The Reluctant Governess

by Maggie Robinson

  “You’ve seen the papers, I presume,” Tubby said, pointing to a stack next to his plate.

  “Indeed,” Nick mumbled through a mouthful of beefsteak.

  “Maybe you should go up to Scotland and hide out until Cross is captured, old man.”

  “Absolutely not! We aren’t even settled yet, and it would be much too upsetting for Sunny. And I’m expecting a shipment of art—have you forgotten?”

  “The show must go on? I’m inclined to agree. We’ll be mobbed after all the interest you’ve garnered. Every society matron will want to meet the great hero Nicholas Raeburn. It will do wonders for your sales, I expect.”

  Nick groaned inwardly. He hated all the socializing that was expected during Tubby’s gallery openings. He was as genial as the next man, but the forced charm with his patrons was not his cup of tea. “I fear you’re exaggerating.”

  “Not by half. I’ve already been approached by a certain duchess. She’s very keen to see your . . . etchings.”

  Nick set his ale down. “Damn it, Thomas, I’m not some trick pony. I am not going to seduce some bored wife to open her husband’s purse. My work will have to stand on its own.”

  “I quite agree. But I thought perhaps you were in need of a bit of divertissement. You’re back in the country for a bit, and your social life has been sadly lacking. Unless the gorgeous Miss Lawrence has been helpful on that score.” Tubby looked far too knowing, an annoying smirk on his handsome countenance.

  “I have been much too ill to worry about women,” Nick said with a firmness he hoped would convince his friend. “And Miss Lawrence is out-of-bounds. For me and for you.”

  “Has she rejected my job offer, then? Really, Nick, me hiring her was your idea. I thought it was brilliant.”

  “We haven’t had the chance to discuss it further.” And he wouldn’t broach the subject again with her. He valued Eliza too much to expose her to the oddballs in the art world, himself included. Eliza could go back to her old job. He was fairly confident he’d convinced Mrs. Evensong that Eliza was not at fault in the Scully debacle.

  Both she and Palmer were her champions. It was nice to have people in your corner. Even though he’d scrapped with his brothers growing up, Nick knew they cared about him. He looked forward to the time they might gather together in Scotland. Introducing Sunny to her heritage at Raeburn Court would be a pleasure.

  But a deferred one. Nick couldn’t leave London now, no matter how tempting it was.

  He wasn’t worried about Cross. If the man had a brain in his head, he’d be on a boat bound for America. Nick had given Maisie plenty of money, which was no doubt in Phil Cross’s pocket right now.

  “Mooning over the delicious Miss Lawrence?” Tubby asked, breaking into his reverie.

  “No. Thinking about Maisie, actually. She modeled for Daniel, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. Although you could never tell from his bits and blobs. I’m afraid Daniel’s artistic skills have deserted him—he’s quite out of fashion. The last show I sponsored was pitiful. Not a single sale.”

  Nick was surprised. When he’d spoken to Daniel in Paris, he’d intimated he’d sold a significant number of paintings to stave off his creditors.

  “Perhaps the change of climate will help. My villa may inspire him.”

  Tubby shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it. Daniel’s past his prime. No one will put up with his antics anymore, either. He’s bound to get fagged to death in the countryside for lack of stimulation, my friend. Don’t be surprised if your property suffers for it. You’ll probably never see a penny of rent.”

  Nick loved his little stone house. For a fleeting second, he pictured Eliza in the lemon grove—she’d fit right in, her hair the color of the rising sun, her scent mingling with the fruit trees.

  “I have more faith in Daniel,” Nick said, hoping for the best. “We’ll see what happens, won’t we? Now, where’s my hat?”

  Chapter 24

  Sunny was rolling out ginger biscuits with Mrs. Quinn and Eliza felt quite superfluous. Maybe Nicholas had been right from the beginning—his household didn’t need her. Now that everyone was recovered from their indisposition, Sunny could learn her maths by measuring ingredients in the kitchen.

