More than a Governess (Regency Historical Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  And with that she was gone, leaving Becky alone with Max and Lydia. Perhaps it would be best to get the children away from the doll for a while.

  “How about a stroll?” she said, mustering a fair amount of cheer for six in the morning. “I haven’t seen the gardens yet.”

  Max looked from Becky to the doll before finally tossing it to the floor with a hard thud and stomping from the room. Lydia ran to retrieve the doll and gingerly lifted her into her arms. She stroked the toy and whispered soothing words as if she were a real child.

  Becky smiled and said, “Come, Lydia, we’re going for a walk.”

  Lydia pretended not to hear her.

  “All right.” Becky tried again. “Clarabelle, will you please ask Miss Lydia if she will join Max and me for a stroll through the gardens?”

  A few moments passed before Lydia responded. “Why that sounds lovely, Clarabelle. Please tell Miss Thorn that we would be delighted.”

  By the time they had all sufficiently dressed for the cool March day, the sun was beginning to rise, illuminating the dew that coated the lush green grass around the manor. The trio slipped out the back door onto the stone patio and made their way down the steps into the garden below. The manicured lawn had trimmed hedgerows laid out in symmetrical designs, interspersed with beds of brightly colored tulips and pansies and daffodils. An altogether breathtaking sight to behold.

  They walked a while in silence before Becky began her attempts at getting to know the children.

  “Have you had a governess before?” she ventured.

  “Only once,” Max offered. “But Mrs. Brown says that Uncle caught her in a complimenting position with one of the stable boys and had to send her away.”

  Becky stifled a giggle. “A complimenting position?”

  “What does that mean, anyway?” Max kicked at a pebble along the path, frightening a small bird who beat a hasty retreat to the nearest tree.

  “Well, it can mean a lot of things.”

  “Like what?”

  Becky knew she could not tell him exactly what Mrs. Brown had been talking about. He was far too young to understand and it was not her place to explain such things to him. But she had to tell him something.

  “I suspect perhaps...they were kissing.” Becky hoped he would leave it at that.

  “Kissing?” he replied, his face looking as though he had just sucked on a sour lemon. “That’s disgusting!”

  Becky laughed aloud, relieved by his response, and then moved on to more questions. “Did you learn anything with your former governess?”

  “Not really.”

  “Nothing? I find that rather hard to believe. She must have taught you something.”

  “She didn’t really like us very much.” Max crinkled his brow as he remembered.

  “Did she have any reason not to?” Becky asked, wondering if the child had terrorized the poor woman.

  But Max only shrugged in response and then took off running toward the stream in the distance. Becky watched him go, convinced her instincts had been right. His evasion of the question gave her cause to believe he had pulled his fair share of practical jokes on the previous governess.

  Turning her attention to Lydia, Becky realized at some point the girl had slipped her tiny hand into her own. She walked contentedly beside her, her waxen curls blowing about in the breeze, her eyes focused far in the distance. Becky wondered where she was. What kind of far off places she escaped to. She felt sad for the child. Lydia had clearly been through a great deal of heartache in her short life. Somehow, Becky would have to find the key to Lydia’s bizarre little lock.

  “Clarabelle,” Becky said into the air, “are you enjoying our stroll this morning?” She waited for the imaginary response and then doubled over in laughter, as if Clarabelle had said something outrageously funny. “You don’t say!”

  Lydia looked up at Becky, seemingly confused that a virtual stranger could have a conversation with her imaginary friend.

  “Clarabelle, what did you say?” Lydia asked, as if she had not been paying attention before and then laughed after a brief pause. “You are the funniest friend I’ve ever known, Clarabelle!”

  “Isn’t she, though?” Becky was focused on Lydia now. “I’m so glad you introduced us, Lydia.”

  Lydia was about to respond, having been caught up in the excitement of Clarabelle’s witty remarks, but stopped herself short, not ready to give up her game.

