Desiring the governess, p.9
Desiring the Governess, page 9
Falling back on the bed, Althea stared up at the white ceiling. If she left, where would she go since her mother’s family wasn’t an option?
She had friends who lived throughout England but wasn’t close enough to any of them to simply arrive on their doorstep and seek shelter. Those who were married might have husbands who would object, or worse, alert Uncle Clarence. Those who resided with their parents would react no differently, and possibly fear that Althea would be a poor influence on their daughters.
If only she could think of one friend who resided in an all-female household, Althea would feel much more comfortable traveling to that home, assuming they’d be more sympathetic to her plight but could think of no one.
Even if she did have somewhere else to run, did she truly want to leave? Was it worth the risk to remain?
Willanton was a lovely village, and she adored teaching the girls, and she liked Lord Melcombe.
It wasn’t simply like. It was a need to be near that she didn’t quite understand. If she left now, she might not ever understand or learn if there could be more between them. She’d be left to wonder, and that would never do. She’d been infatuated with Lord Melcombe for months and she shouldn’t squander away this opportunity because of fear.
If her desires came to nothing, then so be it. At least she would know for certain and could then decide her next course, which again included Willanton.
By all appearances, women were allowed more freedom here than in London, or so she assumed. Monique was not much older than herself and owned a dress shop. Mrs. Hawthorn was an artist and her husband allowed her to consult with Melcombe on wool production. If Althea remained, might she also be given opportunities to do something other than what had been expected of her from birth? Perhaps she could explore options never considered.
Her reasons for running away may have been foolish and impetuous, but she was certainly not sorry that she did. Even though Willanton was a village in England, it was almost a new world to her, and she wasn’t going to leave.
With those thoughts and renewed determination, Althea’s wish was that Melcombe would court her. But, if that never came to be, being a governess would allow her to reflect on what she really wished for herself, and not what had been decreed by others, and she’d embrace this opportunity with her whole heart.
After repairing her hair, Althea returned downstairs with a renewed confidence, and almost joy, at her future prospects. She’d first focus on Melcombe, then an alternative to her future.
She’d expected that Lord Harwich would still be meeting with Melcombe, but he’d already gone. Instead, when she glanced into the parlor, she found her employer sitting beside a window, a pensive look upon his features and sipping brandy.
He turned more fully when she entered the room, his blue eyes darkening as he stood.
“Is all well?” She’d be bold and not wait for him to talk to her but approach him when the opportunity arose. She was now in charge of her own fate, future, and destiny.
“Yes. Please come in.”
Althea took a deep breath and made her way to the settee. “As it is my day off, I’ve reconsidered the earlier offer of brandy.” Uncle Clarence let her sip some when they were in for the evening, and she did enjoy the taste. “I assure you that I would never presume to drink while the girls were here, especially while they are under my care.”
“I am not concerned.” He crossed to the sideboard, poured, and returned the tumbler to her, their fingers brushing, and the tingling spread through her hand.
She pushed her physical reaction aside.
Althea took a sip, enjoying the burn at the back of her throat and the heat filling her being.
“When I accepted the position as governess, it was rash and not fully considered,” she began because he could never know the truth of what brought her to Willanton. One day he was certain to learn, but Althea hoped it was in the far future. “I believe it may have been one of the best decisions I made for myself.”
“Is that so?” he asked with curiosity.
“I needed something new. Something for me, and I think I found that in Willanton.”
“What of the Season?”
He assumed like all other gentlemen that she must be in want of a husband because what other purpose was there for a female of her standing.
“I find the idea of enduring another Season unpalatable, to be honest.”
“You may grow bored here.”
Did he not want her to remain? Had he already decided she’d be gone in a month?
“I have no desire to return to London, or my uncle’s home in Gloucestershire. I’d like to remain, and not simply because we had an agreement. I’d like to determine what I’d like for myself instead of what Society deems I should want.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Very well, Miss Claywell.”
“Thank you. I’m certain that I’m going to like it here.” Even if she didn’t remain at Ambrose Hall, she hoped to remain in Willanton.
Chapter 10
She wanted to stay. More importantly, she liked being at Ambrose Hall, or at least in Willanton.
Preston had three concerns when he knew that he’d need to take a wife. The first being his nieces, and they already liked Miss Claywell. The second, Ambrose Hall was far removed from any larger town, and to use Matilda’s phrase, Willanton was rather provincial. The third was that his future wife liked him, though he’d hoped for more.
Two of the three had been accomplished in a short time, however, he still faced the biggest challenge, and that was her regard of him.
The clock chimed the hour and Miss Claywell frowned. “Shouldn’t the girls have returned by now, or are their art lessons lengthy?”
“They are going to remain the night with Charlotte and return home in the morning.”
“That is rather generous of her,” she muttered, though not judgmental.
“Charlotte enjoys their company and her art.”
“Her husband doesn’t mind?”
