To Love a Governess

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “The kitchen.” She left the library before he could protest or talk her out of her errand. Once in the kitchen, she located a cloth and a simmering teapot. When she returned, she found that the captain had heeded her request and was settled into the chair by the cold hearth, his foot resting on the stool.

  Emmeline set the teapot and cloth on a small table and pulled it close to the stool, then she knelt before the captain.

  “Miss Finch,” he said. “I don’t expect you to play doctor.”

  “Close your eyes.” It was the most she’d ever commanded him. And to her surprise he sighed, then obeyed.

  It took her a moment to drag her gaze away from his relaxed features, his dark lashes, his straight nose, the length of his tanned neck, and how the opening of his shirt revealed his collarbone.

  Not wanting to be caught ogling him, she shifted her gaze to the teapot, then she proceeded to pour a bit of the steamy water over the cloth. When it was sufficiently damp, she laid the cloth over his ankle and foot. He flinched but didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. After a moment of letting the heat and damp work, she began to press down gently on the cloth, transferring the light pressure to his ankle.

  A hiss blew through his teeth.

  Her gaze flew to his face. “Should I stop?”

  His eyes slitted. “No.”

  She continued to press along his ankle and around his foot. Then she rewet the cloth and laid it upon his skin once again. His moan was soft, but he said nothing about her stopping, so she didn’t. Eventually, she was pressing harder and harder, working out the swollen skin until his foot and ankle were closer in appearance to his other one. Sometimes he groaned or hissed or drew in a sharp breath, but he never told her to stop.

  Finally she laid the newly wetted cloth upon his foot and ankle. She rose to her feet, finding her legs a bit shaky. Picking up the teapot, she hesitated. Captain Ridout’s eyes were still closed, and if he hadn’t reacted to her rubbing, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep. As it was, his breathing was steady, slow.

  “Good night,” she said in a whisper, in case he’d fallen asleep.

  He gave the slightest nod, and she turned to leave the room. Before she reached the doorway, she heard him say, “You’re an angel, Emmeline.”

  She wasn’t sure if her feet touched the floor all the way back to the kitchen.

  The sharp rap on her bedchamber door some hours later sent a jolt of fear through her. It was still dark, so the summons couldn’t be good.

  “Miss Finch,” Mrs. Pratt called through the wood.

  Then Emmeline remembered. She’d locked her door last night. Why, she couldn’t exactly say. Perhaps it was because of the way she found herself dreaming of a certain navy captain each time she fell asleep. And being called angel by him had made her dreams all that more sweet.

  “Captain Ridout would like to see you in the library at your earliest convenience,” Mrs. Pratt said.

  Which meant right away.

  “I’m coming,” she said. “Give me a moment.” Then she realized she’d pulled the blanket over her head, and thus the darkness. When she climbed out of bed and parted the drapes, she saw dawn was on its way. Yes, it was early morning, but this was typical for Captain Ridout.

  As she changed into one of her usual dresses, she wondered if he’d endured another sleepless night. Had his foot returned to its throbbing? Or had he found some relief from her rubbing?

  Why her stomach was in knots, she didn’t know. Oh, perhaps it was because she was having a harder and harder time keeping her thoughts pure when she was around the master of the house. He’d gone to his first social activity last night since coming to Branhall, and she was secretly pleased that he’d had a terrible time. She really shouldn’t be smiling. And she really shouldn’t be practically skipping down the stairs.

  Because what if after last night he decided she’d been too brazen and indecent after all? She hated to think that he might find her inappropriate, because surely he’d want the most proper woman as a governess to his niece and nephew.

  When Emmeline arrived at the library, she’d practically talked herself into a panic, so when she saw Captain Ridout looking out the tall windows, his hands behind his back, she had to catch her breath and tell her nerves to stop jumping.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to keep her voice from giving away her insecurities.

  Captain Ridout turned.

  Emmeline stared. He’d shaved. He’d donned a clean shirt. His cravat was expertly tied. And there were no dark circles beneath his eyes. In fact, he looked more well-rested than she’d ever seen him in the two months she’d been at Branhall.

  Forgetting every single worry she’d conjured up, she grinned. “You slept, didn’t you? How many hours?”

  His brows shot up, then he chuckled.

  Emmeline couldn’t stop grinning, not if someone offered her two thousand a year for the rest of her life.

  “I did sleep,” he said. “Hours and hours.”

  She gaped, and he only chuckled some more. Then he was striding toward her, and she couldn’t quite decipher the gleam in his eyes.

  “Come, Miss Finch,” he said. “Care to take a turn about the garden? The sun’s about to rise.”

  She looked down at the arm he was extending. His proper gentleman attire outshined her simple day dress, but she wasn’t one to turn down an escorted walk through the garden. To watch the sun rise. Had she stepped into a novel? Perhaps she was still asleep and dreaming.

  And because Captain Ridout was smiling down at her, she slipped her arm around his. He led her through the house and out into the garden. The air was still cool and sweet, and not even a bird was singing yet.

  “Beautiful,” Emmeline said. “Now, tell me, how many hours truly did you sleep?”

  He smiled and placed a hand over hers.

