The Key to the Governess's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  But Peter thought better of it. He didn’t want to make Andrew angry, not on this wonderful night that his friend had arranged with so much determination and passion.

  He had worked hard for this. Peter didn’t wish to disrespect that.

  “Are you all right?” Lady Seton asked him at one point.

  “I am, thank you. And you? Are you having a nice time?” he asked in reply.

  She nodded, but he caught her gaze which wandered to Andrew.

  Peter wondered what the best option was. Ought he to address the fact that the two had felt a connection, the same as he had felt with Miss Cloud? It was not appropriate. Not at all.

  But he wondered if there was going to be a great deal of pain caused by not confronting the issue.

  No. The best choice was to fall in love with Lady Seton. He had made a commitment and he could see that she was determined to keep her commitment as well. She had been polite to him, danced with him, and had given him her full attention.

  Peter wanted to honour that, to show her that he was serious about their marriage and the future that they had with one another.

  “I am sorry that we used up all of our dances,” he said, apologising.

  “Are you? You didn’t seem to enjoy the dancing all that much,” she teased.

  “It is only because I cannot compare to your elegance, your grace, or your poise. But I did enjoy it, very much,” he said.

  And as he held her smile in his gaze, Peter began to believe it.

  Chapter 9

  Beatrice put the finishing touches on a letter to her sister, wishing her a happy week and talking about how much she longed to see her again.

  My Dear Marissa,

  I feel as though it has been many years since I have seen you, and yet I know that it has not. Nevertheless, it has been far too long and I wish that I could come right now to visit you.

  How is Daisy? I am certain that she is growing quickly. I would not be able to recognise her now, I have no doubt. She was only a few weeks old when I saw her last. I would long for the opportunity to hold her in my arms.

  And how are you and your dear husband? Is all well?

  Things here are…somewhat difficult of late. I cannot explain exactly what has changed, but I have found a disquiet in my heart. There is a part of me that has begun to long for something more. A part that so desires to be married and with a family as you are.

  I wish that I did not feel this way. After all, I was perfectly content to have my work and to be strong and diligent without the need for something more. But, alas, much has changed in my heart.

  My friend, Lady Seton, is engaged to be married. We met her betrothed at a party hosted by her father. He is a very kind man. She is lucky to have someone like him. I had not thought it possible that a nobleman would be such a lovely person.

  Otherwise, things are much the same here. Cecile is still filled with questions and Mary filled with complaints, but I do love them very much. As they grow, they are lessening on those fronts and it makes me proud to know that I have had some small part in their development as young ladies.

  Have you spoken with Mother and Father of late? I do miss them as well. I wrote to them two days ago and have not heard a reply, but I expect it shall be another day or so before I do.

  I shall try to find a time that I may come and see you soon. I would like the rest away from here and to spend some time with you and your family.

  Until then,

  Beatrice

  It had been such a long time since she had been with her family and been able to see them. She missed her mother, her father, her sister, and her two brothers. But it was her sister she was closest to.

  Marissa lived near the border of Scotland with her husband and daughter. Beatrice was hoping to visit her soon enough, but the opportunity always seemed to elude her.

  She folded up the letter and sealed it before going out of her room and down the stairs.

  “Miss Cloud, where are you going?” Cecile asked.

  “I have to go into town, my dear. I have a letter for my sister,” Beatrice said.

  “What is she like? Is she younger, like Mary? Or is she the bigger sister, like me?” Cecile asked.

  “She is bigger, like you. And she is very lovely. She has her own little girl, just a year old. And a very kind husband,” Beatrice said.

  “Why don’t you have a husband and child?” Cecile asked.

  Beatrice froze, but maintained her smile.

  “Well, Cecile, I am younger and I have not had the same opportunity to find a husband that she has had,” Beatrice said.

  “I understand. But you shall not be gone for too long, will you?” Cecile asked.

  “No, I shall not. I have every intention of being back before dinner,” she said.

