A Lady Becomes a Governess

by Diane Gaston

  He paused, still holding her gaze. ‘When did she die?’

  It must have been after Claire left Ireland. Sir Orin gave it as new information that Claire did not know.

  ‘I do not know precisely, but very recently or so Sir Orin says,’ she responded. ‘The timing of it seems very convenient for him and he is not at all sad about her death.’

  ‘A dangerous man indeed.’

  They walked across the lawn behind the house.

  A wave of fear washed over her. ‘Will he leave here like you asked?’

  His expression turned dark and fierce. ‘I will make certain he leaves.’

  Her fear receded as quickly as it had come. Lord Brookmore would protect her.

  ‘What a stupid man Sir Orin is.’ She shook her head.

  ‘In what way?’ he asked.

  She’d meant it rhetorically, but she tried to piece together her thoughts. ‘He could not have behaved more abominably. How did he think that would appeal?’ Why had Sir Orin not believed her when she spurned him the night of the dinner party? Why had he thought assaulting her would further his cause?

  They reached the garden gate that led to the back entrance to the house.

  ‘Indeed,’ Lord Brookmore responded. ‘Surely he knew that was not the way to gain your affections.’

  That feeling of connection with him returned, but Rebecca steeled herself against such feelings. She’d become accustomed to staying distant from him, just as she’d done with her father, but since he’d acted as her protector that night of the dinner party, her resolve had broken and she yearned for that closeness they’d briefly shared.

  He went on. ‘For Sir Orin to come all the way from Ireland claiming a wish to marry you, then behaving like this... It makes little sense.’

  It made no sense to Rebecca.

  Lord Brookmore opened the gate. ‘What happened in Ireland before you left?’

  She went cold. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, there must have been something that happened between you and Sir Orin, something that led to this. His behaviour must have risen from something.’ He touched her arm, stopping her from proceeding through the gate. ‘Did he assault you there?’

  She glanced up into his concerned eyes. Her heart pounded. How was she to answer such a direct question? Should she make up a story? Lie to him directly, lie to this man who had just rescued her once again?’

  She could not do it.

  ‘Did he assault you when you were in his employ?’ he asked again, his voice more insistent.

  She held her gaze steady. ‘I do not know.’

  He released her arm and stepped back. ‘What do you mean you do not know?’

  She passed through the gate, but turned to face him again. ‘I mean, I do not know what happened in Ireland.’

  His expression turned sceptical. ‘Miss Tilson, you must know what happened. You were there.’

  Rebecca released a pent-up breath. ‘Come with me.’

  She led him to a secluded spot near the willow labyrinth. There was a bench there, but she had no wish to be seated.

  ‘Well?’ He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her explanation.

  She averted her gaze. ‘It is a long story. One, I suspect, you will not like hearing.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I was never there.’

  ‘Never where?’ He looked confused.

  ‘I was never in Sir Orin’s house. I never cared for his children. I never knew his wife.’ She breathed again and made herself look him in the eye. ‘I am an imposter, Lord Brookmore. I am not Claire Tilson.’

  ‘Not Claire Tilson?’ His confusion turned to a flinty anticipation. ‘You had better explain.’

  ‘I met Claire on the packet boat. We looked exactly alike—’ She swallowed. ‘Like twins, but we have no family in common—’

  ‘Say no more.’ He held up a hand. ‘You expect me to believe you happened to meet a woman, unrelated to you, who looked exactly like you?’

  ‘Yes. That is it,’ she responded. ‘Claire Tilson looked exactly like me. So much so even the maid sent with me could not tell us apart.’

  Nolan! Rebecca had not thought of the maid for weeks. Now she again saw the woman rolling over in her bed, refusing to leave the ship with her.

  ‘Miss Tilson was lost in the shipwreck?’ His voice brought her back to the present.

  Rebecca’s throat became raw as the events of the shipwreck rushed back to her. ‘When the storm came, she was washed into the sea. She—she died, but I survived. But everyone thought it was me who died and that I was Claire—’ She swallowed. ‘Then you came and thought I was Claire. So I decided to be her.’

