by Diane Gaston
He was greatly surprised at her reaction. ‘I am actually in a good position to help them.’
She sighed. ‘You should have known my father, though. He was the dearest man.’ She regarded him quizzically. ‘And why are you here, Captain? Why did you call on Claire today?’
‘Because I realised I wanted her more than I wanted a ship.’
She looked puzzled.
‘I love her more than the sea.’ It was that simple. ‘The sea has been my life heretofore, but today I had a choice to make. Return to the sea and probably never see her again, or return here and convince her not to marry Stonecroft.’ He turned serious. ‘To marry me instead.’
‘Did she tell you she would marry Stonecroft?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ And he’d hated her saying it. ‘Last night when I thought I needed to say goodbye.’
She leaned forward and touched his arm, much as her likeness would have done. But her touch did not set his senses on fire.
‘She is not marrying Stonecroft,’ the lady said. ‘She is leaving today by private coach to Bristol, to find her old school and see if they will help her procure another governess position.’
‘Leaving?’ He must stop her. Or join her.
A footman interrupted to announce Lord Brookmore.
Lucien and Lady Brookmore both stood.
Brookmore walked directly to his wife and kissed her.
Then he noticed Lucien. ‘I beg pardon. I did not know you had a caller.’ He looked at his wife with a question in his eyes.
‘Do not worry, Garret,’ she said. ‘He knows. Garret, this is Captain Roper. You know. The Captain who rescued Claire? I have just told him everything.’
‘Lord Brookmore.’ Lucien nodded.
‘Garret.’ She grasped his arm. ‘The Captain is in love with Claire. Please tell us she has not left yet. He must see her.’
‘I left her waiting for the coach to be ready,’ he responded. ‘There won’t be much time.’
She pushed him. ‘Go, then. You and the Captain. I will follow as soon as I find a hat and gloves.’
‘What about Sir Orin?’ her husband asked. ‘He will think you are Claire.’
Lucien broke in. ‘Tell me where she is. Follow later if you must.’
‘I left her waiting in the hall of the White Hart. The hall attendant will know if the coach left or not.’
Lucien started for the door, but it opened again and Lord Stonecroft stood in the doorway.
‘See here, Roper. I told you to stay away!’ His face was puffed and red. He noticed Lord Brookmore and turned to Lady Rebecca—Lady Brookmore. ‘Who the devil is this?’
Brookmore stepped forward. ‘You do not remember me, sir? I am Brookmore. We were introduced in Lords.’
Stonecroft looked him up and down. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
Lucien refused to wait. ‘I’ve had enough of you, Stonecroft. Step aside and let me by.’
Stonecroft sputtered. Lady Brookmore laughed and Lucien pushed the man aside.
He rushed out of the house and ran all the way to the White Hart. At this late morning hour, there were many people on the streets, especially near the inn which was right across from the Pump Room. He did not care who saw him.
He slowed only when he reached the door of the White Hart. He strode in, looking around. He did not see her, but beside an empty sofa sat her portmanteau, the one he’d purchased for her. He scanned the hall frantically.
A footman approached him, one of the men he’d spoken to the day before when he’d enquired about the stranger—Sir Orin Foley. ‘Captain Roper? Remember that man you were asking about? I believe I saw him today. Right here, actually. A little while ago. With a lady.’
‘I know his name now.’ Lucien’s heart pounded. ‘Can we find his room?’
‘We will ask the attendant.’
Claire frantically looked for some means of achieving her escape, especially as he came to sit next to her on the bed. She spread her shawl across her lap.
‘Let me show you why you cannot marry that old man. Why you must marry me instead.’ He face came nearer, until his lips touched hers.
She forced herself to remain still, but she gathered her shawl in each of her hands and pulled it taut. When she did not flinch from his kiss, Sir Orin became bolder. His hands moved to her breasts and she tolerated his fingers kneading into her flesh. Pretending she found it pleasurable she slid her hands, still holding her shawl, up his chest. When she reached his neck, she threw the shawl over his head and pulled him to the side. He tumbled on to the floor. She scrambled off the bed and ran for the door.
He had forgotten to lock it.
She threw open the door and ran down the hallway. He’d regained his feet, though, and was right on her heels.
He caught up with her at the top of the stairs. Remembering Ella’s wild fight with the highwayman, Claire pulled Sir Orin’s hair and pushed her fingers into his eyes.
‘Stop this! Claire!’ he yelled.
She kneed him in his groin and he let go momentarily.
‘I’ll kill you!’ he growled.
He charged her.
Using the banister to assist her, she flung herself against the balustrade just as he reached the top step. He tried desperately to grab her, but she pressed herself against the balustrade and his hands slipped off her body.
With a cry of rage and fear, he tumbled down the long flight of stairs. Claire pressed her hands against her ears at the horrible sound.
