The Reluctant Governess

by Maggie Robinson

  Eliza chewed her lip. This mess was all her fault.

  “Don’t give away the store and its sidewalk just yet, Mr. Raeburn. Let me see what I can do.” Mr. Coningford rose and extended his hand. Nicholas took it and shook it with a notable absence of vigor.

  “Miss Lawrence, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope I can settle all this and return your charge to you swiftly.”

  “I should like that,” Eliza said, and she realized she meant it. Not just for Nicholas’s sake, but because Sunny had grown very dear to her. It would be painful to leave Lindsey Street for so many reasons.

  Maybe she wouldn’t go. For all her protestations about governessing, she did have a way with children—just look what she’d accomplished with Jonathan Hurst. Sunny was much less challenging. Smarter, too. She would be a remarkable young woman with Nicholas Raeburn for a father.

  If he managed to keep her. He had to, he simply had to. Eliza was itching to give Daniel Preble the solicitor’s card and the most supercilious stare imaginable. She’d practice in the mirror tonight.

  Tonight. Goodness, where was she going to stay? Apart from the conversation in the car, she’d not been told where she would sleep tonight. And what would she sleep in? The thought of wearing Sir Thomas’s late mama’s nightgown was not appealing.

  Certainly she could have gone home this evening. Her mother wanted Eliza to accept Dr. Samuelson as her future stepfather, and Eliza had no objection. If her mother was happy and content, that was all that mattered. But she had to stay and help Nicholas, who looked bleak as he watched the fire in Sir Thomas’s library.

  “I’ll see you out, Coningford,” Sir Thomas said, leaving them alone.

  “Can I get you anything? A sandwich? Some cake?” Eliza asked. They’d all been too keyed up to eat much of anything before Mr. Coningford’s arrival.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Nicholas was pale, almost as if he was sick again. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Of course I’m not all right!” Nicholas exploded. “And I don’t need another lecture on how I’m feeling sorry for myself. It’s Sunny I’m thinking of, Eliza. She doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her—what’s already happened to her. My chickens are coming home to roost, and a mangier lot you’d be hard-pressed to find. Feathers are everywhere. Maybe I don’t deserve Barbara’s trust. Maybe I was her second choice.”

  “Don’t be stupid! From all I’ve heard, Daniel Preble is a horrible man. Even Mrs. Quinn doesn’t like him. She adores you.”

  “Mrs. Quinn?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. All she can do is sing your praises.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “She’s only known me a couple of weeks, and half that time I’ve been confined to bed.”

  “Well, she knows Daniel Preble very well and has nothing good to say about him. She was over the moon when he had to flee England. That house has been the scene of some very unseemly activities.” Mrs. Quinn had been mostly circumspect in her appraisal of her previous employer, but one or two hair-raising tidbits had come out over rolling out pastry on the kitchen table.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere. So what if I’m marginally less sinful than Daniel? No court of law would choose me as any child’s custodian. I don’t even know if the arrangements I made in Italy will be upheld here.” Nicholas picked up his empty glass and stared into its bottom.

  “Drinking won’t help.” Eliza knew she was sounding prudish again, but couldn’t help it. Nicholas looked truly ill.

  “Ah, it’s back to me being a drunkard again. Whiskey might not help my case, but it might help my head.” He stalked over to the drinks cupboard and poured out much more than a splash.

  “You aren’t well. You should eat something.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Eliza closed her fist around a hapless biscuit. “Don’t be mean, Nicholas. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Like Mrs. Quinn, you don’t even know me.”

  That was it. Eliza lobbed the biscuit directly at Nicholas, just as Sir Thomas entered the room.

  Chapter 28

  “Children, children,” Tubby said. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without disaster befalling you. Which is a bit troubling, as I’ve got several engagements tonight that are imperative to attend. Fund-raising efforts, don’t you know. I don’t suppose either one of you would like to come along with me?”

  “I haven’t any clothes,” Eliza said, giving Tubby a shy smile.

