My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance)

by Counts, Wilma

  Before she could frame a reply, Gabrielle made an unprecedented appearance at the breakfast table. She swept into the room with a swish of petticoats, followed by the ever-present Madame Giroux.

  “Adrian! Is it true? The servants are all abuzz. Miss Palmer is a titled lady? And poor Thomas has been arrested as a spy? It cannot be!”

  “So much for any thought of slowing the dissemination of this hot topic.” Adrian’s tone was soft and ironic. “Yes, Gabrielle. May I introduce the Earl of Ostwick? You know his sister, Lady Elinor Richards.”

  There was some confusion as the marchioness and her companion were made known to the young earl and they gushed over the news of Elinor’s elevation. Then they filled their plates and took seats at the table with Gabrielle talking nonstop.

  “I always knew you were above the ordinary as a governess,” said the marchioness who knew little and cared less about her child’s lessons. “Just wait until Lady Vincent hears this news! You will join me as I receive callers this morning, will you not, my lady?” She turned a brilliant smile on Elinor.

  “I—I think not, my lady,” Elinor said with a pleading look at Adrian. “The children have their lessons, after all, and ... and there many other matters at hand.”

  “Ohhh.” Gabrielle pushed her lower lip out in a becoming pout. “Well, then, Adrian, she simply must accompany us to the Sheltons’ ball. They will be glad to honor my request for an invitation, and we can surely find you a suitable gown.” She switched her attention from Elinor to Adrian and back to Elinor.

  Although she felt slightly overwhelmed by this torrent of goodwill from a woman who had scarcely noticed her before, Elinor did not give Adrian a chance to reply. “I am sorry, my lady,” she said in a firm voice, “but I am not yet prepared to go on display for the ton. I shall, of course, be leaving this household very shortly.” She rose and addressed her brother and Trenville. “No. It will not be necessary for me to accompany the two of you. Please inform Mr. Bascomb that I shall expect my usual allowance to resume. My brother and I will remove to Ostwick House when the Bromptons are gone. Now, if you will excuse me, I have lessons to supervise.”

  Adrian stood. “Miss Palmer—uh, I mean Lady Elinor—”

  She paused at the door and looked at him questioningly.

  “You have not forgotten, have you, that there is an outing scheduled for the children this evening? You will still accompany us, will you not? You and Peter?”

  “The fireworks display. Yes, I suppose so ...” she said slowly.

  “Fireworks!” Peter’s eyes shone at the prospect—then he apparently decided it was not quite in keeping with his new adult status to show such enthusiasm. “That should be quite interesting,” he added in a more sedate tone.

  Elinor smiled at Peter and left the room warmed by the thought of Adrian’s insistence that she join the evening’s outing.

  In the early afternoon when lessons were over, Elinor ascertained that Trenville and her brother had not returned yet. She politely refused an invitation to take tea later with the marchioness and her guests. Instead, she called upon Millie to accompany her to visit the modiste once patronized by the fashionable Lady Elinor Richards. Surely, Mademoiselle Violetta would have something made up that could be quickly altered.

  Elinor was determined to present herself at her very best tonight, for this would be her farewell to Adrian and the children. Tomorrow she and Peter would remove to their own home and, as soon as possible, Lady Elinor Richards would be on her way to rejoin her godmother in Italy.

  She was in luck. Mademoiselle Violetta had on hand a wonderful apricot concoction with a matching cloak. The modiste had fashioned the outfit for a certain member of the demimonde who, having lost favor with her protector, failed to pick up the dress. With the addition of some ecru lace at the dangerously low neckline and a few tucks here and there it was perfect for Lady Elinor.

  Spying some silk ribbon of the same apricot color, Elinor snapped it up for her hair. If this were going to be her swan song, she would most assuredly look like a swan—not the ugly duckling she had been for months now. And she would leave off those dratted spectacles, too!

  “Oh, miss—I mean, my lady,” Millie said that evening as she finished helping Elinor arrange her hair, “you do look most splendid.”

  “Amazing, is it not, what a new dress and a different hairstyle can do for a woman’s looks? Not to mention her spirits!” Elinor preened in front of the looking glass. When had she ever felt so confident of her appearance? Would Adrian appreciate the transformation?

  Later, as she descended the stairs, she thought he seemed to. There was definitely an approving gleam in his eyes as he stood below with Peter and the three children, waiting for her to join them.

  “Ooh, Mith Palmer! You look like a printheth,” Bess said in high-pitched excitement, her words whistling through a front tooth she had lost in the last month.

  “She is not Miss Palmer,” Anne said firmly. “You heard nurse tell us to address her as ‘Lady Elinor’ now.”

  “ ‘Lady El’nor’? Issat the truf?” Bess wanted confirmation from an adult.

  “Yes, darling, it is.” Elinor reached the bottom of the stairs and caressed Bess’s cheek. “But you may call me Miss Palmer as long as you like.”

