The Unconventional Governess

by Jessica Nelson

  It was, however, quite fair to expect her guardian and his lady friend to understand. Setting her jaw, she marched to the main hall. The entire way she fumed. A setup. Who did they think they were?

  Had her love of medicine fooled her uncle into thinking she was no longer that strong-willed fifteen-year-old who had forged her own path? That girl was still inside, and she was seething.

  She shoved the door to the study open, but there was no one inside but a startled maid, who let out a tinny screech.

  “I beg your pardon,” Henrietta said without thinking. And since she was already talking, she continued, “Do you perchance know where her ladyship is?”

  “In—in the gardens, Miss Gordon.”

  “Thank you.” She backed out and hurried to the gardens, fury strengthening her steps.

  They were exactly where she expected, sitting in their chairs, chuckling and drinking tea. As though they had not created a disaster.

  “You. Both of you.”

  Their laughs stopped. In unison, they turned to her. For the tiniest second, her anger paused at the sight of the silver-haired, meddling single people staring at her in wide-eyed wonderment. Perhaps even fear.

  As they should, she assured herself, thus bolstering her resolve.

  Lady Brandewyne was the first to recover. “Why, my dear, how lovely to see you. We were just discussing last night’s soiree. Your uncle regrets missing it. He was sure something of note might happen.”

  They were not looking at her in fear after all. More like experimental analysis.

  Huffing, she pulled a chair out from the table and sat. “There is a girl upstairs crying right now. And it’s your fault.”

  “Mine?” Lady Brandewyne put her hand to her chest, looking positively affronted.

  “And yours.” Henrietta skewered her uncle with a glare. It wasn’t hard to do, as she was impossibly upset with him already. “Do not act innocent with me. How long have you two been conniving?”

  Lady Brandewyne gasped. “Conniving? Those are strong words.”

  “You’re out of line, Henrietta,” her uncle boomed in the deep voice he used when confronted with something he felt bound to fix, such as “hand me the saw” or “needle and thread.”

  In this case, “you’re out of line.”

  Oh, the irony that she’d used the very same words on Dominic. In the broad light of day, she could almost believe she’d misjudged him. That she’d reacted hastily. She could almost forget what it felt like to be kissed by him.

  But what she couldn’t forget was the bone-deep dread of imagining a life in which he died.

  Squaring her shoulders, she looked her uncle in the eyes. “You are quite wrong on that count. I am perfectly in line. What you two have done has not only made my life miserable, but you ballooned the hopes of a young lady who is now sobbing in anguish. How could you?”

  Lady Brandewyne was sputtering, at a loss as to how to answer. Perhaps no one had spoken to her this way in years.

  Uncle pushed to his feet, shoving his spectacles up the bridge of his nose in an impatient movement. “It is time for you to marry, to take on the role of a woman.”

  “The role of a woman?” Her temper rose, sending hot prickles across her skin.

  “You know what I mean. Manage a household. Bear children. Don’t you want that?”

  “It is obvious to me that you have not listened to a word I’ve uttered or written. I do not want that.” As she spoke, though, a nausea took hold of her. “At least not right now,” she amended.

  “The battlefield is no place for you.” He turned to Lady Brandewyne. “She almost died. A week she doesn’t remember because she was delirious, and now she pretends everything is fine. She does not see the danger for herself.”

  “Do not enlist her support in this.” Henrietta put her hands on the hips. Perhaps she had lost a few days while ill. That had nothing to do with practicing medicine. “People catch sickness in England, too. I am no safer here than I was there.”

  “How can you not want a family?” Lady Brandewyne stood, a ridiculous gesture but nevertheless effective.

  Henrietta rued her small stature. People always thought that standing over her would make their responses more believable. She lifted her chin. “I had a family.”

  “But my dear, I am your family,” said Uncle William.

  “Exactly. Which is why I don’t need anyone else. Don’t you see that you are controlling my life because of an unfounded fear of the unknown. You are making insensible decisions based on emotion. There is no way to control my safety. Surely you see that?”

  Uncle removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as though unbearably tired. A part of her regretted her outburst. She had no desire to hurt him, but this had to stop.

  “Your machinations made Louise think that I would really marry Hodges. I will admit to a fondness for his eclectic style, but he is truly nothing but an acquaintance.”

  “Hodges?” Lady Brandewyne quickly covered her mouth, as though stopping the outflow of more information. “He is not the one we think is suited to you.”

  Uncle grunted.

  More of her world crashed down, bits and pieces fluttering to the floor, as everything became clear to Henrietta. She sank onto her chair, her legs suddenly wobbly as she realized that it had not been Hodges after all.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “St. Raven.”

  “But why? When?”

  “Because he needs a family as much as you do. I realized it when he came to London for the first time after the accident. I saw him at his sister’s ball, and Louise and I have been planning ever since.” The dowager countess dabbed at her eyes, a deliberate movement that did little to soften Henrietta’s ire.

  “I am speechless,” said Henrietta.

  Uncle William and Lady Brandewyne exchanged a glance, one fraught with meaning and guilt and possibly a bit of gloating.

