A British Governess in America

by Becky Lower

  The house was strangely quiet today. With Adam away at work alongside his father, the rest of the siblings were a bit lost and subdued. Even though Eleanor had Patterson’s assurance he would keep Adam from facing any trouble, the mere fact he’d agreed to take his son with him as they accept stolen goods from the ships in the harbor made her stomach feel as though she’s swallowed a bird and it was beating its wings, attempting to escape.

  To calm her fears, she passed a book around the table and each child read a paragraph. Ben and Caleb were becoming quite accomplished with the printed word, but Daniel and Elizabeth still needed help. She closed the book, finally.

  “You’re not going to stop now, are you?” Caleb raised his gaze from the book.

  “Yes, we need to get started on dinner. Your father and Adam will be home soon.”

  The corners of Caleb’s mouth slanted downward. “But we’re almost at the best part!”

  Eleanor stood and placed the book back on the shelf. “So, you can anticipate what we’ll be reading tomorrow, then. Come along, I need more wood carried into the house.”

  Although she never thought she’d enjoy cooking, the simple tasks involved in putting a meal together helped calm her fears. There would be time enough to worry after dinner. She browned the beef in the frying pan and put the potatoes in water to cook.

  Adam and Patterson arrived home shortly after the potato water started to boil. Adam peered over her shoulder.

  “You look tired, Adam.” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “It was a long day, and I’m starving.” He sniffed the frying meat. “Smells good.”

  “Well, go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” He left the room and she glanced at Patterson. “How’d he do today?”

  Patterson shrugged. “Well enough, I guess. Mostly, he was bored to tears, I suspect.”

  “Hopefully, he’ll be bored to tears for the remainder of the war.” Eleanor smiled.

  “I should wash up, too.” Patterson left the room before she could say more.

  Eleanor faced the stove again, suddenly deflated. Patterson was barely being civil to her. Couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Tears smarted in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She would talk to him after dinner, tell him of her plan. With or without his approval, she planned to stay in America. But she dreaded the conversation to come.

  Too quickly for her liking, dinner ended. Patterson placed Elizabeth in his lap while he told his children a story, and then shuffled them off to bed, singing “Yankee Doodle” at the top of his lungs. Eleanor stayed in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes, putting things to right, wishing he’d hurry up.

  Wishing he’d drag things out.

  She’d barely sipped her nightly cup of tea when Patterson emerged from the children’s bedroom and took a seat at the table next to her. She glanced up at him over her cup. Her hand shook slightly, and she had to set the cup down before she spilled her precious tea.

  “We need to talk, Patterson.” She noticed how his hands curled into fists on top of the table and his body grew rigid. Might as well get this over with. “I know you’re not happy with me.”

  He glanced up from the table. “No. You’re not happy with me.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Not true. You may feel you’re less of a man since you can no longer fight. I don’t agree.”

  “But you said as much.”

  “I did not. You merely took it that way.” Eleanor sucked in a breath. “You’re the strongest, bravest man I’ve ever known. But I wish to discuss something with you on which we might both agree.”

  Patterson extended his fingers, uncurling them. “There’s a ship leaving in a week for England, if you want to return.”

  “I have changed my mind about England. I don’t wish to return. But I also am aware I can’t stay here in this house, with you, with things the way they are.” Eleanor wrapped her fingers around her now-cold cup of tea. “I thought I might hire myself out as a governess to one of the British officers instead.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is for Adam to never see a battlefield. If I could work for the British, I could overhear things and pass the information along to you. It may not be of much good, but it’s the only way I can come up with to help shorten this war.” Her words spilled out quickly, and she sank into her chair.

  Patterson stared at her for a long moment. Then, he rose and strode to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of lotion he had created for her hands. “You haven’t been using this.”

  He unscrewed the lid and held it to her nose. Her heart fluttered.

  “It is a wonderful scent, Patterson. But, you’re right. I’ve been so busy and so worried about Adam I’ve been forgetting to use it.”

  He dipped a finger into the cream and took hold of her hand. He held her gaze as he massaged it into her skin. Then, he lifted her hand to inhale the scent. “And I’ve been lax about massaging it into your skin. I do enjoy the scent, though. Delicate, yet spicy. It’s perfect for you.”

  Eleanor lost her voice.

  He picked up her other hand and rubbed the cream into it, over her knuckles. When he was finished, he placed the lid on the jar and placed it in front of her. He took both her hands in his and stared at her once again. “I don’t want you to go anywhere, Eleanor. If you wish to stay in America, I want you here, in my house. And I certainly don’t want you to become a spy. It’s too dangerous, and life here is dangerous enough without intentionally placing yourself in harm’s way.” His gaze flicked over her face. “I will never force you to do anything against your will, Eleanor. Unlike your fellow countrymen. I will leave the decision up to you. I have not been with a woman since Margaret died. I haven’t even given it a thought. But I am now.”

  Hope filled her heart. “What exactly are you saying?”

  He leaned over, inhaled her scented fingers, and kissed her chapped knuckles. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, Eleanor. My children love you, which means a great deal to me. But, since Margaret died in childbirth, I don’t feel right about ever putting you in that position. There are ways to be intimate without getting you with child. If you will agree to that kind of relationship, we could continue to get to know each other.”

