The Rags-to-Riches Governess--A Cinderella Regency Romance

by Janice Preston

  His chest inflated as he inhaled. ‘I apologise for barking at you, George. I know you only meant well. And I am sorry you had to witness that lapse in manners, Miss Thame. I cannot excuse myself.’

  Leah experienced a satisfying sense of accomplishment. She had successfully soothed Dolphinstone’s temper and rescued a fraught situation. She eyed His Lordship surreptitiously as she sipped her wine. He looked so very splendid in his evening clothes, radiating masculinity. He drew her attention like a magnet and, before she could help herself, she found regret coursing through her that he was so far out of her reach. Not only due to his status in Society but also because he was clearly still in love with his dead wife.

  You fool! Did you learn nothing from Peter and Usk? Do not allow a handsome face to draw you in again. You will end up hurt.

  ‘It’s quite all right, old chap,’ Hinckley was saying. ‘I didn’t think... I know returning here has been something of a trial for you. You will settle in time, I’m sure.’

  Dolphinstone’s lips quirked in a brief smile. ‘I know.’

  Leah sat awkwardly for a few minutes before realising she was expected to withdraw now they had finished eating. That was one of the stories with which Papa used to regale her and Mama about life in Society, for, as the younger son of a gentleman, he had travelled well in his youth and had spent some time in London during the Season, even though he had always been destined for the Church. She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I shall withdraw now. Is it still acceptable to you I practise on the pianoforte, sir?’

  ‘It is. It will be a pleasure to hear music in the house again.’

  Chapter Eight

  The next afternoon Dolph hesitated outside the schoolroom door. His palms, ridiculously, were damp, and his stomach roiled uneasily. He sucked in a calming breath. How absurd was this...a grown man nervous of talking to his own sons? They were only children. But maybe that was the trouble. If they were older, closer to manhood, he would not be so anxious about saying or doing something to upset them. Or even frighten them. What did he know about how to talk to children?

  He rubbed his palms down his coat and steeled himself to push open the door.

  The minute he was inside the room his nerves subsided when he saw the delight shining on the two little faces turned to him. He might still worry the boys would hate him for leaving them the way he did, but it seemed his sons were more forgiving than he deserved. A little of the guilt he had carried for the past sixteen months slipped from his shoulders.

  ‘Greet your father, boys.’

  Miss Thame’s murmured instruction drew his attention. She was once again clad in her governess garb, as he thought of it. Every inch the respectable governess. She had appeared a different woman last evening—alluring in a way that captured his interest—with her hair pinned in a much softer style and wearing a blue gown that accentuated her porcelain skin and revealed the upper slopes of her breasts. The only adornment had been a simple blue ribbon from which a gold ring was suspended. His gaze had returned to her décolletage time and again—drawn as though to a magnet—as he’d speculated about whose ring it was. Her mother’s, perhaps? It was too small to fit a man’s finger. A memory from last evening formed in his mind’s eye, of Leah at the pianoforte, her slender, sensitive fingers dancing across the keys, the pale vulnerability of her nape and the long lines of her back... He jerked his thoughts away from those mental images before his body could respond.

  ‘Good afternoon, Papa,’ the boys chorused obediently across the width of the room.

  ‘Good afternoon, Stevie. Good afternoon, Nicky.’

  ‘Would you care to hear the boys read to you, sir?’ Leah—as he had begun to think of her inside his head—approached him, and her fresh scent filled his senses. She lowered her voice, smiling a conspirator’s smile. ‘Would you ask Nicky to read first, as he is a little less sure of himself in the schoolroom than he is outside it? If Stevie reads first, it will make him more anxious.’

  ‘Whatever you think best,’ Dolph murmured, then raised his voice. ‘Nicky, will you read to me first?’

  His younger son’s face fell, but he nodded stoically.

  Miss Thame returned to sit with Stevie and redirected his attention to the map they had been studying when Dolph came in. As he listened to Nicky laboriously reading aloud the words chalked on his slate, Dolph also eavesdropped on the way Leah tested Stevie upon his understanding of the world. She teased out Stevie’s knowledge, and his admiration and respect for her grew as she seemed instinctively to understand when the boy reached his limit, never pushing him too far beyond his capabilities, so he didn’t get discouraged and give up. Dolph attempted to adopt the same tactic with Nicky, although he soon realised all his younger son needed was a huge amount of patient repetition to try to imprint the letters and the sounds they made into his brain.

  He had vowed to concentrate solely on the boys during his visit to the schoolroom, but it proved impossible to completely ignore his growing fascination with Leah. That unexpected frisson between them on the beach when their gazes had locked, kindling the slow burn of desire deep inside him—for the first time in a very long time—had unsettled him enough. As a consequence, he had found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied at the dining table, wary of revealing any hint of his inappropriate interest in her, and she, too, had been clearly ill at ease. He was glad she had agreed to dine with them, however, and she had impressed him with her skill in defusing the tension after George’s crass remark about Rebecca.

  When the time came to swap over, he was impressed with Stevie’s quick mind and his confidence with reading—he was reading from a text rather than from a slate—and he noticed Leah completely changed her approach to help Nicky, who was clearly struggling with the concept of maps and countries.