  “Perhaps we should sit,” Lady Brandewyne suggested to her uncle.

  They did, Uncle replacing his spectacles as though taking charge once again. A horrible emptiness opened in the pit of Henrietta’s stomach.

  “When you went to live with your uncle at the age of fifteen, it was determined that your nature was, how shall I put this...delicate.”

  Henrietta made a sound in her throat, a gurgle of frustration that she was desperately trying to tamp down.

  “He came to me and asked for advice. As a successful mother of five rowdy boys who turned into responsible, good men, I felt both obliged and qualified to help your uncle.” She paused for a moment, perhaps to admire her skills. “When you turned eighteen, he wrote that you had become besotted with someone in the Americas. At which point I suggested he send you home.”

  “That was during the war. He couldn’t bring me home.”

  “Eighteen-twelve. Yes, I remember. A terrible time.”

  “So my illness was the excuse you needed to pressure me into marriage. And I would not say I was besotted with Daniel.”

  “You followed him everywhere,” Uncle said pointedly.

  “He was a good surgeon. He believed using boiling water on his blades would lower the mortality rates of wounded soldiers, and he was right.”

  “That has not been confirmed,” Uncle insisted.

  “Oh, pshaw,” said Henrietta, feeling as though her world had turned upside down. “Every good midwife knows to use clean cloths and hot water. Surgeons should, too. That is not the point. Apparently you’ve been arranging to rip me from the life you gave me for years! How could you not say anything?”

  “We are doing what is best for you.” A rather weak rebuttal from Lady Brandewyne.

  Exasperated, Henrietta pressed her palms against her forehead. “What you think is best. I find it hard to fathom that you’ve been planning such a life for me for years and never said
a word. This is...” A betrayal. That was what it was. An ignominious travesty of everything he’d taught her to respect and value.

  She covered her eyes. “You dragged Louise into this.”

  “We knew you are exactly who she needs.” Lady Brandewyne’s voice had grown subdued, perhaps understanding that her well-laid plans had just been annihilated.

  “You have put me in an untenable position,” Henrietta said quietly, looking up from the cave of her hands. “Now I must break a young girl’s heart.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Everyone in the room turned. Dominic waited in the doorway, having evidently pushed past the staff to arrive without announcement.

  Her heart hitched. She pressed her hand against her chest as if that would stop the organ’s erratic jumping. He looked so normal today. So unaffected by what had transpired last night. How very annoying. Even his hair was unruffled, combed neatly and amplifying his handsome features.

  “Might I speak with Henrietta?” His voice was a low, husky blend of amusement and sobriety.

  “Of course, of course.” The dowager countess bustled up from her seat, patting Uncle William on the shoulder as if hurrying him along.

  They left Dominic and Henrietta alone in the garden. There were windows all around and so they were not really alone. But the reason was clear. Her uncle and the dowager countess expected Dominic to propose.

  Her throat closed.

  “I have come to apologize for last night’s uncouth behavior.” He sat across from her, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight. “And also to beg you to reconsider.”

  “Governessing does not suit me.”

  “Perhaps wifery does?”

  “If this is your attempt to propose, it is terrible.” She stood, sweeping her skirts out of the way, and strode into the house. He was right behind her, worse than Smiles.

  “Not an attempt. More of a feeling-out.” He matched her progress on the stairwell. “Come now, are you truly angry over last night?”

  She stopped on the landing, putting her hands on her hips, aware that downstairs in the hall, two traitorous sets of eyes watched them. “I am angry because those two—” she swept her hand downward “—have been matchmaking.”

  * * *

  Dominic followed Henrietta’s expressive hand to where it pointed to Mr. Gordon and Lady Brandewyne. They saw him and jumped out of sight. Presumably into the parlor, where they could continue their eavesdropping.

  He didn’t match Henrietta’s outrage. Grinning, he shrugged. “What is wrong with that?”

  Her eyebrows narrowed. “Because your niece believed their machinations and is now heartbroken. She actually thought that you and I, that you and I...” she sputtered.

  “That is why I’m here, Miss Gordon. You were quite resistant to the mention of anything more between us last night, and I wondered if I might understand your reasoning.”

  “Reason. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. I am leaving. Within the fortnight, actually. I received a letter in the post today that housing has been found for me.”

  “You’re leaving?” Mr. Gordon popped back into view, his voice echoing up to them. “What are you talking about?”

  “Uncle, I have accepted a position as an assistant to a Mr. Ledford of Italy. He is an old acquaintance of yours.”

  “Unacceptable,” yelled Mr. Gordon.

  “Unchangeable,” she replied in a steady fashion.

  Dominic looked at her gloved hands. They were shaking. “This is really it, then.”

  “You and Louise are welcome to visit, of course. I shall be taking a lady’s maid with me. I’ve already hired the girl. It is all on the up-and-up.”

  “Henrietta...” His voice caught. He must be the brave one here, for he began to see that she lived in fear. “What if I told you that I think I might love you? Would that change anything?”

  Her eyes widened. “You might?” Then she laughed, a broken sound that hurt to hear. “That is worse than no love at all. That is a ‘you’re almost good enough, but not quite.’”

