The Tempting of the Governess

by Julia Justiss

  He shook his head. ‘But the India that fascinated me...frightened her. Of course, while we were courting, I’d brought her gifts and flowers and made her pretty speeches. I didn’t realise for many months after our marriage that she still expected those tributes. By the time I did, there were plenty of other men eager to offer them. So I let them. And when it seemed that, rather than looking forward to my company, when I came home she had nothing to offer but complaints, I...started delaying my return. I hoped having Drew would bring us back together, but it only seemed to make her more anxious. She wanted to take him and return to England. God forgive me, I wouldn’t hear of it. If I had...’

  Her heart weeping for his pain, Olivia said, ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen. And what if they had taken passage back to England? With storms and shipwrecks and pirates, there’s no guarantee they would have returned safely.’

  He swallowed hard, obviously forcing himself to continue. ‘As I told you before, when we...we lost Drew, she blamed me, as I blamed myself. Wrapped up in my own grief, I didn’t realise how truly desperate she’d become, until it was too late. She was my wife, my responsibility to care for and protect. I failed her completely.’

  ‘My dear Hugh,’ she said softly, squeezing his hand, ‘I can’t speak for your wife, but it’s past time for you to stop thinking of women as delicate, brainless little beings who must be protected, incapable of making decisions or taking action on their own. We have hearts and minds and the will and courage to act for ourselves, and, yes, to bear the responsibility for our choices and actions. Or, in a loving partnership, to share them. I think you take too much on yourself, to assume you should have been able to decipher the mind and heart of someone else, even someone you loved. The reaching out must come from both sides.’

  He gave her the shadow of a smile. ‘Trying to aid and succour, as always.’

  ‘So,’ she said slowly, ‘it isn’t that you don’t trust me to be faithful?’

  Obviously surprised by the question, he said, ‘Not at all! Of course I trust you—as much as one can trust anyone, knowing that hearts and minds may change. It was always my abilities as a husband that I questioned. But in spite of that, now that you know everything, I still feel compelled to ask if you’ll...take a chance on me. I had to let you know how much I love you. How much I desire you. How much I need you in my life. And how ardently I will do all in my power to make you happy.’

  Shaking her head to make sure she’d heard him correctly, unable to check the hope now soaring again in her heart, she said, ‘Hugh Glendenning, are you asking me to marry you—again?’

  He gave her a slight smile. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  ‘Without orders or recommendations or making the choice for me? You will let me decide? Knowing what happens afterward is as much my responsibility as it is yours?’

  His smile broadened, some of the anxiety leaving his eyes. ‘As I recall, you are a managing woman, rather difficult to guide.’

  ‘So I am. Nor am I one to sit about, expecting to be pampered and waited on. Or to demand flowers and speeches and costly gifts and grand gestures. If I am unhappy about something, I will definitely let you know it.’

  ‘You’ll rake me over coals?’

  ‘Most certainly.’

  ‘Then are you saying—you will marry me?’

  Almost giddy with elation at having what she’d lost all hope for come true after all, she said, ‘I suppose I’ll consider it—if you ask me properly.’

  In an instant, he went down on one knee and seized her hands. ‘Olivia Overton, my saviour and my angel, will you accept the hand of this rough old soldier? And make him happier than he ever thought or deserved to be again in this life?’

  Joy making her feel illumined from within, she nodded. ‘I will.’

  With an exultant cry, he sprang up and seized her hands, yanked her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. Then he was kissing her, deep, desperate, passionate kisses that showed more than words the strength of his need and the depth of his love.

  She was melting in delight, ravenous for more, when suddenly he pulled away. ‘Enough,’ he said, gasping. ‘Not until after the ceremony.’

  ‘After?’ she squeaked in protest. ‘If you stop kissing me now, I... I’ll withdraw my acceptance!’

  ‘So I’m to ravish you right here in the garden? I’m afraid we’ll scandalise my great-aunt.’

  ‘Unladylike language, screaming in gardens, brazenly proposing to recalcitrant men? Haven’t you realised yet that I’m a scandalous woman?’

  Grinning, he pulled her close again. ‘I’m so glad,’ he murmured and took her mouth again.

  Approving of that action wholeheartedly, she threw her arms around him. Her lesson in passionate kissing was going quite well—until she dimly noticed what seemed to be a tug at her skirts.

  ‘Uncle Hugh, why are you kissing Miss Overton?’

  Chuckling, the joy on his face so radiant she felt her own heart leap, he tucked his arm in hers, pulled her to sit back beside him on the bench, then lifted Elizabeth, and Sophie who’d followed her, on to his lap.

  ‘Well, you see, Miss Overton just agreed to marry me. Gentlemen are allowed to kiss ladies after they agree to marry them. So she won’t be your governess any more.’

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘But I want her to be our governess! And I want all of us to go back to Somers Abbey and teach Pierre more words. Dogs are lovely, but I like my parrot.’

  ‘Oh, we will go back. And I’ll still be your Uncle Hugh. But Miss Overton will be your mama.’

  Sophie giggled. ‘Mama!’ she said, giving Olivia a hug.

  Elizabeth’s grin was huge. ‘Oh, yes! I like that even better.’

