The Governess

by Camille Oster

  The ugly truth was dawning. Countess Drezasse had not taken her own life. Her fall off the bridge hadn’t been something she’d initiated. It had to have been an accident, her mind stated, but logically, there was no reason why the woman would have accidentally fallen off. Unless, of course, she was sitting on the barrier wall, or walking on top of it, and had lost her balance.

  A child might take such risks, but a grown woman would hardly be tempting her fate by toying with heights. A thought of Thomas flicked through her mind and the degree to which she would chide him if she ever caught him doing something like that. But a grown woman—that was not the behavior of an adult woman unless she was somehow emotionally stunted. The words in her diary were the most mundane thoughts a woman could have. Shoes and an orangery.

  There could only be one conclusion. This woman had died, but not by her own hand. What was she doing there on the bridge? Was she walking across, traveling across? And somehow she had ended up toppling over the barrier.

  An image of the sight flashed through Estelle's mind.

  What conclusion could there be other than she'd been thrown or pushed. Someone had been cold and hateful enough to dispatch her, end her life for some gain—or simply for madness.

  Chapter 29:

  * * *

  At times, Estelle felt like her nerves were getting the better of her. She didn't know what to think. A part of her still firmly believed that the count could not be responsible for any of the misdeeds that were going on, but another kept looking to the evidence, saying so much of it pointed to him.

  Endlessly, she went over every single word they'd shared, every observation to spot any clues that would settle her mind and the constant discomfort she felt. Everything inside her felt so unsettled, she couldn't sleep, and her mind refused to relax. It was as if her mind had clasped onto something important and refused to let her escape it.

  Each day that passed seemed to be drawing toward something unpleasant, something she didn't want to face. But face it she would, because one afternoon, Thomas came running in saying the count was on his way and he was riding down to meet him.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, Estelle put her book aside and rose, making her way to the window. Figures on the road to the castle were easy to see against the white snow. It was no longer the sparkling softness it had been when it had first fallen. It was more settled now, more like a blanket that hid all the things underneath.

  The count in black, rode his horse at a leisurely pace. He was returning to the castle and Estelle had dreaded this day, because she worried that she would see something that told her that the suspicions she didn't want to face were correct. A little comment, a twinge in an eye.

  Whether the count was guilty of all, part, or none of the things leveled at him, she was still in danger. There weren’t that many young girls left in the village from what she guessed, and the madman might have to look a little wider for his next victim. Madmen rarely stopped being mad, did they?

  As she watched, she saw Thomas approach his father, riding his pony, clearly excited. The boy worshipped his father and would be absolutely lost and devastated to learn his father had conducted evil deeds. A boy would likely never recover from such a thing, or the scandal that would follow. He would be scarred for the rest of his life.

  But it wasn't true, she kept telling herself, even as her mind screamed at her that his lovely wife had, in no way, taken her own life.

  Within passing minutes, the count and Thomas disappeared from view as they continued up the road, past where she could see. He was definitely returning and would be here before long. She would have to greet him. In light of how they’d been before he left, it would be impossible for her to stay away and ignore his return. Staying away would make a statement, one she wasn't sure she wanted to make at that moment.

  Balog waited with the large, main doors open. Cold wind was reaching into the castle and Estelle froze, tucking her arms tightly around her. They waited in silence.

  The snow muffled the sound of their arrival, where the sounds of hooves would otherwise echo across the internal walls of the courtyard. The count appeared in sight and dismounted, his horse looking weary. Thomas was chatting animatedly as Balog went outside and took the reins of both horses.

  Wearing a heavy coat and a hat, the count took the steps up to the door. His dark eyes seemed clear and unburdened, seeking hers. Against her own wishes, joy at seeing him pumped through her blood. No, she could not give to such things, she told herself.

  "Miss Winstone," he said, his voice like a caress along her skin. "I hope I find you well."

  Taking his gloves off, he stepped toward her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. In a way, she hadn't expected it and it became awkward and jerky as if a mere greeting kiss on the cheek was a surprise. But the truth was that she feared intimacy and even a kiss on the cheek felt like an intrusion—as if they'd just circumvented all the horrible confusion she’d caused with the last one.

  Pulling away from the kiss, he was regarding her, as if he had picked up on her ambivalence. "I trust nothing untoward has happened while I was gone."

  Did he not know about the last disappearance? If he'd just arrived, perhaps he didn't. "There has been another taken girl," she said.

  The count looked grave. "That is unfortunate."

  Unfortunate, she repeated. Was that the right word to use? As if a game of cards hadn't gone the right way. Shouldn't he be using a more distressing word than unfortunate?

  "I need some refreshment, Balog," he said. "It has been a long journey."

  "From Budapest?" she asked, feeling her mouth go dry for some reason. Her voice came across a little croaky.

  "Yes," he said, turning back to her. There was something in his dark eyes now, a suspicion. Did this mean he knew she was onto him? Her mind ran wild and she tried to rein it in.

  "It must be beautiful this time of year. I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous." She was babbling again.

  "The snow does make the journey difficult, but the weather held."

