A Lady Becomes a Governess

by Diane Gaston

  She was a fool. Sir Orin was a baronet. She was a nobody.

  Unless she was holding out for a viscount. Which, of course, she was.

  Brookmore would not be so foolish to consider marriage to a governess with no name and no position in society. A dalliance with her, perhaps, but not marriage.

  At this point, though, if he fancied himself besotted with the creature, he might very well call off the wedding.

  Agnes certainly would not stand for that.

  * * *

  The next morning when Garret entered the Tower Room to share breakfast with Miss Tilson and his nieces, he was greeted with two smiling faces framed with bouncing curls. Even Miss Tilson’s curls remained.

  When the children’s maid walked in for a moment, Garret laughed out loud. She also sported some curls.

  ‘All four of you?’ He grinned. ‘I’ve never seen so many pretty curls in all my life.’

  Pamela and Ellen giggled.

  ‘Miss Tilson says there is another way to make curls without using the papillote.’ Ellen frowned. ‘I didn’t like the papillote.’

  ‘So we might come to breakfast with curls every morning,’ Pamela added.

  He pulled on one of Pamela’s curls and watched it bounce back into a spiral. ‘You are very pretty with or without them.’

  He loved these little girls and was as proud of them as if he’d sired them. They’d emerged from a cloud of grief and found their way back to the sun.

  Thanks to Miss Tilson.

  They all sat down to bowls of porridge and cups of tea. It was a breakfast Garret relished, only realising during this time how it evoked those more carefree days of childhood. In a way he’d thrived on his father’s neglect. He’d been free to explore every part of the estate, learning of the work by doing it and learning of the people by working beside them.

  ‘Was your dinner party enjoyable, Uncle?’ Pamela asked, sounding like a young lady making conversation.

  He glanced towards Miss Tilson who had raised her teacup to her lips.

  ‘There were many fine moments,’ he said. ‘Although I am certain your mother and father had parties that were much more successful.’

  ‘Mama loved parties.’ Pamela sighed.

  ‘Did you like the party, Miss Tilson?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Much of it,’ she said, brushing her hand through Ellen’s curls. ‘I was asked about my dress and I told them it was like Cinderella—do you remember us reading “Cinderella” in the fairy tale book?’

  Ellen nodded.

  ‘I told them two doves brought me the dress!’ She grinned at the girls.

  Pamela’s eyes grew wide. ‘Did they believe you?’

  She darted a glance towards Ellen and winked at Pamela. ‘I dare say they did. And did you know there was a famous poet who came to the party? William Wordsworth. He lives near Ambleside in a fine house called Rydal Mount.’

  Pamela appeared very impressed. ‘May we read the poems he wrote?’

  Garret spoke. ‘I believe there are some volumes of his poems in the library. You are welcome to them.’ He looked directly at Miss Tilson. ‘You are welcome to use the library as freely as you wish. I hope you knew that.’

  She glanced at both the girls. ‘Thank your uncle.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Garret,’ they said in unison.

  Ellen wiggled in her seat. ‘Tell us more about the party.’

  Miss Tilson told the girls about the other ladies’ dresses and how they wore their hair. She told them what food was served and described the cakes and tarts and fruit that were eaten at dessert. She made no mention of how mistreated she’d been by Lady Agnes, how trapped she’d been by Sir Orin, but, of course, she wouldn’t mention such things to the children.

  Garret saw so clearly how his nieces adored her and how caring she was of them, making them a part of the dinner party, fussing over them by curling their hair, making an exciting story out of a rather dismal gathering. She seemed more like a loving mother than a governess, cuddling them and making them feel important and special. He was glad of it.

  When they finished eating Mary came in to stack up the dishes and place them on a tray for one of the kitchen maids to collect. She left again.

  ‘What now, Miss Tilson?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘May we go see the ponies?’ Pamela asked. ‘May we ride?’ Pamela was riding on her own, but only in the paddock.

  Before Miss Tilson could answer, Garret said, ‘Wait in the schoolroom for Miss Tilson. I wish to speak with her a moment.’