She collapsed on to the step, clutching a baluster and afraid to move, but also afraid he’d rise up and come after her again. Other voices sounded. Someone bounded up the stairs. She closed her eyes, fearing another attack.
‘Claire?’
Not his voice.
She opened her eyes.
Lucien crouched down beside her. ‘It is all over,’ he murmured, taking her into his arms. ‘He won’t hurt you again.’
* * *
Within an hour Claire was seated with Lucien, and Lord and Lady Brookmore, in the innkeeper’s office at the White Hart Inn. Also present were the magistrate and coroner who had sought their testimony. By mutual agreement, they held nothing back, telling the two men the whole story. No more secrets, even though they knew their story would likely become public.
The magistrate was dumbfounded. ‘By God, this sounds like one of the novels my wife and daughters rave about.’
No, too unbelievable to be a novel. Claire would not have believed it had she not lived it.
The coroner placed both hands on the desk. ‘The man’s death was obviously accidental. We should not need any more from you about this.’
‘Those poor little children, both parents gone.’ Claire remembered the darling little girls and their brother. Perhaps they were better off with devoted aunts to care for them instead of an insane murderer for a father.
She wrapped her shawl tighter around her. Her lovely Kashmir shawl. She’d insisted on returning to Sir Orin’s room to get it, this shawl that had saved Lucien from the highwayman and her from Sir Orin.
She glanced at Lucien. ‘I remember the children now. I think I remember everything.’
He took her hand and held it in his.
They were all dismissed and when they came out of the office, Sir Richard, Ella and Cullen were waiting for them in the hall.
Ella ran up to Claire and hugged her. ‘Oh, m’lady!’ she cried.
Cullen had Claire’s portmanteau.
Introductions were made and Sir Richard invited everyone to his house where they could dine in some privacy. They walked together as a group.
When they reached Sir Richard’s house, Claire said, ‘I should call upon Lord Stonecroft and Miss Attwood. I believe I owe them some explanation.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Lucien said.<
br />
‘We have already told him the whole story,’ the real Lady Rebecca said.
Would it do any good to tell him to open his heart to some lady who would appreciate him? Perhaps not today. She was still reeling from learning the truth.
And finally having her memory restored.
Lucien took her arm. ‘If you all do not mind, I would like to walk with Lady—I mean—Claire on the Gravel Walk.
Ella and Lady Brookmore grinned.
‘We do not mind at all,’ the lady said.
Lucien led Claire away from their companions and they were soon rewarded with the privacy for which the Walk was known.
Claire smiled. ‘I remember walking here when I was a girl.’
He put his arm around her. ‘Your memory is back. You are whole again.’
‘I wish it had been returned to me differently.’ Not because of an attack by a mad man.
They walked in silence for a few steps, before Claire stopped. ‘Lucien, are you certain you will not regret giving up this ship?’
He faced her. ‘I know I will not regret it. When it came down to it, losing you was more intolerable than losing a ship.’ He smiled. ‘I have become too used to you, I suppose, and I cannot imagine my life without the woman I fell in love with.’
She put her arms around his neck. ‘When do you think that happened?’
He cocked his head. ‘When you were mopping up fish guts, I think.’
She rose on tiptoe. ‘I thought I merely depended on you. It took saying goodbye to you to show me I loved you.’
He lifted her closer so that her lips were inches from his. ‘It took the fish guts for me.’
He closed the short distance between them and kissed her.
Epilogue
December 1816
Captain and Mrs Lucien Roper came in the back entrance of their country house laden with evergreens, holly and mistletoe to decorate the house for their first Christmas together.
They had settled where Lucien had begun life, in a property near the Lancashire village where he’d spent his lonely boyhood. It had been Claire’s idea for them to settle there so he could reconcile with the parents who had so overlooked his needs as a boy. The end of the war had forced his father, the Admiral, to retire. Lucien’s parents were truly together for the first time. It was not without its rough waters, but it helped that Viscount Waverland had abandoned Lucien’s mother, now that she was older.
To Lucien’s surprise, there were villagers who remembered him and who welcomed him home. So even if his parents did not pass muster, Lucien had the sense he belonged.
Claire was more optimistic about having his parents near. She, who’d never known her mother and, with her memory restored, newly grieved the loss of her father, considered any family connections as precious.
Their property was a modest farm with sea views that helped Lucien feel connected to where he’d spent most of his life. His prize money provided them a comfortable living and enabled him to employ servants and other workers who would have faced unemployment and hardship if he’d not hired them. The farm was a new challenge to Lucien, but he also had his eye on other ventures. Their proximity to Liverpool piqued his interest in investing in shipping or shipbuilding or even radical new ideas such as ships run by steam engines.
But that was all for another day. Today he was content to remain at home with Claire.
