An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2

by Amy Rose Bennett

  Nicholas wasn’t so sure the girl was telling the truth about that, but it hardly mattered. What mattered was Abigail had quit Hartfield—had left him. And he had no idea why.

  Something had happened. But what?

  Had he done something to hurt her? He’d been busy but Abigail had known why he’d avoided seeing her. This didn’t make any sense. Unless she’d changed her mind about becoming a courtesan. He’d sensed she’d struggled with the idea from the very beginning.

  He directed his attention to Bessie again. “It seems Miss Adams has resigned. Did she say anything to you about this yesterday or even before that? Or to anyone else?”

  Bessie wrung her hands in her apron. “No, sir. I’m quite shocked. I had no idea. And I don’t believe she was particularly close to anyone else on staff here; anyone that she would share confidences with at any rate. Especially not Mrs. Gra—” She clamped her lips shut and blushed.

  “It’s all right, Bessie. I know there was no love lost between Miss Adams and Mrs. Graham.” He glanced about the room. The wardrobe door was wide open and he could see several gowns and the apricot silk peignoir—the garments he had bought to make her smile—still hanging inside. Another sharp pain assailed him, this time in the vicinity of his chest. “It seems she’s left behind some of her things.”

  “Yes, sir. Although it looks like her valise is missing.” Bessie lifted her chin. “I helped move Miss Adams’s possessions when she relocated bedrooms recently.”

  “Yes.” Nicholas wandered over to the window and looked out across the grounds. It was another fine day. He should feel jubilant because his house guests were departing at long last. But instead, it felt like his chest was caught in a vice. He couldn’t breathe. His heart felt like lead. It seemed that with Abigail’s departure, she’d taken all the air with her. And all the joy.

  He turned back to Bessie. “Do you have any idea when she might have left? Or where she may have gone?” He’d been so preoccupied yesterday and last night with his hosting duties, he couldn’t even recall the last time he’d seen Abigail. Perhaps the day before. He gestured at the trunk. “She has asked me to send on her things but hasn’t left a forwarding address.”

  Bessie shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but no. I know she has two aunts but I have no idea where they live or if she has even gone to stay with them. And to answer your first question, I suspect Miss Adams left yesterday evening.” She nodded at the bed. “I don’t think she slept here last night.”

  So where on earth had she gone? She must have taken someone else into her confidence, but who? As soon as Nash and company departed, he’d question all of the servants. Leave no stone unturned. Ask around the village. Perhaps Abigail had taken the mail-coach. He had a vague notion that it passed through Hedgecombe early in the morning.

  He gripped Abigail’s resignation letter so tightly, the parchment crumpled. He had to find her.

  Bessie cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. Mrs. Graham is expecting me downstairs. With everyone leaving shortly...”

  “Yes. Quite.” Nicholas inclined his head. “Thank you, Bessie, for your discretion. If you think of anything else that might help. Anything at all...”

  Bessie curtsied. “I’ll be sure to let you know, sir.”

  Nicholas glanced around the room once more, his gaze lingering on the tester bed. The rose pink quilt was smooth, the sheets beneath pulled tight. The pillows lay perfectly plumped against the carved cherrywood headboard. To think that only five days ago, he’d lain here with Abigail in his arms, happy and replete. Only now, five days ago seemed like a lifetime. And the days and years that yawned ahead would be filled with nothing but emptiness if he never saw her again.

  He scanned the letter once more and the words before him blurred. His chest tightened. Abigail was gone. And it was only now that he realized he loved her.

  * * *

  Several hours later, Nicholas breathed a huge sigh of relief as the last of his house guests’ carriages crunched along the gravel drive and out of the wrought-iron gates of Hartfield.

  He’d already discretely questioned Lawson and Mrs. Graham but neither of them appeared to have a clue about Abigail’s whereabouts or why she’d left so suddenly. Apparently, she’d dined with the other servants yesterday evening but no one had seen her after half-past eight. So she’d clearly left during the night or early this morning.