  But, still, only half his attention remained on his son and his schoolwork. Still, it proved impossible to keep his eyes from straying to Leah, eyeing her tightly pinned hair and imagining how it would look, and feel, if let loose to flow over her shoulders and down her back.

  And those freckles... Where else did they dot her pale, translucent skin?

  * * *

  As the days passed, such improper thoughts made him careful to avoid being alone with Leah. When they spoke, their conversation—as if by mutual, unspoken agreement—focussed on the children and their progress, and when Dolph visited the schoolroom, Leah’s attention remained steadfastly on her pupils. Dolph would watch them with an aching hollow in his chest, envying their closeness, hoping he might soon achieve that same, easy relationship with his sons.

  The evenings became less fraught, with George as entertaining a raconteur as ever and proving the perfect foil. It was then, at dinner and afterwards, that Dolph noticed more of those telltale signs Leah was still troubled. At odd moments her thoughts seemed to turn inward, and a vertical line would score the pale skin between her brows while her teeth worried at her lower lip, sending Dolph’s pulse rocketing.

  The relative intimacy of those evenings bothered him. What would happen when George left? He could hardly insult Leah by not dining with her, but what if this unexpected lustful interest continued? He had never before considered taking a mistress, but that might be the only solution if his physical needs continued to plague him... Surely there must be a local widow who would be happy to—That line of thought slammed to a halt as every fibre of his being rebelled against the very idea of a mistress.

  * * *

  The weather turned colder over the next few weeks, with brisk winds bringing daily showers of hail or sleet. Everyday life fell into a pattern: every afternoon, George rode or walked into the village—rendering Dolph uneasy as he wondered about George’s intentions towards Miss Strong—and Dolph would visit the schoolroom for half an hour. The deteriorating weather increasingly confined the boys to the house and, on those days, in
stead of their daily brisk walk, they were set free to play as soon as morning lessons were over. The house would shake to the din of thundering feet, shrieks of laughter and excitable barks from Wolf, who, increasingly, had abandoned Dolph’s company in favour of spending time with the boys. Later, after afternoon lessons, there would be more outdoor exercise or a quieter session of indoor play, when the boys would fight battles with their toy soldiers or play a game of hide-and-seek, with occasional bursts of excitement as someone was found.

  * * *

  On the first day Dolph had experienced the phenomenon of what Leah called indoor play, he had emerged from his study ready to restore the peace but, at that precise moment, the noise had suddenly abated and order had been restored. Later that afternoon, when Leah had brought the boys and Tilly to the drawing room to say goodnight—another habit that had become a routine—she had turned to him, saying with a smile that reached deep inside him and tweaked his heartstrings, ‘Do you now appreciate why I take the boys outside for exercise whenever possible?’

  It had taken him a moment or two to identify the emotion triggered by her smile. Loneliness. That was how he felt. And, without warning, resentment—aimed squarely at Rebecca—spiralled through him. How could she have left him...left her children...in such a cruel way? As quickly as it arose, his anger with his dead wife subsided and he was consumed once again with guilt.

  My fault. I should have noticed. I let her down.

  He had retreated to his study without answering Leah, headed straight for the decanter and poured himself a glass of claret, downing it in one, mentally shoving those feelings into a box and slamming the lid. He didn’t want to feel, dammit. Nothing could change what had happened.

  * * *

  On the twenty-third day of February, which had so far lived up to its reputation as the worst winter month weather-wise, Dolph came downstairs dressed for dinner to discover a message from George had been delivered, along with a letter for Leah.

  ‘Have that taken up to Miss Thame, Palmer,’ he said to the butler as he opened the seal on George’s note.

  My dear Dolph

  Reverend Strong has kindly invited me to dine tonight. I know you will not object and, as it has been a rare dry day, I shall walk back later by the light of a lantern so you need have no fears for my safe return.

  Your friend

  Hinckley

  Dolph’s first reaction was dread at the prospect of dining à deux with Leah, but he soon realised there was no point avoiding it—George would not be at the Court for ever, and Dolph must learn to behave normally around his sons’ governess whether they were alone or not. He went to the drawing room to await Leah, positioning himself by the fireside and staring mindlessly into the flames until he heard her enter.

  He turned. She was dressed tonight in her green muslin gown, her shawl around her shoulders, and that wedding ring around her neck, tonight suspended on a green ribbon. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled, prompting him to wonder who her letter had been from. She was clearly happy with the news it contained. For a split second his imagination conjured up an image of her dressed in a fashionable evening gown, with sapphires or pearls around her neck, but he batted that picture aside with a surge of self-loathing.

  I pay her wages. She is powerless. If I do not control these lustful urges for the poor woman, it will be her who suffers. Not me.

  ‘I’m afraid it is just the two of us for dinner this evening, Miss Thame.’ He would make no big thing of them dining alone together. She, he knew, would follow his lead. ‘George sent word that he is invited to dine at the vicarage.’

  ‘The vicarage?’ She frowned. ‘He visits the Reverend Strong almost daily, does he not? Or is Miss Strong the magnet that draws him to the village so frequently?’

