The Impossible Governess

by Margaret Bennett

  Spotting a footman, she immediately dispatched him to the kitchens for cookies and milk for Marissa. Then, thinking to locate a deserted alcove or large potted palm to hide behind, Georgeanne slipped into the ballroom and hovered close to the wall while her eyes searched for a suitable refuge. Her luck was out, however, for just as she espied a chair in a darkened corner, Raynor was beside her and took hold of her elbow, effectively preventing any escape.

  “Where have you been?” Raynor asked with a sharp edge to his voice.

  *** Chapter 13 ***

  For over an hour, Raynor had been watching the door. He was more anxious than he cared to admit over Georgeanne’s disappearance and found himself keeping a close watch on Will Townsend.

  Then some movement drew his gaze up to the gallery. He caught sight of Georgeanne and Marissa, and suddenly the dreaded evening took on a much brighter outlook. When Georgeanne picked up Marissa and drew back from his sight, he felt a tug on his heart. He was tempted to go to the nursery but knew he could not leave his guests yet as some were still arriving.

  So he watched the doors, waiting for Georgeanne to reenter the ballroom, and when she did, he nearly lost his breath. The simple yet elegant cut of the clingy silk showed to advantage her slender figure. His eyes gravitated to the scooped neckline revealing the creamy skin of her décolletage, and desire aroused his body. He met her glare with one of his own and asked, “Have you been with Marissa the entire time?”

  At that moment, the orchestra struck up a waltz, and the idea of holding this fiery young woman close in his arms suddenly became a compelling necessity. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Olivia headed toward him and, knowing the conniving beauty’s intent, said to Georgeanne more gruffly than he meant, “Dance with me, Miss Forsythe.”

  She was not given a chance to demure, for he slid one hand down her arm to take her hand and placed the other at her tiny waist and expertly swung her onto the dance floor. At first, Georgeanne stiffened. But as he smoothly twirled her about the floor, he felt her relax. Drawing her closer, he breathed in her clean lilac fragrance. No other woman had ever felt so right in his arms.

  ~~~~~

  From the edge of the dance floor, talking with several friends, Lady Ashbury sat on a dainty chair that lined the wall with its mates. When she saw Raynor seek out Georgeanne at the back of the ballroom, she’d allowed herself a small smile. They made such a handsome couple and she had high hopes of a match.

  But then she spotted Olivia Cosgrove advancing upon Raynor as the first strains of the waltz sounded. Quickly excusing herself from the cluster of dowagers, Lady Ashbury made her way around the room to intercept Olivia and noted the young woman’s posture had gone rigid with anger, her eyes fixed on the dance floor.

  “They make a lovely couple, do they not, Olivia?” asked Lady Ashbury.

  Cutting her gaze away from Raynor’s tall figure, Olivia looked the older woman squarely in the eye. “Yes,” she acknowledged with some asperity, “though looks can be deceiving, my lady. After all, Miss Forsythe is nothing more than a lowly servant.”

  “Au contraire,” smiled Lillian Ashbury. “Georgeanne is as well born as you or I and with an unexceptional upbringing. Except for her recent impoverished circumstances, she would most likely have been included as my guest anyway. Now, if you will excuse me, I see the Dowager Lady Boothby beckoning to me.”

  As she glided off the floor, Lady Ashbury knew she’d left a jealously fuming Olivia behind. She’d come to detest the spiteful woman’s tedious visits at tea. It was obvious Olivia cared little for Marissa, and the sole purpose for the woman’s appearances was to insert herself in Raynor’s good graces. Fortunately, it appeared her nephew was as proficient at escaping unwanted female company as rumor had it.

  With luck, mused Lady Ashbury with a broad smile, she and Marissa had seen the last of Olivia Cosgrove.

  ~~~~~

  For Raynor, the sweet cadences of the waltz ended all too soon. Loathed to let loose of his enchanting governess, he kept one hand on the small of her back and guided her through the French doors that led out onto the terrace.

