Desiring the governess, p.3
Desiring the Governess, page 3
“I’m sorry Uncle Preston,” Winifred murmured. “But there was a bunny.”
“I gathered as much.” He rubbed the top of her head affectionately. “But you also know better than to run off, especially through a group of strangers who were not expecting to trip over a little girl.”
Althea had never heard him say so much in one sentence.
“I wanted to pet the bunny, but the lady said that I couldn’t.”
He glanced up, his blue eyes darkening. “Thank you, Miss Claywell,” he murmured, then cleared his throat as he stood.
Her heart hammered as his eyes met hers once again. He did remember her.
“My uncle isn’t major any longer,” Winifred said sadly, “but Viscount Melcombe.”
The only way in which one gains a title is upon the death of another.
Oh, dear! Why hadn’t she made the connection? Althea recalled Mr. Smith speaking of a nephew who had died unexpectantly, and she knew he hadn’t been speaking of Major Ambrose, as he’d been in London at the time. Now she knew why he’d left, and why he hadn’t returned.
“Thank you for seeing to my niece,” Lord Melcombe stood and held out his hand to Winifred. “We should return to your sisters.”
“Sisters?” Althea asked in surprise.
“Yes. I am their guardian.”
Chapter 2
Why was Miss Claywell in Willanton, Preston pondered as they slowly walked back toward the mail coach. Winifred prattled on and asked Miss Claywell question after question about her journey, for which he was grateful for it gave him time to think.
Certainly, her answer, if accepted, would have come by way of a missive so that arrangements could be made.
If she was here because of his offer, then why the blazes was she traveling on a mail coach?
Her uncle and guardian was Viscount Lansdown, who was quite wealthy. His niece should not be traveling as such.
Did she even have a maid with her?
There were so many questions Preston wished to ask but was too shocked to speak or form coherent words. The woman who had haunted his dreams these past nine months was walking beside him in Willanton—the very woman that he’d made an offer of marriage.
She was just as beautiful today as she had been when he’d first spied her across the ballroom. He’d held back that first night, admiring from afar then had gained an introduction by way of his Uncle Gerald. At the second ball, the pull toward her was great, and he had gained a waltz. He remembered it as if it were last evening. An awareness had pricked at his spine and need engulfed him the likes of which he’d never experienced in all his seven and twenty years. He wasn’t even certain he could trust the experience. And frankly, it scared him as it was more than just simple lust, but he also didn’t wish to examine exactly what he was experiencing. Therefore, he’d remained away from her an entire sennight and suffered through introductions and inane conversation that left him wishing he could be gone. He certainly hadn’t danced with anyone else either. He’d rather battle the French again than be stuck in a stilted, polite conversation until the music ended.
He had envied the wallflowers then. They could remain at a ball all evening and not speak to anyone. Further, few bothered them. The same was not afforded a bachelor, not yet thirty. However, the attraction wasn’t him personally, but that he was the spare to a viscountcy with the current Viscount Melcombe having produced five daughters and no sons. Those in society saw Preston as possibly the next in line, but more importantly, the father of the next Viscount Melcombe. At the time, Preston certainly hadn’t expected to inherit, yet the duty to produce a son weighed upon him and that was the only reason he’d gone to London.
When he approached Miss Claywell for the second waltz, it had been as before, only stronger. When a couple nearly collided with them, and he had to pull her so close that her body pressed against his, it took everything in his being not to sweep her up and carry her from the ball and make her his.
Primal need to claim and keep.
Lust!
That had frightened him more than the first waltz as he wasn’t used to such strong feelings toward any person, especially a woman. Preston was not in London for a wife. He was there at the request of his brother, and to work his way back into Society, but he certainly wasn’t yet in a position to marry. He didn’t own a home, and his only income were quarterlies.
Yet, that didn’t change the fact that he’d wanted her. They’d barely spoken beyond an introduction, not even when they waltzed. Partly because his mind had been void of words, only sensations from her scent of honeysuckle that wafted about her, the heat of her gloved hand in his, the gentle sway of her body as she allowed him to guide her from one end of the ballroom to the other and the way her steps matched his with no effort, as if they were one, then imagining them being one, moving in the same rhythm, the mounting of pleasure, the heat of release, her sighs of contentment.
He had called on her, though he was certain she barely noticed him among her admirers. He held back while others read her poetry, complimented her hair and eyes, and engaged her in witty banter. He wasn’t a dandy and had no idea how to impress her with wit, if that is what she required, and began to wonder if the eight years in the cavalry had ruined him for going about in society. He didn’t even know why he called on her, except he was drawn to her.
Then, as if fate had placed them in the same place at the same time, Miss Claywell had approached him in Hyde Park. They walked and talked of so many things. Though if he were being truthful, she did most of the talking, and he hadn’t minded. The few times he managed to speak, insecurities of youth swept over him. He was never good at conversation, and often spoke too slow and took too many pauses to make certain he spoke correctly. He also made certain he spoke as little as possible if he couldn’t avoid speaking at all. The boys had not been kind to him at Eton and teased him unmercifully, which only made the problem worse.