  If only that was true. Her gray jacket and gray hat made her look like a morbidly underweight elephant. Nick shut his eyes to the sight of her being friendly to his friend and swallowed too much of his drink.

  “Nicky?”

  “I’m not in the mood, Tubby.” He might never be in the mood to socialize again.

  “Very well. Then I’ll begin the arduous process of getting ready to skim money off the cream of society. Bathing. Buffing. Consuming half a bottle of brandy to make them seem more interesting. I’ll tell Hitchborn to notify Cook that there will be two for dinner. And don’t tell me you’re not in the mood to eat, Nick—my Cook will cook us both if her efforts have gone to waste. Once she sees this tea tray, we’re done for anyhow.” Tubby picked up a tiny sandwich and popped it in his mouth. “Eight o’clock sharp.”

  Just a few hours from now. Nick wondered if he could stay awake.

  “But—” Eliza bit a lip.

  “But?”

  “Can’t we just take trays in our rooms? It’s been a long day.”

  “Miss Lawrence! Such heresy. If you’re worried about a dinner dress, worry no more. There are trunks somewhere with all the fripperies a young lady could desire. For the models, you know. I may not paint, myself, but I sometimes loan out space here to starving artists, and I have all sorts of props and costumes. The attics get remarkably good light. Even Nicky has availed himself of them when he’s visited London. But Hitchborn does not approve of the questionable characters in the art world traipsing in and out, and you know all gentlemen live in fear of their butlers. Hence my artists’ colony idea. I just need the proper building.”

  Tubby’s idea was really revolutionary, and Nick hoped it would come to fruition.

  But without Eliza assisting in any way.

  Nick frowned. Who was he to condemn Eliza to the Evensong Agency for the rest of her life? It might be the premiere business of its kind, but surely there was more to life than securing nursemaids and new wives for members of the ton.

  But she seemed to like it there, and judging from his interview this afternoon, they liked her. The sooner he could get her back where she belonged, the better.

  To prevent Cook’s rebellion, Tubby managed to cram three more small sandwiches and a fruit tart into his mouth before he scuttled out of the library, leaving Nick and Eliza alone again. Nick bent to pick up the biscuit missile and returned it to the tier of pastries.

  “You don’t have to keep me company,” he said gruffly.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Yes. “Of course not. I just thought you’d be more comfortable in your room.”

  “Wherever that might be.”

  “I’m sure Tubby’s making the necessary arrangements right now for your comfort,” Nick said, hoping it was true. He assumed he’d have his usual room. Nick hadn’t come back to England often, but when he did he preferred to stay here.

  “Why does he have that silly name?”

  “When Tubby was a boy, he was very good with his hands, and fancied himself a nautical engineer. He made elaborate paper boats to float in the bathtub, but a fleet of them somehow got stuck in the pipes at school and caused quite a lot of damage. His father had to cough up an unconscionable amount of money to repair the dormitory and its plumbing, and Tubby was relegated to the showers until his father came to pick him up. He was expelled.” Nick doubted T
ubby had continued on with his hobby, which was a shame. No matter what the man said, he was a kind of artist. He could probably have shown the Japanese a thing or two about origami.

  “After so many years, I should think he’d prefer Thomas.”

  “I daresay you’re right. Old habits die hard.” Nick had had to kill his with ruthless efficiency once he’d taken responsibility for Sunny.

  Did he miss his old life? Sometimes. Nothing had been forbidden, neither women nor drugs nor drink. Nick had indulged himself rather shamelessly, escaping from Highland hypocrisy—rules his family had set but didn’t keep themselves. But if he was honest, his passion to push the limits had waned even before Sunny came into his life. Momentary pleasures were just that, and didn’t last in the light of the day. Waking up to a strange face—or worse, a too-familiar one—was in his past.

  “Look,” he continued, picking up the offending biscuit from the tray and snapping it in two, “I’m sure you could dine in your room without bringing Cook’s wrath down upon us. You’re right—it’s been a hellishly long day.”

