The Tempting of the Governess

by Julia Justiss

  He looked down at her, seeing in her face no condemnation for his failure and his weakness, only sympathy and a deep understanding.

  Suddenly, he thought he knew why.

  ‘Your brother was the only son?’

  Eyes widening in surprise at his abrupt question, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So your father’s estate was inherited by someone else.’

  ‘A distant cousin. Who, after my mother’s death, also became owner of the house in which we were living.’

  ‘And you preferred hiring yourself out to living on his charity.’

  Looking away from his penetrating gaze, she whispered, ‘Yes.’

  He’d lost his family, but he still had his ancestral home and the land on which he’d been born. She’d lost her family—and everything.

  For several more long moments he sat with her in silence, fingers entwined, sharply conscious of the heavy losses they both had endured. Though Hugh still felt the siren call of her nearness, the aching desire was tempered by a...tenderness, a sense of closeness and kinship he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel even as it sifted into him, cooling the raging fires of grief like a gentle snowfall.

  Finally, as the girls came skipping back, their arms full of the wildflowers they’d plucked, she pulled her hand free and stood. ‘What lovely flowers! Come add them to the basket and let’s go in. We must put them all in water before they wilt.’

  Turning back, so that he only now saw the tears glittering at the corners of her eyes, she made him a curtsy. ‘Good day, Colonel.’

  He watched her walk away, the anguish of which he’d just caught a glimpse once again submerged beneath her façade of quiet calm.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two afternoons later, after settling the girls in for a nap, Olivia walked down to a small salon across the corridor from the breakfast room, where two large trunks awaited her.

  With the assistance of the groom the Colonel had detailed to accompany her, she’d discovered them in the attic yesterday, just in the spot Mrs Wallace had described. While the groom held a lantern, she’d lifted out the dresses and carefully removed them from their tissue-paper wrappings. The material was so lovely and in such good condition that, reluctant as she was to use anything recommended by the housekeeper, it seemed a shame to let them go to waste, mouldering in the attic. So, with the Colonel having already given her permission to pick them apart if she wished, she’d asked the groom to bring the trunks down for her.

  Mrs Travers, once again installed in the Abbey in her housekeeper role, had recommended that they be brought to this small salon, rather than to the schoolroom, as it would allow her to work while the girls napped. The room also contained a large, west-facing window, which would offer the brightest afternoon light for doing fine work. It was her late mistress’s favourite room for sewing and needlework, Mrs Travers told her, and had been closed up since the woman’s death. But she’d been delighted to open it back up and air it out, assuring Olivia that she’d send the tweeny up to keep watch over the sleeping girls while Olivia worked.

  After extracting several gowns from the first trunk and spreading them out on the sofa—she hoped to be able to take apart at least two of them at this first session—she moved a chair and a side table close to the window. Setting her sewing box and scissors on the table, she sat down and began to carefully snip apart the seams of the first gown, a light woollen in a lovely sky-blue that would highlight the colour of the girls’ eyes.

  She smiled, picturing the girls walking out in the new gowns, matching blue ribbons in their hair and buttoned up in their dark navy spencers. They would be toasty warm and look charming.

  She was snipping the last seam on the bodice when, to her surprise, there came a knock from the doorway. She turned to see the Colonel standing on the threshold. ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I? Mrs Travers said you were working in here.’

  An eager warmth rose in her as a smile sprang to her lips. ‘Not at all. Please, come in. What did you want to see me about?’

  His smile was warm, too, as if he were as happy to catch her for a private chat as she was to see him. ‘That tour of the estate we had to postpone. The weather is supposed to...’

  Halfway into the room, he halted abruptly and went silent, his smile fading. Olivia watched him, puzzled—until she realised that his gaze was fixed on the gowns arrayed like brightly coloured butterflies on the sofa. Dismay and anger swept through her as his expression went from surprise to pained recognition.

  Stifling a most unladylike curse, she jumped up, snatched the gowns, stuffed them back in the trunk and slammed the lid. Turning to face him, once again as vexed at herself as she was angry, she said, ‘Those weren’t your mother’s gowns, were they?’

  Still standing stiffly, his lips pressed together in a thin line, the Colonel shook his head.

  ‘Damn Mrs Wallace!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘Still mischief-making! I’m sure she knew exactly to whom those gowns had belonged. How foolish of me to believe she would actually give me helpful information.’

  Taking a deep breath, the Colonel gave his head a shake, as if trying to slough off an injury. ‘Gone, but not yet forgotten,’ he said drily. ‘The best way not to give her that victory is to close the lid—figuratively as well as literally—and forget about her nasty trick. Shall we?’

  ‘I will if you can,’ she said. ‘I hope it goes without saying that I would never have—’

  He held up a hand, cutting her off. ‘No need for apology. I know you would never deliberately try to injure. But my dear Miss Overton,’ he continued, his tone turning determinedly light, ‘I was shocked—shocked!—to hear you use such unladylike language! I certainly hope you don’t talk that way within my wards’ hearing.’