  That wouldn’t serve forever. But the child was not yet five years old and was entitled to enjoy her playtime. There must be a nursery school in the area where she could be sent if the governess quest was not successful.

  Eliza looked back on the morning with mortification. Nicholas had sworn he would do his best to make sure her job at the Evensong Agency was secure, and he had. Oliver had rung her up. She didn’t have a thing to worry about.

  She opened the door that led to the back garden for a breath of fresh air. There was no question of going out the front door—some reporters had returned once the rain had stopped, and the sun was making a feeble attempt to break through the clouds. The air was warm for October but heavy, and Eliza hoped the men were wilting in their woolen suits. So far, no one had breached the private little yard.

  Stepping down into the patchy grass, she brushed aside the wet bushes that caught her skirts. The garden had been neglected, which was a shame, for once it must have been lovely. A few straggly mums dared to poke through the weed-filled soil. A brick path to the necessary was just visible under slippery moss. Sunny hated the dark little shed, but it was not often that it was in use. Eliza would like to stick some of the newsmen in it and lock them in.

  If this were Eliza’s yard, she’d be down on her knees getting everything in order. As a girl she had helped her mother in their small garden before they were forced to move house. Her mother had the vision, and Eliza supplied the brawn to achieve it. Gardening was restful despite the physical exertion. There was satisfaction to ripping up weeds, rather like totaling a set of numbers. Everything had a place, and the geometry of a flower bed was eye-pleasing.

  This garden had never seen geometric organization. There was a wildness to it that surpassed informal cottage gardens. Eliza couldn’t stop herself from bending over to uproot a tasseled stalk of grass that came to her waist.

  She heard the door latch snick behind her and hastily righted herself. No one needed to see her derriere on display.

  “I didn’t hire you as my gardener,” Nicholas said as he bounced down the steps. He was carrying a blue and white striped hatbox from a Bond Street millinery Eliza could only dream of shopping in.

  “You really didn’t hire me at all, if I remember correctly. Is that Miss Scully’s new hat? I’m not sure bribery will work for her to hold her tongue.” She wiped her damp hands on her dark skirt, her heart beating just a little quickly.

  “I’m not wasting this hat on that woman.” Nicholas lifted the lid and a cloud of pale blue tissue paper exploded. “It was all I could do to get this through the gauntlet. They’re back again.” He didn’t have to say who “they” were.

  “Did Miss Scully go to them?”

  “Not that I’m aware. There’s been another development.”

  Eliza didn’t want to know. “Don’t tell me and spoil the afternoon. Let me see what’s inside.”

  Nicholas grinned. “Just like Sunny at Christmas. You have to remember Tubby picked it out, so I don’t even get the credit.”

  He reached in and pulled out a pleated rose-pink velvet hat, trimmed in sage green cording. It looked plain at first sight, until Eliza saw the spray of perfect buds and leaves peeking from under the curled brim that would nestle against one’s hair. Intricately braided green velvet ribbons served as ties.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “It’s yours. If you’ll take it. It’s a remarkably staid purchase, for Tubby. He’s captured your taste even on such short acquaintance. I was expecting something suitable for the Folies Bergère. Feathers and flimflam. Try it on.”

  Eliza couldn’t resist. From the heat of her che
eks, she knew she was the color of the hat as Nicholas helped her tie the ribbon.

  “You look like you belong in a garden,” he said, his voice husky. “The prettiest bloom in it.”

  She wanted to tell him to stop his own flimflam, but her tongue didn’t cooperate. He was so near. Mixed with the smell of the damp earth and the fallen leaves was the scent of sandalwood and turpentine. Not an especially seductive aroma, but Eliza was seduced nonetheless.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. She might regret her request later, but later was not now.

  His eyebrows knit. “I promised not to.”

  “Promises were meant to be broken.” Never before in Eliza’s world, but she wasn’t there now. Instead she stood in a lush miniature jungle beneath a blue-gray sky, wearing the most beautiful hat she’d ever owned. Anything could happen.

  “We need to talk first.”