  But he would not be deterred. He had resources. He would find her. And whatever it was that had sent her running, he would fix it.

  He couldn’t live without her.

  He’d just climbed the front stairs to enter the Great Hall when he heard the crunch of wheels on the drive again. What now? Stifling a curse, he swung around and saw the last person he’d ever expected to visit, bowling up the drive in a gig—Mr. Elias Wentworth, the vicar of Hedgecombe.

  He narrowed his gaze as the vicar drew to a halt and tossed the reins to Colin before alighting from the vehicle. It had been well over a year since Nicholas had last seen the man and he’d hardly changed at all. He was still florid of face although when he removed his beaver hat and bowed, Nicholas thought the smattering of blond hair covering his round pate was even thinner. He might be a well-meaning sort of chap but like most of his ilk, he was entirely boring. If the man was going to invite him to lunch next Sunday or ask him to make a contribution to one of the local charities he already supported, he’d be hard pressed not to snap at him. He didn’t have time for this.

  “I take it you’d like a word with me, Mr. Wentworth?”

  “Yes, Sir Nicholas. If you could spare a moment.”

  Nicholas clasped his hands behind his back and remained on the steps. He wasn’t going to invite the man in because then he’d have to go through the rigmarole of offering him refreshments. “I might have one, perhaps two, but that’s all.”

  Mr. Wentworth’s face grew even redder. “Well, first of all, I should say welcome back to the parish, sir.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Pardon my bluntness but I have a pressing matter to attend to, Wentworth. If you could just get to the point.” He cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

  “Right.” The vicar drew in a deep breath. “I’m here to collect Miss Adams’s traveling trunk.”

  “You! What?” Of all the things Elias Wentworth might have said, Nicholas hadn’t expected that. But then, perhaps it shouldn’t surprise him at all that another man—even a priggish pastor—would feel duty bound to help Miss Adams. He supposed he’d solved the mystery of who was assisting her. And Wentworth clearly knew where she was headed.

  Nicholas schooled his expression into something that he hoped approximated politeness. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Mr. Wentworth. If you could just tell me her direction, I will make sure the trunk is delivered safely. Is she staying at the vicarage?”

  The vicar drew himself up to his full height and raised his chin. “I’m afraid I cannot divulge the information you seek, sir. Miss Adams entrusted me with a task and I made a promise to her that I would fulfill it. And it’s no trouble at all.”

  Frustration flared. It rankled enough that Abigail had gone to someone else for help in the first place. And now this pompous ass saw fit to withhold information from him. It was enough to make him want to knock the man’s daylights out. He descended the stairs and grasped the vicar’s arm. “Now listen here, Wentworth. Stop obfuscating. Miss Adams’s well-being is very important to me.”

  Wentworth shook him off and looked him in the eye. His blue gaze was frigid. “You have a strange way of showing it considering you broke her heart.”

  Nicholas swallowed. “She said that?” he whispered.

  Wentworth straightened his coat. “Not in so many words but yes, I believe that’s precisely what you did to her. She deserves better.”

  Confusion clouded Nicholas’s mind. What in God’s name had happened? Oh, Christ, what if she’d been at the lake yesterday and had seen his exchange with Horatia. It would be easy to misconstrue.
Could that be the reason she’d left? Did she think he was courting another woman? He had to know. “Did she say anything else at all?” He knew he sounded desperate but he was beyond caring. “I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  Wentworth didn’t respond and Nicholas realized he wouldn’t get any further information out of the vicar. Misery and pent-up anger clogging his throat, he all but growled, “You won’t help me, will you?”

  “I’m afraid not. But I will say she’s no longer staying at the vicarage. I won’t have you pounding on the door, frightening my housekeeper.”

  Nicholas gestured toward the front door, which still stood ajar. “Go and talk to Lawson. He’ll arrange for the trunk to be brought down.”