  ‘You decided to deceive me, you mean.’ Colour rose in his face. ‘Who are you, then?’

  Her hands trembled. ‘I am Lady Rebecca Pierce. My brother is the Earl of Keneagle.’

  He looked sceptical. ‘Are you? Why would the sister of an earl change places with a governess?’

  ‘I was headed for London and an unwanted marriage.’ She again felt Lord Stonecroft’s appraising eye and his wet, dough-like lips. ‘My brother made it impossible for me to refuse this marriage. I decided being a governess would be preferable.’

  ‘Being a governess was preferable to marrying?’ He scoffed. ‘Who was the man? Some kind of monster?’

  ‘Lord Stonecroft,’ she said.

  ‘Stonecroft?’ he cried. ‘I have met Stonecroft. Being a governess was preferable to marriage with him?’

  She averted her gaze. ‘It was. It still is. And you can probably guess that I know nothing of being a governess.’

  His voice turned cold. ‘Did you not consider that two children would be victims of that ignorance?’

  She felt a shaft of pain pierce her heart. ‘No, I did not consider it. When I chose to be Claire, I thought only of myself. But I did not know Pamela and Ellen then. How dear they would become—’ She paused to fight back tears. ‘I have tried my best for Pamela and Ellen. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt them.’

  But he would not believe that.

  ‘Depriving them of a real governess was not hurting them?’

  She felt the shaft stab deeper. ‘I admit they have not had proper lessons—’

  He waved a hand. ‘Never mind that. You are playing us all for fools, pretending to be what you are not. Making yourself into someone you are not. Using a dead woman’s life because it was convenient for you.’ He paced in front of her.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I did not perceive it as using Claire, but as living life for her.’

  He stopped and leaned into her face. ‘Do not try to vindicate yourself by pretending you did this for her. You did this for you.’

  He might as well have slapped her, but she swallowed the pain—and her shame—and boldly met his eye. ‘At the beginning, yes, I did it for me. But I did not celebrate Claire’s death. She deserved to live so much more than I did.’

  He kept on. ‘Why? Did she have integrity? Would she have refused to masquerade as someone she was not?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Could he not see? Rebecca meant no one any harm, even if her decisions were self-serving. It wounded her that this man she so admired—loved—would think the worst of her. ‘While we are speaking of pretending to be someone one is not, what about you, Lord Brookmore?’

  He blew out a breath. ‘I am not pretending to be someone I am not.’

  ‘Are you not?’ she shot back. ‘You’ve tried to be your brother or your father. You thought you had to be them to be a viscount. Where has that idea taken you, Lord Brookmore?’ She did not give him a chance to respond. ‘I will tell you where it has taken you. To a betrothal with Lady Agnes.’

  His eyes flashed. ‘See here, Miss T—!’ He shook his head. ‘What am I to call you? I do not even know.’

  She held her
head regally. ‘Call me Lady Rebecca.’

  ‘Lady Rebecca,’ he spat out.

  Her anger rose higher. ‘At least I have always acted like myself. I have used Claire’s name, but I have acted like Lady Rebecca. You must have acted like a shell of who you are when you pretended to be your brother, the Viscount. When you are you, you are a better viscount than your brother ever could have been.’

  He glared at her. ‘You did not know my brother.’

  She glared back at him. ‘I have learned of him from your nieces and have overheard your workers talking about him. They admire you, not him. Because you listened to them and acted on their behalf.’

  He held up a hand again. ‘Stop. Do not turn this discussion on to me. This is about your lies, your deception.’

  She shot back. ‘Yes. I have deceived you, but I have not lied to you.’ What did it matter now? This time she told the truth and look what happened.

  His eyes looked wounded. ‘I am sick of people who are not what they seem. I thought you were different.’

  She lowered her gaze. He was about to send her packing. Her pain returned. ‘You will wish me to leave, I know, but may I beg for a little time? The children are just now coming out of their grief. It would be another loss for them, would it not?’

