To Love a Governess

by Josi S. Kilpack

  They had just reached the crest of the hill when Miss Johansson came to an abrupt stop. David and Dina on either side of her stumbled a bit as they, too, halted. “Oh dear,” Miss Johansson said in a plaintive tone as she looked between them. “I’ve forgotten my bonnet.” She placed a hand on her bare head and frowned at them in turn. “One of the pins was sticking me quite badly at lunch, so I removed it but cannot risk any more time in the sun. I’ve already become so brown.” She untangled her arms and turned back the way they’d come in a single movement.

  “Let me retrieve it for you, Fiona,” David said, stepping forward down the hill.

  “I would not dream of that. How will I ever learn to be responsible if people are continually making up for my deficits?” She slapped playfully at his arm. “Carry on, I shall return as quickly as possible, and you shan’t even know that I was gone.” She was scampering down the hill before either David or Dina could broach another argument. They looked at one another once they were alone, and Dina breathed him in. She immediately blamed the wine at lunch for making her wickedly happy about this circumstance.

  “I should go after her,” David said, but he did not move.

  “She is already at the base of the hill,” Dina said, waving in Miss Johansson’s direction. “I do not mind continuing on if you don’t.”

  He held her eyes a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

  She smiled and turned back in the direction of the stones. The breeze had changed, and she could definitely feel a section of her hair coming loose from her pins. As much as she enjoyed David’s company, she feared that should they touch, even inadvertently, the sensation would be overpowering. Therefore, she stayed well to her side of the narrow path as they meandered farther into the woods. “It seems you have done very well for yourself, Mr. Macarthur.”

  David watched a bird dart out of a stand of trees and tracked it with his eyes as he answered. “I refuse to converse with you if you do not call me David.”

  Dina laughed, another sign of too much frivolity and too much wine. “Controlling as always,” she said with a click of her tongue. More hair tucking. “Remember when we were children and you made Mary and I call you by your full name—David Kamdyn Frederick Macarthur? If we didn’t use your entire name, you pretended you hadn’t heard us at all.”

  David chuckled. “Mary then insisted on the same consideration, but you wanted to be Loch-Lauren, fairy princess of Brierly Glen.”

  Dina had forgotten that part and laughed at the memory. “We were, what, eleven years old when we did that? If I remember right, we played it out for two days before Mary refused to participate and we found some other challenge to bear.”

  “I believe we were eleven,” David said. “It was the summer before I went to England for school.”

  Dina sobered. “The last summer we had such times together.” She hurried to add, “The three of us.”

  After David began school at Eton, his time in Scotland began to dwindle. He was fourteen when his father died and his mother left Scotland for good, eager for her own friends and family back in England. He’d come to Mary’s home for a month’s visit during his and Dina’s fifteenth year, but Mary had been twenty years old then, and all she wanted was to talk about the season she’d just finished in London—a topic Dina and David rolled their eyes over a hundred times. Dina’s grandfather had been in poor health that summer, and she’d been called back to him after only two weeks. They had not seen each other again until Dina had joined Mary in London, when everything had been different.

  “Well then, David,” she began, feeling it a safer course to engage conversation than stay steeped in her own thoughts and memories. “It does seem you have done well for yourself. Do you feel accustomed to the work of a gentleman’s life?”

  “If there is sarcasm in this question, I am choosing to ignore it,” he said teasingly. “It is far more work than I anticipated—land and tenants and falling prices at market.” He blew a breath with full cheeks. “I am converting a large section of my lands from flax to sheep, and it has required a great deal of adjustment to the overall infrastructure.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  He paused, then looked at her and smiled that light-the-sun smile that made her toes go numb in her scuffed walking boots. “I adore it,” he said, tracing the outline of her face with his gaze as his eyebrows came together.

  “Um, I would never want to offer a criticism to a woman,” he said carefully, before lifting a hand to his own head and making a sweeping motion. “Your hair looks rather similar to those nests we would find in the marsh, do you remember?”

  Dina’s cheeks flushed as she raised her hands to her head and confirmed that her hair was worse than she had realized. “Och Brae,” she said as she began removing pins. David took a step closer and put his cupped hands in front of her. It took her a moment to remember Mary instructing him on the action when they were young and far enough from their house that her mother would not see her take down her hair. Dina removed the pins one at a time and dropped them into David’s cupped hands. Any potential sensuality was lost in the fact that her hair had somehow knotted itself, which took a great deal of scowling and yanking to undo. David pinched his lips together and looked away.

  “If you laugh at me, David Macarthur, I’ll bile yer head.” He clenched his eyes closed and kept his lips tightly sealed while she combed through her hair as best she could and then plaited it in an attempt to contain the mess.

  “All right,” she said when she finished. “Hand me those pins.”

  He opened his eyes and poured the pins into Mr. Littlefield’s handkerchief she’d tucked into her sleeve. She twisted the pins inside it and tucked the handkerchief back while pretending not to notice him inspecting her hair. The red had deepened some in recent years, though it could not properly be called auburn. It was as thick as ever and now hung down her back in a rope with no tie. The plait would not last but had to be better than the heap it had been before.

