He couldn’t help another laugh at that. “Well, they are that, all right. But I fear you had no idea what you were letting yourself in for.”
“Oh, but I did. You and Galbraith were quite open about the difficulties.”
“You had no qualms? No doubts?”
“About your boys?” She shook her head. “No. It sounds conceited, I know, and I don’t mean it to be, but I knew I could handle them, I knew I’d be good with them. Teaching is what I do, you see. And in tutoring your sons, I knew I’d have the chance to teach important subjects like science and mathematics. I wouldn’t be a governess teaching the silly things that girls are supposed to learn, but subjects that really matter, that can help my pupils to do great things in the world.” She waved her hands impatiently, as if she found her explanations inadequate to the passion of her feelings. “Oh, do you see at all what I mean?”
He studied her without replying, noting the genuine joy with which she talked of her vocation, the sparkle in her eyes and the glow in her face, and he was struck anew by his own idiocy.
How could he ever, in a thousand years, have mistaken her for a boy? At this moment, her cropped hair notwithstanding, she looked every inch a woman. Not beautiful, he supposed, but striking just the same, with her high cheekbones, ebony hair, and pale, luminous skin. There was something else about her, though, that went beyond coloring and bone structure and conventional notions of beauty, something that seemed to penetrate the void of his existence, something akin to a candle being lit in a dark, empty room.
She had a gambler’s heart and a pirate smile and a zest for life. She had a reckless disregard for rules and conventions and a love of adventure. There was pain in the dark abyss of her eyes, but there were shafts of light and hope as well. Jamie feared that any light in his own eyes had been snuffed out a long time ago.
As a boy, he’d crossed lines and defied rules, not out of any passion for a vocation like the girl before him, and not really to gain attention as his own boys were wont to do. No, he’d been driven by a darker, more insidious need: to fill up a life that was empty.
And then he’d met Pat, and it was as if dawn had broken in his soul. Pat had filled all the empty, cold, lonely places within him like sunlight. Before her, he’d been an angry, defiant, and bitter youth, breaking rules, making trouble and doing anything to kick against the pricks. After her, he was a blackened, burned-out shell of a man, going through the motions of life, getting out of bed each morning not because he welcomed what the day would bring, but because the existence of his sons left him no other choice.
Now, as he looked into the vivid, passionate face of the girl before him, longing hit him with unexpected force. It had been three interminable years since he’d seen in his own mirror what he saw in Amanda’s face, and he wished—God, how he wished—he could see it again. It was the joy of being alive.
“My lord?”
The sound of her voice jerked him out of his pointless reverie. Life moved only one way, and that was forward. One could never go back. Some joys, once lost, were lost forever. Some lights, once extinguished, could never glow again.
He jerked to his feet.
“Very well,” he said as she also stood up. “Has anyone of my family’s acquaintance met you or learned your name?”
“No one’s been introduced to me, if that’s what you mean. As for the rest, you’ll have to ask Mrs. Richmond and Samuel if they’ve mentioned me to anyone by name.”
He already had asked them, late last night. “What about tradesmen? Or shopkeepers?”
“Some have seen me with the boys, of course, but none of them know my name. Why do you ask?”
He didn’t answer that question directly. “We shall begin again,” he said instead. “You will be the boys’ new nanny, but your actual duties will remain just as they have been.”
She gripped the edge of his desk, suddenly, as if her knees were threatening to give way, and watching her, he knew she must truly have been facing destitution, or something close to it.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, recovering sufficiently to abandon the death grip she had on his desk. “Thank you.”
“For the sake of respectability, you will be Mrs. Seton from now on,” he added. “A widow. And if anyone notices that you look like the male tutor who was here before you . . .” He paused and sighed, capitulating to yet another lie. “He was your brother.”
She smiled a little at that. “I shall have to give Adam a different last name, then, since I am now a respectable widow.”
“A woman requires a certain degree of privacy,” he went on, “and my sons are now fully aware that if they sneak out at night, or if they misbehave in any other way, you will be the one to answer for it. So, I’ve instructed Mrs. Richmond to move you into the nanny’s room and restore Colin to his own. That will be all.”
She nodded, gave a curtsy, and turned to go.
“Seton?”
She paused, hand on the doorknob of his study, and looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Lie to me again, about anything, and I will not forgive it. Do you understand?”
There was a slight pause, an indrawn breath, and then she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”
“And you needn’t worry that your history will repeat itself. Even in a dress, you’re quite safe from me.”
She nodded, seeming to take him at his word, but as he watched her walk away, he was painfully aware that this woman had inspired more in him than just a longing to enjoy life. She’d also reawakened masculine desires he’d been trying to smother for three years, and as he watched her walk out the door, her slim figure moving with willowy grace, he almost regretted that he wasn’t the sort to bed the governess.
An omission wasn’t really a lie.
At least, that’s what Amanda tried to tell herself as she returned to the back stairs to collect her suitcase. After all, he hadn’t asked for her entire employment history. Of course, that was partly due to the fact that she’d managed to steer the conversation rather adroitly away from her own past. And if he had the impression that she’d lived with her father until his death, taking the post as governess only after his passing, well, it wasn’t because she’d actually said so.
