Читать книгу Governesses Under The Mistletoe: The Runaway Governess / The Governess's Secret Baby - Liz Tyner, Janice Preston - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

‘William.’ His sister’s voice.

The door opened a peep. He raised his head from the pillow.

‘William.’

‘Stubble it, Soph. I’m trying to sleep.’

She was halfway into the room. ‘You look hideous.’

‘Thank you. Go away.’ He kept his eyes shut. Feigning sleep never worked, but one could hope.

‘The maid told me you were here,’ Sophia called out rather more cheerily and loudly than necessary.

He tamped the pillow with his hand, still not looking at her. ‘She was right.’

‘I was married a whole week before I showed up on your doorstep and you sent me right back home again.’

He felt the depression of the mattress as she sat.

‘So what did you do?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer.

Then she laughed. ‘Oh, I remember. At the wedding. Oh, that was endearing.’ She mocked a man’s gruffness. ‘I now pronounce you married.’ Then her voice rose and she emitted a very feminine, six-syllable sigh.

He half-opened one eye. ‘I meant nothing. I was pleased to be wed and thankful I had found Isabel. I sighed because it had taken me so long.’

‘Didn’t take her long to toss you out.’

‘She didn’t.’

The mattress shifted as she rose. ‘I’m sure she didn’t.’

‘Send some hot water this way.’

‘I think I shall visit Isabel.’

He opened his eyes and snapped out the words. ‘I forbid it.’

‘Mmm...’ she said at the doorway. ‘Remember what you said to me? That sometimes it was fine for me to pretend to be wrong even when I was right because sometimes men were just too thick-headed to see what a treasure was before them.’

‘I would have said that the sky was made of gooseberries if it would have convinced you to go home.’

‘The sky is made of gooseberries, but you may stay as long as you wish. I will send some water for you, though, because you have a forest growing on your face—’ The last of her words were lost in the closing of the door.

This would not do. He merely suffered from the shock of the wedding and the fact that the country miss had not known the proper rules of marriage. A wife didn’t visit her husband’s bed. And he had simply not been thinking when she appeared or he could have handled it so diplomatically and swept her up into his arms and whisked her down the hallway into her room.

He realised he had to go home. He’d had some rest now and he could see things much more clearly. Once he got the ragged mess of a beard taken care of he would go home. He would explain the way of the ton to her. Bedchambers were sacred by morning light. He could no more stay in her bed and risk the ladies’ maid walking in than she could stay in his bed and be awakened by the—

Oh.

* * *

Walking inside the doorway to his house, the familiar scent of lemon let William know his housekeeper had been working.

His steps lightened as he moved to his private chambers to drop off his coat and then he would find Isabel.

Inside the room, he stilled. He could see nothing different. Nothing. Yet, he felt he’d stepped into someone else’s room and not his own. Perhaps it was some lingering perfume or just the knowledge that she’d been there that disconcerted him.

But he supposed it was normal. Even his sisters rarely visited his town house and he’d invited no other woman inside, ever. The servants were mostly hidden in their duties. Sylvester sometimes visited, but was never invited. One allowed for Sylvester.

The room was no different. He was no different. And the woman in his home had no ties on him other than the fact that they had married. An arrangement that would suit them both for their futures. The vows were just words. But very loud ones, he admitted. Ones still ringing deep within.

William had escaped the need for courtship. He was as pleased with his wife as if he had chosen her from a fashion-plate magazine. The house was certainly big enough for the two of them, though he wasn’t certain how he would have felt if he’d walked into the bedchamber and she’d been inside.

Well, he smiled, shutting his eyes briefly. He wouldn’t have minded in one regard. His shoulders relaxed.

He examined the room. The bed. The walls. Everything was the same. Except the folded paper on the nightstand. He moved to it, picking up a note.

He stared at the words decorated with swirls and loops. She’d asked for his presence in her bedchamber.

Well, if one were to lose one’s privacy, then it could have a pleasant side.

A night of little sleep with all the events around him—well, two nights of little sleep had disconcerted him. He must not let his imagination take him down some path that only he saw.

If she asked him of his whereabouts in the night, he would tell her. He would reassure her that he would bring no disgrace on her.

He strode the hallway to her bedchamber just as a maid exited the door and his eyes flickered to the servant. She scurried away, but his hand went out, stopping the door before it closed.

Isabel hummed beyond the door, unaware of his presence. The sound flashed into him like a gunshot wrapped in velvet. He could not move. Her voice, even without words, controlled his heartbeats and whispered endearments.