  Peter eyed his sister up and down with a teasingly dubious look, then nodded his approval. “I must say you look better in this outfit than in that rag you had on yesterday—or in my clothes the last time I saw you.”

  “Peter!” She gave him a quelling look and glanced at Adrian whose grin seemed to mirror her brother’s.

  “Come, my lady. We should be off.” Adrian held her cloak and it seemed to her that his hands lingered momentarily on her shoulders before all of them were out the door and in the carriage, “ladies” on one side and gentlemen on the other.

  Every time Elinor looked at Adrian, she was aware of his eyes on her. She wanted to allow herself to drown in his approving gaze, but that would definitely be unseemly with her brother and the children present. Once, she looked from Adrian to Peter and found the latter with a huge grin on his face.

  “What is that you find so amusing?” she asked, smiling despite herself.

  “Nothing,” Peter said airily. But he did not stop grinning at her.

  The three children chattered excitedly and seemed thoroughly at ease with Peter whom they had, of course, only met that afternoon.

  Arriving at the Ogilvie estate, Elinor was surprised—and alarmed—to find a large number of people there, besides children and young people whom she had expected to see.

  “My sister never does anything in a small way,” Adrian said softly as he handed Elinor from the carriage. “There are probably twenty families here.”

  “And all of them members of the ton,” Elinor said with dismay.

  Indeed, it was a lavish party for a young man about Peter’s age. Lady Tellson had arranged to have two large tents erected—one for an elaborate buffet supper and the other open on one side and set as a sort of gallery from which the guests would view the fireworks.

  Elinor was decidedly nervous. She knew from Millie’s chatter that distorted tales of her adventure and revelation of her identity would have spread like wildfire throughout London society. How would these people accept her?

  “Courage, my dear,” Adrian murmured. He took her hand, put it on his arm, and held it firmly to his side. As usual, his touch was both reassuring and disquieting. He steered her and his group toward his sister, the hostess of this casual party, who was conversing happily with others as they approached.

  Lady Tellson turned and her group all stopped talking at once to stare at Elinor on Trenville’s arm. When Elinor would have removed her hand, he refused to allow the separation.

  “Caroline,” Adrian said. “You have met Lady Elinor Richards. And this is her brother, Peter, Earl of Ostwick. I think you know my other companions.” He gestured toward the children.

  Caroline, Lady Tellson, paus
ed and looked at her brother holding so tightly to the woman he was presenting. As she searched his eyes for a moment, Elinor recognized the concern of a sister for a brother she loved. Then a smile lit Caroline’s face.

  “Of course. Though I did not know you as Lady Elinor, now did I? Welcome, my lady. And you, my lord,” she said to Peter, extending her hand to both of them and giving Elinor’s a small squeeze. “May I present some of my other guests?”

  With Lady Tellson’s greeting setting the tone from the outset, Elinor was welcomed and marveled over in a positive way throughout the evening. One or two who had known her previously made a point of seeking her out. Elinor began to breathe more easily.

  Adrian never left her side. Peter happened on some boys from his school, including the guest of honor, and the children were soon frolicking with cousins and friends, but Adrian stayed close to Elinor. When she occasionally had cause to remove her hand from his arm, it was he who always returned it to where it “belonged.”

  Her mind was in a whirl. He must know what this public partiality would be signaling to the other guests. Such behavior—on top of the gossip disseminated this day—could prove very harmful to a marquis, heir to a dukedom, a man who hoped to achieve great things for his country. She should separate herself from him, let others see that there was no substance to the gossip. But she could not bring herself to do so. This was perhaps the last time she would be able to enjoy his company—and it would have to last a lifetime. In a few days, she would be gone.

  During the fireworks display, Adrian steered her into a chair next to his, with Geoffrey and Peter on the other side of him and Bess and Anne flanking Elinor. Soon Geoffrey was standing between his father’s legs oohing and aahing at the flashes in the sky. It was not long before Bess squirmed her little body onto Elinor’s lap.

  “Bess!” Anne hissed. “You’ll wrinkle her dress!”

  “Never mind, Anne,” Elinor said. “Why don’t you move over here?” She extended her arm to invite Anne to take Bess’s seat.

  When she did so, Elinor put one arm around Anne and hugged Bess with the other. She felt such a rush of affection for these two little girls that she felt tears welling. At a sound from Geoffrey, she looked at him, then at his father. Adrian gave her a smile and squeezed her shoulder gently. He seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.

  Adrian tried, without success, to maneuver Elinor into sitting beside him on the journey home. The children seemed to sense some change in these favorite adults—and as children will, they found change disquieting, fearful. They held onto what they knew. Thus it was that the Marquis of Trenville was forced to accept Elinor’s sitting on one side, clutching two sleepy little girls to her, with himself on the other with his son and Peter.