  * * *

  Two weeks later, nervous anticipation swirling in her stomach, Olivia stood beside Sara in the small salon off the grand receiving room of Lady Laversby’s imposing mansion in Grosvenor Square. ‘I’m sorry Emma and Lord Theo won’t be here to witness this, but Hugh didn’t want to wait another four months for the ceremony—and neither did I.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Sara said with a fond glance. ‘He’s such a tall, forceful, commanding man, I expect one just naturally wants to follow whatever he recommends.’

  Olivia chuckled. ‘Not exactly. He’s a bit too ready to take everything on his shoulders. I have to force him to share the load.’

  ‘Well, you are good at managing.’

  ‘You must all come visit at Somers Abbey when Emma and Theo get back from their grand tour.’

  Sara brightened. ‘Emma writes that Lord Theo is doing some wonderful portraits. You should commission him to do one of the girls. One of you, too. I’m sure your new husband would appreciate it.’

  Olivia smiled, peeking through the partly opened door to where Hugh stood in the next room with the Reverend, taking in the erect military figure, the strong jaw and broad shoulders. Just for her, he’d worn his regimentals.

  ‘I can’t wait to be “appreciated”. But I do wish I didn’t feel quite so much like I am...abandoning you. Silly, I know, when I would have had to leave you if I continued in service, but—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sara said, shaking her head at Olivia. ‘I couldn’t be happier for you—or for Emma. How differently everything has worked out from what we’d planned! Emma’s purpose now is helping Lord Theo pursue his art, while you’ll be working with the Colonel to restore his estate. Maybe I’ll take that post as companion to Lady Trent, as an alternative to our Judd Street plans. I’d be able to help us both remain fully involved in the Committee and the reform group legislation.’

  ‘And be freed from Aunt Patterson’s attempts to drag you into marriage,’ Olivia noted. ‘But only if the Marchioness is pleasant to be around and intelligent enough to appreciate what an excellent, superior lady you are.’

  After peeping through the door to slide a glance at
Hugh, Sara sighed. ‘It’s so romantic, though, isn’t it? Both you and Emma swept off your feet by handsome princes neither of you ever expected to find.’

  Olivia pressed her friend’s hand. ‘I feel sure there must be a prince out there for you, too. A true prince—not just the conventional boring aristocrat your Aunt Patterson wants you to marry.’

  Sara laughed. ‘If there is truly someone for me, he will certainly not be that. But, look, the girls have just come down. It’s time now.’

  With joy, anticipation, and more than a little awe at her marvellous good fortune, Olivia squeezed Sara’s hand, then walked with her into the reception room where Elizabeth and Sophie, garbed in the blue gowns she’d made them that Elizabeth had insisted they wear, had just been escorted by Lady Laversby to stand beside Hugh. Taking each girl by the hand, he leaned down and whispered something that made them giggle.

  Then he looked up and saw her, and she couldn’t look away. His gaze the magnet that drew her, she walked over to stand beside him. Knowing his love would be the lifeline to comfort and delight, exasperate and bedevil, pleasure and rescue her for a lifetime. As hers would be for him.

  With the coterie of friends and family surrounding them—Lady Lyndlington and her husband, Sara’s Aunt Patterson, Hugh’s great-aunt and the girls—they stood before the Reverend, reciting the ancient vows and pledging hand, heart and lives together.

  The short service ended, their well-wishers surrounded them with hugs and congratulations, and Lady Laversby invited the group to the wedding breakfast set out in the next room. The girls beside them, Hugh took her hand and led her in.

  ‘The ballroom in this house is where you will make your debuts when you grow up and are ready to be married,’ his great-aunt was telling the girls. ‘It’s large enough to host everyone who is anyone in London!’

  ‘I’m more looking forward to the large, private bedchamber we’ll be sharing tonight,’ Hugh murmured to her.

  ‘As am I,’ she whispered back. ‘As you’ll recall, my sensual education was rudely interrupted.’

  ‘No more interruptions,’ he said, his voice rough and his eyes gleaming with erotic intent. ‘Tonight and every night, here and at Somers Abbey, for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Only at night?’

  Hugh chuckled. ‘Ah, you are a scandalous woman, aren’t you?’

  The kiss he leaned down to give her was as sweet as it was rich with his promise for the future.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out the first book in The Cinderella Spinsters miniseries

  The Awakening of Miss Henley

  and look for the next one in the series, coming soon!

  And whilst you’re waiting for the next book,

  be sure to read the Sisters of Scandal miniseries

  by Julia Justiss

  A Most Unsuitable Match

  The Earl’s Inconvenient Wife

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Brooding Earl’s Proposition by Laura Martin.

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  The Brooding Earl’s Proposition

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  Chapter One

  ‘Five minutes down the drive,’ Selina muttered to herself, grimacing as her boots splashed into another puddle. The coachman had refused to take her any closer, instead throwing the cloth bag that contained all her worldly possessions down from the coach and pointing with a crooked finger through the rusted iron gates.

