He was frowning by the end, though not, it seemed, from anger. “And you think that this will somehow encourage her to speak?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But I think it might help. It strikes me that she is too…comfortable not speaking. Here, we don’t just accept her silence but largely understand her meaning. She doesn’t need to speak. My highest hope is that she will recognize how much more fun her relationships could be if she joins in normal chatter. But even if she doesn’t, if it doesn’t happen so quickly, she will at least be more comfortable in company.”
“And if the company is…unkind to her?”
“Unkindness is something we must all get used to. But in this case, I see no reason why anyone would be. The Conway girls are very good natured, and in Blackhaven, even other children tend to follow the castle’s lead.”
He waved that aside. “Children’s unkindness is one thing.”
Caroline stared. “You cannot imagine adults would be unkind to her?”
“I cannot imagine you have not encountered unkindness in adults,” he retorted. “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
She flushed. “I am the governess. Rosa is a gentleman’s daughter.”
He fixed her with his harsh gaze. “You don’t know anything about this gentleman.”
“I know a little,” she said with difficulty. “And I suspect more.”
His eyes narrowed. “Such as?”
She held his gaze. “That you are an officer, a soldier.”
He never blinked. “What makes you think so?”
“Colonel Fredericks, who is an old family friend of Lady Tamar’s, thought he recognized your name. Are you Colonel Benedict?”
He threw the rest of the brandy down his throat and stood up. “I was. So the story is out.”
“I don’t believe so. Colonel Fredericks is a man of understanding and discretion. Of necessity, I gather.”
He flung over to the decanter and sloshed another generous measure into his glass. “And Lady Tamar will tell no one such a juicy piece of gossip?” he mocked. “She would have to be inhuman!”
Caroline frowned, uncomprehending. “I don’t believe it is juicy gossip to discover a man is a respected officer who escaped a French prison.”
He stood by the sofa, staring down at her. “Is that what he told you?”
“Isn’t it true?”
He threw himself onto the sofa. “So far as it goes. Did he say nothing else?”
“What else is there?”
“Family scandal,” he said bitterly. “That is what I’m trying to protect Rosa from. That is why we came here to the middle of nowhere and why I never use my former rank.”
“Colonel Fredericks said nothing like that.”
“He wouldn’t to you and Lady Tamar, would he?”
“I suppose not,” she said honestly. “But then, I don’t believe Colonel Fredericks is a gossiping kind of gentleman. Nor would he spread tales about a man he respects.”
“Respects?” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “My dear girl, there is nothing to respect.”
She didn’t know if she hurt for him believing such a thing, or for herself in case it was true. “Why not?” she asked unsteadily.
He took a gulp of brandy. “That is a story for another day. For the rest, you’d better hear it from me because I don’t want a whisper to reach Rosa from other sources.” He gazed toward the fire, as though seeing his story in the flames. “I came home after more than two years abroad, sick and injured, to discover my wife expecting another man’s child. Not only that, he was living in my house. I threw him out, and the next day, my wife and her unborn child died.”
Caroline swallowed. Everything in her ached. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Why should you be sorry? The news was all round London within hours. So as soon as my wife was buried, I took Rosa and left.”
Caroline nodded slowly. “But it wasn’t that tragedy that deprived her of speech, was it?”
He shook his head. “No. She’d stopped talking almost a year before that. No one could tell me why. Even my wife.”
“You carry a lot of guilt,” Caroline said quietly, “for something that wasn’t your fault.”
He glanced at her. “I’ve given up apportioning faults. I have my share of them. For one, this isolation is not just for Rosa’s sake. I need it.”
“I gathered that.”
A smile flickered across his face and vanished. “Of course, you did. But I accept that I am a selfish bas—” He broke off. “A selfish man. Begin your plan for Rosa if you will. On one condition.”
“That if I catch one whiff of the scandal you mentioned, we do not attend the party?”
“What a superior governess you are. Except that you may, of course, attend the party under any and all circumstances. You never know, you might find a prince to sweep you off your feet.”
“My feet remain firmly on the ground,” she said dryly.
He sat back, regarding her over his brandy. “Come, Miss Grey, is there no romance in your cynical soul? You are young and attractive. You can’t have given up hope of a better life than governess to someone else’s children.”
“It is the life I have chosen,” she said stiffly, rising to her feet. “And I am perfectly content.”
“Why do I not believe that?” he murmured.
“I have no idea. I have given you no cause to doubt my honesty or my commitment.”
She swung away, hurrying to the door before she said more, or, worse, succumbed to the emotion suddenly tearing her up. She didn’t expect him to move, let alone do so with such speed that he suddenly blocked her passage to the door.
“Don’t run away. I was only teasing in my clumsy way. I did not mean to make you angry.”
“I would not presume,” she muttered.
His lips curved. “Yes, you would.”
She hiccoughed an unexpected laugh, and his smile broadened encouragingly.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said ruefully.
“I am not upset,” she said, drawing in her breath. “Not really. Merely, I gave up all notions of marriage and motherhood before I took my first position.”
