A Temporary Governess

by Blaise Kilgallen

  It was Alex who said very calmly, “Come now, Miss Marrick, did I truly hear what I just heard?"

  Feeling as if her legs would no longer hold her upright, Clarissa let herself sink into a nearby chair. She swallowed to clear her throat, then sucked in a long, indrawn breath before she began to speak.

  "How could I have been so foolish?” she said, the words almost inaudible as she laced her fingers together in her lap. “But you must know, Your Lordship, that the man is truly wicked! He terrified Jane and then transferred his pursuit to me. Oh! I should have left here weeks ago, like Jane did,” Clarissa murmured, her lips shaping a twisted grimace. “Then none of this would have ever happened, and—"

  "Whoa!” the marquess exclaimed, striding across the room and holding up a broad palm as he stopped in front of her. “What is this? What are you talking about?"

  "I shot him.” Clarissa looked up at his questioning countenance. “I shot Mr. Black. In my bedchamber. A few minutes ago."

  Immediately, Alex grasped one of her wrists, a little roughly, and pulled Clarissa to her feet. “I think we had best go above stairs together for a look see. You can tell me what happened on the way."

  All Clarissa could think of this minute was that she would never see the light of happiness again. Ever. Her father would be scandalized. Jane would think she had gone mad. And next, the marquess would send for the local magistrate to come and take her away and incarcerate her. Clarissa was still in a fog as the pair mounted the stairs and turned toward the schoolroom. As they approached her chamber, she remembered the times when the marquess kissed her. In the hallway. And standing next to Sir Lancelot's birdcage. And later, when he made love to her in the lovely little folly. She would never feel those things again. Never feel the rush of pleasure she experienced in his embrace. Not if she lived a hundred years longer. Too bad she had not taken up his offer to be his mistress. Perhaps, she could still accept it. That is, if she ever got out of this terrible mess without being hung or transported.

  Several servants had gathered in the hallway near the schoolroom, murmuring questions amongst themselves, but obviously none of them had dared to enter the rooms in the suite.

  Upon his arrival at the door, the marquess shooed the gawkers away. “There is no need for you to be here,” he told them with the wave of an imperious hand. “I shall take care of what occurred here. Now, all of you, leave. Go back to work."

  Footmen and housemaids, alike, slowly filtered away, down the central stairs and along the long hallway toward the other wing of the Priory.

  Alex watched them go before asking Clarissa, “Where is Freddy?"

  "In my bedchamber. The door isn't locked."

  "Why did he come to your bedchamber?"

  "He did not at first. He entered through the schoolroom. I was with Bea-Lady Beatrice. When I found him in there disturbing Sir Lancelot, I asked him to leave. The bird was screeching, and I worried the noise would upset your daughter."

  Clarissa sucked a whispery breath between her teeth. “I dodged around him and ran into my room but he followed me. I grabbed the pistol from the table beside my bed and—"

  "The same one you pointed at me?"

  She nodded, flustered more so by his curt interruption. It would be an added horror if the marquess thought she encouraged Mr. Black's attentions after she had discouraged his.

  "He-he would not stop. I warned him, my lord, but he just laughed."

  "Then you shot him?” The question was sharp and precise.

  "He tried to grab me—"

  She stumbled over her explanation, but inhaled deeply and continued. “I told him days ago what I would do.” She looked down and stared at her feet. “And, yes. Oh God! I pulled the trigger. It was no accident. I meant to shoot him in the foot, but my aim was off. I am not certain yet exactly where I hit him. I did not stay around to see."

  "Where did you get the damn dueling pistol?"

  Clarissa looked up at the marquess again. “I-I brought it to the Priory with me. The pistol belonged to my grandfather. My father kept it tucked away in his room for safe keeping, but he showed me how to shoot it several years ago. And after Jane told me what happened here, well—"

  "Go on."

  "Jane alerted me about Mr. Black's pursuit. That he would not leave her alone. It was why she left the Priory. I made up an excuse that she ... well ... contracted measles. Then I took her place so that she would get a good character from Mr.Griggs by sending a replacement, meaning me, as a temporary governess to Lady Beatrice."