If she’d told him about her post at Willowbank, he’d never have agreed to give her another chance, but how many people told their employers everything? She’d wager none. Everyone had chapters in their life they’d prefer others never read, and she was no different.
Even as she reminded herself of all these things, however, she knew she was attempting to justify actions that were questionable at best. Lord Kenyon certainly wouldn’t care about such fine distinctions, not when it came to the person in charge of his boys, and if he found out the real story of her past, she knew there would be no reprieve, no third chance.
Still, she’d have to cross that bridge if and when she came to it, and in the meantime, there was no point brooding on the topic. She paused on the landing where she’d left her suitcase, picked it up, and retraced her steps, heading for the nursery and, as was her usual custom, she tried to look on the bright side. She still had a job, at least for now. She’d be able to continue working with the twins. And best of all, she could be herself—a woman—again.
Yes, she still had to keep a few secrets, but the relief of not having to live a lie every single minute was like a ten-ton weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she couldn’t help being glad about that.
No more speaking in a voice two octaves lower than her own. No more sneaking rags in and out to the laundry when her monthly came, and no more being Adam.
She could be Amanda again. She could let her hair grow, and wear dresses, and stop trying to learn to tie a bow tie. And once she started wearing a corset again, her back would stop aching, thank heaven.
At that thought, Amanda grinned. Before this started, she’d never have thought she’d be glad to put herself back in a corset.
&nb
sp; Life, she reflected, was full of surprises.
Chapter 12
During the two weeks that followed, Jamie had little time to worry about Amanda Seton or his decision to keep her on. Almost from the moment the Commons reconvened, he found himself inundated with more work than ever. He scarcely had time to interrupt the boys’ lessons late in the morning for a quick farewell before he was off to Westminster, and since the votes were seldom called before midnight, the boys and their tutor were always in bed long before he arrived home.
Nor did his work come to an end with end of the week. He did attend early service each Sunday with the boys, Amanda, and the servants, but other than that, his time at home was taken up with writing letters, drafting legislation, and composing speeches.
He didn’t mind the hard work. In fact, he usually welcomed it. He’d stood for his seat in the Commons not out of any noble notion that he could change the world, but simply out of a need to fill his days, and though he had come to find satisfaction in it, his primary purpose was still to occupy his mind and block out memories of happier days.
There were times, however, when no amount of work was enough to distract him. One Saturday afternoon in mid-November, one of those beautiful autumn afternoons England so seldom offered, where the sun was shining and the air was crisp and the breeze was just strong enough to blow away the malodorous haze that hung over the city, Jamie found nothing even remotely satisfying about being an MP.
He stared down at his speech, and as he read the lines he’d spent hours composing with such painstaking care, he could not escape the dismal realization that they were pure tosh. His third attempt today, and he still couldn’t seem to even convey the importance of the Education Bill with coherence, much less with eloquence. No one in the Commons would ever be persuaded by this rubbish.
Exasperated, he tossed his pen down, rubbed his hands over his face, and stood up. After stretching his cramped muscles, he stepped to the window and lifted the sash, then he leaned down, propped his forearms on the sill, and stared out over the park, breathing deeply, hoping the cold, invigorating air could invigorate his powers of inspiration as well.
Across the street, a constable approached a man who was stretched out on a bench—the same bench, he remembered, where Seton had been sitting that first day when Colin’s kite had nearly landed on her head. With his truncheon, the constable prodded the sleeping man—Mr. Leach, he could only assume. Awakened from his nap, the man rose and shuffled off, the constable continued on his round, and Jamie’s gaze moved on.
Beyond the bench was the space of open turf where the boys liked to fly their kites, and beside it, the cricket pitch where Samuel, or more rarely, Jamie himself, took the boys to hone their skills at bowling and batting.
The boys were there today, he realized, and he straightened, squinting to get a sharper look. Amanda was with them, but she was not watching from a comfortable place on the sidelines. No, she was playing batsman, the autumn breeze whipping her black skirt sideways, stirring the enormous puffy sleeves of her white blouse and the ribbon bow on her straw boater hat as she stood in front of the cricket stumps, bat in her hands, waiting for Colin, as bowler, to pitch the ball in her direction.
Her stance was off; he could see that at once, and when Colin sent her the bowl—a decent throw with a good bounce that made Jamie proud—she missed the ball by a mile. Not that it would have mattered anyway, for even if she’d made a splendid hit, she’d also employed too much force. Carried by her own momentum, she swung too far and hit the stumps behind her, an automatic out.
“Dismal,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Simply dismal, Amanda.”
That was how he thought of her now, by her Christian name. He couldn’t think of her as Seton any longer, for to his mind, that name conveyed a man. Mrs. Seton was the name everyone in the household, including him, used when addressing her, but Jamie never thought of her that way, though he could not have said quite why. In his thoughts, she was simply Amanda.
