A Lady Becomes a Governess

by Diane Gaston

  ‘Uncle Garret! Uncle Garret!’ two young voices cried.

  He waved the lantern. ‘Come in. It is safe. He is gone.’

  He watched while she positioned herself with the oars and rowed. Her progress was slow, but she came closer and closer until he finally could reach the boat and pull it to him. He secured the boat to its moorings and held it steady so they could climb out.

  Rebecca lifted each girl and handed them to him and finally he reached for her, lifting her out of the boat and into his arms.

  He held her against him. ‘Thank God you are safe. Thank God you are all safe.’

  * * *

  An hour later Rebecca and the children were in dry clothes and comfortably warm in an inn in Far Sawrey. Rebecca, Garret and the girls were in one room, cosy on one bed. There was no separating them, not after the frightful night they’d had.

  Garret’s men had reached the cottage by the time they were out of the boat and they wasted no time in finding blankets to warm them. They hitched the horse to the village cart and drove back to the village, to the inn. Garret’s men rode on to Brookmore House to inform them that Rebecca and the children were safe and would return the next day.

  Rebecca lay in Garret’s arms while Pamela and Ellen slept like little angels next to them.

  ‘I am sure we will be the subject of gossip in Far Sawrey tomorrow,’ Rebecca murmured.

  ‘I am sure I do not care a whit,’ Garret answered. He glanced at Pamela and Ellen. ‘Besides, we are well chaperoned.’

  ‘That is not likely to stop talk.’

  ‘Very well.’ He placed his lips on the top of her head. ‘You will have to marry me then or you will be thought a fallen woman.’

  She sat up and looked at him. ‘Marry you?’

  His mouth widened into a slow smile. ‘Marry me.’ His expression sobered. ‘Marry me.’

  Rebecca was afraid to trust in such happiness. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘I am very certain.’ He held her gaze.

  She looked away. ‘I do not know. I have made such a mess of things. I cannot marry you as Claire Tilson. I am not Claire Tilson. But I am not certain I want to be Lady Rebecca either. That brings more trouble, I am afraid.’

  He sat up as well and gently moved her face so that she looked at him again. ‘I need to know only one thing. Do you love me? Because I now know I have loved you since that first glimpse of you, before you even opened your eyes.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly—’ She started to argue with him, but stopped herself.

  ‘Do you love me?’ he asked again.

  She loved him so much the words would not form in her mouth, but she nodded.

  He embraced her again.

  ‘You are the finest man I have ever known.’ Her voice worked again. ‘I once hoped for a man I could love, but I never imagined there could be a man as principled, kind and generous as you are.’

  He hugged her tighter. ‘I am not certain I deserve such praise.’

  ‘You do,’ she murmured against his chest, relishing the beat of his heart and the warmth of his body. ‘But perhaps love does not solve our problems.’

  ‘If you love me,’ he said, ‘none of the other problems matter.’

  She just could not figure it, though. She couldn’t have banns read as Claire Tilson and she was not eager for anyone to know Lady Rebecca was still alive. There was no way around it.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Garret said.

  ‘Mmm,’ she responded.

  ‘We’ll go to Gretna Green and marry over the anvil. You marry me with your true name. Then we come back and to everyone you will be Lady Brookmore. To me you will be Rebecca, but we can say that is your middle name or something.’

  She sat up again. ‘But it is scandalous to elope to Gretna Green.’

  He pulled her back into an embrace. ‘Pick your scandal, Lady Brookmore.’

  She revelled in the comfort of his arms again. ‘Did you know that was Sir Orin’s plan? To marry me at Gretna Green. As if that would have made me stay with him.’

  ‘Will it make you stay with me?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later Rebecca and Garret lounged in bed in an inn in Carlisle on their way back from Gretna Green. They were thoroughly man and wife in every way possible. Their breakfast had been sent up to their room and they’d managed to eat it in bed, being loathe to leave its comforts and each other and continue on the road back to Brookmore House. To be close, to be touching each other, was the perfect way to prolong the languid pleasure that came after lovemaking.

  The innkeeper sent up newspapers with the meal, the latest local newspaper from Carlisle and a recent paper from London.

  Rebecca read the London paper.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she cried, bolting out of bed.

  ‘What is it?’ Garret put down his paper.

  ‘Listen to this. “Rescue at sea. Two survivors of the tragic shipwreck of the packet Dun Aengus were rescued at sea days after the ship ran aground at Moelfre. Miraculously Lady Rebecca Pierce, sister of the Earl of Keneagle, survived by clinging to debris, along with another passenger, Lucien Roper of Kent. Lady Rebecca convalesced in Dublin until arriving in London one week ago.”’ She looked up at him. ‘Claire is alive.’

  ‘Alive?’ He left the bed and faced her.

