His face tightened. ‘And then I came home to my darling wife. The house was in chaos. The coach with the children had arrived, maids and nurses, bags and baggage, everywhere. So much noise, and so many people. It made my head ache, and so I had more brandy. I found Clare and we argued. On and off it went, all day and night for the better part of a week. I threatened divorce. She threatened to leave and take the children with her.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what she meant by it, other than to hurt me, for they did not mean a jot to her.’
He rubbed his temple, for his head ached at the memory. ‘There was so much alcohol, and servants constantly interrupting, and the children were crying. Then there was even more brandy. And it ended with Clare, broken at the foot of the stairs.’
‘That is all you remember?’
‘It is enough.’
‘What were you thinking, as you stood at the top of the stairs? What did she say to you, before you pushed her? What did you feel, when you saw her begin to fall? Triumph? Joy? Fear?’
‘Stop!’ He had spoken too loudly; for a moment he feared someone below them might have heard a man’s voice coming from this room, where it had no right to be. He calmed himself, and continued. ‘I know what happened. I do not need to remember the act. I remember my anger plain enough and my hatred of her. And telling her I would see her dead before I let her leave the house with the children. The next morning, I woke in my clothes in the study to the sound of more crying and the servants shouting. And there was Clare, on the floor of the hall.’
‘That does not mean you killed her. It was a fall, nothing more.’
‘She fell backwards, not forwards. It was plain by her injuries that she had been pushed. I was the only one in the house, Daphne.’ He put his hand under her chin, and forced her eyes to meet his. ‘I know the effect that strong spirits have upon me. I become violent, unreasonable. It is why I avoid them. And yet I kept taking them. I knew all along what I meant to do, and I drank until I could not stop myself.’
‘No,’ she said again. She refused to see the truth in his eyes: that he was capable of murder.
So he smiled and told her the real truth. ‘And there is worse to come.’
‘It does not matter,’ she whispered.
‘You are the only one who thinks I am innocent. Everyone knows what I have done. Adam is magistrate. He saw the evidence, as did Penny. He took one look, and then he ordered Penny to sit with the children. He had the body taken away and prepared for burial, and the floor and stairs scrubbed clean. He looked at me with such pity. And then he declared it an accident.’
Tim’s voice broke on the last word. ‘I begged him to take me to London to stand trial. I want to see justice served. If I do not pay for what I have done, I am damned for sure. But he kept repeating that it was an unfortunate accident. All for the best. And that no one blamed me.’ He squeezed her hands tightly in his. ‘But I blame me. The children blame me. You have seen them. The way they look at me. They know what happened. They saw too much that day for it to be otherwise.
‘I must be punished for what I did to the children, even if the law will not punish me. Once I am sure that they are away to school, I will take care of it myself. They are better without parents than with the ones they were born to.’ And then he began to shake. He sobbed like a damned soul, ashamed that she saw.
She reached for him, gathering his face in her hands to lay it upon her breast, stroking his hair as though he were a lost child. ‘It is all right. It will be all right. What happened that day cannot be changed. And the Duke and Duchess are right as well. You are not to blame for it.’
His shaking subsided. ‘And now you know why I wished the children out of this house. Even if they cannot love me, I meant to see that they were gone, and that their futures were secure before—’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘You will not do what you are thinking. Ending yourself will leave the children in a worse state than ever. They cannot afford to lose more. They simply cannot.’
‘They need to go away from this poisonous place. They are old enough to go to school, and I mean to send them.’ He laughed softly. ‘I told you that I was opposed to this scheme of a governess. It only prolongs the inevitable.’
‘I need you.’
He shook his head. ‘I have nothing to give you. If you are imagining some happy scenario, where we are together, perhaps as a family?’ He shook his head. She had not forgiven him, because she believed there was nothing to forgive. And without her forgiveness, he felt his future begin to unravel again. ‘Then you are more foolish than I imagined.’ Just as he had been.
‘I am not a fool. And I will prove it. I will uncover the truth, and set you free of your fears. There is another answer, Tim. There has to be.’ It was the first time she had used his given name, and the familiarity was both startling and disturbing. It meant she thought she knew him. But really, she did not know him at all.
The time would come when she would admit that his answer was the only logical one. She would begin to doubt. And then she would run, or he would send her away.
He leaned forwards and kissed her, long and slow, but without heat. Then he escaped from her arms and her body, and sat up on the edge of the bed.
‘You are going?’ She stretched out an arm to him in an attempt to draw him back. The gesture was as languid and sensual as a trained courtesan’s, and he wondered at how quickly she had fallen.
‘It would not do for the children to see me coming down the stairs in the morning.’
She smiled. ‘There are hours yet before we must worry.’
She was right, of course. He could stay as long as he liked. He could stay all night, and be damned to her reputation. He had already damned his own, by his actions. He swallowed. ‘You are tired and need your rest. And there is always tomorrow.’
