His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2

by DeLand, Cerise

  “We must immediately!”

  As she picked up her skirts, Win grabbed her hand. The two of them scampered up the central stairs like children on a prank.

  “Stay here,” Win whispered when they gained the door. “I’ll get them for you.”.

  In a thrice, they returned to her and she placed the two sets of papers into the magistrate’s hands.

  “Sir,” Belle addressed the magistrate, hope pounding in her heart. “So glad to see you again, dear sir. It’s many years since we last met.”

  “Indeed, Miss Swanson. You cannot imagine my distress when I learned of your grandfather’s decision to award his estate manager with the house and property.”

  “As much as mine, I’m sure, sir. But here.” She shoved the sheaf of papers into his hands. “These are records you need to reverse those awards. These are ledger items where you see how he distorted the income, fixed the numbers and took a profit from the top. And here in this set, you see in my grandfather’s own handwriting my award of my income in the bank. Compare them to the records Tottingham used to secure the estate as his own and you will see that that man forged the documents you have on hand. I alone am the heir to Swan’s Reach, and I alone should receive the funds in Rothstein’s Bank in the City.”

  “Where did you get these, Miss Swanson?”

  “I hid them in various secret drawers. When I suspected Tottingham of having duped my grandfather, I had to find a means to preserve some records. I left the reading of the will, found these in the estate office downstairs, tore them out and hid them. Those papers regarding my bank accounts are from my grandfather’s personal accounts.”

  “Stop this! This minute!” The cry from the top of the stairs was that of Tottingham himself.

  Belle, Win and the three men stared at the portly former estate manager as he waddled down the stairs toward them. Behind him scurried the Hargate man who’d fetched her little escritoire.

  “See here!” Tottingham huffed and puffed and pointed a finger at Belle. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mister Tottingham,” said Curtin with an arch of his thin grey brows, “It seems we should ask you that question.”

  “No, you shouldn’t! This woman has no right to be here.”

  “Sir? Miss?” The auctioneer’s assistant glanced from one to the other, confused as to the debate. “Mister Hargate has ended the sale of all items. He’s ready to move to the sale of the house.”

  Belle caught the magistrate’s gaze. “Sir, please don’t permit it. We do this much more easily if no one buys the house.”

  “She’s right. Go, man.” Curtin waved him up the stairs. “Tell him to stop. We must let the courts see the evidence here. No need to have someone else involved unnecessarily in this.”

  But the little man was half way to the landing when Hargate himself appeared, his paymaster right behind him. “Ho! What goes here?” he said to the man upon the stairs and the group below.

  “They say we cannot sell the house, Mister Hargate. They say Tottingham does not own it.”

  “Oh? What?” Hargate wiped his brow. He hastened down the stairs. “Cannot sell it? Since when?”

  “Never should you have been able to sell it, sir,” Belle told him.

  The little man wrinkled his nose. “I saw records from Tottingham. I am confused. How did I not know of this problem sooner?”

  “I wish we could have solved the issue before now, Mister Hargate,” she explained. “But I had no hope I’d retrieve my papers to prove my ownership.”

  “Well that’s a pity. But the thing is done,” he said. “The house gone.”

  “What?” Win appeared astounded.

  “Sold.”

  “How?” Belle wrapped her arm around Win’s, needing his support. “Your man said you saved it for last?”

  “I saved the announcement for last, yes.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice raw, her hopes dying that she’d end this matter easily.

  “I will announce who owns the house. If you will come upstairs with me so that all can hear?”

  “Ha!” Tottingham gloated. “Thought you won. Not so quick. Not so easy, missy.”

  She caught Hargate’s eye. “No. Sir. Tell us now. Who bought the house? When?”

  “Sold it two days ago. Bought in the mail, it was. Saw the advertisement and bought it outright. Transferred the funds yesterday.”

  Belle fought the knowledge that her home was gone. After what she’d witnessed upstairs, perhaps it was not such a loss, but she wished she’d been able to dispose of the matter in more legal means.

  Tottingham laughed, his greed wild in his eyes. “I loved the old barn. But not as much as I love the profit from it.”

  “Surely, this sale will prove to be illegal,” she said to Curtin and her two lawyers.

  Win seethed at Tottingham. “You will not get a penny of it.”

  Belle could fight for return of the house. With her inheritance intact, she could hire Hill and Gibbs to get it back. But truly, in the past few days, she’d often wondered if she wanted the Reach returned to her. She was a different person now from the one who’d left here months ago, downhearted and defeated. She wanted another life, a different one from the one she’d led here. She wanted laughter, chess games and dancing, a dog, a monkey, a little girl and a dashing man to love.

  She had to know. “Who bought it, Mister Hargate?”

  He trained his beady eyes on her and said, “She said she bought it for you.”

  “She? For me?”

  “Bought it as apology to you, she said in her letter.”

  Now Belle was really flummoxed.

  “The title is to be in the name of Miss Isabelle Swanson.”

  Win and she gazed at each other in shock.

  Hargate frowned. “It’s your mother, my lord.”

  “My mother bought this house?”

  “The Countess of Cartwell, she said, was happy to purchase the former home of a lady she’d come to respect in hope that lady might forgive the errors of her ways.”

