Mr. Gardiner and the Governess: A Regency Romance (Clairvoir Castle Romances Book 1)

by Sally Britton

  Even Miss Felton’s horrid disposition would not quell Alice’s anxious happiness. She gifted the woman a smile. “I am most fortunate that Her Grace insists upon her staff being well rested, so that we may serve her and the family better.”

  “It is not as if we are infants,” Lady Isabelle added from where she sat at the school table, picking at a sampler.

  Color appeared in Miss Felton’s cheeks. “Of course not, my lady. I am certain you are quite a capable girl.”

  Lady Rosalind looked up from the game she played with one of the other guests. “Truly, Miss Sharpe deserves a little time to herself. She is our favorite of all the governesses we have had.”

  The defense from her charges both surprised and gratified Alice. She tried to hide her smile but made certain to offer them a wink when they looked her way. Treating the girls as ladies, capable of thought as well as choosing their own interests, had apparently endeared them to her.

  Lord James was another story. He was across the room, doing sums with two other boys under the direction of their governess. Alice had no doubt he would get into some sort of mischief the moment they left him unsupervised. He still had not quite forgiven her for removing the frogs from his room, though he had seemed to understand the need for it.

  Alice turned a page, then checked the watch she had hidden in her lap beneath the book’s cover. Her half-day had begun.

  Closing the book, and pinning the watch to her bodice, she went to stand between Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind. “I am going to my room now. I trust you two will look after things.”

  “Miss Sharpe, Isabelle and I wondered if we might speak to you in private for a moment?” Lady Rosalind stood, casting a glance to her elder sister.

  Isabelle stood, too, dropping her embroidery into her empty chair. “Yes, please. We have something of great importance to discuss with you. In private.”

  Startled, Alice could only nod and gesture to the door. “Of course. Accompany me to my room. We may speak there.”

  The sisters followed her out the door and down the narrow corridor to her room. She allowed them to step inside first before entering and closing the door behind her. They both looked around with curiosity for a moment, Isabelle deciding to sit upon the bed while Rosalind took the only available chair.

  They both fixed Alice with serious stares.

  Her excitement ebbed away, replaced with concern for the girls. “Dear me. Whatever is the matter? I have never seen you both appear so solemn. Have I done something wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Isabelle said, exchanging a look with her sister. “But we heard Josephine and Emma talking about yesterday. When Mr. Gardiner took you away.”

  Alice’s cheeks immediately gave her away, heating up like bricks tucked into embers. “Oh—he only wished to show me the bees. And flowers. So I might better assist him.”

  “That isn’t what Josephine said,” Rosalind announced, her smile appearing. “Josephine said he practically rescued you from the others, and you were gone for more than a quarter of an hour, and that when you came back you could not stop smiling.”

  “Emma thinks you like him,” Isabelle added, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “I think she’s right.”

  Knowing that the duke’s eldest daughter and her companion had discussed Alice in such a way, and before the younger girls, made her feel ill at ease. “I—I do not mean to act in a way contrary to what is expected. I know my first duty is to my position as governess. I would never dream—”

  Lady Isabelle laughed. “Miss Sharpe, you needn’t worry. We do not disapprove.”

  But their mother might. If word of Alice’s time spent with Mr. Gardiner reached the duchess, if she found out there was more to their time together than the duke’s project, Alice’s position might well be in peril.

  “Are you going to see Mr. Gardiner today?” Lady Rosalind asked, sitting on the edge of her chair. “What are you going to wear? Mama says a woman’s choice of gown is as much about communicating what a lady thinks of her company as it is about looking her best.”

  Alice put her hand to her throat, considering the question while trying to brush away the unease the girls had caused. “I—I thought I would wear this.” She lowered her hand to run it down the front of her dark brown, serviceable gown. The long sleeves might be impractical for a summer day, but they would protect her skin from the sun.

  Identical looks of horror appeared on the girls’ faces.

