Temptation of a Proper Governess

by Cathy Maxwell

  Otherwise, she would sleep on her stomach, her hand tucked between his body and the mattress. Michael would stroke her hair, and she’d drift off into the sweetest dreams.

  Every day she told Michael she loved him. She couldn’t say the words often enough. And he felt the same. He’d say them when they were alone or beside each other in church or in a crowded bank. He’d say them for her ears alone or when everyone could hear him.

  One morning, she was sitting over breakfast when Alex arrived. He and Michael were to be at a meeting with wool merchants. Instead, he was there.

  Michael had told Isabel that Alex followed Indian time, which meant he did things as he deemed them necessary, not according to the clock. Isabel suspected Alex just didn’t like meetings.

  And Michael didn’t want to go sailing and roaming the world.

  Their differences made for a good partnership, and their shipping venture prospered. They had two ships—the Sea Serpent and one Alex had purchased and christened the Warrior. He was to leave that afternoon to go fetch it from Portsmouth. Isabel enjoyed teasing him about the name.

  Having missed the meeting, Isabel asked Alex if he wished to join her for breakfast. He was happy to do so, and she realized she appreciated his friendship. He was a generous man who had extended his deep respect for her husband to herself.

  This morning he pleased her by saying, “I’ve never known Michael to be so settled.”

  “We’re both happy,” she told him.

  “And he never broods anymore?”

  “Not that I know of. The wonder of all wonders is we’re starting to find friends, albeit slowly. There is some stigma attached, but time will help.”

  “Good.” Alex reached across her for cream to pour into his tea and caught a glimpse of the floor plan she was sketching. “What are you designing now?”

  “A nursery,” she said dreamily—then could have kicked herself.

  Alex’s eyes widened.

  “Don’t tell, Michael,” Isabel begged.

  “Michael? A father?” He set aside his spoon. She nodded. She had no doubt she was increasing. She was starting to show all the signs that meant that she had conceived the night they had repeated their vows.

  It made this baby all the more special.

  “I’ve been waiting until I was certain,” she said. It was easy to be frank with Alex. The Shawnee side of his nature seemed to make him more aware of the natural order of things than an Englishman would be. “There are some small signs, but…?”

  “When are you going to tell Michael? Wait, don’t do it until after we get the provisions for this next journey ordered. He won’t be worth anything once he hears this news and will expect me to do my own accounting.” He shook his head and sat back. “Michael. A father.” This time the words sounded more definite. “You’ve completely changed his life.”

  “He’s changed mine.” She ran her fingers lightly over the vellum sketch. “When do you leave, Alex? I don’t know if I can hold off telling him much longer. Having confided in you makes the possibility all that much more real.”

  “In two days, provided the Warrior is ready. We’re heading to Spain again, then Morocco.” Alex grinned, a happy man. He liked sailing his ship, and he liked being in charge without Michael pestering him over details.

  “I’ll try to hold off two days,” she promised. “But my husband is an observant man. He could notice.”

  “Not with the wool merchants irritating him,” Alex said, then his expression turned thoughtful.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “That I will have to come up with a new name for my friend.”

  “For Michael?”

  “He has a Shawnee name—Lone Wolf. It no longer suits him.”

  “And what name would you choose?” she wondered, stirring cream into her morning tea before taking a sip.

  Alex considered the matter less than a second before daring to suggest, “Happy Rabbit?”

  Isabel almost spewed her tea in the most unladylike way. She and Alex both started laughing, so they didn’t hear Wallis’s arrival until she walked into the breakfast room. She was dressed entirely in ice blue, the color a good complement for her blond beauty. “It sounds as if you are enjoying yourselves this morning?”

  Bolling, who had just come out from the kitchen with Isabel’s toasted bread, didn’t hide his frown. The butler did not like Lady Jemison. “My lady, I didn’t hear the door.”

  “A maid opened it,” Wallis said breezily, pulling off her gloves, but then paused. “This isn’t Michael.”