  He was making such a game effort to put the unpleasantness behind him, she could only play along. Abandoning the rest of the apology she had intended to make, she said instead, ‘No, indeed, sir. Why do you think I introduced them to the “screaming game” as a means of venting frustration?’

  ‘Not an alternative that would be any more acceptable in polite company. But a tolerable alternative as long as one plays it outdoors and far from anyone’s hearing.’

  ‘Which I make sure I do.’ Dropping her scissors back in the sewing box, she said with a sigh, ‘Perhaps I ought to find an isolated meadow now, before the girls wake up. I was so hopeful of having their new clothes ready for them within the week! At least I discovered the...unsuitability of the trunk material before I had spent hours constructing gowns from it! But now I shall have to wait until after I can get to Bristol and purchase material to even get started.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘And pick your pocket into the bargain, for the funds to procure the yardage. Once the weather clears and the roads dry out, may I take the girls there—with your permission, this time?’

  Frowning, he shook his head. ‘You know I don’t like you travelling that far without an escort.’

  ‘On a fine summer day, with it remaining light so late into evening, I’m sure we would be fine.’

  The idea came to her suddenly, and though she hesitated to ask, knowing he’d just been upset again by walking in to discover his late wife’s gowns draped all over the salon, it was too precious an opportunity not to take the chance.

  ‘Unless...if we were to wait until the north meadow project was complete, would you consider driving us there? I know the girls would love having you along.’

  And it would give him a whole day with them, on a light-hearted outing with many new sights and interesting objects to engage the children and show them in their best, most curious, most innocent light.

  He stood for a moment, turmoil obvious in his eyes. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t consider an entire day with his wards too much to endure.

  ‘Though the north meadow work won’t be completed for some time,’ he said at last, ‘I came her
e intending to propose taking all of you, not just on the promised tour of the estate, but also on a picnic afterward, high up in the hills, where one can see the whole of the valley. I wanted to show them where the boundaries of the estate run, with the Abbey set like a jewel in the centre. But if you prefer, I suppose I could escort you to Bristol instead.’

  The breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding whooshed out. What a victory that would be for the girls! She would do everything she could to make the excursion a happy one for both guardian and wards. As the afternoon at Mrs Travers’s cottage had been.

  She ignored the guilty knowledge that having the Colonel escort them to Bristol would be as much a treat for her as it would for the children.

  ‘A tour and picnic would be wonderful, sir, but right now, they really do need more gowns as soon as I can get them sewn.’

  He nodded. ‘Bristol it is, then. Perhaps you can find them a few ready-made gowns while we’re in the city, to serve until you have time to complete new ones.’

  ‘That would certainly be helpful—but are you sure? The extra expense?’

  He gave her a severe look. ‘I am not Mrs Wallace, haggling over the price of gowns and spencers so I may line my pockets. I do not propose to have my wards going about their walks shivering, or wearing their few frocks into rags.’

  ‘Thank you so much, sir! I know it is a sacrifice for you to take a whole day off from your work on the estate. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.’

  He looked down at her, smiling faintly. ‘Spending a whole day in your company, Miss Overton? I assure you, I will not regret it.’

  Then, giving her a short bow, he walked out. While she forbade herself to speculate on exactly what that statement could have meant.

  * * *

  A guilty indulgence is what this trip really is, Hugh thought as, a little more than a week later, he drove the farm wagon back from Bristol.

  Two happy children, their bellies full of lunch and treats, had just fallen asleep on the benches behind him, while the open area between the benches was stacked with paper-wrapped lengths of cloth, bags of the requisite trimmings, net and straw for constructing bonnets—and the large, covered cage of a colourful parrot.

  The instigator of that last purchase sat companionably beside him on the driver’s bench, humming, a little smile on her face as she gazed at the road ahead.

  Amusement, tenderness and a stronger, deeper feeling he didn’t wish to put a name to stirred in his chest as he glanced at her. Ah, what a wonder was the Managing Miss Overton!

  Initially, aside from the lure of her company, he’d been dreading this trip. But over the last week, she had slowly, quietly prepared him for spending an extended time with his wards, bringing them to the library each evening with a picture they had drawn to show him, or some rock or bird or flower they’d seen in the gardens to ask him about, or having Elizabeth repeat for him some story or fable about their island home that Robert had taught her.

  Like a painting taking shape, going from pencil sketch to the basic outline in oil, to the full application of shading and hue, his wards had slowly metamorphosed from sharp reminders of Drew’s loss, to hazy reflections of Robert, to engaging small beings in their own right. Even as the grieving father in him tried to hold himself aloof, unwilling to risk incurring the agony of loss again, his heart whispered it had room for more and love was always worth the risk.

  He’d also allowed himself to ease slightly the prohibition he’d placed on encountering Miss Overton without the children in tow. When he’d asked if she would be agreeable to playing piano for her charges each evening before she took them up to bed, she’d requested in return permission to resume playing after they were asleep, as long as it wouldn’t disturb him.

  He’d immediately agreed—knowing guiltily as he did so that he would arrange to linger nearby and listen. Knowing that lingering there, watching her, entranced by the music her clever fingers created, would ‘disturb’ him profoundly, though not in the way she’d meant.