Preston refilled his glass of brandy. He’d not have a third as he didn’t wish to become inebriated.
“Her husband lets Charlotte do whatever she wishes.” That’s because he never visits and probably has no idea what she is up to.
“Such a rarity among husbands,” she stated in surprise.
“So I’ve been told. I’ve no experience in the matter.”
“Nor I, Lord Melcombe.” Miss Claywell chuckled.
Women did have very little freedom, and perhaps that was why Miss Claywell wished to remain here. Other than being her employer, he didn’t govern her actions. He couldn’t inquire as to what she did with her free time or demand that she do anything specifically.
Was that the true reason she wished to stay?
“I have scheduled appointments for the girls to visit with Monique the day after tomorrow.”
He didn’t wish for their topic of conversation to be about the girls. “I’ll make arrangements in my schedule so that I may accompany them.”
The corner of her mouth quirked.
“What?”
“Have you ever visited a modiste?” Her cheeks suddenly grew bright. “I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. I apologize.”
Usually, when a bachelor visited a modiste, it was because he was purchasing something for his mistress. “No, I have not,” he answered honestly.
“Such appointments can be quite long and tedious. You’d likely be pacing and ready to be done before they’d begun to select materials,” she assured him. “I do not mind accompanying them.”
“How long?” Preston asked.
“Take the amount of time you spend at a tailor, multiply it by five, then consider that your nieces will need to decide on how many dresses they will need to last them through half-mourning, or the next three months.”
Humor twinkled in her eyes, teasing because she knew that Preston had no idea what all was involved, but explained in a manner he understood. In turn, he groaned. The trip to Monique’s would likely take a better part of the day. “I’ll trust you in this and leave it in your capable hands.”
Preston sipped his brandy, and once again silence stretched between them. If he didn’t think of something to say, she’d likely finish her brandy then excuse herself, as she did every night following tea.
“My uncle and you enjoyed chess,” he said for lack of anything else, other than to compliment her hair and dress.
“Yes,” she answered. “He began teaching me when I was Miss Matilda’s age.”
“How did that come about?” Preston would have been only eighteen and she would have been thirteen. It’s no wonder that they hadn’t met until this past spring as he’d already been on the Continent, fighting the French, when she was making her coming out.
“I was in London with my uncle and cousins, but too young to enjoy the Season. Your uncle, being a friend of Uncle Clarence, visited often. Then, one rainy day, he saw me sitting at the chessboard, trying to figure out the game after I’d read up on the rules, and decided to teach me.”
“It takes many hours to learn to play chess,” Preston commented.
“Your uncle loves the game and from what he told me, few played against him because he always won.”
Preston laughed. “Yes, he’s claimed to be the best chess player in London. I didn’t believe him.”
Miss Claywell chuckled. “I believe he may be, or he hasn’t yet met someone who is better.”
Preston stared into her laughing emerald eyes and grew serious. “You have.”
A lovely pink hue came to her rounded cheeks. “Only a few times.”
“Then perhaps you are the best.”
This time she laughed. “I’ll confide in you, Lord Melcombe. I only managed to beat your uncle when he enjoyed too much brandy during our games. However, I don’t usually tell others the reason I won.”
Preston warmed, comfortable in their conversation. A bloody normal conversation. The likes that he’d been trying to have with her since she arrived.
Perhaps Alec was right. Brandy did loosen a tongue or lead to losing a chess match. “Your secret will remain safe with me.”
“I’ve not played as much as I did before.” She sighed. “Do you play?”
“No.” Though now he wished that he did. “I learned, when I was a boy, but never became proficient.”
She tilted her head in consideration. “It’s about strategy. That is all. I assumed that after being a major in the cavalry, the strategy would come naturally.”
He settled back and considered her words. “I haven’t thought of it in such terms, Miss Claywell. I have learned much more about strategy since I was a child playing with toy soldiers. Perhaps I should try my hand at the game again.” It would also be the perfect opportunity to spend time together, innocently in the evening hours. “I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean…”
Preston chuckled and leaned in. “Are you afraid that I’ll win?”
“I’m afraid I’d trounce you quite soundly, and it wouldn’t do to humiliate my employer in such a manner.” She grinned back at him.
“Trounce me, you say?” he said in mock insult. “I now feel a wager must be included.”
“Wager?” She laughed. “I’ve nothing to wager Lord Melcombe, though it is not I who would lose, therefore, what are you willing to give up?”
His body, for her taking, though he certainly couldn’t voice such thoughts. “An extra day off from your duties.” A day that she’d hopefully spend with him.
“That rather defeats the purpose of me being here,” she chuckled. “I rather like my position so a day off would be more suited as a loss for me.”
Any other servant would take the opportunity to beat him soundly, but not Miss Claywell. Then again, she’d only been a governess a short time, and not yet tired of her duties.
“If you lose, you’ll accompany me into Willanton and help me choose gifts for my nieces.”