  “All right, then. We shall miss you,” Cecile said.

  Beatrice smiled at Cecile’s sweetness. It was so wonderful to feel loved and cared for in such a way.

  She then departed from the estate and made her way into town, glad to be out for a short while. She was so frequently cooped up in the house that it meant a good deal to her to be able to get some air away from her work.

  Aware that it was a foolish thing to do Beatrice allowed herself a moment of indulgence, staring into the windows of a dressmaker. She pictured herself in the lovely gowns on display, thinking that life would be very different if she had been born into the same privilege that Isla had been.

  Perhaps she was not much of a dancer or socialite, but she would have loved to mingle with the likes of Lord Hawthorn.

  There it was again. That silly thought. She had only barely met him. It was only because she was suddenly so hopeful of finding a husband that she continued to think about him, but the last thing Beatrice wanted to do was pine.

  Instead, as she walked, she began to make plans of her own. Rather than hope that she would stumble upon an opportunity to attend a ball and find some man of society, she would go to some of the smaller dances for those of her own station. She would enjoy her time when she was out and about.

  She would also try to make friends other than Isla. It was her own fault for not having many. Yes, she was friendly with some of the maids and others at the house, and they spoke frequently, but they were not as close as she had become to Isla. There was an age difference between Beatrice and the other household staff.

  But if she started to venture out more frequently, she might get to know more people in London. It would be like it had been back home with her own family where she knew many people in the area. That was what she wanted.

  The fancy dresses were not nearly as important as having the companionship of a friend.

  Beatrice continued on and took the letter to the post. She asked if there was anything for her and found that there was, indeed, a response from her mother and father, which brightened her spirit.

  As she was leaving, Beatrice started to open the letter, unable to wait before reading it. She reached the street when she bumped straight into someone.

  “Oh!” she gasped, jumping back.

  Her eyes flew upraised until she beheld the face of a tall, broad man with blonde hair and lovely blue eyes.

  “M-Miss Cloud,” he said.

  “My Lord,” she replied, casting her eyes back down and curtseying.

  “What are you doing out and about?” he asked.

  Beatrice’s smile faltered. Did he think that she must stay at the estate at all times?

  “I am allowed to leave the Seton Estate now and then,” she said, trying not to sound as indignant as she felt.

  “Yes, of course. I only meant…I mean, I was making conversation. Not very well, it would seem,” he said with a nervous laugh.

  Beatrice laughed, gently, understanding that she had misinterpreted him.

  “Well, in that case, I may tell you that I was in town to send a letter to my sister,” she said.

  “That is lovely. Where does she live?” he asked.

  “Nea
r the border. A little farther north than my mother and father. And my brother, he lives with them as well,” she explained.

  “So you were not raised in London?” Lord Hawthorn asked.

  “No, I was not. I came here for work,” she said.

  It was strange that he seemed genuinely interested in knowing these things. Why should her life matter to him? Why did he care where she had been raised or what she was doing in town or anything at all about her family?

  “It must be very difficult to be so far away from them,” he said.

  Beatrice shrugged.

  “Perhaps, at times. I do miss my sister a great deal, which is why I wanted to write to her. She and I have always been very close,” she said.

  “Why does she live so far north?” he asked.

  “It is where her husband is from,” she answered.

  “She is married? Well, that is nice,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “Yes, it is.”

  The street was busy with people. All around them, the hustle of London was happening. Beatrice was anxious that they should be seen.

  It was clear from her cattier that she was not anyone of importance; just an average young woman of the working class. She was neat and tidy, but far from wealthy. This didn’t bother her, but she knew that it would be obvious to anyone who paid attention.

  And then, there was Lord Hawthorn. Not only would many of the socialites recognise him if they were to pass by, but anyone at all would be able to see that he was of a higher ranking than her. There would be many questions as to why a man like that would be seen speaking with a young lady like Beatrice.

  She only hoped that no one made assumptions that were improper in any way.