  ‘Who else could it be? That is my name. She didn’t use her own, so she must have taken on my identity, as I took on hers.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘She is alive. Claire is alive.’

  He put an arm around her. ‘Then this is good news, is it not?’

  ‘Yes! Wonderful news.’ She felt as if she would weep.

  ‘Then why look so distressed? Be happy.’ He gently shook her.

  She turned and let him enfold her in an embrace. ‘Do you not see? I stole her life. She should have met you. She should have been Pamela and Ellen’s governess.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘But it is you I love. You must never forget that. I love your courage and independence and forthrightness—everything about you. Claire might look like you, but she could not be you, could she? Any more than you could be her. Besides...’ he hugged her closer ‘...she would not have been at that inn to meet me, so you couldn’t have taken a life she never would have had.’

  ‘That is confusing,’ she murmured.

  He laughed. ‘That whole situation is confusing. At least I am sure about one thing.’

  ‘What are you sure of?’ When he held her like this, all problems seemed solvable, all obstacles, surmountable, all mistakes, forgiven.

  ‘That I love you.’ He leaned down and kissed her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in his kiss.

  When he stopped for air, he leaned his forehead against hers. ‘I am sure of one other thing.’

  She sighed. ‘And that is?’

  ‘I would be married to Lady Agnes, if you had not come into my life.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank God for that shipwreck.’

  She’d come to see the shipwreck not as a trauma to be feared, but as a rebirth. The shipwreck had given her a new life, one with everything she’d dreamed of—and more. On the rare occasions the memories returned, she embraced them and promised all those lost that she would appreciate every day of her new life.

  ‘Thank God for that shipwreck,’ Garret murmured, capturing her lips once again.

  She broke away abruptly. ‘Garret, what if Sir Orin reads this newspaper? He will guess Claire is alive, as well. I told him who I am. He will guess that the Lady Rebecca in the newspaper is her.’

  Garret looked directly into her eyes. ‘We must warn her.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story

  don’t miss the next book in

&nbs
p; THE GOVERNESS SWAP miniseries—coming soon!

  And in the meantime check out Diane Gaston’s

  THE SCANDALOUS SUMMERFIELDS miniseries

  BOUND BY DUTY

  BOUND BY ONE SCANDALOUS NIGHT

  BOUND BY A SCANDALOUS SECRET

  BOUND BY THEIR SECRET PASSION

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ONE WEEK TO WED by Laurie Benson.

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  One Week to Wed

  by Laurie Benson

  Chapter One

  Mayfair, London—1819

  There was no mistaking the inviting look in the eyes of the widow as she studied Lord Andrew Pearce across the coffin of her dead husband.

  In a stealthy manoeuvre, Andrew shifted his leg and ground the heel of his boot into his brother Gabriel’s foot, determined to scuff the impeccable black leather. It would serve him right for dragging Andrew here. In true ducal fashion Gabriel exhibited no reaction, aside from the slight clench of his jaw.

  It was all his brother’s fault Andrew was being subjected to this. As the eldest, Gabriel had informed his brothers it was their family’s duty to pay their respects, even though they all hated the man.

  It was the thing to do. It was only proper.

  And Andrew was counting the minutes until it was over.

  Being this close to a dead body was hard enough, bringing back memories he would just as soon forget. But the attention from the widow of the newly deceased Twelfth Duke of Skeffington in addition to that was making this unbearable.

  At nine and twenty, Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, was only two years younger than Andrew. With her thick black hair, big brown eyes and graceful figure she was considered by many to be a diamond of the first water. However, Andrew wasn’t attracted to her. Even knowing she was going to be a very wealthy widow did little to make her any more enticing.

  She was a woman who appeared obsessed with rank and prestige. As the brother of a duke, he had experienced his fair share of people who were interested in him only for his family connections. And as a duchess in her own right, he assumed her prejudice against families of lower status was one of the reasons she always seemed interested in him. There were very few ducal families in Britain. Her choices were limited. However, he didn’t want a wife.

  The Duchess slipped a wayward tendril of black hair over her ear and offered him a shy smile. If Gabriel noticed her attention had been fixed on Andrew since they entered the room, he gave no indication. However, Monty, on his other side, pressed his knee firmly into Andrew’s leg. At least one of his brothers was aware of his plight.

  ‘You have our condolences, Elizabeth,’ Gabriel said, over the murmur of voices from the other mourners in the ballroom that was darkened with black cloth around the windows.

  Her attention finally shifted away from Andrew to Gabriel, and she gave his brother a polite smile. ‘Thank you for coming to pay your respects. It’s no secret you and Skeffington were on opposing sides on many issues through the years.’

  ‘We were. His death did come as a shock, even with his advanced age. He just addressed the House on Monday.’

