A Temporary Governess

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Freddy grabbed his codpiece to protect his private parts and halted. “I was only funning you, Miss Marrick. No need for hysterics.” His expression changed to a cajoling leer. “I merely stopped by to warn you."

  "Warn me? Why? What do you mean? I need no warnings,” Clarissa snapped back at him, the pistol aimed at his bellybutton.

  "Oh, but you do, Miss Marrick. Should I mention that I saw you dallying with the marquess tonight, umm, the Countess of Devon may retaliate with something quite nasty. She firmly believes Alex belongs to her."

  "What makes you think I was anywhere near the ballroom or the marquess?"

  "Come now. I am neither blind nor stupid. I recognized your poor stab at a disguise when you entered the room with DeLand. I also saw you with Alex when you sneaked in a rear entrance to the Priory less than a half hour ago."

  Oh! Heavens! His statement may be conjecture, but it has a ring of truth to it, nevertheless.

  "I-I had been out walking when I ran into the marquess,” Clarissa began.

  "I think not,” Freddy said firmly, still eying the pistol. “I will not come any closer, but be good enough to put the pistol away. I do not suppose you wish to be hung or transported to the Southern Hemisphere. You do understand me now, do you not?"

  Clarissa shook her head. She lowered the barrel to the height of Freddy's kneecaps.

  "You are obviously not a very accomplished liar, Miss Marrick. And I wish only to ask something of you. I need to hear your feelings for Alex. Do you think to snare him into a second marriage? Remember, no one else has been able to do so."

  Clarissa's eyebrows rose as her fury sparked. “No, to answer you,” was her emphatic reply. “I was hired to be Beatrice's governess. Temporarily. And that is all I ever expect to be.” She waved the gun at him now. She would never let him know her feelings toward the marquess. “Now, leave me alone, Mr. Black, or I may have to do something more drastic."

  Freddy backed off. “You would dare to shoot me? Oh dear me, I do hope not, Miss Marrick.” His grin was villainous. “Let me propose something again. If it is not Alex you want, I believe I might do after all, hmm? But then, we shall wait and see.” Without another word, Mr. Black bowed and left the room the way he came in, through the schoolroom.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The Prince Regent and his entourage left Trury Priory at noon. Several shiny conveyances painted with the elaborate crest of Prince George wended their way down the long drive that rambled over the bridge and the lush green acres belonging to the Marquess of Chester.

  It took several more hours before the remaining guests got their things packed and put into carriages that would take them back to London or to nearby estates. The lone survivors were Freddy Black and the Countess of Devon. She had not even left her bedchamber yet today.

  Alex waved most of his guests away, then went to his study to think about what to do next. He would have to get rid of Georgie quickly. He certainly did not love her. Weeks ago, he made up his mind that she and he were no longer compatible, but she had clamped onto his coattails and hung on. So he had not totally cut her off quite yet.

  Initially, their daily sexual play was intriguing; she was an expert courtesan, having been trained in one of the expensive brothels in London. She learned the lascivious tricks to keep a man aroused and satisfied. But sexual intercourse, for in and itself, had began to pall on Alex's senses. He had always known how to put the right cog into the correct hole, but now the countess satisfied him only briefly. And he was certain, although she claimed to love him, the falsehood sounded quite untrue to his sharpened ears. Was there a way to use Freddy as a catalyst to send the countess back to London, posthaste? But what excuse could he use? He was still mulling over his options.

  * * * *

  After another sleepless night, Clarissa spent the morning with Beatrice. They hoped Sir Lancelot would one day talk. They continually repeated a few simple words to him again and again. The budgerigar, cocked his head, blinked his bright eyes, and pecked at his perch inside the cage as if sharpening his beak. At no time did he give a peep that sounded like a word.

  Earlier this week, Clarissa showed Beatrice how to press her finger against the little bird's chest. He did step onto her finger and stayed there for a short time. The girl had giggled and smiled up at Clarissa.

  "You will have to keep doing that, Beatrice, until Lancelot knows what you want and is sure that you will not hurt him,” Clarissa answered. “Then he will eagerly hop onto your finger. Hopefully, sometime soon, we can let him fly around the schoolroom freely. The book I read says he will eventually go back into his cage where food awaits him."