She yawned, and smiled. ‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘Of course.’ He kissed her again, ignoring her hands, as they played upon his body. In time, she would see the truth, as he did. And then, when all hope for his innocence was gone, he would ask her if she still wished to make a life with the shell of a man.
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne swung her feet to the floor, as the first rays of dawn hit the tiny window. He had not stayed the night with her. But he had been with her longer than on the previous night. For a moment she feared that someone might meet him on the back stairs from her room. In any other house, it would have been most unusual to find the master creeping down the back stairs. But for once, the curious behaviour might be explained. Tim’s habit of turning up in unexpected corners of the house was a change in habit, but typical eccentricity.
She smiled at the thought of him, in shirtsleeves, on his way to a cold breakfast in the conservatory. Then she reached for her sketchbook and her charcoals. She worked quickly, for her day must start soon, and there was no time for daydreaming over the master of the house.
At least not in such an obvious way as to sketch him. In her mind he was just as he had been, cravat missing and shirt open, revealing a V of bare skin. She let her fingers linger on the place as she smudged the hollow in his throat, the shadows of muscle and bone on his chest as they disappeared behind the linen. She did the eyes next, with their sparkle of intelligence and the faint sadness that never seemed to leave them. And his smile, slightly higher at one side than the other, as though he were continually surprised by her, though delighted.
A few minutes later, she paused to admire her work. She felt she had done rather well in capturing the way his brown hair fell into his eyes as he leaned towards her, the faint dimple in his cheek as he smiled and the soft but mobile mouth. The whole demonstrated his gentleness, as well as his intelligence. In looking at the face she had drawn, she wondered how she had ever thought him capable of cruelty, much less murder. This was a portrait of a man who would be at home bent over his books, or working in his glasshouse, hands deep in earth.
She frowned. He and Clare must have known fro
m the first that they would not suit. He would be uncomfortable in the excitement of the city, at the parties she craved. And she would be bored to tears at the estate in Wales, unimpressed by the beauty of the garden, and uninterested in her husband’s discoveries. She would remain in town without him, telling all and sundry that he was a dullard and a burden, and that she had married beneath her.
It was embarrassing to admit how far she had been misled by her glamorous cousin. But it meant that she owed an even greater debt to Tim and his family for doubting them. So she rose from the bed and prepared to see to the children.
Later, Tim summoned her to the study. She was surprised to see the butler, cook and housekeeper as well. Apparently, she was there as governess, and it had nothing to do with her new, less official capacity.
Tim looked up at the servants with an air of suppressed agitation. ‘I have received a letter in today’s post. It seems Bellston has decided to come to dinner. He says he must take matters into his own hands, since an invitation was not forthcoming from me.’ She could see by the crook of his mouth that Colton seemed both annoyed and amused by the turn of events.
‘Unfortunately, I am unsure how ready the common rooms are for visitors. Can the dining room be prepared for this evening?’
The housekeeper assured him that all would be in readiness.
‘And the menu?’ He gave a vague wave of his hand. ‘It matters not to me. He is bringing the Duchess, of course. If they mean to treat themselves as family, then they’d best not be expecting me to serve a peer. Give us whatever can be got together with a minimum of fuss. We will be retiring to the drawing room for cards, after.’ He raised his head to her, as though just noticing her presence. ‘And since her Grace is so fond of the children, I expect them to be dressed and present at table, and after.’
‘Sir.’ She tried to make the warning implicit in the single word.
‘Very well, then.’ He nodded, as if all were in agreement. ‘You are dismissed.’
She lingered and closed the door after the others had gone.
Without looking up, he said, ‘Miss Collins, do you have a problem with my request?’
‘Are you sure it is wise for the children to dine with you?’ she said, remembering the long uncomfortable meal of a few days ago. ‘They are likely to be a nuisance.’
‘And that is why their governess will be there, to prevent any problems.’
‘I am to dine with you? And the Duke of Bellston?’
‘And the duchess, as well,’ Tim reminded her. ‘These evenings always go better if there are an equal number of ladies.’
‘But I am not—’ She stopped herself. Of course, she was a lady. When she was in London, at least. But she could not exactly explain herself. ‘It will insult them greatly, if you mean to seat a servant at the table.’
‘If the Duke and his wife are bothered by the presence of a servant at table, that the Duchess herself hired, then they’d best return to their own home.’
He saw her hesitation, and added, ‘My other servants know better than to cross me, when I have made up my mind. You should learn it as well.’ There was something about the set of his mouth that was different from the last time he had tried to order her about like help. She suspected that he was laughing at her.
Then, for just a moment, he gazed at her as he had on the previous night. ‘Wear your finest gown, with none of that muslin nonsense tucked into the bodice. Dress as a lady and preside at my table.’ The last words were soft, coaxing, as though her presence was an honour to him that had nothing to do with expedience. Then his brusque manner returned. ‘Do not think you can hide from me, Miss Collins. Be downstairs with the children at six sharp. Obey or be gone.’ And once again he gave the invisible shifting of attention that told her she was no longer required.
