Meredith laughed softly and patted Parker on the side of his neck. “I do not know what you were so worried about, Your Grace. Parker and I get along fine.”
“But—that should not be possible! Parker does not like people!”
“But I like Parker,” said Meredith simply, scratching his nose. “I like horses and horses like me. More than people, sometimes. In both directions. Besides, you’re just a big softy, aren’t you, Parker?”
Parker took another step closer. Meredith laughed and scratched him between the ears.
Alfred could not understand what had just happened. Where had this woman come from?
Finally, he found his voice again. “You really are a governess of great talents.”
Meredith smiled, sunlight shining on her hair. “Yes, but that does not help in our current situation. Unless you are happy to walk back, of course.”
Alfred was tempted to say he would walk back with her, though that would make no sense. Every part of him was drawn to her, and a few hours in her company, out here in the wilderness…
Who knew what might happen?
It was that damned voice of reason he had never quite been able to shrug, which reminded him of another commitment, however. Pulling out his pocket watch from his waistcoat, Alfred glanced at it.
“I am supposed to be in an election meeting at the abbey in twenty minutes,” he said ruefully.
Meredith sighed and smiled at Parker. “As I said, I am happy to walk back. It will be an excellent opportunity for me to stretch my legs, and I am sure Archibald will not suffer for having an afternoon off.”
She turned away and started walking back to her horse. Alfred could not bear the sense of loss that overwhelmed him as she walked away.
“Wait!”
Meredith paused and turned, her gown displaying her figure in a most distracting way.
Alfred swallowed. “Let…let me take you. You can ride behind me. We will tie up Beauty to ensure she does not wander off. A stable lad can come and retrieve her.”
“It was one dinner,” she said softly. “One dinner, and we almost…”
She did not appear able to finish the sentence, but Alfred knew what she meant. If one dinner almost led to a clandestine kiss, what would such close proximity do to them? It was all he could do not to dismount and kiss her right now.
“I know I should not have placed you in that position,” said Alfred quietly.
“You didn’t. Not alone.”
“I was sore tempted,” admitted Alfred with a laugh.
Meredith laughed with him, softly, like falling rain. “I think…well. Keeping our distance from each other will help solve that. It will be easy soon.”
Alfred could not imagine a world in which it would be easy. “Soon?”
She nodded. “You have an election to win, Your Grace. Once you are a member of Parliament again, you will be in London. We will hardly see each other.”
It sounded like a death sentence to Alfred’s ears. “You know better than anyone how little I want to win.”
Meredith hesitated for a moment and then stepped toward him. She reached up and covered his hand, still tight around Parker’s reins, with hers.
“I know,” she whispered.
It was an intoxicating moment. Alfred felt more connected to her then, governess as she was, servant as she was, than anyone else in the world. The rest of Rochdale faded away, leaving only them. Her eyes did not leave him, and her hand—oh God, it was warm and soft, and if anything like the rest of her, then absolutely everything he wanted.
And then she let go. “I am worried about Beauty, to tell the truth. But I suppose there is nothing for it. The longer I leave her, the more pain she is in. So…so thank you, Your Grace. I would appreciate the ride.”
Alfred’s jaw dropped, causing him, he was sure, to look the height of foolishness. He could hardly believe it.
“Right,” he said blankly and then recalling his senses. “Right. If you can tie up Beauty there to the fence, we can have a man back with her in half an hour.”
He watched Meredith carefully tie up Beauty but not, as he had suggested, by the fence but instead within the woodland.
“Fewer people will see her there,” she said by way of explanation. “Beauty is my most treasured possession—more friend than possession. I would never forgive myself if someone took her.”
Alfred nodded and held out an arm. This was it. This was the moment he had wanted, from the moment he had seen her, all fury and pent-up irritation, in the drawing room.
He almost groaned aloud to have her pressed up against him as she stepped onto Parker’s back. Oh, Christ, but she was warm. She smelled wonderful, all honey and dew, like a summer’s morning.
This was wrong, and he should never have suggested it, but it was impossible to ask her to dismount now. Not now, he had ten, perhaps fifteen minutes of riding with her.
“I am ready,” came her gentle voice, and Alfred started. He had become so lost in his thoughts that he had barely remembered why she was up on Parker with him in the first place.
“Right,” he said hastily. “Hold tight.”
Never before had fifteen minutes departed so quickly. Meredith’s obvious concern for her horse forced Alfred forward faster, bringing them closer to sending someone back for the mare—but sadly, closer to the moment when she would dismount and leave his presence.
“Woah there, Parker,” said Alfred quietly as they cantered quickly into the stable yard. There was no one there. All hands must have been out with some of the farmers again, getting the last of the harvest in.
“Steady, Parker,” he said, bringing the horse to a stop and then quickly dismounting, hating the distance he was putting between himself and Meredith. “Here.”