  Still, she allowed her gaze to shift about, awkwardly, hoping that she was invisible enough not to be made a spectacle of.

  “You know, Lady Seton has told me that you have been a very good friend to her. I am glad to hear that she has someone so kind in her life,” he said, choosing to continue the conversation rather than let it go as Beatrice had hoped.

  She wondered if he did not mind being seen with someone like her or what might be going on in his mind. Did he not understand the distinctions of social class and the fact that it was not normal in any way for him to be standing there with a woman of her class?

  It was confusing and it slowed Beatrice’s thoughts and ability to answer.

  “She has been a very good friend to me, as well. I am not sure what I would do without her,” Beatrice confessed.

  He smiled in a manner that looked so innocent. Beatrice thought that maybe he really didn’t understand that what he was doing was strange and irregular. Beatrice began to think that he could not see how harsh the world was to those who were not born into his social class.

  How could he?

  There was something innocent and naive about it, and yet it was refreshing. It was delightful to be spoken to as an equal rather than with the social distinctions that Beatrice had come to expect.

  For a moment, she forgot herself and even wanted to continue speaking with him, hoping that they would actually get along as equals, forgetting all else.

  For a moment she wanted to be seen for who she was, not simply for her position.

  “Well, I have finished my duty. Are you quite busy with your work in town?” she asked him, deciding to join in his efforts to keep the conversation going.

  “I am, indeed. I do love to be busy, so I hardly mind it, but I confess that it can be overwhelming at times. When I am in the countryside, I can do some of my work, but much of it piles up until I come to London to finish my duties,” he said.

  “That does sound difficult. You own a business, is that right?” she asked.

  “I do. Trade, of course. Like nearly every other man in England, I wanted to try my hand at trade,” he said, laughing regretfully.

  “You don’t like it?” she asked.

  “It’s not that. It is only that there are a great number of risks involved and I am dealing with cultures and languages very different from my own,” he told her.

  Beatrice considered that for a moment.

  There were risks involved. He was dealing with a completely different culture. In many ways, it was not so far from how she felt.

  Chapter 10

  It felt wrong to indulge in this conversation with Miss Cloud, but they were in public and it was not as though anyone might think they were engaged in any illicit behaviours. It was when two people were in private that such things became a concern.

  No, he wanted to take every advantage of this opportunity to speak with her, to get to know her, and to spend time with her.

  It was probably wrong for him to do so, but that did not change how badly he wanted to do it.

  “What commodity do you trade?” she asked.

  “A few items, but tea and tobacco appear to be the most popular,” he said.

  “Well, that is very fascinating,” Miss Cloud said.

  Peter thought that she was probably just being polite and he didn’t blame her if she actually found it perfectly boring. But she was allowing him to stand there and speak to her, despite the hesitation that he had sensed from her at first.

  Was it only because she was also worried about the connection that he had felt on the evening when they first met? Was she so aware of that as well?

  Whatever it was that had caused her to be cautious, she appeared to be relaxing. That made him happy to see. Peter wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.

  A wave of guilt washed over him at that thought.

  This was entirely against his duty. He was supposed to be marrying Lady Seton. Why was it so easy to forget that whenever Miss Cloud was around?

  He needed to just continue this conversation and then embolden himself enough to depart.

  “It is actually rather dull. I enjoy the work, but it is not so interesting,” he said.

  “Perhaps you would find it more interesting if you had fewer prospects,” Miss Cloud said, looking away from him.

  Peter nodded, not having thought about that before.

  “I suppose you are right. I shouldn’t be so irritated about my work when I am fortunate to have chosen it,” he said.

  “It is something to consider, anyway,” she replied.

  “Were you made to be a governess? Had you no other options?” he asked, boldly.

  “Well, I could have been a maid. It would not have been so bad, but being a governess does allow a few more freedoms and also better pay, if I may be so vulgar to say,” she told him.

  He laughed at her remark, knowing well that it was not an appropriate thing to say but that it was, nevertheless, truthful.