  She cast a wary look at him and removed her hands from his grasp. “I love your children as if they were my own, Patterson, but I want some of my own creation, as well.” She stood.

  “I can’t be the one to give you that.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “If that is your wish, you’d best look elsewhere. Good night, Eleanor.”

  • ♥ •

  Patterson sat in the quiet room where the scent lingered. Eleanor’s scent. He inhaled deeply and attempted to sort through his scattered thoughts. His heart jumped into his throat when he thought of Eleanor willing to put her life on the line and act as a spy to ensure Adam’s safety. It’s something his wife would have done. He would have expected it from Margaret, but Adam was not Eleanor’s flesh and blood. Yet, she cared enough about him to put herself in a tenuous situation if it meant keeping him safe. What was he to make of that fact?

  It meant she loved his children as much as he did. As much as Margaret had. The words his friend, Hawk, said about Eleanor as they were marching into battle returned to him. There is more there than you are yet willing to admit.

  How had Eleanor slipped past the wall he’d built up when Margaret died? He didn’t want to love a woman again. To fear for her life when he was not by her side. To get her with child. To again face the sheer terror he’d had when Margaret lay dying, because she had tried to give him another child.

  Yet, he’d worked hand in hand with the apothecarist to create the perfect scent for Eleanor. It had taken several attempts to get the exact right mix of herbs and spices. They had ended up with a scent that suited her perfectly. Delicate, yet spicy.

  Patterson groaned, and cupped his hands to his face. Lord, he was halfway in love with the woman already. How ha
d that happened?

  “Damn you, Hawk, for making me think twice about putting Eleanor on a ship sailing for home.” Patterson muttered into his hands. He’d given her a lot of thought since his health returned. Since he’d had those talks with Hawk. When he’d had those talks, he honestly couldn’t recollect what color Eleanor’s eyes were. Now, he knew they weren’t merely brown. They were more the color of a fine brandy. He’d never seen eyes that color before, and now he could not stop seeing them. He’d noticed how her eyes took on flecks of gold when she was angry or amused. He achieved the same level of satisfaction when she closed her eyes and allowed him to care for her hands that he’d gotten with his evenings with his wife.

  Should he take the time to woo her properly? Or was she merely a convenience, since she currently lived in his home and his children had come to love her. Was he attracted to her, or just lazy?

  “It’s all your fault, Hawk, for putting these ideas into my head.” Patterson hissed, and lay his head on the tabletop.

  He had only a few more months until the last of the ships would leave the harbor and winter would be upon them. He needed to sort through his feelings, and quickly. Either fall the rest of the way in love with her or send her off with a mere thank you and a letter of recommendation. Eleanor would either move from the spare bedroom into his, or she’d be on a ship back to England by October.

  His manhood swelled under the table as he pictured Eleanor moving into his room with him, reminding him it had been much too long since he’d made love to a woman. He recalled bragging to Hawk years ago he and Margaret often had a lovemaking sandwich with a battle in between bouts of sex. Maybe all he missed was the sex part of the equation. Perhaps he should go tomorrow to the local brothel and gain some relief. Sexual relief would help him logically sort through his feelings for Eleanor.

  But having sex with a strange woman to whom he had no attachment held no appeal to him. Making love with Eleanor, however, suddenly was extremely appealing.

  And with love, there was the possibility he could impregnate another woman. And possibly seal her fate by having her die in childbirth, as his Margaret had done. He tried to convince himself they’d had four normal deliveries before she succumbed, and the doctor had told Patterson Margaret was getting beyond the normal childbearing years which may have had something to do with her demise. But none of it held water. Having children took its toll on a woman’s body regardless of their age. Could he place a woman in harm’s way again?

  He had no answers. Only Eleanor’s scent, hanging in the air, tempting him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  E leanor’s head was spinning. She’d never had this much control over her life before, yet when it involved Patterson, she’d never been so out of control. When his lips had grazed her skin, her stomach jumped. He’d spent some of his precious time working with the apothecarist to craft a perfect scent for her. Delicate yet spicy, he’d called it. That’s how he referenced her personality. Who would have thought meek little Eleanor Chastain would have a man consider her spicy? Would have a man consider her at all?

  But then again, who would have thought she’d be the reason a man had been shot? That she’d have been an accomplice to a murder? She giggled when she pictured the folks back home and how’d they’d react to her newly found sense of freedom and accomplishment. If you could call being an accomplice to murder an accomplishment. Regardless of how evil he had been, and how often her schoolmates wished he would just disappear off the face of the earth, Billy Buford’s death still weighed heavily on her.

  Even if Patterson did eventually come to his senses and viewed her as someone of no consequence as her neighbors in Sussex had done for the first part of her life, she had no wish to return to England. She wished to stay here, in this wild untamed country. To become an American. The window to return home was rapidly closing for this year, and she waved it aside.

  “This is home now,” she whispered to the walls. “Maybe not here in this house, but here, in America. This is home. And I need to do my part to hasten the war to a close.”

