But he was cold. He ached with it. And there was no warming.
He rubbed at the skin of his bare neck, thinking perhaps a coat and a cravat were in order, as protection if nothing else. But he hardly left the conservatory now, other than to see the children. And while surrounded by the plants, anything more than shirtsleeves and apron seemed excessive. He sat down on the chaise again and leaned back, pushing his face deep into the cushions. Sometimes, he thought he could catch a whiff of her perfume. Perhaps it was an orchid coming into bloom, or merely his imagination. But it was something, at any rate. And there was the vague sense that warmth lingered on the bed they had once shared.
He laughed to himself, wishing that he had taken her to his room while he’d had the chance. At least then he would be sleeping in his own bed. It would be less worrisome for his valet if he moved back upstairs.
But when he went above stairs, he found himself wandering to the end of the hall and looking up at the narrow passage that led to the attic bedroom. It would look even stranger to all concerned if he took to sleeping in a narrow bedstead, under the eaves.
He heard a rustling in the leaves by the door, and sat up quickly, before Sophie could catch him trying to sleep during the day again. The older children could see something was wrong. But they did their best to ignore it, giving him hugs, and trying to joke him out of his bad humor.
It was easier, now that they knew there was no risk to their sister. Edmund had even been talking, tentatively at least, of going to school for the spring term.
But although Sophie was better than she had been, he dare not frighten her too much with his strange behaviour, lest she relapse.
She came around the palms to where he sat, and he patted the seat beside him, and held out his arms for a hug.
In response, she climbed up beside him, and put her arms around his neck for a small wet kiss. ‘Papa, are you sad?’
‘Not now you are here, little one.’ He smiled down at her and patted her curls.
‘I am sad.’
‘You are?’ It was better than frightened, he supposed. And after all she had been through, he could not blame her.
‘I miss her.’
He had done his best not to speak of her mother. But Clare would always be a part of their lives, and he must accept the fact. ‘I know, darling.’ And then he hazarded what he suspected was a bold-faced lie. ‘But she has gone to a better place.’
‘London is a better place?’ Sophie tugged at his coat, and smiled hopefully. ‘Then can we go there, too? We could visit her. I want to show her my pictures.’
‘London? Visit…’ He shook his head, and looked down at her again. ‘We are talking of Miss Collins again?’
Sophie’s hopeful smile increased, and she nodded until her curls bobbed. ‘Or you could go to fetch her back.’
This was even harder to answer. For at least with Clare he could assure himself that there was an end to the conversation, and no way to bring her back. There was also no way that she could hurt them further.
But what was he to tell the girl about Daphne? ‘I think she is probably happier where she is now. It was not very exciting here, I am sure. And her father said she liked the parties and balls.’ It was probably true. She must have a coterie of admirers. And if he had given her a taste for carnality?
He swallowed hard, fighting the shame of what he had done. And then he had turned her off, to fend for herself against the machinations of the rakes in London. Suppose she came to harm because of him?
But he could not have kept her. His children did not need another mother like that. What proof did he have, really, that she would not have fallen to another?
Sophie tugged at his sleeve again. ‘Tell her we have oranges. And strawberries. They do not have those in London, I’ll wager.’ She began bold enough, but her eyes had gone wide and watery at the thought of her missing friend, and her tone was softer, more hesitant. If he was not careful, she would become the little ghost she had been before Miss Collins had come into the house, convinced that her actions were the cause of Daphne’s rejection.
‘Would you like a strawberry, then?’ He seized at the distraction. For anything was better than further questions.
Sophie smiled and nodded.
He went to the plant, and picked a handful, placing them in a handkerchief. ‘There you are. Take some to your sister and brother, as well.’
Sophie took them carefully from him, and scampered out of the room, Daphne temporarily forgotten.
He would have to deal with it again tomorrow, he suspected. And at some point, he would need to explain that Miss Collins was really Miss Collingham and she was not coming back from London at all. And then he must make the child believe that it was for her own good he had sent Daphne away, and not as a punishment.
He stared at the fruit in front of him. If only it were so easy to get the memory of her from his own mind. Or to convince himself that she had forgotten him already, or been as bad as he suspected: another Clarissa ready to sink her fangs into his heart like a viper.
At least, if he could believe that the children were better off, then his own misery might not be so acute. But the house, although changed for the better, was growing just as strangely quiet as it had been before Daphne had arrived. His own sense of loss showed no sign of abating with the passage of time. And while the older children might be able to hide their displeasure for his sake, Sophie seemed to alternate between puzzled sadness and optimism that Miss Collins would be returning at any moment. While Edmund and Lily seemed resigned to the fact that they would see her no more, Sophie could not be persuaded. He dreaded to think what would happen when she finally came to realise that it was over.
Another chill went through him, and he allowed himself the luxury of a memory. Her body, pressed tight to his, as it had been on the chaise. How could he have sent her away?
He tried to reassure himself again that it had been for the good of the children. But what harm had she done them, in the time she’d resided under his roof? She had shown more compassion and love for them in a few short weeks than Clare had in a lifetime. They had grown, blooming like roses in the sunlight.