  Several other couples were strolling about the flagstone porch where torches lining the perimeter provided light. With the sky strewn with brilliant stars, the atmosphere was perfect for romantic intimacy.

  Raynor, acting like a man possessed, never slowed his pace as he led Georgeanne down stone steps and past the area with lanterns hanging in tree branches. He did not stop until reaching the recesses of a large clipped hedge that bordered the outer garden, well away from prying eyes. He swung around to face her and pulled her to him, almost roughly.

  The balmy night air felt good to Georgeanne’s flushed cheeks but did nothing to calm her racing pulses. As Raynor drew her into a passionate embrace, she was taken completely by surprise and offered no resistance when he kissed her. His ardor evoked a response that spread delicious warmth to her very core, and she let him deepen his kiss. Without thinking, she brought her arms up to encircle his neck and pressed against his hard muscular frame. He groaned, tightening his embrace, leaving her even more breathless. He placed a hand on her shoulder, then letting it drop, reached inside her bodice.

  Déjà vu, the scene in the library flashed through her mind and acted like a douse of cold water on her over heated senses. She placed her hands on his broad chest and tried to shove him away. Despite her efforts, he seemed to ignore her, and she began to struggle with him in earnest.

  And then the neck of her gown tore.

  At the sound of tearing fabric, Raynor loosened his hold on her slightly. But as he tried to pull her back into the embrace, Georgeanne reacted by swinging her right fist and connecting with his chin. Raynor released her suddenly, and she staggered backwards, trying to maintain her balance.

  Open mouthed, Raynor stared at her dazedly. “You hit me!”

  With heaving breasts and one hand holding the rent in the tiny bodice of her gown, Georgeanne stood her ground. “You tore my dress!” she accused.

  “Damnation. I’m sorry, Georgeanne, but I’ll make it right,” he said, reaching for her again. “I will love dressing you, and you will never have to worry your pretty little head about money again. I’ll settle you in your own house with everything your heart desires.”

  “I do not understand,” stammered Georgeanne, afraid that, in fact, she understood only too well. Her head was resting on his chest, and she could hear the steady pounding of his heart.

  “We can discuss all the details tomorrow, my dear. For now, I just want to make love to you.” His voice was husky and his hands were again doing their work, one massaging her back while the other insistently descending to her lower backside. Her traitorous body yearned to yield to him once more. Her mind, however, could not accept what he proposed. Angrily, she shoved him away.

  “I think not, my lord!” Her voice was steady, despite her turmoil.

  “Now, now, no need to get into a snit. I’m not the type to renege on my word,” he replied irritably.

  “Why, you insufferable brute, you . . . you ignorant toad! Do you think that is all I am interested in? Do you honestly believe I would sell my soul for a guinea? Do not ever touch me again!” Tears threatened to spill over, but she refused to cry in front of him. Turning her back on him, she began making her way toward the lights at the rear of the house.

  Raynor felt as if she’d slapped him again. Watching the enticing sway of her retreating hips, he began to wonder where he had erred this time to end up in such a coil. One thing was for sure; he couldn’t let her return to the ballroom with bruised lips and a torn bodice. It wasn’t because he feared the society matrons would saddle him with a wife within the month. Rather, he was more concerned for her reputation which those gossiping biddies would gleefully tear to shreds. He caught up with her in three long strides, grabbing her arm to draw her up short.

  “Release me this instant,” she said so quietly he had to bend his head down to hear her.

 
“Listen to me, you little fool. What you did expect, allowing me to take you out into a darkened garden? But you can’t very well march back in there looking the way you do without having to give everyone an explanation.”

  Not only were his words harsh, so was his expression. He placed his free hand under her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she wiped ineffectively at them with the backs of both hands. He reached in his pocket and withdrew a linen square. When he tried to dab her tears, she grabbed the cloth from his hand.

  “I have no intention of going back there,” she said. “The door by the library is rarely locked. Now, let me go.”