He searched her eyes. “Someone let you down.”
“It is a common story. Unfortunately, I am not a woman who changes her affections with ease.”
“Then you still love him?”
It was a pain she had lived with for so long that she was almost surprised to find it lessened. To find him lessened to something almost paltry. It was the damaged man before her who filled her mind. And her heart.
No. Please no.
“I don’t think of such things,” she said desperately. “They mean nothing to me now. Excuse me.”
She bolted ignominiously from the study, resolving never to be alone with him again.
*
“You got him to drink the waters,” Miss Benedict said in a stage whisper. “Thank you!”
Caroline, who’d just taken her seat at the dinner table, flushed. “I merely showed him the way to the pump room.”
“Well, I’m sure I see an improvement already. You must go every day, Javan.”
“Must I?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask exactly what his injuries were, but since it was none of her business, and might, besides, upset Rosa, she swallowed back her questions and concentrated on her dinner.
Miss Benedict chattered about what a pleasant town Blackhaven was, and it was finally borne in upon Caroline that none of them had ever been there before today.
“Miss Grey, how is your handwriting?” Mr. Benedict asked in a rare pause.
“Legible, I believe,” she replied. “Why?”
“I have an additional task for you, if you wish. I would pay you extra for it, of course.”
“What would it entail?” she asked suspiciously.
“Making a fair copy of my semi-illegible notes.”
“Ah, your book,” she guessed. �
�Is it finished?”
“Almost.”
“I would be happy to help,” she said. “If I can.”
And her heart beat and beat because it would involve spending more time in his company. Despite what she’d promised herself barely two hours before.
*
Javan Benedict watched his daughter until she fell asleep. Because of her excitement during the day and her fear of Miss Grey not returning, it took her longer than usual, but he didn’t mind. The governess was correct. Rosa did need to do normal things, to grow used to such minor expeditions today’s. And she should not be so terrified of losing the governess she’d known less than a fortnight. Her morbid fear of abandonment had probably been heightened by the fact she had so few people around her.
There was more to bringing up a child than merely protecting her.
His heart was full as he gazed at her sleeping face. Marjorie thought he was too good to sit with his daughter every night. But it was no hardship to him. She was the comfort at the end of his day, his reason to begin another, a reminder of the rare goodness and sweetness in the world. She was his only joy and it broke his heart to think he might not be doing the best for her.
He had his reasons, of course. Reasons Miss Grey would surely discover in time. His revelations about the scandal had seemed to inspire more understanding than contempt or pity, neither of which would have been bearable from her.
Inevitably, his thoughts lingered on the governess. If he had guessed she would become such an obsession, he would have turned Braithwaite down. He hadn’t wanted a young, beautiful female to teach Rosa. He’d wanted a sensible older woman, strict but kindly, a motherly figure—which her true mother had never been—not this girl who disturbed his thoughts and his lusts. He’d held her in the rain, and in the grip of his waking shock had kissed her soft, startled lips, in terrible fear that he’d hurt her.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d wanted to take her in the rain, in his bed, before the fire in his study, anywhere she would have him. She wouldn’t, of course, for she was a well-bred lady dependent on her pure reputation. And in truth, he would never take that from her, no matter how urgently his body demanded it. He had just been without a woman too long not to fantasize.
But that was too easy an excuse, unworthy of her, or even him.
As Rosa’s fingers released his in sleep, he rose and walked across the room, conscious of new excitement in his heart. Caroline Grey would come to his study now, to be introduced to the work he’d so foolishly offered her.
Something had changed. Leaving Rosa, he no longer felt merely prepared to face another day. He wanted to.
His gaze fell on the door to Miss Grey’s bedchamber, and his whole body tightened. Was she there now? Waiting for the sounds of him leaving, which she must surely hear. In many ways, it would be so much more natural to knock on her door and ask her to accompany him to the study. He wanted to see her in her own, personal room, about whatever tasks she gave herself—scrubbing the mud from her everyday gown, writing to her family… But that wouldn’t be fair or right. He liked that she wasn’t afraid of him.
Leaving by the passage door, he picked up the candle he’d left there and walked purposefully to the stairs. His left leg still didn’t work as well as the right and had to be treated with care lest it collapse. Or lest he forget himself and groan from the pain.
In the evenings, when he was tired, the stairs were a challenge, but tonight he seemed to overcome them easily. Because he was remembering the way Miss Grey had come and stood beside him at the harbor. She hadn’t needed to. He hadn’t seen her approach. Equally, she could have greeted him and passed on.
He had known it was her as soon as she came up to him. He knew her clean, fresh scent, her presence. Although every nerve had been aware of her, he’d found a strange peace in her just being at his side. He’d almost been afraid to speak.
He walked into his study, leaving the door open. Tiny got up and loped over to lick his hand before returning to the hearth. There was only one lamp burning on the desk. Benedict lit a spill from his candle which he blew out before using the spill to light the other lamps and candles. Then he walked around the desk, arranging his notes into the order he wanted for the first few chapters of his book.