And he had ignored the successes and taken her away from them, because he was angry that she had lied to him.
In her absence, he was lying to himself. It was his own heart that he feared for. She was of Clare’s blood. Suppose she was more like her cousin than she appeared? She’d lied to gain entrance to his house, with the express plan of destroying him.
Instead, she’d helped him to face his fears and had healed the children. And when she had discovered the truth? She had been as eager to hide it again as he had.
Being with her felt nothing like it had been with Clarissa. He could not remember ever loving his late wife. Polite apathy and a vague sense of lust had quickly turned to loathing on both their parts, and a low-banked desire for escape. That he should be so frightened of his reaction to Daphne could mean only one thing: that he had a heart to be broken, after all this time of believing himself without one.
It was an exhilarating thought, and a terrifying one. To open himself to the woman could mean great joy, or greater heartache than he had known in his miserable life. And it might already be too late, for he had treated her abominably. She might have gone back to London, to the suitors she had left there, and chosen one who appreciated her charms. It had been weeks. For all he knew, she could be betrothed, or even married.
Or she would be, if he did not do something quickly. If he sat here brooding over her loss he would never learn the truth. He would be trapped in a limbo of unknowing, halfway between happiness and sadness, and too afraid to move in either direction.
Being without her would be no different than being with Clare.
He would go to her, and throw himself on her mercy. Or better yet, he would seize her, drag her back to Wales and force her to finish what she had begun. For whether she intended it or not, she had been well on the way to becoming
wife to him and mother to his children. She had made him love her, with her sweetness and her willingness to give. If she meant to deny them, just to engage in London foolishness, then it was time for her to grow up and take responsibility for her life.
The thought appealed to him. He reached a hand to touch his face, felt the stubble on his chin and saw dirt under his fingernails. She would not want him in this condition. And he did not want to let her see what a few weeks without her had done to him, or how quickly the gains of the last month had been undone. A wash, a shave and a clean shirt would do wonders. His best coat, and a properly tied cravat. He was not the handsomest man in London, at least not compared to Adam. But when properly turned out, he had nothing to be ashamed of.
So he would clean up, and then he would head to London. He would claim it was on business, for it would not do to raise the hopes of the children if the errand proved fruitless. And he would find Daphne and bring her home.
There was a soft rapping on the panes of the door, and the sound of his butler’s shuffling footsteps as the man sought to gain his attention. ‘My lord?’
He looked up, and smiled.
‘A visitor.’
He cast another quick glance over his appearance. ‘Stow whoever it is in the drawing room, and I will go and make myself presentable.’
‘She wishes to see you immediately, and says it is most urgent.’
‘She.’ All his plans collapsed in a puddle of trembling hope, and then coalesced, as he realised that it could not possibly be what he was hoping for. ‘Here then, and right now. Bring her to me.’
The butler stepped out of the way, evaporating into the hall. And the object of his desire stepped into the conservatory and closed the door behind her. She looked pale, and much as he felt, as though sleep had been elusive, and happiness impossible. Everything about her was more subdued than he remembered. Her hair was more controlled, her dress starched and sensible. It was a dark colour that would not show wear and would be undamaged by grubby palms. And her expression was that of a woman unsure of her position.
She dropped a curtsy that had none of the hidden arrogance of her first attempts at subservience. ‘Sir?’
‘Miss Collins?’ And then he corrected himself, for it was not her name. ‘Miss Collingham.’ He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms. But he hesitated, just as she was doing. ‘You have returned to us, against my wishes?’
‘Yes.’ She said it softly. ‘I was hoping that during my time away, perhaps your feelings on the subject had changed. If my old position is still open, I would very much like to have it back.’
‘Your position.’ Now this was an unexpected turn. ‘I was under the impression, when we parted, that you did not actually need employment.’
‘Not when I first came here, my lord. But now that I have left you, I find that there is not as much joy in my old life as I once felt, or as much purpose. It was an endless circle of false friends and foolishness. And if, at the end of it, the best I can hope for is an offer from a man as foolish as myself, then I think I would much prefer to forgo marriage and find some way to be of use.
‘I have no references to offer.’ She smiled. ‘At least none that are actually mine. For those I offered you from the first were forgeries. And you have witnessed the fact that my knowledge of geography, geometry and languages are not what they should be. But the children…’ She shook her head, and her eyes seemed to grow large and wavered behind unshed tears. ‘Your children need a governess, just as much as they did before.’
But what of their father? ‘So you need purpose, and the children need someone to watch over them. And we both know that is not the only thing that happened, when you were last here.’
‘You need someone to watch over you as well.’ She looked up at him, with a sad smile. ‘For you are not as I remember you, Lord Colton.’
He looked down at the floor and muttered, ‘Gone to seed. Just like the plants. I should take better care.’
She rushed on. ‘And I would understand, if you needed to marry. For it is only right that you should have someone. Someone you could trust, who would not lie to you, or bring you unhappy memories. But if I could only have my little room under the eaves, and see the children sometimes, and bring them down to the conservatory to see you on occasion?’ She swallowed. ‘Then I think I should be quite content.’