  ‘You use them as an excuse,’ he accused.

  Was she? Perhaps he was right, but she felt shattered at the idea of losing Pamela and Ellen, as well as him.

  His voice remained hard. ‘You will stay. I’ll not have my nieces suffer another loss so soon. You will stay until I say it is time to find them another governess.’

  Her spirits lifted, but only slightly.

  ‘I will leave,’ he said. ‘I’ll go back to London. Or go to Brighton. I dare say Lady Agnes will be happy to leave here.’

  ‘No, don’t leave!’ she cried, then bit her lip. He belonged to this place. He did not belong with Lady Agnes.

  ‘No more discussion,’ he said. ‘I am going to the house. You do what you wish.’

  What she wished? When had she ever received what she wished?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Garret strode away, a kaleidoscope of emotions spinning inside him.

  Was no one honest? Did no one reveal their true character or was everyone hiding who they were?

  He was furious at being deceived by her, by being played for a fool. He’d been attracted to a fiction, not a real person. She was no better than Lady Agnes. Or even Sir Orin.

  Or even himself.

  It angered him, what she’d said about him.

  Because it was true.

  He had tried to be a viscount like his father and brother, until he discovered that his brother had been a terrible viscount and a worse father. Then he’d tried to make it up to everyone. To his workers, his servants, his nieces. He couldn’t leave. Not with everything half-done.

  Pamela and Ellen were what mattered most and, after them, the estate and its people. Not his wounded feelings. Not even Miss Tilson’s—Lady Rebecca’s—deception. Both he and Lady Rebecca must stay and he must endure it.

  He entered the house and climbed the back stairs. As he reached the first-floor landing, Lady Agnes appeared. He stopped on the stairs, two steps below her.

  ‘Brookmore!’ she said brightly. ‘I had hoped to catch you.’

  ‘Lady Agnes.’ He had no wish to speak to her. ‘You are awake early.’

  ‘With purpose, sir!’ She smiled. ‘I rose early so I might join you at breakfast with your nieces. I wish for them to know me, you see, and I simply can never catch them at another time of day. They are always outside, it seems. Who knows where?’ She laughed.

  She just could not resist a dig at...the governess...could she? Angry as Garret was at Lady Rebecca, he would not be so cruel as to inflict Lady Agnes on her. Not after what happened this morning. With Sir Orin. With him.

  ‘Not today, Lady Agnes.’ He put a foot on the step to rise past her.

  She moved in front of him, her face nearly level with his. ‘Is something amiss, Brookmore? You look so preoccupied. I do worry about you.’

  He kept his foot on the step. ‘This day has already been...disturbing. Now if you will pardon me...’

  She did not move. ‘I was watching for you from the window, so I would know when you were back in the house. I saw you enter the garden with Miss Tilson. Is she the source of your disturbance? Perhaps I can help.’

  He’d already seen what her efforts to help could do. She’d brought Sir Orin back into his house. She’d encouraged his pursuit of... Lady Rebecca.

  ‘I will tell you what happened, Lady Agnes.’ He faced her on the landing, elbows akimbo. ‘Your friend, Sir Orin, forced himself on Miss...Tilson while she was riding. Fortunately I was able to stop the assault before he did worse to her.’

  ‘No.’ She looked genuinely shocked. ‘Sir Orin? But he was so besotted! Believe me, Brookmore, I had no idea he was such a man. He fooled me completely!’

  She did not ask about Lady Rebecca’s well-being, Garret noted.

  ‘I have sent the man packing. I expect him gone, but if he shows up here, he is not to be admitted to the house and he is not to come near Miss Tilson.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, of course not,’ she agreed.

  He rose to the landing and she did not stop him this time.

  He started to pass her, then turned. ‘Do not speak of the assault to anyone. Miss Tilson does not wish it to be known.’ He looked her directly in the eye. ‘Do you understand? Speak of it to no one. I mean this, Lady Agnes.’