  “Come on, Clarabelle,” she squealed as she broke into a run. “Let’s go see if Max has found any frogs!”

  Max had indeed found frogs and one of them squirmed in his now muddied hands. He held it out to Becky and was clearly surprised when she didn't shriek and run screaming from him. Rather, she moved in closer and ran her finger along the scaly back of the creature.

  “You're not afraid of frogs, Miss Thorn?” Max asked, his brow furrowed with obvious confusion.

  “Of course not! What's there to be afraid of?” she replied with a laugh. “As a matter of fact, frogs can be truly fascinating creatures.”

  For the first time, Max’s brow relaxed and his eyes shone with genuine interest. “Really? How?"”

  Both children plopped to the grass and stared up at her with expectant faces. It wouldn’t be a structured lesson, but it would be a lesson nonetheless. So she joined them on the grass and took the opportunity to impart some of her knowledge of the amphibious creatures to the children. It seemed they didn't even realize they were being given a lesson, they were having so much fun. And Becky realized she was too.

  “Can I keep him?” Max asked when Becky announced it was time to go inside.

  “No, he would miss his home,” she replied lightly. “But we can come and visit him every day when we come for our walks.”

  “All right,” he complied as he set the frog back in the grass.

  They made their way back to the manor where they embarked on a search for appropriate textbooks for their studies. By the time they found the necessary aids, it was time for lunch, which they enjoyed together in the nursery. After that, Becky sent Lydia to her room for a nap while she began teaching Max about Greek history. When Lydia awoke, Becky assigned Latin phrases for Max to memorize while she worked with Lydia on basic arithmetic. It was a lot for the first day, but at Max’s age, they didn’t have time to waste.

  By the time she had overseen the children’s dinner and put them to bed, Becky was exhausted. She had never realized how tiring children could be, especially when they required one to rise at five in the morning. Seven o’clock was feeling more like midnight at the moment, and she could think of nothing other than falling straight into her bed.

  However, she'd barely gotten her boots off when a knock came at the door.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Thorn, but his lordship would like to see you,” Mrs. Brown said sweetly when Becky peeked her head out into the hallway.

  “His lordship? Whatever for?”

  “For dinner, miss.”

  Becky’s jaw dropped. “Dinner? Are you sure? I-I've already eaten with the children.”

  “Ya might want to put on one of them fancy dresses ya brought.” Mrs. Brown gave her a wink.

  Becky was about to scold the old woman for snooping through her things but stopped herself. She had done her fair share of snooping in the past. She’d be a hypocrite to say anything.

  Mrs. Brown stayed to help her dress in a simple dark green gown. It was elegant but understated, appropriate for a governess.

  She walked downstairs reluctantly, wishing she could have gone straight to sleep. Her muscles ached and her head hurt; the last thing she cared to do was make small talk with The Tyrant this evening. But perhaps she’d be able to whittle away a little more of the family secrets over dinner. It was worth a try.

  Six

  Stephen wasn’t sure what possessed him to invite the new governess to dinner. It wasn’t out of wanting to be polite—he was rarely polite. And it wasn’t out of curiosity for her first day, for he co
uldn’t care less what she did with the children as long as she kept them out of his hair.

  No, there was something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Loneliness, perhaps? The desire for intelligent conversation? Whatever the reason, it was done. The words had escaped his mouth before he’d even known what he was saying and Mrs. Brown had fled the room to retrieve the girl.

  Now he stood in the drawing room, pacing the floor with a glass of brandy, while he awaited the arrival of Miss Thorn. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “You asked to see me, my lord?”

  Stephen turned to see his newest retainer standing in the doorway, her hair piled atop her head, her cheeks flushed against her pale skin.

  “I asked you to dinner, Miss Thorn,” he responded acerbically.

  “I do wonder why, my lord.”

  “A drink?” he asked, as if he had not heard her. He wondered why himself, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “No, thank you. I fear I might fall asleep on my plate if I imbibe.”

