’s raised eyebrows was a clue things had not gone well. “What is it?” Michael asked. “Was she not pleased with the dressmaker?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did she not order a dress or two to wear?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” His tone spoke volumes.

  “She spend a pretty penny?” Michael asked, pleased.

  “Yes, sir…and more than a few hundred guineas.”

  Michael frowned, then decided the money was worth it. Isabel needed a wardrobe but Bolling didn’t act as if he were finished. “What is it, man?” he asked with a touch of irritation.

  “Lady Jemison was here today with her.”

  “My sister-in-law?” The last time he’d seen Wallis she had publicly given him the cut direct, snubbed him in front of everyone. “Why?”

  “She helped Mrs. Severson with the dressmaker, and if I can make an observation, I believe, Mrs. Serverson appreciated her help. Lady Jemison left this for you.”

  Michael took the note from Bolling and cracked the seal. Wallis had terrible penman-ship. In her childish scrawl, she reminded him they were having dinner together that evening.

  “I knew nothing about an invitation for dinner,” Michael murmured to himself. It had to have something to do with his seeing Carter the night before—and it really wasn’t important to him. His true desire was to see his wife. “I’ve already had Gus put up the coach, and this is too short a notice. I don’t believe we will be going anywhere this evening. Where is she?” he asked Bolling.

  Bolling didn’t need to be told who “she” was. “Upstairs, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Michael took the stairs two at a time. He and Isabel needed to talk.

  However, he didn’t expect to have his way barred by a fierce pink-cheeked maid in a mob-cap. “I’m sorry, sir, Madame is not at home,” she informed him boldly.

  Michael frowned. “Who the devil are you?”

  “Becky.”

  “Well, Becky, this is my house, and I want to see my wife.”

  “She’s not at home,” Becky repeated stubbornly, placing her hand on the doorjamb to block his way.

  Michael was stunned at the effrontery of the girl. “Did she tell you to do this?”

  The maid’s chin lifted. “She said she is not at home,” she repeated, but he could see that she was starting to wonder if she was wise in defying him.

  He pointed his finger away from the door. She pressed her hands against the jamb as if determined to hold her ground, but then, wisely, capitulated. She scurried out of the way, and he reached for the door handle—

  The door swung open before he could touch it and when Michael saw his wife standing there, all he could do was gape.

  Isabel stood there, but this was not the same woman he’d left in bed this morning.

  This woman was the very height of fashion. She wore a dress of soft ivory muslin that made her skin glow. Her hair was swept up in colored ribbons, the style emphasizing her long neck. A shawl of lavender, green, and gold threads reflected the light with her movement.

  She was a goddess.

  At that moment, every penny he’d spent on the dress was well worth the money.

  “You’re beautiful.” The words fell out of his mouth before he’d thought them. They sounded trite. He’d said them to her before. “Stunningly beautiful,” he managed.

  For the barest of moments, he thought he saw her lower lip tremble.

  “Isabel, we must talk—”

  “We are already close to being late to dinner at your brother’s house,” she said. She came out of the room, sidestepping. “I think it best we have separate rooms.”

  “I don’t.”

  “It’s done,” Isabel said, sounding for all the world like a governess chiding an unruly pupil, and he didn’t like her high-and-mighty tone at all.

  “I’m not going to dinner with my brother,” Michael stated.

  “We must,” she answered. “They are expecting us.”

  “I’ve put up the coach and let Gus have his evening.”

  “Then we’ll take a hack,” she informed him, and started down the stairs.

  For a second, he debated not going after her. And then he caught a whiff of her fragrance.

  He started down the stairs.

  And perhaps they should go to his brother’s house. Why not? A hired hack was suddenly a good idea. It would be close quarters, and she couldn’t escape him then. They would have privacy without an insolent lady’s maid listening in.

  At the foot of the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder. “Aren’t you going to dress for dinner?”

  He stopped in midstride. Who did she think she was? She’d never given a toss for how he dressed for dinner before?

  Apart of him wanted to stomp down the stairs and shake her back into being his Isabel, back into the woman he’d fallen in love with—!

  His whole world suddenly tilted upside down.

  He had fallen in love. Haddon had seen it. He’d known. He’d warned him.

  Slowly, Michael sat down on the stairs, completely stunned. He was the blind man who could finally see. He was in love. Deep, mad, inescapable love.

  At last, life made sense.

  It all started and ended with Isabel.

  She stood in the foyer, pulling on long gloves, studiously ignoring him, and he noticed she still wore her wedding band. All was not lost.

  He knew she was hurt. Suddenly, he understood the pain he’d heard in her voice last night. He had the power to hurt her.

  Michael rose from the steps, a different man than the one who had sat on them a moment earlier. Clearing his name no longer took precedence.

  “Let me change,” he said.

  She looked up, mistaking his meaning. “We are late as it is. There is no time for you to dress for dinner.”

  He was tempted to correct her but realized it was not the time to declare himself. Later, when they were alone and she’d worn thin her temper, then he would tell her what he’d discovered in his heart.

