The governesss convenien.., p.1
The Governess's Convenient Marriage, page 1
A lady turned governess...
A life-changing proposal!
When Lady Alexandra Mannerly last saw Malcolm Gordston, he was a poor crofter’s son—someone a sheltered duke’s daughter would never be allowed to marry. But scandal has rocked her arrogant family, and Alex now leads a quiet life as a governess in Paris—where she meets Malcolm again! Now he’s a wealthy, powerful department store owner...and determined to make her his bride!
Debutantes in Paris miniseries
Book 1—Secrets of a Wallflower
Book 2—The Governess’s Convenient Marriage
Book 3—coming soon
“McCabe strikes the perfect note of sweet adventure and pure romance in her newest trilogy...a delightful read.”
—RT Book Reviews on Secrets of a Wallflower
“The author did not disappoint as she allowed me to travel back in time to a city I would love to visit... I enjoyed every minute of the book.”
—Goodreads on Secrets of a Wallflower
Debutantes in Paris
Three friends, three dashing heroes, one life-changing trip!
Three best friends from Miss Grantley’s School for Young Ladies, Diana, Emily and Lady Alexandra, are excited to finally be free of school, family and society’s expectations as they head off for a summer of adventure in Paris!
They each have plans for their futures—and they don’t include marriage anytime soon. But meeting three dashing gentlemen in the most romantic city in the world soon puts paid to the best-laid plans...
Read Diana’s story in
Secrets of a Wallflower
Read Lady Alexandra’s story in
The Governess’s Convenient Marriage
And look out for Emily’s story
Coming soon!
“It’s been brought to my attention lately, several times, that I might be in need of a wife.”
The moment seemed to freeze around Alex, bizarre and unreal. “A wife?”
“Yes. Someone to make a real home, to be a partner in life. I never thought of such a thing before, or at least not in a long time. But I admit it begins to make sense to me. I’m not getting any younger, and...what is it?”
A strange, strangled laugh escaped from Alex and she pressed her hand to her lips. “Nothing, it’s just...so odd. I was recently told the same. That I should marry.”
He frowned. “Maybe it is fate, then?”
“Fate?”
He reached into his coat and took out a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a beautiful ring, an antique cameo in a delicate setting of pearls.
“I have the honor to beg for your hand in marriage, Lady Alexandra.”
AMANDA
McCABE
The Governess’s
Convenient Marriage
Amanda McCabe wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including a RITA® Award, an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, a Booksellers’ Best Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband, one dog and one cat.
Books by Amanda McCabe
Harlequin Historical
and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook
Betrayed by His Kiss
The Demure Miss Manning
The Queen’s Christmas Summons
Debutantes in Paris
Secrets of a Wallflower
The Governess’s Convenient Marriage
Bancrofts of Barton Park
The Runaway Countess
Running from Scandal
Running into Temptation (Undone!)
The Wallflower’s Mistletoe Wedding
Visit the Author Profile page
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Author Note
Excerpt from Forbidden to the Gladiator by Greta Gilbert
Prologue
Scotland—1882
Lady Alexandra Mannerly hurried down the back stairs of her father’s hunting lodge, trying to tiptoe so no one would see she had escaped her governess. Even in Scotland, where life was much more free than London or at her father’s ducal seat in Kent, she was supposed to have lessons in the mornings. But she did not want lessons. She was nearly thirteen now. Surely she deserved to be free? At least for a little while?
And besides—she knew exactly where she wanted to go now. Who she wanted to see.
She could hear the clatter of the kitchens, the cook shouting for more salmon to make mousse for dinner, the maids dropping pans, her brother, Charles, begging for cakes. Her father was out shooting for the day, as he always did in Scotland, and her mother was locked in her chamber with a tisane for her headache, as she always did in Scotland. Alex knew her governess would like a free hour to flirt with the butler, so Alex was free for a little while.
She slipped out through the back door unseen and ran through the kitchen garden to the gate. The brisk, cool wind, smelling of the green hills, caught at her loose, slippery pale curls and the skirts of her blue-muslin dress, biting through her jacket, but she didn’t care. She could run now, run and run with no one to stop her!
The weeks they spent in Scotland every early autumn were her favourite of all the year. In England, she always felt so shy, so nervous of everything, so sure she was not being a proper duke’s daughter. That was what her mother lectured her about all the time—what a duke’s daughter should do.
In Scotland, no one was looking at her. She was just Alex, especially when she escaped to run outside and make her own friends. One friend in particular.
She pushed the gate closed behind her and ran through the thicket of woods. She could hear the wind whistling through the branches, rustling the drying leaves. From far off, she could hear the bang of the guns, but she knew they wouldn’t come near. Her father wouldn’t be home for hours, when there would be dinner, bagpipes and dancing, which she and Charles would spy on from above-stairs.