  Wentworth inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  Nicholas supposed he could have the vicar followed as he watched him drive away with Abigail’s trunk five minutes later. Or bribe his housekeeper for information. He could also give chase to the mail-coach to see if Abigail was on it. However, as it was now well after ten o’clock, it would have had a three hour head start on him at the very least.

  But then there was one person he hadn’t questioned yet.

  Regina.

  He wasn’t sure if it was God or the Devil himself at work but at that very moment, another pair of carriages appeared at the gates, both bearing the Barsby crest.

  He never thought he’d be grateful to see his sister-in-law, but right now, he most certainly was.

  “Nicholas. What a pleasant surprise,” she crowed as Colin handed her down from the carriage. “This isn’t like you to come and greet me.”

  Touché. Nicholas summoned his most charming smile. “Regina. Welcome home.”

  She flounced past him up the stairs. “What do you want?”

  He grimaced. Damn the woman. She knew him too well. “If you have the time, I’d appreciate a quick word.”

  She paused at the doorway and sighed dramatically. “Give me a half hour then meet me in the morning room.”

  “Of course.”

  His nieces, Lavinia and Kitty, alighted from the second carriage with their nurse. After he’d dealt with their enthusiastic greeting, which involved much hugging and squealing, he bid them adieu then went for a brisk walk about the grounds, down to the temple folly. He stood on the marble steps and glanced over to the horse chestnut tree where the picnic had taken place.

  Had Abigail wandered this way yesterday? He knew the folly was a favorite haunt of hers for reading. What if she’d witnessed the moment Horatia had thrown herself at him? At this distance, it might have looked like they’d kissed. His back had been to the temple and the low hanging branches obscured one’s view. The more he thought about the possibility, the more certain he was that Abigail had indeed been watching. It was the only thing that made any sense.

  Elias Wentworth had said he’d broken her heart. Which could only mean one thing. Abigail loved him. Despite the harrowing morning, despite the obstacles he faced, Nicholas found himself grinning from ear to ear. If he could find her, he could explain everything. Make amends.

  He would tell her that he loved her and that he never wanted to let her go.

  His heart swelling with renewed hope, he dashed back to the Hall to wait for Regina in the morning room. He’d just about worn a path across the Aubusson rug by the time she joined him fifteen minutes later. Indeed, he thought his head might explode with frustration. The waiting was killing him.

  “I just heard from Mrs. Graham that Miss Adams has abandoned her post,” she said, without preamble when she entered the room. “I gather you are to blame?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he conceded after a moment spent trying to quell his impatience. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. My fault entirely of course.”

  Regina took a shepherdess chair by her cherrywood escritoire before pinning him with a cool stare. “I don’t doubt that for a minute. Mrs. Graham wrote to me, you know. I know all about your little affaire with the governess.”

  Nicholas felt a muscle tic in his jaw. He might’ve known the bloody housekeeper would tattle. Nevertheless, there was no point in denying what had happened. There was too much at stake. “I love her, Regina,” he said simply, “and I have to find her. Do you know where she might have gone?”

  Regina drummed her fingers upon the tooled leather blotter of her desk, studying him. “Heavens above,” she said at length. “I’m inclined to believe you. I’ve never seen you like this. You seem positively desperate.”

  “Regina,” he warned. “Don’t try my patience.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said with a huff. She withdrew a set of keys from a concealed pocket in her traveling gown and unlocked one the drawers in her desk. As she rifled through some papers she added, “You know the only reason I’m helping you is because I have some news of my own.”

  She pulled out a particular sheet of paper, scanned it then looked up at him. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

  Nicholas suppressed a sigh and attempted a smile. He supposed he could feign a modicum of interest if it meant he’d get what he wanted. “Of course. What is your news?”

  “I am engaged,” she said with a triumphant grin. “Lord Cicester—I don’t know if you recall him but he is a widower and an old family friend of my sister’s husband—well, he was holidaying at Brighton too. We became acquainted last Season and before I knew it, he’d literally swept me off my feet. We are to be wed at his Gloucestershire estate in a month’s time. I’ve only returned home so that I might pack. At long last you can have Hartfield all to yourself.”

