The Wicked Governess

by Mary Lancaster

  “Well, they might if you covered yourself with diamonds, too, and walked about with your nose in the air as if you were too good for Blackhaven. Those who know you will be glad to see you looking so well and enjoying yourself. Those who don’t, will never guess that you’re a governess.”

  “Except that I’ll be with the children,” Caroline said.

  “Well, they pretty much look after themselves,” Serena argued. “There’s no need for you to be with them constantly. Let me just pin this, and I’ll have Mrs. Gaskell take it in at the waist and alter the length.”

  “I don’t know,” Caroline said doubtfully. “When you held your midnight revel, I wore my own clothes.”

  “Well, no one wore their best because we were on the beach,” Serena pointed out. “And besides, at night by the sea, with lit braziers and burning torches all over the place, the children did have to be watched more closely. But I don’t see why you have to play the governess all the time.”

  Caroline blinked. “I’m not playing. I am the governess.”

  “Will he come?” Serena asked.

  Caroline didn’t need to ask who. “I don’t know,” she replied candidly. “But Miss Benedict is eager, and he has no objection to my going, with or without Rosa.” In fact, he hadn’t brought the subject up recently, even in the evenings they spent in his study.

  Those evening hours had secretly become Caroline’s favorite part of the day when she sat only feet from him, conversing little, as a rule, but simply soaking up his silent company, his very physical presence as he worked. He drank brandy constantly and yet never seemed inebriated. Nor did his manner to her ever change below the civil. And yet, she surely didn’t imagine the sense of intimacy between them—inappropriate, dangerous, but still unspoken.

  Last night, as he’d poured himself another glass of brandy, she’d blurted, “Why do you drink so much? For the pain?”

  His eyebrows had flown up and he’d gazed at the glass in his hand, as though wondering how it had got there. His lips twisted. “Old pain and habit. I suppose it dulls the edges.”

  “Of pain?”

  His gaze had lifted, devouring her. She had never seen such hunger in a man’s eyes. It was dizzying, frightening, and yet wickedly exciting.

  A short laugh had broken from him. “Pain, yes. Let us call it that.”

  He had sat back down at the desk, the glass by his elbow. But the thrill of that look, of the fierce desire it revealed, still churned inside her.

  “What do you think, girls?” Serena asked the children, turning Caroline to face them while still holding the dress material in at the back.

  The girls untangled themselves from the yellow gown and regarded Caroline with unexpected awe.

  “Why, Miss Grey, you’re beautiful,” Helen said, while Rosa nodded slowly.

  “If only I’d known,” Caroline mourned. “So many wasted years! All I’ve ever needed is one of Lady Tamar’s gowns.”

  Lady Tamar gave the gown a little twist to tighten it. “Any gown rather than the ones you have. I can’t believe they ever became you.”

  “They weren’t meant to,” Caroline said. She’d chosen them, altering them from her mother’s unworn collection, for precisely that reason. She’d thought being plain and dull would mitigate against her youth when looking for a position.

  “Well, you were always beautiful,” Serena retorted. “Ugly dresses and severe hairstyles do not disguise the fact. Trust me, you have been noticed,”

  Disconcerted, Caroline twisted around to look at her. “By whom?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Serena said hastily. “I merely wish you to know, to make you comfortable going into society in this capacity.”

  “I don’t think it does make me comfortable,” Caroline murmured. “I think I will just wear the brown—”

  “No!” Serena and Helen exclaimed together, and Caroline laughed self-consciously.

  “Come, let’s go and find the others and take a walk…”

  Chapter Ten

  When she was dressed for Lady Tamar’s party, Caroline took a moment to gaze at herself in the glass. She had pinned her hair in a higher, softer style than usual, and Serena’s peach gown had been altered so that it fit Caroline perfectly. She thought she looked rather well and refused to admit why she cared. Instead, she spent half a second wishing she had some jewelry to set off her fine appearance. The few pieces she’d been given or inherited had been sold long since.