Colin left the pitch, Owen left his place as keeper, both boys coming over to explain what she’d done wrong, and Jamie moved to close the window, thinking he’d best get back to work.
But when he saw the sad excuse for a speech that was waiting atop his desk, he decided he could spare a few more minutes. He retrieved a pair of field glasses from his desk, returned to the window, and continued to watch the cricket lesson across the street.
The boys had resumed their places, Colin bowled again, and Amanda swung the bat, but she stepped over the crease in the process, which was a shame, because she’d managed to hit the ball this time. Retaining the bat in one hand just as a batsman ought to do, she hoisted her skirt a bit off the ground with her other hand and started to run, clearly not aware she’d broken the rules a second time. Owen, acting as umpire as well as keeper, followed her, waving his arms in a crossing motion and probably shouting as well to get her attention.
She slowed, stopped, and turned around as Owen approached her, and as he began to explain what she’d done wrong, Jamie chuckled at the indignant look on her face. She might not know much about cricket, but she certainly had a competitive streak.
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she stalked back to where she’d started and lifted the bat to give it another go. Through his field glasses, he had a good view of her face, her eyes narrowed beneath the brim of her boater, her square jaw set, her black brows furrowed in concentration.
None of that helped her, and she missed again, making it plain that she needed clearer instruction on how to bat than his two sons were providing.
He could help her, of course, for he’d been quite a good batsman in his day. He’d taught both his sons to bat, and bowl as well. And the boys would be delighted if he’d abandon work and join them. But sadly, his speech wasn’t finished, meaning he didn’t have time for cricket in the park.
He lowered the field glasses, but as he shut the window, Amanda’s words from that night in his room echoed back to him, and he stopped.
You’re their father. Don’t be content to watch them play from your window.
Jamie looked at the work piled on his desk, work that seemed to arrive in a never-ebbing tide. Work was all he did, for when a man needed to fill his life with distractions, work was one of the best.
Still, there were other distractions.
He looked out the window again, and when he saw Amanda swing the bat, whack the ball straight up into the air, and send the boys into peals of laughter, he decided it was high time he took an afternoon off.
Cricket, Amanda thought glumly, was just not her game. A few practice swings, all of them muffed, and she’d been heartlessly booted from consideration and dispatched to the sidelines.
Prevented from joining the group of boys now forming into teams, Amanda set aside her cricket bat and settled herself on the blanket she’d unfolded earlier, resigned to watching the match from a distance along with the various other nannies and tutors who’d brought their charges to the park. She slipped on her jacket and wrapped a knitted scarf around her throat as protection against the chilly autumn air, then opened the picnic basket Mrs. Richmond had prepared. But she’d barely retrieved a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade before a voice spoke beside her.
“Given up already, have you?”
Amanda looked up, twisting her head to find Lord Kenyon coming toward her across the grass. “I might say the same about you,” she said in surprise. “Weren’t you supposed to be working on a speech, or something?”
He paused at the edge of the blanket with a heavy sigh. “Don’t remind me.”
She eyed him with sympathy as he doffed his hat, sank down on the blanket beside her, and folded his long legs beneath him. “Not going well?”
Unexpectedly, he flashed her a grin. “About as well as your batting.”
She made a face. “No wonder your speech isn’t finished, if you’ve been up there watching my awful attempts at cricket. Is that why you came down? To tease?”
&
nbsp; “No.” He paused, his grin fading to a serious expression. “I’m here because I decided it’s time I took your advice.”
“My advice?”
“Yes.” He nodded toward the cricket field. “To play with my sons instead of watching them from the window.”
Happiness rose within her, sweet and painful, pressing against her chest until she could hardly breathe. She told herself this dizzying burst of happiness stemmed from how much his presence would please the boys, but as she slid a sideways glance over his profile, she knew what she felt wasn’t only on behalf of Colin and Owen. “I’m glad.”
He turned his head to look at her again. “So am I, Amanda.”
At the sound of her name, the happiness inside intensified, and she looked away, forcing herself to speak. “The boys will be over the moon,” she managed, nodding toward the cricket field. “They’ll be quite willing to have you join their team, I’m sure.”
“They’ll have to wait a little bit.” He gestured to the picnic basket near their feet. “I can’t play cricket without sustenance. Unless there’s not enough?”
“Oh, there’s still plenty of sandwiches,” she assured him, happy to talk about something innocuous like food while her breathing resumed a normal rhythm. “There’s cold ham as well, if you’d prefer that, and a few apples. There might be some sweet biscuits, too, unless the boys ate them all.”
“Sounds a bit of all right.” He leaned forward to rummage through the basket near their feet, then retrieved a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade. “So why aren’t you still playing?” he asked, nodding toward the cricket field as he unwrapped his sandwich from its covering of brown paper. “It doesn’t seem like you to give up on anything after only one go.”
“I didn’t give up!” she said with indignation. “A boy named Archie arrived, so I had to give up my place on the team.”
“Why? Because you’re a girl? Now that surprises me.”
Governess Gone Rogue Page 19