He held out his hand for Meredith to take, to aid her in her dismount. She looked at him with suspicious eyes, only taking his hand hesitantly after it was clear he was not going to move Parker to a block.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Alfred moved before he was even conscious of it. As Meredith slipped down the side of Parker, Alfred moved, so she was pinned between his body and that of his horse.
“Alfred!”
It was her use of his name that did it. That was what he told himself afterward, at the very least. With Meredith in his arms and no one about to censure them, Alfred pulled her tightly to him.
“This is a bad idea,” Meredith whispered. Her eyes searched his for a response, as though asking him to take responsibility for his actions, but she did not pull away.
Alfred smiled. “I know.”
The kiss started slowly. Alfred did not wish to take too much from her, always seeking a willing partner—but the passion, the furious passion Meredith poured back to him was as though a dam had finally been breached.
Christ, it was wonderful. Her hands in his hair, his heart pounding, Alfred teased her lips until she gave him entrance and ravished her mouth, worshiping her.
And then it was over. Meredith had slipped through his fingers, out of his arms, and toward the stables.
“I’ll find a temporary shoe,” she said breathlessly, her hair a mess and her cheeks red. “And take another steed out to her.”
Alfred could barely stand, let alone talk. Leaning against Parker, he managed, “Shoe? Y-You’re going to shoe Beauty?”
Meredith flashed him a smile. “Governess of great talents, did I not say?”
Chapter Eleven
September 4, 1812
I have found during my time in the Rochdale house that Archibald has become a far more studious child, particularly in mathematics and the history of the Tudor monarchs. In accordance with the guidelines established by the Governess Bureau, I have sought ways of rewarding my pupil without spoiling him (NB: horse riding and future attendance at family events), which have been approved by the master, Alfred Carmichael, Duke of Rochdale
Meredith looked down at her report as a prickle of heat seared her face. Even wri
ting his name felt strange. As though she had transgressed some line.
Leaning back in her chair, Meredith examined the report she was writing for Miss Clarke. It was customary—no, expected that a governess would write monthly reports for Miss Clarke, so the proprietress of the Governess Bureau could be absolutely sure her standards were being met.
Meredith had worked on this, her first at Rochdale Abbey, for at least three days. Whenever she believed she had almost got it perfect, she would have to write his name, and her quill would simply stop.
It was impossible to complete it. She knew what Miss Clarke was expecting, of course. Insight into the child, their preferences, their challenges. Subjects they enjoyed. Rewards that were appropriate.
Meredith had wondered, in her first position, why this was all necessary—until she realized the briefing report she had been given for the Earl of Marnmouth’s children had been collated information from the previous governess.
It was easy for a Governess Bureau appointee to look impressive when she had already been informed of the children’s difficulties and how they liked to be praised.
But the last part of the report, which Meredith was having the most difficulty with, was the most important. The report on the parents. What was it Miss Clarke had said?
“We may be governesses to children, but it is their parents we spend the most time looking after.”
Meredith smiled. It was undoubtedly true from her experience. A troublesome parent was far more challenging than a troublesome child.
Her fingers gripped her quill, turning white. What could she write about Alfred?
The Duke of Rochdale, she told herself silently. That would be an excellent place to start; though how could she consider him with that stiff, formal title after finding him so soft and warm when in his arms?
Meredith swallowed and tried to push away those memories, but it had been almost a week since their passionate kiss, and they had not faded.
How was she to encapsulate in just a few lines what she had experienced with him? That kiss! Her entire body shivered whenever she thought about it; a memory fast becoming the greatest distraction in the schoolroom—which, with Archibald, was saying something.
It had been foolish. Yet, she had no regrets.
“Governess of great talents, did I not say?”
The problem remained that she had a report to write, and no words made sense as she tried to write.
Meredith was not innocent of the ways between gentlemen and ladies. She had not experienced much of it, naturally. There were not many opportunities for flirtation, and even they were discouraged.
But she had heard, she had read, listened to the stories of others, and therefore knew with absolute certainty that not all gentlemen were as respectable as they liked to portray.
She had heard the misgivings of Miss Clarke, of what some gentlemen attempted to do to the female servants in their care. A housekeeper was not only there to care for the house, Meredith knew. No, she was a guardian for the women in the household.
Look what happened to so many in the past! How many girls had to leave service for a year, disappear into the country—or the towns, depending on where she hailed from—and then appear again, older, a little quieter, a little more morose.
Meredith shivered. To have a child and keep it secret, to abandon it, sell it, leave it with others…
It was never the gentlemen who paid the price.
Alfred was not like that. She bit her lip as her gaze fell onto her report. She did not know him, not really. It was impossible to tell what he would be like in that regard, though he had not knocked on her bedchamber door or made suggestions of assignations.
The mere thought made her cheeks flush. As though she would permit such a thing!
How was she supposed to be honest about her interactions with Alfred—with the duke—without putting herself in Miss Clarke’s bad graces? Or worse, lose her place?
“Governess of great talents, did I not say?”