He'd also been wrong that his worst humiliation had been last spring while talking with Miss Claywell. That had occurred during his first Season when he’d asked a very pretty miss to dance. She’d laughed at him. Her response, and he could still hear it to this day, “I only dance with gentlemen who are titled, or in line for a title. I’d never dance with a younger son, especially one that stammers.” Her friends had laughed right along with her while his peers looked on. The only consolation that night was when his cousin Alec, who also happened to be an earl, intentionally did not claim the dance she’d promised. He’d waited until it was time for the waltz, nodded to her then left. A week later, Preston bought his commission.
He'd lied whenMiss Claywell asked if the reason he’d joined the cavalry was because of that first Season. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth, or anyone for that matter.
He hardly ever stammered any longer, and never when he was comfortable with those in his company. He also thought that he’d overcome such difficulties in the cavalry and had no trouble finding the confidence to order men, but when talking to a woman, especially one he wished to court, he might as well be ten again.
It was during their walk in Hyde Park that Preston felt the first stirrings of love, and not just lust.
How could he possibly be falling in love with a woman he barely knew?
Given she was here, perhaps he wouldn’t need to court her. That is, assuming she was here because of his offer. Which again took him back to his earlier questions of why she was traveling on a mail coach.
Winifred prattled on and asked Miss Claywell question after question about riding in a mail coach, where she traveled from, but Preston hardly paid attention, too caught up in what he should say to her once they had a moment of privacy.
He had hoped to leave Winifred with her sisters then speak with Miss Claywell, but those plans were quickly put aside when they reached the bakery, where he’d left his four remaining charges. Only Theodora and Lila were present, both sitting on the walk enjoying lemon drops.
“Where are your sisters?”
They looked up at him with wide, blue eyes.
“Do you recall which direction they went?” he asked.
Theodora pointed to the left, toward the sundries store, while Lila pointed across the street toward the hat shop which also sold ribbons, gloves, parasols, reticules, and all manner of items of interest to a miss.
It was likely Delia was looking at some form of frippery and Matilda was in search of writing materials. “Winifred, stay with your sisters. No chasing bunnies or anything else.”
She gave a nod then plopped down next to her sisters.
The three should not be sitting on the ground, but he’d address that later.
“I am going to find Delia and Matilda and bring them back. Do not move from this spot, any of you.”
“I will keep watch so that you can retrieve your other nieces, Lord Melcombe.”
He looked up into Miss Claywell’s warm green eyes. They’d always reminded him of brilliant emeralds “Thank you.”
Preston rushed to retrieve Delia and directed her across the street and back to her sisters. He then found Matilda and escorted her back to the others while wondering exactly what he should say to Miss Claywell.
When he returned to the bakery, the nieces were no longer sitting on the ground, but had moved to a bench, were sitting straight with their ankles crossed in a proper manner. Miss Claywell stood before him. There was an empty seat beside Delia which Matilda slipped into, and now the girls were arranged by age.
“You received a letter,” Delia held it out to him. “I paid the post from the funds left from the bakery.”
“Thank you.” Preston took it and noted that it was from his Uncle Gerald. He took a deep breath, and willed his heart to quit pounding, and hoped that an explanation as to why Miss Claywell was in Willanton would be found within. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Preston,
We bungled it.
Miss Claywell completely misunderstood the conversation between me and her uncle. She was not privy to the full extent of the offer I proposed, or everything contained in the settlement agreements. All she heard was a portion of the conversation and got it into her head that Lord Lansdown was going to force her to marry me. Had her uncle known of the misunderstanding, he would have explained, but Miss Claywell did not give him the opportunity and ran away that night. I can assure you that this is completely out of character for such a sensible miss. She is one of the most intelligent and rational females of my acquaintance, and this response is in complete contrast to her normal disposition, and frankly has me and her uncle quite bewildered.
Her funds are limited and there is only one place in which she can escape, and that is to Eyemouth in Scotland, where her mother’s family lives. She wouldn’t go to any of Lansdown’s sons because they’d return her.
When her uncle and I checked the mail coach routes, we realized the one that travels to Eyemouth will also go through Willanton, and it is our hope that my missive will reach you in time to stop her from continuing and explain the truth of the matter. I also fear that this missive might reach you after she’s gone, though we hope that isn’t the case. We also pray that she is on her way to Eyemouth, otherwise, we don’t know where she’d run off to, nor even know where to begin to search for her.
Lansdown has already written to her mother’s family explaining the situation in the event she arrives on their doorstep. All we can hope is that someone explains before she disappears for good.
I promise to write when I receive further word.
Sincerely,
Uncle Gerald
Bloody hell! What did he do now?
Tell her the truth?
He was certain she’d reject him. No woman wants a marriage proposal by way of an uncle, but that’s what he’d done, which he still blamed on brandy.
Yet, she had a right to the truth, even if he looked the fool.
At least he now knew why she’d been on a mail coach.
Preston folded the missive and returned to his nieces and Miss Claywell, searching for the proper words to explain the misunderstanding that sent her fleeing from her home.
