The Unconventional Governess

by Jessica Nelson

  He frowned. Louise had been nothing but trouble in the few weeks they’d been home. She needed more than what he could give, but if he let Barbara send her away, she’d never forgive him. Did Henrietta have the education necessary to teach Louise the attributes of a lady?

  If only his niece had not been expelled. A school in England was better than one across the ocean.

  After her parents’ funeral, Dominic had sent her back to the highly esteemed boarding school she’d been attending since she was ten. That had been his first in a long series of mistakes.

  For whatever reasons—he could not pretend to understand the workings of a twelve-year-old female’s mind—Louise had decided to cease all good behavior. Within three months, she’d been expelled. Any misguided notion of an easy guardianship disappeared.

  Then Barbara began nagging him and threatening his newfound hermit existence.

  Even though he had retreated to the country, he did love Louise. He’d been selfish, holing away by himself. He had heartily enjoyed the conversations, music and dance in the past. Epilepsy had taken that from him.

  Tonight, he’d been overly conscious of himself, worried that he might have an attack until he’d been diverted by Miss Gordon’s quiet figure lurking against walls. Avoiding dances. She piqued his interest. Why would a woman given the chance to partake in the upper echelons of English society shun it?

  Now he had his answer.

  And he might be able to offer a reciprocal type of help.

  Which brought him back to this very moment, where Miss Gordon stood waiting patiently for his next words. He noticed a few inquisitive sets of eyes upon them. He’d have to leave her soon or run the risk of gossip.

  “Louise has spoken highly of you. She is at a determining point in life, and is in need of a firm hand. Someone who understands her pain.”

  They began waltzing on the outer sides of the ballroom. “She is in need of guidance. She respects you and perhaps what she needs is a more unconventional governess. One who does not bow to a child’s whims nor fears losing her position by speaking her mind. One with a breadth of knowledge that will intrigue a girl with Louise’s curiosity.”

  “Optimistic words.”

  He gave her a small bow. “Consider my offer. I will pay you a wage that will allow you to join your uncle.”

  “Why are you offering this? I—”

  “I admire your vision,” he interrupted. “It is a rare and precious thing in life to know what you want. Even more, to pursue it. Perhaps I have not lived my own life as fully as I ought to, and in a way I can’t explain, I want to help you.”

  She nodded, accepting his words even as he struggled to understand them himself. “I will consider it, my lord, and send you word.”

  * * *

  Henrietta awoke in a foul mood.

  She did not know how to answer Lord St. Raven. His offer last night had taken her by surprise, though perhaps it should not have. He had been needing a governess for some time. She supposed it made a modicum of sense that he’d asked her. She had been tempted to give him a resounding no, but a few reasons stopped her.

  One, the house party ended today, but Lady Brandewyne had informed her that she planned for them to take a trip to London soon. Shopping and whatnot, but then she’d added that several gentleman had asked to call on them when they were in town.

  Henrietta wasn’t sure why they would. She was no great beauty and had no money, but her lineage was quite good, she supposed. Stomach twisting, she rolled onto her back and looked at the vaulted ceiling.

  She had not lived anywhere so grand since childhood. Those memories remained locked away, and she never visited them. It would be easy to accept a lower position, and sleep in a tiny room, if she could hold onto her dream of studying medicine. She’d even considered going to Italy, where they were much more accepting of female students.

  A tiny worry crept in. What if she found her uncle, and he sent her away?

  She pushed the unruly thought to the back of her mind.

  Her second reason for not outright denying Lord St. Raven is that he had made a good point. Louise needed someone who cared. And for some reason, perhaps because of their shared orphan state, she did.

  Groaning, she rolled out of the bed to face the day.

  And the handsome earl for whom she was going to accept a governess position.

  The guests dispersed after an involved luncheon. Henrietta hardly noticed. Her mind was preoccupied. She saw Lord St. Raven at one point, and offered him a nod, but he looked peaked and wan. Perhaps he’d woken with a stomachache as well, she thought ruefully.