  “They’ll wait,” he answered, and went to dress. The battle between them was far from over, and it was one he planned on winning.

  Thirteen

  Michael was taking his time getting dressed. They would be late, another sin Isabel could lay at his door.

  She crossed her arms, tapped her toe, then stopped. Bolling stood company with her, and she didn’t want to appear peevish—even if she was.

  If she could have her preference, she would have left without him, except she had no money to pay the fare. She didn’t even know where they were going.

  Isabel felt she’d managed to hold her own so far, but opening that bedroom door and seeing him standing there had challenged her resolve. Especially when he had spoken to her in that hushed tone of appreciation. When Michael told her she was beautiful, she felt beautiful.

  And having him so close played havoc with her emotions. She was so angry, so terribly betrayed, and yet, she wished everything could be different.

  But she did have her pride.

  She just didn’t know what to do with it.

  A sound on the step told her Michael was coming. She turned to the door, wanting to make her displeasure with his tardiness known.

  Bolling stepped forward, but he wasn’t the one to open the door for her. It was Michael. He reached around, placing his hand on the small of her back.

  She tried not to look at him or to notice that he’d taken an extra minute to shave. Something about the scent of the soap he used always made her heart skip a beat faster. She would have to change that. She would have to force herself not to notice him at all.

  But Michael wasn’t a man a woman could ignore.

  Isabel couldn’t help stealing a glance and was stunned by how tall and handsome
he appeared in black evening wear. The formal, elegant cut of his coat suited him, and the snowy folds of his neckcloth were a good foil for his dark hair and eyes. How easy it would be to lean back into his arms, to pretend he hadn’t hurt her.

  Instead, she ran down the step to the waiting hack.

  The driver helped her into the narrow confines of the hired vehicle. Isabel attempted to fit herself into a corner so that she wouldn’t have to touch her husband. It was impossible. His large frame filled the space. He placed his hat in his lap and knocked on the roof for the driver to go.

  The cab swayed on bad springs, throwing them closer together, if such a thing were possible. Isabel leaned back, too aware of her husband’s thigh against hers.

  “Do you remember the last time we were in a coach together?” he asked.

  She gave him her back, preferring to stare out at the passing scenery. He wasn’t about to be ignored.

  “Say what is on your mind,” he urged her quietly.

  “I said it all last night,” she responded briskly. She crossed her arms, finding it difficult to be this close to him.

  “When you get your temper up, you remind me that you were a governess.”

  A flash of anger shot through her. She stared out the window, refusing to look at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Isabel didn’t answer.

  “I shouldn’t have used you,” he continued, his voice measured as if he was feeling his way carefully.

  “Apologies have never been easy for me. If I could do it over, Isabel—” He hesitated. “—If I could do it over, I would do exactly the same thing, because otherwise you would not be with me now. You would have marched off that morning to wherever, and I would be alone. We’d both be alone.”

  He was right.

  And did she truly regret meeting him?

  Before her life had been boring. Now…?

  “Years ago, Isabel, in a court of law, I was given a second chance. I tried to make the most of it. I pray you give me a second chance now. I will never hurt you again.”

  She closed her eyes, fearing she would cry. Kid gloves made it awkward to dry tears, but that wasn’t the real reason she wanted to shut him off.

  Isabel didn’t know if she could take another risk with him. It hurt too much.

  And yet, she loved him.

  “I’m so pathetic,” she said, not meaning to have spoken aloud.

  “No, you aren’t,” he corrected. “You are right to be angry.”

  “You used me.” Her words revealed her pain. She could not help herself.

  “I did.”

  “Are you using me now?” She dared not look at him. He appeared to feel as miserable about the state of affairs between them as she did. She had to maintain control.

  “No,” he answered.

  “But there are no guarantees, are there? You could change your mind.”

  “I won’t. I want you to believe in me,” he said. “That’s all I ask.”

  “You ask too much,” she said, yearning to forgive him. It was a weakness. She should be stronger.

  “Don’t say that, Isabel. Please, don’t say that.”

  Before she could respond, the hack rolled to a stop. The cab rocked as the driver jumped down.

  “We’re here,” Michael said, stating the obvious. She could tell he was frustrated. “We’re not finished with this, Isabel,” he warned. “Not at all.”

  The door opened, and he had to get out. He held his hand for her.

  Even this casual contact was almost too much for her. She ignored his hand and climbed out on her own. A footman opened the front door, and Isabel hurried up the step. She left Michael behind to pay the driver.

  A butler held open the front door. Isabel stepped inside. Michael came up behind her and handed his hat to a servant. “I’m having the hack driver wait for us,” he said.

  She nodded.

  Wallis came out of the front sitting room to greet them. She was dressed as fashionably as she’d been earlier, but still wore the same emeralds. “Welcome, Isabel.”

  “Hello, Wallis,” Michael said.

  Wallis blushed. “Was I ignoring you, Michael? How thoughtless of me.” She placed a dutiful, sisterly kiss on his cheek. “Welcome home. I’m certain you will find everything unchanged.”

  “It wouldn’t be home if it was,” he murmured.

