‘The post was advertised in the York Herald which is not, to my knowledge, read in Salisbury. How did you discover it?’
‘My teacher at the school, Miss Fanworth, was told of the vacancy by a friend of hers.’
Grace’s hand was tucked down by her side with crossed fingers. A lie was not really a lie if you had your fingers crossed—or so she and her friends had told each other when they were young. Besides, it was very nearly true. It was Miss Fanworth who had arranged Rachel’s position in Huria—she could quite easily have done the same for Grace.
‘What is the name of this friend?’
‘I do not recall.’
‘Have you ever been to Harrogate, Miss Bertram?’
‘No, my lady.’ That, at least, was no falsehood. The stagecoach in which she had travelled to Ravenwell Manor had put her down before they reached Harrogate.
* * *
By the time the Marquess came through, close to an hour later, Grace’s nerves were in shreds and, as her ladyship’s focus shifted to her son, she begged to be excused.
‘Do you customarily retire at such an early hour?’
‘I am concerned Clara may have trouble sleeping tonight with all the excitement of your arrival, my lady, particularly after her recent cold. From my sitting room upstairs, I shall hear if she wakes.’
Visions of Clara wandering out on to the landing—even though she knew that chest had been removed—had plagued Grace all evening.
‘Very commendable, I am sure. I believe in bestowing praise where it is due, Miss Bertram, and I confess that, despite your youth, you have impressed me with your attention to duty. I thank you for taking good care of my granddaughter.’
Grace blushed as, without volition, her gaze flicked to Ravenwell and fused with his. They both knew that to be a lie.
As she mounted the stairs, the certainty he would now tell his mother the truth churned her insides until she felt sick. Lady Ravenwell’s clear suspicions about Grace were troubling enough, but if she should learn of Grace’s neglect, Grace would surely be dismissed and then what would she do? She peeped into Clara’s bedchamber. Her daughter was sound asleep, on her back as usual, with the blankets kicked askew and her thumb jammed into her mouth. Grace crept in and stood by the bed, love for her child flooding her. Finally, she straightened the covers, bent to kiss Clara’s forehead and then retreated to her sitting room.
Grace pondered her uncertain future as she stared into the flames. That future was entirely in the hands of Lord Ravenwell and never had she felt more keenly the divide between her station and his world—a world to which, she realised, both Isabel and Joanna now belonged. She did not begrudge them their good fortune, but how she wished a small piece of their luck might rub off on her.
What could she do? What power did she have?
The answer was none.
She could only wait, impotently, for his decision and then, if he decreed she must go, she must be prepared to fight. For one thing was certain: she would never leave her daughter.
We could run away. I could take Clara and go.
For a few minutes, she indulged that fantasy, before reality crashed over her. It was not even remotely possible. Snatch the ward of a nobleman? And how could they live? And then an even greater truth struck her—an insight so startling it near stole her breath. With a gigantic thump of her heart, she understood she would not leave even if she could.
Because taking Clara away from Shiverstone Hall would mean leaving Lord Ravenwell.
Nathaniel.
And not only could she not bear it if she were never to see him again, but she would never, ever—could never, ever—hurt him in that way.
Shaken to her core by that revelation, Grace stumbled to her feet and returned to Clara’s bedchamber. She stood and gazed at her beautiful daughter, battling against the sick realisation that, somehow, she had fallen for Nathaniel. She had seen beneath the scarred, irascible and reclusive façade he presented to the world to his kind, loving, intelligent heart.
But... Caution screamed through her head. Remember Philip. You thought you were in love with him and you were wrong. Don’t make the same mistake. Nathaniel is a marquess, far above your touch. And right now he does not even like you.
Finally, lids heavy and stifling a yawn, she knew she must go to bed. She bent over Clara and smoothed her curls gently from her forehead.
‘Sleep well, my beloved little girl, and sweet dreams,’ she whispered. ‘Mama is watching over you.’
A sudden sound from behind her sent her spinning to face the door.
* * *
Nathaniel froze.
All he could take in was the guilt written all over Grace’s face.
Mama?
He pushed away from the doorjamb, against which he had stumbled when he heard her words. Her eyes were huge and he saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed. And then she moved, gliding towards him, one finger to her lips, her eyes...her beautiful, gold-green eyes—the image of Clara’s, and how hadn’t he seen the resemblance before?—stricken.
He barely moved aside and she brushed past him, out into the passageway. The hairs on his forearms rose at her touch and her clean, sweet lily-of-the-valley scent pervaded his senses.
Mama.
He followed her out of Clara’s room on to the landing.
‘Explain yourself.’
Anger flared, boosted by the vision of Clara in danger that afternoon, and his panic when he had seen her. How very precious she had become to him. What would he do...how would he survive...if he lost her too? His very vulnerability terrified him. And now...what would this new revelation mean for the future for all of them?
Grace had paused to close Clara’s door.
‘Well?’