  “Dear me,” said Belle, tickled, honored and awed. “Did she really say that?”

  Win snorted. “Darling, she wrote it, didn’t say it. Not yet.”

  “What do you think?” she asked him. “She may not yet be able to buy the house, but her apology? That, I’d like to accept.”

  “Why not? She may never apologize again.”

  “Hmm. Right you are.”

  The magistrate cast a stern eye at Tottingham . “Remain in town, Mister Tottingham. We shall look further into this matter and we will wish to talk with you. Hargate, I need a list of all who bought items and money exchanged. These sales may be illegal and may have to be cancelled. Misters Hill and Gibbs, I must speak with you at length on your investigations. So then.” He turned to Win and her. “Where shall we continue this discussion?”

  Win gazed down into her eyes. “I suggest my home. Will you come, Miss Swanson?”

  She hooked her arm in his. “I wish to go no other place in the whole world.”

  Chapter 16

  That night after supper, their three male guests lingered after dinner over their brandy. Shrew had hurried the staff to prepare rooms for Misters Hill and Gibbs, as well as the Magistrate. Win had insisted the men not only come to the Manor for dinner but stay the night. For all, he said, it was the very least he could do to offer his thanks for their help.

  Belle, exhausted, could not outlast them. Eager to talk privately with Win, she finally had to excuse herself.

  “I shall look in on Daphne before I go to bed,” she told Win as she bid him and the others goodnight.

  He rose from his chair. “I’m very glad you had no need to say any farewells to her.”

  “And I to you,” she said, anxious to shower him with the words of gratitude he never sought.

  “It’s been an eventful day. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk at length about the future?”

  “I’d like that. I have a few ide
as about that.”

  “Do you?” he asked, his voice a mix of hope and trepidation.

  “Tomorrow then,” she said and fled away.

  She secured the frog closure on her red robe and assured herself she looked proper for her newest venture.

  She squared her shoulders and grabbed her courage for her new goal. After all, she’d lived in Win’s household for many weeks, welcomed his embrace countless times and even slept in his bed. So why should she suddenly feel anxiety about discussing her future plans with him?

  Hmmm. Because society said a lady did not. But she was an oddity. She was Miss Isabelle Swanson, once an heiress, once a fugitive, once a governess. She grinned at herself. That woman, if all went well, was soon to be the woman restored to her good name and her inheritance. And by her own efforts too. Soon to be restored to her own home legally, if she wanted it. And with the good wishes of the very lady who had questioned and scorned her worth. A truly remarkable occurrence.

  And now she had to make it even more extraordinary.

  She picked up the items she’d requested from Shrew and padded in her bare feet down the hall. Inhaling a big breath, she paused before Win’s door. This morning she’d left here, not knowing if she might be successful, but affirming one fact: This man loved her.

  So she knocked.

  But he did not answer.

  She bit her lip.

  And knocked again.

  Was he here? Or in the garden? Perhaps in the ballroom once more? If so, she—

  “Yes, Shrew, what—?” He was dressed only in his shirt and breeches. His white shirt, minus cravat, was open at his tanned throat and in the light of the candles in his rooms, his gaze took her in like manna for his soul. His blond hair shone like a halo. She smiled at that, for to her, he was an angel.

  “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to talk. Might we do that now?”

  He swung wide the door and noted the items in her hands.

  Daring spurred her onward as she strolled into the rooms she’d glimpsed last night briefly in the haze of her desire for him and his comfort of her. She strode to a set of chairs before the fireplace and put down her two glasses and bottle of brandy. “May I pour for you?”

  He stood so close she could smell his cologne. With his hands locked behind him, he gave her a nod. Looking mischievous, happy to see her, he lifted a brow. “Are we celebrating?”

  “We are. I thought it fitting.” She pulled the stopper and began to pour. “ Shrew did too. He said this bottle was your favorite and we should do great damage to it.”

  “Such a wise man. I should increase his wages.”

  She handed over his glass, then took up hers to clink in a toast. “I agree. To Shrew who knows all.”

  Win chuckled. “Dear god. I hope not all or I am doomed.”

  She sipped her drink as he did. “Why doomed?”

  “Because I like to surprise others. Keeps them on guard, on watch, up to the task.”

  “You always surprised me simply by being you.”

  “A good thing, one hopes.”

  “One need not hope when one knows.”

  His blue eyes seemed to devour hers. “What is it that you know, my darling?”

  “That you are the finest man I’ve ever met.”

  He lifted his glass in homage. “I take the compliment because I want many more from you just like it.”

  She stepped nearer to him. “I have an extraordinarily long list, dear sir. Will you listen to it?”

  “Patience, they say, is a virtue.” He traced her lower lip with a fingertip. “But I find my endurance lagging.”

  “May I proclaim you my friend, my champion? My protector?”

  “All commendable. I accept. Have you more?”

  “Thousands.”

  “Proceed then. But hurry before I explode like fireworks.”

  That heated her and she put out a hand to cup the warm column of his throat. She leaned against him and suddenly, the glass in her hand disappeared as he took it away. She was able to nestle completely to him. “May I proclaim you my friend?”

