A Temporary Governess

by Blaise Kilgallen

  "Oh my goodness!” Clarissa exclaimed excitedly. “Did you hear that, Mr. DeLand? He talked! I distinctly heard him! He talked!"

  Daniel laughed out loud. “Now, that is truly wonderful!” he agreed.

  Clarissa quickly pulled her hand out of the cage and hurried to tap on the door to Beatrice's bedchamber.

  "Come in,” Mrs. Pritchett, called out.

  Beatrice was sitting up in bed, several of her dolls arranged around her amongst the down pillows.

  "Lady Beatrice! Guess what?” Clarissa exclaimed, rushing up to the bed. “Sir Lancelot said something! I heard him and so did Mr. DeLand! Don your robe and come into the schoolroom. Perhaps he will say it again if we coax him!"

  Sir Lancelot nibbled at his breakfast seed, ignoring the group standing around his cage eagerly listening as if he were a babe about to mumble the first word.

  As the minutes went by without a sound from him, anticipation turned to disappointment.

  "But I so wanted to hear him,” Beatrice whined. “I tried so hard—"

  "You must not worry, Beatrice,” Clarissa comforted her charge. “If he spoke once, I am certain he will do so again. You must be patient, that is all."

  "Of course, child,” Mr. DeLand added. “What Miss Marrick said is true. If the bird spoke once, he will speak again. We must wait and listen."

  Beatrice was clearly not happy, but she asked, “Can I bring Sir Lancelot into my room, Miss Clarissa? I will stay in bed, I promise, and be good. But I can hear him better if he is next to me and he talks again. Can I? Oh, please!"

  Clarissa glanced at the nanny whose face was now wreathed in smiles as she nodded.

  "Mr. Deland, would you be good enough to carry the cage inside for us?"

  "My pleasure,” Daniel said, as the four shifted into the much larger room.

  "Set the cage next to my bed, please,” Beatrice said. “I shall keep reminding him: Sir Lancelot? Good morning, Sir Lancelot,” she repeated several times.

  The bird sat on the perch, mute, for several minutes. Then, he cocked an eye. Then from deep in his throat came a few garbled sounds: “Good morning, Lancelot."

  Beatrice's eyes grew round as saucers, wide with amazement, and blinking with sheer joy. Then she clapped her hands and laughed. “We did it, Miss Clarissa! We did it!"

  * * * *

  Daniel DeLand met Alex in the downstairs hallway as the marquess came in from a morning on the racecourse. Daniel's wide grin described Beatrice's substantial recovery from her fall, repeating that his daughter was doing nicely and would soon be up and around if everything progressed as well as it had. Then he grinned again, relating to Alex that Beatrice's pet bird spoke something they could all understand.

  Unfortunately, Daniel's next bit of information stated that Miss Marrick wished to leave the Priory today. Alex did not take the news lightly. His first stop after speaking to Daniel was in his chamber to wash up and change clothes. From there, he strode purposely along the hallway, reminded of the night he caught Clarissa hiding in the wrong room and kissed her. He passed the central staircase and continued to the schoolroom. There he halted and rapped three times on the door.

  Clarissa gathered together the lessons and primers Jane left in the schoolroom when she ran from the Priory. Clarissa used the same ones to teach Beatrice. “I am almost packed,” she called over her shoulder, believing it was a footman in the hall come to carry her belongings below for the trip to Bostwelling.

  Oh, dear me, time is fleeting, she thought. I must find the marquess and speak with him. And I must give Beatrice a final hug before I go, too.

  She had spent the past hour talking with Beatrice, reading to her, and going over some of their prior lessons so she did not forget what she learned. Both she and Beatrice repeated more phrases to Sir Lancelot, and the little bird talked a few more times. Both Clarissa and Beatrice grinned when he cocked an eye and spoke. Clarissa had yet to disclose that she was leaving the Priory for good in a few hours. She was aware that the separation would be tearful and heartbreaking for both of them. The lonely child and the young, compassionate woman had bonded after only a few weeks.