  When they arrived at Trenville’s town house, Peter offered to carry Bess up to the nursery as Adrian carried a sleeping Geoffrey.

  “No! Miss Palmer,” Bess cried and wound her arms tightly around Elinor’s neck.

  “It’s all right, Peter. Come along, Anne, dear.” Elinor and Adrian shuffled the exhausted children off to the nursery, bidding Peter good night along the way.

  When the children had been deposited in their rooms, Adrian found himself in the hallway with Elinor—alone with her at last.

  “Will you join me in the library for a glass of wine, my lady?” he asked rather formally.

  “I should like that very much. Will you give me a moment? I need to shed this cloak.” She turned toward her room, then turned back to him. “Oh, and, Adrian, ‘Elinor’ is still just fine with me.”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile, but he thought there was a touch of sadness in it. He wanted to pull her into his arms here and now, but forced himself to walk calmly down to the library.

  When she entered a few minutes later, he drew in a sharp breath. She had to be the most desirable woman he had ever beheld. Suddenly he felt all tongue-tied. He knew very well what he wanted to say to her, but how to get the words out?

  He latched onto something inane. “I notice you have given up your spectacles.” He steered her toward a settee.

  “Yes.” She looked embarrassed. “I—they were a part of my disguise. I thought they would make me look more like a governess.”

  He chuckled. “A mask to hide behind?”

  “Precisely. Did it work?”

  He did not answer immediately. He busied himself pouring the wine and handing her a glass before taking his own and joining her on the settee. He raised his glass in a silent salute which she answered, looking over the rim of her glass into his eyes.

  “Did it work?” he repeated foolishly. “For others, perhaps, but I have never found it easy to think of you as merely a governess.” He set his glass on a table and took hers to set it down also so he could possess her hands. He bent to kiss her fingertips.

  “Adrian—I—perhaps this was not a good idea.”

  He moved closer, slipping his arm around her. He brushed his lips against her neck and felt her tremble in response. The fresh, woodsy smell of her hair and skin was intoxicating.

  “Au contraire, my love. It is an excellent idea. Besides, I have your brother’s permission.”

  She pulled away from him with a startled look in her eyes. “You what?”

  “Last night I asked for and received Peter’s permission to pay my addresses to you.”

  “Oh, Adrian. Surely you know it is impossible.” She reached her hand to caress his cheek, sending desire surging through him. He caught her hand and placed a lingering kiss on her palm.

  “No. I know no such thing.”

  “But the scandal. Even now the ton must be feasting on my having served as governess here.”

  “And tomorrow when Lady So-and-So runs off with her footman, they will savor another dish. It does not signify.”

  “But it does. Your position with the Foreign Office ...”

  “Is secure. They need me,” he said smugly. Then he added, his voice suddenly husky, “And I need you. I love you. I want to marry you. Please say yes.”

  “Adrian, I love you, too, but it will not work. Had we met under different circumstances ...”

  He could not endure the pain in her eyes. Clutching her head gently between his hands, he pressed his lips to hers in a searing, searching, probing kiss that sought to quell all her doubts. Caught up in the intensity of her response, it was some moments before he drew back only far enough to whisper, “You see? Everything else is irrelevant to this.”

  He would have pulled her closer for another kiss, but she put her fingers against his lips. “What about your family? Your mother will hate the circumstances of our relationship. I cannot believe your father would favor such a match.”

  Adrian laughed softly. “You are reaching for obstacles where none need exist, my love. Once they understand how much I love you, they will welcome you with open arms. Their own marriage was a love match, you know.”

  “Oh.”

  “Aunt Henny liked you. Uncle Philip thought you charming. Caroline was friendly enough tonight, was she not?”

  “Yes, but ...”

  “And the most important people in my family absolutely adore you—as do I.” He punctuated his words with a bombardment of kisses to her eyes, cheeks, nose, and lips. “Geoffrey and Bess need you as their mother, not their governess. And Anne needs you as well.”

  “I hate the idea of leaving them—and you,” she said softly.

  “Then don’t.” He sensed her yielding. “Besides, you cannot return to the Continent as Peter said you planned. There is going to be war there again. And I had your Lady Mary Kincannon MacGregor investigated. She has been dead these five years and more.”

  “Are you telling me I have no choice but to marry you?”

  “Do you? Do you want a choice?” he asked with a kiss that demonstrated most thoroughly that his children’s needs aside, the Marquis of Trenville had his own needs that only she could fulfill.

  “No, not at all.”

  And s
he gave herself up to an equally thorough response.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Wilma Counts lives in Nevada. She is currently working on her third Zebra Regency romance, which will be published in November 2000. Wilma loves hearing from readers and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you wish a response.

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  Copyright © 2000 by J. Wilma Counts

  ISBN: 978-0-8217-6483-1

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