  She sounded so hurt, betrayed, that he wanted to reassure her everything would be all right. He finally recognized what a terrible mistake he’d made, offering her a carte blanc. That he had deluded himself into thinking she was anything but a lady could only be viewed as sheer stupidity. Thing was, this fiery minx had become the center of his existence, and he knew he could never let her go. He did want to take care of her, provide for her every need. And so he would, he vowed to himself.

  But before he could say anything, they heard a group gathering on the terrace with Olivia Cosgrove’s voice carrying above the others, leading a search for him. Georgeanne took advantage of this distraction by wrenching her arm free of his grasp and running toward the side of the house, disappearing in the shadows.

  Raynor stopped himself from following. There was little he could say to her at this point as he peered into the darkness for a glimpse of her. Tomorrow he would humbly beg her forgiveness before declaring himself properly.

  He heard Olivia’s voice call out his name again and uttered an oath. Damn the woman. Olivia really was the managing sort and lately had showed signs of becoming far too possessive.

  Well, tonight he’d scorch any future plans she might have hatched concerning him, he decided. He waited until he heard the faint thud of a door closing, which meant Georgeanne must have gotten inside without any difficulty, before finally heading for the terrace where Olivia Cosgrove stood with one of the young besotted swains of her court.

  As for Georgeanne, she dreaded seeing tomorrow ever come. After drenching her pillow with tears, she got up and removed her torn and now rumpled dress, balling it up to throw into a back corner of the wardrobe. She had no intentions of trying to repair the rent since the beautiful gown would always be a grim reminder of this evening. Why, oh why, had she thought Raynor’s affections meant anything more than a dalliance with one of his servants--for that was what she was, she reminded herself ruefully.

  Gentlemen of the ton did not marry women from the lower classes. That was pure fairy tale mush, she reminded herself.

  No, it was time she quit dreaming and accepted her predicament. She could not face her employer again, she decided even though her heart ached at the very idea. She just couldn’t.

  If he should repeat taking her in his arms, she feared she might actually surrender all too willingly. It would be far better if she left than to jeopardize her self respect. But she could not just abandon her charge. She needed to say goodbye to Marissa, and that would be just as difficult. She had come to care so much for the little girl and dreaded the thought of causing the child more disillusionment and hurt with the loss of another person she’d come to trust.

  She made her plans while haphazardly tossing her few belongings in a battered valise and a bandbox, which she’d confiscated from the attic, then stretched out on her bed, dressed now in her more serviceable blue gown to await the morning. As emotionally drained as she was, sleep never came.

  Instead, she laid motionless, listening to the sounds of music and merriment, way into the wee hours of the night, before the house emptied of the partiers.

  When the first gray streaks of dawn finally crept through the window, she rose and made her way to Marissa’s room and eased open the door. She stood over the sleeping child for some minutes before gently stroking soft tendrils of golden curls away from the small angelic face, slowly wakening her.

  “Marissa, my little lady,” she crooned softly. She sat on the edge of the bed and cradled the still drowsy child in her arms. “Something has come up unexpectedly, dear, and I have to go away.”

  “I will come too,” the little girl announced, her eyes opening wide at Georgeanne’s words while she struggled to sit up.

  “No, dearest, that is not possible. Now, be brave and listen carefully for I have not much time.” Calmly, slowly, she went on to give the clinging child specific instructions to continue her lessons and obey Hattie before promising the child she would write, even going into detail as to how they could trade letters back and forth, especially since Marissa was doing so well with her alphabet. And of course, Georgeanne added, whenever possible she would come for visits so they could go on lovely picnics in the park, taking Rosie along with them.

  “You can’t leave me, Georgie. Please don’t leave me,” Marissa cried with huge tears falling from her huge doe eyes.

  The little girl’s pleas tore at her already wounded heart, and in the end, Georgeanne was forced to call Hattie to come sit with Marissa.

  When the sleepy-eyed Hattie came in, the child began her pleas anew. “You have to stop her, Hattie. Make her stay.”

  “Here now, what’s all this about, Miss?”