  "Oh, Miss Clarissa. I am so glad you came to be my governess,” the young girl burst out without preamble. “Whatever shall I do when you leave?” A whine in her voice, her piquant face screwed up as if she might cry real tears.

  Clarissa placed an arm around the girl's shoulders and squeezed the slight body against her side. What could she say? She didn't want to leave the Priory. Not simply because of her growing fondness for Beatrice and Daniel DeLand, or Beth, her maid, the horse, Glory, even Sir Lancelot, and ever so much more because of her certain feelings about the marquess.

  Clarissa bent to reassure the girl and alleviate her pinched expression. “Sometimes, Beatrice, we must do things that we would rather not do ... or places we would rather not leave. We may blame it on fate, but there are some things we have no power over."

  Clarissa gazed into the eyes of the marquess's illegitimate daughter. “My father is a vicar in Lower Cadbury some distance from here, Beatrice. He does not preach fire and brimstone, but neither does he believe in fate. My parents often told me that my future is in my hands, and I can do whatever I make of it with enough perseverance if I truly wish to be happy. So, I try to do what they said. It was my choice to substitute for Miss Hornsby. I am afraid she was unhappy here. Not because of you, but because of other things that upset her. I am telling you now that she probably will not be returning."

  Clarissa had to hold back the same tears she saw welling up in Beatrice's eyes. “I have been very happy at the Priory as your governess. I am terribly sorry to leave here. But I must go from here very soon. Meanwhile, m'lady, shall we try to accomplish as much as we can together during the time we have left?"

  Beatrice nodded unhappily.

  "Come now,” Clarissa said, forcing a watery smile. “Show me your latest sheet of penmanship. The one you finished yesterday."

  "Miss Clarissa,” she interrupted. “When can we ride together again? Soon?"

  "I do not see why not, if the weather is good. I shall enjoy another gallop with you and Snowy."

  "Oh, I hope so. I have something important to tell you."

  * * * *

  Freddy tapped on the door of the countess's bedchamber. It was situated several doorways farther down the hall from his which was located much nearer to Alex's master suite. Alex must have asked his housekeeper to give Georgie a room far away from his without putting her into one of the miniscule rooms situated in the opposite wing.

  "Georgie, it is me, Freddy. Let me in."

  Obviously, the countess was alone, because she came to the door herself. “Yes, come in. I want to know what you found out."

  The countess was in dishabille, wearing a dressing gown. She often entertained gentlemen callers in her bedchamber when the earl was away. But normally, not during the day unless it was Alex, whom Freddy knew was welcome at anytime.

  "Did Alex visit you?” he asked.

  "Of course not. I have not seen him. Not last evening, nor today."

  "The Priory was very busy this morning what with the Regent packing up and leaving. I believe the rest of Alex's masquerade guests have decided to depart, too. So it is you and I who remain to keep him entertained.” Freddy's expression remained bland. “Perhaps later you can do something to keep him occupied."

  "Never mind that now. Tell me what you learned."

  "None of the othe
r female guests I was aware of were seen leaving the ballroom with Alex. I saw several others sneaking away for carnal trysts, but most returned to the ball within the usual time it took to get it done. I, myself, had a brief turn with Lady Blythe behind the musician stand."

  "You left the room to satisfy your stinking lust when I told you to watch closely for whom Alex was interested in?” The countess glared at him. “Perhaps I shall cut your monthly allowance in half after all!"

  When Freddy returned to London from the Peninsula, the countess kept Freddy as her regular ciscisbeo after she married the earl. He was listed as a miscellaneous expense on the household accounts of which she had control over.

  "Now, now, Georgie, do not get into a snit.” Freddy approached her and slung his arms around his sibling. He nuzzled her neck and nipped her behind an ear.

  She stood still to receive his attention.

  He slowly reached around and loosened the neckline of her dressing gown. She wore a silk, almost transparent night rail beneath the pale pink wrap. He pulled down the wide décolletage as his lips descended to the plump white mounds of womanly flesh. His talented wet lips were soon licking and caressing her nipples. He growled and yanked the fabric lower; Georgie threw back her head. Her clutching hands grabbed him by the ears, pulling him closer.

