Breaking the Governess’s Rules (12 page)

He put the drawing in a drawer. Then he opened the back of the frame and took out the licence, a special one, and the lock of hair. By rights they should go, but he couldn’t. He slid the licence into a drawer. Some day the proof of his intentions might be needed, but only if there was no other way of reaching the woman buried deep inside Louisa.

‘Lord Chesterholm?’ The nurse came into the study, carrying his son. ‘Arthur thought he heard the carriage. He went to the window and stood there, pointing.’

Jonathon slammed the drawer shut. Louisa would have to wait. His son needed him.

The dark-haired boy peeked at him shyly for a minute. Jonathon squatted down and held open his arms. The toddler rushed into them and Jonathon swung him up into the air before bringing the boy close to his chest amidst the shrieks of laughter. Jonathon breathed deeply, savouring his little boy’s smell of soap and soft skin. Standing there with this scrap of humanity, his boy, in his arms, Jonathon knew that he would not wish the sands of time back. Of all the things he had done, Arthur was the crowning glory. He made life worth living again and had taught Jonathon to take joy in simple things.

When Clarissa had died, her family and Venetia had strongly hinted that it would be for the best if Arthur came to live with them, but Jonathon had refused. Arthur was his son. He fought them all. His son would be brought up in the way he wanted.

Louisa had wanted a large family, children tumbling about everywhere. Because she had been an only child and then an orphan, she had been determined to have a large family. And now she was on the verge of becoming engaged to Sir Francis.

‘Has he spoken properly yet? He was nearly there before I left.’ Jonathon ruffled Arthur’s brown hair. ‘Have you been practising? Has the cat got your tongue?’

Arthur giggled and snuggled closer to Jonathon.

‘He will speak soon, won’t you, poppet?’ Nanny Hawks gave him a beatific smile. ‘He’s quiet-like around you. You’re his father. There’s naught to be worried about. He will speak when he is good and ready.’

‘I wish I had your confidence, Nanny Hawks. I want my son to speak beautifully. He will have a position in society.’

‘He is young, my lord.’ The nurse bobbed a curtsy. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘We will be having visitors, a house party.’

‘You wish me to keep Arthur out of the way? He has hated strangers ever since the Newtons tried to seize him that time.’

‘They will not try that again.’

‘We can go to my sister’s if you like. She has expressed a wish to see this gentleman ever since he was proven partial to her buttered toast, and Elizabeth is missing her daughter. Ever so.’

‘No, I have spent far too much time away from my son recently. Soon I fear he will scream and hide his face when he sees me.’

‘There is no fear of that, my lord. He adores his papa.’
Her face crumpled slightly. ‘Any word of our Annie? I fear the worst, truly I do.’

‘Your niece has returned, Nanny Hawks. I, or rather a Miss Sibson, discovered her in Newcastle. Your sister will have her house full again and no need to miss anyone.’

‘Oh, praise the Lord.’ The woman fell down on her knees and lifted her arms to heaven.

‘Nanny Hawks!’ Jonathon stared at the woman, shocked at the emotional outburst.

‘I have gone down on my knees every night begging for forgiveness and asking for Annie to come back to the family.’ The woman wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. ‘It is so very hard to lose a child. I consider Annie to be my own.’

Jonathon put Arthur down. For the life of him, he could not imagine why Nanny Hawks would need to ask for forgiveness. Arthur’s nanny was one of the kindest women he had met. ‘I wish to be kept informed of all nursery doings, particularly if any of the women happen on the nursery.’

‘I understand, my lord.’ The woman hesitated. ‘And what do I do if this
lady
should come in to the nursery?’

‘Inform me immediately. Allow me to handle it.’

Jonathon reached out and touched Arthur’s silky brown hair. Arthur gave him a sudden smile that reminded him of Clarissa.

Jonathon’s stomach churned. Had Clarissa known when they had married that Louisa was alive? Certainly as she lay dying after Arthur’s birth, she had begged him to look at their son and to always remember that she had
had his best interests at heart. At the time, it had struck him as strange, but now he wondered. How much had she known? Had guilt racked her? Did that explain her distance?