  Bother talking. But Nicholas looked quite serious. He led her to a cedar bench in the rear of the garden and wiped it down with a handkerchief. Their presence would be obscured from any glances out the kitchen window, not that Eliza cared at the moment.

  “Footprints?” he questioned.

  “Oliver’s. He climbed over the wall the other day.” It had been amusing to watch. She arranged her skirts and sat down. Nicholas didn’t join her. Instead he wore a hole in the earth with one boot, not meeting her eyes.

  “He doesn’t like me. Why is that?”

  “Oliver is like a brother to me. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so. You haven’t asked me what happened at the Evensong Agency.”

  Eliza didn’t need to. Oliver had been on the telephone to her as soon as Nicholas stepped out the door to Mount Street. He had only a few seconds to speak, but her office job was safe, and she should be over the moon. Why wasn’t she?

  “I—I spoke to Oliver earlier,” Eliza admitted.

  “You can go back at any time. You should go back today.”

  Eliza looked up at him. “T-today?”

  Nicholas nodded. “It’s best for all concerned.”

  “What about Sunny?”

  “I don’t see her out here, do you?”

  “She’s in the kitchen, but—”

  “Just as she was before you came. We’ll manage without you. Really, we will. I cannot trust myself around you, Eliza. I look at you, sitting beneath that becoming hat, and I want to toss it to the ground and ravish you. Look what I’ve made you do already.”

  “You didn’t make me do anything I wasn’t prepared to do!” Eliza said, bristling. “You make me sound like a puppet whose strings you’ve pulled.”

  “You told me you hated me.”

  So she had. But she hadn’t meant it.

  “You confuse me. Frustrate me, but I don’t hate you.”

  “Well, you should. I’m not good for you, Eliza. You’ve said as much yourself.”

  Eliza didn’t like this new penitent Nicholas at all. “What’s come over you? I thought you were going to kiss me.”

  “And then what?”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  He ran a hair through his curls. He did that a lot; no wonder he looked so adorably rumpled all the time. “Oh yes you do. You know what happens when we get started. You’ve satisfied your curiosity by now, I trust.”

  Curiosity? Is that how this all began? Eliza couldn’t remember the sequence of things. He’d been ill, he’d kissed her—

  And then she had kissed him. Made him kiss her back. It was she who’d been pulling the strings, and now they were in a tangle.

  “You know I’m right,” he continued when she didn’t say anything. “You don’t belong here.”

  Eliza swallowed back her objection. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a proper governess even if she had devised strategies to amuse difficult children. Jonathan Hurst had been a handful until he’d come under her purview, and Eliza had made his new governess’s life much easier after subduing his terroristic tendencies.

  She had received a sweet letter from Jonathan’s sister Penelope just last week.

  Before Eliza had come to Lindsey Street and lost her mind.

  “Are—are you ordering me to go?” Eliza asked.

  Nicholas threw up his hands. “I don’t order people around, Eliza. That’s what my brother Alec does. But I think you should give careful consideration to leaving. A few papers have printed your name. I don’t trust Miss Scully, even if Tubby tries to keep her quiet by whatever means necessary. I commissioned him to do that for me this afternoon—he likes to feel useful and throw his money around. Things may get even uglier, though. Phil Cross has escaped from jail. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to come after me, but he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. A joke, Eliza. Ha-ha.”

  Involuntarily, Eliza looked down at Nicholas’s thigh. It was almost time for Dr. Samuelson to remove the stitches. The wound had been perilously close to Nicholas’s manhood, of which Eliza so far had only seen mere glimpses.

  Which was as it should be. Wasn’t it?

  Focus, Eliza, focus.

  “Are you in danger?”

  Nicholas snorted. “Only from you. I appreciate how you held everything together while the household was sick, but we’re fine now. Of course we’ll miss you, but you really should go back to the Evensong Agency. I’ll give you a substantial bonus for your service.”

  The thought of money changing hands between them raised Eliza’s hackles. But really, how stupid was she being? Of course she expected to be paid—her mother depended on her.

