RUNAWAY GOVERNESS, THE

by TYNER, LIZ

  ‘I will keep that in mind.’ William’s voice rolled over them. ‘My Songbird is truly a gift to the world. I fear the performance might have tired her. We should be leaving.’ He turned to Isabel. ‘Please make your goodbyes to your friends, Isabel. Tomorrow will be Christmas and I imagine you’ll wish to spend the entire day with them.’

  ‘I thought we…’ Isabel saw the flicker of blackness again. The square of the jaw just beyond the smile.

  She turned and bade her farewells to her friends, their happiness bouncing over her like sun’s rays.

  She had created the exact performance she’d wanted. She had been a success and William’s gloved hand over hers kept her close at his side as they made their farewells. William helped her into her coat and she collected the new velvet cape and draped it over her arm.

  In the carriage, he shook his head, in wonder. ‘You’re an excellent singer, Isabel, and an even better actress.’

  ‘I’ve been performing for the students since shortly after I attended the school,’ she said. ‘First they were surprised I could sing. But when the new wore off, they might yawn or speak to someone else. I determined to make them take notice while I sang and if their gazes moved I darted about, or swaggered or changed to a different song.’ She leaned into the coach seat. ‘I could not let them ignore me. I could not. Not in those moments. The moments were mine.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘When I sing for people, sometimes my heart beats so fast and afterwards I feel as if I have been running the whole time I was standing, but still, it is delicious.’

  ‘I swear, when you looked at me, I could have believed you were the woman in the song.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ll have people sending you hothouse flowers by the crate, but do not fall for such blather.’ He looked out the window, frowning. ‘The streets are near frozen. This will not help with my moving.’

  ‘But you’ll not want to move now? Surely not? It’s almost Christmas. I saw your face while I sang. I saw—’

  ‘Isabel. You saw the same as you gave,’ he said.

  The words hit her harder than anything Lady Howell had ever spoken.

  ‘Oh.’ She huffed at herself. She’d been taken in again during a performance.

  ‘I’ve paid extra to have the home now,’ he said. ‘I had the servants begin moving my things while we were out. They were to take the majority of things I need, but leave enough for tonight and we can finish tomorrow.’

  ‘On the eve of Christmas? And Christmas Day.’ Her fingers tightened. ‘The servants are working…you could not wait?’

  She pressed herself against the opposing side of the carriage and turned to him. ‘I thought you cared much more for them than that. They have been with you for years.’

  ‘I do care for them, but it is their employment. We were working tonight as well. This was not all frivolity, Isabel. It may seem like it to you, but your voice will open your way in this town. Lady Howell and her friends will spread the news at their Christmas meals tomorrow as this will give them an event to share. The next time I go to the clubs, I will be questioned about it. More will hear of it. Within the space of a few days, everyone who knows of us will know of your voice.’

  ‘Open my way into what?’

  ‘All of what you wish. I’ve put it at your feet.’

  ‘You have?’ The chilled air seeped into her clothing.

  ‘Yes. You wished to move to London to have a stage. I’ve provided you with one.’

  Exerting strength to calm her fears, she said, ‘I was the one singing the song. I knew what I was doing. My voice would find a way to be heard once I am at a soirée no matter what. It didn’t matter that it was your sister’s home. I promise you that I can innocently lean against a pianoforte, trail my hand along the keys and start absently singing to myself and have others listening in a heartbeat.’

  ‘I have speeded the process.’

  ‘You speeded the process so you can tramp out the door of your house and make a sham of a marriage.’ She spoke the words, and heard them, and felt them. ‘And you have chosen to have a disagreement with me to make the process of your leaving seem more justified.’

  ‘This has been a sham of a marriage since before the vows.’ Quiet words, barely stabbing the air. ‘We agreed to a marriage with no heart involved. I did so because I knew I had no heart to give.’

  She matched her control to his.

  ‘Marriage.’ She tapped her chin. ‘Tell me, what does that word mean?’

  ‘Nothing to us.’

  ‘Well, you put that more clearly than the signature on your wedding paper. I noticed the grimace on your face when you signed. It was not a death proclamation.’

  ‘It very much felt like one. You cannot know what love does to a person. You have been too secluded with the girls in the school and the countryside. I have seen it first-hand. I have seen it from women who have caught the pox from their husbands and who are dying as the husband is visiting a young mistress. I have seen it in the eyes of the men who look at tarts who are fighting for the men’s coins. And I have seen what it does to innocent children and people who are merely standing at the side and must suffer because love has grappled someone by the throat and chewed out their minds.’

  ‘Even Mr and Mrs Grebbins knew more about love than you.’

  ‘I don’t care who knows more about love than me. I know enough.’

  ‘No. You know nothing about it.’ Again she heard her words. They pushed her back into the carriage seat as she struggled with them. It was true. He didn’t. If he did, he would not be thrusting hers back into her face. He didn’t know of the devotion and the happiness two people could share when looking at the world together.

  He spoke to the night. ‘Do not care for me, Isabel.’

  ‘Loving you would be the same as loving a gold chamber pot. Rather nice on the outside, but one mustn’t get too close or the stink sets in.’