Their marriage might have lacked passion and he knew that he had not been the husband Clarissa had wished for, but he had thought they were friends. It had surprised him, though, how much emphasis Clarissa had put on outward appearance and how cold she was.

Jonathon buried his face in Arthur’s hair, savouring the clean, little-boy smell. The past could not be undone. Whoever’s fault it was, it most definitely was not Arthur’s.

‘And this lady who will be visiting, is she kind?’ the nurse asked.

Louisa’s intent features as she had pleaded for Annie Sims swam in front of him. The old Louisa existed. All he could do was hope that he never had to make a choice between her and his son.

‘I have reason to hope so.’

C
hesterholm Grange was far too grand and austere to ever be called home. Louisa knew that the instant she saw it from the carriage window. Palladian architecture with its mock-Grecian columns and unadorned frontage shouted power and prestige rather than cosy warmth and welcome. A mansion, a hall, or perhaps even a seat, but never a home.

Louisa alighted from the carriage and stared up at the rose-grey edifice. Venetia Ponsby-Smythe’s mocking voice echoed in her brain.
And you aspire to be the chatelaine of a great house? My stepson has expectations and will require a wife who is worthy of the Chesterholm heritage. You, my dear, are not even fit to wipe its doorstep.

Seeing Chesterholm Grange for the first time on a sunlit summer’s day with its many-paned windows sparkling and lawns rolling down to the water, Louisa knew what Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had meant. This sort of house demanded someone trained from birth in how
to run and organise a complex estate. The mistress of such a house had duties and responsibilities as well as prestige. Louisa knew her upbringing had not prepared her for such a task. However, Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had been wrong in her assessment. She might not have been the world’s best governess, but she was fit for more than washing doorsteps. And she was certainly about to walk through the front door as a guest rather than a glorified servant.

Nobody was ever going to intimidate her again.

Louisa twitched her skirt so the folds fell in a regiment of straight lines. She gave Miss Daphne a quick smile and offered her arm as the elderly woman stubbornly refused to use a cane despite having trouble walking any long distance.

‘You are wearing your pensive face, Louisa,’ Miss Daphne said, waving Louisa’s arm away. ‘Stop troubling trouble. All will be well, I can feel it in my bones.’

‘Are your bones trustworthy? I think they must be very tired after the amount of time we have spent in the carriage.’ Louisa put her hands on the small of her back and stretched, loosening the kinks. ‘A pity Lord Furniss could not join us.’

‘Rupert always enjoys travelling slowly. He wants to stop at every inn for a glass of something refreshing. It was much better that we came on our own,’ Miss Daphne said with a decisive nod.

At Miss Daphne’s insistence, they had barely stopped on the journey, only taking a short break each time the horses were changed. With each bump of the road, Louisa’s bottom had met the hard seat until she was certain she had obtained a first-rate collection of bruises.
Miss Daphne had appeared not to notice, simply settling against the cushions and resting her eyes.

‘They may be old, but they are reliable.’ Her lips curved upwards. ‘I am an excellent traveller, Louisa. You should know that by now.’

Louisa rolled her shoulders. ‘All I know is that my back aches from sitting in the coach for hours.’

Miss Daphne gave Louisa a pat on her shoulder. ‘It is a time for girding your lions as my dear mother would have said.’

‘You mean loins.’

‘My mother considered loins to be vulgar.’ Miss Daphne gave an infectious laugh that sounded like it belonged to a twelve-year-old rather than an elderly lady. ‘And I have loved the mental picture of fastening a belt around a lion. Ah, even the air smells the way it used to—all old oak and the sweet tang of autumn approaching.’

Louisa shook her head. Miss Daphne and her sayings. It was one of the reasons she adored her. But Miss Daphne was wrong this time.

‘There is no need for any special preparations or concerns.’ Louisa waved an airy hand. ‘There is nothing between Lord Chesterholm and me except an old worn-out acquaintance. I promise you that.’