  Monty tilted his head and eyed the outline of the short thin body lying before them under the shroud. ‘Forgive me, but I’ve not heard what caused his demise. Was he suffering from an illness?’ Andrew’s younger brother asked.

  ‘He choked on a chicken bone during dinner. The footmen were not able to save him.’ It was said with such a calm demeanour, one had to wonder if she had been present to witness what must have been a ghastly event.

  Andrew’s heart began to pound harder. He knew what it was like to watch someone die. Taking a step back, he looked away from the dead body in front of him and tried to push the memories out of his head. Over the years he had become adept at locking them away, but this was bringing them all back. He should have refused to come today.

  As if he realised Andrew was ready to bolt from the room, Gabriel made a move to end the conversation and Andrew’s torture. ‘Well, I’m sure there are many others here who wish to pay their respects. We will not keep you any further.’

  Andrew’s sense of unease at being around this much death was starting to lift. Until the Duchess stepped around the coffin and called softly to him as he turned to walk towards the door with his brothers.

  He squeezed his eyes shut before turning to face her. ‘Yes, Your Grace?’

  She gave him a small smile as she started to blush. ‘You may call me Elizabeth. We’ve been acquainted with one another for twelve years.’

  ‘But I’d never presume to be on such intimate terms with you.’ It was paramount he stated that, since he had no intention of becoming so familiar with Skeffington’s widow.

  ‘But there is no reason we couldn’t be now.’ There was a hopefulness in her eyes.

  He should have pretended he hadn’t heard her when she called his name.

  ‘Have you received your invitation to the funeral?’ Thankfully she changed the subject when he refused to acknowledge her suggestion. ‘The service will be this evening at ten, in St Paul’s. Skeffington wished to hold to old traditions and wanted an evening burial.’

  It was just like the man not to consider the safety of his mourners. Carriages in London were often robbed while they waited outside churches at night during funerals. Andrew was still uncertain why he had been invited to attend. Gabriel, as the Duke of Winterbourne, was fully capable of representing his family. ‘I’ve received it.’

  The gloved fingers on her right hand nervously toyed with the jet beads near her collarbone. ‘I know he was not well liked by many in Society, but it would be a shame if there weren’t many to offer prayers for his soul. I hope you will be there.’

  At least it wasn’t customary for the women of the ton to attend burial services. He would be safe in the church from her attention. Having someone watch him made him uncomfortable. ‘I’ll be there along with my brothers.’

  She lowered her head and looked at him through her lashes. ‘Thank you for calling on me,’ she said softly. ‘I expect we will see one another soon.’

  Did she have to make it sound as if he had called on her with romantic intentions? It was a wake. ‘Not too soon. It will be a year before we see one another.’ She was newly widowed. The year’s mourning period would keep her away from any entertainments he might attend.

  She bit her lip. ‘Unlike Skeffington, I find I am not all that traditional.’

  The walls w
ere closing in. He was feeling like hunted prey and needed to get away from the Duchess and the dead body in the room. ‘Well, do have a pleasant day,’ he managed to choke out rather inappropriately, before making his way through the crowd of mourners and out the ballroom door.

  He was so intent on escaping he almost collided with a woman dressed all in black as he rounded the corner leading to the entrance hall. She let out a soft gasp through the veil covering her face and was able to stop him by raising her gloved hand just before she slammed into his chest. A pleasant floral scent drifted towards him as the black ostrich feather, curling over the front of her black bonnet, brushed against his brow. It was a soft brush, almost a tickle.

  Andrew stepped back and tipped his head in a wordless apology before they both quickly went on their way. But after he took a few steps, something made him look back and follow her hurried progress towards the ballroom. Perhaps it was the realisation that he hadn’t bothered to notice what she looked like or that she seemed preoccupied and eager to get around him. He couldn’t imagine anyone being in a rush to see a dead body.

  When he stepped into the entrance hall both of his brothers were waiting for him near the large marble staircase. They resembled matching bookends with their light brown hair, similar features, and black trousers and coats. They both also held the same amused expression as they watched Andrew walk towards them.

  Gabriel was fighting back a smile as he turned his attention to adjusting his gloves. ‘I see Elizabeth found a way to have a few words alone with you. We were going to leave for White’s without you, but decided to wait and see how long it took you to extricate yourself.’

  Andrew let out an annoyed breath and rubbed his chin. ‘If you both hadn’t walked away when she called me, I might have avoided the encounter entirely.’

  ‘She called your name, not ours,’ Monty replied with a smirk. ‘Who are we to come between you and a grieving widow? Dare I ask what she wanted, or would your answer shock my youthful innocence?’

  ‘You are Mother’s least favourite child. She has told me so on numerous occasions,’ Andrew replied pointedly. ‘Her Grace wanted to know if I’d be attending the burial service this evening. That is all.’