She was trembling. He hardened his heart and strode to the door of her sitting room. He held it wide and beckoned. Inside, he stoked the fire and added more wood, willing his temper under control before trusting himself to look at her.
Grace stood inside the door, fingers interlaced, knuckles white. ‘Why did you come to Clara’s room?’
‘Am I not allowed? She is my ward. I needed to ensure she is safe after the danger she was put in this afternoon.’
She flinched. ‘You cannot know the guilt I feel over my neglect.’
‘I am still awaiting an explanation. Do not make me ask again.’
‘Clara is my daughter.’
That simple statement crushed any residual hope that he had misheard. The agony in her voice wrenched at his heart, but he could not quash his anger, or his hurt, over her betrayal. He had begun to trust her. Since her arrival, his evenings had changed from something to dread to a time keenly anticipated. How, and when, had the barriers he had built against the rest of the world been breached?
‘Why are you here? Did you intend to snatch her away from me?’
Her mouth fell open and yet her gaze skittered from his. ‘No! I would never do that.’
‘But the thought crossed your mind.’
He watched her intently, noting a blush creep up her neck to her face.
‘Only once. You were so angry with me...earlier...but I would never do such a thing. It was a fleeting thought, soon exposed for an idle fantasy. I could never take her from you, nor you from her. I am not so cruel.’
‘You said this afternoon that Clara deserves a home and a loving family. You said she deserves better than me and a houseful of servants.’
Her eyes flashed and she crossed the room to glare up at him.
‘You twist my words, my lord. It was you who said she only has you and a houseful of servants.’
‘But you believe it is the truth.’ He grabbed her, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arms. ‘You think she deserves better. That I am incapabl
e of giving her a happy childhood.’
‘No!’
She squirmed to free herself and he released her, taking a step back, ashamed he had allowed his anger to prevail. Yet she did not retreat. She moved closer, her gaze searching his.
‘Clara adores you.’ Her scent enveloped him and her breath was warm upon his skin. Her fingertips caressed his cheek with a featherlight touch. ‘You do not see how her eyes light up when she sees you. She has settled here. She is happy.’
Her eyes darkened and her hand slipped to rest against his chest. Without volition, his head lowered and he brushed her sweet, silken mouth with his. His blood quickened, together with the compulsion to sweep her into his arms and taste her again. And again. But doubts nipped at the heels of that compulsion.
Why now?
She must be desperate indeed to contemplate seducing a man like him—desperate to stay with her daughter.
Nathaniel spun away and faced the hearth, propping both hands against the mantel, gripping the wooden edge, grounding himself. She sounded sincere, but could he trust his instincts? He silently berated himself for a fool. He should dismiss her immediately. There was no excuse for her deceit. But he could not utter the words. God help him, he wanted to understand. More, he wanted to forgive. He did not want her to go. His very neediness infuriated him, but it was a fury directed against himself, not her.
‘That should not have happened.’
‘I am sorry.’ He had to strain to hear her whispered response.
‘Why did you come here, if not to reclaim your daughter?’
‘I p-promised myself, when she was born, when I gave her away that, one day, I would find her and make sure she was loved and wanted.’
‘She was. My sister and her husband doted on her. And now—’
‘And now, you dote upon her.’
‘Yes,’ he said gruffly. ‘So why this charade?’ He turned to face her. ‘Why did you apply to be her governess?’
She hung her head. ‘I did not. Not precisely.’ A puff of air escaped her and her shoulders slumped. ‘I shall tell you the whole story. M-may I sit?’
‘Of course.’ He waited until she sank on to the armchair by the fire, then dragged over a wooden chair to sit opposite, swinging it around to straddle it, resting his arms across the back.
She told him a tale that was not unique. It happened too frequently: a young girl, her head turned by romantic words and enticing kisses, and a green youth who did not consider the repercussions of his persuasions.
‘Seventeen years old.’ If such a thing happened to Clara, when she was so young and innocent, he would be after the culprit with a horsewhip. ‘What did your uncle have to say about it?’
Her head jerked up, her expression one of horror. ‘My uncle did not know. He and my aunt are very devout...they would not...nobody knew, only my three best friends, and I swore them to secrecy.’
‘But...surely your teachers must have realised.’
‘I managed to hide the change in my shape. My clothes were always loose on me—my cousins are bigger than I and Aunt refused to alter the dresses too drastically. She said I would grow into them and it was not worth altering them twice.’
Compassion blossomed for the child unwanted by her own family. No wonder she needed to ensure Clara was loved and wanted.
‘When the babe came...’ She fell silent, leaning forward, her elbows propped on her knees, staring at the floor. ‘Well...’ She hesitated again, then she looked up at him, a blush staining her cheeks but with a look of resolve. ‘It was worse than any of us thought it would be. My friends went to fetch Miss Fanworth and afterwards she...’
Her voice had started to wobble and tears brimmed. Wordlessly, Nathaniel passed her his handkerchief.
‘Thank you.’
She mopped her eyes before resuming her tale.