Beyond the woods wound the river, rushing fast over the rocks, a silvery tumble that made its own music, flowing down icy-cold from the heather-purple hills above.
And waiting for her was just the person she sought so eagerly. Malcolm Gordston.
Well—maybe he wasn’t waiting, not for her anyway. He was fishing, as he did nearly every day from the same large, flat rock, casting his line into the water and coming up with salmon for the cook’s mousse.
Alex stood very still for a moment, hidden behind a tree, and watched him. He was older than her by several years and thus quite ancient, yet he fascinated her. The son of one of the crofters on her father’s estate, he was unlike anyone she had ever met. So handsome, tall and strong, with dark gold hair that was too long for any London fashion and features as sternly carved as the rocks around the river. His rough, working clothes never seemed to matter; he was too much like some long-ago king, even in patched trousers and old boots.
And he was always kind to her when they met. He spoke to her as if she was herself, Alex, not Lady Alexandra. Not a child who couldn’t understand anything. She especially liked it when he told her old stories, legends of the Scottish hills, which his grandmother had once told him.
She ran towards the rock and he waved at her with a smile. ‘My lady,’ he called. ‘Come for another fishing lesson?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Alex answered eagerly. ‘I’m sure I can do better this time.’ Last week she had only caught a tiny sparling, fit just for throwing back. She wanted to do more in front of him, see pride in his icy pale blue eyes.
‘I’m sure you can.’ He handed her his extra rod and the bucket of cut bait, small strips of slimy herring. She knew just what to do, thanks to his lessons, and threaded the slippery bit on to her hook.
He gave her an approving nod. ‘You’re no squeamish lass afraid to get her hands dirty.’
Alex laughed. ‘Faint heart never caught fat salmon, right, Malcolm?’
She cast her line into the water and for a long time they sat together in silence, the peace of the hills and the river wrapped around them. She felt so close to him then, so comfortable. She never felt that way any where else.
‘How is your father this week, Malcolm?’ she asked. She knew from listening to the maids’ gossip that Mr Gordston was not well, had not been well since his wife died last year. Alex felt terrible about it for Malcolm, worried about his family woes, but he always kept such emotions at a distance.
His jaw tightened. ‘He’s getting better, I think. The cooler weather affects his chest right now and he misses my mam. But we get the work done.’
‘Should I bring him one of our cook’s herbal tisanes?’ Alex asked. ‘My mother is ailing whenever we come to Scotland and she says they do her good.’
Malcolm gave a strange, wry smile. ‘You’re a kind lass, my lady. But some herbal concoction can’t help what ails my father now.’
Alex was worried by his tone and wanted to ask more, but she felt a sharp tug on her line. ‘I’ve got a bite, Malcolm!’ she cried.
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t jerk hard on it, my lady. Reel him in easy-like, see. Nice and smooth. Don’t let him wriggle free.’
She followed his instructions and pulled up a lovely, fat salmon, her first real catch. And Malcolm had seen her do it! ‘Look! Malcolm, I did it!’
‘Of course you did, my lady,’ he said with a laugh. He so rarely laughed and it was a wonderful sound, deep and merry. She wished she could hear it again and again.
She was so overcome with joy at the perfect moment, so wonderfully giddy just with being so close to him, that she bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. It felt slightly rough under her lips and he smelled wonderful, of fresh air and crisp greenery and just like—himself.
‘Oh, Malcolm,’ she gasped. ‘I do hope we can be together here, just like this, always!’
She knew as soon as the words escaped that she should not have said them. His face went pale and he frowned, his earlier sunny laughter completely vanished. He drew back, his hands gentle as he held her away. Alex shivered, suddenly cold, wishing with all her might she could call back the last few minutes. Change it all.
‘I—I just...’ she stammered, feeling so very unsure. She longed to run away, but her feet seemed frozen to the earth.
Malcolm ran his hand through his hair. ‘Lady Alexandra—you are the daughter of a duke. I can certainly help you learn how to fish...’
‘But you cannot be my friend,’ she answered quietly.
‘You are a very kind young lady,’ he said, in that terribly quiet, sweet tone people used far too often to placate her. She couldn’t bear it from him, as well. Especially not him. ‘One day soon you will take your proper place in the world and you won’t want to waste time with a ghillie’s son like me.’
Alex knew, deep down in her most secret heart, that was not true. She knew what was expected of her as a duke’s daughter—her mother spoke of little else. Her governess drilled it into her. She was to bring honour to her family name, to marry well, lead society. But the thought of that made her feel terrified. She wanted to be free, to sit on the bank of a river just like this one, be part of nature, no one looking at her, expecting things she could not give.
