“Oh dear,” she said with a sigh. “I was hoping this would be an exciting journey and that I would make new friends along the way, but I see I was mistaken.” She shook her head and looked mournful, before reaching for her travelling bag and opening it. Gwenn rustled about, making sure the girls caught glimpses of the books and interesting items she’d packed as she searched out a paper bag. She rustled it in her hand, making a show of debating her choice before pulling out a sweet and popping it into her mouth.
“It’s not nice to eat sweets in front of others, if you’re not going to share,” said the first twin indignantly.
“I know,” Gwenn said, with a grave nod. “But I don’t share with rude little girls, or ones that tell fibs.” She smiled at Mrs Bainbridge and leant across the carriage to her, offering her the bag. “Should you like a sweet, madam? They’re lemon and honey.”
Mrs Bainbridge looked at her for a long moment before allowing the faintest trace of a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. “I believe I would, Miss Wynter. Thank you.”
Gwenn allowed a minute or two to pass before saying, “Good, aren’t they?” to Mrs Bainbridge. She could almost hear the twins gnashing their teeth.
“Oh, all right,” twin number one said with a huff. “I’m Susan, and that’s Selina, and I’m sorry we were rude to you. May we have a sweet now?”
“May we have a sweet now…?” Gwenn prompted, deciding she’d best strike whilst the iron was hot.
“May we have a sweet now, please, Miss Wynter?” the girls sing-songed in unison.
Gwenn beamed at them. “Indeed, you may.”
Chapter 3
“Wherein… first impressions.”
They changed horses at Barnet, an efficient and speedy process that took barely five minutes. The carriage had already swayed back into motion as Sampson sighed.
“Ought I to have checked on them, do you think?”
“Did you hear screaming?” Samuel asked, raising one eyebrow.
“No.”
“There you are, then. They’ve not yet murdered the new governess. Best leave them be. Aunt May will abandon ship quick sharp if things go downhill.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Sampson said, though he still felt vaguely uneasy.
It was most unlike him to have just hired a woman without even setting eyes on her. Though her reference had been impeccable, and he was desperate.
“Admit it, you’re just dying to catch a glimpse of her,” Samuel said, giving his brother a sly grin. “Do you have a secret fetish for spectacles and grey, shapeless dresses?”
Sampson returned a quelling glare. “Don’t be an arse, Samuel.”
“But it’s what I do best,” Sam said, putting his hand over his heart.
With a snort, Sampson focused his attention to the window. They changed again at St Albans, and still Aunt May didn’t come running, and there were no visible or audible signs of distress….
Hopeful that perhaps he’d done the best thing after all, Sampson tipped his hat over his eyes and went to sleep.
***
Perhaps being a courtesan wasn’t the worst job in the world?
Gwenn pondered this question after almost four hours in the twin’s company as she massaged her temples against the headache that threatened. She’d already used many of the things she’d packed in her bag to keep them quiet. They’d played noughts and crosses and eaten half a bag of sweets, and were now occupied in writing an amusing poem, with each of them composing a line in turn, a game she’d enjoyed herself as a child.
She’d also read a story from Tales from Shakespeare, a book that rewrote the great man’s work in a form suitable for younger readers, making the girls laugh by playing all the parts, deepening her voice for the male characters and putting a deal of energy into the performance. With difficulty, she repressed a surge of guilt at having taken the beautifully illustrated book when she’d left home. Alvermarle had bought it for his children, but had forgotten to take it when he’d last visited Marie, before he’d gone to spend Christmas with his family. Of course, the duke’s children had been bought so much they’d hardly miss it. She doubted the man had even noticed, and Gwenn had promised herself she’d replace it when she could. Now, she could only congratulate her own foresight in coming so well prepared. Once again, she must give her mother credit for always having a detailed plan of how to keep her lover entertained.
Perhaps men really were like children? It was a question she felt unqualified to answer until she had more experience of them, but certainly her mother’s rules did work for children, so perhaps it was reasonable to think she was onto something.
“We must be in Dunstable, we’re stopping,” said Mrs Bainbridge, rubbing her gloved hand over the fogged up window. “And not a moment too soon. I’m famished.”
“Oh, me too,” chorused the twins in unison.
Gwen couldn’t help but laugh as they discarded their poems at once, pencils and papers set aside as they scurried to kneel on the seats and look outside.
“What, after eating all my sweets?” she protested. “I’m sure you couldn’t eat a morsel.”
“Oh, I could,” Selina said… or was it Susan?
“Me too, I could eat a horse,” chimed in Susan, or… well, the other one.
“No, no,” Gwenn said solemnly, shaking her head. “I’m certain you could not. Not even a mouse, certainly not a horse.”
“I could eat something even bigger than a horse,” Susan—no, Selina—protested.
“Really?” Gwenn said, all wide eyed with astonishment. “What is bigger than a horse?”
“A… A tiger,” Susan shouted, turning her fingers into claws and roaring at Gwenn.
“My, how fierce you are,” Gwenn replied. “Though I think there is more meat on a horse than a tiger.”
