The Wicked Governess

by Mary Lancaster

  They had never discussed such things. “Do I?”

  “Yes. Oblige me by going into Blackhaven and ordering a new pair. They may send me the bill.”

  Caroline bridled, and his lips curved in mockery.

  He reached behind him for the decanter. “I won’t have you catching cold and failing to teach my daughter. I require you to have new boots.” He raised the decanter to her invitingly, and when she shook her head, merely sloshed brandy into his own empty glass.

  “Thank you,” she said at last. “If we may count it an advance on my salary.”

  He sat back, regarding her. “You’re very proud, Miss Grey.”

  “I suppose it is a sin in a mere governess.”

  His lips curved. “But there is nothing mere about you, is there, Miss Grey?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied with dignity, suspecting him of further mockery.

  He only smiled around his glass as he took another mouthful of brandy. “No, I don’t suppose you do, and therein lies my salvation.”

  Disconcerted, she rose to her feet, forgetting that he would stand with her. But although she meant to say goodnight, her slightly desperate gaze landed beyond him to his glass cabinets, which immediately distracted her.

  “What are these plants? Are they rare?”

  “Yes. Various samples and cuttings I have collected on my travels.”

  She walked over to the nearest case. “Where have you travelled?”

  He shrugged. “Southern Europe, the Ottoman Empire and beyond. India, China. Over many years.”

  “I would love to see such places,” she said wistfully.

  “Then you will.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, unconvinced. “Do you miss travelling? Do you find England boring now?”

  There was a pause before he replied. “No. Not just yet.”

  “What is this flower?” she asked him.

  A couple of questions seemed to be enough to unlock his enthusiasm. He told her about the plants and sometimes amusing stories about how he’d come across them. And he talked of his plans to replant some of them in England, breeding them to hardier climates. After some time, she became more intrigued by his interest, in the suddenly mobile expressions of his usually harsh face. Whatever lay behind his injuries or his nightmares, this was an uncomplicated enthusiasm.

  “I’m boring you,” he said at last. “I’m sorry. You want to go to bed.”

  “I should,” she acknowledged. “Since I have work to do tomorrow. But I am fascinated rather than bored.”

  He looked skeptical as he limped back to the rug by the fire and picked up her damp cloak and hat and boots, which were gently steaming in the heat. “Saturday,” he said, dropping them into her waiting arms.

  She took them with an uncertain smile and inclined her head. His scar stood out lividly against the swarthy skin of his face. His nearness did strange things to her breathing, to her whole body.

  “Goodnight, sir,” she said breathlessly, and all but fled to the door.

  “Goodnight, Miss Grey. Sleep well.” His mocking voice sounded too aware as it followed her. But she suspected that on some level at least, it was himself he mocked.

  *

  Javan Benedict was not in good health. On top of which, he was lame. So why was it only now, after finding him sleepwalking in a storm, that she felt she’d found a vulnerability in him?

  Not that it solved any of the mysteries surrounding him. Instead, last night’s revelations, such as they were, only inspired more questions. Why did he dream of escape, and where he did imagine he was escaping from? Had he travelled so widely, simply for botanical purposes? Or was the botany a substitute, an interest to distract him from his troubles—which were what exactly?

  A daughter who chose to be mute for reasons he either could not or would not reveal to her.

  Nevertheless, there was a shared awareness between them now, a shared bond of closeness.

  Teaching Rosa the following morning, she found herself longing for a glimpse of him, awaiting luncheon with much more than normal anticipation.

  And yet, when luncheon came, he barely looked at her. He seemed more distracted than usual, hardly spoke and reserved his one smile for Rosa, ruffling her hair when she caught his hand to see if he was well. He finally excused himself from the room.

  “Busy,” Miss Benedict observed vaguely. “Always busy… And what will you two be doing this afternoon?”

  “A little arithmetic and then some watercolor painting, I think. And if we finish early enough, I wondered about walking into Blackhaven. Perhaps a vehicle could be sent to bring us home again?”

