A Lady Becomes a Governess

by Diane Gaston

  Miss Tilson directed her gaze to Garret and started to walk towards him, but Lady Agnes intercepted her.

  ‘Everyone,’ Lady Agnes said, ‘this is the girls’ governess. She has kindly offered to even our numbers at dinner.’ She took Miss Tilson’s arm and guided her to the guests, starting with Sir Orin.

  Miss Tilson turned white at the sight of him.

  ‘Sir Orin you already know,’ Lady Agnes chirped.

  He bowed. ‘Claire.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Sir,’ she said curtly, turning her head away.

  Agnes, following precedence, introduced her to Mr and Mrs Howard of Levens Hall, Squire Lloyd, Mrs Lloyd, Reverend Elliman and his wife, the curate, and Mr and Mrs Wordsworth.

  Her eyes brightened. ‘Mr Wordsworth! This is a pleasure! “I wandered lonely as a cloud, That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils.”’

  He beamed with pleasure. ‘You read poetry, Miss Tilson?’

  She smiled at him. ‘I read your poetry, Mr Wordsworth.’

  Agnes guided her away.

  Garret spoke up. ‘Would you care for a glass of claret, Miss Tilson?’

  Her gaze turned to him again. ‘Thank you. I would.’

  She stepped away from Lady Agnes and walked up to him, her back to the rest of the room.

  He handed her the glass. ‘You did not know Sir Orin was invited, did you?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘You might have warned me.’

  ‘I was told you knew.’

  She turned away from him and walked over to Mrs Howard and Mrs Wordsworth.

  Glover entered the drawing room again. ‘Dinner is served.’

  Garret clasped Lady Agnes’s arm and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You told me she knew of Sir Orin’s invitation.’

  Lady Agnes gave him an innocent look. ‘I am sure I never did say that.’ She glanced towards Miss Tilson. ‘Where did she find that gown? Did it conveniently survive the shipwreck?’

  ‘Ask her,’ he shot back. ‘She will tell the truth.’

  Lady Agnes had been cruel to not tell Miss Tilson that Sir Orin would be among the guests. Worse, she’d lied about it.

  Cruelty and lies. Two things Garret could not abide. He’d seen enough cruelty and was told enough lies while in the army. And now Lady Agnes seemed to have a strong capacity for both.

  * * *

  Garret’s anger persisted throughout dinner. At least Lady Agnes was at the other end of the table, too far for him to converse with her. He talked politics and the army with Mr Howard, who was a Member of Parliament and had been a lieutenant colonel in the Irish 9th Garrison. He’d lost an eye in the Helder Expedition. He also spoke with Reverend and Mrs Elliman. Elliman had been the vicar when Garret was a boy and the man cared passionately for his parishioners. He and Squire Lloyd knew all the news and gossip in the local area.

  In the middle of the table Sir Orin was busy entertaining the ladies, making conquests of Mrs Wordsworth, Mrs Lloyd, Mrs Elliman, even Lady Agnes’s aunt Theodora. Mrs Howard looked at him with some scepticism.

  Squire Lloyd leaned over to Garret. ‘Who is this Sir Orin?’

  He frowned. ‘Someone Lady Agnes wished to invite.’

  Garret watched Miss Tilson, who seemed to converse comfortably with Mr Wordsworth and the curate, who was clearly smitten. She held herself regally and confidently.

  She was full of surprises and that intrigued and captivated him. He wished he could get her aside and tell her how beautiful she looked.

  But he could not speak to her that way.

  * * *

  If it were not for Sir Orin and Lady Agnes, Rebecca might have enjoyed herself. She was beyond thrilled to actually meet the poet Wordsworth and his dear wife who so clearly worshipped him. Mrs Howard was another interesting person. Shrewd, but kind, the sort of lady who would make a formidable friend.

  Rebecca was very aware of Sir Orin’s eyes upon her and aware of a seething animosity underneath Lady Agnes’s sugary exterior. It was painful to think of Lord Brookmore being fooled by her sweet facade. Rebecca was certain Lady Agnes’s aim had been to hurt her. She’d succeeded, but Rebecca had no intention of letting her know.