  Her mind conjured multiple scenarios. She paced her room. She ate four scones and drank three cups of hot chocolate.

  Finally, around the three-o’clock hour, she sent Lord St. Raven a note via a housemaid that she would accept his offer and be ready to leave whenever he required.

  Then she found Lady Brandewyne resting in the solarium. The bright room captured sunlight with oversized windows and then painted glowing swaths of yellow across the terra-cotta floors. Fauna of varying colors lined the walls and a cheery bench sat in the middle of the room for those wishing to admire the views.

  “What did you think of the house party?” The dowager countess looked up from her sewing.

  “The guests appeared to enjoy themselves greatly.”

  “And did you?”

  “That is what I’ve come to speak to you about.” Henrietta slid onto the bench across from Lady Brandewyne. “I have decided to accept a governess position for Lord St. Raven.”

  If Henrietta had been watching the countess more closely, she might not have missed the strange little quirk at the corner of her lips. As it was, she was staring at her hands in silence and so did not realize that Lady Brandewyne was not altogether unhappy.

  “My dear, I shall miss you, but this is for the best. He shall treat you well.”

  “Is there anything I must do before leaving?”

  “Do? Of course not.” Lady Brandewyne waved her diamond-encircled fingers. “The servants shall see to your trunks. Are you leaving today?”

  “Whenever Lord St. Raven is ready. I shall leave a letter for my uncle for you to post, if that will do? And we will keep this between us?”

  Lady Brandewyne nodded, and the matter was settled. The rest of the day passed with a flurry of activity. She had been staying there for several months and had much to pack. Her lady’s maid would not be going with her. Governesses did not get such a luxury.

  A note arrived from the earl stating that they’d leave at first light in the morning, as it was half a day’s travel to reach the St. Raven estate from Lady Brandewyne’s. For the first time, Henrietta felt a flurry of nerves. She’d been traveling for half her life, from one place to another, but always with her uncle.

  When morning came, and she found herself safely ensconced in the earl’s unsurprisingly plush carriage, the feeling still had not abated. She waved to Lady Brandewyne out of the gold-rimmed windows before closing the curtain and settling back against the squabs. She’d brought a book to read, but the passing countryside, with its verdant slopes and kaleidoscope of flowers, snared her attention.

  Perhaps an hour or so had passed when the carriage slowed, then pulled to the edge of the road. Henrietta opened the door before the footman did, peering out. The earl’s valet walked toward her, a grim expression on his face.

  “Miss Gordon, his lordship has requested we stop for a moment. He is in need of rest. Might you like a small repast by the creek?” He pointed to a sparkling creek in the distance. A few trees stood sentry on its banks.

  Henrietta blinked and then reached for her book. He had looked tired last night, she recalled.

  “I hope he is well?” she murmured.

  With the valet’s assistance, she climbed out of the carriage. The balm
y summer day stood in stark contrast to the concern on the valet’s face. The sound of hooves grew louder as St. Raven pulled his horse up and dismounted. The sunlight drew attention to the pallid taint of his skin, the grooves at the corners of his eyes. The whites of his eyes were not yellow, though, and his pupils appeared normal.

  “What are your symptoms, my lord?”

  His lips pressed together. He shook his head. “Jacks, make sure Miss Gordon has all she needs.”

  “Are you sweating?” She reached to touch his skin, but he jerked back. There was a strange sheen to his coloring. “Let me check your heart and lungs. Jacks, if you would be so good as to retrieve my leather satchel. Be gentle, for I’ve valuable items inside.”

  “Go with him, now.” St. Raven’s words came out funny. Slightly garbled.

  The carriage door remained open and Lord St. Raven stumbled toward it, in a lurching stagger that caught Henrietta by surprise. She slid to the side, allowing him room, but already she could see his eyes rolling back in his head. He fell into the carriage, drawing his knees up and lying on the floor.