  The girls ran out of the room and their footsteps clattered down the hallway to the schoolroom.

  Now that he was alone with Miss Tilson, Garret did not know what to say.

  She waited, a wary look on her face.

  He finally asked her, ‘How do you fare?’

  She paused for a moment before answering. ‘I am well enough.’

  ‘I mean after last night,’ he clarified.

  She answered in a careful tone. ‘I was unharmed.’

  She stood in a ray of sunlight streaming through the Tower Room windows, making the curls in her hair gleam and her hazel eyes sparkle. He did not dare take a step closer to her for fear he’d not be able to keep from wrapping his arms around her.

  ‘I apologise for it.’ He added, ‘For Lady Agnes. She disappointed me greatly last night.’

  Miss Tilson lowered her eyes. ‘Please do not discuss Lady Agnes with me.’

  Garret went on, though. ‘I fear I have made a grave error.’

  She lifted a hand. ‘Say no more, Lord Brookmore.’

  But he wanted to explain. To her, of all people. ‘I was convinced she was the sort of woman my brother would have chosen and in many ways she was the perfect wife for a viscount.’

  She looked into his eyes, then. ‘From what the children say to me, their mother was nothing at all like Lady Agnes and you are twice the Viscount your brother could be.’ She glanced down quickly. ‘I really should see to the children.’

  She turned and left.

  Garret made his way down the stairs. His morning ride had not settled the restlessness inside him, but he could think of nothing at the farm to engage him this day. Perhaps he should go to the quarry and see how the workers fared there. Or he could walk to the workers’ cottages and see how the repairs were coming along. Check on the crops.

  He entered the hall.

  From a corner, Lady Agnes rose from a sofa. ‘Brookmore! There you are. I waited in hopes of seeing you.’

  He nodded curtly. ‘Lady Agnes. You are up early.’ The last person he wished to see this morning.

  ‘I could not sleep a wink.’ She walked towards him. ‘I was desolated that you felt I had been...demeaning last night. I want to make it up to you and especially to Miss Tilson. What can I do? Shall I ask her to share dinner with us? Some governesses do eat with the family, you know.’

  And further expose Miss Tilson to her sugary venom? Never.

  ‘Leave it. Do nothing. I told you this last night.’ He walked towards the door. The footman attending the hall brought his hat, gloves and topcoat. ‘Was there anything else? I have much to do.’ He just was not certain what it was.

  She lowered her head. ‘You are still angry with me and I cannot blame you. This is not the time to ask you...’ Her voice trailed off.

  The footman helped him on with his topcoat. ‘Ask me what?’

  ‘If we should announce the banns here.’ She quickly added, ‘I would not mention this, but Mr Elliman did ask me last night.’ She smiled wanly. ‘It is a lovely idea, is it not? Announcing the banns in the church of your childhood.’

  Not a lovely idea at all. Announcing the banns felt like hammering another nail in his coffin. ‘No banns,’ he said before walking out the door.

  * * *

  Lady A
gnes fumed as she watched Brookmore stride out of the house. All her careful plans were fraying into useless strings. She spun on her heel and crossed the hall to the stairs.

  Aunt Theodora was in her room eating her breakfast. ‘Do eat, Agnes,’ the elderly lady said. ‘You need your nourishment.’

  Agnes slumped into a chair. ‘He will barely speak to me.’

  ‘Now, dear, is it that bad?’ Her aunt patted her hand.

  Agnes pulled her hand away and threw the napkin on to the floor. ‘It is that bad. I need a plan, something to turn his affections back to me.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I need to be rid of that governess.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ her aunt said meekly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three days went by and Brookmore House seemed to settle into its former routine. Garret no longer attempted to speak about Lady Agnes to Miss Tilson, and, since she was only in his company at breakfast and rarely otherwise, he hardly spoke to her at all.

  He’d spent much of his time trying to consider what to do about Lady Agnes. She’d reverted to the sweet, charming woman he’d known in London, never setting a foot out of place, correct and considerate.

  He no longer believed any of it.