  Shrugging, because it truly didn’t matter, she walked through to Rosa’s room and found Rosa sitting cross-legged on the floor in her new dress, playing with Tiny. With a sigh, she chased Tiny and brushed the dog hair off Rosa before accompanying her downstairs to meet her father and aunt.

  Rosa was delighted that her father was escorting them and discovering him and her aunt at the foot of the stairs, she ran down to hug him.

  At first, Caroline could not bring herself to look at him, afraid of what she might see or not see. Since that moment in the study, she had never again surprised the wild hunger in his eyes, which piqued her far more than it should. She had almost convinced herself it had all been the fevered imagination of a lonely spinster. She tried to focus her attention on Rosa who was now leaping around her aunt, but inevitably, her eyes strayed to the still, tall figure beside them.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, for his gaze was rivetted to her, and it was very far from indifferent. It held…wonder.

  Her foot faltered on the stairs and he took a step up, offering his hand to steady her. She could not refuse. She didn’t want to. As she laid her hand in his, his strong fingers curled around it, and his gaze dropped to her mouth and lower, deliberately covering her throat and breast, her whole person. And when it returned to her face, the awe had given way to something much more predatory.

  Shaken to her core, she slid her hand free and made a point of asking if Miss Benedict would be warm enough with just her shawl, or if Caroline could fetch her a cloak for travelling. She could not look at her employer again until she had regained some composure.

  It was only when the carriage halted at the castle and he handed her down that she finally found the courage to meet his gaze. At last, she took in his smart black coat and pantaloons, his simply-tied cravat snowy white against his swarthy skin, and his raven hair brushed back from his face. Her foolish heart turned over because he looked so handsome. Even with the disfiguring scar and the limp, there was something very gallant about him. Despite the rumors, there would be many ladies here desperate to make his acquaintance. The knowledge made her heart ache.

  “Quite an impressive pile,” he remarked, scanning the castle as they walked together to the front door.

  Lady Tamar’s party was a rout with the atmosphere of a family gathering. There was a quartet of musicians playing in the long gallery, where there would be dancing later. In the large drawing room, there was to be poetry and music from whichever of the guests felt so inclined. In the smaller, card tables had been set up. Toys and books were scattered in various places, along with bowls of sweetmeats, and children of all sizes ran around the adult guests with great excitement. Caroline expected to be kept busy.

  As with most Blackhaven social events of this kind, the guests were a mixture of local gentry and visitors to the town, most of whom came either to drink the waters for their health or to accompany someone else who did. And since the party was Lady Serena’s, everyone invited had jumped eagerly at the opportunity.

  Caroline noticed a few outraged glances by those who recognized her, though they appeared to be mollified whenever she was with children. Fortunately, Helen had decided to include Rosa in everything she did, so she was rarely alone unless she chose to be. The other children present seemed to regard her as a curiosity at first, but then accepted her naturally into their games. And Rosa herself, used to the Braithwaite girls, didn’t develop the blank, hunted look she’d worn the first time Lady Tamar visited.

  What did surprise Caroline, was her
anxiety for the adult Benedicts. She was afraid her employer would get bored and sneer, which was quite likely considering the many curious glances cast his way, many of them blatant to the point of rudeness. Or that his frailer sister would shrink into loneliness. Not that she expected Marjorie to start throwing cake at the castle guests, but Caroline felt almost motherly toward her. In fact, she glimpsed Mr. Benedict once in conversation with a few gentlemen and then again entering the card room. And Miss Benedict seemed to make friends early on with the deaf but amiable Miss Muir who was a conduit to the rest of native Blackhaven society.

  Through it all, Caroline endeavored to keep the children entertained without them running too wild. Occasionally, Lady Tamar brought a young man to make her acquaintance. Two of them beat a hasty retreat when they learned she was a governess, the third, a Mr. May, showed a tendency to linger until his mother summoned him away.