  If Nicholas hadn’t been so agitated, he might have whooped with joy. Instead, he inclined his head and offered his congratulations with what he hoped was an appropriate amount of enthusiasm before asking, “Now, do you know where I might find Miss Adams?”

  Regina extended the piece of paper toward him. “Here is her application letter. I believe the address that is recorded belongs to her aunts. It’s somewhere near Bath.”

  Nicholas nearly snatched the parchment from her. It was an address in Wiltshire. The village of Farleigh Wick. He’d never heard of it but he would find it.

  “Thank you, Regina,” he said with heartfelt gratitude. “Your help means more than I can say.”

  Regina waved a hand. “Oh, think nothing of it, Nicholas. I knew there was something going on between you two as soon as you appeared on the stairs with Miss Adams in your arms. I imagine you are now going to hunt her down and propose to her?”

  Nicholas grinned. “Something like that. If she’ll have me.”

  “An all but penniless governess would be a fool not to accept a proposal from a baronet,” remarked Regina with a sniff. “And I don’t think that girl is a fool.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  As Nicholas took his leave, Regina called out after him, “Oh, by the way, do you mind if I take Mrs. Graham with me too? I rather think I’ll need an assistant of some sort.”

  “By all means.” The woman was a harridan and had been disloyal to him. He was more than happy to see the back of her. “You’re welcome to her. Take Keziah as well if you like.” From what he’d seen and heard, she was a troublesome piece of baggage too.

  “Good luck.”

  Nicholas paused on the threshold and cast Regina a rueful smile. “Thank you.” Luck wasn’t all he would need. He imagined a good deal of groveling would also be required if he was to win back Abigail’s trust.

  And her heart.

  Chapter 14

  Thistleton Grange, Farleigh Wick, Wiltshire

  Three days later...

  Abigail sat on a stone bench in the garden of Thistleton Grange, a cup of cold tea on the wrought iron table beside her, watching Aunt Euphemia’s ginger-haired cat, Marmalade, chasing a grasshopper about the flower beds. It was a lovely evening, warm and golden like a sun-kissed peach. An evening that reminded her there was still beauty and joy in the world, even though her heart was in tatters and everything she
ate or drank tasted of sawdust and ashes. It gave her hope that she would heal. That things would get better.

  In a year from now, Sir Nicholas Barsby would be but a distant memory. She wouldn’t recall the deep rasp of his voice, the precise cobalt blue shade of his eyes. The way his mouth tipped when he smiled or how he tasted when he kissed her. The feel of his black silky hair as her fingers slid through it. His masculine scent. How it felt to have him deep inside her...

  No, she wouldn’t miss him at all.

  And she certainly wouldn’t dwell on her last memory of him when he was in the arms of another woman.

  That’s what Abigail kept trying to tell herself at any rate. Her only consolation was that unlike the time when things had ended with Harry Blake, she didn’t have to worry about the possibility of being with child. Sir Nicholas had always been very careful in that regard and for that, she’d be eternally grateful.

  Her aunts had been completely surprised by her sudden arrival on their doorstep earlier in the day. But they had welcomed her with open arms and Abigail had been quite overwhelmed by their warm greeting. She couldn’t recall them being quite so demonstrative during her childhood. When they invited her to stay as long as she liked, Abigail even began to wonder if they might have actually missed her over the years. That with time and distance their natures had changed; it was as if their hard edges had been worn away revealing softer, kinder-hearted women.

  Regardless of the reason, it was comforting to know she could take a little time to mend before she began to seek another situation.

  Marmalade had given up trying to chase insects and was currently brushing herself against the carved leg of the stone bench. Abigail supposed she should return to the house. Talk a little more with her aunts before she retired to her old room for the night. After two and a half days of travel on overcrowded mail-coaches, and barely any sleep, she was utterly exhausted. She was suddenly envious of Marmalade who had just settled down for a nap on a sun-warmed edge of the bench.