  “No, it is Mr. Haddon, Michael’s business partner,” Isabel said.

  “The Indian,” Wallis realized. She offered her hand.

  “The sister-in-law,” Alex countered. Isabel wondered if there was a touch of sarcasm in his tone. One never could tell with Alex. He bowed over Wallis’s hand with a gallantry Isabel had not known him to possess. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Jemison.”

  “And I you,” she said, her voice deepening and her eyes sparkling with interest. He pulled out a chair for her next to his, while Isabel wondered what it was about blondes that made all men a bit balmy?

  Isabel pushed her drawing away from Wallis, not wanting her sister-in-law to make any connection to the truth the way Alex had. “What brings you here so early this morning?”

  “Is it early?” Wallis asked.

  “For you.”

  Her sister-in-law laughed indulgently, her gaze sliding to Alex. If she worried that his attention had wandered, she needn’t have. He was watching her every movement.

  “I came to invite you and your husband to dinner Friday evening. We haven’t seen each other for some time.”

  Isabel didn’t want to go. But she could think of no excuse not to. “That would be nice.” Why would Wallis trek all the way to her house before noon to offer a dinner invitation?

  “What tribe are you, Mr. Haddon?” Wallis purred.

  “He’s half-Shawnee,” Isabel interjected.

  “Which half?” Wallis asked slyly.

  “The best half,” Alex replied without missing a beat.

  Wallis gave her tinkling laugh, and Isabel wanted to gag. Her exasperated gaze met Bolling’s, and she knew the butler shared her opinion. She decided to take action. “Unfortunately, Wallis, as much as I enjoy your visits, I have an appointment I must keep.” It was far too direct a hint to be polite, but Isabel didn’t care.

  However, it was not a good ploy for separating Wallis and Alex. The two of them “discovered” they were going in the same direction, and Wallis offered Alex a ride. Isabel wanted to pull her friend aside before they left and warn him to be careful.

  She didn’t. There wasn’t time to do so, and she had to accept that Alex was a grown man…with, apparently, a grown man’s taste. But she was disappointed in him, although not in Wallis. After seeing the other side of Carter in the library, the one he didn’t show the public, she understood why her sister-in-law would look to other men. The best news was that Alex was leaving that afternoon.

  Meanwhile, Isabel had tasks around the household she had to finish. Today, Wednesday, was Cook’s day off after breakfast. Most of the footmen also received the afternoon off as well.

  Isabel enjoyed having the house quiet and to herself. She used the time for planning the week’s activities and catching up on correspondence and household business. There was also another task before her, one that she was having great difficulty accomplishing but felt she must because Michael had asked it of her—write her stepfather.

  Michael had suggested they visit him. Her feelings were ambivalent. Love had tempered her old view of him and given her a clearer perspective upon her own behavior back then. She now realized how much he had sacrificed for her mother and her. The air needed to be cleared between them, and yet what would she say? She was having difficulty even writing a letter asking if they could visit.

  About midafternoon, she received a note by messenger from Mi
chael asking her to send Bolling to him with some papers he’d left in the library. Since her husband still preferred not to have a secretary or valet, Bolling often acted in those capacities. It was unusual for Michael to forget any detail in business, and Isabel made a mental note to tease him about it later.

  Up in her bedroom, Isabel sat at her desk and took out fresh paper and ink, determined to get the dreaded letter to her stepfather out of the way. The right words were slow in coming. She’d always called him Mr. Williams. Her half brothers called him Papa. When she was younger, she’d done so, too, but as the years had passed, and her resentments grown, she’d needed to keep distance between them.

  For the first time, Isabel wondered if she had been responsible for the rift between them. It hadn’t been intended. She’d been too young to understand her own feelings.

  Becky brought her a tray from the kitchen of cold chicken, cheese, bread, and wine. Isabel was more than ready for a break.

  “Has it started raining yet?” she asked her maid.