  "You mean to say Miss Hornsby was never truly ill?"

  "No, my lord. Just frightened of Mr. Black to the point I believed she might break down. Jane is rather ... fragile, emotionally."

  Alex relaxed somewhat, glad that Clarissa told him reasons for her actions before they went inside the room to confront Freddy's bleeding body.

  Clarissa found herself praying silently that all of this was simply a horrible nightmare that never happened, and that when they entered her bedchamber, they would not see Mr. Black stretched out on the carpet, quite dead.

  Alex pushed open the door. There was no body.

  She was stunned by the sight, but seconds later, Clarissa heard a petulant voice coming from Beatrice's room.

  "Where is Miss Clarissa? I want to see her."

  Clarissa left the marquess's side immediately and rushed into Beatrice's chamber. The girl was awake and talking. Clarissa was ecstatic. Surely the child would be fine now, even after her painful tumble from Snowy.

  "How do you feel, Lady Beatrice?” Clarissa asked, smiling down at her. “You look a good deal brighter than the last time I saw you. I am so glad you are finally awake. This is very good news, indeed."

  Clarissa swung her head around toward the schoolroom, wondering why the marquess had not followed her. All doors between the suite stood open. She saw him, unmoving, standing in the middle of her bedchamber.

  "Your father is here, Lady Beatrice. Let me bring him to you."

  With that, Clarissa strode across the schoolroom, but halted in the portal to her room. Something was wrong. Was her brain jumbled? Then what happened minutes ago came back to her in a flash.

  She saw Alex stooping to examine the stain on the carpet before straightening up.

  She exclaimed, “Your Lordship?"

  He looked through Clarissa as if he were unaware of her. Then his glance lowered to his fingertips. They were tinted red—with Freddy Black's blood.

  "Damn, if you did shoot him after all,” he remarked in a gruff voice. “What in the devil were you thinking, Miss Marrick?"

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The rhetorical question seemed a condemnation to her. He must truly despise her for shooting his friend. If only she could turn tail and run. Anywhere. As long as it was far away from the Priory. Then she would never have to see that look on his face again.

  It came to her moments later that someone would surely fetch her back to face charges because of her heinous crime. Clarissa swallowed a gasp of contrition that mingled with both pain and horror. Hands flew to her face, and she covered her cheeks with her palms. It flashed through her that she had already confessed to the crime. Now she had to face what she did and behave with some dignity. Her mother would want her to do so. Slowly, because it demanded almost a superhuman effort to control herself and not scream because of her predicament, Clarissa turned away from the marquess and walked slowly toward the large table in the schoolroom. She lowered herself into the straight chair, and clenched folded hands out in front of her as if praying. She needed to do something to stop them from trembling. She sat there in silence for what seemed to her an interminable time.

  She was aware that someone had shut the door between Beatrice's room and the schoolroom. It must have been the marquess, but she never saw him do it, nor had she realized that he had gone from the schoolroom. When he did return, he faced her across the width of the table. She did not look at him, but managed to hold her head up, althoug
h her eyes were downcast.

  There was a period of several seconds before he spoke. In a low, steady voice, rumbling from deep in his chest, Alex said, “I just came from Freddy's room. He is not dead."

  His words did not penetrate to Clarissa's battered brain immediately. Surely, she had heard him incorrectly. Instead, she did not show much emotion when she finally met his eyes, until she spoke with halting words. “Did ... you ... say ... he ... is ... not ... dead?” The spacing came out of her mouth in a series of breathless whispers.

  Alex nodded briskly. “Your bullet did some damage, but it did not hit an artery or a bone in his leg. Freddy will be hobbled and in some pain for weeks, but it is only a flesh wound. He can recuperate quite nicely in London."

  "But ... it cannot be true, Your Lordship. When I fired, I thought for sure he was badly hurt. He fell to the floor and didn't move."

  The marquess's statement sounded implausible, but Clarissa's gaze locked onto his. Was the man lying to her? If only what he said was true! Oh, my God!