  ‘Miss Tilson,’ Lady Agnes asked in her sweet tone. ‘Wherever did you get that dress? It is so lovely.’

  Rebecca smiled at her. ‘Did you ever read “Cinderella”?’ It was one of the tales in the book by the Brothers Grimm that she found in the schoolroom.

  ‘Is that a novel?’ Lady Agnes smirked. ‘I am not overly fond of novels. I prefer reading something more edifying.’

  ‘Very true,’ agreed her companion, her aunt Theodora.

  ‘Not a novel,’ Rebecca retorted. ‘A tale for children. Edifying, in that it instructs how kindness is eventually rewarded. Cinderella received her gown for a ball from some helpful doves.’

  ‘Your dress came from doves?’ Lady Agnes laughed derisively.

  ‘Two little doves,’ Rebecca responded, daring a quick glance towards Lord Brookmore.

  ‘A tale for children,’ Lady Agnes repeated. ‘Was that one of your lessons?’

  ‘A lesson about kindness, yes,’ Rebecca retorted.

  Lady Agnes addressed the dinner guests, ‘Miss Tilson has a unique way of teaching. One wonders if she ever attended school.’ She turned to Rebecca. ‘Where did you attend school, Miss Tilson?’

  Such a question risked exposure. She knew very little about Claire’s schooling. ‘A boarding school in Bristol.’

  ‘Its name?’ Lady Agnes pushed.

  ‘You would not have heard of it,’ Rebecca said. ‘It was a school for gentry and merchants’ daughters and the like.’

  Lady Agnes glanced at the other ladies. ‘Her lessons are conducted mostly out of doors.’

  Rebecca cringed inside, but she refused to let Lady Agnes see her discomfort.

  ‘Rousseau,’ Mrs Howard piped up. ‘She is following Rousseau. Are you not, Miss Tilson?’

  Rebecca remembered learning about Rousseau at school, but all she could recall was that he was a French philosopher who had something to do with the French Revolution.

  ‘It is odd,’ Sir Orin broke in. ‘When Miss Tilson was in my employ, she kept my children in the schoolroom most of the day.’

  ‘Miss Tilson worked for you?’ Mrs Elliman asked, giving Sir Orin an opportunity to wax poetic over her excellence as a governess.

  Lord Brookmore looked grim during this discourse.

  Rebecca wanted the attention off her. She turned to the curate, who was perhaps as young as she, and asked him questions. Where he was from. Where he attended university. When he became ordained. She asked him if he read poetry in university and whether he had read any of Mr Wordsworth’s poems. This led to a discussion with Wordsworth about the inspiration of his poems, which started him talking about his love for the Lake District, a topic that was joined by the rest of the table, barring Sir Orin, Lady Agnes and Aunt Theodora.

  * * *

  Soon the dinner was over and the ladies retired to the drawing room again. Lady Agnes gathered all the women around her and poured tea for them. Rebecca remained on the periphery, by Lady Agnes’s design, she supposed, although Mrs Howard and Mrs Wordsworth sent friendly smiles her way.

  After a time, Lady Agnes shivered. ‘It is chilly in here, is it not?’

  The other ladies professed to be comfortable.

  Lady Agnes persisted, though. ‘Aunt, are you chilly? Do you need your shawl?’

  Her aunt looked uncertain at first at how to respond. ‘I am a bit chilly,’ she finally said.

  Lady Agnes turned to Rebecca. ‘Miss Tilson, be a dear and fetch Aunt Theodora’s shawl from her room, would you please?’

  Rebecca’s cheeks burned. This certainly was a pointed insult, no matter the
sugary language in which it was made. There was a footman in the room—a servant—whose job it was to see to such tasks.

  But she was not going to nip at Lady Agnes’s bait. ‘Certainly, my lady.’ She stood and walked out of the room, passing the footman who gave her a surprised look.

  There was another footman attending the hall. She could have asked him to do the task, but it seemed easier merely to do as Lady Agnes asked. She’d already brought more attention towards herself than she’d desired by her Cinderella story. Lady Agnes had not been pleased.

  Rebecca entered the corridor to the first-floor bedchambers and a man’s hand seized her arm. Sir Orin.