  “No, but the skies threaten to open at any time, ma’am,” Becky answered, plumping the pillows on the bed. “I brought you some mulled wine. I thought it would taste good on a day like today.”

  “Thank you.” Isabel sipped the wine and found its sweetness to her tastes. The baby forming inside her must like it.

  “Ma’am, would it be possible for me to have some free time this evening?” Becky asked.

  “Are you going to be walking with Langston again?” Isabel asked.

  Becky blushed. She’d been keeping time with one of the footmen. “He may go with me,” she admitted. “My cousin has returned from the army, and I’d like to see him this evening if I might.”

  “Of course,” Isabel said. She knew how important free time was to a servant. “Who is here?”

  “Mr. Bolling.”

  “That is fine,” Isabel said. “My husband will be home shortly. You have a good time.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Becky left the room in a rush.

  With a sigh, Isabel went back to her letter and crossed out most of what she had written. She finished her wine and put the cup on the tray.

  Outside, came the first rumblings of thunder. Isabel hoped Becky had made her way to her cousin before the downpour.

  Those plumped-up pillows called to her. Her words on the paper were looking more and more like meaningless scribbles, whereas a nap seemed a very good idea.

  Isabel gave up writing her stepfather just as the first big drops of rain hit the window. She blew out the candle, so tired, she could barely make it over to the bed. She didn’t even bother kicking off her shoes.

  She thought she dozed. She wasn’t certain.

  The bedroom door opened. Her eyes half-shut, she saw Michael standing there…

  No, it wasn’t Michael.

  The man had the same set of the head but the shoulders were different. They had been bent by time.

  “Carter?” she whispered.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he answered.

  Isabel tried to raise her head, but couldn’t. It wasn’t as if she were in pain. Actually, she felt quite pleasant, and she understood Michael’s dream.

  “Why did you kill Aletta Calendri?”

  He walked to the side of the bed and smiled down at her. “Ah, Isabel, you are far too smart for your own good. It shall make me sad to kill you.”

  Strangely, his words didn’t alarm her. She supposed she had been drugged. Who would have thought it? And while her limbs felt useless, her mind was working.

  “You told me you knew Michael killed her,” she said.

  “I lied.”

  Seventeen

  Michael sensed something was wrong the moment he entered the house. Bolling wasn’t at his post, and all was entirely too quiet. No candle burned; no fire gave off heat in the grate.

  Or did the heavy rain outside his door fuel his fears? The skies had opened, and the downpour seemed to deaden all sound.

  He’d learned to listen to his instincts. He didn’t call a greeting but quietly slipped out of his damp greatcoat, placing it on the floor with the stealth of a hunter.

  Alex had sent a note about Wallis’s visit to Isabel that morning. It had been an unusual action for such a woman, and the sort of thing both of them had been waiting for.

  Michael had never doubted Aletta’s killer would someday find him. But he was shocked by his own suspicions.

  He wanted to believe Wallis decided to rise early that morning and had good reason to pay a call. Wallis, one of Riggs’s lovers.

  Then there was the man they had caught in Portsmouth early that morning in the act of sabotaging the Warrior so it would sink with Alex and all on board. He had been hired at the Crow, just like the robbers who had waylaid his and Isabel’s coach.

  Always the Crow.

  Where Riggs went.

  Even though he was rumored to be far away, Michael didn’t trust him. In truth, Michael hadn’t seen anything harmless in anyone since he’d set foot on English soil. Nor did he trust Isabel’s maid, whom Wallis had recommended. He’d never felt comfortable around her, so he’d assigned Langston to keep watch.

  That afternoon, Becky had left the house with her packed bag and climbed into a hack. Either Isabel or Langston would have told him if they’d known Becky was leaving his employ. She’d climbed into a hack, and Michael was glad he’d taken the precaution. Ladies’ maids did not hire hacks.

  Something was afoot. While Langston continued to follow Becky, and Alex went to Portsmouth with the bailiff to gather evidence against Riggs, Michael had decided to come home. What harm could there be in seeing with his own eyes that the wife he loved so much was well and happy?

