The Governess Club: Sara (24 page)

But of course he didn’t kiss her. He respected her too much to do more than escort her with her hand on his sleeve. There were moments, flickers in his eyes, where Sara thought she might have glimpsed actual male desire in him, but those were short lived and fleeting, and made her question the confidence she had gained at Cloverfields.

There she had not doubted her appeal, not doubted Nathan’s lust for her. Nor hers for him.
You happen to be my preference, Nymph. I like that you are more than a cliché.

Sara washed his voice away with more lemonade and refilled her glass. She studiously watched the dancers as they spun around the room, oblivious to her thoughts. Jacob was dancing with Claire for a scandalous fourth time, Louisa with a middle-aged father, and Mr. Pomeroy with that young debutante. The tepid lemonade slipped down her throat again and she moved to pick up a lobster patty.

Something brushed her skirts and Sara looked down, seeing a bony arm sneaking out from under the tablecloth, the attached hand curving up to search the table. Securing a handful of biscuits, the hand vanished under the table again.

Her brow furrowed with curiosity, she knelt down and lifted the tablecloth, revealing Robert and Daniel Simpson, the two eldest of an abandoned mother struggling to raise her five children. The family was one of her and Mr. Pomeroy’s weekly visits.

“Hello there,” she said softly.

The boys stared back at her, Daniel’s small hands strangling the handle of their basket. Glancing in it, Sara saw different foods from the table. She looked into their wide eyes, recognizing the fear and hunger.

“You needn’t hide under here,” she continued, keeping her voice soft. “I would be happy to help you fill your basket. Come.” She lifted the tablecloth higher and stretched her hand toward Robert, encouraging him to come out with his brother.

Uncertainty warred in his eyes, battling with what he knew of her and his mother’s admonishment to not get caught. She held her hand patiently, not moving her gaze from his. When he lifted his hand and put it into hers, she smiled at him and helped him and his brother move from their hiding spot.

“Now,” Sara said, her hands on their bony shoulders, “point to what you would like and we will put it into your basket. Your mother will be so proud of how much food you bring home.”

After a moment of hesitation, Robert pointed to the lobster patties. Smiling, Sara took some and placed them in the basket. Taking the lead from his brother, Daniel pointed to small pasties and they too were added to the growing pile of food. The boys lost their uncertainty once they realized that Sara had meant what she said.

The basket was almost full when a shrill voice came from the opposite end of the refreshment table. “Miss Collins, stop that at once!”

All three jumped and turned to see Mrs. Glendoe bearing down on them, fury on her face. She continued, “Those ruffians should not be here, let alone stealing the food. And here you are, aiding and abetting them.”

The ants clamored in her throat, growing more vicious the closer Mrs. Glendoe came. Sara sucked in what breath she could, hoping it would be enough to sustain her through this attack. The boys quaked with fear, pressing their trembling bodies into her side. Sara placed her arms around them, hoping they would not bolt and draw more attention to them.

“You ought to know better,” Mrs. Glendoe was saying. “Encouraging them in such behavior. Children are not to be at such events; their mother is not even here. What a neglectful woman. No wonder they are turning to a life of crime.”

Sara swallowed, trying to dislodge some of the ants. “They are—” she squeaked.

“What was that?” Her beady eyes narrowed even more.

Sara cleared her throat and tried again. “They are merely hungry.”

“That is no excuse for theft,” was the shrill reply. “You should be aware of the Biblical commandments, being the daughter of a vicar. Theft is forbidden. I have a good mind to summon the constable.”

Sara took a deep breath, feeling anger well up in her chest. It was one thing to suffer the woman’s attacks; it was another to allow her turn her sights on innocent, hungry children. The anger burned its way up her throat, destroying the ants in its path. “And we are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves, Mrs. Glendoe, and such to treat them as we would like to be treated. Would you not want someone to offer you food when you are hungry?”

The older lady blinked, the response unexpected. “That hardly diminishes the severity of the situation.”