  But Georgeanne found she was too distraught to do much more than brusquely order the maid to keep Marissa in her bed while gently pushing the sobbing child away. Running to her own bedchamber, she quickly retrieved the bags she’d packed.

  Cautiously, she crept down the stairs and let herself out the front door to flee into the damp, early morning fog. For once she was thankful for the heavy mist, so typical of London weather, to cloak her escape. Before turning the corner, she stopped and longingly glanced back down Curzon Street. There was little that she could distinguish between the gray swirling cloud and her tears.

  She smiled ruefully to herself, remembering her inauspicious start at the townhouse. Was it only a few scant weeks ago that she’d stated her unusual proposal to Lord Raynor . . . and what had it gotten her? Double the heartache!

  Well, there was only one place for her to turn to now.

  *** Chapter 14 ***

  Seated behind the desk with her shrewd eyes drawn together in a forbidding squint, Mrs. Hawkins of Hawkins Employment Agency for Domestics peered over her wire rimmed glasses at the young lady. Sure as she was that the appearance of this young woman bode no good news, Mrs. Hawkins was fast coming to regard Miss Georgeanne Forsythe as her nemesis and was sorely tempted to utter an expletive. Instead, with sublime forbearance, she firmly pushed the spectacles up higher on the uneven bridge of her nose before looking down at some papers, deliberately ignoring the girl’s presence. Let the chit stand for a few minutes, the business woman thought perversely.

  Naturally, Miss Forsythe wouldn’t accept such paltry treatment and so cleared her throat to attract the other woman’s attention. Glancing up with an irritated glint in her eyes, Mrs. Hawkins gave a sigh of resignation before indicating with a flippant wave of her hand for the irritating girl to take one of the two wooden chairs in front of the desk.

  “I suppose it was inevitable that you should show up again, Miss Forsythe.” Under Mrs. Hawkins’s hard penetrating gaze, Georgeanne lowered sad eyes. Surprised and not a little curious about such meekness from the young woman, Mrs. Hawkins snapped, “Just why are you here?”

  Clenching her hands about the reticule in her lap, Georgeanne began hesitantly. “It is not what you think. This time I was not asked to leave.”

  “No? I’ll grant you lasted longer with Lord Raynor’s niece than the others I sent him. Was the brat so very bad then?”

  “Oh, it is not because of Marissa. Indeed, the child is really quite a dear.”

  Mrs. Hawkins observed Georgeanne’s defeated and wan countenance with a calculating expression. Could it be that the nobleman demanded more of the chit than she was w
illingly to give? Since Georgeanne was not more forthcoming, she probed, “His lordship was pleased with your service?” She had her answer when Georgeanne blanched visibly.

  “I cannot go back there, Mrs. Hawkins.”

  “Miss Forsythe, exactly what did happen?” she asked gently.

  “I cannot discuss it, madam,” replied Georgeanne with conviction.

  No, for all her outspokenness, an innocent such as this girl definitely would have trouble talking about the baser side of men. Mrs. Hawkins sighed, remembering the first time she had laid eyes on the poised young lady. Just as now, there had been that determined tilt to her little chin when she had entered the office so expensively and elegantly dressed that Mrs. Hawkins had first mistaken her for one of her clients. It had occurred to her then that the girl was unlike any employee she had ever had the fortune, or misfortune, to manage.

  And blood will always tell out. There was no denying the queer starts of the Quality, keeping their young girls so closely closeted from life’s realities until they were pitched into cold marriage beds contracted strictly for monetary or social gains. No wonder the chit bolted every time a man made advances.

  The question was whether this lord had actually succeeded in bedding her, for that could lead to further complications nine months down the road. Well, if that were the case, she’d handle the matter as efficiently as she had done with a number of others in the past. It was a disgrace but far from unusual for one of her female employees to return after the master of a house or one of his male offspring had taken liberties with the hired help, only to ruthlessly discard the girl once the evidence became visible by throwing her out with nary a penny or backward glance. That was the way of the world, however, and it would behoove her to determine the girl’s circumstance.