Handfasted (To Love a Governess Novella)

by Jane Charles

  Handfasted

  (To Love a Governess Regency Novella)

  By

  Jane Charles

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Handfasted

  Copyright © 2011 by Jane Charles

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—withoritten permission.

  Chapter 1

  Blackrig, Scotland

  “Please, you must take me with you.” Katrina Clark ran after Lord Timothy Strotham.

  He stopped in the middle of the street and spun on his heel to look at her. His green eyes grew hard behind the wire rimmed specticals and his jaw clenched before he spoke. “It is highly improper. Your reputation would be ruined and, I have no wish to begin in a new town with the residents questioning my morality.” He pivoted and marched across the street.

  “The residents of Middleton will never know. Just leave me in Willanton and carry on.” Katrina clasped the letter tight, afraid the wind would pull it from her grasp. That parchment held the answers she hoped for, had been waiting for. Now, all she had to do was convince Strotham to help her, but that man was more stubborn than anyone she had met. And she’d met plenty of stubborn Scots since moving to Scotland with her father when she was fourteen.

  “It is out of my way. I won’t even go through Willanton,” he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn and look her in the eye.

  She would not be dismissed so easily. “Only a few miles, barely an inconvenience.” And if all goes as planned, you will be happy for the delay. At least from what she understood, few men objected to seduction when there was no threat of a permanent commitment. He would enjoy the dalliance (she hoped) and she would finally experience the things she read about and pictures she’d seen in the books she found secreted away in her father’s shop.

  Strotham entered the tea house and Katrina followed him through the door. The aroma of strong coffee along with fresh baked breads and cakes permeated the air. Katrina’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t eaten today and a hot cup of tea would take away the chill. But first, she needed to make Strotham understand.

  The McGregor Coffee H and Tea Room came to be when Mr. and Mrs. McGregor couldn’t come to an agreement over a coffee house or tea room, and settled on both, which the residents now referred to as the tea house. When he took his seat at a small table among the dozen throughout the room and noticed her, his face hardened again. Mrs. McGregor was responsible for decorating and Strotham did look a little out of place at the small table, covered with a lacy cloth and the dimity curtain framing his blonde hair against the backdrop of a window.

  He took the spectacles away from the green depths of his eyes. For a moment Katrina forgot to breathe. Such beautiful eyes. It was a shame he hid them behind glass, or perhaps it was safer for the female population that he did. A golden lock fell across his brow and she wanted to brush it back into place.

  Strotham pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and polished the lenses, ignoring her presence as she approached his table. Though it was wise not to carry on this conversation in public, she had no other choice. He certainly wouldn’t discuss it with her in private. She had already tried several times.

  Without being invited, Katrina slid into the seat directly opposite just as he adjusted the rim of his glasses across the bridge of his nose. She leaned forward and continued in a hushed tone. “You don’t understand. I need to get to Willanton in ten days or I could lose the position.”

  “I don’t see why you need to go anywhere, Miss Clark.”

  She straightened. “What would you have me do?”

  His hand rubbed over his chin as if he were giving it some thought. “I am sure there is something for you here.”

  “You know there is not.” No longer did she bother to speak quietly. “I was a governess before my father died. For the last two years I have run Clark’s Book Shop and Lending Library, until you . . .” She stopped. It wasn’t Strotham’s fault the store had to be sold. Once she took over after her father died the customers dwindled and eventually stopped coming in or renewing their subscription. There was nothing for her to do but to sell the shop and the contents. Strotham had purchased most of those wonderful books and was taking them south. “Before it had to be sold.”

  “There are no governess positions available any closer?”

  At least he didn’t suggest she open another shop. If she made dresses it would be perfectly proper to be a proprietor of such an establishment. pan>But to own and operate a book store was scandalous, at least to the residents of Blackrig. “No, there isn’t.” Drat that man for not going along with her plans and being so difficult. There were some very good reasons she wanted Strotham to take her to Willanton and no one else, she just couldn’t voice the reasons to him, and certainly not in the tea house common room they were sitting in. That would be scandalous. As he would be passing near the very town she needed to get to in ten days, it was a reasonable request.

  “Miss Clark, I cannot possibly allow you to accompany me in my carriage all the way to Willanton. That is at least a three day trip.”

  Three days in which I could finally be alone with you and possibly explore the secrets of intimacy. “No one will know.”

  He arched a brow at her. “The good people of Blackrig will know.”

  “Very well. I’ll simply take a public coach.” It wasn’t much of a threat, but it was the only thing she could think of at the moment.

  “You most certainly will not.” Katrina looked up to find Mrs. McGregor standing at their table, one fist locked on her hip and the other hand holding a plate of biscuits. “You are a lady.”

  “My father was a shopkeeper.” Katrina rolled her eyes.

  “His father was a baron. . .”