  "Freddy will be fine, Clarissa. He is no longer bleeding. He bandaged himself. The bullet passed through his flesh, and there will be no need for a surgeon to patch him up."

  The marquess paused, watching the governess's face.

  "I am afraid I cut a wide swath through him a short while ago myself, Clarissa. I banished him from the Priory because of his ... bad behavior. He blames you for causing our splintered friendship."

  Alex's tiny smile was rueful. “Never mind. There was no need to argue further with him. You gave him a painful lesson. He is to leave here later. I will loan him my traveling coach and horses for the trip to London."

  "I ... was so sure ... he was dead, Your Lordship. That I killed him.” Clarissa said the words so softly that she might have spoken them to herself. “I was certain you sent for a magistrate when you left me alone in the schoolroom. I ... believed I would face a murder charge."

  Suddenly, Clarissa's pretty features crumpled, and she hid her face behind her fingers, sobbing quietly.

  It was ages since Alex had any reason to comfort a woman, but now, he reached down and pulled Clarissa up and into his open arms.

  She grabbed his jacket's lapels and hung on to them for dear life, pressing her face against his starched cravat and crisp, pristine shirt, wetting them with her salty tears. She could not remember the last time she had bawled so loudly and so openly, unless it was when her mother died. Now the marquess's warm hands were stroking gently up and down her spine. She leaned closer into his comforting embrace. Even if it was only for a few moments, it felt so good.

  A sudden, new thought occurred to her. Would there be other repercussions because of her attack on Mr. Black? Clarissa pulled out of Alex's arms. “Will—will Mr. Black have me arrested anyhow?” she choked out, anxiety clouding her eyes.

  "Calm yourself, Clarissa. He will do no such thing. I warned him to put it out of his head. Nothing happened here, hmm? No one will know what went on,” Alex said firmly. “You are not to speak of it to anyone. Understand?"

  "Yes. Of course,” Clarissa agreed, quietly. His brisk tone sounded harsh and unsympathetic.

  Alex had released Clarissa. “I suggest you stay in your room until Freddy leaves the premises."

  He was turning to go when she blurted out, “Your Lordship! Your daughter just came awake! You should visit her.” Her eyes fastened on his face.

  "I am certain the chit is not anxious for my visit,” he said. “Tell her I am glad she feels better.” With that brief rejoinder, Alex left the schoolroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Clarissa was horrified and angered anew by his lack of concern. She had a sudden and probably unwise and totally fierce impulse to chase after the marquess and drag him into Beatrice's bedchamber so he could tell his daughter himself.

  Oh! What is wrong with that man that he cannot tolerate the sight of his daughter?

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The day after the masquerade, Freddy had watched his half sister leave the Priory in a huff, accompanied by the aging earl. Georgie demanded that Freddy follow her, but he told her he was going to remain at the Priory for the time being.

  After those two discussions with Alex, both of which had badly discombobulated him, Freddy knew he no longer enjoyed the friendship of the Marquess of Chester. He hobbled down the central staircase, dragging a bandaged leg, and unhappily left the Priory for London.

  Normally, Alex would have been with Freddy, joking, drinking, and wagering. Both were excellent billiards players, the competition between them keen. Without Freddy to keep him company, instead Alex worked at his desk. It seemed there should be things to occupy him—estate business or his equines. But he found soon that he had been thinking—and lusting for—Clarissa Marrick. It would not be easy again seducing her the same way he did amidst the magic and moonlight in the tiny folly. Assured that Freddy had not accomplished what he attempted, and although Beatrice's governess was still a virgin, Alex still had visions of what he wanted to do with her in his bed.

  * * * *

  Clarissa poured herself a saucer of tea, then spread a warm crumpet with jam. She sat back in the unpadded chair and ate her breakfast. She had been saved from the clutches of a magistrate by a small miracle last night. Reminded this morning by her scandalous behavior, goose bumps shivered over her skin, realizing again what might have happened if Mr. Black had died. Those events repeated over and over in her mind. Good Lord! She could have been hung were it not for the intervention of the Marquess of Chester. It had taken a long time before she fell asleep.