  Now, as he climbed the front stairs of his house, careful where he placed his feet, keeping even his breath quiet, he prayed he was wrong.

  At the top step, he looked down the hall. Their bedroom door was the only one open. That was not unusual, but it added to his anxiety.

  Isabel was his life. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself—

  He heard her voice. She was in the bedroom talking to someone, and Michael’s knees almost buckled with relief.

  God, he was a suspicious fool. But what was he to think after they had received word of the attempted sabotage?

  He shook his head, relieving some of the tension in his shoulders and started for the bedroom, anxious to see his wife—

  Carter’s voice stopped him in the hall. “Why does any man kill someone?” his brother asked rhetorically. “Didn’t we discuss this once? Cain and Abel?”

  “Cain and Abel,” Isabel murmured. She didn’t sound like herself.

  Michael flattened himself against the wall and began moving toward the bedroom.

  “Tiresome, but true,” Carter said. “I must admit, I didn’t plan for Michael to become involved. He did that to himself by being where he shouldn’t have been.”

  “What do you mean?” Isabel asked. Her voice sounded as if each word was almost too heavy to say.

  “You didn’t know how my brother was in those days. He wasn’t like he is now. Back then he was completely arrogant. Cocky. Too handsome for his own good. Women fell over themselves to get to him. Of course, he didn’t have money or a title or even a real reason to get up in the morning. He was a shallow wastrel with a pretty face.”

  Michael reached the bedroom. Peering around the corner of the doorjamb, he caught sight of Isabel stretched out on the bed, her head on a pillow, her hands neatly folded on her stomach. Carter sat on the edge of the bed beside her. His body faced the door although his attention was on Isabel.

  They appeared completely at ease with each other and for a sizzling moment Michael’s mind jumped to the worst conclusion until Isabel said in that lazy, distant voice, “Michael isn’t like that.”

  She had been drugged—and Michael knew what his dream had meant. It was all there. The woman on the bed…and his brother.

  Betrayal cut through h
im. He reeled with the realization. The one person he hadn’t suspected was Carter, and now he realized he should have. With a faith born of childhood, he’d trusted his brother. Michael had not even given his father as much credit as he had Carter.

  “No, he has changed,” Carter was agreeing. “More’s the pity. I think I preferred the man he was back then. Made me feel better about myself. Now, it’s as if I’m the failure. People look at the two of us, and I come up lacking.”

  “Jealous,” Isabel mumbled.

  “Yes, I’m jealous.” Carter shook his head. “It would have been better for me all the way around if they had hanged him.”

  On the other side of the door, Michael replaced bitter disillusionment with steel resolve. He clenched his fists, ready to strike hard when his wife’s next question held him in check.

  “Why did you kill her?” Isabel asked.

  “It was an accident. I hadn’t planned to. It just happened.”

  “You were at her apartment,” Isabel said, a sign that, even with her senses dulled, her sharp, disciplined mind was still working.

  “We both were,” Carter said. “I was in her bedroom, waiting for her, when Michael arrived. Aletta would do that, make a man think she was going to give him some and slip away. She told me to leave, and there he was, so drunk he’d passed out on her couch. Can you imagine how I felt?”

  “Angry,” Isabel whispered.

  “Yes, I was angry. No one ignores me. Not after they’ve taken my money.”

  “Not drunk now.”

  “Michael? No, he appears to have become a paragon of virtue,” Carter said sarcastically. “But back in those days he was sloppy, he was such a sot. And the women loved him. I couldn’t understand it.”

  “Richard didn’t help…?”

  “Richard? Are you referring to Riggs?” Carter laughed. “He had nothing to do with this.”

  Isabel didn’t answer.

  Carter waved a hand in front of her face. “Asleep?” He sighed and picked up a pillow. “I’m sorry, Isabel. I must do this.” He started to place the pillow over her face.