  “And my mother’s father is an Earl.” As if it made her more important than anyone else of her acquaintance. Perhaps if she were in London such connections would be important, but she preferred being far away from that city and living simply as a bookshop owner’s daughter and sometimes governess.

  “Why don’t you go to your grandfather?” Strotham’s eyebrows rose in interest.

  Is that all it took to get his attention? Some connection to society?

  “The baron died several years ago. My uncle inherited, but I haven’t spoken to him since my father passed.” She picked a biscuit up from the plate Mrs. McGregor placed in the middle of the table. “Besides, the family isn’t well off, even if he does have a title. I would only be a burden.”

  “I meant, your mother’s father.” Strotham picked up his cup of coffee, blew into the contents before he took a sip.

  Clearly the man didn’t know her family history. Just the thought of seeing her grandfather caused her body to tense. “If I were starving I wouldn’t go to that man for a crumb.” Though she had never met her grandfather, she still grew indignant on her mother’s behalf. “He rejected my mother when she chose my father, a mere baron’s third son over the landed, future viscount he had picked out. My mother chose love and her father never forgave her for not doing her duty for the family.”

  Her tone must have been harder and more bitter than she realized because Strotham placed his cup back in the saucer and sat back. “Very well, but have you considered he may have had a change of heart.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He wasn’t there when my mother and father needed help and I refuse to acknowledge him now.”

&nb
sp; “But, dear,” Mrs. McGregor interjected. “You can’t travel in a public coach. It is too dangerous.”

  “What would you have me do, Mrs. McGregor?” Katrina threw up her hands and looked up to the older woman. Did nobody understand her predicament? She had few funds after she paid her debts with the money Strotham gave her for the contents in the shop. “I cannot afford a carriage for myself, nor do I know of, or can afford, a companion.”

  She tore apart the biscuit on her plate in frustration without taking a bite. She was no longer hungry. “If Strotham doesn’t allow me to accompany him I will be unable to travel to Willanton in time for my interview and will have no opportunity to get another position as a governess. If I cannot obtain another position, I will soon be living on the street because the new tenants will take up residence in my house and in my bookshop in two weeks.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. McGregor wrung her hands together. “I don’t know of any solution to your predicament.”

  Strotham unfolded the paper he carried in and opened it, hiding his face completely. He may be finished with the conversation but she was not.

  “If Strotham would only let me ride along I wouldn’t be in a predicament.”

  “He is right, dear. What would the good people of Middleton think? He wants to open his own bookstore and if the townspeople thought ill of him, then he may not do a very good business.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McGregor,” Strotham acknowledged from behind the paper.

  “There is no possible way anyone in Middleton would ever learn. He would leave me in Willanton. Your reputation would remain untarnished.” Katrina directed her comment toward the raised newspaper and was rather pleased that she was able to dismiss this issue so easily and quickly.

  Strotham lowered the paper. “What of your reputation?”

  “I don’t ever plan on living in, or visiting, Middleton, so I don’t see why that is an issue.”

  He sighed and folded the paper, setting it aside. “Miss Clark, what would your potential future employer think if you arrived in Willanton, unchaparoned, in the company of a single gentleman? Do you think he would want to hire someone to teach his children who would risk her own reputation in such a way?”

  Katrina hadn’t thought about that. All she wanted was a few days alone with Strotham and to interview for a new position when she arrived at her destination. “Maybe he wouldn’t care.” It was a weak argument. “Or, maybe you could drop me earlier and I can take a public coach the rest of the journey. All you would have to do is take me most of the way there.”

  “Who is this family who needs a governess?” Mrs. McGregor asked.

  “Lord and Lady Fairfield.”

  “What happened to his last governess?” Strotham raised an eyebrow with the question.

  Katrina shrugged. “Lord Fairfield married her.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Clark, I cannot help you.” Strotham unfolded the paper in front of his face and dismissed her once again. Someone needed to tell him how rude his behavior was, even if she had sat at his table, uninvited. The man was the fourth son of a marquess and she assumed he was raised to behave better than this.

  “There has to be a way,” Mrs. McGregor insisted. “Maybe another family in the area would loan you the use of their carriage or someone else will take you.”

  Katrina didn’t want someone else. She wanted it to be Strotham. Ever since he arrived in Blackrig a month ago to review the contents of the store and negotiate a price, she had wanted to get to know him further. Tall, with blond hair and the most beautiful green eyes, which no man should be allowed to possess, was what first attracted her. His broad shoulders, strong hands and long fingers held her interest as had his legs and muscular thighs. She assumed they were muscular, as was his buttocks because she watched him often enough when he walked, stood, bent and sat. He reached forward and picked up the cup, small and delicate in his hand.

  Her face warmed at the images her mind produced from the books she glanced through. She wanted to experience all of those things before she returned to her profession as a governess and settled into spinsterhood, and she wanted to experience them with Strotham. Oh, why did he have to be so bloody proper?