Sara’s brows rose. “The severity of the situation? Yes, I must agree with you there. It is a severe shame that this town boasts residents who are more than comfortable in their circumstances yet do little to help those who are not, who in fact condemn those very unfortunates when attempting to merely survive another day. While it is true theft is a sin, the greater sin may be found in those who had means to help those in need and did not.”

“Wha—bu—you—” Mrs. Glendoe sputtered.

Sara continued. “These boys are not stealing. They are my guests and I am offering them sustenance, just as you are entitled as a guest. If you find the company intolerable, then may I suggest you leave.”

Sara turned her attention back to the boys, ignoring Mrs. Glendoe’s gaping mouth. “Come gentlemen, shall we continue? You have yet to select any of the sweet cakes.” The boys followed her, their grips continuing to cling to her skirts. She studiously kept her gaze away from the woman, even when she heard the huff and swish of skirts as she stalked away.

Good heavens.
Where had that come from?
Sara’s head buzzed and she barely registered the boys continuing their quest. Had that even been her who said such things? The ants had disappeared so quickly when that anger bubbled up. She was not accustomed to speaking to others, particularly her elders, in such a manner; only Nathan had ever provoked such a response from her.

Her eyes careened over the crowd. Had anyone seen the encounter? Seen her disrespect Mrs. Glendoe? But everyone was dancing and laughing and chatting; no one acted as though anything was amiss. No one had seen the horrible miracle that just occurred. She took a deep breath, feeling the relief flow through her.

“That was spectacular, Nymph.”

The deep voice behind her had her jumping again. Sara looked over her shoulder and into the icy blue eyes that gleamed with appreciation. He must have just arrived to the assembly, for she had not seen him earlier.

Nathan continued. “A true Valkyrie, rising to the defense of her brood, attacking the gorgon.”

She swallowed. “I believe you are confusing your mythology. Valkyries are Norse but not warriors, while gorgons are Greek.”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?” His eyes did not leave hers or lose their appreciation.

“And the allusion is disrespectful.”

Nathan tsked. “This coming from the one who just accused the gorgon of selfish neglect. How droll.”

He was in one his moods, she could tell. Sara looked down at the boys and their now full basket. “Have you need of anything else, gentlemen? I should not like the basket to be so heavy you cannot carry it home.”

“Me and Danny are strong, missus,” Robert said, his eyes serious. Daniel nodded his head once in agreement.

“I have no doubt. But it would be a shame to have food fall out of the basket and into the dirt, therefore wasting it, not after you have gone to all this trouble to get it.”

The boys exchanged glances. “I suppose we kin go now,” Robert allowed.

Sara smiled at them. “If your mother would like more, please come and find me. I will make sure you get all the food you need tonight.”

“Thank you, missus.” The boys turned and left, holding the basket between the two of them. At the door, Daniel looked back over his shoulder and gave her a toothy smile, which she returned.

“That was generous of you,” Nathan said in her ear.

“Not particularly. It was just food.”

“I doubt others in the room would have done the same.”

Sara sighed and looked at him. He was handsome in his usual dark clothing, his cane held loosely in his hand. “It has recently been on my mind to do more for them. I think I should talk to the Governess Club about taking them on as charity pupils.”

He cocked a brow. “I thought you were struggling to make ends meet.”

“Louisa is good with the numbers. She may be able to make it possible for us to take them on. It would help their prospects as they get older.”

“And you have resumed your teaching, despite your dislike for it.” He made this a statement, not a question.

“I have an obligation to my friends.”

Nathan regarded her for a long moment, his gaze not wavering. Sara grew uncomfortable under it, her skin prickling with awareness. This man knew every inch of her naked body.

She was gripped by a longing to stand closer to him and feel his heat, to feel his tongue inside her mouth again, his hands in places only he had ever touched. She swayed toward him, every fiber of her being wanting to absorb him.

Recalling where they were, Sara steadied herself and swallowed. “Mr. Pomeroy has been courting me,” she blurted out.

The appreciation in his eyes died, replaced by coldness. “So I have heard,” he drawled.

“He has already danced with me twice this evening.”

“How fortunate for you.”

“He is good and kind.”