  "More! Dammit! Suck harder, love!"

  Freddy sucked a hard nipple into his mouth, slobbering all over her.

  Her grip tightened on his head, clamping his face against her.

  "I was without sex for two days, damn you, Freddy Black,” she panted deeply. “Since when do you dare to leave me unsatisfied? We are still lovers, no matter what else or who else intervenes. Just remember that when I took care of you during our youth, living in that pig hovel until we managed to escape it."

  "I can still make you squeal with ecstasy, dear girl, anytime you wish! I diddled you three or four times every afternoon and more times each night up in that dingy loft. But you have to pleasure me, too."

  Georgie clung to him by dragging him slowly toward the big four poster. “Can you still get it up?"

  "Smart-mouthed bitch! Just try me!"

  "Do me the way you used to when we were young! And hurry! Do me first, then we shall see."

  Freddy threw the countess down across the bed, yanked up the hem of her nightclothes, then, without hesitation, he shoved his face between her thighs. His cheeks were slick from the fluid oozing from her woman's core. When he had his fill of her, he was not gentle. He grabbed her buttocks and speared his tongue into her sex as far as it would go, then pulled it out, and then in again, in a rhythm that had Georgie crawling across the mattress in quivering ecstacy.

  "Yes! Yes!” she cried out. “Now bring out that huge, lovely, juicy weapon! Quickly! I want it inside me!"

  Freddy opened his breeches and gave his half sister what she wanted.

  It was much later when he mentioned his visit to Clarissa Marrick and what he learned about the marquess's whereabouts last night.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was late afternoon when a large carriage drawn by four horses, clip-clopped over the bridge and up the gravel drive. It halted in front of the Priory's grand entrance. Two footmen jumped down. One opened the door while the other lowered the metal steps, helping the aged gentleman riding inside to descend to the drive with use of a brawny and courteous handhold.

  Dressed in expensive attire suitable for his station, the gray-haired aristocrat straightened up, his feet at last firmly attached to the gravel. He shook off obvious tremors, then leaned heavily on a Malacca cane and the arm of one of his footmen. “This is it?” he asked. A rough growl emitted from deep in the rather scrawny chest.

  "Yes, m'lord,” the servant replied. “Trury Priory. The estate of the Marquess of Chester."

  "Help me up the stairs, lad. I mean to have a few words with him—and more to say to the countess,” he grumbled.

  Graves, the Priory's butler, was already waiting on the landing, holding open one of the two massive, carved oak entrance doors. Always observant, as was his job, he noticed the crest on the carriage's door. The Countess of Devon often visited the Priory in such a vehicle. However, it appeared this time the passenger had been the elderly earl.

  "Welcome, to Trury Priory, my lord."

  "I am here to see the marquess,” the earl said without the usual genteel greeting. “Is he here?” The cranky peer spoke from between whiskered cheeks, rheumy blue eyes, and beneath thick, bushy, white brows.

  "I will announce you, my lord."

  Graves took the earl's hat and gloves, but left him his cane. One footman still accompanied the ancient aristocrat. Graves eyed the servant, but said only, “Please follow me, my lord."

  The doddering earl grasped the arm of his servant again as he was led to a small reception area off the sizeable foyer. “Perhaps you wish refreshments, my lord? Tea or spirits?"

  "Do not bring me any damn tea and biscuits, sirrah! What I need is a large dollop of French brandy. The best you have in your cellar. My arse pains me ever since I started on this blasted journey."

  The Earl of Devon plopped heavily into a cushioned chair. The footman helped him settle in, leaving the earl's cane leaning beside him.

  "Billings, you may wait outside the door for me,” the earl directed.

  He swiveled his squinty gaze back to Graves. “While you are about it, tell my countess I will speak with her after I speak with the marquess. And do have her see to it that her things are packed. She is leaving here with me.” The old gent glowered at Graves “Go do what I told you,” he commanded and waved Graves off. The earl then closed his eyes and rested his balding, age-spotted head against the back of the chair.