  Eliza looked up from her teacup, a faint flush on her cheeks. “Do you want to be by yourself? I don’t think that’s good for you.”

  “Good for me? Why, Miss Lawrence, do you think that you are the only thing standing between me and despair?”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  Nick snorted. “You give yourself too much credit and me too little. Don’t worry, I’m not going to leap from Tubby’s—no, Thomas’s roof. This business over Sunny will sort itself out, and then I’m leaving London.”

  “You are?”

  “I didn’t want to come back to begin with, and I’ve had nothing but misery since I did.”

  Except for the extraordinary sensual encounters with you. But he couldn’t say that. He needed to distance himself. Push her away. Unfortunately, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and smother her with kisses. Undress her. She looked so earnest. Concerned.

  Adorable even fully dressed in her ghastly governess outfit.

  “Where will you go?”

  He broke a half into a half. By the gods, he was killing time with mathematics. “I promised Sunny Christmas in Scotland with her uncles. And then who knows? It’s time for a change.” Nick hoped he would still have Sunny with him.

  “Is your family very jolly at Christmas?”

  “I have no idea. They used to be before my parents split up. No, they didn’t divorce—that would have been too sensible,” he said after catching the shock on her face. “They lived separately, and died within days of each other. It was all very odd.”

  Nick’s mother had not been much over forty. One didn’t have to be old to die of diphtheria, however. His father met with an accident at a country house party, thrown from his favorite hunter three days later, never knowing his wife had predeceased him. The boys hadn’t known where to reach him to give him the news—the late Lord Raeburn had been a restless soul intent on amusement wherever and whenever he could find it. Their parents were buried together in the family plot, where they were no doubt elbowing the hell out of each other underground.

  “How sad.”

  “I’m well over it. It all happened more than a decade ago. When Alec tried to become both mother and father, I left.”

  Nick now understood Alec’s fierce protectiveness—he felt the same for Sunny. But at the time, it had been a dead bore to be the littlest Raeburn brother, particularly when he was just as tall as his siblings and wanted his life to start on his own terms.

  Well, he’d done what he wanted. Done more than he’d ever known existed. And what did he have to show for it?

  Nick felt the sympathy radiating from Eliza. She’d grown up in a stable home where her parents loved each other. She would be horrified to know the depths he’d sunk to trying to find a home of sorts for himself.

  “My mother is getting married again,” Eliza blurted, surprising him out of his funk.

  “Indeed? Who is the lucky fellow? Do you like him?”

  She picked at the gore of her skirt. “It’s Dr. Samuelson.”

  “By the gods, that old man? She’ll be widowed again before she knows it.” Nick cursed himself for his careless tongue once he’d glimpsed Eliza’s dismayed expression. He really could watch her face forever—her emotions and blushes were always at the surface.

  “I hope the man lives forever,” he said hurriedly. “Fine doctor, as far as doctors go. I should call him to snip out these stitches. They pull like the devil.”

  “That means you’re healing. He’s not due to come back until the day after tomorrow.”

  “We should be home by then. In fact, we’ll leave tomorrow. Daniel may turn up at any time. You can pass out the lawyer’s card and go home.”

  “Will I have to tie you up in your room so you don’t come to fisticuffs with him? Mr. Coningford gave strict instructions to you to avoid him, but somehow I don’t think you like to follow rules.”

  Nick saw himself spread-eagle in his poster bed, silk scarves tied about each wrist and ankle. He was naked, of course, his cock pointed at the ceiling, Eliza bending to it with one of her ever-present blushes on her cheeks. Her hair would be loose, a river of gold and amber. She would give him the same shy smile she’d given to Tubby, then lick her luscious lips and begin. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move.

  Nick crushed the biscuit sections he still had in his hands into crumbs.

  “Oh! You’re making a mess! Don’t stand up. I’ll brush you off.”