  “Shall we continue, Princess Loch-Lauren?”

  She glared at him, but he only laughed and led out toward the stones. David took his hat from his head and ruffled his own hair, allowing the breeze to catch it while he tapped his hat against his thigh. He was comfortable and easy in his own skin in a way she hadn’t seen when he was with Miss Johansson. She decided not to think about Miss Johansson or Mr. Littlefield just now. She wanted to keep her attention on David and David only. She was quite sure this opportunity to be alone in his company would never happen again.

  “I imagine you are also quite good at the work you do,” she said, returning to the earlier topic. “You’ve always been a man of details and determination.” She sent a quick glance in his direction. “I think your father would be very proud of the man you’ve become, David. I hope you know that.”

  Not many people knew of the complicated relationship David had with his father. Barney Macarthur had been fiercely proud of his heritage and determined to bring out the Scot in his son through physical labor and continual criticism for the ways in which David fell short. David had expressed during their time in London how he missed the connection to his Scottish history now that his father was not there to demand it have a place in his life. Dina’s response back then was to share with him the stories she’d been raised on in her grandfather’s household, speak Gaelic as often as possible, and serve as a reminder that he was still a Scot, even if he was also an Englishman. She wondered now if that might have been another part of Mrs. Macarthur’s objection to Dina. She not only distracted David from the English girls who would shore up his position in that country, but she also pulled him toward the Scottish tones that his mother had never been comfortable with. Mrs. Macarthur herself had married to a Scot and had not been particularly happy in that union.

  “Thank you, Dina. I hope that he would be.”

  “It seems you are still very close to your mother.”

  “I am her only son,” he said, a bit of a sigh in his
voice, then turned to give Dina a playful look. “A fact she makes sure everyone is aware of, most of all me.” He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair again. “I cannot imagine the man I’d have become without her, though. She’s kept me focused and helped me connect with people who have been essential in my development. I owe her a great deal.”

  “Certainly,” Dina said, despite the stinging reminder that she had been a stumbling block in his development rather than an essential element. They came to a stop as they stepped into the glen situated with a rather disappointing circle of stones. The tallest of those still standing was only four feet high, and those on the ground were half buried. They began a slow walk around the formation.

  “Well, I must admit myself rather put out with Mr. Jennings’s enthusiasm for this, what did he call it . . . historical treasure?” David waved dismissively at the sorry stones at their feet. “I had expected something more like Brodger or even Machrie Moor. This was hardly worth the exertion of coming over that hill.”

  Dina kept her expression flat. “You have my full support of whatever retribution you deem reasonable on those who have proclaimed this a landmark worthy of exploration.”

  “I am thinking . . .” He looked at the sky and skewed his expression as though deep in thought. “Boiling oil. That is a good Scottish punishment, ya ken?”

  Dina laughed as full and free as she had in the carriage with Mr. Dewberry. “Where would we find the oil in these parts?” She waved a hand to indicate the trees around them.

  “Burn down his village, then,” David said with a shrug.

  “I live in that village,” Dina reminded him.

  “Right, we shall preserve the house of Loch-Lauren, fairy princess of Brierly Glen, and settle for stealing all his cattle.” He waved a flourishing hand in a circle above his head.

  They continued to discuss punishments, each a bit more brutal than the next, as they wandered around the circle of stones. Once. Twice. Six times. Dina had been placing one foot in front of another but placed her foot wrong and pitched to the side. David immediately put a hand beneath her elbow and another on her shoulder to steady her. They both froze. She raised her eyes to meet his, only inches from her own, and felt that pull she’d kept just outside the door of her consideration burst in. David swallowed, looked at her lips, and then stepped away. The disappointment of his removal was equal to the thrill of knowing that he felt what she felt, at least to a degree. She imagined planting her feet before him, bold and determined, and asking him if he did not feel it too. Ask him if he did not want to feel more.

  The wave of longing that accompanied the fantasy nearly caused Dina to lose her balance again.

  “I fear Fiona must have lost her way,” David said nervously, looking the way they had come. “We should head back.”

  Dina forced herself to remember all that stood between them. Miss Johansson. His mother. His place in England. Her place nowhere.

  The excitement and energy drained away, as was right. “That would be a good idea, I think.”

  He did not offer his arm as they made their way down the hill, and even though she had to pick her steps carefully, she did not ask for him to steady her.

  “Aye, there they are,” David said with relief when they reached the bottom of the hill.

  They made their way to the group, but just before they reached them, Dina realized that Miss Johansson was not there. Neither was Mr. Littlefield.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Where is Fiona?” David asked when they reached the group. He replaced his hat as though just remembering he’d removed it. Dina hoped that no one would comment on her hair now plaited down her back, though they would likely agree it was an improvement on what she’d had before.

  “We thought she was with you,” Mary said, her expression worried as she looked at the abbey and surrounding trees. She met Dina’s eye, and her expression tightened as she raised her eyebrows in accusation. Without Miss Johansson in their company, she and David had been alone for several minutes. Dina shook her head to say nothing had happened, offended that Mary would suspect differently. Did Mary know more about the connection in London than Dina had previously believed?

