An Untamed Governess For The Rogue (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  Although improving her looks was not a matter she dwelt on, Isabella did have her ornate remedy box. In it were jars of face creams to improve the quality of her skin, pots of powders, flasks of perfumes and even exotic oils, and brushes to apply her powders. Whilst she favored the natural look worn by all the heroines in the books she read, she had no desire to appear at dinner with blemishes or spots on her face. Especially if she was wont to be judged by her sisters. She was very careful, too, to cover the freckles that blossomed on her nose every time she went in strong sun without an appropriate hat. She was so tired of hearing that lecture from her mother.

  She shifted a few things around in the box until she found the red paper she had purchased from the local stationery shop. She carefully cut off a small square with her sewing scissors, then dipped it into the bowl of water, before pressing the square to her lips and cheeks.

  The red dye transferred from the paper to her face, coloring her features slightly, but not blatantly so. Next, she used burnt cork to darken her eyebrows. She knew that her mother would know what she did, but she would never comment on it. She would pretend not to know about it, just as Isabella would not comment on her mother’s rouged cheeks. Some secrets were between a lady and her lady’s maid.

  That all taken care of, it was time to get dressed.

  Isabella went behind the screen, took off her dressing gown, and replaced it with a pair of split-drawers and a chemise. It was starting to get cold, away from the fire as she was. However, once they were in a warm drawing room, the easily washed chemise would be good for absorbing any perspiration at dinner, protecting her corset and silk gown.

  “Would you like me to help you with anything, Miss?” her lady’s maid was hovering between her bedchamber and dressing room.

  Isabella tended to dress herself daily and sometimes Samantha did not know whether to go or stay. Isabella waved vaguely at her—she would need her to adjust her stays. Samantha’s hands were usually sweaty, and Isabella had found that she just did not like to be touched all willy-nilly.

  She came out from behind the screen and once again sat down in the chair to pull on a pair of white, woolen stockings, which came above her knees, followed by her black boots. She knew it was strange to be sitting there in her underclothes and boots, but she also knew it was the least cumbersome way to get dressed. Her mother had told her so, and she believed her.

  She was proud of her boots. They had become wildly popular, even for daywear. This was the first time she dared wear them to dinner. This pair had been a present from her father. They were of good quality, reaching up to her calves, but fastened by a long row of lacing. Samantha did them up, bent over quite awkwardly. Her experience in the task meant that she did not, thankfully, take too long.

  After her lady’s maid was done, Isabella got to her feet. It was time to don her corset. She stood still while Samantha draped it on her and then deftly laced it as Isabella watched in the looking glass.

  Samantha, behind her, tugged her corset laces one final time before Isabella secured them into a bow across her stomach. Samantha smoothly inserted the busk in its pocket, running down the front of the corset. Isabella paused to admire her figure in the glass.

  She reached for her bustle pad, and tied it on so it was at her back. It was an older fashion but her mother insisted she use it with this gown. Her new gown had a narrower skirt than usual, with all the fullness at the back. The pad helped the skirt stand out from her body, elegantly flowing, rather than hanging like a rag.

  Quickly, she donned her cotton petticoat, and allowed Samantha to adjust it across the bustle pad. It was very important the cut of the petticoat bodice neckline matched her gown, and that the gathers of the skirt also followed the style of her gown. Her mother had already checked this, but Isabella was impatient to see for herself how the gown lay over the petticoat.

  Thankfully, the foundation gown was a less fussy item of clothing, no buttons for a start. It was made of purple silk; Isabella was able to easily lift it over her head and pull it down into place on top of the petticoat.

  The purple apron over-skirt, with gold trim, followed. As before, Isabella lifted it over her head and pulled it into place. It was secured in place by cords, so Isabella stood still to allow Samantha to tie it so that the knots were hidden. The waistline was quite high, and the bodice wide but short. The puff sleeves also drew attention to her bust. Isabella checked her reflection in the mirror. The gown lengthened her silhouette, made her waist look tiny, and her skin the coolest ivory.

  The Duke might be pleased with what he sees.

  She looked over her appearance once more and judged herself quite presentable. A glance at the carriage clock told her that today it had only taken her eleven minutes to dress, twenty if she wanted to include the time spent on her hair.

  Not bad for a bluestocking.

  Chapter 3

  On-Dit

  It was a well-known fact that the Duke of Helmsfield, of note for having lost his limb in some tragic accident in his youth—said accident also having killed his parents—had some queer ways about him.

  Amongst the more notable was a luxuriously crafted prosthetic lower leg and foot that he used to move around with. It was made of a wooden shank and socket and had a steel knee joint as well as an articulated foot that was controlled by catgut tendons from knee to ankle, as the maker, James Potts, had designed it to do. There was a great deal of curiosity, talk, and legend around his leg. People whispered that he kept the knife that had killed his parents in there.

  Her mother had told Isabella all these things as they rode, together with her father, Colin Addison, Viscount of Gefferton, to Helmsfield House. Isabella listened quietly—a rather unusual thing for her—mostly because to her surprise, she felt quite sorry for the Duke.