  “Not at all.”

  “It is my interpretation, but it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I am leaving. I have dreams to pursue. A life to live as I see best. A talent from God to use and not let languish.”

  Dominic nodded, his features hardening. There was no use chasing a resistant woman. She didn’t want them, didn’t want him. Had made it perfectly, crystalline clear. “Very well, Miss Gordon. I wish for you the best.”

  He swept her a long, sardonic bow then brushed past her without a second look. She’d taken his words and stomped all over them. Never had he felt so maligned. Disrespected. He hurried down the stairs, only pausing when he heard Louise’s shrill voice.

  “I hate you!” And then a door, slamming, the sound echoing through Lady Brandewyne’s cavernous townhouse. It was the sound of change, of promise, closing for good.

  Mr. Gordon rushed to him as soon as he reached the foot of the stairs. “Lad, don’t give up. She’s stubborn. She doesn’t want to lose more people she loves.”

  “She’s made her choice,” Dominic said roughly, his voice scratching, his vocal chords chafing as he spoke. “Perhaps it would be best if the next time you two plan to match two people eminently unsuited...don’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The earl of St. Raven was a big flirt desperate to keep his niece. He couldn’t possibly mean what he said. He might love her. Pfft.

  How Henrietta wanted to believe him, though. The temptation to follow her heart rather than reason was almost too much to bear. If he had told her he loved her, then perhaps she might have stayed. Because she was beginning to believe that she loved him dearly.

  A one-sided love would never do.

  Henrietta followed the footman who was hauling her luggage to the carriages. She was to be at the shipyard early tomorrow morning for departure to the Continent. The dreary day mimicked her mood.

  Louise refused to speak to her, or to even emerge from her bedroom. If Dominic had returned to Lady Brandewyne’s to collect his niece, she had not seen him. She inhaled a ragged breath of the damp air. Footmen loaded her bags.

  “I forbid this.” Uncle’s voice came from the entryway of Lady Brandewyne’s house. “Unload her things at once.”

  Behind him, Lady Brandewyne stood suspiciously quiet. A light mist began to fall, peppering Henrietta’s face with cold tears. She walked to her uncle, close enough so that she did not need to yell, but far enough away to avoid looking straight into his eyes.

  If she did, she might cry, and that was not befitting to the situation. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “If you do not let me use the carriage, I shall simply hire a hackney. I will not live beneath your thumb.”

  “Beneath my thumb? That is never how I treated you.”

  But a cold, hard block of something wedged in Henrietta’s chest, and despite the feeling that she was making the worst mistake of her life, she couldn’t bring herself to back down. “Nevertheless, you have made the serious error of attempting to control my future. That cannot be allowed.”

  “Henrietta...” Uncle stepped forward, holding out his hands. Utterly unexpected. “I love you.”

  She blinked. Hard. The prickling sensation beneath her eyelids did not cease. He had said such words perhaps four times since she had come to live with him. She had known he felt that way, but to hear him say it brought the pressure in her chest to a crushing pain. A tear, unbidden, slipped down her cheek.

  He reached for her hands, took them in his own. “My dearest hope is for you to be happy. If that means staying with me and practicing medicine, then so be it.”

  “I have already given my word,” she choked out.

  He nodded, understanding. “Then go for a year. Learn. And come home to me. I will be waiting.”

  Tears blazed a bur
ning trail down her cheeks. Her nose was becoming congested and her eyes puffy, stinging. She managed a nod, pulled her hands away and pivoted down the stairs to where her carriage awaited.

  The ride to the room she’d rented for the night was fraught with tears. She managed to dry her eyes before arriving. The proprietor, a kindly lady with smile grooves beside her mouth, looked as though she guessed that Henrietta had been weeping. She showed her to her room.

  It was clean and sparse, as Henrietta had been told from an acquaintance who recommended the place. She thanked the woman and then sat on her bed, suddenly aware that this would be her life now.

  Alone.

  She was not one to sit and ponder circumstances. She more often than not preferred to rise up in action and take charge of a situation.

  Until tomorrow morning, though, she had nothing but a silent room in which to ruminate.

  Uncle William loved her. He wanted her.

  She laid down, staring up at the beamed ceiling. Until Dominic had mentioned her uncle’s aloofness, she had not realized how it made her feel. Dominic had shown her many facets to herself that she had not realized existed.

  Suddenly the thought of Italy was not so exciting. Perhaps pursuing medicine was her dream, but did it have any meaning without her family by her side? With a maid who existed only as a translator and preserver of reputation?

  For the first time in months, she wondered if she ought to have prayed for direction. Since coming home, she had been so bent on getting her own way, on doing what she had planned, that she hadn’t bothered to inquire of God what His plans were.

  And now that she’d achieved almost exactly what she wanted, she still was not content.

  * * *

  “I appreciate you meeting me.” Dominic studied Mr. Gordon, who had settled in a chair across from him.

  “I’ll confess, I’ve never been in White’s before.” Mr. Gordon studied the gentleman’s club the way one might imagine a physician observes anatomy. As though taking in the bones and sinews of the place and determining health.