‘Some promises are made to be broken,’ Miss Daphne reminded her. ‘It is you that he wanted here, not this old bag of bones. Inviting me to revisit a place of girlish memory was the threadbare excuse. He is having a house party for you.’

‘I plan on spending as little time in Lord Chesterholm’s
company as possible and you are far from a bag of bones.’

‘You are sounding more like Mattie every day.’

‘And this is a bad thing?’ Louisa gave a laugh. All the way over she had kept thinking of how Miss Mattie would have approached the problem. She suspected the woman would have had no difficulty in dealing with Jonathon and the growing attraction.

‘Vinegar tongues only serve spinsters with enough money not to mind what others think of them.’ Miss Daphne sighed. ‘Mattie once cared too much, but she allowed her pride to stand between her and her love. Will you?’

Louisa gazed at the battlements. Miss Daphne appeared to think Miss Mattie had had regrets about her chosen path in life. Louisa had never seen them. ‘What was between Lord Chesterholm and me was a young man’s fancy, nothing more.’

‘There is always a second chance for love while both remain living. Mattie refused to acknowledge that. She preferred to be alone in her righteousness. To quarrel over a silly story.’

Louisa concentrated on keeping her step steady as the gravel crunched under her feet. A second chance for love—that was the last thing she wanted. Love was something that happened to other people. What had been between Jonathon and herself had been passion, pure and simple … and it had burnt out. She had been ready to pour all the love she’d had to give into their child, but the baby had rejected her as well and died. It was then that she’d decided to stand alone.

‘I have always felt sad about Mattie and the late Lord
Chesterholm, what might have been had each been a little less stubborn. Each one had had to be right and neither was prepared to make the first move towards reconciliation,’ Miss Daphne continued blithely on. ‘I do find it unfathomable why she never told me of your connection to Chesterholm. But, Louisa, Mattie loved you for you, not because you once kept time with young Jonathon.’

Louisa bowed her head. Once again Miss Daphne had seen to the heart of the matter. ‘I miss her and her counsel.’

Miss Daphne gave Louisa’s hand a squeeze. ‘I always have considered “what might have been” to be the saddest words in the English language. Remember that.’

Before Louisa could answer, she caught sight of Jonathon striding from the house. His dress was far more casual than when Louisa had last encountered him and his black riding boots were splattered with mud. Two black-and-white sheepdogs raced along at his feet, pausing every so often to give him a look of adoration before running off to find the next stick of interest. He seemed far more approachable, far more like the Jonathon who haunted her dreams. It also made him far more dangerous.

‘Miss Elliot and Miss Sibson, it is good of you to arrive so promptly. Welcome to my humble home.’ He grasped Miss Elliot’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘You are the first.’

‘The first?’ Louisa said, concentrating on the sheepdog who came up to her and dropped a stick. She had rather hoped that the others would have arrived before them so she could become lost in the crowd. The only
thing she could be thankful for was that Jonathon could not have overheard their conversation.

‘Somebody has to be,’ Miss Daphne said with maddening complacency. ‘I am always delighted when it is me.’

‘Well said, Miss Elliot. I was rather hoping it would be.’

Miss Daphne’s cheeks grew rosy under the warmth of his smile. Quickly Louisa concentrated on the ground, rather than on him. He had hoped for them to be the first. She hated that her pulse leapt. He wanted to see her and spend time with her, rather than concentrating on the other guests. She tried to think clearly. ‘As long as I am not a fly to be trapped in your web.’

‘Perish the thought.’ A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘But it will give us some time to get the business of comparing my uncle’s catalogue with the remaining cameos completed. Mixing business with pleasure is a dreadful notion to my mind.’

Louisa tilted her head as goose bumps ran down her arms. Her entire strategy for getting through this house party had been to fade in to the background and to be ignored. Now between Miss Daphne and Jonathon, she would have to come up with another scheme, something that did not involve rekindling her attraction to him. Rekindling?