The Impossible Governess

by Margaret Bennett

  “Georgeanne, he will never have any tender feelings for you,” she mumbled, choking back a sob. “And if he did, what could come of it? You are the governess. The lords of this world do not marry their children’s governesses. That only happens in fairy tales.”

  She flung the pillow away from her and immediately regretted her action when it collided with the dressing table and knocked over several small jars. They contained an assortment of expensive rouge, rice powder and restorative creams, all leftovers from her former life. Little good could be accomplished with self-pity, she reminded herself as she cleaned up the mess. Truth to tell, she was lucky to have this job. Biting her lower lip in consternation, she tried to recollect if she’d actually told Raynor she was quitting or had merely threatened to do so.

  Not that it mattered. Lord Raynor would insist she leave after her behavior today.

  At a timid knock on her door, Georgeanne’s head jerked up. She studied her reflection in the mirror above her vanity and quickly smoothed her mussed up curls. Checking her eyes, she was glad that, though they were slightly puffy, the redness had subsided. The last thing she wanted was to frighten Marissa, especially since the child was beginning to exhibit some trust in her. With guilt haunting her, she said a small prayer that nothing more would be mentioned about her leaving as much for Marissa’s sake as her own.

  The soft knock came again. Georgeanne plastered a smile on her wan face and opened the door. One look at Marissa’s small pinched features told her the child had heard her crying. She pulled Marissa into the room. Fussing over her little visitor, she invited the child to sit on the bed. “Why such a long face, Marissa?” she asked as Marissa sank against the fluffy pillows.

  “’Cause Uncle Tony made you cry like he does me.”

  Georgeanne heard the twinge of fear in the little girl’s voice and regretted her reckless tongue even more. “Yes, dear, but you are here with me now and that makes everything all right.”

