His Unusual Governess

by Anne Herries

  Sarah stood absolutely still as he stalked out of the room. His threat to kill her had not sunk in as yet. She was numb, but the pain had started deep inside her. Her mother was not her mother, even though she’d always loved her as if they were related by blood. Her father had gone to a prostitute to get himself an heir… .

  ‘How could you?’ Sarah whispered as her throat began to close. ‘How could you die without telling me the truth?’

  Hot tears burned behind her eyes. She struggled to hold them back but her throat was closing and she felt so much pain that it was all she could do to stay on her feet.

  Mama …’ Sarah brushed away the tears that squeezed from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. She felt sweeping loneliness as she realised that her whole life had been based on a lie.

  Sarah had always known that she could not hope to mix in the upper echelons of society, but her mother was of gentle birth and that had been sufficient. It did not matter that her father was a rough northern man with an abrasive tongue and a sharp business brain. He’d been honest and kind to her, giving her all the love she could want—except that it had all been a lie.

  How could he have left her to discover the terrible truth for herself? He must have been certain his secret was safe, believed that no one knew she was not his wife’s daughter.

  The knowledge that her mother was not truly her birth mother was so painful that Sarah hardly knew how to hold her tears inside. Yet she knew she must go on, she must put on a brave face and pretend that everything was as it should be. There were a few more hours before Sir Roger would carry out his threat.

  Chapter Eleven

  What was she to do? Sarah’s problem lingered on her mind as she consulted with Mrs Brancaster on the menus, changed flowers and then waited for the guests to come down. Some of the gentlemen and most of the ladies did not rise until just before noon and were down in time for nuncheon. Until that time Sarah was free to attend her chores, to walk in the gardens if she chose, or, had she wished, to go riding. However, she knew that Rupert had ordered she was to be accompanied by two grooms whenever she rode out, whether or not in the company of Francesca. To put them to so much trouble just for her pleasure seemed wrong. Besides, walking was a favourite pastime and she decided on a walk to the lake.

  The fresh air cleared her head a little. She was still Miss Sarah Hardcastle, still wealthy and she still had friends—but for how long once the spiteful Sir Roger had carried out his threat? Some might not care a fig for his revelations, but the kind of society hostesses that would welcome Francesca would not wish to know Sarah once the rumours began to circulate.

  She was determined not to allow him to frighten her into submission. Nothing would make her agree to his proposal now. If it were only she who would suffer, she would remain where she was and accept the consequences—but could she inflict her shame on Francesca? The girl was so looking forward to her come out and to Sarah being her chaperon, but if the scandal became common knowledge that would be at an end. No one would invite the daughter of a low-born whore to their social evenings—at least none of the important hostesses—and that meant Francesca would be tarnished by Sarah’s shame. Also, the very fact that she had bad blood in her would cast doubts on how she had conducted herself while living under the marquess’s roof. It only needed someone to say she had come there under a false name and she would be finished.

  Her throat was tight with pain and she could scarcely control her desire to weep. To leave the girl she had come to love—and Lord Rupert—would slay her. The way he had looked at her the previous day … she’d hoped that he truly cared for her. Yet Sir Roger had said he’d shut Arkwright up—so did he know the truth?

  No, she shook her head. Had he known he would have requested her to leave. He would have been aware of the scandal it would cause if her secret became known.

  Sarah could not hold back her tears. They trickled silently down her cheeks as she stood by the lake, watching the swans swim gracefully across the still waters. Normally the sight would have been a pleasure, but all she could think was that she was seeing it for the last time. She would have to leave … and she could not tell anyone why.

  Brushing away her tears, Sarah raised her head. She would leave a letter for Francesca, assuring her of her love and apologising for having to leave. She would tell Rupert that she had discovered something that made it impossible for her to take up his kind offer to stay with them in London.

  Having made up her mind, she turned as she heard a voice hail her. She saw it was Monsieur Dupree and forced a smile as she walked to meet him.