  “Oh dear, I don’t know! Blackhaven,” Miss Benedict said with the same kind of distasteful dread as she might have mentioned London stews, or even hell. “You had best speak to my brother first. I don’t think…” She trailed off, choosing to finish her luncheon rather than her sentence.

  It was while Caroline was correcting Rosa’s arithmetic that the unfamiliar sound of carriage wheels on the stony drive attracted them both to the schoolroom window. A smart, familiar carriage was driven up to the overgrown front terrace and a coachman got down to open the door and let down the steps.

  Lady Serena, now Lady Tamar, emerged, closely followed by her sisters, Maria, Alice, and Helen. Caroline’s heart lifted at once.

  “How wonderful!” she exclaimed.

  But of course, she could not run down there to greet them, no matter how much she might wish to. She was the governess. Lady Tamar might or might not have come to see her, but if she had, no one would admit it. Caroline would have to wait and simply hope that the Benedicts would receive Lady Tamar and then, perhaps, summon Rosa and Caroline…

  Rosa gazed at her, brows raised in interrogation.

  “My old pupils,” Caroline said warmly. “With their sister, Lady Tamar.”

  Rosa walked back to her desk, but not before Caroline had seen the familiar, anxious look on her face. Rosa didn’t like change or the prospect of it.

  It seemed to be difficult for both of them to concentrate after that, so it was a relief in several ways when the maid stuck her head around the schoolroom door. “Miss Benedict says will you and Miss Rosa join her in the drawing room.”

  Rosa dragged her heels a little. “You will like the young ladies,” Caroline assured her. “Lady Helen is only about a year older than you.”

  And doubts Caroline might have harbored as to how the Braithwaite ladies would regard her after the countess’s unfair dismissal, fell apart at once.

  She had no sooner entered the drawing room and glimpsed the lovely Lady Tamar seated beside the vague and fluttery Miss Benedict, when a Helen-shaped cannonball hurtled into her. There were no ladylike curtsies and handshakes as she’d taught them. Even Lady Maria, almost sixteen, hugged her with enthusiasm.

  Caroline emerged from the multiple embrace with self-conscious laughter. “So much for discipline and self-restraint,” she said severely.

  “We are sadly in need of you,” Lady Tamar said warmly, although she offered her hand in a more civilized manner than her siblings. “How are you, Miss Grey?”

  “I am very well, as I can see, are you!” She turned to find Rosa shrinking back against the wall, and held out her hand, beckoning. Rosa came with reluctance. “Will you allow me to present my new charge, Miss Rosa Benedict? Rosa, this is Lady Tamar and her sisters, Lady Maria, Lady Alice, and Lady Helen Conway.”

  With a kind smile, Lady Tamar held out her hand, and Rosa curtsied slightly grudgingly.

  Miss Benedict, meanwhile, was sipping her tea, watching Rosa in a worried kind of way. In Caroline’s experience, children were better sorting out their own relationships, so she merely said lightly, “Don’t overwhelm Rosa all at once. And she does not speak, so you must observe how she does communicate.”

  With that, Caroline crossed to Miss Benedict and thanked her for the opportunity to meet her old pupils.

  “Well, I can see how fond y
ou are of each other,” Miss Benedict said sadly. “Tea, Miss Grey?”

  Caroline accepted a cup and sat opposite Miss Benedict and Serena, who occupied the sofa.

  “How is Lord Tamar?” Caroline asked politely and was touched to see a hint of color tinge Serena’s creamy skin.

  “He is very well and sends his regards.”

  “And your lady mother and his lordship?”

  “Ah, they are well, too, and set off yesterday for London at last.”

  “Ah.” So, she’d simply been abandoned to her fate after all. Curiously, it didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected it to.

  “But he has not forgotten his obligation to you,” Serena said hastily. “In fact, that is one reason I came to call on Miss Benedict. We would very much like you to return to Braithwaite Castle at your earliest convenience.”

  Caroline’s eyebrows flew up. This was not how she’d expected things to happen. She searched Lady Serena’s open face. “Ah. I think this is your idea and not Lady Braithwaite’s.”