  Goodness, this was cozy.

  “Let me see,” he said. “I suppose five. No, six. A record for me since I was about ten years old.”

  Emmeline couldn’t describe the pleasure that coursed through her. “You must feel like a new man.”

  He slowed his step, which meant that she had to as well.

  “Not exactly a new man,” he said, those calm, gray eyes on her. Behind him, the sun’s rays made their first appearance. “Perhaps an enlightened one, though.”

  This intrigued her. “Enlightened about what?”

  He turned and fully faced her then. Drawing his arm from hers, he linked both of their hands.

  The intensity of his gaze seemed to pull her closer, as if a small string were attached to her waist. Or perhaps he was leaning down, because she could feel his breath stir her hair.

  “Would you ever consider, Miss Emmeline Finch, giving up your family cottage?”

  Emmeline opened her mouth, then shut it. What was this man about?

  “Would you ever consider giving up your planned life of solitude and peace,” he continued, “for something else?”

  “What else?” she asked, her voice dropping low. He still clasped her hands, and she couldn’t deny, her knees felt unsteady because of it.

  “A much different life.”

  He was closer, most definitely closer. She could smell his sandalwood scent and could see the blue in his gray eyes, like sky trying to break through after a stormy day.

  “You’ll need to be more specific, Captain Ridout,” she whispered. The sun rose another notch, and gold light warmed her head and neck.

  “How would you feel about becoming an aunt instead of remaining unattached?”

  She frowned. “A step-aunt?”

  “Yes.” He released her hands and slipped his own to her waist.

  This was far more improper than her rubbing his feet in the library. Wasn’t it? There was nothing else to do but place her hands on his forearms, if only for support.

  “If you marry me, then you’ll be a step-aunt to Andrew and Charlotte,” he said. “You’ll have to give up your cottage and live at
Branhall, but I might be able to bribe Mr. Pratt to give up a corner of his garden for you to take over.” He paused. “There is another downside I must inform you of. A bit of gossip could surround our nuptials regarding a master marrying a governess.”

  She didn’t give a fig for village gossip. “Pinch me,” she said.

  His brows pulled together while his eyes danced in amusement. “What?”

  “So that I know I’m not dreaming.”

  The edge of his mouth lifted as he gave her a good pinch at her waist.

  “Oh,” she said. “I felt that one.”

  He merely grinned. “What do you say, Miss Finch? Will you become my wife?”

  Chapter 17

  Until the moment Hudson asked her the question, he didn’t know how right it would feel. But now the question had been uttered, he’d never, ever take it back.

  He didn’t know what he had expected. Emmeline to throw her arms about his neck? To laugh? To smile?

  Instead, she frowned.

  He lifted a hand and smoothed his fingers over her brow. “Why are you frowning?”

  She exhaled. “I don’t want to enter a marriage of convenience,” she said. “I could have had one of those back home.”

  There would be nothing convenient in any of this, but that’s not what she meant. His fingers lingered on her face, moving to her cheek, then to her jaw. “There will be very little peace and quiet here, and the children will still want you with them a lot, even if we do hire another governess. Is that what has you worried? The busy nature of Branhall?”

  “No.”

  Her face had flushed. Was she uncomfortable about something? Embarrassed?

  “Is it my injury?” he said. “Do you hate to think of marrying a man who will slow you down?”

  Her cheeks dimpled. “You are not such a cripple as you think. You haven’t limped once this morning.”

  She’d noticed. This made him pleased. “My nightly wanderings, then. My mind that won’t rest, that won’t let go of the things I’ve seen in the navy?”

  The true compassion in her eyes felt far from pity, and he appreciated that. And then he understood. “Ah.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, finding her skin warm and smooth. “You want a declaration of devotion, do you?”

  Her face pinked more, and he knew he’d figured it out.

  “Then let me be forthright with you,” he said in a slow voice, “at the risk of a certain woman not returning the same feelings.”

  Her lips quirked, and it took quite a bit of willpower not to kiss her at that moment.

  “I don’t want to marry you because I’m looking for a step-aunt to my niece and nephew,” he said. “I want to marry you because I don’t want to face the emptiness that I’ll surely feel the moment you leave Branhall.”

  “That’s not for months—” she started.

  His fingers moved to her lips. “Let me finish, angel.”

  That effectively stopped her speech.

  “I’m in love with you, Emmeline,” he whispered.

  “Because I helped your ankle?”

  He chuckled. “No. Yes. That and much more. I love your freckles.” He leaned forward then and pressed a soft kiss on her temple. But he didn’t draw back. Instead, he continued whispering. “I love your dimples.” He then proceeded to place a kiss over one of her dimples. “I love your eyes.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and she seemed to melt against him. He took that as a good omen.

  Next, he placed a kiss over each of her closed eyelids. Then he lifted both hands to cradle her face. “I love how the children love you, and how we now have more toy soldiers and wooden dolls than any household in England. But mostly, I love your heart,” he said.

  Her gaze was wide, her lips parted in surprise.

  It was time to ask the real question. “Do you think, Emmeline, that you could love me too? Someday?”