  His Grace had been embroiled in a situation that was far beyond his control. He had lost a limb in the process. Now the ton thought him strange for trying to live within his changed circumstances to the best of his abilities!

  It was sad that he had to endure such suffering and censure.

  It must be so lonely for him.

  Suddenly, Isabella could not wait to meet him. People had called her eccentric, too, for her love of books and stories about pirates and other villains.

  She did not understand why people always disparaged what they did not understand. It was the height of ignorance. She decided there and then that however repulsive he looked, she would take care to treat him with the utmost consideration and respect—just as she would anyone else.

  At the very least, we could be friends.

  Therefore, she was quite taken aback, when they arrived, to be introduced to a tall, strong man, who was quite attractive with his well-groomed beard, his warm blue gaze, and his genuine smile. It seemed she had been misled. Now she was wondering why he needed his aunt to help him find a wife.

  The Duke’s aunt stepped forward after their introduction and wrapped her in an embrace. Isabella stiffened, not having been held so close by a stranger in her entire life.

  “I am so happy to meet you,” Lady Edric gushed as her husband smiled indulgently, smoking a cheroot by the fireplace. The Duke stood next to his aunt, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He gave a commiserating smile as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about his aunt. Isabella hoped not because she was thinking that Lady Edric might be a sixpence short of a shilling.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” she replied in the most mild-mannered tone she could find, hoping that would quell Lady Edric’s enthusiasm. She turned to her mother. “I believe you know my mother, Lady Gefferton?”

  Lady Edric veritably beamed. “Yes, I do.” She proceeded to give Diana the same treatment she had given Isabella. “I am so happy to have you in my home again. And for such a happy occasion.” Her smile could light up the world.

  Isabella snuck a glance at the Duke, to see how he was taking all this excess emotion. He had a slightly amused smile on his face,
eyes downcast, as if he was used to these mawkish displays. Her father cleared his throat and Isabella jumped. She had almost forgotten he was there. Thankfully, her mother was turning to present him to the company.

  “Your Grace, Lord and Lady Edric, may I present my husband, Lord Gefferton.” Her father stepped forward, a solemn look on his face as he bowed to the Duke, Lady and Lord Edric. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” His Grace bowed his head at her father and smiled. Isabella could not help smiling, too. Things were going well so far.

  “Please, have a seat. What will you have to drink?” Lady Edric hastened to make them feel welcome. Isabella took her cue from her and smiled widely, sitting on the couch Lady Edric pointed to, being not in the least surprised when the Duke took a seat next to her.

  * * *

  Emmanuel settled himself in the seat next to Miss Addison, feeling his hands shake slightly at her nearness. She smelled of daisies and honey cake, she was young and innocent in the purest sense of those words. She could not want to be here, with him. She turned to him with a demure, expectant smile, eyes bright with interest.

  He returned her smile, casting around for some trifle to begin their conversation with. A compliment, he decided, would do nicely.

  “Your gown is most becoming, Miss Addison.”

  Her smile grew wider. “I like your beard, Your Grace.”

  That got a raised eyebrow from him. It was captivatingly direct. “Why, thank you, Miss Addison.” He stroked said beard, unable to keep from smiling happily, “I devote many hours to keeping it well groomed.”

  “It shows.” She gave him an impish grin and he glanced around at the others in the room, wanting to be certain that they were not eavesdropping on this most unusual conversation.

  His aunt was prattling on about something while the others pretended to listen, giving Emmanuel and his intended as much privacy as they were able. He heaved a relieved sigh before turning back to Miss Addison with a grin of his own.

  “Would you like to touch it?”

  Her laugh was quiet but heartfelt. “Not just at the moment, no.”

  “Oh,” he let his face fall theatrically as if she might have thrust an arrow through his heart with her refusal and her laugh was louder and more delighted. That caused everyone else in the room to stop speaking and begin smiling indulgently at them.

  “Is everything all right?” Lady Gefferton asked, an eyebrow raised at her daughter.

  “Yes, Mother.” Miss Addison’s tone was a trifle sharp and Emmanuel looked from one to the other, wondering at the unsaid things beneath the look that flashed between mother and daughter. In a trice though, the girl’s attention was back on him, and her mother was speaking with his aunt.

  “Do you read?”

  He was slightly taken aback by the abrupt change in subject but went along with it. “Why, yes, I do.”

  “Oh, and what are you reading now?” She looked so earnest, her large brown eyes swallowing her face. He stiffened as he noticed the line of freckles dotting her nose.

  What would she do if I leaned down, stuck my tongue out and licked along that line? Would she lean into me? Or push me away?

  The question made his britches tighten in a most uncomfortable way and he hoped he would not be required to stand for quite a while. Her freckles seemed to wink knowingly at him and he transferred his gaze to her lips.

  Big mistake.

  He swallowed as he tried to recall her question. “Well, currently I am reading The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”

  Miss Addison gasped, stiffening and straightening her spine and inadvertently causing her bosom to thrust out at him. He was hard pressed to pay attention to her words. “Is that so? I have been asking and asking for my father to purchase it, but he will not.”

  “Well, it is not really suitable reading for a young lady such as yourself. The subject matter is a trifle disturbing.”