  As velvety brown eyes brimming with tears searched her own, Georgeanne hugged Marissa affectionately, then settled comfortably next to her on the bed. This earned a watery smile from her charge. Hoping she’d reassured the child, she reached for a book on the bedstand, The Fables of Aesop. “How would you like a story?” she asked cheerily and began reading to distract them both from their worries.

  ~~~~~

  Two floors below, Raynor sat brooding before dying embers in the fireplace, a crystal goblet of brandy in one hand and a cut glass decanter in the other, and watched Bivens gather the remains of the tea.

  “May I get your lordship anything else?”

  “Yes, by Jupiter, some sanity!” growled Raynor. This caused the worthy butler to hasten his withdrawal.

  Raynor was bedeviled. He recognized he’d handled Georgeanne badly. She was not afraid of speaking her mind. That he knew. She also possessed a highly volatile nature. So why had he goaded her into quitting? After all, she made it plain from the outset just how much she needed this position. Where else could the foolish girl go? Some of the stories related to him by his friends were enough to turn his stomach. There was no telling what sort of depravity Georgeanne would encounter in another household. At least here she was safe. There, too, was Marissa to consider. The child had definitely blossomed since Georgeanne’s arrival.

  He would have to confront Georgeanne on the morrow and patiently explain how her open, friendly conduct could be misconstrued. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t playing the coquette, like so many women of the beau monde. That dazzling smile of hers was enough to encourage Will, or any gentleman for that matter, to dangle after her skirts. It was so natural, so genuine. And her eyes, egad, they were pools of liquid emeralds, mesmerizing in their unfathomable depths.

  “Damnation,” he growled under his breath, slamming the decanter down on the arm of the chair. It was obvious the girl needed a keeper not only to protect her against herself but every red blooded Englishman as well. The mere thought of those eyes and kissable lips was all that was needed to roil his blood to a boil.

  Well, he would take an interest in her welfare himself. Beginning tomorrow, first thing, he’d see to it that there would be no outing.

  *** Chapter 5 ***

  The next day dawned bright and warm, an added encouragement for members of the ton to deck themselves out and appear at the fashionable hour of five to parade around Hyde Park. It was the place to see and be seen. Georgeanne was happy to experience this part of the elite world once again even though she was now relegated to the role of governess.

  It was not easy for her and Marissa to escape Curzon Street. She schemed and plotted most of the day in order to avoid Raynor. Not trusting her employer, she fully expected him to have a change of mind and cancel their outing. So, right after breakfast and without telling anyone, she hauled Marissa off to the small conservatory at the rear of the house, which was usually deserted. There they spent the morning, sketching every type of foliage imaginable among the varied potted plants and exotic flowers.

  Afterwards, she had Cook prepare a picnic lunch before hieing off to one of the neighborhood parks. As they were scurrying out the back door, Bivens entered the kitchen.

  “Miss Forsythe, I’ve been searching all morning for you. His lordship requests a moment of your time.”

  Deliberately misunderstanding the frazzled butler, Georgeanne never slowed her pace and said over her shoulder, “Tell her ladyship that we will be back in time for tea.” Then she hustled Marissa out the door and through the mews at a break-neck pace. Thus, they were well out of sight by the time Bivens reached the doorway to call them back.

  Returning mid afternoon, she shamelessly used Marissa’s great aunt by hiding out in the older woman’s boudoir. With her grand niece nestled close beside her on a chaise lounge, Lady Ashbury thumbed through ladies’ magazines and even read Marissa a story. Georgeanne wondered if the elegant lady was cognizant of the fact that she was aiding and abetting them in avoiding her nephew.

  Shortly before their escort was due, Lady Ashbury had a sudden change of heart. “I must beg off going out, my dears,” she said, patting Marissa’s curls. “The quiet time will do me good, especially with the musical soiree at week’s end and all the preparations for a ball.” Then she gave Georgeanne a sapient look. “But that does not mean Marissa and you cannot go, Miss Forsythe.”

  Georgeanne did not need much prompting. She rushed Marissa up to her own bedchamber where they donned fresh gowns and put on their pelisses and bonnets. Then Georgeanne stationed herself at a window in Melissa’s room that overlooked the street. Once they espied Townsend round the corner, hand in hand, she and Marissa tore out the door and descended the stairs.

  If Lord Townsend was surprised by their seeming undue haste as they ran down the flagstone steps to meet him, he made no comment. He pulled his shiny yellow curricle with red wheels up to the curb and waited for a groom at the rear to come around and hold the heads of two matched thoroughbreds. Jumping down with aplomb, he assisted his passengers onto the curricle’s well sprung seats, then went around to the other side and climbed back up.

  “My, what a fine curricle, my lord,” Georgeanne said, wondering where he would have seated Lady Ashbury, had she come.