  “Of long-standing.”

  She grinned and let her head fall back into his strong hand. “My dance partner?”

  “In ballrooms anywhere.”

  “My chess partner?”

  “Ah, if occasionally you allow me to win. Just for the sake of my pride.”

  “But of course,” she agreed with a grin, then hugged him closer. “If the law prevails and I gain the house.”

  “Hmmm. Do you want the house?” In his face there was a hint of reserve, as if he feared she might say yes and leave him.

  She brushed her lips on his. “I do believe it would make a fine school. What do you think?”

  He groaned and clasped her nearer. “And would you teach there?”

  “I thought not. I have other plans.”

  “Such as?” His voice deepened and his gaze clouded.

  “I hoped I might live here with you.”

  “Did you?” He seemed not to breathe.

  “Yes. I thought that because you love me, you might wish me to stay here with you.”

  “Might I?”

  Her every muscle froze. Had she been wrong? “Don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Love me?”

  He kissed her as if she were the treasure he’d always desired. Her lips stung, her heart sang.

  “I adore you, my darling. From the moment you stood in my parlor and laughed at a monkey and a dog and delighted in a little girl who needed affection.”

  “So then might you like it if you married me…or…I married you? However that goes. Would you? Might you like that? If I—Wait!”

  He scooped her up into his arms, laughing at the top of his lungs. And then he walked with her to plop her on top of his bed. And followed her down. To drape himself all over her.

  “You’re very heavy.” She wiggled beneath him.

  “I’m pinning you down.” He told her that with very wide eyes.

  “Like a bug?”

  He nodded once. “A butterfly, to be exact.”

  “Am I? A butterfly?”

  “My beautiful butterfly with ink black wings and two large emerald eyes and the most delicious pink mouth.” He undid the frog closure at her throat. “And we’re going to dispense with this. Remove your cocoon.”

  She undulated. “Oh, just what I hoped for.”

  He caught her chin and glared at her while his thighs clamped her legs together. “Are you a scamp?”

  “I am. I’ve learned a few things from our girl and her two companions.”

  “Something tells me you were a hellion long before you met our Daphne.”

  “I was. Wanting to be brave and bold, explore the world, learn about bugs and snakes, and men who conquered the world.”

  “You are brave and bold. You, my darling, have conquered your own world.”

  The honor of his praise rippled through her. “Oh, Win. You are. You are everything to me. I love you. I love you and I wonder if you might consider becoming my husband?”

  He kissed her then, giving her another of those ravishing kisses that had captured her heart and given her hope all these past weeks that the world did turn on justice.

  “I love you, Win. Will you marry me?”

  “My darling Isabelle, I thought you’d never ask!”

  Epilogue

  June 30, 1821

  No. 18, Dudley Crescent

  London, England

  Win kissed his mother on both cheeks. “Goodnight, Mama. We’re delighted you came.”

  “I would not miss our dear Belle’s birthday, now would I, Cartwell?” She winked at Belle and tugged on her gloves as Shrew held up her cape for her. “Don’t you agree, Mother?”

  Belle chuckled at the sight of Win’s grandmother strolling merrily on the arm of the Duke of St. Hilaire. The lady, who had imbibed four glasses of wine during dinner, was enjoying her late-blooming romance almost as much as D
aphne had enjoyed Belle’s birthday cake this afternoon. “I do, of course, Margaret. The lot of us have never been so happy. Isn’t that true, Daphne?”

  Belle did not have to glance up the stairs to know that their little ward sat spellbound upon the landing, her hands on her knees, her chin on her hands. With her, of course, were her two smaller friends. Pan and Kringle over the past year had become better behaved. None of the trio skipped down the stairs to appear in full before all their guests as once they had last spring.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Daphne giggled. “Pan and Kringle told me that our Charlie was dreaming of cakes so we could come out and listen.”

  Belle saw Nurse Mary appear from the back of the hall and bid Daphne to bed. Belle and Win had recently hired the woman before they came up from Cartwell Manor with their seven-week old son. “She’s allowed to watch, Mary. No harm in the three of them enjoying the end of the party.”

  “Marvelous dinner, Belle.” Lady Buchanan told her granddaughter-in-law. The evening party, save for St. Hilaire, had been only for family because Belle and Win had just arrived in London the day before.

  “A new cook,” she told the lady. “I always especially liked her cakes and so we brought her up from the manor.”

  Win circled an arm around his wife’s waist and drew her near. “The woman was once cook at Swan’s Reach. Belle found her after a long search, and offered her the position here with us.”

  “I’m proud of you, Belle.” His mother beamed at her. All traces of her previous antipathy had evaporated once Lady Buchanan had told her who Belle was and what had befallen her at the hands of her former estate manager.

  “We all are, Mama,” Win said. “What Belle accomplished was remarkable.”

  “Few women would have the courage,” affirmed his grandmother with a lift of her nose. “Or the foresight to hide the right papers and return to take them back.”

  “Good thing that estate manager fled,” said his mother. “He should have spent years in jail.”

  “At least, he got no money from his efforts,” said Belle. “I would have fought for anything he’d stolen.”