Breaking the Governess’s Rules (24 page)

Louisa pasted a smile on her face and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Much worse. She knew all about much worse.

She had stumbled blindly into a trap of Jonathon’s making again, and she knew that it would be impossible to blame anyone but herself.

‘It is why I have to avoid darkened garden paths and moonlit walks. Lord Ravensworth gave me the advice before he left, and I suppose he should know. Nella said that his list of conquests was legendary.’

‘But he has settled with Daisy.’

Miss Blandish’s brow furled. ‘I do not believe she ever walked down a garden path with him. Miss Milton was quite the stickler for convention. Her curtsies were always the correct height for the occasion. I always admired her for it.’

Darkened paths. And cottages in a rainstorm.
She should have insisted on walking with the coachman, anything but staying with Jonathon. And yet an insistent voice in the back of her mind whispered that given the chance she would do it again. Every part of her hummed with vitality. Before now she had existed, but suddenly the impossible seemed possible.

‘They are coming into the room.’ Miss Blandish’s whisper held a note of excitement. ‘They did not linger over the port tonight.’

‘We are agreed. We will not give into the temptation of a stroll in the garden,’ Louisa whispered back.

‘Thank you, Miss Sibson.’ Miss Blandish squeezed Louisa’s hand. ‘I felt you had a kind and understanding
face. I have no wish to spoil my London Season unnecessarily. A good marriage means a lot to Mama and Papa. Lord Furniss has not declared his intention and I understand his mother is a great friend of two of the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s.’

‘Where I can help, I will.’ Louisa unfurled her fan and hoped the gesture would make the gentlemen think her heightened colour was due to the temperature in the room rather than the heat from Jonathon’s glance. Seeing how Miss Blandish’s eyes sparkled, Louisa knew she had been right in refusing to allow Lord Furniss to speak the other night.

‘Susan!’ Mrs Blandish called out from where she sat. ‘I believe you were going to sing an air for Lord Furniss. The one we practised this morning. Now there’s my girl. A simple country tune.’

Louisa’s gaze tumbled into Jonathon’s amused one as he and Furniss stood framed in the doorway. The conversation about the singing seemed such a long time ago.

Louisa rapidly sat down and concentrated on breathing steadily. It was hard not to remember the way Jonathon’s skin had felt under her palms. Or how his mouth had absorbed her cries earlier. But it was under false colours. He had planned on springing Venetia Ponsby-Smythe on her without warning or consideration.

‘It appears rather warm in here, Miss Sibson,’ Jonathon said, coming up to her. ‘Furniss, do you not think it is warm in here?’

‘Stifling.’ Furniss ran a finger around the edge of his stock. But Louisa did not miss the significant glance between Jonathon and Furniss. It was all too easy to
guess what the topic of conversation over port had been. And she could easily imagine what would happen. They would start off as a foursome, but one or the other of them would find cause to linger and become lost.

‘I thought it rather chilly,’ Louisa said, looking hard at Miss Blandish. ‘And it rained earlier. The pathways are bound to be muddy.’

‘There might be another storm,’ Miss Blandish agreed. ‘Rain is in the air and I would hate to think of my hairstyle being spoilt. Or my dress being ruined.’

‘Aunt Daphne, do
you
think a turn about the garden might be in order?’ Lord Furniss made a bow. ‘As the younger ladies appear to be melting in front of a rainstorm.’

‘My bones are old, Nephew.’ Miss Daphne pulled her shawl tighter around her and stayed seated. ‘English summers are far colder than Italian ones. I long for indoor entertainment.’

‘It is settled, then,’ Louisa said, giving Miss Blandish a significant look. Miss Blandish gave a wide smile back. ‘We should open the French windows if the gentlemen feel rather close. And perhaps a game of cards would be in order. Miss Daphne, shall we have a game of whist?’

‘What a clever idea, Miss Sibson—whist,’ Mrs Blandish said with a smile. ‘It is the perfect thing to pass the time. Perhaps Lord Chesterholm will be so good as to partner me in this endeavour.’

Jonathon lifted a brow and mouthed
coward
at her. Louisa smiled her brightest smile back at him. Round one to her.

‘A game of cards would be an admirable suggestion.’