  “No, Miss Sharpe!” Lady Isabelle shook her head adamantly.

  “You cannot keep a tryst wearing that,” the more romantically minded Lady Rosalind said sharply.

  Alice felt her cheeks warm. “It is not a tryst.”

  They both raised their eyebrows, then Lady Isabelle hopped to her feet. “Regardless, we cannot let you go for a walk with a gentleman wearing that. It’s all well and good to look frumpy in the schoolroom—”

  “Frumpy?” Alice nearly laughed.

  “—but you cannot stroll through a beautiful garden in a gown the color of mud,” Lady Isabelle finished severely, sounding older than her fourteen years. “What else do you have?” She went to the small wardrobe in the corner. “There must be something more suitable.”

  Lady Rosalind stood, too. “And we must do something with your hair. Must you always wear it in such a severe knot?”

  “It is hardly the concern of a governess to look attractive,” Alice argued, somewhat weakly.

  “Nonsense. You are barely older than Josephine, but you dress like that horrid Miss Felton.” Rosalind sniffed, then pulled the chair to the middle of the room. “Sit. We will help you.”

  Alice’s protests went unheard as the duke’s daughters took out every dress she owned— only six, at present—and cast each one upon the bed. Blue, gray, and brown day dresses were pronounced too matronly. The lilac evening gown met with wrinkled noses. The last two gowns apparently merited some study, however.

  Lady Rosalind held one up to Alice’s chin. The gown was a pale blue, matching Alice’s eyes. It had been a gift from the same great-aunt who recommended her for the position of governess. The sleeves were long, the neckline high and modest, but the cut of the bodice did flatter Alice. The color made her eyes stand out, even from behind the clear lenses of her spectacles.

  “That is pretty,” Lady Isabelle said. “What about the other one?”

  Lady Rosalind put the other gown, a peach-colored dress with tiny rosettes at the sleeves, to Alice’s shoulders. The gown had been gifted to her by another relative, a cousin who had worn it only once and decided it did not suit her. Alice had worn it to church when there were weddings after the Sabbath services.

  The elder sister cooed like a dove. “Oh, it’s lovely. Perfect for today. I think we ought to save the blue one for another outing.”

  “Another outing?” Alice said, somewhat weakly. Would there be more somewhat clandestine meetings with Mr. Gardiner?

  She found she rather hoped so.

  “I agree,” Lady Rosalind said. “Put this on, Miss Sharpe, and then we will fix your hair.”

  Alice did not know whether to be grateful or annoyed that girls so much younger than her had taken it upon themselves to prepare her for her meeting with Mr. Gardiner.

  Gratitude soon won out, however, as her charges showered compliments upon her head. When they stood back to observe their handiwork, Alice’s heart lightened upon the pronouncement that she was very pretty.

  “If only we could do away with the spectacles,” Lady Isabelle said.

  “Oh, they are not so bad.” Lady Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “They make you look very scholarly, Miss Sharpe.”

  Rather than admit she did not need them all the time, Alice simply adjusted the spectacles on her nose. “I cannot think what good removing them would actually do.”

  “Merely allow your eyes to show off to a better advantage,” Lady Isabelle answered with a single shoulder shrug. “But if you had to go about squinting, that would be worse. I think we hav
e framed your face with your curls quite prettily.”

  “I think Mr. Gardiner will be surprised. If he liked you before, he can only think you even prettier today.” Lady Rosalind sighed happily.

  Alice looked into her small, square mirror. “Quite right, Lady Rosalind. Although—although I must protest again. Mr. Gardiner is not—he cannot be interested in me as anything other than a temporary colleague.”

  She caught the skeptical raise of Lady Isabelle’s eyebrows in the mirror. “If you say so, Miss Sharpe.”

  A warm, comfortable feeling settled in Alice’s heart, at odds with the way her stomach had twisted and turned before. To have such fine young ladies show so much interest in her, a nobody and their governess besides, gave her greater confidence. She checked her watch.

