The Governess Club: Sara (6 page)

More brandy disappeared down his throat.

N
athan lowered himself at a table near the window that overlooked the busy green in the center of Taft, careful not to spill any of his ale. The man at the mercantile shop, Mr. Yardley, had said he needed an hour to gather the supplies Nathan requested of him, so a visit to the local pub for lunch seemed a good idea. At present, none had done more than look at him, which suited him fine.

A flash of yellow across the green caught his eye. Someone was coming out of the church across the green, carrying empty baskets. Two people, actually, a female in a yellow dress and the vicar, judging by the black clothing.

Nathan’s stomach tightened.
Miss Collins.
He knew it was her; that mouth-watering figure could belong to no other person. He watched as the vicar helped her load the empty baskets into her cart. They stood a respectable distance apart, but by the way she tilted her head at the man, and the way the vicar stood with his hands on his hips, Nathan knew they were having more than a pastoral conversation. Tension gripped his shoulders and he scowled into his ale.

“How does your horse fare?”

Nathan looked up, scowl still on his face, at a tall man with blue eyes and broad shoulders. Dressed well, he carried a pint of his own. Nathan recognized him as the man who had offered him assistance when his horse had thrown a shoe.

He sat down across from Nathan and continued speaking. “It doesn’t take a week to fix a shoe, so either there was something more seriously wrong or the town grew on you so quickly you could not leave.” He saluted with his pint. “That has been known to happen.”

Nathan started at him before shaking his head ruefully with a chuckle. “My horse is fine.”

The man leaned back in his chair, a victorious smile on his face. “So it was the town.”

“Something like that,” Nathan allowed. “I am the new owner of Windent Hall.”

“Ah, my new neighbor. Jacob Knightly, of Ridgestone.” Knightly offered his hand.

Nathan took it and shook it, introducing himself. The handshake stilled, but Knightly didn’t release his hand. “Nathan Grant, the parliamentarian?”

Nathan stared at their clasped hands until Knightly released his grip and scowled into his ale again, sullen once more.
Hell and damnation.
He had hoped this miniscule town would be a safe haven from all of that, but it appeared he was wrong.

Knightly took a swig of his ale. “What brings you to Taft? Last I heard, you were on the road to prime minister.”

“I have retired from public life,” Nathan muttered, drinking deeply.

“Oh? Why is that?” Knightly looked at him curiously.

Nathan gave him a baleful glare. “Jacob Knightly, second son of the Duke of Maberly?”

It was Knightly’s turn to tense. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously.

Nathan furthered his attack. “What was your moniker? The Earl of Escapades? Had to marry a mouse of a governess after ruining her? How goes the
squeaky
clean life of a country gentleman, hmm?”

Knightly’s face darkened but his response was interrupted by the boy bringing Nathan his pie. Glancing back and forth between the glaring gentlemen, he didn’t linger for an extra coin but scampered off quickly.

The stare was held for several long moments until Knightly gave one slow nod. “I believe we understand each other.”

Nathan picked up his fork and poised to break into his chicken and mushroom pie. “Excellent.”

Before he could break into his pie, a strong hand manacled his wrist and Nathan looked into the dangerous eyes of an angry husband. “But utter one word against my wife,” Knightly growled, “and you will—”

“Jacob?”

Knightly looked up to see the petite brunette in a blue dress. Nathan’s wrist was promptly released as the man stood up. “You were finished quickly.”

The lady looked at him with caution. Nathan rose as well. “Yes,” she said, “Mrs. Pennystone couldn’t fit me in today. I made an appointment for next week.”

“Claire,” Knightly said, “this is Mr. Nathan Grant, our new neighbor at Windent Hall. Grant, my wife.”

“Mrs. Knightly,” he greeted with a bow.

The lady smiled at him and Nathan could understand why Knightly had married the governess after all. “Mr. Grant, welcome to Taft,” she said in a calm, steady voice.

They exchanged small talk for several minutes, Mrs. Knightly even managing to extract a promise to dine with them, before Knightly said, “I believe we are keeping the man from his lunch.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cooling pie. “My apologies. Would you care to join us?”