‘Is it true, Lord Chesterholm, that your stepmother and sister are expected tomorrow?’ Mrs Blandish asked, shuffling a pack of cards with expert hands. ‘Mrs Ponsby-Smythe is reckoned to be an expert card player.’

‘Your intelligence is admirable, Mrs Blandish. I was unaware my stepmother’s proposed arrival was common knowledge.’ Jonathon’s eyes became cold and Louisa knew that he had not intended for the news to get around.

‘But will she arrive tomorrow? I believe your half-sister and my Susan are about the same age. They might be companions during the Season,’ Mrs Blandish persisted.

‘My stepmother arranges her schedule as she sees fit and travelling tires her. I have learnt through experience only to look for her after she arrives,’ he said, making a low bow.

‘It is impossible to keep a secret in a house this size. The very walls hum with anticipation of such momentous events,’ Miss Daphne called out from where she sat next to Nella Blandish. ‘It always amazes me when people forget that their voices carry or that servants will talk, even in the best-regulated households.’

‘I will try to remember that for the future.’ Jonathon lowered his brows and glowered at Louisa. ‘Listening to gossip without seeking clarification can lead to grave misunderstandings.’

‘Or enlightenment, when someone persists in keeping secrets,’ Louisa replied, lifting her chin.

‘Sometimes, things are withheld to protect others.’

‘I believe there was a game of whist in the offing,’ Louisa said smoothly. She intended to behave as if Mrs
Ponsby-Smythe’s arrival meant nothing to her. Calm and dignified.

‘A game of cards is the proper way to pass an evening,’ Mrs Blandish commented.

Louisa tilted her head to one side. ‘Respectability is everything, particularly when there is gossip in the air.’

‘Except during thunderstorms,’ he said in a low murmur as he pulled out her chair for her.

‘That was unworthy, Jonathon.’ Louisa glanced back at him.

‘But the truth, Louisa. Why are you so afraid of the truth?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Try trusting me for once. We are friends. My intentions are good.’

His fingers traced a line down her back. Louisa forced her body to stay still and her lips to smile sweetly at Mrs Blandish.

‘I have no need of that sort of protection.’

‘I will keep it under consideration.’

The ominous roll of thunder woke Louisa from a sound sleep. In the end, the game of whist had been unsatisfactory, particularly as Jonathon had readily agreed to it and seemed to relish in each hand that he and Mrs Blandish had won.

At Miss Daphne’s suggestion, Lord Furniss and Miss Blandish had spent most of the evening going over possible songs for a recital later in the week.

Every time Louisa had glanced over, Lord Furniss had inched closer to Miss Blandish; then, when he considered Mrs Blandish’s attention engaged elsewhere, he
had attempted to put his arm about her under the pretext of turning pages.

Louisa hugged her knees. It was good to see an attraction blossoming and to know that she had had a small hand in it.

Worse was the knowledge that Jonathon had intended keeping Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s arrival a secret until the last possible moment. They might have been intimate that afternoon, but he had still kept secrets from her, even after she had shared hers. There was no need for explanations. This was no simple misunderstanding of intentions.

With another roll of thunder, Louisa knew staying in her bedroom with the blue flashes lighting up the walls was impossible. She grabbed a wrap and lit her candle, heading for the library. Sometimes, the only thing to do was to read and hope the storm blew itself out.

As she walked through the halls, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, she was surprised at how quickly the house had become familiar. She could never make the mistake of going to Arthur’s nursery now. The outside of the house might be austere, and overly formal, but there was respect and security in these walls as well. It had a way of winding itself around her heart.

When she got to the library door, she saw a sliver of gold light coming from Jonathon’s study.

She struggled to breathe. He was in there. Awake.

Three times she tried to walk past, but each time her feet stopped. She closed her eyes. There was a thunderstorm outside and the only thing that had made her feel truly safe was Jonathon.

Golden gaslight lit the room, through long shadows.
A full decanter of port and an empty glass stood beside a winged chair. Soft breathing emanated from the chair and the tips of Jonathon’s boots were just visible. He was asleep.

Louisa started to back out quietly.

‘Stay, Louisa.’

Louisa gripped the shawl tighter about her shoulders. She wished now that she had stayed up in bed. She certainly should never have given in to the temptation to enter his study. ‘How did you know it was me?’