  ‘Claire,’ he murmured, close to her ear.

  She pulled away. ‘Unhand me, sir.’

  He moved closer to her, his eyes sweeping her body. ‘You look so different, Claire. Even more beautiful than before. I am quite enamoured.’

  She raised a hand to fend him off. ‘Do not speak to me.’

  He made a quick move and pinned her against the wall, holding her shoulders. ‘Do you not see, Claire, my darling. Do you not see what I want? What I yearned for? What I can finally possess?’

  Claire, I know now what you fled, Rebecca said silently.

  She glared at him. ‘Take your hands off me.’

  He dropped his hands, but her back was still against the wall. She could not move away from him. ‘If you think this is the way to hire a governess, you are very mistaken, sir.’

  ‘A governess?’ His eyes grew dark as he perused her again. ‘I do not want you back as a governess. I want you for my wife.’

  ‘No!’ It was unthinkable. ‘How can you ask? Your wife is hardly cold in her grave.’

  His eyes flickered with a cold emotion. ‘She was the one thing in our way.’

  At that moment he looked dangerous enough to have caused his wife’s death.

  She took a careful breath. ‘I will never marry you, sir. Now, allow me to continue on my errand for Lady Agnes. She will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Lady Agnes will understand,’ he said with a knowing smile.

  She understood why Lady Agnes had sent her on an errand. Lady Agnes had arranged this meeting.

  ‘Release me now!’ Rebecca demanded.

  He put his hands on her again.

  The door opened and he backed away from her.

  Lord Brookmore stepped into the hall. ‘Miss Tilson? Lady Agnes’s aunt needs her shawl.’

  Lord Brookmore rescued her. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Sir Orin moved out of her way. She hurried to the elderly woman’s room, trusting in the fact that Lord Brookmore would make certain Sir Orin would not accost her again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sir Orin gave Garret an angry look. ‘That was a private conversation, Lord Brookmore. You interrupted it.’

  Garret returned a steely gaze. ‘When Miss Tilson returns I will ask her if she wishes a private conversation with you. If she does, I will summon you. Until then return to the drawing room or take your leave.’

  Sir Orin huffed, but he turned on his heel and walked through the doorway to the hall. Garret waited and a few minutes later Miss Tilson appeared carrying the shawl Lady Agnes’s aunt did not need.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said when she reached him. ‘I could not get away from him.’

  ‘I take it you did not desire that encounter?’ Lady Agnes had insisted she would welcome it.

  ‘Indeed not!’ she exclaimed. ‘He asked me to marry him. His wife could not be dead more than a few weeks and he asked me to marry him.’

  ‘His suit is unwelcome?’ Garret asked.

  ‘How can you ask me that, Lord Brookmore?’ she said crisply. ‘Of course his suit is unwelcome. I do not want anything to do with him.’

  Garret felt relieved. He wanted her to stay. For his nieces.

  ‘I am sorry. I fear Lady Agnes arranged that encounter.’

  Their gazed locked. He felt that pull of attraction he always felt when near her. He had nothing but admiration for her this night. From her appearance to her deft handling of the dinner-table conversation to her quiet dignity in the face of Agnes’s mistreatment. Agnes had tried to cow her, but Miss Tilson had kept her head high.

  She glanced away and lifted the shawl in her arms. ‘I should bring this to Lady Agnes’s aunt.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘I should return, as well. I am supposed to be the host of this party.’

  They walked side by side to the door.

  Garret put his hand on the door handle. ‘I suppose the two doves who brought you the dress were named Pamela and Ellen.’

  She grinned. ‘They just happen to be.’ Her expression sobered. ‘They were very sweet to me.’

  He softened his voice. ‘You look lovely, Miss Tilson.’

  Two spots of pink tinged her cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  He began to open the door, but turned to ask her one more question. ‘I do not suppose those two doves arranged your hair, as well?’

  She lowered her gaze, but smiled. ‘No, that was my doing. With Mary’s help, of course.’

  He nodded. ‘You did well. It is very becoming.’

  As he opened the door, she shot him a glance. ‘I believe you will see plenty of curls tomorrow morning at breakfast, my lord.’

