After the Kiss

by Joan Johnston

  When she was very little, her father had let her help him blend his tobacco, showing her exactly how much of each type of leaves to mix together. Sitting in his lap, smelling all the different smells, measuring, oh, so carefully. It was one of her fondest memories of him.

  This had been a safe refuge when Julian left to fight Napoleon in Belgium. In this quiet, solitary place, she heard no scandalous gossip about herself and the Beau. It had become her sanctuary when news of Julian’s death arrived a mere three weeks later.

  And it had been her prison since Cousin Nigel had come nearly a year past with the spiteful announcement that he would no longer be providing the generous stipend Julian had insisted upon for her living expenses. Nigel had halved and halved again and yet again the amount of her quarterly allowance.

  Eliza and her aunt were, of course, invited to return to Ravenwood at any time they wished. She knew Nigel hoped they would be starved or frozen out. He would welcome her return to Ravenwood and his lecherous advances.

  She would die first. She would willingly starve or freeze or—Eliza glanced guiltily at Aunt Lavinia, huddled beneath a blanket and shawl before the small fire. It was all very well to make sacrifices herself. But it was unfair to force cold and starvation on her aunt.

  She crossed and rearranged the woolen shawl over Aunt Lavinia’s shoulders and the plaid blanket over her knees, then waved away the smoke coming from the green wood that was all she had to burn. The June day was surprisingly cold, and the warped, drafty windows stole what little heat there was.

  She leaned over Aunt Lavinia’s shoulder and put her cheek next to her aunt’s cold flesh. Her throat was clogged with remorse. This was all her fault. She should never, never have let the Beau kiss her—or have kissed him back.

  “I am so sorry, Aunt Lavinia,” she whispered. “So very sorry for everything.”

  Aunt Lavinia laid down her knitting needles and reached up to press a hand against Eliza’s tear-streaked cheek. Eliza came around the chair and sat at her aunt’s feet on the worn Turkish carpet. She curled her cold toes beneath her and laid her cheek on her aunt’s knee.

  “Dry your tears, sweeting,” Aunt Lavinia said, gently brushing Eliza’s hair back from her face. “There is no help for it. The cupboard is empty, and there’s no coal to burn. We cannot survive here another year. You must find a living.”

  “Can we not go into trade?”

  Aunt Lavinia shook her head. “I am afraid you are far too notorious, my dear.”

  “If I am so notorious, what makes you think His Grace will hire me as a governess?”

  “Because he has reached the point of desperation. Because you will convince him you can best serve his needs. And because the twins will plead your cause.”

  “You don’t understand, Aunt Lavinia. There are reasons why I cannot go to him.”

  “But it is not to him you go, but to those two innocents who wrote to you, begging for your help. I do not believe you can refuse them, even though you bear such enmity toward their uncle.”

  “Their father,” Eliza muttered.

  “That is not at issue,” her aunt reminded her. “I believe we must think first of the children’s welfare. And of course, our own survival.”

  “I cannot face him,” Eliza murmured.

  “I do not believe you will have to,” her aunt replied. “Lady Denbigh’s letter confirms that Blackthorne is never at home to company, not even to the children.”

  “No wonder Reggie and Becky are so distraught,” Eliza murmured, raising her head to stare into her aunt’s sightless eyes. “How can he forsake his own daughters like that?”

  “I would guess he is suffering as much as his nieces are,” Aunt Lavinia said, making the correction again.

  “He is a grown man. They are children. He has a duty—”

  “Perhaps you are the one to remind him of it.”

  Eliza realized she would have no peace until she agreed to go. There was no denying she must find a source of income or return to Ravenwood.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will travel to the Abbey and apply for the job of governess. If His Grace hires me—which I cannot quite believe—I will insist that you be included in the package.”

  “I can return to Ravenwood,” Aunt Lavinia protested.

  “And be hidden away from sight like some—” Eliza bit back her anger. Her aunt was not a freak or a monster. She merely looked at the world with sightless eyes.