  ‘Thank you. You see, the stink is what happens when one thinks to love.’

  ‘I would quite agree. I am so fortunate we will have a marriage where we are not tripping over each other. But I am very upset that you would expect the servants to work tonight. I will help them crate up your things so you may move sooner. I hope you’re taking that hideously arrogant bed with you. I might put something smaller there for guests, or move into it myself.’

  ‘You’re completely welcome to do as you wish.’

  ‘I will. Perhaps some dried flowers will give it a fresher smell.’

  ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘Well, it does reek of shaving soap and boot black and leather. Scents that I am quite certain—’ She put a hand to her throat. ‘They do not do well for me.’

  ‘I agree that they do not. And I quite like them.’

  ‘I hope you are not planning to stay the night at the town house,’ she said. ‘After all, there is much work to be done moving the things out of the…room. And I can easily direct the servants to send things your way later.’

  ‘I was quite planning to spend the night there as it is still my home for the moment.’

  ‘Please do not forget to leave any instructions you might have for me in the future in such a way as to reach my housekeeper. She will give me all posts and make certain I am kept up to date. Although I do not know how I will make it up to the servants that they are having to work in this season. I will think of something though, no matter how much it costs.’

  The carriage rumbled along and Isabel was at the door before the carriage’s movement stopped in front of the house.

  ‘If this,’ she said, blocking the door and not wanting the coachman to hear, ‘is a better state to you than love, then I would wish you a whole lifetime of such bliss.’

  She left him behind. He could follow her or not. She didn’t care.

  When they walked into the house, she said over her shoulder, ‘One word with you upstairs, please.’

  As quickly as she walked, she could not outpace him. She walked into
the windowed sitting room, noting the shutters closed against the cold. She’d seen a crate in the hallway, but no servants in the family chambers. Perhaps they were not too dedicated to be working at the moment either, but she was certain confectionery scents lingered in the air.

  ‘And how are we to handle the addition of children into the house?’ she asked.

  ‘I am neither here nor there on the subject. It is not something that must be decided this night or this year for that matter.’

  ‘I wish for them.’

  ‘Then I will do what I can to assist.’

  ‘I somehow knew you would.’ She raised her chin. ‘I didn’t want you to think I would forbid such activities until an heir and a daughter is provided. On the other hand, if a daughter arrives first and second, I will consider myself unable to get the process right and my duty done.’

  ‘We will decide as the time arrives.’

  ‘Very well. Thank you for the wonderful evening.’

  ‘Let us not part on sour feelings. This is for the best, even for you, Isabel. You just do not know it.’

  Looking at the floor, she gathered her thoughts. ‘You have not dissembled about what you wished for. Not once. I must understand. I suppose I let the dreams I had as a child override the truth.’ She raised her face. ‘Do not think I am angry at you, William. I am, but I will soon be over it. I am most angry that sunshine does not hide in all dark caves and hungry children do not have fairies to feed them a good meal before night-time. I wish all dreams came true—and simply by writing the words in a song and singing it the world could become clear and all lives be filled with hopes that come true. I have been fortunate because of your intervention. Now I will continue on as planned. I was to remain a spinster for my life and I will always be unwed in my heart. I will not trouble you for a marriage you never wished to have.’

  ‘I wish you pleasant dreams.’

  ‘You as well.’ She gave a quick curtsy to him and he left.

  She could not quite finish with the untruths. And it had led her into the cave without sunshine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A knocking on the door of her bedchamber-turned-into-music-room caused Isabel to sit alert. The lady’s maid had already helped her get ready for bed.

  William. He simply could not stay away.

  Well, he could not stay either, not tonight. She called out to enter. The maid walked in. Isabel’s eyes kept trying to make the maid taller and turn her into William, but it didn’t work.

  ‘My pardon,’ the servant said. ‘With the soirée, and the moving and Christmas, I didn’t remember to give you this.’ She held folded paper in her hand and walked it across to Isabel.

  The maid left and Isabel looked at the writing. She knew it was no note from William. It would be from Grace or Rachel, as Isabel had already received a letter from her parents earlier wishing her a joyful Christmas. They would not have time to write again for some time because they would be so caught up in visiting neighbours and sharing the good cheer for the year.

  Isabel gazed at the picture she’d had framed. The one Grace had drawn when they were younger. Four smiling faces. Her friends who’d kept her from feeling alone. The other three girls had lifted her spirits even when she’d not mentioned needing a smile. They’d never been further away than a whisper at the school. She’d lost the closeness with them, by distance and circumstance.

  She had seen Joanna and Luke, and been able to share in their happiness, but a hollowness had burdened her, until she sang. Then, she’d been enveloped in William’s love, but it had been an illusion. A lie. A short-lived lie.

  Now the untruths she’d told were settling on her like winter’s chill only going deep inside and coating all her feelings in a muck of despair.

  She had the servants to keep her company. True, they were paid to be at her home, but surely it was not too terrible to work for her. Or perhaps they simply could not find another post.