  It had been twenty minutes so far, twenty minutes of battling against the wind that whipped at her skirts, twenty minutes of cool drizzle soaking through her cloak. Twenty minutes to really start to regret the decision to travel so far north, to take up a position where she knew no one and where it seemed the weather was unforgiving and the locals unfriendly and suspicious.

  As she rounded another bend the house came into view. It was large, with a central section and two sweeping wings jutting out from either side. The façade was of grey stone, weathered and beaten, and looked as though it was in need of some care and attention. Ivy grew up one side, covering the walls and creeping on to the windows.

  ‘Home...’ Selina murmured, feeling a sinking dread in her stomach. It didn’t look like a home, not one she wanted to live in.

  She paused, knowing she had to go forward, but not able to take another step. Perhaps she could go back to London, go back to the agency and see if there were any other suitable positions. Somewhere a little more inviting, somewhere a little less isolated. Her fingers closed around her small purse of coins. Going back to London wasn’t an option; all the meagre amount she’d managed to save over the past year had been spent on her coach fare up to north Yorkshire and a new dress in the hope of making a good impression on her employer.

  Lord Westcroft. A man she hadn’t been able to find much out about no matter how many people she asked.

  The rain was getting heavier, the droplets pattering on the hood of her cloak and dripping off the edges. She could delay no longer. It was time to meet the family she would be living with for the next few years.

  Selina took a step forward, pulling at her boots that had become a little stuck in the mud where she’d stood still for a few moments. The movement unbalanced her and Selina felt her boots begin to slip. She thrust her arms out, frantically waving them in the hope of regaining her equilibrium, but even before she began to fall she knew it was too late. Her heart lurched in her chest as she felt her feet slip out from underneath her and her body plummeted to the ground.

  She landed in the biggest puddle in sight. Bottom first, skirts almost fully submerged. For a second Selina just sat there, unable to believe the coldness of the rainwater that soaked through her skirt. Unable to believe how fast this horrible day had got even worse.

  With a shudder she stood, looking down in disbelief at the muddy mess of her clothes. Bedraggled as she was she looked more like a beggar woman than a respectable governess come to take up her position in the house of a peer of the realm.

  ‘Head high, back straight, shoulders down,’ Selina said to herself. It was how her late mother had always told her to deport herself. How to look people in the eye, even if they insisted on haughtily looking down at you.

  With as much confidence as she could summon she stepped towards the front door, the feeling of being watched making her pause as her hand reached for the heavy iron door knocker. She glanced up, just quickly enough to see two sad faces disappearing from an upstairs window. They’d looked pale, almost ghostly, and Selina wondered if the two little girls she had been employed to look after ever saw the sunshine. With a grimace she eyed the thick clouds above her head. Perhaps this far north they didn’t get much sunshine.

  Before she could talk herself out of it Selina lifted the heavy iron door knocker and let it fall twice, wincing as the door rattled with the force of the metal. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the splashing of the rain in the puddles behind her.

  ‘What do you want?’ a surly old woman asked as she opened the door little more than a crack and peered through. She eyed Selina up and down and shook her head. ‘No beggars allowed.’

  ‘I’m not...’ Selina’s protest was drowned out by the creak of wood as the door was shut firmly in her face. Feeling the first fire of indignation in her stomach, Selina lifted the knocker again, dropping it again and again in quick succession, knowing no servant would ignore such a commotion that could disturb their master.

  ‘Off with you,’ the old woman demanded as she opened the door again, reaching out a thin hand to push Selina down the steps.

  ‘What is all this noise?’ The deep voice came from somewhere in the darkness beyond the doorway,
irritated and impatient.

  ‘I’ve told her to be gone,’ the servant said. ‘I’ve told her no beggars are welcome here.’

  Selina opened her mouth to protest, to tell them her true identity, but the swift movement in front of her made her pause. Standing on the threshold, his large figure blocking most of the doorway, was a man she assumed must be Lord Westcroft. He was tall, well built with broad, strong shoulders. His expression was a mixture of irritation and shrewd assessment, but it was his eyes that held her attention. They flicked over her, assessing the mud-splattered dress and windswept visage before coming to meet her own eyes, the attention making Selina feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Give her some food from the kitchen,’ he said, his tone authoritative, before turning away.

  He’d nearly disappeared back into the darkness before Selina found her voice. ‘Lord Westcroft,’ she called, her cultured tone causing him to pause where he was.

  ‘Stop bothering the master,’ the servant said brusquely. ‘Come round to the kitchen door.’

  Once again the door started to close in her face, but this time Selina was ready. She stuck her booted foot in the gap just in time, wincing as the heavy oak hit her instep, but determined not to be dismissed again.

  ‘Lord Westcroft,’ she said more firmly, ‘I’m cold and wet and tired. I understood from the agency that you were desperate for a governess, so if you don’t want me to turn right around and take the next coach back to London I suggest you invite me in. And point me in the direction of the nearest fire.’

  * * *

  Matthew felt fear seize him. The woman in front of him didn’t look like a governess, with her filthy clothes and windswept hair, but she certainly sounded like one. Her tone was the right combination of commanding and disapproving, and he felt himself stand up just a little straighter as he turned back round. His instinct was to rush towards her, to pull her into the house and tell her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going anywhere.