Meredith closed her eyes, giving in to temptation once more, unable to resist the luxury of losing herself in the memory of that kiss. That moment when she felt utterly safe, and yet at the same time on the edge of a precipice, about to fall, her heart soaring, her skin tingling wherever Alfred touched her.
“Miss Hubert, why do they speak French in British North America?”
Meredith’s eyes snapped open. She was still seated at her desk in the schoolroom, her report for Miss Clarke still before her on the desk, and Archibald was looking at her curiously from his seat.
She cleared her throat. “British North America?”
It had been a mistake to attempt to write this report during lesson time, but she had found herself struggling to complete it in the few hours she had between dinner and sleep. At least here, she thought there would be no distractions.
“Yes, Miss Hubert, I am a little confused,” said Archibald hesitantly. Like all children, he did not like admitting when he struggled. “I mean, did we not found British North America? Is it not right that they would speak English, as we do? My father always said that the colonies were wrong to act this way, but I…I always wondered. I wish I had known my father.”
Meredith swallowed, attempting to organize her thoughts coherently. The report must be finished.
“I do apologize, Archibald. Would you mind repeating your question?”
Instead of doing so, Archibald grinned. “You like my brother, don’t you?”
Heat seared Meredith’s cheeks. “Yes, I respect your brother. He is a gentleman, and my employer, and the duke of this county. I…I like him.”
Why did it feel so strange to say those words at all, let alone to the half-brother of Alfred, who was at least twenty years younger?
She liked him. That was all she would allow herself to think, for that was all she could allow in her heart. The idea that there was more, that her feelings for him were more complex…
Archibald’s grin broadened. “That is not what I meant.”
The heat of the day suddenly increased so quickly, Meredith wondered whether a cloud had moved to reveal the sun.
A child should not notice such things! Had she been so indiscreet? Worse, a child of the house. It would not have been so bad, perhaps, if it had been a stable lad who had spotted them.
If she lost this position—worse, if Miss Clarke removed her from the Bureau, she would be destitute. She would never go back to her family, that old way of life, not if it meant starving. No savings, no good name, only Beauty, who she would never sell. But how would she feed her, stable her, look after—
Wait a moment. Meredith took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.
Archibald. There he was, a grin on his face, but there did not seem to be a huge amount of comprehension there. There was no malice, no plan. How would he know what affection was, what desire even looked like?
“How do you know that I like your brother, Archibald?” she asked quietly.
It was a guileless reply she received. “Mrs. Martin told me Roberts told her Alfred only had eyes for you,” said Archibald confidently. “Does that mean you’re friends?”
Right. Well, it was a good thing she had inquired further before allowing her thoughts to get entirely away from her. Mostly.
That sounded merely the tittle-tattle gossip she had always experienced when entering a new residence.
“You get back to your worksheet,” she said with a wry smile. “We can discuss any questions you have when you are finished.”
Archibald opened his mouth to argue but then closed it and returned to his worksheet, pencil scraping across the paper.
Meredith bit her lip. It was always hard to acclimatize to a new household. She had not really made many efforts with the other servants, preferring to understand Archibald first, but perhaps she had made an error.
Chances were Archibald would forget about this and not bring it up again. Children were wonderful creatures. Seeing that innocence in Archibald wa
s something wonderful to behold.
“Miss Hubert?”
Meredith looked up to see a concerned look on Archibald’s face. “Yes?”
“Do…do you like me?”
There was such concern in his voice that Meredith could not help but smile. “Yes, I do, Archibald. But does that matter? I am your governess, a servant of your brother. I am not a parent or a family member.”
The words had to be said, though it pained her to say them. Miss Clarke had always warned against it, a connection with your charge that made you more friend than an educator.
“You are there to teach the children, not befriend them,” was what she often said. “Friends cannot discipline. Friends cannot teach. Governesses are not their friends.”
Meredith had agreed. The Egerton children had each other.
Archibald was different. “It does matter to me. When Alfred wins the election and goes back to London, it will just be the two of us.”
His despondency was obvious, and Meredith hesitated before replying. This felt like one of those important conversations that you only had the chance to respond to once.
“That is true,” she said gently. “But then…it may not happen that way. From what I have seen, your brother does not wish to win the election.”
Meredith held her breath. She had either stepped across a line most drastically or…
“I do not think he wants to win, really,” said Archibald, lowering his voice in that way children did when they believed they were saying something naughty. “Alfred is always unhappy, but he is unhappiest when he was a member of Parbliamint.”
Meredith hid a smile. “Parliament.”
“Yes, that,” nodded Archibald, unfazed by the correction. “I think the closer we get to the election, the sadder Alfred gets. What do you think?”
Meredith swallowed. It was not her place to interfere in the relationship of the brothers.
“I think we need to concentrate on your geography,” she said softly.
Archibald sighed. “I wish my father was still here—or my mother. I miss them, Miss Hubert, and no one ever talks about them.”
Meredith’s heart twisted. She had broken ties with her parents, it was true, but that was as an adult and with the choice before her. Archibald had never had such a choice.
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