  Starting out into traffic, Townsend presented them with a boyish grin. “Lady Ashbury sent me a note this morning, begging off because of her duties. I decided to take the opportunity to show off my driving skills.”

  “Oh,” Georgeanne replied thoughtfully as she remembered Lady Ashbury’s earlier words. With Marissa sitting between them, she looked over the child’s head and observed the sartorial splendor of Townsend’s rust colored jacket, yellow and green striped waistcoat and buff breeches. With his beaver hat tilted at a rakish angle, he presented quite a handsome figure.

  The three of them made a pretty picture and caught many an eye. Georgeanne’s forest green riding ensemble consisted of a form fitting jacket that hugged her slender frame. She knew it became her, the color e
nhancing her eyes and creamy complexion, even though the costume was several years old. With a smart chip straw bonnet covering her auburn tresses, she doubted anyone would guess she was merely the governess sharing the seat with her young charge squeezed between herself and Townsend. And Marissa was absolutely adorable encased in a blue velvet pelisse trimmed with fur with a matching bonnet.

  As Townsend tooled down Rotten Row, he kept both passengers highly diverted with his witty comments on the various individuals they saw. At the same time, he casually acknowledged acquaintances who looked their way with a nod of his head or a wave of his hand.

  Marissa was agog over the finery worn by the ladies and gentlemen riding in sleek carriages or astride showy, spirited horses. Taking a cue from Townsend, Marissa excitedly pointed to a pale blue equipage, outfitted entirely in the same hue, including the groom’s livery. Georgeanne also spotted the famous queen of the demi-reps, Harriette Wilson, a pretty woman with auburn curls and a voluptuous bosom, amidst a ring of ardent admirers. She quickly grabbed Marissa’s tiny outstretched hand, pulling it down to hold securely in her lap. She bit her lower lip to check her laughter over the child’s innocent solecism, then threw a quizzical glance at Townsend.

  He appeared not to have noticed Marissa’s faux pax. “See that gentleman with the painted face, Marissa? The one completely done in bright, shiny yellow. That,” Townsend explained to this young passenger, “is Sir Lumley Skeffington, better known as Skiffy to his friends. He’s a penchant for bright satin suits and always matches his colors from head to toe.”

  “The blue lady is prettier,” Marissa insisted, trying to tug her hand loose.

  “Yes, dare say she is,” remarked Townsend in a strangled voice, “but, er—“

  “It is never nice to point, dear,” Georgeanne said, coming to Townsend’s aid before they both broke out laughing.

  They stopped innumerable times to wait for the barouches and phaetons ahead to move on. They had just completed the circuit when they were hailed by Lord Raynor. He approached them riding a large chestnut and was accompanied by one of the most beautiful women Georgeanne had ever seen. As the pair came closer, she saw that Raynor looked none too pleased and briefly wondered at the spiteful look the statuesque blonde threw her. Georgeanne noted, though the blond beauty quickly hid her venom behind a tight smile, it failed to reach her large blue eyes.

  As Townsend pulled back on his team to bring them to a standstill and acknowledged Raynor’s salute, Georgeanne took the opportunity to study the newcomer. Her short golden curls sprang out from under the small balk torque and framed a flawless countenance. Her high cheekbones were enhanced by a touch of blush. She was dressed in an azure habit, elegantly styled with gold frogging. When Georgeanne caught those blue eyes covertly sliding over her own outmoded gown, she suddenly felt like a veritable drab.

  “Miss Forsythe.” Raynor’s icy tone matched his barely bowed head. “Olivia, you know my niece, Marissa. Marissa, do you remember Lady Cosgrove?”

  “Cousin Olivia,” Lady Cosgrove said, bestowing a benevolent smile on the child.

  Marissa remained silent, inching closer to her governess. Unconsciously, Georgeanne reached for the little girl’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She was not sure why, but Georgeanne sensed this beautiful woman did very little that was sincere or spontaneous and, moreover, was inclined to calculate each action for its specific effect.

  “Of course, Marissa knows me,” Olivia added sweetly. “Oh, do look, Anthony. There are Elliot and his friends.” She raised one slender, leather-gloved hand to wave at a group of young men in regimentals. “We really must say hello.”

  “Perhaps,” Raynor replied, eyeing the child speculatively. “But I believe my niece is more interested in going to Gunter’s.”

  As might be expected, the mention of the famous confectionery shop brought a smile to Marissa’s face as she bobbed her head up and down emphatically.

  “’Tis I who’s been given the honor of treating the ladies, Tony,” Townsend said.

  With a challenging glint in his eyes, Raynor asked smoothly, “Surely you wouldn’t deny Olivia and me the same treat?”

  “But I am not the least bit hungry,” Lady Cosgrove interrupted.

  “I am,” Marissa protested.

  “Then it’s settled,” Raynor said, ignoring the sulky expression his beautiful companion wore.

  “No, it’s not,” Townsend said. “Lady Cosgrove don’t give a fig for a child’s outing.”

  “Really, Anthony,” responded Olivia, reaching over to place one hand on Raynor’s arm, “I would much prefer finishing our ride.”