  Today, she decided, she would spend time with Lady Beatrice, perhaps reading to her again from King Arthur's Chronicles. She hoped to coax His Lordship into visiting his daughter, and do so often. To her knowledge, the two had rarely spoken, but even a brief visit now and again might build a tiny bridge between father and daughter. Certainly, the marquess responded quickly when Beatrice was injured, so he must feel something for the girl, Clarissa thought. She both saw and heard his concern while Beatrice lay in an unmoving lump on the racecourse. If she could manage a minor miracle herself before leaving the Priory—an idea that occurred to her during the restless hours while she lay awake without sleep—it would please her no end to have accomplished it. Nevertheless, she planned to leave as soon a possible and return to her father and Jane in Lower Cadbury. That took precedence over her desire to remain at the Priory.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Since Alex was not of a mood to return to London, with or without Freddy, he spent a full morning in the saddle, working with his thoroughbreds and his stable crew, getting several racers ready for the upcoming season at Newmarket.

  Earlier, Clarissa had tried to speak with him, but the marquess had already left the house. So instead, she asked to see Mr. Griggs.

  "You wish to leave today, Miss Marrick? I dare say, I have been so busy with estate affairs, I did not realize that a month went by that quickly."

  "Only two more days left of my tenure, Mr. Griggs, but since Lady Beatrice will not be up to lessons for a while because of her accident, it is just as well that I go home now."

  "The marquess has not asked me to search for a new governess, Miss Marrick. I was under the impression that you planned to stay on here."

  "No. I believe my father can use my help at home. I told you that I took this position as a favor. But I hope you will write a character for both myself and Miss Hornsby before I leave."

  She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him her true identity. She decided not to confess since she lied about her real name to everyone. He need not know, and neither did the marquess.

  Grigg's expression was kind. “I shall see to it, Miss Marrick, and I shall tell the marquess when he returns for the noon meal that you wish to leave us this afternoon.” Mr. Griggs pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat. “In another hour or so."

  "Yes, thank you. But may I ask a further boon of you?"

  "Of course. Plea
se ask."

  "Will you arrange for a groom to drive me into Bostwelling? I believe there I can hire a chaise for the balance of my journey.” She stumbled a little over her next words. “I am embarrassed to say that I will need funds—my month's wages—in order to do so."

  "Harumph! Of course!” Mr. Griggs made a note of it then said, “Then, if I may, let me say that you have done a fine job here with Lady Beatrice. Mrs. Pritchett complimented you to me several times."

  "I enjoyed my stay here. And again, thank you, Mr. Griggs.” Clarissa left him and started toward the central stairs to the second storey. She heard footsteps behind her and turned. It was Daniel DeLand.

  "Miss Marrick! I am glad I caught up to you this morning."

  Clarissa smiled up at him. “I am glad, too."

  "How is Lady Beatrice?"

  "I will know, soon, Mr. DeLand. I was going above stairs this moment to visit her. Please join me. I know she will be glad to see you, too."

  The two strolled up the central staircase together, then turned toward the schoolroom.

  "How are you doing with the little bird, Miss Marrick? Has he said anything at all yet that sounds intelligible?"

  Clarissa paused outside the schoolroom. “No. Not that I heard.” She unlocked the door to the schoolroom, then realized she would never need to lock it again. Mr. Black left the Priory for good yesterday. She inhaled a satisfied breath, and pushed open the door.

  The birdcage was still covered. Clarissa walked toward it and gently removed the cloth. Sir Lancelot looked out at them bright-eyed, his head cocked to one side.

  "I believe he wants his breakfast,” she said, beaming toward Mr. DeLand. “I forgot about feeding him since the excitement, I'm afraid."

  Clarissa went to a cabinet and took out a container of seed. The little bird hopped around in the cage from perch to perch, squawking loudly. As she reached inside the cage and poured seeds into a holder, the bird hopped onto her finger. Clarissa smiled again. The budgerigar suddenly garbled deep in his throat. “Good morning, Lancelot!"