His fingers tightened on the wood and he listened, his body swathed in the sense of song and Isabel.

Oh, he had not planned for this.

The humming stopped suddenly and he blinked, deserted.

He stepped inside. Isabel stood in front of the window. Light haloed her copper hair and emphasised the contours of her clothing.

One blink of the lashes over azure and his words fell to their knees. ‘Good morning.’ He could think of nothing else.

Her smile knotted around him and he had to shake himself internally to step back into his realm.

‘I have a plan.’ She moved as if a wind had lifted her an inch taller. ‘A plan you will like so much.’

Yes. He stopped the word from falling from his lips. He needed to hear her voice. He waited.

‘I will change my name.’ She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘You can tell everyone I am away visiting my family and then, after time has passed—’ She shivered with excitement. Her eyes shone. ‘You can tell everyone I am dead.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘You cannot marry again, but...’ she shrugged one shoulder ‘...you do not want a wife.’ Then her face brightened. ‘I will tell only my family and my dearest friends I am still alive.’

Dead. Dead? The word flamed inside him, dried his mouth, slapped him back into the world he’d left behind. He didn’t know if he’d spoken or not. And her face, it didn’t shudder in fear at the words passing through her fragile lips, nor did she gasp at the finality of what she said.

‘Yes. I will change my name, alter my hair, use face powder, perhaps spectacles and I will find a reputable place away—far away.’

She might have said more. He could not comprehend. His legs tightened. He turned himself into a wall of stone. ‘No.’

‘Why is that not a grand plan?’ Eyes clear and innocent fluttered at him.

He took everything he felt from his words and his body, and made himself an empty slate. ‘I need an heir.’

She put a hand on her hip and pointed out the window. ‘Tell your cousin to get married. It shouldn’t all fall on your shoulders.’

‘It doesn’t work that way and you know it.’

‘I was not born to be a governess. But I don’t think I was born to be a wife either.’ She indicated the inkstand. ‘I was just writing to my friend Joanna and I didn’t know what to tell her, so I told her almost nothing but that I was married and would write more later. That is when I realised how confused I was with the events raining about like a tempest. We don’t know each other and yet we are married.’

‘I know you well enough. You are a good wife—these past few hours. I see no reason for that to change.’

She cleared her throat, which if he was not mistaken was a feminine growl. The sound pulled him back into the light.

‘It’s not working out too well,’ she said.

‘I thought you might want to stay in London, if for no other reason than to sing again.’

She shuddered. ‘I do have a good voice, but singing doesn’t appeal any more. I cannot bear the thought of it.’

She stepped back into the light, rubbing under her chin. ‘Some moments I can still feel the knife. Mr Wren had watched me from the audience and I had not suspected it anything but enjoyment of the song. And he had such other plans. I walked about with pride, singing, and I was no different than a hare playing in a field being watched by a hawk.’

William’s mind raced ahead. His mouth dried. The thought of other men viewing Isabel tumbled around inside him. He would certainly make sure she had a strong servant with her when she ventured about and he’d tell the coachman personally to keep close to Isabel when she was outside the house. He didn’t want any harm to come her way. Instantly, he added plans to tell the butler to hire a sturdy servant who could always be spared when Isabel went out.

She waved a hand. ‘I will disguise myself if I leave London. You will not have to fear anything. And if by some chance I am recognised you can merely say some sort of truth. Perhaps that I disappeared and you lied to protect me. That you feared me mad.’ She smiled. ‘A dead, mad wife would surely cause you no censure, but sympathy. If I need to act like Lady Macbeth, I can. I am quite good with theatrics.’ She shivered and let her hands wrangle over each other.

‘You are quite good with the imagination.’ He’d seen the same smugness she wore on each of his sisters’ faces—when they were not listening to a word of reason and had no intention of unlocking their ears.

‘You’re needed here,’ he continued, his words almost a retreat because dealing with his sisters had taught him that was the best way of attack. ‘While you were born to sing, I was born to be a viscount, to produce children and take care of the properties that I inherit. And I rather hoped you would help with some of the parts of that which I cannot possibly manage alone.’

Her hands stilled, but remained clasped. She looked at the floor. ‘I am sorry that my leaving will prevent the heirs, but I do not know how I could leave children behind, so...perhaps I should go soon.’

‘It doesn’t work that way, either.’

She twirled and plopped down on the bed. ‘I have your interests at heart, of course. I know you do not want to be married.’ Her shoulders wobbled, but it wasn’t in weakness, more of a stance he’d seen on a bull as it locked hooves into the ground, ready to charge ahead.