  “Please, Aunt Lavinia. I need you with me. I will make whatever bargain with the devil I must. It cannot be worse than what we face here.”

  “Very well, my dear. We will both make the journey to Blackthorne Abbey.”

  Eliza arrived at the impressive double doors that graced the arched entrance to Blackthorne Abbey late the following night. She was by herself, having left her aunt at a nearby inn.

  She and Aunt Lavinia had traveled to Kent in the mail coach, riding backward in the two least comfortable seats. She had relinquished her blacks at Aunt Lavinia’s insistence and wore a lavender bombazine traveling dress, which was still enough to discourage conversation with the two middle-aged ladies in the seats opposite them.

  Because Aunt Lavinia had been plagued with motion sickness for most of the trip, Eliza had settled her aunt at the Hundred Hill Inn in the small village of Comarty before she walked to Blackthorne Abbey, two miles farther down the road. Aunt Lavinia had urged her to wait until morning, but Eliza was adamant about seeing the duke as soon as possible.

  “If he closes the door in my face, or refuses to hire me after an audience, I can suffer the blow to my pride without witnesses. We can leave for home in the morning with no one the wiser.”

  “And find some other way to resolve our dilemma?” her aunt asked. “Balderdish!”

  They both knew there was no other viable resolution. Eliza needed this position.

  “I know I must convince him I am the best candidate for the job,” she said. “I would not be able to sleep a wink knowing I had to face His Grace first thing in the morning. I would rather see him tonight than meet him with red-rimmed eyes tomorrow. By the way, Balderdish was one of the children’s former governesses. The word you want is Balderdash!”

  Her aunt harrumphed. “Are you certain you will not mind walking in the dark?”

  Eliza managed a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll take a lantern with me. I will be fine.”

  But Eliza had underestimated her fear of the dark. She had not been walking for long on the country road—all by herself—before she began to regret her impulsive decision and recant her brave words.

  With the moon behind a cloud, the night was black as pitch, except for the small circle of light provided by the lantern she carried. She had endured one especially scary moment when a gust of wind had threatened to extinguish the light. But the flickering candle had survived the onslaught, and so had she.

  Eliza did not know why she was so afraid of the dark. She only knew she was. The fear was worse indoors than out. Indoors she felt as though she could not breathe, as though she were buried alive. At least outside, she knew there was nothing to confine her. But the terror was there all the same.

  Eliza was perplexed when she arrived at the Abbey to note that not a single light burned in any window she could see. The entire household must have retired for the night. Or lived on the backside of Blackthorne Abbey.

  She stepped from the cobblestone drive onto the stone porch with the distinct feeling that something massive was hulking over her. It took her a few moments to realize it was the Abbey itself. She could feel the huge, stone edifice towering above her, even though she could not see beyond the wedge of light the lantern provided.

  But maybe it was not the Abbey. What if someone … something … was out there?

  Her heart began to race. She listened for some sound that would tell her whether danger lurked in the darkness. She heard nothing. No crickets. No rustling of leaves. No frogs. Not even a horse or a hound.

  She kn
ocked frantically on the immense wooden door for admittance, but soon realized it was so thick, no one could hear her. She searched for and found what she thought must be a door knocker that looked like it had been placed conveniently for a giant. For once, she was grateful for her height. The massive iron ring’s echoing thumps sounded reassuring, but she wondered if anyone could hear them.

  No one came to the door.

  She shivered and knocked again. On the third try, an ancient butler, holding a dripping candle stuck in pewter, opened one half of the double door.

  Wispy white hair crowned his head, and it was apparent he had pulled on his trousers over a nightshirt as old as he was. He did not invite her inside or even ask her name. His pale blue eyes had already dismissed her before he said, “His Grace ain’t receivin’.”

  When he started to close the door, she stuck her foot in the way and said, “I have come to apply for the position of governess.”

  “It’s been filled,” he said.

  Eliza stood frozen in stunned disbelief. The Times had been a week old when she received it from Lady Denbigh. Of course there would have been dozens of applicants by now. And the duke had chosen one of them.