  His left arm jerked, the hand curled into clawlike rigidity.

  Henrietta glanced down the road, noting the valet still digging in the other carriage for her medical supplies. The footman helped, and the coachman was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed the carriage door and half closed it, blocking the opening with her body. Lord St. Raven convulsed on the floor, his head knocking against the seat in a macabre, uneven rhythm.

  Henrietta forced herself to keep looking, to watch even though her palms dripped and her heart wrenched in her chest. She had seen this before. The strange contortions, the stretched grimacing of the face.

  In an asylum in France. When she was sixteen.

  Epilepsy.

  Finally the fit ended. St. Raven’s body relaxed, though guttural noises were coming from him. She wanted to go in and check to make sure his head had not been injured, but the valet was bringing her medical bag. She closed the door more, shoving the earl’s boots inside the carriage to do so.

  “Your supplies, miss.”

  “Thank you. The earl does not feel well and is lying on the floor. I shall need something soft, a blanket perhaps. Fetch Alice, please, as I will need to go in and examine his lordship.” It seemed forever, but finally the female servant Lady Brandewyne had sent to protect Henrietta’s reputation arrived. She’d ridden with the trunks in the other carriage. She wore a put-out expression that Henrietta ignored.

  “If you will just stand right there.” She pointed to the side of the carriage, where it could be reasonably said that Henrietta had been chaperoned, and yet Alice would not be able to see the earl. She opened the door and climbed in, shoving her skirts to the side and hefting her bag onto the seats.

  A bluish cast to his face told her he’d stopped breathing at some point, though now the forceful exhalations of sound indicated steady respiration. She put her ear to his chest. No distress. Perspiration stained his underarms.

  Henrietta examined him quickly, gently putting the blanket the valet brought beneath his head. She kept the door slightly closed, leaving a mere crack, and waved away the worried eyes of his staff. When she emerged, she shut the door firmly behind her.

  They stood at the side of the road, the bright sunlight drawing attention to their somber faces. After all, it had only been a few weeks ago that he’d been attacked. Their worry attested to their regard for their employer.

  “Does he have these episodes often?” She set her bag on the ground and studied them, particularly the valet.

  “Episodes? What do you mean, ma’am?”

  Every face reflected confusion. Sighing, Henrietta tapped her hips as she thought of what to say. She didn’t care for the ratlike curiosity in Alice’s beady eyes. A gossiper, no doubt. She suspected his lordship’s condition was a secret that even his valet was not privy to.

  Or else he was doing a splendid job of acting ignorant.

  Either way, Henrietta had no desire to reveal St. Raven’s infirmity to this group. She cleared her throat. “Tiredness and fatigue. Perhaps it is a side effect of his cracked ribs. Let us take a short break and then be on our way. I shall ride with Alice and we will leave the earl to rest.”

  “Will he be all right?” That from Jacks.

  Henrietta nodded with force. Yes, he would be fine as long as no one in English society ever found out about his epilepsy.

  She did not know much of the condition, but one thing she did know: those with it were often ostracized from polite society and confined to an asylum for the remainder of their lives.

  How he had managed to escape detection, she could not fathom, but she would not be the one to expose his secret.

  Chapter Six

  An epileptic.

  Henrietta could hardly believe the truth. A rare condition that she longed to research, but instead she sat quietly in the carriage with Alice. The loaner from Lady Brandewyne, while nicely made, could not compare to the comfort of St. Raven’s carriage. Alice’s company was not particularly enjoyable, either. She spent the rest of the ride clicking her knitting needles while Henrietta churned the facts over and over in her mind.

  She knew very little about epilepsy. Only enough to recognize the symptoms. Surely St. Raven was resting now. He hadn’t emerged. The carriages had kept up a steady clop and now it had grown dusky and cool, a hint of rain in the air. They turned into a long drive lined by trees and statues. Henrietta’s window encompassed a view of the St. Raven estate. It was a smaller version of Lady Brandewyne’s. They rounded up the drive and then slowed to a stop.