  It was a quarter ’til two o’clock and time to meet Mr. Gardiner in the statue gardens. She took in a deep breath and reached for her bonnet.

  Chapter 13

  Rupert paced at the break in the roses that led from the upper terrace down into the statue gardens. He kept checking his pocket watch, though he had arrived early.

  What if she did not come? What if she had decided against spending the hours of her freedom with him? Or what if she had questioned the propriety of their meeting and decided against the risk to her reputation?

  Though most considered governesses both beneath their notice and above reproach, Miss Sharpe had made it clear how aware she was of her status in the household. If she cast aside his reassurances, the fear for her position might well keep her away.

  What a shame that would be.

  At five minutes until two o’clock, Rupert stuffed his watch into his waistcoat pocket. He tried to turn his attention to a moth resting on one of the roses, noting how its behavior differed from a butterfly a few roses over. The markings on the dark brown moth put him in mind of tree bark, which made the creature stand out while it rested on the pink petals of the flower. Yet it appeared safe from predators, since it resembled flora rather than fauna.

  The crunch of a step on the gravel brought Rupert’s attention back to the path, and his heart sprang into his throat the way a cricket might jump through the grass. He turned his gaze to the archway at the moment Miss Sharpe stepped into it, her expression uncertain, her smile slight. Her visage—beautiful.

  The color of her gown put him in mind of the clouded yellow butterfly’s wingtips—a delicate shade which emphasized her natural coloring prettily. Her blush upon catching his stare was nearly the same shade, and all at once Rupert wanted to take her in his arms and offer her shelter.

  His mouth went dry, and his throat tightened. His words came out somewhat strangled. “Miss Sharpe. You came.”

  She placed a gloved hand to her throat and looked down. “As I said I would, Mr. Gardiner.”

  “Rupert.”

  Her gaze rose, her lips parted in surprise. “Rupert?” Had anything ever sounded so right as his name falling from her tongue?

  “My Christian name.” His stomach knotted and he tried to laugh. He had forgotten to think before speaking. His complete lack of decorum would endanger the whole afternoon. He tried to offer up excuses, poorly constructed as they were. “We are friends, are we not? But if you prefer, you might call me Gardiner instead. Unless you are uncomfortable with the whole idea, in which case, I must apologize—”

  “Rupert,” she said again, more firmly. “It is a fine name. You must call me Alice.” Her cheeks remained that lovely pink shade, despite the sudden determination in her eyes. “We are friends, as you say. And colleagues. But perhaps—we should only do so in private—?”

  “Of course,” he agreed hastily, stepping closer and offering her his hand. “That would be best, I agree. I am glad to see you.” When she gave him her hand, he bowed over it. “Alice.”

  She could not know what a gift her name was to him. Or that he decided, in that instant, if he ever discovered a new species of butterfly, he meant to name it after her.

  Then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Where should we begin our tour? I have refreshments waiting for us at Apollo.”

  “I think at whichever statue is closest. I hurried by most of them before.” She tipped her head to the side, allowing him a clearer view of her profile. “As you might recall, I was not paying a great deal of attention to my surroundings at the time.”

  “Ah, yes. You did become rather closely acquainted with a flowerbed.” He chuckled at the memory. Had it only been a fortnight since they met? It felt as though he knew her longer. Perhaps the amount of time she had taken up his thoughts made it so.

  They walked along the path, pausing at each statue as they went. Alice—how he enjoyed the use of her Christian name—knew each statue’s identity with only the barest hints in the sculptures. She was well-versed in mythology, a subject he did not think most women knew.

  Then he would point out the plants growing around each statue, telling her more about them, and noting when they flowered or slept for a season. Not once did she seem impatient or uninterested at his explanations. Alice listened, her eyes upon him, asking intelligent questions from time to time.