  “Difficult day?”

  “Just long,” Miss Thorn corrected. “The children keep rather early hours that I’m not accustomed to.”

  An awkward silence ensued. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, and clearly, neither was she. Fortunately, Bently announced dinner and Stephen led the way from the drawing room down the hall to the formal dining room. Two places were set, the one at the head of the table and another just to the left. He held the chair out for her, unable to take his eyes from her perfectly curved bottom as she sat.

  Damn! What the devil is wrong with me?

  He brushed off the thought and took his seat next to her, desperately trying to avoid looking into her captivating eyes. Something about this girl stirred unwelcome emotions inside of him. Emotions that would be most inappropriate to act on, seeing as she was in his employ.

  “Would you like to hear how the children were today, my lord?” Miss Thorn asked as a footman set the first course before her.

  He didn’t want to hear, but he supposed anything would be better than the deafening silence. “Please,” he said simply.

  “Well, they were wonderful, actually. I taught them about frogs while we were down by the stream and then we chose books for their curriculum. Max seems to have a good ear for Latin, thankfully, and Lydia...well, if we could only get past Clarabelle we might see some progress. Unfortunately, Clarabelle seems to have a hard time with arithmetic.” Miss Thorn gave a little laugh in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. However, Stephen did not find his niece’s friend humorous in the least.

  “You do plan to break her of this silly imaginary friend business, do you not?”

  “She’s not a puppy, my lord,” she replied, her tone bordering on sarcasm, which grated on Stephen’s nerves. “And only habits can be broken. Talking to imaginary friends is not a habit.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Miss Thorn paused for a moment, but in the end, she merely shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Perhaps you could tell me, my lord?”

  “I don’t pretend to know anything about children or what goes on in their minds, Miss Thorn.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m merely hoping to gain a bit of insight into the children’s past. For instance, where their parents are?”

  Stephen leveled the pretty governess with what he knew to be his most intimidating glare; the one that made everyone but those blasted children cower. He didn’t like to talk about the children, let alone their parents. The past was far too painful to dig up over dinner. She would just have to make do without it.

  “Are you enjoying the soup, Miss Thorn?” he asked, eloquently changing the subject.

  She glared back, her plump lips drawn into a straight line, clearly wanting to give him a tongue lashing. But she didn’t. “Very much, thank you,” was all she said.

  They finished their soup in silence, and it was not until the main course was placed before them that Miss Thorn ventured another question.

  Some of her ire had dissipated, and she spoke in a softer voice now. “Lord Hastings, I have yet to come to an understanding about how it is I ended up here.”

  “It appeared you arrived in a carriage.”

  “Your attempt at humor is admirable, my lord, but I think you know what I mean.”

  Stephen raised an eyebrow and suppressed his mirth at her mockery. “Forgive me, it’s been some time since I’ve even tried to jest with anyone. It seems I’m a bit rusty.”

  Her eyes flickered momentarily with amusement, but he could tell she was still not willing to let her guard down. He didn’t blame her. It was a most unconventional situation and he hadn’t been all too kind to her since her arrival.

  “Mrs. Brown. That is the simple answer to your question. For some reason she has trouble balancing her duties as housekeeper with looking after the children. Yet she did, somehow, find the time to write out an advertisement for a new governess.”

  “If I may, my lord, looking after the children is a full-time job. If you want Max to go to Eton...or Harrow, he has quite a bit of catching up to do. And poor Lydia has not even learned to spell her own name.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, Miss Thorn.”

  She fell silent at his abrupt words. After an awkward moment, she replied stiffly, “Of course. Please, go on.”

  Stephen watched her as she cut into her chicken. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was literally biting down on her tongue to keep from speaking further.

  “There’s nothing more to say, Miss Thorn. Mrs. Brown placed the ad and you showed up—”

  “Then, am I to assume she was the one with whom I’ve been corresponding these past few weeks?”

