Читать книгу The Runaway Governess - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The clean dress looked more mending thread than cloth, but it did wonders for Isabel’s spirit. She held the skirt away from her body and curtsied to her image in the mirror. She dreaded sitting down to dinner with Sophia and her husband because she’d never eaten in such a fine house and she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself.

A maid knocked, then entered when Isabel answered. ‘Miss, you are requested to the mistress’s sitting room.’ The woman darted away before Isabel moved.

Truly, she didn’t want to step outside the bedchamber. But she must. She must put on a brave face and accept her fate as a governess. Quickly, she practised the brave face in the mirror and then she laughed at herself. To be safe was all that mattered.

She would regain that governess position without losing her reputation. Her parents had sacrificed so that she might attend Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies and have the best education they could provide. She could not reward them by failing to be able to care for herself.

When she walked into the sitting room, Sophia wasn’t present. A lone figure sat on the sofa. William, legs stretched, his gaze on some distant thought. Her spirit leapt. Isabel rushed forward to thank him again. William rose from the sofa, legs straightening in a controlled slowness.

She lost her thoughts. She’d not seen a man such as him. Ever. He could have trampled any man in one of her novels. This lone man had saved her against a man with a knife. His inside was as magnificent as his outside.

A true rescuer in gentleman’s clothing. The cravat, perfect. The waistcoat under his dark coat gold with matching buttons.

‘I do not know how I will ever thank you,’ she said.

His lips thinned, then turned up. His kept his gaze on her. His eyes had no true happiness in them, but his mouth seemed determined to laugh.

‘Marriage?’ he asked.

She leaned forward. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

He clasped his hands behind him. ‘Will you be so kind as to wed me? Vows. For ever. All that nonsense.’

She needed two tries before she could speak. For ever? Nonsense? ‘You did save my life,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I could stitch you up a rather nice nightcap. My father quite likes the one I did for him.’

‘We have quite a kettle boiling around us,’ he said, leaning his shoulders forward and tipping his head close to hers. He smelled better than any perfume she’d ever scented. Perhaps like lilacs, but not flowery. More like something to deflect the scent of shaving and masculinity and things that might tempt a woman.

Yet the words he spoke had no sweet fragrance in them.

For ever? Nonsense? She had dreamt of true love. Of all that ‘for ever’ and ‘nonsense’. And even asked that if there were angels up above, one might send a nice vicar or soldier her way. He didn’t need all his teeth, or hair or even the usual number of fingers or toes, and this man seemed to have all that, whereas a man missing a few parts might be more willing to share all his love to find a wife. She wanted someone who gazed upon her as a shining star. Someone who could shower her with love...and perhaps not be found in a brothel. Although she could not complain he had been at Wren’s the night before, but still that didn’t induce her to wed him.

She put a firm, competent look on her face. ‘I am quite good at making stockings which keep the feet warm on a cold night,’ she said.

He shut his eyes briefly and pulled back, lips upturned, as if they knew no other direction. ‘You would not ever know I was about. I doubt I would be home enough you’d notice. You would be a governess of sorts still, but it could be for your own children. One would hope for children to be a part of the endeavour.’

Oh, that was what this was about. The man needed some sons and perhaps he’d only been at Wren’s and not noticed the many fine places where a decent woman could be found.

‘Children?’ She looked past his shoulder to the wall. ‘You’re not unpleasant to look at,’ she said. ‘I could recommend several young women who are now at Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies who would be quite good wives.’ She appraised him and fought to keep speaking. William had helped her most efficiently and she should do the same in return. ‘What colour hair do you prefer?’

He appraised her, eyes lingering at her head. ‘A copper colour. Like sunlight has softened it.’

‘Um...’ She looked at him. ‘I admit, my hair is a good shade. I have heard that all my life. And I can understand you might think to have children with this colour of hair, but it is indeed a bit rare and one cannot count on such a thing.’

‘Probably a bit much to expect the sky-blue eyes to go with it.’

Her stomach curled, making it hard to maintain her composure.

‘Yes, I’m a bit of an aberration.’

‘A lovely aberration.’ He paused. He looked at her without flirtation. ‘And your voice. I like your speaking voice. It doesn’t grate on my ears.’

‘Oh, my...’ She put her hand to her bodice and ducked her head in the way she did when someone praised her singing. ‘You are quite efficient with the compliments. I hope that is one of your own and not from the list.’

He nodded and his lips turned up at one side before speaking. ‘You would be surprised how many times a woman’s voice has grated on my ears. I have three sisters, remember. So when I called you Songbird, it was not idle. But it would be best for us to wed.’

She put her palm out, touching his coat just above his elbow, giving a brief pat, trying to ease the rejection. Oh, candlesticks, no one would ever believe she had refused a viscount’s son. ‘You do not have to concern yourself with my honour. Your sister has agreed to help me get to Sussex. If that does not work out, I can return to my parents’.’ She could not go home in disgrace though. She would have to find a post.

‘I am not concerned only about your honour.’ His eyes sparkled and his lips, still firm, returned to their rueful smile.

‘I know a quite lovely girl of near marriage age,’ she said. ‘I could see that you have an introduction. Blonde hair. Eyes the same colour as mine.’

‘Do they sparkle quite as well as yours do?’

‘I’m sure when she looks at you they will quite outshine...’ She paused. Cecilia was so sweet and kind and rather younger. An older rake would not do at all. ‘She may not quite suit you, though. I think perhaps all my friends remaining at the governess school might be young for you and the ones who graduated with me are quite busy. Perhaps, um...’ she stumbled ‘...a nice widow. A woman with some—knowledge. More your age.’

‘I’m twenty-four. Not quite ancient.’

‘Oh,’ she muttered, ‘I thought you older. At least thirty. Closer to thirty-five.’ Particularly if he seemed desperate to find a wife.

One brow rose.

‘I suspect you have rather included many adventures in those years. I do seem to remember asking if it was your first time at that horrible place and I think you answered that you were long past first times at anything.’

‘Except marriage. It would be my first time at marriage.’

‘I fear you do not understand the concept.’

‘I disagree.’ He took a step away. ‘I have seen it quite close. Love and all that...conflagration of mindless emotion.’ He stopped. ‘Isabel. I am quite slogging in the wrong direction. I hate to tell you what has transpired, but I feel I must...’

‘The talk is out about my misfortune.’ She met his eyes. They confirmed her words. She continued, ‘You are asking for my hand in marriage to save my honour.’

He was valiant. No knight could surpass him.

His eyes shut. ‘Not entirely.’ He stepped forward.

Again, when he stood so close, something about him distracted her thoughts and took them as directly as one might take the bridle of a horse and turn its face in a desired direction.

‘I would hope that I would be so noble as to marry to save you, but I am not sure.’ He took her fingertips. She could not move.

Now he spoke softly, conveying the importance of his words with his gaze.

‘It is said that I ravished you in Wren’s. I spirited you out by force. The dishevelment. The torn dress.’

‘You didn’t ravish me. You rescued me.’

‘Yes. But to have that untrue story—no matter how it is said—your presence in such a place will cast aspersions on you. I would prefer us both to get out of this as best as possible. I would not wish to spend the rest of my life with the lingering question in the minds of others as to whether I truly attacked you or not.’

She balled her fists within his hands. ‘I will tell them. I will tell them all.’

‘You may,’ he said. ‘Other questions will arise that neither of us particularly care to be subjected to. You will be seen as a woman afraid to tell the truth about a wayward viscount’s son for fear of repercussions. I do not have a...’ He searched for a word. ‘A sombre past.’