  Isabel turned the letter to the light and opened it. Rachel had written. The excitement from the words blasted into the room and shot through Isabel’s heart. It was all she could do not to stop reading. Rachel was getting married to a prince.

  Joanna had Luke.

  But not all of them had fared so well.

  Isabel didn’t know precisely what had happened with Grace and her daughter, except Miss Fanworth said Grace had been satisfied her daughter was cared for. Grace could now continue on, searching out a governess position so she might forget the tragic moments of her past. Isabel imagined Grace keeping the loss deep inside for the rest of her life, the sadness growing greater as the years passed. Much like William’s father had mourned.

  Nor had Isabel received a post from Miss Fanworth about Madame and she was afraid to write and ask because she might find out something she could not bear. Madame had sounded so ill earlier and Isabel had thought the Duke would return with news, but he’d not attended the soirée.

  Isabel continued reading the letter, each swirl of the words dragging like icy drips across the vestiges of her heart. Only, it wasn’t vestiges, it was as a big bleeding mess that took up the entire room. She had learned nothing when she caught that bee. Nothing.

  Isabel read the words through a blur of moisture. She was invited to the wedding.

  She didn’t think she should attend. To fall to her knees sobbing as the couple gazed into each other’s eyes would not be pleasant. She could imagine the shocked look on faces and herself rolling about the floor in agony.

  Looking down at the rug, she sighed. Rolling on the floor would not help. She’d learned to feel things deeply so she could put the emotions into song. That was turning out rather dismally.

  A knock again on the door. William. She sniffled. She would forgive him.

  But then the door opened slowly and a skirt showed. It would not be him. The maid peeked around. ‘I forgot to tell you about Rambler. A boy appeared at the door this morning and was looking for his cat. He’d heard we found one. Rambler ran to him and jumped into his arms.’

  Isabel smiled. ‘Well, that will make a happy Christmas for the boy.’

  She would not cry. She would not. But she did feel all a-sniffle.

  ‘Please tell my husband that I erred when I said I have a cat.’

  ‘I do not believe he is here, but I will see that he is informed when he returns.’

  The door shut. Isabel stepped across the room and opened the basket where she kept her sewing. Looking underneath, where she’d hidden them from view, she pulled out the five handkerchiefs. She had not put flowers on them, but simply a strong B with perhaps a few more circles and dots than necessary. For William. She held it to her cheek, and when the soft fabric touched her skin, it was too much.

  She took all five and moved to the tiny room and on to the lumpy bed. She sat, her back against the headboard in the small, dark room. She had a whole house, servants, and yet she felt most at home in this room which was the same size as the one at her parent’s house.

  Even if her mother had been in the same house, Isabel knew she could not have rushed to her and explained. Her mother wouldn’t have understood. Her mother had never been anything but the light in the candle in the centre of the room. She’d had six brothers who’d all thought her a gem, then married a man who thought her the whole world of jewels.

  Isabel’s mother was a good-spirited mother who meant well, but she didn’t truly understand tears, or sadness or being alone.

  In the darkness, Isabel traced her fingers over the B. She was a Balfour now. And probably, in truth, was the perfect wife for her husband. She would learn not to care. She would lock away her feelings in the same way William had. She swallowed. She would find his secret.

  If she had daughters, she would teach them to be brave and strong. She would also understand if their hearts were broken and she would give them more comfort than a wadded wet handkerchief.

  Singing didn’t seem so important now as love. The one thing in the world that she would giv
e up singing for—she could not have.

  *

  In the bedchamber, William gave the sleepy-eyed valet the option of waiting to follow until after Christmas Day. The man surely had personal attachments and William didn’t wish to disrupt them.

  Then the valet examined William’s face. That had never happened before. Their eyes had never really met and now the man looked at him as if trying to decipher the back of William’s head going straight through from the eyes.

  William took the key to the new home. He would not wait until Christmas Day to move. Isabel planned to eat dinner with his sisters, but William would not join the festivities. Spending the day alone would suit him. As soon as Sophia had her own home so she could host his sisters, he’d shut Christmas from his life. He didn’t need it.

  William marched out the door, letting the cold air blast his face. His fists were at his side and he waited for his carriage. The time seemed eternal until the vehicle approached.

  Wind buffeted him. He should have stayed inside to wait for the carriage, but the house had been too warm and the servants not their usual quiet selves. He could hear bustles and taps and hints of disarray. His moving out, along with cooking, had disrupted things.

  ‘Cousin Sylvester’s,’ William said. He had no desire to go to his new home. He was taking some of the staff to work for him, but they would not begin until the day after Christmas.

  ‘Of course. He will be pleased you’re attending his…evening.’

  ‘Wait.’ William stopped short, remembering the date. Sylvester always tried to have a particularly ribald dinner party in the late hours and claimed to his friends that it was necessary for them all to attend so they would have something to take the sting out of a pleasant Christmas dinner where one had to sit with elderly relatives and discuss bunions and stuffed gullets and digestive disorders.

  But as of late, Sylvester had begun to discuss his own aching head, sorrowful stomach and ingrown toenails more than one would expect. He also discussed hair tonics to excess as he had a deep concern about the thinning spots in his locks.