  One evening he’d stared at her while she played the pianoforte, wondering what it would be like to have children with her. Good God, he feared they would turn out as manoeuvring and manipulating and cruel as she was.

  She carefully avoided any mention of banns or marriage, which was good, although he’d soon have to have a frank talk with her. Each day more convinced him he could never marry her.

  This morning Garret rode as usual, hoping, as usual, that he would encounter Miss Tilson. He knew she was riding because her favourite horse, Lily, was not in the stable. He scanned the countryside, hoping to catch sight of her.

  To his right, he saw movement and stopped to see if it was her. It was a horse, but a riderless one. He rode towards the animal and, when close enough, saw it was Lily, Miss Tilson’s horse. He managed to grab the horse’s reins and calm the animal.

  ‘Where is she, Lily? Lead me to her?’ Garret feared she’d been thrown from the horse and lay injured.

  He’d scour every inch of this land to find her, if necessary.

  Lily turned and retraced her tracks. When they reached the crest of a hill, he spotted another riderless horse, a striking white steed, and quickened his pace. Both his horse Skiddaw and hers nickered anxiously. Lily pawed the ground.

  Garret scanned the area and found her. Sir Orin pinned her against a tree.

  ‘Damned man,’ he said beneath his breath.

  He galloped towards them, slowing enough to jump off and seize Sir Orin by his collar and pull him off her. Sir Orin cried out and swung around to strike him, but Garret blocked his fist and threw him to the ground. Sir Orin leapt up at Garret and both men fell, rolling on the ground. Sir Orin fought like a man possessed, but Garret had battled far worse. He rose to his feet, backed off and waited for Sir Orin’s next attack.

  Sir Orin stood and readied himself to rush at Garret again, but suddenly Miss Tilson appeared from behind him. She swung a large stick at Sir Orin and struck him across the back. He staggered and Garret seized the opportunity to grab him in a choke hold, immobilising him.

  ‘Shall I finish you?’ Garret could easily snap his neck. ‘I’ve killed before.’

  ‘No!’ rasped Sir Orin. ‘No.’

  ‘Wait!’ Miss Tilson cried.

  Garret did not heed her.

  ‘Go away,’ he growled to Sir Orin, in his most ferocious soldier voice. ‘Go back to Ireland. Never show your face here again. Or else.’ He squeezed harder. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  Sir Orin made choking sounds.

  ‘Lord Brookmore, do not kill him,’ Miss Tilson said in an even tone.

  But Garret knew what he was about.

  ‘Do I make myself clear?’ Garret raised his voice and tightened his grip.

  Sir Orin’s legs buckled under him.

  Garret loosened his hold.

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ Sir Orin managed to gasp. ‘Give my word.’

  Garret released him and the man fell down on his knees, taking in loud gulps of air. Garret pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards the white horse he assumed Sir Orin had ridden.

  Garret turned to Miss Tilson, wanting to touch her. ‘Did he hurt you?’ Garret thought he might kill Sir Orin if he had.

  ‘No.’ She rubbed her upper arms. ‘At least nothing to signify.’

  Her horse came up and nuzzled her.

  ‘Lily!’ She pressed her forehead against the horse’s neck.

  Garret walked towards Sir Orin, who was trying to mount his horse. The horse edged away from him.

  Garret held the horse’s head. ‘I meant what I said, Sir Orin. Leave this area and never contact Miss Tilson again. Or I’ll finish what I started.’

  Sir Orin finally reached the saddle. ‘You do not understand.’ His voice rasped. ‘She was not like this in Ireland.’

  ‘No matter. She has told you to go away. That is all you need to know.’ Garret turned the horse in the opposite direction of his farm and tapped its rump.

  The horse bounded away, Sir Orin hanging on.

  Garret returned to Miss Tilson. ‘Are you feeling ready to ride back? We can wait, if you are not.’

  ‘I need a minute.’ Her whole body trembled.

  Garret enfolded her in his arms. ‘You are safe now. He will not bother you again.’

  He was in no hurry to release her. To hold her again filled an emptiness he’d possessed since the night he’d told her about his betrothal, the night he’d almost made love to her.