  Clarissa checked a last time, making sure that she had not forgotten anything. Her trunk, filled with hers and Jane's borrowed clothes, was packed and waiting in her bedchamber ready to go. Beth had helped her. She donned her best traveling dress, leaving out the straw bonnet she borrowed from Jane. She had already said her goodbyes to the little maid with a smile and a hug. She had also promised to keep in touch with Mr. DeLand so she could follow how things were going at the Priory.

  "Yes! Come in! I believe everything is ready!” she exclaimed, her head swiveling toward the hall. When the door opened, the marquess appeared in the doorway, displaying every wondrous bit of masculine splendor. However, a frown was deeply embedded in his broad brow.

  "Where do you think you are going, Miss Marrick?"

  Clarissa gulped in surprise. “Your Lordship! I thought it was a footman at the door!"

  Alex stepped into the schoolroom and shut the door behind him. “I was just told that you are leaving. Why?"

  "Why?” she asked, feeling stupid. “Because my tenure here is all but up. My agreement as governess was for a month only—"

  "I decided I wish you to stay on, Miss Marrick."

  Clarissa blinked up at him. Gazing into his eyes, she saw they were wide open, not the shuttered, lazy look of aristocratic ennui he allowed with his guests. This look was stark, pierced with intent, and quite serious.

  Clarissa gathered her ragged and confused wits into some semblance of order. She tried desperately to swallow the unhappy thoughts rampaging across her mind. If she was not careful, her emotions would get the better of her. Already the press of tears brimmed behind her lashes, ready to let go and dribble down her cheeks.

  Oh, do you not know how much I hate to leave here? But staying will only cause me additional heartache. I will shatter into tiny pieces if I must watch you laugh and flirt—and make love with those professional beauties at your house parties. Better yet, I go now and forget all about you and what went on between us. I care for your daughter—and unfortunately, for you, too—deeply. I shall never forget either of you.

  Clarissa straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine as she took a step backward and turned away to put the large table between herself and the marquess before she answered him.

  "It is not up to you, Your Lordship,” she sniffed. “You cannot order me to stay. I fulfilled my agreement and taught Lady Beatrice whatever I was able to accomplish in the time I was allotted.” Her gaze focused on his stormy countenance. “I only wish I had been able to teach you some things, too."

  "Teach me?" he grunted. "What things? I thought I did the teaching, Miss Marrick?"

  She noticed a glimmer of wickedness flicker deep in his gray gaze. His lips twitched as he pronounced the words.

  "First of all, my lord, you need to learn to forgive,” she continued.

  "Learn forgiveness? For what? It was not I who betrayed my marriage vows!” His frown returned in full force, stunning him when he realized suddenly what he just confessed.

  Clarissa gasped.

  "You did not hear me say that, Miss Marrick. Forget what I said."

  "I cannot,” she replied. Her eyes locked on his eyes, seeing the pain she now recognized deep inside them. “Daniel told some of your past ... but not all. And it is not my intention to pry. But Your Lordship ... your daughter needs you. Show her you care by giving her your attention as a parent should. Beatrice will soon become a young lady. You cannot allow her to wallow helplessly through more years of childhood, wondering if she would ever have anyone strong to turn to for help if needed. And, yes, for your affection, Your Lordship."

  "The girl has everything a well bred female needs. Had she been male—"

  "What? You turned away from her because she is of a different gender! That is—"

  "That is not the real reason!” He glowered at Cla
rissa, his tone sharp and precise. “The girl is not mine! Her conception was not mine! My wife was with child when she married me!"

  Clarissa felt a flutter in her chest and yanked out the straight chair tucked under the table, sinking her backside onto it, her face plainly displaying astonishment.

  "Now you see, Miss Marrick,” Alex said, “why I do not care to look at her or speak with her.” He growled down at her from across the table. “I see my wife in her. Her hair, her face, her eyes. Even her voice. She looks too much like the woman I thought I loved nine years ago. I cannot forget the same woman that schemed to leg shackle me, betrayed me, and humiliated me even before we wed. I gave the child my name, but I vowed not to grow fond of her. And I have kept that vow."

