Breaking the Governess’s Rules (14 page)

‘It is indeed and it is important that Miss Daphne does not get any ideas in her head.’ Louisa attempted a sophisticated laugh, but it came out like a strangled cat. ‘I doubt she is very tired. She is normally an excellent traveller with far more stamina than I, but generally very little interest in cedar trees.’

‘Why would she want to do that?’ He reached out and adjusted her bonnet so it sat squarely on her head. ‘Why would she possibly think that we had any interest in each other? Particularly after you told her the truth about what happened four years ago.’

Louisa scuffed her kid boot in the dirt and ignored the way his finger happened to lightly brush across her temple. ‘Perhaps she thinks a relationship with you will make me stay in England. She seeks to fan embers where there are none.’

‘How can she meddle when we both know what she is on about? And if you say there is no attraction … she will believe you as you never change your mind.’ Jonathon’s eyes danced.

‘I suppose you are right. After this conversation, we both know where we stand.’ Louisa wrinkled her nose. Jonathon appeared amused rather than annoyed by the
situation. Perhaps she was unduly worried. Perhaps he felt none of this insistent attraction when they were together.

‘I know I am right. You are worrying over nothing.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘I am anxious to show you the comforts of Chesterholm Grange. It has become my home and I could wish for no finer place to live.’

‘It seems very austere and grand from the outside.’

‘It is what is on the inside that counts, its heart. It is my creed. You said it to me when I despaired of my carriage not being up to the minute.’

‘I may have done. I used to be impertinent.’

‘You were perfection that day.’

‘Only the memory is perfection.’

He was silent for a long moment. And she knew he remembered the incident as well as she did. It was after he had returned a victor from the race that he had asked her to marry him, declaring that she was the best thing to ever happen to him, his personal lucky charm. ‘It was a long time ago. We agreed. The past stays in the past.’

‘I have written out a schedule.’ Louisa dug into her reticule. ‘It came to me during one of our all-too-brief stops. I trust you will find it adequate.’

He barely glanced at it before tearing it into four pieces. ‘That won’t be necessary. Not today. Possibly not ever.’

‘But … but …’

‘The walk to the cedar tree can wait for another day. Be sure to schedule it,’ he said, lifting his chin and becoming every inch the disdainful aristocrat whose
smile only showed pity for a lesser mortal. ‘I have no wish to quarrel with you, Louisa.’

‘Then this conversation is over as we are quarrelling.’ Louisa forced her lips to smile as sweetly as possible. Once such a display of arrogance would have sent her blood boiling but she had learnt the value of keeping a cool head and sticking rigidly to the rules of politeness. ‘I think in future, Jonathon, it would be best if we kept Miss Daphne with us and the topics safe.’

‘Do you have a list of safe topics? Or am I to guess?’ His lips quirked upwards. ‘And I thought you were immune to my charms.’

‘I am, but this goes beyond charm. It is provocation.’ Louisa tapped her foot on the ground. ‘I will not be held responsible if I am driven beyond all civility.’

The colour in his eyes deepened to a storm-tossed green. He moved closer—so close that if she breathed deeply her chest would brush his frock coat. ‘You have no idea how provoking I can be.’

‘I know exactly how provoking you are right now.’ Louisa straightened her shoulders and gave him a quelling look. She could ignore her racing pulse and the way her breath came a little quicker. ‘I have no time for such things. Our rules.’

He looked down at her. His face betrayed little emotion as his gaze travelled slowly down her form and then back up again, lingering on her curves. ‘Some day, Louisa, you will not feel the need for shields with their rules and regulations. Schedules and lists chain you and keep you prisoner rather than free you.’

‘And I devotedly pray that day will never come
as then I will cease to be me,’ she said, looking him directly in the eye.

‘When that day comes, you will prefer the person you have become.’ He tilted his head and silently assessed her. ‘Or maybe it will be the old impulsive you. I find I miss her.’