‘Miss Fanworth thought it best to find a family who would adopt the baby. She knew my own family would not stand by me, so they were never told.’
‘But...the principal of the school. Madame Dubois. She must have known. I am surprised she did not expel you.’
‘I have no doubt she would have, but she never knew either.’
‘And you knew Clara had gone to Hannah and David?’
‘No. I did not know who her new parents were until my last day at school. Miss Fanworth told me their name and that they lived in Gloucestershire. That was all I knew. By the time I tracked them down, it was too late and Clara had gone. I was told you were her new guardian and I was even more determined to make sure she was happy. And that you wanted her here with you.’
‘Unlike you, with your uncle and aunt.’
‘Unlike me.’
She paused, staring down at the handkerchief she kneaded in her fingers, nibbling at her bottom lip. Then she shook her head and looked up, a mischievous glint in her still-watery eyes.
‘Those stories I was told about you, in the village...well, suffice it to say they were wild enough to drive me on to come here. I even braved walking through that horrid wood. And then, when I arrived...I was so petrified by the dogs...and then you growled at me that I was late and before I knew it the idea of staying on...of seeing Clara every day...’
She choked on her words, then hauled in a ragged breath.
‘Don’t send me away. Please don’t. I know I let you down today and I still feel sick at what might have happened, but I swear I shall take more care in future, only I cannot go...I simply cannot. I’m sorry I did not tell you the truth but, once I was here...how could I?’
Nathaniel held up his hand, hating to hear her beg. Although she had lied, he could not condemn her. She had been driven only by concern for Clara’s welfare.
But what about that kiss? She ought to go.
I know. But I do not want her to go.
Then you must confront it. Now.
‘I cannot condone what you have done, but I shall not send you away. I, too, am not so cruel. There was no need to try to entice me with...with...’
Dammit. I can’t even say the words.
‘Understand this, Miss Bertram. If you stay, you stay on as Clara’s governess. Nothing more. And no one—ever—must know the truth. Were the truth to get out, it would be too shocking. You must realise the damage such a scandal would do to Clara in the future.’
‘Yes. Of course. I understand.’ Grace slumped back in her chair, hand to her face, still clutching Nathaniel’s handkerchief. ‘Thank you.’
Her voice was muffled, her shoulders quivered and he heard a distinct sniff. He suppressed his urge to comfort her. Instead, he stared into the fire, waiting for her to regain her composure. The wood had caught well and tongues of orange, yellow and occasional green reached for the chimney. Eventually, from the corner of his eye, he saw her hands leave her face and she straightened in her chair.
‘So,’ he continued their conversation, ‘the secret will remain between the two of us. No one else must know. I—’ A thought struck him. ‘Have you told your friends?’ He could not recall franking a letter for her, other than the two she wrote on the day she arrived. ‘Or your teacher?’
‘No. I was too ashamed to admit what I had done and neither do I wish to lie, so I have not yet written to them. I merely told Miss Fanworth that I had tracked Clara down and that she was happy and that I had secured a post here as governess. She does not know the truth.’
Relief, doubt and the still-present anger combined in a stomach-churning mix.
‘And, most particularly, my mother must never know.’
‘D-did you tell her what happened this morning?’
‘No. I did not wish to worry her.’
‘That is a relief.’
Her lips quivered in a tremulous smile, prompting a surge of blood to his loins. How he craved a further taste
, but he could not take that risk—a beautiful woman like Grace could never truly desire a damaged man such as him.
What about when you met on the fell? There was a spark between you then.
He dismissed that thought with a silent curse. He had not known at the time that Grace was Clara’s mother, but Grace knew the truth and she would know the one certain way of remaining with her child was by making herself indispensable to her employer by whatever means necessary. No wonder she felt entitled to alter his home to suit her own needs.
‘Where is her father now? Are you still in touch with him?’
‘He is dead.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said.
‘I have no need of your sympathy. What I believed to be love was, in truth, infatuation. I was filled with longing for romance and I fell for his sweet words. I am older and wiser now.’
He raised a brow. ‘You are? Our recent conversations suggest otherwise.’
Her cheeks bloomed pink. ‘I have not allowed my experience to sour me, or to turn me into a cynic about love, if that is what you mean.’
Touché, Ravenwell!
There was nothing to say that would not sound defensive. What if he was a cynic? Did he not have good reason?
‘I bid you goodnight, Miss Bertram.’ He bowed and left.
Chapter Fifteen
‘I have concerns about that young woman, Nathaniel.’
Nathaniel took a second to compose his expression before looking at his mother, ramrod straight on the other side of his desk. He laid his pen aside, rose to his feet and rounded the desk to pull a chair forward for her. Then he crossed the book room to shut the door.
‘What are your concerns, Mother?’ he asked as he settled back into his own chair, elbows on the armrests and fingers steepled at his chest.
‘I am far from convinced of the reason she has come this far from her friends and family to take up a position as a governess. Why would she not choose to stay—?’
The Governess's Secret Baby Page 14