  Perhaps she’d be brought around back to the servant’s entrance? She gathered her bags, prepared to get out when told. Alice watched, her mouth a crimped line, reminding Henrietta that she was no more a servant than she was a peer.

  In the middle. That was her new position. Neither privy to the confidences of the servantry, nor entitled to the privileges of the ton.

  The carriage door opened and St. Raven peered inside. “We’re here,” he said, his grin lopsided. He looked no worse for wear. His cravat had been straightened and his skin had regained its color, as far as she could tell in the twilight.

  With his help, she exited the carriage. Alice was behind her and then St. Raven guided her to the front door. “This is it. My humble abode.”

  “Humble, indeed.” Square-shaped beds of grass decorated the front yard, carefully trimmed and verdant. The house itself was composed of rectangles and squares that sharply jutted into pointed roofs. The typical country home, resplendent and tight-angled.

  A butler came out to greet St. Raven. She observed the earl, hanging back to watch his loose-limbed gait. He did move slowly, as though tired. There was no other evidence that only a few hours ago his body had contorted outside of his control.

  Yes, she’d have to research more.

  Behind her, the carriages rolled away and she realized that she was to follow St. Raven into the house. She joined him at the doorway, looking past him to the gilded entryway lit by several lamps along the walls.

  He ushered her in, his eyes shadowed, belying the curved dimple in his cheek. “My childhood home.”

  “It is lovely,” she said. “If you’ll show me my rooms, I’ll get situated.”

  “Would you care for tea first?” His question was not a question. He guided her to a small parlor before she could say no.

  St. Raven’s eyes were tenebrous in here, without the sun to make them sparkle. One could almost mistake them for a dark green.

  He did not shut the door. He meandered to a corner of the room, next to a lit golden girandole whose worth appeared to be more than the annual earnings of a governess. The furniture was ornate, heavy. Strange lionlike creatures rose from the edges of the couch. All in all, an uncomfortable, auspicious room.

  She faced St. Raven,
and was reminded of his overall largeness in comparison to her size. She’d been called slight. Never had she felt so, until she stood next to St. Raven. A shiver crept through her at the intensity on his face. She rubbed her arms, conscious that her medical bag remained with her belongings.

  “About earlier...” He trailed off, stroking his chin with long, well-manicured fingers.

  Henrietta pulled herself taller. “Yes, your epileptic attack.”

  “You saw.” His eyebrows narrowed, ebony lines against tan skin.

  “It was a shock, to be sure. You have lived with this condition unbeknownst to your staff?”

  He shrugged, a curiously unaffected movement. “To most, yes. It is not something I want bandied about.” He paused. “Are you familiar with epileptic disorders?”

  “The only fits I have seen were in an asylum.” An honest answer, though it emerged slowly.

  “And is that where you think I belong?”

  A strong, undeniable current pulsed between them. A moment of energized tension that illuminated the cost of this secret and the fortitude it took to maintain a cover of health and normality. She swallowed, her heart drumming, her fingers picking at her skirt.

  He had given no indications of madness. His staff cared for him, as evidenced by their worry. She wet her lips, meeting his eyes, which bored into her, questioning, seeking. She drew from the wells of her authoritarianism on all things medical. Perhaps she had no experience with society, but she knew patients.

  And despite the rocky planes of his face, the stiff cut of his shoulders, fear hid beneath it all.

  “You are not a madman, my lord, and I do not believe you should be institutionalized.”

  His gaze flickered. The jaw that had been granite-hewn relaxed ever so slightly. “I quite agree, Miss Gordon. You will keep this information between us?”

  Another question that was not a question.

  “I shall do my best.” After all, he was her employer now. And quite possibly, her patient.