  ‘George enjoys the Reverend’s conversation, but I won’t deny he also takes pleasure in Miss Strong’s company—he is a man who enjoys the society of women probably more than that of other men.’ Dolph resolved to warn George once again about not raising Miss Strong’s expectations. ‘He means nothing by it... He likes to flirt and pay compliments.’

  Leah’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘It’s just his way,’ Dolph added. ‘Now, shall we go to dinner?’

  Once seated, with bowls of soup in front of them, Dolph said, ‘I see you received a letter today.’

  Her cheeks coloured. He adored the way she blushed so readily—an unexpected trait in a woman who was ordinarily so sensible and unemotional.

  ‘I did.’ She raised a spoonful of soup to her mouth.

  ‘And...?’ he prompted.

  She fixed him with a steady look and a lift of her brows.

  ‘Did you have time to read it before you came down to dinner?’

  ‘I did, thank you.’

  Dolph rubbed his jaw, stubble rasping his fingers. ‘Will you tell me who it was from?’

  He caught the twitch of her lips before she raised her wine glass and sipped.

  ‘Am I obliged to?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Dolph sipped from his own glass. ‘But I thought you might like to share your news. I recall from your interview you have no immediate family.’ Her gaze slid from his and sought her plate. A thought struck him. ‘Was it from your solicitor? Does that explain your reluctance to speak of it?’

  ‘No.’ She still studied her plate but had ceased to eat. ‘It was from someone I met at that meeting, though.’

  It was Dolph’s turn to raise his brows. A man, perhaps? Did that account for her secrecy?

  The servants came in with the main course and dessert then, and the conversation paused as they helped themselves to game pie, creamed leeks, boiled potatoes and carrots, and more wine was poured.

  ‘It was not from a man,’ Leah said when they were alone again. It was as though she’d read his mind. ‘It was from another lady. But that is all I can say, I’m afraid.’

  He could pry no further without being rude, but the exchange left him feeling unsettled. He truly did dislike the idea of her keeping secrets from him, not least because she was in charge of his sons, but he could not force the truth from her. Thinking of Stevie and Nicky, though...

  ‘Do you think the boys have forgiven me yet?’

  She shot him a puzzled look. ‘Forgiven you?’

  ‘Yes. For abandoning them.’

  ‘Children are very forgiving... They will judge you on how you behave with them now and henceforth. They are not like adults, forever looking back and regretting this thing they said or that way they behaved.’

  Her words comforted him. ‘I hope you are right. When I returned, I feared they would never be able to forgive me, but they have never given me reason to believe they resent the way I left them. I am immensely proud of them...and I do thank you because I know that is due to you and your care for them. They are lucky to have you. As am I.’

  Her gaze lowered again, and her hand rose to cover the ring suspended around her neck.

  ‘Did that ring belong to someone special? I have noticed you wear it every evening, albeit with a change of ribbon.’

  ‘It was my mother’s wedding band.’ She sipped more wine. ‘I wear it all day, too, beneath my gown.’

  Hidden beneath her awful, drab governess garb.

  She shrugged, appearing almost embarrassed. ‘It keeps the memory of my parents close. Mama’s ring and Papa’s fob watch.’

  ‘Ah...the watch I have seen on your desk in the schoolroom?’

  She nodded. ‘I have Papa’s old writing slope too. I always feel him near whenever I use it. I do not need wealth...’ she appeared to have forgotten he was there; it was as though she was talking to herself ‘...not when I have such treasures and such precious memories. And I don’t...’ She paused, and he saw her throat ripple as she swallowed. Then she shook her head and sat a little straighter. When she looked at him her eye
s were bright with emotion. ‘I didn’t feel as alone as long as I had them with me.’

  ‘You must miss them very much, but it seems you have happy memories of your childhood.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. My parents...they were very much in love. I always hoped—’ Her cheeks turned fiery red.

  ‘You hoped...?’

  She shrugged and gave him a rueful smile. ‘You will think me a fool. It was never more than a forlorn hope, really, but my ideal if I ever married was for a love match, like my parents. I should not talk like this, I know, but I fear the wine has loosened my tongue and I am feeling somewhat nostalgic.’

  His heart went out to her. ‘It must have been difficult for you—a woman alone—when your father died.’ She had told him at interview that she’d been nineteen years old. ‘You must have felt very alone.’ Her words sounded again in his head. ‘You changed from you don’t to you didn’t. May I hope that means you feel more at home here than you have in previous households?’

  Her smile was sad. Reflective. ‘Yes. Everyone here is so friendly. And the children are an absolute joy.’

  Her voice cracked on her final words. Her hand trembled as she raised her wine glass once again, and without conscious thought, Dolph reached across and gently squeezed her shoulder. She started at his touch, and he snatched his hand away, his hand—his entire arm—tingling from the contact.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’

  Fool! What were you thinking?

  He had finished his meal, and to cover his dismay, he selected a large slice of apple pie from the dish on the table and poured custard over it.

  ‘Would you care for dessert, Miss Thame?’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  Trust something prosaic like food to restore the equilibrium. Dolph dished out a slice of pie for Leah and then handed her the jug of custard before tucking into his own dessert.