“A whale!” Susan crowed. “I could eat a whale.”
Gwenn laughed and set about gathering the discarded pencils and papers before handing the girls their bonnets and gloves. “Well, I’m sure you won’t be eating anything at all, unless you look like young ladies who need feeding and not tigers who must be chased away.”
The girls took their bonnets and gloves but made no move to put them on.
“Come along, girls,” she chided, eager to get out of the blasted carriage. By now she was so desperate for the necessary she felt she might burst. “Put your bonnets and gloves on. If Lord Cheam sees you both looking like hoydens, he’ll dismiss me before my first day is over.”
Somewhat to her surprise, the girls exchanged glances and did as she told them without protest. Gwenn glanced at Mrs Bainbridge as she drew on her own gloves, to see an approving smile.
“I don’t know what your game is, Miss Wynter,” the lady said quietly, “but I’ve never seen the girls take to anyone like they have to you.”
Years of practise at keeping expression carefully blank was the only thing that saved Gwenn from the blush that ought to have stained her face.
“Game?” she replied, her tone cool. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Mrs Bainbridge quirked one eyebrow. “Credit me with a little intelligence, girl,” she retorted. “But you handle the girls better than any of the insipid creatures who’ve had charge of them these past months, so I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. I warn you, though: these two will be the least of your troubles.”
Before Gwenn could enquire what the lady meant by that, the carriage door had opened and the steps let down. The girls leapt out with a joyful shriek of relief and ran out into the yard.
“Girls!” Gwenn called in dismay, watching them run off toward a sweet black puppy that barked and wagged its tail at them, sensing a game in the offing. “Oh, drat it, you little devils.”
With no other option, Gwenn hurried after them.
***
“You’re still in one piece, then?” Samuel quipped as they sought out Aunt May. “All arms and legs accounted for? What about mental faculties? Any left?”
&nbs
p; “A few, you dreadful creature,” Aunt May replied with dignity. “Though I must give credit to the new governess for that. She’s a marvel.”
Sampson felt his chest ease, as though he’d been holding his breath since they’d left London and hadn’t even realised it.
“Where is she?” Samuel asked, staring about the bustling yard.
“She’s gone after the girls. Naturally, they ran off at speed the second their feet touched the ground after all morning cooped up. She’ll round them up, I don’t doubt.”
At that moment, Aunt May’s lady’s maid appeared with a twin clasped firmly in each hand.
“Where is Miss Wynter?” Aunt May asked her maid, who opened her mouth to speak, but Selina beat her to it.
“She’s using the necessary,” she said, in the clear, bright tones that only a child possessed, with the ability to carry halfway across the yard.
Susan snickered.
“Girls!” Aunt May remonstrated, glaring at them. “Young ladies never refer to such— Oh, never mind. Come inside at once.”
Aunt May moved off, but the girls fought free of the maid and each ran to Sampson, clutching a leg each.
“Thank you for our new governess, Sunny,” they said, beaming at him with such obvious delight that he couldn’t help but return the expression.
It was so good to see them smiling again. For all the glee they derived from their mischievousness, Sampson had feared unhappiness fuelled their bad behaviour. Whoever this new governess was, he would ensure she stayed even if he had to pay her a king’s ransom to do so. If the girls were happy, it was worth every penny. If she could make them behave, too… so much the better.
“Yes, well, just don’t chase this one away, brats,” he scolded, tugging their blonde curls before they ran off after Aunt May. “For I’ll make sure the next one makes you do nothing but sums, and gives you slugs for tea.”
Sampson’s lips twitched as he caught the look in Samuel’s eyes. He shrugged, knowing Sam adored the girls every bit as much as he did. Even his dastardly twin brothers were putty in their hands.
“Coming?” Sam asked him as he headed towards the inn.
“In a moment. I must just stretch my legs before I sit down again.”
Sam nodded and Sampson strode down the lane, enjoying the ability to move after hours in the cramped carriage. The air was cold but sweet, weak sunshine penetrating the thick clouds overhead. He took a deep breath and let it out again, trying to release some of the pent up tension that had made his chest tight for what seemed an eternity.
His breath clouded about him and he allowed himself a moment to believe he wasn’t making such a hash of things as he feared. The girls were excited to meet their new brother, though explaining how and why they had a brother they’d not known about had tested him sorely. Damn his bloody father. Sampson had taken the cowardly route and fudged an answer together which had left them confused but accepting.
At least Ross was a good man. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, and Sampson dreaded to think what kind of bad language and habits the girls might learn from him, but he was family. He wanted his sisters to know what that was, what it meant. He wanted to see them enjoy a Christmas with presents and games and silliness, not the stilted, brittle affair it had always been when his father lived, with everyone on tenterhooks, waiting for everything to go to hell.