  Miss Addison thrust her chin defiantly at him. “I am not afraid of words in a book.”

  “Oh no, it is not the words you should fear, but what your imagination might do with them.”

  She stared at him as if he had just recited the Sermon on the Mount. “That is a very profound thought.”

  To his absolute horror, Emmanuel found that he was blushing. “Oh, well…I thank you.” He reached up to his neck, loosening his cravat slightly. The temperature in the room seemed to have risen. To his relief, the butler chose that moment to announce that dinner was served.

  Aunt Helen rose to her feet excitedly. “I arranged for us to eat under the stars, in the conservatory. I must say that the staff have outdone themselves. Follow me.”

  Emmanuel got to his feet, proffering his arm so that Miss Addison could take it. She slipped her arm into his with a smile and Emmanuel felt something in him let go…all the worry he had been carrying about this meeting dissipated.

  Isabella did not watch him as they walked, or ask if she should adjust her steps to accommodate his gait. He was grateful for that. In spite of his doubts about it all, he had spent hours upon hours practicing how to walk without the slightest indication of a limp. She smiled at him, letting him lead her to the glass-framed room, the front wall of which opened onto a large veranda.

  Lanterns had been strung up in the trees outside and several musicians were employed with providing a soft and romantic musical background just out of sight, on the veranda. Torches were set at intervals along the garden paths just beyond a large grassy area.

  Then they all sat down to their meal.

  Emmanuel had to admit that his aunt had outdone herself when it came to setting the scene. Every ton hostess pursued the new and unusual, wanting to create a memorable event that would be talked about all Season. With the weather turning from spring to summer, it was cool enough that they could enjoy the soft air that carried the delicate scents of white blooming flowers, eerily glowing in the moonlight. The seemingly infinite number of candles allowed them to eat comfortably yet didn’t impinge on the romantic shimmering of the stars and moon. The light played upon Miss Addison’s face, casting her in a warm glow that made her seem almost ethereal; a creature from another realm come to enchant him.

  She spoiled the illusion by turning to grin at him, her almost childlike delight in the setting making his chest swell with happiness, even though he had nothing to do with bringing it about. “This is lovely.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Indeed. My aunt wanted this night to be very special for us.”

  “Well, she succeeded….or at least, I think so.” She suddenly looked uncertain and Emmanuel could not have that.

  “I think so, too. Here, may I get you a glass of claret?”

  “Oh, thank you, Your Grace. That is so kind.”

  Emmanuel nodded, at a loss for what to say and signaled for the footman to pour the wine. The soup was served soon after and the dinner table quieted down as everyone focused on their meal.

  Emmanuel took the chance to study the girl’s father. They had barely spoken two words to each other and Emmanuel thought he should remedy that fairly soon. If Lord Gefferton were to be his father-in-law, it would be good for them to be on friendly terms. Especially since he did not look as comfortable as his wife and daughter with this arrangement.

  * * *

  Isabella was floating.

  The atmosphere, the wine, the conversation…everything was exceeding her wildest expectations. She had expected to meet an ogre, a repulsive man, a man for whom she might extend a charitable hand of friendship and feel at the very most, pity for him.

  Instead, she had been introduced to the Duke of Helmsfield. The manner in which he was unfazed by her ‘mad’ talk—as her mother would put it—his wise words, his captivating blue eyes, and warm smile all served to intoxicate her as much as the wine. She was beginning to think that this match might just have been made in Heaven.

  She turned to watch the Duke as he ate his puddi
ng slowly, his eyes guarded as he studied her parents. She wondered what he could possibly be thinking. She turned her head to study them, too, trying to see them through his eyes.

  Her mother sparkled with wit—and a myriad of jewelry—as she was wont to do. She made one feel at ease with her grace. She was poised, the very epitome of a lady. Continuously despairing of making a lady out of Isabella, she nevertheless accepted all her foibles without judgment.

  Her father was a different case.

  He was aloof, cold…he concerned himself with their financial welfare and general well-being, but he was not one to engage with his children. Isabella was aware that she hardly knew him. They lived like ships passing in the night; she occupied by her reading and her mother’s attempts to teach her to sew, knit, and do needlework, play the piano and sing.

  She had been unsuccessful in all but the knitting. Isabella did enjoy the rhythmic clackety-clack of needles as she forged a scarf out of bits of wool. She could sew as well, because it was a necessary skill, but found no enjoyment in it. Her piano playing was mediocre at best and she dare not sing in company, though she was not above belting out a ribald verse or two, when she came across it in her reading. Only when she was alone, of course.

  In her father’s company, she tended to be silent, the very picture of demure obedience. She knew he liked it that way, and imitated her older sisters in that regard. He had barely spoken a word to His Grace or his family. Isabella supposed that was bordering on rude. She did not think that was his intention, however, perhaps he was simply uncomfortable in their company.

  He was not normally an amiable man but he was generally unflappable. A Gefferton always kept calm in a crisis. Yet Isabella could detect a film of sweat on his forehead. It was barely warm even with the soft breeze and so Isabella could not imagine why her father would be perspiring…unless he was anxious in some way.