  "Tell us," Thomas said, urging them toward the dining hall. Estelle wasn't sure they should, but the suggestion had been so blatant, she would again be sending a message by excusing herself. Reluctantly, she followed.

  "Running a country with both an emperor and a king, and no common law, is infinitely problematic," the count started telling Thomas. "There are endless disputes over what the Hapsburgs want and what our royal household demands. We are in essence rewriting a country, one which many still don't want to see. There is no end to complexities."

  Estelle listened, unable to imagine the difficulties that had been presented with the implementation of the Austro-Hungarian Compromise. Before coming here, Estelle had barely heard of it, but she was learning that it was a treaty that was now impacting every part of society, with the aim of ending the ceaseless fighting over the last thirty years. "It must be quite an undertaking."

  "It is the reason I can spend so little time here. The last four years have been endless negotiations within a treaty that at times seems utter lunacy. Everyone has an agenda and seeks to stack the system in their favor. The leftists want power, wealthy merchants want power, and everyone decries they are being unjustly treated while also wanting modernization immediately. We cannot even agree what language to teach children in schools," he said with a heavy sigh.

  "Hungarian, of course," Thomas said and the count smiled indulgently.

  "I think we would all be better off if you made these decisions," the count said.

  Estelle was now ashamed of her suspicions when the count carried such a heavy burden, rebuilding an entire country. With such a task, he couldn't possibly be running around kidnapping young girls. "It sounds impossible."

  "Yet it must be delivered."

  With a sigh, he accepted the food that Balog placed down in front of him. She and Thomas had already eaten so they simply kept him company. Thomas chatted, relaying the policies he would enact with the certainty o
f a little despot.

  Eventually, he left to find something he wanted to show.

  "What news is there of this girl?" the count asked. She could hear the weariness in his voice. It had been a long and difficult ride for him.

  "Like the others, there is nothing. She cannot be found and there is no hint of a culprit."

  "Something must be done, or this will continue."

  "Yes," she said, uncertain if she should mention the coincidence of these girls disappearing as he was leaving. But what purpose would that serve?

  After a while, he said, "I should not have, but I have missed you."

  She saw earnest admission in his eyes and a warning alarm sounded in her head. There were still unresolved issues she needed to settle. Clearing her throat, she looked down on her lap.

  "You have not missed me?" he asked with surprise. No doubt, it looked like she was avoiding this discussion.

  A tremor had taken hold in her body, knowing she had to do this. "Can you tell me what happened to your wife?"

  Shadows shifted behind his eyes. "I do not wish to discuss my wife," he said, his tone a little harsher. "My wife is none of your concern."

  Clearly, he did not want to discuss it, but it wasn’t an issue she could put aside. She had a form of friendship, maybe even an intimacy, with this man who might very well have dispatched his wife. He might view that as none of her business, but she couldn't agree. "There has been accusations made against you, hints that things were not as they should have been."

  "Who has been making these accusations?"

  Worry and anger rose in her now. Who made the accusations didn't matter. It was the truth in the accusation that mattered. "It was not melancholy that claimed your wife, was it?" she said, eyeing him directly.

  "You should not listen to every rumor you hear."

  "I need to know the truth," she said, actually, she demanded, her voice making no mistake of that.

  He considered her for a moment, his eyes sparkling in the candle light. The reflected light was the only thing that moved. "No, my wife was never claimed by melancholia. She was murdered."

  Feeling like cold water had been poured down her, a shiver ran up Estelle's spine. Was the countess's death related to all these other deaths? Did you kill her? The question screamed in her mind, but she couldn't give it voice. If he was responsible, she was effectively baiting him, potentially pushing a criminal to deal with a new problem. But in for a penny, in for a pound. "And who is responsible?"

  The count seemed to sink in on himself somewhat and he looked straight at the candles in the center of the table. "An acquaintance of hers," he said after a while. "A friend she trusted, who hid a true nature of jealousy and carelessness. A woman who thought she would take my wife's place if she was removed."

  Estelle gasped. "That's horrible."

  "Her name was Liliana. She worked her way into my wife's confidence, then struck when her jealousy overwhelmed her. I wasn't here at the time and Liliana tried to hide her deeds as an accident. But the murder was incidental to her; her true gain was to take Ekatarina's place. She tried to seduce me, even to force me, but I wouldn't have it."

  Everything about the count's claims and accusations made sense now. They had seemed ludicrous to her at the time, the accusation that she'd been trying to seduce him, but in light of his experiences, how could he not be suspicious.

  "Now you have pulled the whole sordid tale from me," he said almost accusingly.

  "I had to know," Estelle said. "I needed you to confirm that these accusations were not true."

  *

  Thomas was excited having his father back and supper was lovely. The joviality was back with the count’s return, and for Estelle, everything that had plagued her had been laid to rest.

  They retreated to the salon and the count and Thomas played chess again. Thomas basked in his father’s attention and Estelle knew the count was making an effort to give him as much time as possible.

  Before long, Thomas started yawning and had to be convinced to retire. He didn’t want to leave but his energies were clearly flagging and the count had to tell him to retire.