‘Content?’ The idea was madness, and he would show her so. He closed the distance between them in an instant, and pulled her off balance and into his arms, kissing her in a way that cut off the flow of foolish words. Her mouth was as soft as he remembered, and as sweet, and her body yielding beneath the unyielding fabric of her governess dress. ‘It is small comfort to offer me contentment, after what you have already given. Now that you have crossed my threshold I want you, all and unreserved, at my side in the day, and in my bed at night. I want a wife, and the children want a mother. I want a woman who I can love with all my heart, who will love me in return. If you can give me that, then stay. If you offer less, then for God’s sake, Daphne, leave and give me peace. For I will go mad if I can see you each day, but cannot touch you.’
‘Your offer stands, then?’ She sighed into his mouth, and he could feel the spirit returning to her.
‘I was horrible to you.’
‘And I to you.’
‘Because I hurt you.’
‘But I will be better.’
‘It does not matter.’ He kissed her again.
She tilted her head away, not yet willing to surrender. ‘And Clare. She was my cousin and my friend. And although she was not the woman I thought she was, I cannot change the happy memories of the past. Nor do I wish to. But she is gone now, for me, and for you as well.’ There was a trace of question in her statement.
‘She is gone. She cannot hurt me further, and I do not begrudge you your happiness. What she was to either of us does not change what we are to each other.’ And she was truly gone, for when he kissed the woman in his arms, there was no shadow of the past in the bright future before him.
‘I wanted to tell you, that day. After I got your letter. For I knew what my answer must be. But I could not say the words until you knew the truth. I had believed the most horrible things about you, even worse than you thought of yourself. But I had been terribly wrong, and was terribly sorry. And I wished to beg for your forgiveness, because I had come to love you more than life, and would never wish to see you hurt again.’ Her words were like a balm on the old wounds, easing the ache of the past. ‘But then Father came, and it was too late to explain.’
‘Your father.’ And he remembered that they were not the last two people on the earth together. ‘Does he know that you have come back to me?’
She looked sheepish. ‘I left him a note. I expect, after what has already occurred, that he will be twice as angry as he was the last time. And he was very angry with me, and none too happy with you. He will be coming along shortly, I expect. And you might be receiving a visit from my brothers, as well.’
‘Brothers.’
‘Three.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘All very large. They are rather protective, when it comes to me. They spoil me terribly, and give me my way in all things. And I am sure that they would want me to be treated honourably.’
‘Then I had best work fast, if I am to deserve the thrashing they are likely to give me.’ He kissed her throat. ‘If it were just we two, I should rush you off to Scotland today. But I expect we shall have to read the banns in St George’s in London, or some other grand church, and do this properly for the sake of your family.’
‘And yours,’ she reminded him. ‘The children might quite like to see a wedding.’ She considered. ‘Although I think it is far too much bother to go back to London. If there is a small church nearby, it would suit me well. For I have grown quite fond of Wales.’
He laughed and held her close. For if there was any proof that his second marriage would be different from the first, he had heard it from her very lips
. ‘As long as it is soon, I do not care where. For I must have you, my love. It has been too long.’
‘Then take me. For I would not wish otherwise.’
He kissed her in earnest, and she answered him with kisses of her own, her hands stroking his hair, his shoulders and his chest, until he felt the desire rising in him. The linen of his shirt was thin and her touch seemed to burn through it. She was his and his alone, warm and willing, arrayed in starched cotton like some carefully wrapped package, so many layers of cloth between him and what he wanted. He fumbled for the closures at the back of her dress.
‘She is heeeeeeere. She is, she is, she is!’ Sophie pelted into their knees like a bullet, and clung to them so that they could not part if they had wanted to. ‘And Papa is kissing her!’
Daphne looked down in obvious amusement. ‘Do not shout so, Sophie. While it is very good to hear you talking again, perhaps it would be better if it were not so loud. I fear you will scare your father’s plants.’
The girl giggled. ‘They are not like animals. I cannot scare them, see?’ She ran over to the nearest orchid and cried, ‘Boo!’
He used the opportunity to put distance between them, and to hide the embarrassing evidence of his desire. Focusing his mind on his responsibilities as a father, he turned to the nearby basin to plunge his hands into the icy water, scrubbing at the nails furiously with the brush and hoping that he had not left proof of his intentions as hand prints on his beloved. ‘Actually, there are plants that will wilt in fear from a single touch. Now that Daphne has returned, I will find some. And perhaps she will help you to paint a picture.’ He saw his two other children, hovering in the doorway, old enough to realise that they had interrupted something, but still unsure what it had been. ‘Come in, you two, and say hello. For I think we all have a great deal to discuss today.’
And they ran across the threshold, obviously in no mood to discuss anything, launching themselves on their former governess, and enveloping her in a mutual hug.
Daphne’s eyes met his, over the tangle of children, and she smiled, as if to apologise for the interruption. But she seemed supremely happy to be welcomed so. She looked down at the children, smiling at them as though the separation from them had been as difficult for her as it had been for them.
Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess Page 21