  “She was with us, but she returned for her bonnet,” David said. “We’ve been waiting for her to return.”

  They had been alone for some time, nearly half an hour from the time Miss Johansson had left them. She felt a pit in her stomach for the impropriety of it and moved away from David, nearer to Mary, as though that would make any difference at all. She could feel Mrs. Macarthur’s hard eyes following her but did not look in her direction.

  “Where is Mr. Littlefield?” Mr. Jennings asked, voicing the detail that no one had said out loud. The group went quiet, several of them glancing at David and then away. Dina did not look away, however, and saw the tightening in David’s jaw.

  “Mr. Littlefield went that direction several minutes ago,” Mrs. Macarthur said, pointing toward the back of the abbey. “He said he wanted to find a keepsake.”

  A grown man wanted a keepsake from a ruined abbey?

  “What of Fiona?” David asked in a take-charge voice. “Has anyone seen her?”

  “I saw her return for the bonnet while I was smoking my pipe. She went back the direction she’d come.” He tapped the front pocket of his coat, which bulged with the assumed pipe and drawstring pouch of tobacco many men carried thusly. He waved toward the hill that David and Dina had just descended to indicate her direction, opposite Mr. Littlefield’s course.

  “Perhaps she took the wrong trail in pursuit of us.” David began walking back toward the hill. Dina wanted to follow him but stayed in her place. He began calling out Fiona’s name every few feet as he moved further from the group.

  “I shall go after Mr. Littlefield and let him know we are ready to begin the journey back to the house,” Mr. Jennings said in a casual voice, taking the direction Mrs. Macarthur had pointed. Over his shoulder he added, “Dewberry, search the interior of the abbey, will you? Ladies, please keep to the carriages so that we do not lose anyone else.” He grinned to soften the concern Dina saw in his expression. Mary wrung her hands but put on a brave smile. She turned to Dina and spoke with exaggerated interest. “What did you think of the druid circle?”

  Dina picked up the lead rope that Mary had thrown and explained the stones to her and Mrs. Macarthur, perhaps exaggerating their grandness so as to extend the distraction. It was perhaps three minutes before the sound of voices caused all of them to turn toward David, who had found Fiona. She had his arm and smiled as she waved at the waiting women, her bonnet in her hand rather than on her head. Mrs. Macarthur let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “I am so sorry to have worried you all,” Miss Johansson said brightly when she reached them. “I’ve always had a terrible sense of direction, and I’m afraid I followed the wrong path quite a ways before realizing my mistake.”

  Mrs. Macarthur hurried forward and kissed Miss Johansson on both cheeks. “We are just so relieved that you are all right,” she said sincerely before looking at David. “This is why women are not to be unaccompanied, David. You should not have sent her back for her bonnet alone.”

  “I see that now,” David said tightly with a nod of acknowledgment. “I shan’t let her out of my sight again, I can assure you.”

  Dina saw the glare within the glance he sent to Fiona at his arm, which alerted her to the overall tension of his posture. Anger was only reasonable if he doubted Miss Johansson’s story of having been lost. Dina looked closely at his face—did he suspect something?

  He would not meet Dina’s eye.

  “Now to find Mr. Littlefield,” Mary said, turning toward the place Mr. Jennings had disappeared into the trees.

  “Oh, is Mr. Littlefield also wandering too far?” Miss Johansson asked with wide innocent eyes, her arm still hooked through David’s.

  Dina searched her face for insincerity but found no guile there. If not for having seen them disappearing i
nto the woods together on Saturday, would Dina suspect anything other than Mr. Littlefield searching for a keepsake and Miss Johansson finding the wrong path?

  “Company ho!”

  The group turned together toward the east side of the abbey where Mr. Littlefield strode toward them, one hand outstretched. “I found the most remarkable stone, see here.”

  He reached the group and showed them what, to Dina, looked like a rather unremarkable rock. A dozen just like it were scattered in the weeds at their feet. “See how the crystals catch the light just so?” He turned the stone, glittering the crystals that were not that stunning. Dina glanced at David, who still did not meet her eye, then Mary, who was looking among the group with concern and confusion. Miss Johansson and Mrs. Macarthur fawned over the rock that Dina suspected Mr. Littlefield had picked up to provide himself an alibi.

  “We had best go for the men who went looking for Mr. Littlefield,” Dina said, eager for some distance from what was feeling like parts in a play. “I shall find Mr. Dewberry.”

  “I shall find Mr. Jennings,” David added and moved that direction without delay.

  Mr. Dewberry was nearly to the crumbling doorway of the abbey when Dina encountered him and gave him the news that both wanderers had been found.

  “Thank goodness,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “I had not been looking forward to the bushwhacking that would certainly have been the next phase of searching.” He put out his arm, and Dina took it without any of the hesitation she’d shown when David had been the one offering escort. When she touched Mr. Dewberry’s arm, she felt none of the energy that had shot through her when David had steadied her near the druid circle. But of course, she wouldn’t. David was the only man who had ever made her feel so physically aware.