  He stepped aside and held the door for her. She walked briskly to the drawing room. He followed more slowly.

  He reached the door to the drawing room as she handed the shawl to Lady Agnes’s aunt.

  ‘I am sorry I took so long,’ she told the elderly woman. ‘I was detained.’

  The poised, well-spoken woman she had become returned as she conversed with Mr and Mrs Howard.

  Garret walked over to Lady Agnes who was momentarily alone. ‘That was not well done of you, Lady Agnes.’ He turned away from her to converse with the Ellimans and the Wordsworths. Sir Orin stood in a corner of the room, consuming a brandy and alternately glaring at Garret and watching Miss Tilson.

  After what seemed like an interminable period of time, the guests began to say goodnight. The Howards were the first to leave, having a carriage ride of at least two hours before they reached Levens Hall. Miss Tilson slipped away when they were saying their goodbyes, as did Lady Agnes’s aunt.

  Garret had made his carriages available for the other guests—except for Sir Orin, that was. He did not care how the devil the man made it back to Ambleside.

  When they were finally all in their carriages and riding away, the lamps on the carriages danced down the lane to the gate.

  Garret turned to Lady Agnes, who gave him a bright smile. ‘That was a success, do you not think?’

  ‘In spite of your machinations, do you mean?’ He spoke severely.

  Her eyes widened in all innocence. ‘I do not know what you mean.’

  ‘Manipulating that meeting between Sir Orin and Miss Tilson.’

  She looked wounded. ‘I told you, I merely was trying to help them. Sir Orin managed to tell me it did not go well. I do hope that was not because of you interrupting them.’

  ‘Stop any assistance to Sir Orin. Miss Tilson does not welcome his suit. I expect you to respect that.’

  ‘She doesn’t?’ Lady Agnes sounded surprised, but at this point Garret did not believe anything she said. ‘I am astonished. It is a better match than a governess could expect. She is a fool not to secure him while she can.’

  ‘You are to respect her decision and stop your interference. I mean that.’ He added, ‘And I will not have you belittle those who are lower status than you. Not in this house.’

  Her mouth dropped. ‘When did I ever do that?’

  He looked her in the eye. ‘You called attention to Miss Tilson’s position, not once but twice in a manner that was belittling.’

  She blinked. ‘I would
never do that. Never. If she took it that way, I am very sorry.’ She stepped closer to him and threaded her arm through his, clasping his arm so that her body touched his. ‘I will apologise to her tomorrow. I promise.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Leave it. Leave her to her duties.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She batted her eyelashes at him. ‘I am desolated that she believes I belittled her.’

  ‘She has not said so. I say so.’ He stared into her fluttering eyelashes. ‘Leave her alone.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Whatever you wish, Brookmore, dear.’

  * * *

  Agnes knew Brookmore did not want to walk her to her bedchamber, but by taking his arm, she ensured he would. At the door, though, she was forced to let go of him.

  He stepped away quickly, saying only a curt, ‘Goodnight.’

  She entered the room, kicked off her shoes and threw them against the wall with a cry of frustration.

  Her maid appeared from the dressing room. ‘Shall I help you prepare for bed, m’lady?’ the maid asked.

  ‘Yes. Be quick about it,’ she snapped. ‘I am very tired.’

  When she was finally ready for bed, though, she could not settle down. She threw things around the room. Nothing that would break. Her clothing mostly. Things her maid would have to tidy up in the morning. She let herself have a proper tantrum until she flung herself on the bed.

  Everything had gone wrong. Lord Brookmore was angry with her and if she did not do something to fix it, he might cry off. Think of the shame of that!

  She sat up. It would never happen. She would cry off first and tell some horrible tale of how wicked he was. Or worse, how very provincial.

  She pounded the pillow. No! She would not give up so easily. He needed her. She was the perfect wife for him. Everyone said so.

  That governess was the problem. Agnes knew it from the moment Miss Tilson entered the drawing room and Brookmore could not stop looking at her.

  If Agnes had thought Miss Tilson could dress like she had vouchers for Almack’s, she might never have included her in the dinner party. She’d hoped only that the dinner would give Sir Orin an opportunity to propose to the governess. How could Agnes know that Miss Tilson would refuse?