‘No, that person is dead,’ Louisa said as firmly as she could and hoped he believed her. She wished she believed it.

L
ouisa clutched her fan tightly, and straightened the skirts of her evening gown as she stopped in the middle of an unfamiliar corridor. She had been far too busy reviewing her rules on the proper way to behave in Jonathon’s presence to pay attention to the many twists and turns of Chesterholm Grange’s passageways. The way had seemed so straightforward when the underhousemaid had showed her yesterday that there had been no need to ring for an escort.

Louisa attempted to retrace her steps but found herself in another corridor. There was no escaping the obvious: the pictures on the walls were far from familiar; the carpet was far more faded, but there was a certain well-worn comfort about this hallway that the more formal rooms lacked.

The urge to explore nearly overwhelmed her sensibility. But her common sense reasserted itself when she regarded the hastily written schedule she kept in her reticule. Lord Furniss and the Blandishes had arrived
earlier in the day. Separate carriages, but within an hour of each other. Jonathon had been true to his word—it was a proper house party. And it would never do to be whispered about as being tardy to supper.

She turned around and started to retrace her steps.

A door crashed open. Louisa jumped and dropped her fan and reticule. As she bent down to pick them up, a naked little boy rushed out of the open door, closely followed by a plump middle-aged woman dressed in a dark gown, enveloping apron and cap.

‘You scamp, come back. You were supposed to stay still!’

The little boy gave a merry peal of laughter and wriggled past the nurse’s skirts.

‘Somebody help me catch him afore he catches his death or worse.’

Louisa bent down and blocked the toddler’s way just before he dashed down the stairs. His skin smelt of soap and young child and his hands and feet created damp patches on the white silk of her evening dress.

‘What a little angel,’ Louisa said and the boy beamed up at her. When she had first arrived at the Ponsby-Smythes, a portrait of Jonathon with angelic dark curls and a white dress leaning against his mother’s knee had hung in the hallway near the schoolroom. This little boy was the near mirror image. ‘Who do you belong to?’

The boy put his thumb in his mouth and stared up at her with solemn grey eyes.

‘Thank you, miss, for rescuing him.’ The rather large nurse puffed up and attempted to take the boy from Louisa. The boy gave a determined shake of his head and clung tighter to Louisa.

‘Perhaps it might be easier if I took him back to the nursery for you,’ Louisa said. It was far too late to worry about the damp patches.

‘It is kind of you, miss.’ The nurse gave a small curtsy. ‘He has a right mind of his own, this one. He decided that he was not going to wash and wear his fine clothes for company.’

‘What happened?’ Louisa asked as she deposited the little boy in the well-equipped nursery. The nurse quickly gathered him up and towelled him, before pulling on his clothes.

‘I turned my back for the barest second to get the soap, and he was gone. The master will have my hide if this rascal appears at less than his best. Can’t have him shaming the family.’

‘Whose child is he?’ Louisa asked as her heart began to thump in her ears.

‘This here is Arthur Fanshaw, the master’s son and heir,’ the nurse said.

Louisa sucked in her breath. Jonathon had a son. Clarissa was dead. She had died hours after giving birth. He had said that when they’d met, and she had not thought to ask about a child, a living child. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. For nearly four years, she had actively avoided children, and now she was confronted with Jonathon’s little boy. All her promises of no regrets and no thinking about what might have been seemed hollow. She had lost her baby to a fever and the doctor had said that she would never bear another child. But another of her rules was broken.

She gave an inward smile. Somehow, her heart failed
to ache as much as she thought it might. Maybe the rule had been unnecessary.

‘Are you all right, miss? You look as if you want to cry.’ The nurse’s voice came from a long ways away.

‘I am fine.’ Louisa put her hand over her mouth. Jonathon must never know. Thankfully he had not guessed why she had gone to Venetia Ponsby-Smythe. And now, she did not want him to. The future was important. She could adapt her rules. ‘Perfectly fine.’

‘Are you certain?’