Later as she was preparing herself for the ordeal ahead, she tried to quell the nervous butterflies that had taken residence in her stomach. It was aggravating of him to even suggest this, for so many reasons. She could barely stand to think what her mother would say, if she knew that Daphne was to have dinner at the very same table as a duke and duchess. The poor woman would be in alt. Considering the minor social set in which they travelled, the chances were better that she would go dancing on the moon than dining with the peerage.
But if her mother were to find that she was doing it as a servant? The horrors. She faced herself in the tiny mirror, and set about trying to do up her hair in a fashion that might match the gold satin gown she had chosen from her luggage. It was far too modest for an evening with the Duke and Duchess of Bellston, and yet too daring for a governess. And what was she to do about her manners?
It would be difficult enough to speak to the couple, especially considering what she suspected about his Grace and the parentage of little Sophie. But though she was dressed as a lady, she must also remember to speak like a servant when spoken to, and no more than that. And to watch over the children as well. She must let nothing slip, that she was anything more to the host of the house than a loyal servant. The whole evening would be like trying to take tea on a tightrope.
But it would give her the opportunity to observe the Duke and his behaviour towards Sophie. Perhaps he would turn out to be the villain she suspected, and she could persuade Tim that his supposed old friend meant him ill by the visit. Her life would be much simpler tomorrow, if tonight she could prove the Duke of Bellston was a murderer.
The children were to be no help in the matter of decorum. For when they heard that it was ‘Uncle Adam and Aunt Penny’ who were visiting, they were quite beyond her control. When the time finally came to lead them downstairs, it was all she could do to keep them from running on ahead of her. As it was, they burst into the drawing room with shouts of delight. Before she was able to gather them up again, they had launched themselves upon the couple and greeted them with exuberant hugs.
As she watched, the Duke greeted each in turn, bowing to the older girl, shaking the hand of the boy and lifting little Sophie high into the air and tossing her until she laughed. As she compared the two, she could see no resemblance and no hesitation on the part of the Duke that might indicate he felt more strongly attracted or repelled by the youngest child than he did with either of the others.
When he put the little girl back down to earth, he turned his attention to their governess.
And for a moment Daphne was quite taken aback. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, with fine pale features, black hair and sooty lashes covering deep blue eyes. And it was most affecting as he returned her gaze. It was as though she were the centre of attention, and not an invisible thing placed in the room to maintain peace during the meal. ‘So this is the new governess that I have heard so much about. My wife feels that you are just what the family needs, my dear. I can only hope she speaks the truth.’ He said the last too quietly for his host to hear.
And then Tim stepped forward, and offered introductions. ‘Adam, this is Daphne Collins. May I present the Duke of Bellston. And, of course, you’re already familiar with his wife.’ He gestured in the direction of the Duchess, who had busied herself greeting the children.
She dropped a deep curtsy, and murmured, ‘Your Grace’, in a tone that she hoped was sufficiently subservient.
The Duke glanced at her for a moment, and then at his friend, and there was a momentary hesitation as he seemed to gather some bit of information from the silence. Then he said, ‘Airs and graces are hardly necessary tonight. Please, if you are to dine with us, you must call me Adam. And my wife’s name is Penny. Penny loathes formality, and will be quite out of sorts if you curtsy to her again.’
He went on for a bit about the quality of Tim’s table and how he had missed it over the past months as though nothing unusual had happened between them, either before or after Clarissa’s death.
Daphne had the brief, horrifying feeling that in the moment of silence, the Duke had formed the opinion that her relationship with her employer was rather clo
ser than was normal. She turned and looked at Tim, hoping that he would give her some clue as to what was going on, and saw the look in his eyes.
He was admiring her as he might a woman of quality. As though he wished to gain and keep her approval by his actions. She had expected him to treat her as he had in the study: as a servant, to be tolerated only as long as she fulfilled her duties. And that had been at best. At worst, she expected him to do something to betray her status as his mistress. A lasciviousness of expression or a familiar touch that might indicate their intimacy.
But instead he smiled at her in a way that was encouraging, and almost shy. And when his guests were distracted by the children, he came to her side and murmured, ‘See. There is nothing to be concerned about. Adam has been a dear friend to me for most of my life.’ His face darkened for a moment. ‘Although there has been an estrangement, of late. I did him a wrong.’
‘You did him—’ She shut her mouth quickly, for she was unsure how much he understood of her knowledge of the affair.
Tim was glancing at the Duke. ‘But it appears that he has decided to forgive it. And we are to go on as if nothing has happened.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I find that to be a great relief. Although I do not know her nearly so well, I expect you will find the Duchess to be a refreshing change from what you expected. She was the daughter of a printer, before marrying.’
‘Her family was in trade?’ She hoped the snobbishness did not show too clearly in her voice, for her mother would be just as shocked to hear that she had dined with a printer’s daughter as she would a duke.
Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess Page 15