  ‘Forgive me, my so-dear mademoiselle—’Andre began just as the shot rang out. Sarah felt it strike her left shoulder, gave a cry of distress and fell to the ground in a heap.

  ‘Mademoiselle … Mademoiselle Sarah …’ The Frenchman sounded distraught as he bent over her to discover the extent of the damage. She was barely conscious as he exclaimed and clucked over her, but then, as he gathered her into his arms and began to stride away in the direction of the house, she fainted.

  ‘What happened?’ Rupert demanded. He had seen them from the house and went out immediately to meet them. ‘Good grief! She has been shot.’

  ‘She was by the lake,’ Andre said. ‘I had seen her walking there and she seemed distressed. I was told she had a visitor this morning—that so-dreadful Sir Roger. I do not why she wept for he is nothing but a scoundrel.’

  ‘He has been trying to force her to marry him, which was why she came here as a governess.’

  ‘He is the one who so upset my Sarah?’ The Frenchman’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘I, with my bare hands, will kill him.’

  ‘I would have been there before you, but I need to know who did this to her.’ He held out his arms. ‘Give her to me, Dupree. You’ve carried her far enough. Alert Mrs Brancaster that we need someone to fetch the doctor and help Sarah undress.’

  ‘Oui, my lord. This I shall do at once.’ Rupert frowned as he carried Sarah into the house. She moaned slightly and he thanked God she was still alive. Pain assailed him as he realised he might have lost her—lost her before he’d even had time to be sure of his intentions for the future or to tell her of his feelings.

  Who could have done such a wicked thing? Had Sir Roger taken a spiteful revenge on her for refusing him—or was her uncle playing a double game? He was, after all, her heir, though Sarah could change things if she made a new will.

  He felt the frustration and anger burn inside him as he looked down at her pale face. If ever he discovered who had done this wicked thing, he would thrash him to an inch of his life—and he would see the culprit hanged. A fraction of an inch closer to her heart and Sarah would have died. The thought shook him to the core. What would he have done if she had been killed? The pain of it was almost overwhelming as he realised that he would find her loss unbearable. She had intrigued him from the start, but much warmer feelings had been gradually growing within him.

  God damn it, he was in love with her. He’d found her amusing, contrary and at times irritating, but this feeling had been growing inside him for a while now. It wasn’t just lust he felt for her, but something much deeper—something he’d never expected that he would feel. Indeed, until this moment he had doubted that the romantic love of the poets truly existed, but now he knew exactly how those tortured knights felt when their love was lost to them.

  Rupert’s wariness had made him hold back from giving more of himself than he had. Having been burned and scorned by Madeline as a young man, he had held a part of himself aloof, never giving his heart, always keeping a part of himself in reserve. He’d enjoyed pleasant relationships with his various mistresses, but, he acknowledged now, none of them had meant even a tiny part of what he felt for Sarah.

  She must not die! He would seek out the rogue who had done this to her, but for the moment the answers must wait. He had given orders that she was to be accompanied by grooms if she rode out beyond the estate, but he had not dream
ed she might be in danger here. The keepers must be doubled, but that would do later. All that mattered for the moment was that she should be made as comfortable as possible—and that she should not die of her wound.

  Rupert knew only too well how painful these wounds were and how easily they turned septic, resulting in blood poisoning or a fever that killed. He’d seen too many strong men succumb to fevers after being tended by the surgeons.

  Pray God she did not die. He would never forgive himself. He should have protected her better! The wild thoughts churned endlessly in his mind as he strode towards the staircase.

  ‘My lord …’ Mrs Brancaster had been alerted and came running at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Oh, poor Sarah. Who could have wanted to harm her? She’s such a lovely lady.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed grimly. ‘Rest assured that when I discover the culprit he will be punished. If I do not kill him myself, I shall see him hang.’