“Most vicars are. Seems to be a prerequisite for the vocation.”

Anyone watching them would see two people having a genteel conversation, but Sara knew better. She could feel the shards of ice building up between them, sharp as knives.

But she could not stop herself. She had questioned everything since her return to Ridgestone, so much that it had nigh driven her mad. She could not have imagined everything, could she?

“Do you have nothing to say about this?” she asked, her eyes imploring him to reciprocate her desires.

“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, Miss Collins.” He sketched her a shallow bow, his face unreadable.

Her brows rose. “Is that truly all you have to say to me?”

“What else is there?” His voice was even, emotionless.

“I thought—I thought that after that week—”

“What week?” His voice remained the same, but she thought she heard a harsh edge to it. “The one that does not exist? Do not make a fool of yourself, Miss Collins.”

“Did it truly mean nothing to you?” she whispered.

He shrugged and scanned the crowd beginning to gather for another set. “It was a short affair, nothing more.”

“But I thought—”

He returned his gaze to hers, his eyes colder than she had ever seen them. “Thought what? That I would toss you over my shoulder and whisk you off to Scotland? Or stand up during your wedding ceremony and say that you can’t marry him? Promise you a happily ever after? Get your head out of the clouds. I am not that sort of fellow. We both got what we wanted—you had your taste of adventures and I had my bedding without the wedding. There is nothing more to it.”

Sara stared at him, her heart frozen in place. This was not the man she had been with at Cloverfields. Had he been an illusion? Or merely patronizing her to get what he wanted, tossing her morsels of compassion and understanding so long as she warmed his bed?

Oh good heavens
. Sara felt her knees weaken as the reality of what she did finally settled in. She had even been fooling herself for this past week that he had been harboring a secret affection for her, as she did for him. She had fallen in love with a man who saw her as nothing more than a conquest. He must be spending his nights laughing at her and thanking his lucky stars they had not been caught.

Nausea bubbled up in her and Sara swayed, her vision blurring. She reached to steady herself on the table.

“Miss Collins?” She looked up and saw the dark figure move toward her. But it was not Nathan’s voice speaking. “Miss Collins, what is the matter?”

“Mr. Pomeroy,” she croaked. “I fear I may be unwell.”

“Shall I fetch Mr. and Mrs. Knightly for you?” He scanned the crowd, looking for her friends.

“No, please. Just some fresh air. That is all I need.”

“Of course.” Sara felt his hands on her shoulders, and she followed his guidance out of the hall and into the small courtyard at the back. He assisted her to a bench where she sat down, her hands over her face. They were in plain view of the large French windows that lined the hall, light spilling out into the groomed area.

How could she have been so wrong about Nathan Grant? He had warned her against making him into an honorable man; it appeared his warning had been justified after all. She had been little more than a plaything to him, a means to his selfish end.

Good heavens, it felt as though her stomach was being cut out. A low moan escaped her.

“Miss Collins?”

She had forgotten about Mr. Pomeroy. Just for a moment.

“Are you certain you don’t wish me to fetch Mrs. Knightly? Perhaps Miss Hurst?”

Sara forced herself into an upright position and inhaled deeply, dropping her hands from her face. She willed herself into composure. “I believe I will be fine, Mr. Pomeroy. The fresh air has done the trick. Thank you for your concern.”

The vicar looked at her, his face a mixture of worry and uncertainty. “If you are sure. I find myself disliking seeing you in distress.”

She forced her lips into a small smile, the largest she could manage, hoping to soothe him. “It appears to have been a momentary thing.”

“Tell me truthfully, did anyone say something to upset you? I saw you speaking with Mrs. Glendoe and Mr. Grant during the last set. I know both of them can be trying.”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” she assured him. “It might have been the lobster patties, though.”

Mr. Pomeroy frowned, not looking convinced. “Mrs. Glendoe can be a bit of a trial, especially toward you. She appears to be vindictive where you are concerned.”

She glanced down at her hands, now neatly folded on her lap, the picture of serenity. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “That is an unkind statement.”
True, nevertheless
.