  The marquess turned away from Clarissa abruptly, showing her his broad back, but she saw him trembling, drawing in deep breaths to calm himself.

  Clarissa rose, but did not approach him. Very quietly, she said, “I saw the look on your face, Your Lordship, when Beatrice lay helpless on the racecourse. I do not believe you hate your daughter as you seem to profess. How could you? You are much too intelligent and kind. Surely, you must realize it was not the girl's fault that she was born on the wrong side of the blanket."

  Clarissa came around the table but did not move any closer to him. His back was still turned toward her. Her eyes roamed over his shoulders, drinking in the powerful physique covered by his beautifully tailored jacket. “If the girl's mother was at fault, that is another story. Obviously, your wife's betrayal wounded you terribly—or at least, she humiliated your male ego—quite devastatingly.” Clarissa continued very softly as her compassionate voice colored the logical words. “All those years...” She paused before going on. “If Beatrice has not yet been told that you are not her father—perhaps when you do decide it is time that she should know—can you imagine what she will feel when you do tell her? Or why you do not even look at or speak with her? How more cruel can you be, Your Lordship?"

  Clarissa paused, but she was not finished. “Perhaps, as I begin to suspect, she gave up on you when you ignored her years ago. Instead, she sought attention elsewhere, whining with selfishness and behaving with unsavory, unladylike actions simply because she did not get it from you or anyone but her nanny. I knew right off that Mrs. Pritchett gave into her too often. And Beatrice's artificial and nasty tricks became a habit that was difficult to break."

  "You dare to lecture me, Miss Marrick?"

  "Someone needed to, my lord, but now I shall cease badgering you except to say that Beatrice has changed. Delightfully so. Your daughter is a lovely young girl with polite manners and burgeoning handsome looks. She shows more interest in her lessons, too, since I found ways to help her enjoy them. She learned to care for and take responsibility for another living being—her little bird. That is all to the good, Your Lordship, but she still needs your attention, your parental acceptance, and caring."

  When Clarissa finished, the silence in the schoolroom was almost deafening.

  "I am glad to know that you are finally done with me,” the marquess grumbled without looking back at her. Without another word, he strode to the schoolroom door, opened it, and left, shutting it behind him.

  * * * *

  The farewells between Beatrice and Clarissa were not easy. Both had wet cheeks and watery, blurred vision when Clarissa bent and kissed the girl on both cheeks. They hugged one another long and hard until Clarissa spun around and hurried from the room, fingers wiping at her tear-stained face.

  As it turned out, the marquess had ordered one of his fancy carriages, a driver and two footman made available to escort Clarissa to Lower Cadbury, a journey that would take several hours.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Bertha Oliver met Clarissa at the door to the Manning's cottage when she arrived there. The marquess's footmen brought in her luggage and then left to return to the Priory.

  "Miss Hornsby got plenty of rest and put on some weight,” the housekeeper said after hugging Clarissa and drawing her into the interior where the light was better, and she could get a better look at her. “More than I can say for you,” she commented, her brow grooved by a frown.

  "I am just a bit tired, Olly. I did not sleep well last night. And there were ends to tie up before I could leave the Priory. So the journey home began rather late."

  Jane met Clarissa at the doorway leading to the tidy parlor. Her gaze seemed perplexed after hearing the housekeeper's voice announcing her friend's return at this time of night. “Is everything all right, Clary?"

  "Yes,” she said. “Oh, Jane, I have good news. If you like, dear friend, you can return to Priory. They are still in need of a governess for Beatrice.” She smiled wearily. “Mr. Black is no longer welcome there. The marquess sent him away for good. You need no longer worry."

  Clarissa, even as weary as she felt, managed a twinkle in her eye. “And I believe Mr. DeLand will be extremely happy to see you again."

  Jane blushed, her cheeks blossoming with warm color. “That is good news, indeed, Clary.” Then she hesitated and asked, “You had no trouble with Mr. Black?"

  "He was not interested in me,” Clarissa lied.

  "I was so worried about you, Clary. Mr. Black can be ... terribly persistent."

  "Tell me. Have you found a new position?” Clarissa asked, changing the topic.