Life with Sophia, Rosalind and Harriet had prepared him for this. ‘You are very correct.’ His sisters would have pulled a face, but Isabel had not heard him make that same remark a score of times.

He gave her a chance to absorb how correct she was, then added, ‘We do not have to think of ourselves as married. We are merely two friendly people under the same roof.’ With his sisters, he would have retreated before they realised they’d been contradicted, but they were used to his instruction. Instead, he planted his feet firm. ‘Friendly.’

Dismay flitted across her face, but then she looked up.

Her shoulders relaxed. ‘But I could go for a while to the Americas. Do not rule out the value of having a wife who doesn’t live in the same country.’

This would not be the time to agree. ‘I want you with me.’

‘But you left. In the night,’ she said.

‘I went to Sophia’s.’

‘You left.’

‘Yes. I felt the need to.’

‘I understand.’ Her lips tightened after speaking. She looked at the healing mark on her arm. ‘I suppose it is all right.’

‘We hardly know each other.’

‘Which can only be corrected one way.’

He moved to her and knelt on one knee. He clasped her fingers and waited until her eyes met his. ‘I do not have it in me...to form a close attachment.’

‘Not if you are leaving before morning.’

He squeezed her fingers, hoping to soften the determined chin with his earnest words. ‘I can’t change the side of the world the sun rises on. I can’t change much in this life. I had thought to love before, but I discovered it cannot be done.’

‘Give me a chance. Just to know that you like me would be pleasant.’

‘I do like you, Isabel. Of course, I do.’ Of course. Of course.

‘Then why does it matter that I stay?’ she asked.

‘I need an heir.’ The next words almost hurt his mouth and he chose them carefully, realising them for the first time himself. ‘And I would not mind some respectability in my life. While I don’t intend to become a doddering old saint, I would like, should I have children, for them to have a pleasant childhood. I would like them to have a mother, and a woman trained such as yourself would be the best, absolute best, mother a child could have.’

She lowered her chin and gazed up. ‘I was not the top student at the governess school.’

‘I’m sure you’ll make a good mother.’

She looked at the side table. ‘If they were my own little ones, I think it might be wise if a true governess were hired—I did not pay as much attention to the lessons as perhaps I should. I planned to forget every study as soon as I walked from the door.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Sometimes my plans are successful.’

‘You’ll be able to love the children and that’s what’s important.’

‘Of course.’ Her smile beamed. ‘I did like it when a new student arrived and I loved them all. Miss Fanworth sometimes chose me to take them around the first few days, but she never chose me to help them with lessons.’

‘I can help with the studies,’ he said, leaning just close enough that he could get a whiff of roses. ‘And you can bring sunshine into their lives.’

‘I could.’

He rubbed the knuckles of her hand against his cheek. ‘And why don’t you get a larger bed—one big enough for two to be comfortable?’

A quick dart of her head took her full expression from his view.

‘And would you be spending the night in it?’

‘It would not do for a lady’s maid to walk in to help you wake and find me half-naked.’

‘My parents were quite comfortable to sleep in the same room. It is not entirely unreasonable. A servant can wait until summoned.’

‘But the town house is large enough for comfort. In the country, roosters crow to wake the house. Here, servants open the curtains.’

She took in a breath and her eyes didn’t return to him. ‘It is indeed unfortunate that no roosters are about.’ Pulling her fingers from his, she tapped her chin. ‘But, in that case, I want to keep my present sleeping place. In the night, I need to be able to feel both sides of the bed.’

‘I understand.’

She took in a breath and moved her body aside and hopped to her feet. ‘So do I. I will not trouble you. You will not even know I am here. I will send notes to the butler when I need something from you and he will relay it. You need not see me except for the briefest moments and a few events needed for respectability. I know that I owe you and I will repay you in heirs.’

At the door, she grasped the frame, but turned to him. ‘Please do not get too attached to me as I do think the idea of moving and changing my name has much merit.’

In two steps he was at the door.

‘Is—’ He put his hand over the one she rested on the door frame, holding her steady. ‘You must give me your word you will not act on that thought.’

‘I would ne—’

‘Isabel.’ Innocent, innocent, innocent eyes stared at him. ‘Your word.’ He could not risk her rushing off to some destination only she thought wise.

A frown. A pause. ‘I will not leave.’ She met his eyes. ‘I will make this my home. I will make this a home.’