  The smile spreading on her face rivaled the rising sun. “It’s too late, Captain Ridout, I already do.”

  “Does that mean you’ll marry me?” he rasped, because emotion was threatening to get the better of him.

  Her beautiful face glowed. “Yes.”

  Hudson kissed her then. How could he not? The early morning sun had cast its sparkling web across the garden, and the birds had begun their first song of the day. In short, it was a fine moment to kiss the woman he loved and who loved him back.

  He slid his arms about her and pulled her close, tasting her at last. She was a novice at kissing, that much was clear, but future possibilities only made his heart pound harder. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she tasted sweet, of honey and sugar and kindness. And when she finally wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back with her whole heart, he learned what every man in love knew. That paradise could be found on earth.

  Heather B. Moore is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore; her latest are The Killing Curse and Breaking Jess. Under the name Heather B. Moore, she writes romance and women’s fiction; her latest include the Pine Valley Novels. Under pen name Jane Redd, she writes the young adult speculative Solstice series, including her latest release Mistress Grim. Heather is represented by Dystel, Goderich & Bourret.

  Join Heather’s email list: hbmoore.com/contact

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  Visible

  By Julie Daines

  Chapter One

  Any man worth half his salt should be able to pick up his own clothes. But Mr. Selwood was not such a man. He flung his things about without a care in the world. Sarah doubted very much he even realized the extra work he created for his staff. He did it without a thought. He went out for his morning ride, then returned to his chamber to find it tidied and clean, as if magic fairies appeared when he wasn’t looking.

  It wasn’t magic fairies. It was hardworking folk. Sarah picked his nightshirt off the floor near the window. For some reason she always found it there, as if he had some propensity for stripping naked in front of the glass. Every day she vowed she would go out on the lawn when he changed in the evening and watch him, but she always ended the day too tired—even for such a view as Mr. Selwood. His physique was the topic of much discussion by the other housemaids.

  In truth, she could not put all the blame on Mr. Selwood. It was also the fault of his valet, who thought tidying up after a slovenly man was below him.

  Though Sarah had worked here at Banwick House for only a few weeks, she was the eldest of the housemaids by several years. The rest were all young girls not yet in their twenties. Age did not factor in when it came to household tasks, however. Seniority was how the land lay. As soon as she started work, she was given the dreaded duty of cleaning Mr. Selwood’s room.

  Though the daughter of a wool merchant, as an orphan she could not readily find work. By the grace of a kindly vicar, she had attended Harleigh’s School for Girls. But positions were hard to come by in these parts where there was nothing but serene lakes, country manors, and green rolling hills.

  She found Mr. Selwood’s dressing gown under the chair and added it to the pile in her arms. Once she earned enough money to get herself started, she’d move on to Liverpool. And from thence to America, where, she’d heard, there were jobs to be had for women of any station.

  But most of all she had to get away from him. The odious Charlie Crump. Just thinking his name made her shudder. She would not rest easy until she had a wide ocean between them. But she needed money. Passage was expensive even on a packet ship.

  The door to the chamber opened. Sarah glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Ruddiman, the valet, or Mrs. Walker, the housekeeper. But it was neither of them.

  It was Mr. Selwood himself.

  A servant is always invisible, Mrs. Walker had impressed upon her countless times.

  Sara
h straightened and pressed herself against the wall. She kept her eyes down at his shoes. At the uneven slats of wood in the ancient floor. Should she give him a curtsy? Or pretend not to exist?

  He crossed to the dressing room and opened the door.

  His undergarment lay on his bed near the opposite wall from where Sarah was doing her best to become part of the wallpaper. It shouldn’t be too hard, for the wallpapers were covered with trees and woodland scenes. Her twiglike figure should blend right in.

  But his undergarment was the last thing she needed to take down to be laundered. She could come back later, but that meant an extra trip and more work for her.

  “Ruddiman,” Mr. Selwood called into the dressing chamber for his valet. This was her chance, while he was distracted.

  She made a dash for it, tiptoeing quickly across the squeaky floor and reaching out for the garment.

  Right as she grabbed it, Mr. Selwood called out. “You there.”

  She froze for a moment, then slowly turned. Now was the time to curtsy. But she’d never seen him this close before. Mrs. Walker had hired her only three weeks ago, and since then she’d gone about her duties with as much invisibility as possible. She’d never actually been in the same room as Mr. Selwood.

  It turned out his physique was not the only part of him worth admiring. His face was the finest she’d ever beheld. Ten times more handsome than Mr. Cuthridge, who taught ciphering at the school where batches of girls swooned over him daily. He was even finer than Will Taylor, who’d brought the coal thrice each week.

  “Where is Ruddiman?” he asked.

  She strained to pull her eyes off of him. With great effort she tore them away and forced her gaze to the floor. The first step in invisibility, she’d been taught, was not to look the master in the eyes.

  “I do not know.” In her short time here, she’d learned to keep her distance from Mr. Ruddiman and his wandering hands—as did all the girls.

  “I’ve lost a button on my coat,” he said.

  She did not know the proper response to that. Should she offer to fix it? Or renew her efforts at invisibility? Either action held risks. But he seemed to be waiting for an answer.