  But she desperately wished this house could be her home. To share the room and the bed with Patterson and give her bedroom to little Elizabeth, rather than have her sleep in the same room as the boys. She propped her back up against the thin wall dividing hers and Patterson’s sleeping quarters. She wondered what he was doing on his side. Was he propped up same as her? Could she feel his heat through the walls? Was he reliving their shared moment at the table, when he kissed her chapped knuckles? Even now, her skin tingled and she raised her hand to her mouth. He had leaned in so close to her she lost focus and closed her eyes. His lips touched her skin, softly. She’d allowed herself to drift, enjoying the sensation.

  She was not half in love with the man. When she’d cared for him as he lay unconscious, her heart was in her throat, wondering if he’d survive. Then, her heart stopped when he called her Margaret. She’d formed a tight bond with his children, loving them as if they were her own. And now, tonight, when he’d caressed her hands…when he cared enough for her to create a special cream just for her…

  She sighed deeply. No, she was not half in love with Patterson. She loved him with every fiber of her being. But she sensed he was not yet ready to love her in return. How could she surmount the barricade he had built up around himself? It was not just a wall separating them, but a fortress.

  She’d sort through her ideas on how to entice a man tomorrow. Crawling under the covers, she brushed her hand against her face and inhaled the perfume from the cream. Ah, if only I had any idea how to entice a man.

  The first part of her life had not prepared her for attracting a man’s attention. Or for taking part in a Revolution. But she reminded herself, she was no longer meek and mousy little Eleanor Chastain. She was an American…and she’d figure things out.

  • ♥ •

  August gave way to September, and with it came unrest in the town of Groton. Not just the weather was changing. But as the temperature of the air cooled, the temperature of the British soldiers who packed the streets heated up. Patterson could feel the unrest in his bones. Just as he had on many battlefields, he held his breath in the calm before the storm, waiting for the chaos to erupt.

  “Something’s going on, Papa. I smell smoke.” Adam whispered.

  “Colonel Ledyard has the troops in place, Adam. We will be protected.” Patterson worried that his words rang hollow. Chaos was about to ensue. “I fear Benedict Arnold is behind this, though.” He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you run along home, though. There’s no need for you to be here, and Eleanor needs you to help defend the house, if it comes to that.”

  “I’d rather stay here and help defend the fort, Papa.”

  Patterson and Adam approached the entrance to the fort together, and stopped, struck by what they witnessed. Across the Thames River, the entire town of New London was ablaze. Patterson’s gut tightened, as did his hold on his son. “Dear Lord, the British are setting everything on fire!” From across the water, they could hear the roar of the flames combined with shouts and screams from the townspeople. Several ships in the harbor were on fire, and others were attempting a hasty retreat.

  Patterson grabbed his son and hugged him tightly. “Groton will be next. Take the children into the woods, Adam, and don’t look back. The little hunting cabin will do. Surely, the British won’t set fire to the woods. Stay there until I come for you.”

  “I want to stay here and fight, Papa.”

  “No, you can’t. Eleanor doesn’t know where the cabin is. I need you to take her and the little ones and get out of town before the troops start setting fire to Groton, just as they have New London.”

  “But what if the troops overrun the fort and take you prisoner?” Adam’s voice shook.

  “Then, you’ll be in charge of the family. There are provisions at the cabin but pack up as much food as you can carry from the house. Stay there until the smoke clears. I’ll come
for you.”

  Adam tore his gaze from the flames on the other side of the river and nodded. He hugged his father and ran off. Patterson followed his movement, making sure he cleared the fort and was on the cobblestoned streets of Groton before he headed back inside. His job was to defend the fort, even though he was no longer able to fight effectively.

  But he could still fire a rifle.

  The words of Nathan Hale rang in his head as he grabbed a rifle and some ammunition from the stockpile. I regret I have but one life to give to my country. Patterson dearly hoped he would not die today. I cannot die today. I have too much to live for. I need to tell Eleanor I love her.

  Colonel Ledyard gave commands, and the small Continental militia fought hard for hours, rebuffing the British attempts to take the fort time and again. The fort contained supplies vital to the future of the army and had to be protected. Patterson focused his rifle on the lead man. Cutting off the head of the snake caused many a battle to end prematurely. His aim was true, and Colonel Eyre fell from his horse. But the British were too numerous. They kept coming, stepping over their fellow countrymen who had fallen as one wave after another progressed forward.

  All around them, the town of Groton was set ablaze, just as New London had been. Patterson’s skin prickled as he continued to load his rifle. He could barely lift the gun to his shoulder, as weariness set in. The air was thick with smoke from the blazes and the guns, with the stench of death, with the screams of the townspeople as they fled for their lives.

  Colonel Ledyard approached him. “We are outmatched, Lovejoy, and all civilians are to leave the fort. You need to escape before the British breach the gates.”

  “I’ve never once left a battlefield, Colonel. I have no intention of doing so now.” Patterson shot and one of the British soldiers crumbled. He reloaded his rifle.

  “You have a bad leg, and you were released from the Army months ago. Take the tunnel and get out of here before it’s too late.”