  “Miss Grey, Braithwaite and I both know my mother will relent in the end. In fact, if my brother chose to lay down the law, he could—and will if it becomes necessary. My sisters need you.”

  Serena knew how to tug her heart. She glanced to the other side of the room where the girls, kneeling on the Turkish carpet, were trying to teach a slightly bewildered Rosa a clapping game. The Conway sisters were all bright, lively, and good-natured. And Caroline missed them. She even missed Serena’s company, for she had become almost a friend in the month or so before her wedding.

  Here, she had a troubled pupil who would not speak and the company of a slightly dotty, middle-aged lady who occasionally lost her temper and threw cake at her brother. And as for that brother…he was nothing but mystery and danger. And whenever she thought about it—which was often—she could still feel last night’s kiss upon her lips, his powerful arms clasping her close to his hard, wet body…

  But Javan Benedict was not the issue here. Rosa was. Rosa, so isolated that she was lost in the company of other children, and terrified of being abandoned by the adults in her life.

  “Please come back,” Serena pleaded.

  Caroline drew in her breath. “I don’t believe I can. Certainly not on our old terms. My first duty is here.”

  Miss Benedict’s face split into smiles.

  Lady Tamar, whose will was not often crossed, looked flabbergasted. “But I will be going to Tamar Abbey quite soon, now. Someone needs to care for the girls.”

  How about their mother? She who was so quick to judge and dispose of me? She bit back the ill-natured taunt. None of this was Serena’s fault. In fact, to some degree, it was Caroline’s. Concerned for own position and her family, she hadn’t truly considered the effect of her arrangement with Lord Braithwaite on either her old pupils or her new.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” she apologized. “I may be able to help in some way… Allow me to speak with Mr. Benedict.”

  “Now?” Serena said hopefully.

  Caroline blinked. “No, not now.” A memory came to her. “But it seems I have a day to myself on Saturday and was planning to be in Blackhaven. I could call at the castle—”

  “I shall meet you in town,” Serena said firmly, appearing to see nothing outlandish in consorting with a governess. She sat back a little, including Miss Benedict in the conversation. “I have been telling Miss Benedict that Tamar and I are planning to hold some kind of party before we leave. I’ll send cards and hope to see all of you there.”

  Serena stayed only a little longer, making civil conversation while her sisters did their best to include Rosa in their chatter and games. For most of the time, Rosa looked more bewildered than happy, but Caroline felt her heart contract when Rosa returned Helen’s grin with a tentative but sweet smile.

  *

  Before she and Rosa began their customary afternoon walk, which was generally in the company of Mr. Benedict, Caroline took her courage in both hands and decided to beard the lion in his den.

  A knock on his study door elicited no response. Since she could hear no movement inside, she assumed he must be elsewhere, so her second knock was half-hearted and purely token.

  “Blast you, come in,” his voice growled from beyond the door. It did not bode well, but she could hardly run now.

  Drawing a breath, she opened the door and entered.

  Javan Benedict sat at his desk in his shirt sleeves, a magnifying glass in one hand and several plant specimens laid out in front of him. A notebook to his right displayed drawings and writings. All this, she took in at a glance before he stood up and reached for the coat on the back of his chair.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I assumed it was Williams.” He did not, however, sound terribly apologetic, more irritated. And his frown seemed chasm-deep. Any illusions she had harbored about a new closeness between them were being quickly eroded.

  “I apologize for the interruption,” she said stiffly. “I merely wished to speak to you before I mention the scheme to Rosa.”

  His frown deepened impossibly. “What scheme?”

  “You suggested I go to Blackhaven on Saturday to buy new boots.”

  The frown eased slightly. Beneath it, something flared in his grey eyes that caught at her breath. “I remember.”

  “With your permission I would like to take Rosa with me, let her—”

  “Out of the question,” he barked.

  Caroline blinked. “I’m sure she would enjoy a day out, looking at shops and such, and there is an ice parlor in—”

  “I said, it is out of the question.” He sat back down at his desk and picked up his pen.