  “Who are these gentlemen you’re bringing to me?” she asked Serena under her breath as she conducted a small group of children to the dining room. “Are you actually match-making?”

  “Oh no, I’d never presume,” Lady Tamar replied in shock. “They are simply gentlemen who asked me for an introduction. You do look stunning, you know.” She drifted on to greet the vicar and his wife who had just arrived, leaving Caroline gazing after her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

  “Have you lost Rosa?” enquired a familiar voice behind her. Mr. Benedict.

  “She’s in the dining room,” Caroline said, dragging her gaze to her employer and lowering her voice. “She seems to coping and is quite happy.”

  “And you?”

  Her brows lifted in surprise. “I?”

  “Are you happy? Or are you merely a drudge for lots of children instead of one?”

  She smiled. “Oh no, I don’t feel like a drudge at all, I like children—most of them!—and everyone is being kind to me.” She inclined her head in response to the bow of the passing young man, Mr. May, who had been introduced to her earlier. He had been approaching the dining room door, though he now veered away toward the drawing room as though alarmed by Benedict’s presence.

  “I would not call it kindness,” Mr. Benedict said wryly, watching this progress.

  “Then what would you call it?” she challenged.

  His gaze returned to hers. “Lust. Attraction, to give it a gentler name.”

  She flushed under his highly improper words but refused to look away. It was he who did that, gazing instead toward Lady Tamar. Their hostess had been joined by her slightly erratic husband, and together, they were now welcoming another newcomer, a handsome but frail looking gentleman. Perhaps thirty years old and pale skinned, he carried a walking stick.

  Caroline felt Benedict’s shock as though it were her own. His whole body went rigid and still. And the object of his attention, having smiled and moved beyond his hosts, glanced inevitably along the gallery. His gaze clashed with Benedict’s, and he stopped dead. He even wobbled a little, leaning on his cane for support. For an instant, fear stood out in the stranger’s eyes, in his whole, appalled face. Then it smoothed quite deliberately and the man turned and walked back the way he’d come. Leaning on his stick, he walked past Lord and Lady Tamar who were laughing with someone else, and headed for the stairs as though he were leaving.

  Beside Caroline, Benedict drew in a breath that shuddered.

  “Who is that man?” she asked urgently.

  “Someone who must never, ever be anywhere near Rosa,” he said harshly. “Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly. May I know your reasons?”

  “No.”

  Stung by his sudden cold withdrawal, she inclined her head and stalked into the dining room.

  “Wait.” He followed her to the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said with apparent difficulty when she glanced back at him. “I will tell you, but not here.”

  Diverted by one of the Winslow boys trying to hog an entire plate of pastries, Caroline dashed to restore order before anyone else could object. By the time she looked around again, Mr. Benedict had left the room.

  Out in the long gallery, dancing was beginning and Caroline suggested the children form a set of their own for the country dances. Inevitably, she was drawn into it, if only to show Rosa and some of the others what to do. She led them to the very end of the gallery, so they didn’t get in the way of the adults but could still hear the music. A somewhat hilarious dance ensued, formed of an uneven number of boys and girls. Caroline found it great fun and even the adults in the set closest to them smiled at the children’s antics.

  Breathless but laughing, Caroline emerged from their midst, only to be accosted by Mr. May.

  “Miss Grey.” He bowed. “How kind you are to look after the children.”

  “Not kindness, sir,” she assured him. “Party pleasure and part duty. I am a governess,”

  “Not to all of them, surely!” He sounded so appalled that Caroline couldn’t help laughing.

  “Of course not, but the young Braithwaite ladies are my former pupils, so I am happy to be of assistance.”

  “Do your duties allow you to stand up with me for the next dance?”

  Caroline had no idea what to say to that. Due to the informal nature of Lady Tamar’s party, there were no dance cards and dancing with anyone but the children had never entered her head. She opened her mouth to refuse on the grounds of being away from the children for too long.

  But Lord Tamar, being dragged along the gallery by Helen at the time, murmured mischievously, “Of course you may dance. In fact, we insist.”