  "No, not yet. But I am looking."

  "Think about returning to the Priory, Jane. The coast is clear now."

  Clarissa sat down in the parlor, feeling drained and heartsick after living through the experiences of the past few days.

  Mrs. Oliver hovered by the door. “Can I get you something to eat, Clary? Or a saucer of tea and some biscuits at least?"

  "I think not. I rather feel like I need to rest. I am suddenly quite weary."

  She turned back to Jane. “But first, I must tell you that Lady Beatrice took a fall off her pony a few days ago and injured her wrist. She will not be riding soon again, but she will need things to occupy her time. If she does not get attention, she may turn back to a selfish, petulant, whining child again. I would hate that to happen. She and I got along famously."

  "I am sure you did, Clary. You rode with her, right? Something I could never do. You know I am terrified of those large beasts."

  "Perhaps you would be more comfortable taming one of the little birds the marquess imported. Beatrice and I did so, even taught the little fellow to say a few words. That way you and she will have something in common. It will be easier for you to teach Beatrice when you become friends. She is much nicer now than she was when I first met her."

  Jane's eyes lit up. “I recall seeing those little birds below stairs. Aren't they pretty?"

  "Very."

  Clarissa sighed now and said, “I must undress and lie down, Jane. My eyes feel heavy enough to droop. I shall talk with you about it more tomorrow. By the way, where is my father?"

  "Visiting the bishop,” Jane replied. “He will be back soon. I know he is anxious to see you again. We all missed you, Clary."

  "I missed you too, Jane. But now, I need sleep."

  * * * *

  The next morning when Clarissa woke, sunshine streamed through the thin curtains on the windows. Looking around her small bedchamber, she saw a difference immediately between the vicarage and the Priory. The vicarage looked more shabby and threadbare than it had looked even before returning home.

  Yes, she was home. And safe.

  But quite unhappy.

  All she could think of was the marquess, the last time she had seen and lectured him so scornfully, realizing she lost him forever. The idea was so painful, it almost tore her into tiny pieces.

  Here I am, a foolish virgin, thinking of him, longing to be near him, and knowing I could have taken his offer and become his mistress.

  The marquess denied that she was nothing to him, but, unfortunately, he had become part of her imaginary world. His kisses and caresses had changed her in ways that would never be the
same again. She knew now that she would never write the romance novel she envisioned either. Alex Warner was too much a part of it. She would never be able to explain in words how he made her feel when she was with him. How her body tingled when he touched her, kissed her. It had been exciting—new and stupendous—emotionally and physically. But all of that was over and done with.

  "I can confess to myself that I love him now,” she whispered aloud, lying in the narrow bed she slept in ever since she was a child too big for a cot. She saw his rugged face in her mind's eye. Then she wondered if he had mulled over what she said to him. Or thought about her at all.

  Still weary and drained by deep emotions and unhappy thoughts, Clarissa closed her eyes and went back to sleep for a while longer.

  * * * *

  "It is nice to have you back, my dear,” her father said two days later when they finally had breakfast together. “I enjoyed having Jane here, but you are my daughter. And I missed you."

  Jane had already eaten this morning and was packing her things for her return to the Priory.

  Clarissa had written almost immediately to Mr. Griggs and advised that Jane was willing to return as Beatrice's governess now that Mr. Black had been banned from all of the marquess's estates, of which there were several. Of course, she would not spell out the reason in so many words, but she did state that Jane now felt well enough to teach Beatrice again.

  Alex's steward's reply was quick and affirmative, by messenger, including two messages. One stated that a coach would arrive sometime around noon today to take Jane back to the Priory. The other was a note from Daniel DeLand. Jane did not disclose to Clarissa what was written in that note.

  The Reverend Manning had returned last evening, but Clarissa and he had very little time together until today. “I suspect the Priory was quite different than living here, eh, Clary? I hope you enjoyed your stay there. I am well aware how dull living in a vicarage in Lower Cadbury can be for a young, spritely girl like you. I wish I had the funds to move and seek out a more advantageous parish. I am of the opinion that the bishop has all but forgotten I exist, title and all, unfortunately."