  Caroline struggled to control her indignation. “May I know why?” she managed.

  He stared at her. “No. It is not your concern.”

  Common sense dictated she leave it there but she couldn’t. “I beg your pardon,” she retorted. “I understood care of Rosa was specifically my concern!”

  “Teaching Rosa is your concern. Her care is mine and mine alone.”

  “Then I take leave to tell you, sir, you need to do better,” Caroline burst out. “The child does not speak and she is so isolated she does not even know how to play with others. How do you expect her to grow into a happy, responsible adult?”

  He shot to his feet, his face white, his eyes blazing with fury—and behind that some awful pain that doused her temper like a bucket of water.

  “Forgive me,” she muttered. “I know there are circumstances of which I have no knowledge and have no right to speak. But please, believe I wish to help.”

  His lips twisted. “By taking her shopping?”

  “Yes, and other mundane and hopefully amusing pastimes. I believe she should be allowed to grow used to people, to be with other children. You may not be aware that Lady Tamar called this afternoon with her young sisters—”

  “I am well aware.”

  Then he had merely lacked the civility to greet them.

  He pushed the book across the desk, crushing papers in the process. “I am also aware you cannot…fix Rosa in whatever few days you have left here.”

  “I do not claim to—” She broke off, searching his face with a first hint of understanding. “Are you dismissing me?”

  “You are on loan, are you not?” he snapped. “I presume Lady Tamar came to take you back. I’m only surprised you didn’t jump in her carriage at once.”

  Caroline flushed under the contempt in his voice. “If it weren’t for Rosa, I would have. It is certainly not the courtesies of my employer which keep me.”

  “Then it must be the boots.”

  She frowned. “The boots? I—” She met his suddenly tranquil gaze, and in spite of everything, had to bite back a surge of laughter. “Yes, of course it is the boots.”

  “You’re not going back to them, are you? And yet I heard her—Lady Tamar—ask you to.”

  He had been as close to the drawing room as that, and yet he had not come in? Because
Lady Tamar had asked her to go back.

  “I find I cannot go back,” she said now with difficulty. “Not until it might be possible to teach Rosa along with the Braithwaite girls.” She raised her hands to prevent the inevitable outburst. “Please don’t bite my head off, I am well aware that time is not yet, and is not my decision to make either.”

  “You are a very managing female,” he observed.

  “It is a useful quality in a governess,” she replied with dignity.

  “Do you normally feel called upon to manage the families of your charges, too?”

  “Frequently.”

  A faint smile played about his lips. “You made a poor job of it with the Braithwaites.”

  “On the contrary, I made an excellent job of it, up until a rare moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”

  “We’ll see.” He moved from behind the desk, advancing upon her. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, until he walked past her toward the door. “Fetch your cloak, Miss Grey, I believe it’s time for Tiny’s walk.”

  Chapter Seven

  The following afternoon, as part of the music lesson, Caroline sang out a note, and Rosa had to find the corresponding key on the piano. Rosa became adept at this very quickly. She seemed to like the way the human voice blended with the piano and urged Caroline to sing along to the scales she was practicing, which became amusing when Rosa’s finger slipped, and Caroline mimicked the corresponding discord.

  Caroline was just calling things back to order when something made her glance at the doorway to the drawing room. Javan Benedict stood there, leaning against the door, his face inscrutable as he watched them. Her heart gave the funny little leap it always seemed to when she saw him.

  Rosa immediately showed off her scales with more care and received her father’s as well as Caroline’s approval.

  “Go and find Tiny,” he told his daughter. “I want a word with Miss Grey.”

  Rosa, like any child, looked delighted that lessons were finishing early and skipped off with great glee.

  “It gets dark so early now,” Mr. Benedict remarked in an excusing kind of way. To her surprise, he moved to the piano. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He depressed the last key and wrinkled his nose before sinking down onto Rosa’s vacated stool. If Caroline had moved, she’d have touched him. As it was, his warmth radiated through her.