  He did retain enough self-control to refrain from taking a seat in the salon as she played. It would be only a few steps more to join her on the bench. Only a few inches more to lean down and touch his lips to the smooth curve of her bared neck as she bent over the instrument. Only a small lift of his hand to grasp her chin, angle her head up and take the lips whose tempting sweetness still haunted his dreams.

  ‘Daydreaming, sir? I should recommend you keep your attention on the road.’

  Her amused voice broke into his erotic imaginings, jolting him back to the present—but doing nothing to quell the sharp desire still filling him. In the silent, drowsy sunlight, he was suddenly all too aware of the physical essence of her he’d been ignoring all day, assisted in that effort by the presence of one chattering and two giggling little girls.

  Her subtle scent of roses. The warmth radiating from her body. The plump fullness of the lips in the smiling face she raised towards his, golden highlights sparkling in the depths of her brown eyes.

  At this moment, the sleeping girls behind him were of no help whatsoever.

  Uncomfortably aware of his arousal, fighting the sensual need pulsing in his blood, he needed to find some other way to distract himself.

  Conversation, he thought disjointedly. If he kept her talking, maybe he could withstand the urge to kiss her.

  So he said, ‘After I’ve magnanimously devoted a whole day to fulfilling your wishes—including, God help me, the purchase of a parrot—it’s most unkind of you to question my driving skill. Inaccurate as well, for I have these two sturdy plodders well in hand.’

  She chuckled. ‘Not a high-stepping matched pair, are they? I expect your fellow soldiers in the regiment would gasp in horror at seeing you driving a farm dray.’

  ‘They’d approve of nothing less than a flashy curricle, for sure.’

  ‘Don’t mistake me—I am very grateful you have devoted a whole day to us. The girls will be talking about this excursion for weeks—that is, Elizabeth will. I suppose Sophie will finally talk to us when she’s ready. But though she might not have offered any words, the expression on her face could be read plainly enough. I’m not sure which delighted her more: drinking chocolate at Fry’s, or gobbling those sweets at the inn where we had our bread and cheese.’

  ‘She certainly packed away a quantity of them,’ Hugh observed.

  ‘Probably the molasses and sugar reminded her of the islands. Whereas Elizabeth was most delighted to be able to choose a new gown and have a hand in selecting the material and trims for others. But nothing, sir, absolutely nothing, will top in their minds the delight of the parrot. Having a living, breathing reminder of their homeland will be such a comfort to them!’

  ‘So you assured me when you talked me into purchasing it. A living, breathing, talking reminder.’ He chuckled. ‘I shudder to imagine what John Coachman will say when I inform him the creature is going to be kept in the stables.’

  ‘Only temporarily, sir, until we can set up a proper space, perhaps in a corner of the schoolroom. The merchant said such birds are very intelligent. We want him to help coax Sophie into talking by repeating what Elizabeth says, not to learn to speak horse.’

  ‘Very well, but if he’s too much disturbance in the schoolroom, he’ll have to remain in the stables.’

  ‘He might be just as much disturbance there. I’m not sure how English horses will deal with a tropical parrot. If necessary, I’ll bring him into my room.’

  ‘And what will you tutor him in? Parliamentary speeches?’ At her puzzled look, he said, ‘I’ve noticed that my London newspapers are sometimes left turned to the pages describing the current happenings in Parliament.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘I’m so sorry! Sometimes I get called away by the girls and forget... But I should have asked permission—’

  ‘No, no, you don’t need my permission
to read the London papers!’ Reading about the goings-on in Parliament—action she had once worked to shape—was little enough from her former life to cling to.

  Curious to know more about that life, but concerned to avoid triggering the distress he’d witnessed the other time they’d spoken of politics, he said carefully, ‘Are the bills in which you were interested moving forward? As I confessed to you before, having spent my adulthood in India and then coming back to find Somers Abbey in such disarray, I’ve not taken the time to find out much about what’s been happening in England. Significant changes, I think you mentioned? As a responsible landowner, I should know more about them.’

  Though her eyes lit, she said guardedly, ‘Well, if you are truly interested...’

  ‘I am. Would you be kind enough to give me a short summary of the major events?’

  ‘Just a short one, then. And please do tell me to stop once you’ve heard enough. I’m afraid I have a tendency to prose on at length.’

  And so she launched into a discussion of the major legislation the reform politicians had pushed through over the last few years. The bill ending slavery he’d known about, but almost nothing about the overhaul of election rules to eliminate rotten boroughs, or the regulation of working hours and conditions for children employed in factories.

  She talked about her work with the Ladies’ Committee run by Lady Lyndlington, a friend whose husband was apparently a leading member of the reform group in Parliament. When he teased about her family perhaps preferring her to spend more time finding a husband than writing exhorting letters, she laughed and replied that, in fact, she and two good friends had managed to obtain their respective families’ agreement to let them abandon conventional society, lease a house together and devote themselves to their Committee work.

  As he listened attentively, watching how her face glowed and the very tenor of her voice became imbued with passionate purpose, it was impossible not to realise how much playing her part in the reform movement had meant to her.