  Eliza realized she was disappointed. Which made no sense, because she had never wanted the job in the first place. Her second thought was concern for the twins. Would whatever stranger the duke had hired be able to give them the love they needed? Her third thought—was interrupted by the butler.

  “It’s been filled by Miss Elizabeth Sheringham,” he said, in what she finally recognized as a Scottish burr. “Lady Rebecca told me His Grace had hired the woman through his solicitor in London. And Lady Regina said Miss Sheringham’s the only one to be admitted, no matter how many says they’re here for the job. If ye ain’t her, ye ain’t welcome.”

  How could the position possibly be hers? Eliza wondered. She had not even interviewed with the duke!

  Then it dawned on her what the old man had said. Lady Rebecca told me His Grace had hired the woman … And Lady Regina said Miss Sheringham’s the only one to be admitted. Why those two little imps! They had been turning away applicants for a week, waiting for her arrival!

  “I am Miss Sheringham!” Eliza blurted.

  “Why didn’t ye say so?” the butler grumbled. “Come in. Come in.” He stuck his head outside and asked, “Where’s yer baggage, lass?”

  “I left it in Comarty, at the Hundred Hill Inn.”

  “I’ll send a footman for it tomorrow,” the butler promised. “I am Fenwick,” he announced.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Fenwick.”

  Fenwick scratched his balding head. “I ain’t sure what to do with ye, miss, seein’ as how ye’ve arrived so late and all. I dunno where the duke wants ye to stay.”

  “Are the children still awake?”

  The butler’s lips curved indulgently. “I expect they are. Them two rarely keeps to a schedule.”

  “Can you tell me where to find them?”

  “Up the stairs, right down the hall, last room on the left. It’s Lady Regina’s room, but ye’ll find ’em both there. They stay together, and that’s a fact. Even more since they lost their da.”

  “Thank you, Fenwick. I will find my way.”

  Eliza was grateful for the lantern she had brought, since none of the candles along the stairs or in the upstairs hall were lit. Either the new duke was a frugal man, or he liked it dark. Knowing the Beau’s reputation, she suspected the latter.

  Eliza was relieved to see a light showing under the last door on the left at the end of the hall. She stood for a moment, listening to muffled voices before she knocked.

  “Who is there?”

  “Miss Sheringham.”

  She heard the twins scrambling from the bed, heard their bare feet pounding on the carpet, before the door opened to reveal a room lit with so many candles that it was almost as bright as day. They wore long-sleeved white nightdresses tied with pink silk ribbons at the throat.

  She identified Reggie immediately. Her childish attempt at braids had nearly fallen out of her hair, which lay tumbled about her shoulders. The silk ribbon had come untied and frayed on one side into something resembling fringe.

  “I told you she would come,” Reggie said, throwing her sister a satisfied smirk.

  “What took you so long?” Becky asked. “We were worried that someone would demand to speak to Uncle Marcus, and he would find out what we were doing.”

  Eliza set her lantern on the dry sink and slipped off the woolen shawl she had borrowed from Aunt Lavinia, draping it over the foot of the bed before she leaned down and held out her arms to them.

  The twins hesitated only an instant before they tumbled toward her. Eliza was hard-pressed to stay upright, and in fact dropped down onto one knee. Their arms clung to her neck, and they pressed their cheeks hard against hers. Her heart went out to them. She should have come sooner. She should not have let her animosity toward him keep her away.

  “Now,” she said, leaning back so she could see their faces. “Explain to me why you felt it necessary to resort to such tomfoolery.”

  “We don’t really need a governess,” Reggie said.

  Eliza raised a disbelieving brow.

  “Reggie is right,” Becky said. “What we really need is someone to bring Uncle Marcus out of the doldrums.”

  “That is why we picked you,” Reggie said. “Uncle Marcus told us how much he likes you.”

  “And we could see for ourselves how much you like him,” Becky added.

  Eliza flushed. “I am sorry you brought me here under such a misapprehension.”