  Her mother. Eliza hadn’t seen her since she arrived on Lindsey Street. Their telephone conversations had been unsatisfactory. Suddenly Eliza wanted to go home in the very worst way.

  But not for good. She wasn’t going to leave Nicholas in the lurch no matter what he said.

  “I’ll think about it,” Eliza said. “Since you think you can spare me altogether, you shouldn’t object to giving me a few hours this afternoon to see my mother. I’ve worried about her.”

  Nicholas looked stricken. “Of course not! We should have arranged time off for you long before now. But why don’t you just go for good?”

  “Perhaps I will. Let me see what my mother has to say.”

  Eliza could hear her mother now, telling her to follow her heart, seize the day, not worry about her—things that Eliza had been heretofore incapable of. She loved her mother and felt responsible for her. Her sense of duty was strong, else she would have put a pillow over little Jonathan Hurst’s face a year ago after he dropped the dead moths on her. Eliza liked to finish what she began, tally the numbers, read to “The End.” Life might not be logical, but that didn’t mean Eliza wouldn’t try to bend it to her will.

  Her feelings toward Nicholas Raeburn were most illogical. The man disrupted her thought processes in a way no one ever had, not even Richard Hurst. Eliza was beginning to see she had put the barrister in an ivory tower. She’d never dreamed of being naked in his arms, having him lick—

  No. Her mind was wandering off in a treacherous direction, and her mother would take one look at her and call the banns. Eliza didn’t want to marry Nicholas. He’d be an unsuitable husband. His wife would never know what mischief he’d be up to next.

  But oh—to wake up to him every morning, his long, lean body pressed against hers—

  Just stop dreaming, Eliza, she scolded herself.

  There was a considerable hole in the damp ground now. If Nicholas had a valet, the man would be castigating him on the damage to his boot. The rest of him was somewhat rumpled, too. The moisture in the air had made his curls riotous and his tie was askew.

  Eliza knew that beneath his gloves, there were traces of oil paint on his long, capable fingers. She remembered where those fingers had been this morning and sighed.

  “How are you going
to escape? Those bloodsuckers are out front, you know.”

  Eliza reluctantly removed her beautiful new hat. “I’m going inside to get my coat, purse, and old hat. Will you give me a boost up over the wall when I come out?”

  Chapter 25

  The flat smelled like apples, which was only right since a big blue bowl of them sat on the kitchen table and a pie was in the oven. They had a part-time housekeeper, but today wasn’t one of her days, and Eliza’s mother had made the pie herself. Her cheeks were pink, and she bustled about—or what passed for bustling for her with her tricky knees—getting Eliza a cup of tea. She would wait to imbibe until Dr. Samuelson’s visit later, she informed Eliza.

  Eliza was concerned. “Should you be in bed? I can get my own cup of tea, you know.” There was a bakery around the corner that delivered, too, if only Mrs. Lawrence had bothered to ring them up.

  “Oh, it’s not a professional visit, dear,” Mrs. Lawrence said, wiping her swollen hands on a checked apron. She eased herself onto a slat-back chair, looking like a flour-dusted angel. She was still such a pretty woman despite the strains of arthritis.

  “What do you mean?”

  Her mother gave her an arch look. “I mean exactly what you think I mean. I might as well tell you. Dr. Samuelson and I have become good friends. Very good friends. He’s taken to coming around after his appointments. For tea. Sometimes supper.”

  He had? Since Eliza had moved back home from the Hursts three months ago, she had not found Dr. Samuelson underfoot at the end of the day.

  “Mama, is he courting you?” Though fit for his age, the doctor was a good two decades older than her mother. He had those very wooly eyebrows, too.

  “Would it bother you if I said yes? Marcus is a widower. His son and grandchildren are all the way across the Atlantic in Boston. He’s lonely, like I am. When you were a governess for that barrister, we began keeping company. Of course, after you came back home, we thought it best to be discreet and not shock you.”