“Claire—”

“Thank you but no,” Nathan refused politely. “I am needed elsewhere shortly and will not make good company.”
Take the bloody hint, Mrs. Knightly.

She smiled at him. “Very well, but do not forget that dinner invitation. I will send over a letter confirming the date.”

He bowed to her. “Indeed.”

The couple selected a table on the other side of the room, and Nathan sat back down and began to eat. He could see the two in the corner of his eye, conversing comfortably. Knightly didn’t seem put out by his marriage to this country governess; indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Nathan was halfway through his pie when a flurry of yellow movement had him choking on his food. He had forgotten that Miss Collins had told him she lived with the Knightlys and now she was here, in the pub, approaching their table with the damned vicar trailing behind her, a puppy dog look in his eye.

Oh bloody hell.

She sat next to her friend, exchanging smiles. The vicar shook hands with Knightly and bowed to Mrs. Knightly before joining their table.

Nathan couldn’t stop looking at his Nymph. Smiles abounded at the table, gestures overflowed and laughter was in abundance. She did not speak often, but it was enough to rivet Nathan with the way her lips formed her words. He swallowed, wondering how she would taste if he were to walk over there and kiss her senseless in front of everyone.
Would the inevitable facer from Knightly be worth it? I would stake a monkey on it.

Their meals arrived, but did not slow their conversation. He watched as Miss Collins picked at her food, taking small bites, each one disappearing into her mouth. Several times her eyes closed in a slow blink as she ate, as though she was consumed with ecstasy, a look that caused his mouth to dry and his trousers to tighten.

She must have felt his unwavering gaze, for at one moment she glanced his way and froze when their eyes connected. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t do anything but hold her gaze. Her gray eyes widened and a mixture of fear and uncertainty entered them before being washed away by something worse: kindness.

Miss Collins offered him a small smile and with a slight gesture with her hand, unnoticed by her companions, invited him to join their table.
Why would she do that after how I treated her? How could she forgive me for being so damned callous with her?

For one moment, a need so strong overtook him, blinding him with the desire to be the vicar, to be a man good enough for her. To be able to come to her as an honorable man and claim her as his own.

Reality crashed over him when their connection was broken by something said to her. When she looked away, Nathan felt his face twist into what was becoming his customary scowl. Standing, he jammed his hat on his head and retrieved his cane, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest. He left his half-eaten lunch and made his way out the pub door, feeling her eyes on him but refusing to look at her.

By the time he passed outside the window, she was once again laughing with her friends.

And the goddamn bloody vicar.

“G
oodbye, Miss Collins!” The row of young children curtseyed and bowed appropriately before turning and running out the front door of Ridgestone, ruining the effect of their proper farewells.

“William Bishop, be sure to wait for your older brother,” Sara called out after the disappearing children. The boy in question waved as he continued to run down the driveway, racing the others to the gate. She smiled and shook her head ruefully.

She made her way back into the manor, stepping out the way of more exiting students, all rushing home for lunch. “Robert, your brother is already racing to the gate.” The fleet-footed boy was gone in a flash, dust kicking up from his heels. She saw a young lady slip on the marble stair. “Maisie, mind your step.” Sara rushed to ensure the girl was fine.

“Miss Collins, me mam sez I kin have a cake for me birf-day Saturday next!”

“Is that so, Dudley? Aren’t you lucky!” Sara turned when she felt a sharp tap, almost a push, on her back, to see two of the older boys running down the hall, laughing over their shoulders. She called out for them to slow down, but they ignored her. Furrowing her brow, she turned back to see Maisie looking at her.

“It was Henry, miss,” Maisie said, her voice almost a whisper and her eyes wide.

“What was?” Sara asked.

“He put ink all over his hand when Mrs. Knightly was teaching us sketching. He pushed you so his handprint is on your back.”

She twisted to see if she could locate the handprint, but to no avail. “Thank you, Maisie. Enjoy your lunch.” She escorted the girl out, waving the last pupils off.