  Georgeanne was irritated by the woman’s easy use of her employer’s sobriquet. But then, she recollected, he had been just as free with the lady’s first name.

  “Oh, here are my brother and his friends.” Olivia’s gay tinkling laugh put an end to the discussion.

  As the three officers drew abreast of the curricle, Georgeanne had little trouble recognizing Lady Cosgrove’s brother, Major Elliot Heaton. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he was striking in the red uniform. The two almost passed as twins except that Olivia Cosgrove, while definitely the younger, somehow seemed older, more worldly. It might have been the set of her thin lips or the coldness in her eyes, Georgeanne speculated. However, before she could compare the two more closely, she found herself an object of interest among the handsome gallants.

  “I beg an introduction, Raynor,” Major Heaton said, oblivious to the scowling expression he received from Raynor and Townsend for singling out Georgeanne.

  Raynor did as he was bid, with the major, in turn, making known his friends to her, Captain John Wottingham and Major Nigel Yates. It had been a long time since Georgeanne had been the recipient of so much masculine admiration, and she took great delight in every moment of their flirtatious flummery. But as Major Heaton was engaging her to ride out with him one afternoon, his sister deemed it time to set the record straight while redirecting the attention of the group back to her.

  “La, Elliot, your wits have gone a begging for you to ask a servant out on the town.” She appeared not to have noticed the sharp look Raynor threw her or heard Townsend’s fierce denial that Georgeanne was any sort of lowly minion. Olivia focused her eyes on Georgeanne’s pale countenance and asked, “Did I misunderstand your relationship with my cousin? Are you not Marissa’s governess?”

  Georgeanne was spared the humiliation of answering when Raynor spoke up. “Miss Forsythe’s family circumstances have made it necessary for her to seek assistance. It is agreed she will act as my niece’s, er, companion for a while.”

  “A companion,” scoffed Olivia. “What does it matter, for she is still nothing more than a paid servant?”

  “You forget yourself, Olivia.” Though softly spoken, Raynor’s tone held such vehemence that Georgeanne wondered if it were an implied threat.

  Olivia realized she’d gone too far and tried to pass off the moment by airily inquiring if her brother planned to attend Lady Sefton’s ball that evening. But the spiteful woman’s words had achieved their purpose, dampening the soldiers’ ardor, thus leaving Georgeanne deflated by the desertion of those erstwhile gallants. Though they were polite enough not to make a hasty retreat, none made any effort to speak to her again or glance in her direction.

  Oddly enough, Marissa offered her the most comfort. The little girl sensed Georgeanne’s mortification and, leaning into her, whispered loudly, “I am glad you are my companion, Georgie.”

  With tears stinging the back of her eyes, Georgeanne had to smile and patted her charge’s small shoulder.

  When she glanced up, Raynor was staring at the two of them. Reacting in what she perceived as pity reflected in the softening of his blue eyes, she defiantly tilted her chin and stiffened her back only to be surprised by his nod of approval before he reminded everyone they were due at Gunter’s for refreshing ices.

  As Will Townsend maneuvered the curricle around a coach stopped
ahead, Georgeanne forced herself to smile for Marissa’s sake. And upon reflection, she realized that, while she may detest Olivia Cosgrove, at least as a governess she need not fear her charge would disgrace her in public. After all, what could go wrong on such an innocuous outing?

  As they left Hyde Park en route to the famous confectioner’s shop, Georgeanne was unable to restrain herself. “How long have Lady Cosgrove and Lord Raynor known each other?”

  “They met during her come-out,” he answered before chuckling. “She tried to snag Tony back then, but he’s always been a slippery fish. So, she ended up leg-shackling Cedric Cosgrove after her third season. Nothing wrong with the fellow, mind you, just that he was a bit long in the tooth. Cosgrove had plenty of blunt and a title, of course, and it was most obliging of him to make her a widow after only a few years. Broke his neck riding to hounds, poor chap, and ever since she’s reset her cap for Tony. There’s the family connection, too. Olivia’s mother married Sir Richard Russell, Tony’s uncle on his mother’s side.”

  “Oh, so they are cousins?”

  “Not blood cousins,” Townsend said. “Sir Russell was a crusty bachelor. But Lydia, Olivia’s mother, snagged him after her first husband died.”

  Townsend was quiet for a moment, then added, “I suppose if anyone could bring Tony up to scratch, I would lay my blunt on Olivia.”

  That bit of information did not sit well with Georgeanne or, apparently, Marissa. For when Georgeanne glanced down, she noticed the child wore an expression that didn’t bode well.

  Once they were seated at Gunter’s, Lady Cosgrove began monopolizing Raynor and Townsend with a shamming, maternal air. Georgeanne knew intuitively that Olivia was cognizant of just how much Marissa meant to her uncle. Thus, the little girl became the recipient of the witch’s scheming when Olivia insisted Georgeanne move to another table so that she could sit next to Marissa.