Louisa swallowed hard and looked again at the little upturned face as he clung to her skirt. This little boy, this Arthur, knew nothing of the past. He only wanted to be her friend. She could do this. It was a test of her resolve.

She bent down and held out her hand. ‘It is good to meet you, Arthur. I’m Louisa Sibson.’

‘Excuse me, miss, did you say Sibson? The one who found our Annie?’

‘Annie? Annie Sims?’

‘She’s … my … niece and I wanted to say thank you for returning her. Safe like.’

‘It was my pleasure.’

Arthur gave an infectious laugh and launched himself into Louisa’s arms.

‘Would you look at that!’ the nurse exclaimed. ‘He is normally shy with strangers, but you, you he has taken to.’

Louisa stroked his fine hair, which curled about his cherub-like face in dark brown ringlets. ‘He’s a beautiful boy. His eyes remind me of his mother.’

‘Most comment how like his father he is,’ the nurse said with a hint of ice in her voice.

‘That, too,’ Louisa said carefully, wondering what she had said, ‘but I met his mother several times and she had the most remarkable grey eyes.’

Arthur put his thumb in his mouth as his other hand curled tightly in her hair.

The nurse’s face broke out into a wide smile. ‘Well, I’ll be!’

‘I suspect he is a friend of my heart.’ Louisa inhaled his fresh baby scent. ‘It is what a dear friend of mine used to say when you met someone and felt an instant connection.’

‘That is a good way of putting it. A friend of your heart. Yes, I like that.’ The nurse gave a nod. ‘I can understand it, like. I shall have to tell the master, mind. He wants to know everything that happens to Arthur. He will be interested to hear about Arthur’s new friend of the heart.’

‘But I have not been properly introduced. I did not even know … Lord Chesterholm had a son.’

‘The master will not mind. He gave orders this morning that Arthur was to be dressed and presented before supper. Arthur hates wearing fine clothes, particularly the ones Mrs Ponsby-Smythe gave him, but they make him look like an angel. And I wanted such fine a company to have a good impression of him.’

‘I am certain we will.’

‘I will cry when Arthur’s curls are cut and he is put into long trousers.’

Dressed and presented. Louisa used to cringe when the orders were given, generally by parents who never
saw their children at any other time. She had always found her charges were excited the whole day and invariably acted badly. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had been a great one for treating Margaret like an object, rather than like the lively girl she was. And Louisa was always blamed if things went wrong.

‘Does Lord Chesterholm often come to the nursery?’

‘When his duties permit, Miss Sibson. His lordship is a busy man. My poppet understands that about his papa.’

‘Papa, Papa,’ the little boy sang out. ‘Lady, lady.’

She gave Arthur a hug as he nestled his head into the crook of her neck with a contented sigh.

‘You have a magic touch with Arthur. He normally screams when a stranger comes near, and don’t speak neither, just makes little grunting noises.’

‘I suspect that Arthur will speak in time.’

The nurse pressed her lips together before beginning to clean up the spilt puddles of water. ‘Lord Chesterholm worries about Arthur’s speech.’

‘Perhaps he has not been listening carefully enough. Children often bill and coo, but they are really trying to talk.’

The nurse gave a laugh. ‘You try telling his lordship any thing.’

‘I shall be delighted to tell him.’ Louisa handed the little boy back to the nurse. Her heart panged slightly. Jonathon’s child was a handsome boy who cried out for proper love. ‘He is not so old. Lord Chesterholm is worrying for nothing.’

The nurse sighed. ‘I keep telling Lord Chesterholm
about some of my other babies. Lord Coltonby’s youngest took an age but now he is all grown up, you cannot keep him quiet.’

‘Have you been with the family long?’

‘Since a few days after Arthur’s birth, miss.’ The nurse gave a small curtsy. ‘The mistress had died and the master wanted someone experienced to look after his son. Not the woman his in-laws suggested either!’ She stopped and her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you related to the Newtons? Is that why you said about Arthur’s eyes?’