“Miss Claywell, I, um, you see.”
Blast, just say the words! He’d been laughed at before and survived. It would be humiliating coming from her, but it was best to have it done.
“Yes?”
“You see, I believe we should…” Should what?
“Uncle Preston?” Delia looked at him with concern. “Are you well?”
Blast! He never had trouble speaking with his nieces, but they were children.
“In London...” he began. “Hyde Park. That day…”
She smiled at him. “I enjoyed our stroll very much.”
“I, as well.”
She glanced back at the mail coach. A few of the passengers had emerged from the coffee house. He needed to speak quickly, or she’d be on her way.
“You should be our governess,” Winifred blurted out. “Uncle Preston says we are in need of one.”
“Or three,” added Lila.
“But he doesn’t know how to go about getting one,” explained Theodora.
Miss Claywell laughed. “All young misses should have a governess, but I’m certain that only one is necessary.”
“It should be you,” Winifred dictated as if she held the power to make such decisions.
Governess!
That was it. The girls liked her. In the few moments that he was away, she’d gotten them to sit properly, and they were attentive. Normally he’d not offer such a position to one of Miss Claywell’s standing, but he also knew her current circumstances.
If she were in his house, it would afford them the opportunity to come to know one another, then he could court her as he’d planned to do in London. He’d been called home before he’d gotten the chance.
“She’s right,” Preston said. “They would…that is…” She was going to think him mad for even making such a suggestion, and hopefully, she wasn’t insulted. “I’m certain you have grander plans.”
He anticipated her rejection to his offer and when it came, he’d need to confess the truth behind the marriage proposal.
Althea’s only immediate plan was to avoid her uncle for as long as possible.
If she were to become a governess for Lord Melcombe’s nieces, she could hide in his home. His home.
It would provide an opportunity denied when he’d been called from London. She’d been so hopeful that he’d court her, but he left within only a few days of their walk in Hyde Park. Perhaps Lord Melcombe had no intention of courting her then, but Althea wasn’t willing to give up hope, even if it required that she be retained as a governess for his nieces. The waltzes and the stroll may have had no effect on him, but they had on her. So much so that she’d judged and compared every gentleman to Lord Melcombe.
Yet, it was a risk. If she took the position, her infatuation may grow and if he failed to notice that she could be more, it would be crushing.
Did she protect her heart and continue her journey? Or did she hope for more and stay?
Yet, that wasn’t her only concern. “Your uncle, Mr. Smith, is a close friend to my uncle.”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Does he visit or write to you often?” Her uncle may not think to look for her here, but if Mr. Smith were to write or even visit, she may be forced to marry him.
“My uncle rarely travels to Willanton. We hardly correspond.”
Lord Melcombe had always been a gentleman of few words and she appreciated that he delivered information quite succinctly. Though the lack of warmth in his tone was rather disconcerting. It wasn’t that he was cold, but it was something else. He was more formal than when they last spoke.
However, what brought her comfort was the knowledge that his uncle might not learn where she was, thus becoming Melcombe’s governess would allow Althea time to decide what she would do next, and also come to know the gentleman who had haunted her thoughts and dreams.
Althea looked up into his warm blue eyes and knew that she wished to remain. She also prayed that he never learned of the marriage offer from his uncle because that would ruin everything.
“Actually, Lord Melcombe, I’ve nothing pressing that requires my attention. Further, my family is not expecting me. I decided to travel on a whim, so they’d not notice when I don’t arrive.”
“You’ll take the position?” He pulled back as if shocked.
If she were him, she’d be surprised as well. Melcombe knew of her family. Governesses were usually misses from gentry who were educated, but without funds, or had been placed on the shelf, or otherwise unmarriageable.
“A temporary position,” she clarified. “Perhaps a month as I’ve never been a governess and might fail miserably.” She laughed because she couldn’t imagine this would be something she’d wish to do permanently. She’d also decided that a month would be ample time to determine if Lord Melcombe would ever see her as anything other than a governess. If he didn’t, she’d leave and continue on to her mother’s family, and perhaps finally put her infatuation to rest.
“I doubt that you will fail,” he assured her.
The driver of the coach called for all to board. “Do you have luggage?” he asked.
“Yes, a valise,” she answered as he rushed forward to stop the coach from leaving.
Althea watched on as the driver, not at all pleased, retrieved her valise from the stack at the back of the coach then set about rearranging those that were left.
“Is this the correct one?” Lord Melcombe asked as he returned.
“It is,” Althea assured him as butterflies erupted in her belly and excitement rushed through her being.
She was going to be residing in Lord Melcombe’s home. It didn’t matter that she’d only be a governess because she’d finally be close to him. She also hoped that their not quite a courtship in London might blossom to more.
“My carriage is this way.”
The girls hopped off the bench and the younger ones skipped ahead until they came to the conveyance parked at the corner. As the driver held the door, the girls scrambled inside. Althea followed, noting that only one seat was available. It was just as crowded in here as it had been on the coach, but at least these bodies were smaller and did not smell, though she might.