  ‘He certainly deserves it, sir.’ Mrs Brancaster hesitated. ‘Do you think it was that man … Sir Roger? He called to see her this morning and one of the footmen said they had words. Jennings did not hear what was said, but he heard raised voices and he thought she sounded upset for he was in two minds to go in, and then Sir Roger came out with a face as black as thunder and pushed past him in a right temper. Sarah went straight up to her room and looked as if she was crying.’

  ‘Indeed. If that is the case it may explain why she was out at the lake alone, when I’d told her …’ Rupert shook her head. ‘It does not matter. Draw back the sheets, Mrs Brancaster. We need someone to undress her and sit with her until the doctor comes. I would stay myself—but I have guests to see to.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. Besides, that would not be fitting.’

  ‘You are perfectly right, Mrs Brancaster. If I may, I shall call to see how she goes on after the doctor has been. You will make sure that someone stays with her all the time—at least until we are certain she is out of danger.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll come in as much as I can myself. I don’t mind telling you I’ve become quite fond of the lady. When she first came I wasn’t sure—but of course she is a lady, not a governess.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Rupert placed Sarah gently amongst the soft linen sheets, stood looking at her for a moment and then turned away. His eyes were dark and angry as he left the room. He wanted to inflict vengeance on the devil who had hurt her. He wanted it to be him who had been shot in her place, to take away the pain he knew she must suffer. If he had only himself to think of he would not have stirred from her side, but it would be impossible in the circumstances. Besides, he must tell Francesca and John, both of whom would be distressed.

  ‘Sarah has been shot?’ Francesca looked at him in dismay. ‘Then that shot was meant for her when we were out riding. She dismissed the idea as nonsense, but John said he saw the man take aim directly at her.’

  ‘Yes, I know. He could not describe the man’s appearance, unfortunately, except to say he wore the clothes a gamekeeper or poacher might wear—a large grey coat over dark breeches, a muffler about his neck, which hid his chin, and a black hat pulled down over his eyes. The description is accurate, I think, but of little use in finding the rogue.’

  ‘How is she?’ Francesca asked. ‘Is she in terrible pain?’

  ‘I imagine she will be when she recovers her senses. The doctor has been sent for and one of the maids is caring for her until then. Mrs Brancaster will send for me if I am needed.’

  ‘May I visit her, please?’

  ‘I think you should wait until the doctor has been, Francesca. She is being looked after and will be better once her wound is tended and she has been given something to help the pain—either laudanum or some brandy, I think.’

  ‘Poor Sarah. I do not like to think of her in pain. She has been as a sister to me, Uncle Rupert—I cannot tell you the difference she made to our lives here.’

  ‘Sarah has her own charm,’ Rupert agreed and frowned. ‘We should all miss her if she left us.’

  ‘She wouldn’t leave us!’

  ‘She might wish to go away somewhere once she feels better—perhaps to France or Italy where she could recover in peace and quiet.’

  ‘It is peaceful at Cavendish. I need Sarah here with me,’ Francesca protested.

  ‘Yet her life may be in danger if she stays here. She may have to travel for her own safety.’

  ‘If she does, I shall go with her.’ Francesca set her mouth stubbornly. ‘I have no wish for a London Season if Sarah cannot be with me.’

  ‘She would feel guilty for taking you away from it, Francesca. I am not sure what she will wish to do. She has been shot at twice now and in a place where she had every reason to feel safe. I cannot think what might have happened had Monsieur Dupree not chanced to be walking by the lake.’

  ‘He did not happen to be there. He followed her,’ Francesca said. ‘I think he is in love with Sarah. He told me he would give his life for her.’

  ‘I see.’ Rupert frowned, for he had not realized the dancing master’s intentions were so serious. Had Sarah encouraged him to think of her? He felt a sharp slash of jealousy, but quashed it. His feelings were not important. Only Sarah mattered now. ‘Shall you tell John about her injury or would you prefer I did?’

  ‘I’ll tell him. I suppose you will have to inform the guests.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine they have the right to know, if only to warn them a dangerous man is in the vicinity.’