  There was a current of distrust between them, but Isabel couldn’t quite fathom why. Wallis linked her arms in both of theirs and steered them into the sitting room where a man who must be Michael’s brother waited. He stood by the fire, as if posing for a picture titled, The Earl at Home.

  Carter Severson, Lord Jemison, must have once been almost as handsome as Michael, but drink had destroyed those looks. The gray at his temples gave him a distinguished look, but there was a heaviness about his face, and the slump in his shoulders aged him beyond his forty-plus years.

  And yet, she sensed, Carter’s mind was working like the gears of a clock. He missed nothing. He caught every detail, including that she and Michael stood a distance apart.

  “Here he is,” Wallis said grandly, announcing Michael. “Our family black sheep, returned to the fold.”

  Isabel knew her husband hated being labeled in this manner, but she wasn’t going to defend him. If she did so, he would believe she was ready to relent, and she was nowhere close to doing so.

  Instead, she concentrated on her surroundings and was surprised to note that, for a woman who boasted her association with a decorator, Wallis’s sitting room was in great need of restoration. The carpet was threadbare and the upholstery well-worn.

  Michael had said his family were gamblers. Isabel didn’t think they won often if that was the case. Nor was his brother what she had anticipated, especially after spending the afternoon with Wallis. He appeared lifeless in comparison to his vibrant wife.

  The couple did not like each other.

  Everyone was relieved when a moment later dinner was announced.

  Carter offered Isabel his arm. Wallis and Michael followed them. It all seemed so formal for a family dinner.

  The chestnut-paneled dining room was far too large for such a small party. The table leaves had been removed, and the setting for four seemed adrift in the space. Footmen stood at the four corners, ready to see to their every need.

  Lamb was served along with bottle after bottle of wine. Remembering her wedding dinner, Isabel didn’t overimbibe. Michael didn’t drink at all.

  Wallis and Carter made up for the two of them.

  “I say, Michael, how did you earn all your lovely money?” Wallis asked.

  “I worked.”

  His sister-in-law laughed as if he’d made a great jest.

  “He did, Wallis,” Carter said flatly.

  Her laughter died. “What sort of work?”

  “Trading. I sold furs, land, and anything else I could get my hands on,” Michael answered.

  “You are a merchant?” Wallis asked faintly. Isabel could almost hear her wonder what she would say to her friends.

  “Our new venture is in shipping,” Michael said. “Is that better?”

  “Our?” Carter asked.

  “I have a partner,” Michael said.

  His brother frowned. “You do?”

  “Yes, Alex Haddon.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.

  Isabel sensed Carter didn’t accept anyone if he hadn’t heard of him or knew his family. “Haddon is half-Shawnee,” Michael said.

  “What is that?” Wallis wondered.

  “He’s Indian,” Michael answered, and seemed to take enjoyment at his brother and sister-in-law’s raised eyebrows.

  “Interesting,” Carter murmured. “Where is this Haddon now?”

  “On his way to Egypt. We are trading British copper for cotton.”

  “My, you really are a tradesman,” Wallis wondered aloud, slightly dismayed.

  “A very successful one,” Isabel couldn’t stop herself
from interjecting.

  “And you approve?” Carter asked. As he drank, he grew more sardonic, a quality Isabel did not admire.

  “Yes, I do. In fact, I’ve never understood the genteel class’s acceptance of position in government, law, or the church—and yet they sniff at the actually doing of business.”

  “Because money trading hands is so common,” Wallis said.

  “Unless it is at a gaming table?” Isabel countered pointedly. “I’m sorry, but I’ve watched many a lord turn up his nose at work and yet throw away the wages of a small village on the turn of the cards.” It was only after she’d spoken her mind that she realized she could be considered critical of her hosts, who looked at her as if they had let a leper loose in their midst.

  They were right. She had been too outspoken.

  Her cheeks turned hot. She should apologize, but then Michael came to her rescue.

  “I married a freethinker,” he said.

  “I don’t believe it is wise for women to have such strong ideas,” Wallis said stiffly.

  “I do,” Michael answered. “Isabel possesses intelligence and conviction, qualities I admire.”

  “She’s also beautiful,” his brother added.

  “Quite right,” Michael said. “As are you, Wallis.” He’d said the last as if an afterthought. Carter didn’t say a word, but continued to stare at Isabel, making her feel uncomfortable.

  A tightness appeared around Wallis’s mouth. Here was a woman with regrets. Isabel had seen the same expression on her mother’s face.

  Except that, instead of sympathizing with her mother, she felt a flash of annoyance. Her mother had had so much in her husband and her children, and yet she’d longed for a man like the marquis.

  “Tell me about the children,” Michael said to Wallis.

  The transformation in her sister-in-law was immediate. Her two sons Jeremy and Wallace were her pride. Had Michael known this? That he would flesh out her personality was something Isabel could admire. It was kind, a trait she didn’t associate with most men…and some of the distrust she had felt for him eased a bit.

  He was trying.

  Perhaps he did mean the words he spoke in the coach?

  Wallis talked enthusiastically about the children, while her husband kept making small, disparaging asides.