The chill of the December day was making itself felt through his coat, and Sampson turned on his heel, heading back to the smart red brick building that was The Sugar Loaf. It stood, proud and elegant, on the road that the Romans had dubbed Watling Street, and was a popular stopping place. Knowing this, and with his usual meticulous planning, Sampson had written some days previously to secure one of the private rooms. He hurried through the door now, grateful for the warmer temperature inside. Having been here several times before, he made his way down a narrow corridor that skirted the public rooms, towards the private dining room.
A door opened at the far end of the corridor and Sampson looked up, expecting to see a serving maid or perhaps the inn keeper come to greet him… and all the breath rushed from his lungs.
There were certain moments in his life that Sampson would never forget. Some of them were happy memories, like the time he’d taken Samuel fishing as a boy, and the look on his face when he’d hooked a bigger trout than Sampson for the first time. Sam had idolised him when they were children, and the pride in his eyes as he’d shown his prize to his big brother had been a moment that had etched itself into Sampson’s heart.
The moment he’d truly understood what kind of man his father was had been another. There had been a scandal, as ever, and Sampson had known instinctively that the vile story was true. The realisation that Sampson could never talk of his father with pride and respect like the other boys did was a painful one, but he’d survived it.
The first time he’d seen his twin sisters, so tiny and pink and fragile, had also been an unforgettable moment in his life. He’d fallen for them at once, despite not having the slightest notion what to do with such helpless little babies, too terrified to even pick them up for fear of damaging them. When he’d seen them, he’d made himself a promise to protect them from their father as best he could, and to ensure they had a happy life, untarnished by their wretched sire, no matter what he must do to achieve it.
His half-brother Ross, striding defiantly into their lives just a few months ago and challenging his father to a duel… that one would stick, too.
Those memories marked significant moments in his life, moments that had changed him, for better or worse. Sampson’s heart gave several uneven thuds in his chest before righting itself, and he knew, knew without a doubt, that this was one of those moments.
Karma. It was a Sanskrit word, and he knew its meaning well enough, but he’d never felt the impact of it before, the sense of inevitability, of fate bringing two people together in this moment, though whether as a blessing or punishment for past deeds he neither knew nor cared.
He’d never seen such a beautiful woman in all his life.
She was slender, but with generous curves in all the right places. Her hair, which had been wrestled into a harsh style, scraped back from her face and secured in a tight chignon, was gold. There was no other word, it was gold and lustrous, and he suspected it had a tendency to curl as a few unruly locks had escaped the fierce restraints and framed her face in guinea gold tendrils, and her face….
Her face….
She turned at that moment, and he forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes were turquoise, a delicate, elusive colour somewhere between a pale blue and a delicate green, and thickly outlined with darker gold lashes.
Though his wits had been scattered, he recognised the spark of interest in her expression as she looked at him, and the way her eyes widened a little. What he was not prepared for was the slow, lingering perusal of his person. Her intent gaze travelled over him, from head to toe and back again, assessing. Sampson had never been regarded with such undisguised interest by a lady, and she did appear to be a lady. Heat rushed over him and he was totally discomposed by the realisation he was blushing.
Him. Blushing?
Good heavens.
He wondered if she liked what she saw.
Though it was bold and rude and utterly inappropriate, Sampson had to know who she was.
At once.
“Forgive me,” he said, noting that his voice sounded odd, a little scratchy and not quite as it ought. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Not that he had startled her, quite the reverse, but it was all he could think of to say.
Please don’t be married. Please don’t be married.
Her chest rose and fell, and she licked her lips, a movement that his eyes devoured whilst every masculine part of him longed for the right to do the same himself.
“I was not startled,” she said, and her voice was soft and cultured, melodic. “But if you would excuse me, I have become a little lost. My
party will be missing me.”
“I should think they will,” Sampson said with feeling, before she could turn away, as was clearly her intention, before adding, “Miss…?” with a gently probing tone that must be unmistakable.
What the devil had gotten into him? A gentleman did not speak to a young woman he’d not been introduced to. Yet he could hardly follow her and ask her father, brother, husband… for an introduction, and he felt as if he might run mad if he never discovered her name.
The slightest curve touched her lush mouth before she turned away from him.
“Good day to you, sir.”
She moved back towards the door she’d entered through and all Sampson could think of was that if she left he might never see her again, might never know the name of the heavenly creature before him, because surely she was no mortal woman. It was not possible.
She was fate. His fate. Karma.
Don’t let her go, you damned fool!
He didn’t think, he acted.
“Wait!”
She started a little as he closed the distance between them and put his hand on the door.
“At least let me escort you back to your… husband?”
Something that might have been amusement, or perhaps even regret, flickered in her eyes.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
Sampson stared down at her, the terrible knowledge searing his chest that her face would haunt him for the rest of his days.
“Please,” he said, startled by the quality of his own voice, the desperation.
He didn’t even know what he was asking for. He was acting like the worst kind of fool. If she wanted to go, he should let her leave and not utter a word of protest. Yet his chest ached with the certainty that it was regret in her eyes. He was sure of it.
“Wynter,” she said, her voice hesitant, as though she knew she ought not speak it. “Miss Wynter.”
Sampson let out a breath that was not entirely steady.
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 3