  ‘Why, Brookmore, I would never pass on such gossip.’ She blinked in all innocence.

  Not unless it suited her, he thought.

  Garret continued up the stairs.

  * * *

  Garret’s valet had the good sense to remain quiet as he helped him change into other clothes. He would be only a few minutes late for breakfast with his nieces.

  He thought about skipping breakfast, not wishing to see the lady imposter so soon.

  Lady Rebecca.

  The name suited her, did it not? She was more of a lady than a governess, more outspoken, more independent, more...regal. She was never a governess employing the ideas of Rousseau, as Mrs Howard had suggested; she was the daughter of an earl playing at being a governess.

  He left his room, determined to stop thinking of her. To wipe his mind of all that had happened and behave as his nieces would have been accustomed. As unsettled as he was, he did not wish for anything to disturb Pamela and Ellen.

  Lady Rebecca had better feel the same.

  He walked down the hallway and entered the Tower Room.

  ‘You are late!’ Ellen cried.

  The two girls were seated at the table, but were alone in the room. The bowls of porridge were at each place at the table and the tea, milk and some other fare were set in the middle.

  Would Lady Rebecca not show?

  ‘Pamela showed me on the clock,’ Ellen went on. ‘You are late and so is Miss Tilson.’

  He walked over to each of them and kissed them on their heads. ‘Some mornings are like that.’ He took his usual seat. ‘Shall we begin eating before the porridge gets cold?’

  Pamela shook her head. ‘We should be polite and wait for Miss Tilson.’

  But she might not come.

  ‘You are right.’ He pointed to the clock. ‘We will wait five more minutes, but then we must start eating.’

  Ellen got out of her chair and pulled it over to the mantel, climbing atop it so she could see the clock. ‘When is five minutes?’

  Pamela answered her. ‘When the big hand is on the nine.’

  Ellen climbed down and pulled her chair back to the table.

  The door opened and Lady Rebecca entered. Her face looked strained, but her bearing was tall. Unbowed.

&
nbsp; ‘Miss Tilson!’ Ellen cried happily. She bounded over to her governess and was enfolded in a hug.

  Pamela was included in the embrace.

  ‘Good morning, my little ladies,’ Lady Rebecca said, although Garret could tell her cheerful tone was forced. ‘I am so happy to see you this morning. And I am sorry I am late.’

  Garret stood.

  Lady Rebecca released the girls and shooed them towards their chairs. The girls sat adjacent to each other, which meant that Lady Rebecca was adjacent to Garret. At least they were not forced to face each other.

  As Lady Rebecca took her chair, she glanced at Garret. ‘Good morning, Lord Brookmore,’ she said formally.

  He inclined his head.

  ‘What made you late?’ Ellen asked her.

  Lady Rebecca paused, probably to invent an excuse. She looked from one girl to the other. ‘Remember how I go riding most mornings?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘I was detained, so I came back a little late.’

  That was the truth, although with no details.

  ‘Uncle Garret was late, too,’ Ellen said.

  He made himself smile at the child. ‘I was detained, too.’

  Pamela regarded them. ‘You were detained together.’

  He exchanged a glance with Lady Rebecca. ‘That would make us both late, wouldn’t it?’

  She averted her gaze and poured the tea and spoke of the food while the children ate their porridge. Garret noticed that she ate only a few bites of hers. When the children were not looking her way, her smile faded.

  He refused to feel compassion for her. She’d created this situation for herself. It was none of his doing. She’d deceived him and the girls. That was despicable, was it not?

  He watched her hide the tension in the room—the tension between him and her—from Pamela and Ellen, by focusing on their thoughts, their wishes, their desired plans for the day. Her behaviour towards the children was completely kind and unchanged.

  He remembered their first days eating breakfast together and those first evenings when he’d shared dinner with her. He remembered how they’d managed an ease between them, even after that emotional night when he’d nearly seduced her. By God, he was only a little more contemptible than Sir Orin, was he not?