  They sat in silence for a moment after Thomas had left, the fire crackled. The count looked tired.

  “You should probably retire as well,” she said.

  “Are you managing me as well now, Miss Winstone?” he said and again, the worry she had overstepped her mark.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled. “Don’t be. No doubt you are right, but it takes me time to listen to you sometimes.” He grew serious. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d missed you.”

  “We missed you as well. The castle is dreary without you here.”

  “But did you?”

  Estelle pressed her lips together, her palm running over the book in her lap. If he only had some idea. “I fear,” she started, but didn’t know what to say.

  The count leaned forward, apparently disturbed she had fears.

  “I wonder if you are at times sending me some very mixed messages. Obviously, I am at fault with some things.” She didn’t know how to continue. “But—”

  He considered her for a moment. “Your accusation holds true, I find. Yet, I have found myself missing you, and perhaps I should not have, or at least, not have voiced those observations.”

  Now she felt bad. “I don’t think it serves either one of us to hide our feelings.”

  Pursing his lips, he closed his eyes. “You should probably go.” It seemed almost painful for him to say it.

  She didn’t want to go. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and tell her again how much he’d missed her, but such things were foolish, and he had just confirmed it by telling her to go.

  Placing the book to side, she rose.

  "I promise nothing if you stay."

  Heat flared up her cheeks and her instinct was to say a quick goodnight and rush out of there, but something stopped her and it had everything to do with how badly she ached for another kiss—those kisses that wouldn't leave her in peace. "I promise nothing if I stay, either."

  A smile ghosted across his lips. This had been what he'd been afraid of. This really was dangerous territory. She could feel it in her body, a latent tension. "I should go," she said.

  Placing the glass on the table beside his chair, he rose and as she watched, quickly moved toward her, his hand snaking around her back, drawing her into a kiss. Delectable sensation evolved and grew relentlessly in her mind, his body flat against hers. Every thought in her mind turned carnal. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to leave this behind—unexplored.

  "Don't leave," he said breathily as the kiss broke. His eyes were deep, dark pools and she couldn't look away. Words were beyond her and he kissed her again. Her breath had become cloying and hard as if she was breathing treacle. Fire burned inside her body with curious and urgent sensations.

  A kiss would not be enough this time and she knew it with certainty. If she stayed, there would be more shared between them than a kiss. With shaking hands, she brought them up to his waist coat, feeling the warm, smooth material under her finger tips. Those light touches couldn’t compare to his lips on her, demanding and beckoning.

  If she did this, she would know what it would be like to lay with a man. And if there was any man she wished to know in that way, it was him. His hands and arms pressed her to him, the wide expanse of his chest hard and unyielding. A deep pulse thudded under her hand as it rested on the side of his neck.

  The urge to relent was so forceful, she couldn't fight it. She wanted to give herself to him, to be consumed by this fire.

  Hot lips at her neck made her senses swim. It was all so much. Sensations rendered from every part of her body, with unbridled tension and heat building.

  Masculine fingers tended the buttons along the front of her dress, unwrapping her body to the cool air and for his view. With careful movements, he folded back the material, revealing her breasts. A warm stroke and his thumb flicked alo
ng her nipple. She felt absolutely no shame, she realized. She should, but she didn't.

  With his arms, he raised her up, taking her aching nipple in his mouth. Warm, moist heat swirled, teased her and her head dropped back. She understood the ecstasy now; she felt it tug very deeply inside her belly. Cloying heat ignited along her insides and she didn't know how to deal with it.

  "I don't know how to do this," she said breathily.

  His urgent ministrations stilled and she wished he wouldn't. Perhaps she shouldn't have admitted that. It seemed to disturb him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes," she said without a single doubt.

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "Perhaps I am doing this for entirely more selfish reasons."

  He seemed to consider her words and she prayed that he didn't change his mind. She didn’t think she could recover from the state he’d induced in her.

  "Memories," she filled in. "And I want to know."

  "Perhaps this is something you should save for your husband."

  "I want to know you." It was highly unlikely there was a husband in her future, anyway. Her statement was truthful. This was more than wanting to know a man; she wanted to know him, wanted to feel the intimacy they could have—for a short time.

  Reaching for his lips, she kissed him and he was still for a moment before relenting. With his eyes swimming closed, he gave in and Estelle felt jubilant. This really wasn’t what she had expected. She certainly hadn't expected having to more or less beg him to ravish her.

  With strong hands, he lifted her to him, urging her body to his as he lay her down on the floor. The weight of him was glorious and she cradled him to her, but he pushed back, trailing lingering kisses down her chest, until he took her nipple again. Her senses swam with the pleasure of it. How could it be? Her breasts had never been sensitive like this before, but they ached for touch, for his warm mouth.

  Her legs parted for him and she sought something she didn't entirely understand. A warm, strong hand ran along her thigh, down to her knee, back to grip around her drawers, pulling them down. She understood the process enough to know he was revealing her, for when they joined. With short, sharp pants, she waited until she felt his member touch gently against her entrance. Her insides clenched in anticipation and he slowly pressed into her, causing a sharp pain that echoed through her.