  * * * *

  Alex had not stirred from his study since his guests departed. He sat behind a massive desk, his chair tilted back, and fiddled with a brass letter opener in the curving shape of a Saracen blade. He was reliving last night, the hour or so he spent making love to Clarissa Marrick. He still was not sure why he never finished what he had wanted so avidly. Unless it was his conscience-steeped brain that kept him from the governess's final dénouement.

  He twirled the letter opener between callused fingers. He did not go back to the ballroom when he left Clarissa at the rear door, certain she had retreated to her bedchamber. Instead, he walked to the stables, had Thunder saddled, and rode out through bright moonlight to the racecourse. He sat unmoving on Thunder's back for some time—until the horse began to fidget. Raw, unsatisfied lust still surged through his pain-filled ballocks. The engorged size of his erection had finally diminished and softened. Finally, Alex jabbed the horse's sides with his heels and raced around the course several times until both he and Thunder were winded, and blowing. When he returned the horse to the stables, he sought the same rear door to the Priory and slowly mounted the servants’ stairs to his bedchamber, seeking his bed. He did not sleep well even after his unscheduled exercise.

  A tap on his study door jolted him out of his meandering reverie. Alex thought it must be Freddy.

  "Enter,” he drawled.

  "Your Lordship, you have a visitor,” Graves announced, stepping across the threshold. He handed Alex a calling card on a silver salver. “The Earl of Devon is here. I put him in the front reception parlor."

  "The old earl? He is here?” Alex's eyebrows rose when he read the card. “Is he able to walk?"

  "Somewhat slowly.” Graves could not help but smile, remembering that the old curmudgeon had snapped at him as if he were a green boy instead of a mature long-time family retainer. “And with some help from a footman, Your Lordship. I noticed the tone of his voice when he asked for you. It sounded rather sharp. I fear he is not pleased to be here.” Graves met Alex's eyes and asked, “Do you still wish to see him?"

  Alex nodded briefly. “Why not, Graves?"

  "Will you see him there, Your Lordship, or shall I bring him here?"

  "I think it is best I go to meet him. There is no need
to inconvenience him. He is more than twice my age."

  Graves preceded Alex to the small parlor and pushed open the door. The marquess nodded to the footman. “You are...?” he asked, raking his eyes over the brawny footman.

  "Billings, my lord. The earl's servant."

  Alex stopped just inside the small, elegantly decorated reception room, gazing at the unexpected visitor who seemed to have fallen asleep while waiting to meet with him. An empty glass of spirits sat on a nearby table next to a half full decanter of brandy.

  Alex cleared his throat audibly.

  Slowly, the earl's eyes opened. A frown creased his brow as he straightened in the chair. “My age precludes me from rising to greet you, Chester. By the way, I knew your father. But you and I have never had the ... uh ... pleasure, as I recall."

  "Quite true, my lord. My pleasure now. How can I be of service, Devon?"

  "You damn well know,” the earl grumbled under his breath, his bristling mien clearly evincing his displeasure. “Upon my return from Scotland two days ago, I found the bitch had traipsed off for the country. Again.” The earl glowered up at Alex. “She was told to wait in London until my return, but I have no doubt that she is with you,” he stated, his mouth tightening into a straight line. “If you must know, I had her followed here."

  "Ah, yes. Lady Ponsonsby. She has been here for several days visiting with the Regent and my other guests, my lord. She is still in residence. It appears your lady wife's prior whereabouts were expected elsewhere, but not here. But I could not, of course, in crudity, turn her away when she arrived upon my doorstep with her maid and baggage, my lord.” Alex stepped farther into the room, adding a bland expression along with his brief explanation.

  The earl closely scrutinized Alex's countenance just the same.

  Alex's eyes squarely met the aged, bleary ones squarely.

  The old codger knows that Georgie has stayed here with me before. He must realize that he can no longer do what is needed to keep her leashed. Surely, he noticed signs of her overt sexual escapades, or heard the servants whispering, each time he leaves home. Added to that, there is the odd friendship between her and Freddy.