  When they arrived at Apollo, within sight of the statue of Aphrodite, Rupert scooped up the basket at the base of the Greek god. He would have to thank Billings profusely for the man’s foresight. “Why don’t we venture over there?” he asked, pointing to the statue of the goddess where they had first met. “I understand there is a well-tended bed of narcissus.”

  Alice’s laugh danced through the air between them. “I suppose that would be appropriate, given it was the scene of our first meeting. You were rather impatient with me, you will recall.”

  “And you were certain I was concerned about the flowers you crushed.” He followed after her, admiring the grace of her walk.

  “I thought you were a gardener,” she reminded him over her shoulder.

  Rupert bit back a sigh of admiration. He had to get hold of himself. He had been around many a beautiful woman before. Had both charmed ladies and repelled them, at his choice, with either mild flirtation or stories about his insect collection. All his interactions with Alice Sharpe, however, had been different. She seemed charmed by his talk of crawling things and repelled by his attempts at flirting—at least at first. Things were markedly different now. Her reactions sent his head spinning, and their time together was never quite enough for him to determine what it was that drew him to her.

  They settled beneath the statue, on a blanket Billings had thoughtfully added to the basket. Rupert served her a cup of lemonade from a small jug, then fruit and cheese.

  “How did you become a governess, Alice?” he asked after he had settled in with his own refreshment. “You talked of your family before, when we tended to Geoffrey. Why are you not with them?”

  Her eyes lowered to the flowers, and one hand idly plucked grapes from their stem. “My parents died when I was very young. I cannot remember my father at all, though I do remember my mother. We lived with one of her sisters for a time, before she fell ill and died. My aunt kept me for a few years, but she had several of her own children to occupy her time. I was sent to my father’s mother. Then she passed away, and I went to an uncle. Then another aunt, and then everyone blurs together.”

  She had been like Geoffrey, passed from one guardian to another. Never quite settling, never belonging.

  “My great-aunt, Mrs. Lucinda Beardsley, was the last person I was with. I acted as her companion for a time, but then she was summoned to help one of her granddaughters enter Society. That was when the family decided I ought to try for more independence.”

  Though Alice spoke calmly, her words practiced and clearly carefully measured, something about her story struck him as terribly sad. Lonely, even.

  “You became a governess.”

  She plucked another grape but left it on the plate rather than sample it. “To the duke’s family. Yes. My great-aunt recommended me to the dowager duchess.”

  “Th
is is your first position?” Rupert sat back on his hands, considering her reluctance to help him with his work. It made more sense that she would worry so, given that her family had sent her away with such heavy expectations upon her shoulders.

  Alice shrugged. “My very first, officially, though I have acted as a tutor for many of my younger cousins. I am quite familiar with children and schoolrooms. I have always tried to make myself useful.”

  The smallness of her voice at that admission caused his heart to crack. How could anyone make her feel of such little value that she had to make herself useful to live with her own family? No wonder she kept quiet in the presence of others. No wonder she defended the orphaned Geoffrey with such kindness. How little of that had she known in her own youth, passed from one household to another?

  Rupert put aside his plate and reached for her hand before she could tug another grape off the stem only to let it roll freely about her plate. She looked up at him, startled, as he drew her hand close to his heart. Fixing her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Rupert spoke earnestly.

  “Everything I know about you, Alice Sharpe, speaks of your intelligence, warmth, and kindness. You are quick-witted and a true pleasure to be near. I value our friendship, though it is early days yet. I am most grateful to have your help with my work, and I cannot imagine how anyone could see you as anything less than a lady of quality.”

  Her lips parted, and her eyebrows raised high, but no word escaped her. Not for a long moment, as she seemed to evaluate his words and the truth behind them. At last she smiled, her expression softening in a way that made him want to draw closer, though he resisted the urge.

  “Thank you, Rupert. That is one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lowering it, ignoring the desire to pull her into a most improper embrace. He had only just gained her trust and friendship. He would not lose it merely to give way to his impulses.