  “Misap—What?” Reggie asked.

  Eliza gently tugged their hands from behind her neck and stood. “Your … uncle and I have had a falling out since our meeting last year.”

  “Uncle Marcus never said anything to us about it,” Reggie said.

  “It happened just before Waterloo,” Eliza said. “Am I correct that you have not spoken much to him since?”

  The twins nodded glumly.

  “Come,” Eliza said. “Your feet must be getting cold. Up onto the bed.”

  Reggie and Becky climbed the rails at the foot of the bed like a ladder and scooted to the center of what had to be at least four feather mattresses stacked one upon the other. Eliza perched at the head of the bed with her muddy half boots hanging over the side.

  “I want to hear everything you have been doing,” Eliza said.

  “You cannot imagine what the past year has been like!” Reggie said.

  “Describe it for me,” Eliza said.

  “Horrible!” Becky said. “We had to get rid of six governesses!”

  “I know,” Eliza said with a grin. “I have seen the advertisements for each and every one.”

  Reggie frowned. “Then why did you not come sooner? You must have realized we were in desperate trouble.”

  “I thought you cared for us,” Becky said, a worried V between her brows.

  Eliza smoothed the V with her thumb. “I do,” she said in a soft voice. “Very much. But I was in mourning. My fiancé, Major Sheringham, was killed at Waterloo.”

  “We were in mourning, too,” Reggie said. “Because Father disappeared—”

  Becky pinched her arm.

  “Ow!” Reggie glared at her twin, but amended, “Because Father drowned at sea. That did not stop us from doing what had to be done.”

  “Were all those governesses really so terrible?” Eliza asked.

  “They never listened to us,” Becky said. “And they punished us for the smallest mistake.”

  “Which means,” Reggie said disgustedly, “for everything we did.”

  “Miss Tolemeister gave Reggie welts!”

  “Dear God. Why?” Eliza asked, her stomach rolling.

  “Because I would not cry when she applied the rod,” Reggie said, her eyes lit with defiance.

  “Welts where?” Eliza asked.

  Instead of putting out her hands, as Eliza had expected
, Reggie turned and raised the back of her gown.

  Eliza traced three distinct, silvery lines where the rod must have broken the skin. Her hands trembled as she lowered the gown. “Why didn’t you tell your uncle about this?” she demanded angrily.

  “It would not have done any good,” Reggie said.

  “Uncle Marcus told Griggs that the governess was to have as much authority as she needed,” Becky said. “We put up with each one as long as we could.”

  “And then what?” Eliza asked.

  “We’d do something so dreadful to her, she was glad to leave!”

  “I put spiders in Miss Tolemeister’s shoes,” Reggie said with grim satisfaction. “And a snake in her bed.”

  “Oh, dear,” Eliza said. “Things have been much worse than I could ever have imagined.”

  “You will stay, won’t you?” Becky said.

  “I am not sure your … uncle will allow me to stay.”

  “Ask him. I am sure he will,” Reggie said confidently.

  “When do you propose I solicit this interview?” Eliza said.

  “Right now,” Becky replied. “He mostly sleeps in the daytime and stays up all night.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would he do that?”

  “He does not want anyone to see his face,” Becky said. “He was wounded, you know, at Waterloo.”

  “I heard as much,” Eliza said. But she began to wonder exactly what kind of beast the Beau had become.

  “Uncle Marcus roams the east wing of the Abbey at night dressed all in black. The servants won’t go near the place,” Reggie said.

  “I must confess, I am a little frightened to go there myself,” Eliza said.

  “Fenwick can direct you to the east wing,” Becky said. “Once you are there, you will have to convince Griggs to let you see Uncle Marcus.”

  “Have you been to see your uncle?” Eliza asked.

  “We spied at him through a secret opening in the wall,” Reggie admitted. “But he did not know we were there.”

  “We saw him cry,” Becky said, her voice achingly soft.

  Spying? A secret opening in the wall? The Beau crying? Eliza did not know where to start asking questions, she had so many.