  Of course, he was a scholarly man, not like the rakehells of society, the ones who visited Lord McGowan each summer to hunt. Those gentlemen were full of themselves, confident in their ability to attract any female they wished and seduce if so desired. Strotham was different. He never even once looked at her with the interest those other so called gentleman had when she was a governess in the McGowan household.

  Perhaps Strotham wasn’t interested in dalliances. Was it possible for a man to not want seduction and prefer books and solitude above intimacy? She hadn’t thought of that possibility. Maybe he wouldn’t even wish to kiss her once alone in a carriage. Then what would she do?

  Katrina shook the worry from her mind. First, she had to get into that carriage and then she would try to figure out how to seduce him. She was sure there were books among her father’s secret collection that could assist her if he became difficult.

  * * *

  Though a companion for the three day trip to Middleton would be welcome, Katrina Clark was the last person Timothy wanted to be alone with.

  He corrected himself. He wanted to be alone with her, very much wanted to be alone with her, but he was not sure he could survive it. Ever since he had looked into her deep brown eyes while inquiring about the shop and its contents, he had wanted her. So many times he had to leave her presence so as not to embarrass himself because of the inevitable growth of his desire. Even now he was thankf for the table which hid his lap from her view. Three days in a carriage would be miserable and likely drive him mad.

  She had no idea what she asked or what torture would be inflicted upon him. All she wanted was a ride to Willanton so she could become a governess. That in itself was a waste. With her full breasts and luscious lips, she was made for much more pleasant things, such as seducing. If she wasn’t a lady, he would have offered her the ride in his vehicle, among other things, before she could ask. But, she was an innocent and had no idea what the sway of her hips did to him.

  The worst possible place for her would be to be alone with him. He could barely get through an afternoon without wanting to hold and kiss her. Three days in a carriage would likely see her completely and utterly ruined.

  Besides, Miss Clark viewed him as a business man, the gentleman who took her father’s books, someone she had been forced to deal with. Not a man who lusted after her, if she even knew the meaning of the word lust.

  Thank goodness Miss Clark didn’t know about the books secreted away behind a false panel in the gentleman’s room of her father’s store or she would be very acquainted with lust, desire, copulation, fornication, and a number of other illicit acts. Timothy was fairly certain she had no idea the books were even there since they had not been on the inventory she provided when he first arrived. He only came upon them by accident. Miss Clark probably thought the gentleman’s room was simply where men gathered to read, drink brandy and smoke cheroots. After viewing the volumes, Timothy was fairly certain the gentlemen didn’t visit there just for the company or to read the papers from Edinburgh and London.

  Tomorrow he would begin packing the books for shipment and Miss Clark insisted on helping. He would need to make sure she was occupied in the main room when he packed up that collection. Those were tomes no proper lady should ever read or look through.

  “Handfasted.” Timothy recognized the voice of Mr. Wallace, the local tailor. He had been standing before the glass case displaying the delicacies baked earlier in the day when he entered.

  “Oh, that is an excellent idea, Mr. Wallace,” Mrs. McGregor agreed with enthusiasm.

  Timothy remained hidden behind the paper waiting for Miss Clark to vacate her seat and leave the tea house. But, she was still there because he could smell her scent of lilac. Why didn’t she just give up and go away?

  “I didn�
��t think anyone practiced handfasting any longer,” Miss Clark commented.

  Handfasting? No, they couldn’t be thinking . . . Timothy lowered the paper from in front of his face, hopeful they were speaking of some other couple far away from here.

  “It is hardly ever necessary any longer, but there are a few who become handfasted, as a trial, of course,” Mrs. McGregor enthusiastically offered.

  “A trial marriage,” Miss Clark said the words so slowly he knew she was giving this a great deal of consideration. He would need to stop this line of thought before he found himself in a trial marriage to the one woman he wanted to bed.

  “You only have to be married a year and a day. If you are not together when that time comes around, it is as if the wedding never happened.”

  “It is an excellent idea, Mr. Wallace.” Mrs. McGregor clapped her hands and turned to Timothy. “It is perfect. You can travel alone with Miss Clark and nobody will think poorly of either of you because you will be married. Then, you can drop her in Willanton and be on your way. After a year, it will be as if the marriage never happened.”

  It sounded far too easy and Timothy knew there was a catch. Nobody got handfasted any longer. Well, at least not in England. But, he was in Scotland, where things could be very different. These people probably thought it perfectly normal to make a union in such antiquated ways.

  “Please. I promise not to be any trouble and never to bother you again.”

  Miss Clark looked at him expectantly, a hopeful smile and spark of anticipation in her eyes. Mrs. McGregor kept nodding her head as if encouraging him to make the right decision, which required him to be married for a year and a day. Mr. Wallace shrugged and held up his hands. “What do you have to lose? Are you betrothed to someone else?”

  “No.” How come it felt like there was a noose tightening around his neck?

  “Did you plan on marrying anyone within the next year?”