To talk to Malcolm for as long as she wanted. For ever. He was the only one who seemed to just see her. And yet he did not, not really. To him, just like everyone else, she was the Duke’s daughter.
She hugged Malcolm again, even tighter, afraid it was the last time. The thought that she might never see him again, at least not like this, alone, easy and fun, made her want to sob. Malcolm hugged her back.
‘Let go of my daughter at once, you dirty cur!’ A sudden shout, as loud and shocking as the crack of a whip, shattered the perfect moment.
Alex jumped back to see her father looming on the rise of the bank above them. He was tall, the capes of his tweed greatcoat flapping like an ominous bird, his face bright scarlet. She couldn’t stop shaking with fear.
‘Papa!’ she cried. Malcolm moved away from her, sweeping his cap into his hand.
The Duke strode towards them and grabbed her arm, barely glancing at Malcolm. His hand was painful on her skin, bruising, yet she was so frozen she could barely feel it. ‘Come with me right now, young lady. Your behaviour is disgraceful.’
Through her fear, she felt a flash of burning anger. ‘It is not like that!’ she protested. She glanced back at Malcolm, who gave her a small shake of his head.
‘Your Grace, Lady Alexandra is not to blame...’ he began.
The Duke whirled around on him, his face turning even more red. His eyes bulged, almost as if they would pop free. Alex had to stifle a hysterical giggle. ‘You are just lucky that I do not thrash you where you stand! If I did not have to take my silly daughter home, believe me, I would. And I shall if I ever see you near her again. As it is, you should go home now and see to your worthless father.’
Alex had one more glimpse of Malcolm’s face, his handsome features twisted with fury, before her father dragged her away. A cart waited on the lane just beyond the rise and he pushed her up into it roughly.
Alex couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They burst from her in rough sobs and she buried her face in her hands. Her father ignored her, of course, steering the horse towards their house, but she couldn’t stop crying. That last, terrible sight of Malcolm, the fear of what he would think of her now—it made her want to sink into the earth and vanish.
The house was silent when they arrived, as if even the stones and glass knew she was in disgrace. That she had lost her friend. The hall, all cold flagstone floors, animal heads staring down glassily from the walls, echoed with heartless carelessness. She glimpsed a maid peeking over the balustrade from the top floor, a tea tray meant for Alex’s mother in her hands, but then she vanished. Alex’s brother was hiding in the attics, as usual, her mother resting with a headache.
‘Go to your chamber, Alexandra,’ her father said tightly. He tossed his coat on to a tall wooden chair and strode away.
But Alex had to try once more. ‘Papa, you must not blame Malcolm! He was only—’
The Duke whirled on her, his eyes burning. He pointed one long, shaking finger at her, making her fall a step back. ‘You know what is expected of you, Alexandra, how the family name must never be disgraced. Your cavorting with a farm boy will bring gossip and it must end. Now. Besides, his family is not respectable. They will soon be gone. If I hear of you seeing him again, the consequences for you both will be even more severe, I promise you.’
Alex’s eyes ached and she was determined not to let him see her cry again. He would never see her cry again, would never know what she was really feeling. She ran up the stairs, past the rows of silent closed doors, to her chamber. Once she had loved that room; it was small, but in the corner of the old stone hunting lodge so boasting windows on two sides to let in the rolling countryside. Her white bed, draped in yellow tulle, her dolls stacked in the corner, her little white dressing table with its antique mirror, she had loved it all, found it a sanctuary from her family’s silence. Today it was only another prison.
She threw herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillows, trying not to howl. She remembered the sun-splashed river, Malcolm’s smile, the touch of his hand. He had been a good friend to her, maybe her only real friend. She couldn’t leave things the way they were. She had to see him, to say she was sorry, if only she could sneak past her father.
She quickly wiped at her eyes and went to peer out the window. The sun was starting to sink in the sky, the familiar purple, dull-pink Scottish sunset gathering in. Her father would be in his library for hours, until dinner. She would have to hurry if she wanted to find Malcolm and apologise to him. See him one more time.
She wrapped herself up in a long, dark cloak and crept out of her room, praying she would not be seen.
* * *
The croft was silent as Malcolm approached it, no smoke curling from the chimney, no one working in the small kitchen garden to gather the last of the vegetables. It was just as he had left it that morning, yet he had hoped, as he always foolishly hoped, that something would change.
The Duke’s words, that he had to see to his own house now, echoed in his mind, ominous and chilling. He had long known that the Duke, not a soft or kind man, would be patient no longer, but he hadn’t expected that moment to come just then. Because of Lady Alexandra.