  Lord Tamar was not her employer, but somehow, she could never bring herself to ask Mr. Benedict for permission to dance. In fact, she was making too much of it, for he would not care…

  “Thank you, Mr. May, you are most kind,” she said civilly and received a beaming smile in return.

  “Allow me to fetch you a glass of lemonade,” he begged.

  While he was gone, Caroline went in search of Rosa. She found her in a quiet corner of the drawing room with Lady Alice. The two girls appeared to be drawing each other while Miss Winslow sang and played on the pianoforte. Exchanging smiles with Rosa, Caroline passed on, pleased for the girl, and quickly toured the other rooms to make sure none of the children were getting up to mischief. Helen was organizing their next dance set, to include both Lord and Lady Tamar.

  By the time she returned to the gallery, Mr. May was there with her lemonade, looking disconsolately around for her. She took pity upon him and approached him.

  During the dance, she caught fewer disapproving looks from the Blackhaven gentry than she expected to, although Mr. May’s mother scowled blackly enough for all of them. Caroline didn’t mind that. It was time he stood up to his mother.

  Afterward, he was clearly lost as to his next move. She supposed he was used to dancing with debutantes whom he returned to their strict guardians afterward. An older, independent woman of such flexible social position as Caroline obviously flummoxed him. Caroline took pity on him and excused herself to check on Rosa and the other children—who’d enjoyed a rather more boisterous dance with Lord Tamar egging them on.

  In the drawing room, Rosa had returned to sketching with Alice. A couple of the other children had joined them to admire and advise, but Rosa still looked fairly contented, possibly because her father sat on a sofa nearby. He appeared to be deep in conversation with an unusual and beautiful lady—Mrs. Gallini, the Italian singer Lady Tamar had secured to make her party the event of the winter. Caroline hated the spurt of pointless jealousy which clawed at her, but it seemed there was nothing she could do about it except ignore it. In time, this foolish obsession would pass.

  As she was about to retreat, he stood with his companion, who with a gracious smile, walked over to the piano to be introduced by Lady Tamar for her final song of the evening.

  “Miss Grey,” Benedict said formally, politely gesturing to the sofa.

  Poised between flight and obedience,
she remembered her place in time, and sat.

  The singer was more than good. With passion and presence and the voice of an angel, she moved hearts. In spite of her feelings, Caroline could not help but listen in awe, although the song heightened rather than suppressed her powerful awareness of the man at her side.

  After several moments, he murmured, “Are you happy with Rosa?”

  “Very,” she managed. “But I think perhaps this is long enough. If you wish, I shall take her home and send the carriage back for you and Miss Benedict.”

  “No, I think we should all go,” he replied, “but not just yet.”

  “Of course not. After the performance.”

  “Indeed, and one more dance, which I hear is the waltz. Unless you are promised to the young man making sheep’s eyes at you from across the room.”

  “Mr. May,” she said with dignity, “does not have sheep’s eyes.”

  “Lamb’s then. So, are you committed for the waltz?”

  “No,” she said. “I can leave whenever—”

  “Good,” he interrupted and relapsed into silence for Mrs. Gallini’s climactic finish.

  Caroline could do no less than applaud with enthusiasm.

  Mr. Benedict said, “I’ll just speak to Rosa…” and moved away.

  Somewhat confused by Benedict’s remarks about the waltz, Caroline wondered if he actually meant to dance with the singer, which she doubted was socially acceptable. Such niceties would not weigh with him. She rose, thinking to go in search of Miss Benedict and warn her of the planned departure. But before she reached the door, the musicians had struck up the opening strains of a waltz and as she stepped into the gallery, an arm at her back swept her along the floor among the forming couples.

  Shocked, she gazed up into the scarred face of her employer. “Oh no,” she blurted. “You mustn’t. People will talk!”

  “People will always talk.”

  Her hand was lost in his. He stepped back, and she had to follow. “But your wounds—” she said anxiously.