  ‘He was waiting for me,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘The horse was supposed to be a gift. He wanted me to ride to Holyhead with him.’ She took a breath. ‘When I refused, he pulled me off Lily and—and pinned me against that tree. I—I was afraid he would—’

  She couldn’t finish, but Garret knew what she would have said. Had he known this, he might have indeed killed the man.

  ‘He won’t hurt you now, I promise,’ Garret murmured.

  He’d warn the estate workers and servants about Sir Orin and make certain he never again came near her. He’d check in the village and ensure Sir Orin left.

  Garret felt her relax. She took in a deep breath and he released her.

  He walked her over to Lily and boosted her into the saddle. Touching her had heightened his senses. If only he could hold on to her for ever...

  Garret whistled for Skiddaw, who trotted over immediately. He mounted and he and Miss Tilson started towards the farm.

  Garret gestured towards her horse. ‘Lily led me to you, you know.’

  ‘She did?’ She leaned forward and gave the horse an affectionate pat. She turned back to Garret. ‘I wondered how you found me. You have rescued me over and over, Lord Brookmore. How can I ever thank you?’

  Those words again. Did she remember those were the words she spoke before they kissed that first time? And nearly the same words before he’d almost ravished her? And all he wanted now was to keep her safe and never allow any harm to come to her.

  Had Lady Agnes sensed his attraction to Miss Tilson? He’d certainly tried very hard not to act upon his feelings, nor show them to anyone else. But had Lady Agnes somehow seen through these efforts? It would explain why she’d gone out of her way to assist Sir Orin in his pursuit of Miss Tilson. But nothing excused Lady Agnes’s belittling Miss Tilson in front of guests.

  Lady Agnes had certainly hidden her true character when he’d met her. In a way he was fortunate to have discovered this mean spiritedness before marrying her.

  * * *

  Rebecca was grateful that Lord Brookmore said little on their ride back to the stables. She needed the time to sort out this experi
ence and to shed it from her once and for all. Brookmore’s strength and violence had alarmed and thrilled her. He was the only man of her acquaintance who would have been willing to fight to protect her, to even kill to protect her.

  The thing was, he would have been equally as willing to protect, to kill, for any person on his estate, for any person in jeopardy from one more powerful.

  She glanced at him, so tall and comfortable in the saddle. She tried to imagine him in his red coat and shako, charging into a battle, slashing with his sabre, firing his pistol, fighting with fists like he’d done with Sir Orin. Her insides fluttered at the thought.

  A flash of memory intruded, a memory of Sir Orin pressing his hand against her breast, of him jutting his leg between hers and rubbing it against her most private place. She shuddered. Sir Orin had been about to take what Rebecca so freely wished to give to Lord Brookmore. Rebecca was so very grateful to Lord Brookmore for arriving when he did.

  Her heart filled with love for him.

  And filled with pain.

  He could not be hers. The most she could hope for was that he would not be Lady Agnes’s.

  As they neared the stables, they passed some of his workers ready to start a day of toil. Each worker doffed his hat and greeted Lord Brookmore with a cheerful voice. Even the stablemen, to whom Lord Brookmore and Rebecca handed over their horses, looked pleased to see him and eager to tend to his horse.

  They walked out of the stable together.

  ‘G’morning, m’lord.’ Another worker tipped his hat. ‘Miss.’

  She wondered how his list of repairs and improvements was faring. What a caring thing it was to ask what his workers and his tenants needed from him. When had she ever heard of a gentleman so mindful?

  Another reason to love him.

  They neared the house.

  ‘Please tell no one what happened today,’ she asked him. She could not bear to speak of it to anyone or even to endure their sympathetic looks.

  ‘Lady Agnes needs to know.’ He glanced at her. ‘She needs to know what sort of man she foisted on you. I would like to tell her.’

  ‘Very well,’ Rebecca conceded. ‘But only Lady Agnes.’ She frowned. ‘You might tell her that Sir Orin may be even more dangerous than he showed today. His wife died so conveniently I cannot help but be suspicious.’