  Stephen clenched his fists in agitation. Why did that woman have to be such a bloody busybody? “Yes, I suppose so. God knows it wasn’t me.”

  “No, of course not.” Miss Thorn’s jaw tightened slightly. Damn! It wasn’t her fault she had ended up on his doorstep nor was it her fault he had been dealt a raw deal in life. “I’m sorry—”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, my lord, I think I should retire.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She met his eyes with her own tear-filled ones. “Yes, I do,” she said thickly, and then bobbed a slight curtsy before leaving the room, tossing a quick “Thank you for dinner” over her shoulder as she did.

  Stephen stared after her, wishing she had not gone. Wishing he had kept his words in check. Wishing she didn’t make him remember just how lonely he was.

  Seven

  Benjamin, Marquess of Eastleigh, strolled into the entry hall of his former bachelor’s lodgings—the lodgings he had gladly handed over to the twin mischief-makers in the family once he had taken his bride. He hated to leave Phoebe now, mere weeks before she was due to give birth, but he had a few things to take care of in town. If all went well, he’d be heading back home by mid-day tomorrow.

  After battling the pouring rain all the way from Ravenscroft Castle, he was tired and wet and on a mission to pour himself a glass of something very strong. He found his brothers' identical heads hunched intently over a game of vingt-et-un in the drawing room.

  “I didn’t expect to find you two here,” he said as he strode past them to the sidebar. Thankfully, the boys had not drained the place of decent spirits.

  “Likewise,” Andrew replied absently. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  “Kat and Phoebe were hosting a gathering this afternoon. I didn’t want to get in the way, so I decided to get a head start.”

  “More like you didn’t want to be dragged into it, I assume.” Michael swept the cards from the table and began to deal another hand.

  “Too true,” Benjamin admitted, as the hen-like sounds of that afternoon echoed in his head. “Why are you two home playing cards, anyhow? Shouldn’t you be engaged in some kind of debauchery? Terrorizing the ton?”

  “We’ll get to that in a bit. First we have to settle who’s taking Elizabeth
Crawley to the opera tonight.”

  “Ah,” Benjamin replied, realization dawning. “Thus, the cards.”

  “I won!” Michael exclaimed. “Sorry, Andrew, better luck next time.”

  “Does that mean you’re staying in tonight, Andrew?” Benjamin wondered.

  “Of course not,” came his arrogant reply. “I’m going to the opera with Michael and Lady Elizabeth. Just because he gets to escort her doesn’t mean I can’t try to win her heart.”

  Benjamin laughed at his brothers. It had been some time since he’d been up to see them, and he missed their witty banter. Not that his wife and sister couldn’t match him in a battle of wits, but brothers were brothers and could not be replaced.

  He sat down with his libation, thankful to be in a chair that was not in motion, and sipped from his glass. Andrew and Michael poured their own drinks and then joined him in front of the fire.

  “So how are things at Ravenscroft?” Andrew inquired.

  “All’s well, actually. Phoebe is moments away from giving birth, and Kate seems to be managing well with the twins. Phoebe’s been a bit down, though, ever since Becky left.”

  Two pair of dark brows shot up as both Andrew and Michael regarded him quizzically.

  “Where did she go?” Michael asked.

  “She’s gone to play governess for Lord and Lady Hastings in Rye. Apparently it’s working out well for her, though it has only been a few days.”

  Andrew and Michael looked at each other then at Benjamin, both sets of brows crinkled into frowns.

  “Are you sure it’s for the Hastings?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, of course. I read the letter myself. Why?”

  “Well, it’s just that there is no Lady Hastings.”

  Benjamin leaned forward in his chair. “That’s not possible. I read a letter from Lady Hastings herself, requesting that Becky come for an interview. Are you positive you’re speaking of the same family?”

  “There is only one Viscount Hastings, Benjamin, and his family seat is in Rye,” Michael pointed out. “I’m fairly certain we aren’t mistaken.”