‘Recognised your footsteps. At first I thought you might be a ghost that I had conjured up, but then I knew you had to be real.’ His hand lifted the decanter and poured two glasses of port. ‘Come, join me. Pass some time with me.’

‘Were you waiting for me?’ Louisa ignored the rubyred liquid. Her blood was fizzing enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

‘Should I have been?’ He shook his head. ‘I am not clairvoyant. You made your intentions clear this evening.’

‘I changed my mind.’ Louisa shifted on the balls of her feet. He had been waiting for someone, not her. Venetia? Had he thought that she would arrive tonight?‘Another storm has got up … and I went …’

‘In search of comfort and security.’

‘In search of a good book. Is there anything wrong with that? I like having security.’

‘If you had truly wanted security, you would have accepted Sir Francis’s marriage proposal rather than coming to England with Miss Elliot.’ He tilted his head.
‘You want something else, Louisa, and you are too much of a coward to admit it.’

‘A coward? Me?’ Louisa balled her fist. ‘I have weathered thunderstorms on my own. I buried our child on my own.’

‘It is not a case of any pair of strong arms will do?’

Mutely Louisa shook her head.

Jonathon stood up. His shirt was slightly undone and there was a distinct gleam in his eyes. ‘I am very pleased you came down, though.’

Louisa gave a little shrug. ‘The thunder made me restless. Reading helps take my mind off the noise.’

‘There are other ways.’ His lidded eyes became beckoning pools of sea green blue. He took a step closer. In spite of all her vows, Louisa’s insides turned to molten heat. She wanted his skin against hers again. ‘Allow me to keep you safe from the storm, Louisa. Allow me to keep you safe for always.’

Louisa backed up, holding the candle in front of her as a sort of shield. Desire was not the same as doing. She could resist the temptation. It was a test. He did not want to keep her safe. He wanted to bend her will to his. But now she knew that he did not intend to share his life with her. ‘The very walls will scream the news, isn’t that what Miss Daphne said? We must be careful, Jonathon. No scandal.’

‘The news carrier has gone to bed.’

‘Meaning?’ She tilted her head and put her candle down on the table.

His smile widened. ‘Nella Blandish. I saw her standing in the hall when Roberts gave me the news about my stepmother.’

‘You kept me in ignorance.’

He stilled and his face became a mask. ‘It was none of your business. My stepmother’s impending arrival has nothing to do with you.’

‘That was wicked of you, Jonathon.’

‘Selfish, maybe, but listen to my side of the story before you judge.’ He came forwards and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Venetia has Margaret with her. I want Margaret under my roof where I can keep an eye on her. Knowing what Venetia did to me, to us, I am determined to let Margaret make her own choices in life.’

Louisa examined the carpet, rather than looking into his eyes. ‘You should have told me that she was expected today.’

‘What would you have done? Packed your cases? Left without warning?’ He reached out, his fingers closing about her elbow, and pulled her against the hard planes of his body. He rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘I refused to take that risk. I refuse to lose you, Louisa. Again.’

‘You are impossible.’ Louisa pulled herself out of the embrace. She gathered up the candle and held it with a trembling hand, intending to sweep out of the room. ‘You have treated me in the most high-handed fashion. You simply assumed that I would fall in with your wishes without a “by your leave”. You should have warned me, Jonathon, and that’s all there is to it.’

He gave a tiny smile. ‘You are getting cross over nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Louisa waved her hand. Hot candle wax fell on to her wrist. A small cry came from her
throat. She would now have a scar to remember her folly with.

‘Let me see that.’

‘It is a burn. It happens all the time. I was careless.’

‘You are annoyed with me and weren’t thinking.’

His fingers reached and held her wrist for a moment before bringing it to his mouth. His cool breath soothed the hurt. The pain receded, replaced by a growing, insistent warmth. Louisa was aware that her hair was loose beneath her nightcap, her feet bare and she wore a linen shift covered by a shawl.

‘I don’t think this was my best idea,’ she whispered, trying to ignore the warm sensation that raced from his touch to the furthest tips of her body, lighting every particle of her along the way.

‘Idea? What is your best idea?’ His grip changed and became more seductive as his fingers moved slowly over her skin, travelling up her nightdress to her shoulder.