He strained every sense as though awaiting a lover instead of a secretary. At least he could laugh at himself.
Her quick, light footsteps along the passage brought a smile to his lips, though he’d banished it before she arrived.
“Ah, Miss Grey,” he greeted her with briskness.
She blew out her candle and set it by his at the door. “Sir.”
She crossed the room, looking as neat and efficient as always. She wore her drab grey gown with grace.
He hefted the pile of paper in his hands. “These are what I would like you to copy. Can you decipher my writing?”
She bent over the top sheet, scanning the words. “Yes, for the most part. If I come to a word I’m unsure of, I shall ask rather than guess.”
She raised her eyes to his. They were a soft, yet brilliant blue, her lashes several shades darker than her hair, which she wore in too severe a style. He couldn’t think of anything except removing her pins and shaking her lovely dark blond locks loose about her shoulders. As it had been that first night, when she’d followed Marjorie’s crying and he’d somehow escorted her back to her chamber without touching her.
Under his continued gaze, her skin flushed. “Is something wrong, sir? Would you like me to copy a page to be sure I am up to the task?”
“Yes,” he said, in an effort to make his brain think again. “If you please,”
Clearing a space on the nearside corner of his desk, he set down his papers, and took a large new notebook from the drawer on the other side. He found a chair by the window and set it by the desk. He even trimmed a pen for her and passed the ink.
This was ridiculous. He felt like a tongue-tied schoolboy, and yet he was only too aware that he was the one who held all the power, all the authority, and he could not approach her as an equal.
Approach her? he mocked himself as he strode back to the window. With what? My late wife’s money? My damaged child and my soiled honor? Anger and shame and desire clashed in him, exploding in a turbulent mess that had him leaning his arm against the window for support.
Behind him, her pen scratched against the paper, the sound comfortingly normal. And it happened again. The strange peace she’d seemed to bring him by the harbor began to wash over him once more. No wonder Rosa found her so necessary so quickly. He was in danger of finding the same.
He let his arm fall to his side and walked to the desk. She laid aside the pen and sat back while he bent over the book. Her writing was neat and legible with just a hint of flamboyance in the loops. He could smell lavender from her hair, hear her every breath as though it were his own.
“Perfect,” he said straightening. “There is no huge rush for this work, so just come here and continue whenever you wish and your duties with Rosa allow. Whether I am here or not.”
Deliberately, he did not ask her to stay right now, merely walked around the desk to his own chair and sat down to continue with his final chapters. After a moment, she picked up her pen again and began to write.
It was a sweet torture, one he was happy to endure.
Chapter Nine
That Sunday, Lady Serena was as good as her word and rode over from Braithwaite Castle with Lady Helen. When Williams admitted them, Caroline was crossing the hall in the direction of the study and paused to greet them. Helen ran at her, and Serena hastily pressed a letter into her hand.
“It was delivered to the castle yesterday,” she murmured.
Caroline’s heart lurched in fear, for it was her mother’s hand which had scrawled the wrong address. The reasons for such carelessness were truly terrifying. Fortunately, Williams took Serena and Helen straight up to Miss Benedict in the drawing room, so Caroline was able to flee to the quiet of the st
udy.
She knew the room would be empty, for from her chamber window, barely twenty minutes ago, she had seen Mr. Benedict walk into the woods with Tiny. By past practice, he would not return for hours.
With her heart in her mouth, she tore open the seal, sinking onto the sofa. But there was no way to prepare for the blow she feared.
For a few moments, the words danced before her eyes, making no sense. Then she realized what they were saying and reread them properly, tears streaming down her face.
“Thank God,” she whispered. “Thank God.”
She didn’t even hear anyone come in, but suddenly, Tiny’s head was in her lap, and Mr. Benedict knelt at her feet, frowning into her face.
“What is it?” he said urgently. “What has happened?”
She smiled through her tears. “Peter is well. He was probably never in any real danger, but when they didn’t write I was so afraid…” She dashed her hand against her cheeks in a belated attempt to hide her emotion, but to her surprise, he caught her hand and held it. Suddenly she was blurting out the whole story of Peter’s illness, the cost of the doctor, and her managing to send the money home via Lord Braithwaite, only to hear nothing at all of his health since.
Mr. Benedict gave her a large handkerchief. Only as she took it, did she realize she was clutching his hand. She released it with a hiccup of apology and hastily wiped her face and eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “You must think me very foolish to be crying over such happy news.”
“Not foolish. I can see you care a great deal for the child.” He caught her gaze. “Tell me truthfully. Is he really your nephew?”
She stared at him uncomprehending. “Really my…oh!”
She jumped up, narrowly missing the dog’s great feet as she backed away from Benedict.
“Of course he is my nephew,” she said stiffly. “Do I have your permission to take Rosa to the drawing room to meet Lady Helen? I thought Lady Tamar and I could take them for a walk.”
“Of course,” he said impatiently. “I told you so yesterday. Miss Grey—”
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 30