  ‘You don’t think he will shoot anyone else?’

  ‘I think not, but I shall be asking the keepers to patrol the grounds frequently just in case.’

  Francesca shuddered. ‘It is so horrid, just as we’re having such a lovely time. Poor Sarah. Who could want to harm her?’

  ‘I do not know—unless it was Sir Roger?’

  Francesca’s brows rose. ‘Why would he do such a thing? I thought he liked her.’

  ‘He wants to marry her for her money and she does not wish to oblige him. I gather he has been quite unpleasant on more than one occasion. She told you why she came here—did she not tell you about him?’

  ‘Not his name, though I did notice she seemed to avoid Sir Roger if she could. To think I asked him to stay to nuncheon! Sarah should have warned me.’

  ‘I dare say she thought he would accept her answer in time—and we cannot know who did this to her. We can surmise, but we have no proof.’

  ‘Well, I shall tell Mrs Brancaster that I do not wish him admitted again.’

  ‘That would be the height of rudeness and might harm you. We have no proof of his guilt. However, should he come again make sure you are never alone with him—and make sure someone is with Sarah. I shall speak to the man myself if he dares to show his face here.’

  ‘I think I shall just pop up and see if the doctor has arrived. I shall not go in if he is with her, of course.’

  ‘You must not forget your guests,’ Rupert reminded her. ‘Sarah will be properly cared for and you may visit her when you can.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. She would tell me the same, but …’ Francesca’s face creased. ‘I should be so upset if anything … If she should die …’

  ‘She will not die,’ Rupert said, his expression grim. His fists balled at his sides. Sarah’s death was unthinkable. He could not bear to speak of it, even to the girl who loved her. ‘I shall not allow it. She is to be attended at all times and the doctor will be sent for if she shows the slightest sign of taking a turn for the worse.’

  ‘You care about her, too, don’t you?’ Francesca said. ‘I’m glad. I thought once you didn’t like her, but I was wrong. You do not show your feelings openly—but you care.’

  ‘And you, miss, see far too much—or imagine that you do,’ Rupert said and smiled. ‘Run along and try not to worry overly. I am sure she will recover. Sarah is far too strong to die over a little thing like this.’

  Francesca nodded and left him, walking quickly
from the room. His expression hardened after she left. He wished he was as confident as he’d made out to Francesca.

  If Sarah should die or become a permanent invalid because of this, he would kill the man who shot her if it took him the rest of his life to find the devil! And to hell with the law. What would his life be to him if she were dead? When the rogue was caught he would wish he had never been born!

  Sarah moaned and opened her eyes. The room was lit by one small candle and she was aware of someone sitting by her bed in the semi-darkness.

  ‘Mother …’ she whimpered. ‘Mother …’ She could feel the dampness on her cheeks and was aware of both the pain in her left shoulder and her heart. ‘I was walking and …’

  ‘It’s all right, Sarah, I am here,’ Francesca said and came to the bed. ‘Rupert told me I should leave your nursing to the maids, but I sent Agnes to bed and said I would sit with you for an hour. She was falling asleep when I came in and I didn’t trust her to look after you. Mrs Brancaster will be here soon. Are you in terrible pain?’

  ‘My shoulder hurts,’ Sarah said. ‘You should go to bed, Francesca. Rupert was right. There are plenty of maids to nurse me. It is not fitting that you should wait on me.’

  ‘Would you like a drink? Or some of the mixture the doctor left for you?’ Francesca placed a hand on her forehead. ‘You do not seem to have taken a fever. I think that is what has been worrying them all. The doctor said it was just the laudanum that made you sleep so long, but everyone has been so anxious. All our guests have been asking after you—especially Sir Freddie and Lord Phillips.’

  ‘How very kind,’ Sarah said and reached for her hand. ‘How long is it since I was shot?’

  ‘Yesterday morning. You fainted and then the doctor gave you a strong dose of the medicine—and you have been given more since so that you did not feel too much pain.’