They left their snow-caked boots and outerwear in the entryway, dropped off their cuttings in the still room and walked up to the warmth of a fire in their drawing room.
Cullen walked in. ‘We brought the mail from the village.’ He handed the tray holding several envelopes to Lucien.
Lucien sorted through them.
Cullen and Ella were still with them, biding their time until Ella reached twenty-one so they could marry. Lucien could not imagine life without them. He was as attached to them as he’d been to his crew. Claire loved them like the siblings she’d never had.
‘A letter for you from Lady Brookmore.’ Lucien handed the envelope to Claire.
She took it excitedly. ‘I am so glad to hear from her! She must have received my letter.’
Lord and Lady Brookmore had returned to Brookmore’s estate in the Lake District and the nieces he adored. Lucien counted Brookmore and Rebecca among the few aristocrats he truly esteemed.
He glanced over at Claire.
Her lovely face glowed with pleasure as she opened her mail.
Lucien settled into a chair and read his own letter from Sir Richard who was in good health and spending Christmas in Bath.
‘This is marvellous!’ Claire cried.
She jumped up from her sofa and climbed into Lucien’s lap so he could read over her shoulder.
She told him what was in the letter anyway. ‘Rebecca writes that she and Garret are expecting a baby, too.’
She pressed a hand over her only slightly rounded belly and gave Lucien a contented smile.
‘Listen to this!’ She snuggled closer as she read on. ‘She thinks she is due in June, too!’ She put down the letter and put her arms around his neck. ‘Would it not be a lark if we both have girls and if they both look alike?’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I think it would be like lightning striking twice.’
And he silently said a prayer of thanks for being given what he thought he could never have. A home. A woman to love and to love him back. A family. A place to belong.
He would never take this for granted.
He kissed her again and held her close. ‘Who would believe that so much happiness could result for so many when a governess and a lady swap places?’
* * *
If you enjoyed this story read the first book in
The Governess Swap miniseries
A Lady Becomes a Governess
And be sure to check out
The Scandalous Summerfields miniseries
by Diane Gaston
Bound by Duty
Bound by One Scandalous Night
Bound by a Scandalous Secret
Bound by Their Secret Passion
Keep reading for an excerpt from Tempted by the Roguish Lord by Mary Brendan.
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Tempted by the Roguish Lord
by Mary Brendan
Chapter One
Circa 1816
‘Please put down the gun, Papa! This gentleman has not harmed me, but done me a
great service.’ Miss Emma Waverley strove to keep her voice lowered. From a corner of an eye she’d noticed their neighbour’s curtain twitch in an upstairs window.
‘Done you a service!’ the elderly fellow roared. ‘That’s what he told you, is it!’ He descended another step towards the pavement. By fully stretching out his thin arm, he brought the duelling pistol to within an inch of an elegant waistcoat. ‘These infernal rakes have no shame in the matter.’ He shook the weapon to reinforce his intention to pull the trigger. ‘I can tell he is a villain just by looking at him.’ A pair of rheumy eyes took in the stranger’s slight air of inebriation and dishevelled attire. Even these drawbacks couldn’t disguise the fact he was abominably handsome...and rich. Such expensive tailoring would be cared for by a valet. As for the equipage parked at the kerb, only the wealthiest young bucks took to the road in one of those racy contraptions.
If the individual under threat feared he might soon expire from a bullet, he gave no sign of it. The Earl of Houndsmere had upon his dark features a wearisome expression.
‘Should this business be conducted inside, perhaps?’ he suggested drily and jerked his head to indicate their audience.
Across the road two kneeling servants had halted their yawning and scrubbing to turn on their steps and gawp at the spectacle of an ancient, garbed in flowing nightgown and tasselled cap, pointing a gun at his daughter’s supposed seducer. Soon the emerging dawn would give way to the glorious spring morning promised by the blush on the horizon. This busy square would begin to throng with people and carriages. How they’d appreciate starting their day viewing this tableau.
‘Please, Papa, give me the gun.’ Emma extended a determined hand to take the weapon, but her father stubbornly drew it back towards his chest with a warning growl.
‘I’ll not! First I’ll hear his good reason for bringing you back at this hour in the morning. I imagined you to be safe in your bed.’ Mr Waverley gazed fiercely at his daughter. ‘You’re really in trouble now, miss, I hope you realise it.’
Emma did know that...more than her father yet understood. Worrying as it was, her conscience wouldn’t allow her to shift the blame to hide her culpability. She swept a glance at her saviour from under her lashes, wincing beneath the sardonic glitter in his blue-black eyes. But there was no recrimination. He didn’t regret having stopped to help her. They’d barely spoken to one another, yet she’d wager he wasn’t a man given to questioning his own behaviour. He’d not looked sorry when he’d battered two men for her either.