“Gifts? Did they not receive gifts at Christmas, or do you give them on Twelfth Night and forgot to shop?” she teased.
“Christmas,” he answered. “If you must know, I give poor gifts. I purchased ribbons for Delia, which she cannot wear for three more months, a book for Matilda that she already owns, and the rest were equally disappointing.”
“I’m certain they were pleased by your thoughtfulness,” Miss Claywell assured him.
“I promised I’d make it up to them. Thus, a new gift for each niece.”
“While shopping is hardly a hardship, if that is what you wish if you win, I’d be happy to assist you.”
He knew that his suggestion wouldn’t be taken as a penalty, but again, it was something that would afford him an opportunity to spend time with her.
“If I were to lose, what would you like from me?” he finally asked.
Miss Claywell stared at him and said nothing, but if he wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks began to turn a lovely shade of rose.
Could it be that perhaps they may want the same thing?
“Excuse me, Lord Melcombe,” a maid interrupted, startling Preston enough that he nearly spilled his brandy. “Cook is asking about supper. As the girls have not returned from Mrs. Hawthorn’s, will they return in time to dine?”
“They will be spending the evening at Wisteria House and will not return until after they’ve breakfasted tomorrow.”
The maid slid her eyes to Miss Claywell, then looked down to the brandy in her hands as her jaw tightened. “I’ll inform the cook,” she announced and quit the room.
Bloody hell!
When Lord Melcombe asked what she’d like to win, Althea could only think of the most inappropriate responses, such as a kiss, or to be held, being held while being kissed. Thankfully the maid interrupted before she had to answer as she had no appropriate response. And, given the reaction of the maid to her conversing with Lord Melcombe while drinking brandy, Althea realized that she’d overstepped. The maid clearly thought more was occurring between them than a simple discussion about chess, and it reminded Althea that she needed to be careful, or the servants would assume that which was not true.
She was not a guest in this home. She shouldn’t behave as she would in a friend’s home while visiting, teasing and such.
Yet, the friendly banter between them had been so pleasant. More than pleasant.
“I thought to ride this afternoon, Miss Claywell, would you care to join me?”
She would like nothing better, but theirs was not a courtship. If only he’d have asked her last spring, while he was still in London, perhaps everything would have turned out differently. But he hadn’t, and she must remember that.
“It would not be appropriate.” She finished her brandy and stood. “I really should attend to plans for tomorrow.”
“It is your free day.”
He was correct, and truly, she had already planned the schedule for the coming weeks, but it was a logical excuse that shouldn’t have been questioned. “Perhaps I’ll read if I could make use of your library, and enjoy the quietness often lacking above stairs.”
“You may borrow any book you wish.”
Althea was comforted by his sincere generosity, which further proved that his invitation had been no different than a polite offer or he would have pressed her to join him.
“Thank you, Lord Melcombe.” She stood. “I also thank you for the brandy and conversation. I will leave you to enjoy your afternoon.”
“I’ll see you at supper?” he called as she neared the door, as if he wasn’t certain she’d join him.
“I’ll see you at supper,” she promised.
Althea left him and went straight away to the library where she quickly chose a book that she’d not previously read, then fled up the stairs, her heart pounding.
She had nearly entered into a flirtation with Lord Melcombe and that would never do. He was her employer and no matter how much she longed for his kiss, she mustn’t overstep. Already the maid suspected there was more between them than there was.
Yes, she wanted him, but not at the cost of her reputation. Until, and if, he gave any indication that he saw her as anything other than a governess, Althea needed to be careful in how she behaved in his presence, especially where a maid or footman may take note.
Althea set the book on the bedside table with every intention of reading it later, as it would be impossible to concentrate on the words now. Instead, she crossed to the window. Winifred had been correct. This was a lovely view. Below her was the terrace, stripped of any furniture that she assumed would be present in warmer weather. Beyond was a parterre with an intricate knot of boxwoods. Althea hoped that she remained here long enough to learn what flowers bloomed within.
Further away were stone walls with a wrought iron gate, which pulled her curiosity. She could not see within but wondered if it was a walled garden.
Curiosity pulled and Althea found her cloak and bonnet. A brisk walk would serve her well and she hoped that it would settle her mind. As she’d yet to learn all there was to Ambrose Hall and the estates, today would be the perfect opportunity to explore.
Chapter 11
Preston knew that Miss Claywell would decline his invitation to ride even before the offer was made. He’d seen the censorship in the maid’s eyes when she noted the glass of brandy that Miss Claywell was holding. No doubt that maid likely overheard portions of the conversation and wagers being discussed.
Miss Claywell noted her judgment as well and almost immediately reverted to the proper governess role that she’d cloaked herself in since her arrival.
It irritated him to see her fade from the teasing banter they’d enjoyed. A conversation where he’d not hesitated once, nor was he slow in his response. It had felt as natural as when he was with friends.