Turning to make her way to the morning room, Sara pursed her lips and sighed. Henry was a bane of her existence and the primary reason she had not been able to teach the older students. Constant disruption and general disrespect were his common behaviors, and once he’d discovered he could best her in controlling the other students, he became even worse. Sara ended many days in tears before Claire and Louisa stepped in. Claire appeared to be doing a better job with him, but he was still their most difficult student.

She entered the morning room, which also served as their combined offices and general meeting area. Anna was already laying an informal light buffet luncheon of cold meats, cheese, bread and fruit for the teachers to share. Smiling at the maid, Sara sat at her desk to make brief notes of how the morning had progressed.

It was several minutes before she was joined by Claire. “Why is it that children are always the most energetic when you are tired?” her friend asked as she entered the room. She sat on the sofa and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

“Are you unwell?” Sara asked, looking at her in concern. Claire didn’t normally look so pale.

“Yes, I—good heavens, what happened to your dress?”

Sara grimaced at her friend’s surprised tone and twisted to give her a better view. “Henry Copeland happened,” she said. “He decided to take your art lesson outside of the schoolroom.”

Claire pursed her lips and shook her head. “We are going to have to speak with his parents. This sort of behavior cannot continue.”

“Whose behavior cannot continue?” Louisa asked, entering. She made her way directly to the buffet and began filling a plate.

“Look what Henry Copeland did to Sara’s dress.” Sara twisted again to allow Louisa to see.

Louisa’s face darkened. “The little ba—”

“Louisa,” Claire said in a warning tone. The blond lady pressed her lips into a thin line and continued to fill her plate, her movements angry. Claire turned back to Sara. “We will have to discuss this later, after classes have been dismissed. He is obviously not responding to our discipline methods.”

“What’s this?” Jacob joined the conversation as he entered the room. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder in greeting and joined Louisa at the buffet. He gestured a plate at Claire, who nodded and moved to the small dining table. “What happened?”

“Henry Copeland ruined Sara’s dress,” Louisa said in a dark tone.

“Really?” He looked at her.

Claire interrupted to address Jacob. “We need to come up with a better strategy to curtail Henry’s disruptive behavior.”

Jacob shrugged. “I will beat him for you.”

Claire frowned at him. “That will not be effective if he is unaware of the expectations.”

Louisa sat down. “I say he knows them. He wouldn’t be so determined to break the rules if he didn’t know them. He is deliberately misbehaving.”

“Why is that?” Jacob asked, setting Claire’s plate in front of her and returning to the buffet.

“Because he’s an as—”

“Louisa,” Claire said sharply. “How can we be expected to teach proper behavior and etiquette if we do not demonstrate it ourselves, even in private?”

“I know the rules; therefore I know when they should be broken,” Louisa replied hotly.

“That is no excuse,” Claire said.

“The boy is a hellion. If he does not change, I say we refuse him our services.”

Sara sat down, looking at Louisa. “Is that not drastic?”

Louisa returned her gaze with a hard one of her own. “Why should we expose any member of our group to such continued assault?”

“Assault? Isn’t that exaggerating the situation?” Jacob asked, taking his own seat.

“What would you call it?” Louisa challenged.

He shrugged and took a bite of bread with meat. “A boy being a boy.”

“So you condone this sort of treatment toward a lady?”

“I didn’t say that,” he defended himself. “I just think you are blowing this out of proportion.”

“Jacob,” Claire said quietly. “Please don’t push her.”

But Louisa spoke over her. “What if Henry was doing this to Claire? What if it were she who was being pushed and insulted and ridiculed on a regular basis? Would he still just be a boy being a boy?”

“That is unfair,” he said in a flat voice.

Sara stared at her plate, the conversation continuing around her as she picked at her food. Perhaps she should have changed her dress before the others had the opportunity to see it. The ants gathered in her throat the longer she listened to the argument.
Why do you always cause trouble, girl? What sort of example are you setting? Do you enjoy embarrassing your father?