  Oh yes, Nick thought, that’s just what he needed, Eliza’s capable hands skittering over his lap. She couldn’t possibly miss his burgeoning erection. By the gods, what was wrong with him? His life was a shambles and all he could think of was sex.

  Sex with Eliza, her creamy skin glowing in the lamplight, her hair silk between his fingers. The scent of lemons. Her lashes shadowing her cheeks, her pelvis thrusting up—

  “I’ll do it,” he said tersely. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and swept most of the crumbs into his whiskey glass, where they sunk into the brown liquid that remained. So much for drowning his sorrows.

  But Eliza was right. It wouldn’t help to get muzzy-headed. He owed it to her to be gentlemanly tonight, to muster up some amusing conversation as they sat in Tubby’s cavernous dining room and picked over what was sure to be a banquet. He might want to curl up on that couch over yonder, but it wouldn’t do. Night would fall soon enough, and with it, his hopes.

  Chapter 29

  The estimable—or terrifying—Hitchborn had two footmen deliver the trunks to Eliza’s bedroom. Not the late Lady Featherstone’s after all, but a lovely red toile-covered room that faced the rose garden in the rear of the house. Even though it was October, there were still some blooms clinging bravely to the canes in the gathering dusk. Lamps had been lit on the brick path that marched through regimented beds, lending a soft glow to the crisp night air. Gardening in the middle of Mayfair must be challenging, but Sir Thomas had the money to do it.

  Eliza had bathed, refusing the help of a very young maid—she could figure out where all her body parts were, thank you very much, and she didn’t have time to wash and then dry her hair. She was now examining some of the less outlandish gowns from Sir Thomas’s attic. It was like playing dress-up.

  Eliza quickly rejected some fetching but shockingly sheer costumes. If she had desired to dine as Scheherazade or Cleopatra or a sixteenth-century courtesan, there were choices galore. It was obvious this clothing was sewn to reveal more than it covered—a spangled scarf here, a satin draping there. The unadorned female form had been the rage for centuries. Nicholas was just another artist in a long line to put his brush to its devoted depiction.

  Eliza prayed no one would break into Lindsey Street and discover Nicholas’s latest work in the studio. No fabric covered the faux Eliza.

&nbs
p; Her cheeks grew hot. Blast Nicholas for unbalancing her with his outrageous portrait. However, she needed to pull herself together, for he was very melancholy. There was no trace of his playfulness. How could there be, when this business with Daniel Preble loomed large? Eliza thought Nicholas would rather lose his brush hand than lose his daughter. The cheerful carelessness she’d observed in the beginning between them masked something deeper. Nicholas wanted the child to be happy and free—an extraordinarily unusual attitude for most parents, who clung to useless rules to raise their offspring.

  There would be no rules tonight.

  Where did that come from?

  Eliza’s erratic heart.

  She was going to seduce Nicholas Raeburn. They had skirted around the issue long enough—it was time for Eliza to toss up that skirt and damn the consequences.

  His room was just across the hall. Sir Thomas’s was miles away down another wing. They would have privacy. No Sunny, no servants.

  She would return with him to Lindsey Street tomorrow, pass out the solicitor’s card, hope for the best.

  And leave.

  Nicholas was right—she couldn’t stay alone with him at the house. There was no reason to—Sunny was safe in Islington under the care of Mrs. Quinn and Sir Thomas’s burly footman. One night would have to be enough. More would be asking for trouble.

  Eliza had never looked for trouble in her life until she’d met Nicholas. Now trouble was popping up everywhere, some of it intriguing. Heavens, if her own respectable mother was enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, why shouldn’t she?

  Just the once. Eliza would have to make that clear. She was not going to become a man’s mistress no matter how tempting he was. And to expect for more was foolish. Nicholas had no good opinion of marriage—he’d been clear about that. Marriage had never been her goal anyway, save for briefly picturing herself as Mrs. Richard Hurst. An impossible dream, since Mr. Hurst had barely known she was alive.