Читать книгу Breaking the Governess's Rules - Michelle Styles - Страница 9

Four years later, August 1837—Newcastle upon Tyne

‘Miss Daphne Elliot.’ The three words were said in a warm masculine voice, but they were enough to send an ice-cold chill down Louisa Sibson’s spine.

Her hand froze on the soft folds of Miss Daphne Elliot’s woollen shawl. Louisa kept her gaze downcast and willed the stranger to go. She could not be so unlucky as to encounter Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe here. In Newcastle. He was an habitué of London clubs, fashionable salons and Almack’s, not provincial concerts with second-rate singers. Louisa forced the breath into her lungs. This man, this friend of Miss Daphne’s nephew who had sponsored the concert was someone else. This man was not the man who had destroyed her life. And she was no longer the same naïve girl who believed a man’s whispered endearments of eternal love.

Dimly she heard Miss Daphne answer with delight in her elderly voice and the low rich voice answer again. And she knew her luck in England remained resolutely poor.

Louisa concentrated on the shawl.

What was the proper etiquette for greeting the man who had taken your innocence and destroyed your girlish dreams? Particularly when one of the women most responsible for giving her a new life was enthusiastically greeting him?

And, most importantly, how had she missed his name as one of the sponsors of the Three Choirs concerts?

Louisa weighed her options. Cutting him dead would be the height of rudeness and would distress Miss Daphne no end. Neither could she turn and flee. There had to be a solution, but her mind refused to offer it.

‘Miss Sibson, are you quite the thing?’ Lord Furniss, Miss Daphne’s nephew, asked. Before Louisa could reply, Lord Furniss swallowed her hand in his gigantic paw. ‘I can see from a glance something is wrong. You have gone pale. It is not allowed to have a beauty fainting.’

Louisa withdrew her hand and looked up into Lord Furniss’s broad genial face. ‘There is little danger. I leave the fainting and attacks of vapours to the débutantes. They are the experts in these matters, after all.’

‘As ever, your wit slays me, Miss Sibson, but you do not have to be brave.’ Lord Furniss’s ruddy cheek became a deeper shade of red. He cleared his throat. ‘Chesterholm, we shall have to leave you. The esteemed Miss Sibson protests far too much. She is unwell.’

‘My health is robust.’ Louisa planted her feet more firmly, and her gaze locked with the clear blue-green of her worst nightmare, and her forbidden dream.

‘How delightful to meet you again, Miss Louisa Sibson.’ He held out his well-manicured hand. It was then that she knew her prayers were destined to remain for ever unanswered. ‘A highly unexpected occurrence.’

Louisa twisted Miss Daphne’s shawl about her fingers. By rights, he should have grown fat. Or have his face be marked with scars, something to show his wickedness. However, Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe’s countenance was as fair as ever—golden brown hair contrasting with intense blue-green eyes. Once she had thought his face with its dimple in the chin angelic, but now she could see the sardonic twist and the hardness that lurked behind the smile, the heartless seducer of women.

Gentlemen must be allowed their little indiscretions as long as they do not interfere with the household. She could remember Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s precise intonation as Jonathon’s stepmother explained why she was dismissing Louisa immediately without reference, and not allowing her to wait for Jonathon’s return.

Louisa took another steady breath and squared her shoulders. She had found her solution. She would get through this unasked-for encounter with dignity and poise. She would demonstrate to him and the rest of the world that he meant nothing to her. She had learnt from her years in Italy. Let him prey on some other gauche governess who might believe his lies. She was now a woman of means, with standing and a good reputation.

‘Mr Ponsby-Smythe.’ Louisa inclined her head. Even now, a traitorous part of her remembered how his fingers had skimmed along her skin, sending quivers of delight throughout her as they bid each other goodbye despite the quarrel. Naïvely she had thought he offered the world, and instead it was one night. For when does the first-born son marry a governess with no family, except in a fairy tale?

‘Lord Chesterholm, Louisa,’ Miss Daphne squeaked, her withered cheeks flushed an excited pink. ‘You have not been paying attention. Young Jonathon has become the fourth Baron of Chesterholm and changed his name to Fanshaw out of respect to his late uncle. Chesterholm, Louisa.’

Louisa crossed her arms and mentally kicked herself. Such a simple thing as a name change. She had not even considered the possibility when she quickly scanned the list of subscribers to the concert. If she had known… she’d have invented a dozen reasons why she could not attend the concert and why she had to leave for Sorrento immediately, even if Miss Daphne had not finished her sentimental journey back to her childhood haunts. ‘Why did you change your name, Lord Chesterholm?’

‘It was my late great-uncle’s wish. He wanted his name to carry on.’ An arrogant smile crossed his features. ‘It suited me to please him, Miss Sibson.’

‘Why should the reason matter?’ Miss Daphne asked, bewilderment in her tone. ‘You are being very bold, Louisa, my girl, with a man you have barely met. Are you certain that you are not sickening? I have never seen you act this way before.’

‘Hasn’t the esteemed Miss Sibson confided about our friendship? That was remiss of her.’ Jonathon’s blue-green eyes burned with a fierce light as his fingers captured her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘Miss Sibson and I are acquainted. Old friends. Is that not true, Louisa?’

Even after all this time, a warm pulse went through her as he used her first name, rolling it slightly on his tongue and making it sound like no one else had ever done. Louisa ruthlessly quashed the feeling.

‘I had the pleasure of teaching Lord Chesterholm’s younger sister several years ago … before I departed for Italy.’

‘That is true. You were my sister’s governess, among other things.’ His fingers tightened and caressed the soft inside of her wrist where her glove gapped.

Louisa tugged at her hand. Surely he had to let her go. It was beyond the bounds of all propriety. He knew why she had left. The coward. He had not even bothered to answer her letters—not the one after the dismissal or the other even more desperate one four months later informing him of her delicate condition. Instead he had left the task of irrevocably severing relations to his stepmother.

She could hear Venetia Ponsby-Smythe’s cut-glass tones echoing down the years. Her relationship with Jonathon was a misalliance. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe daily expected the announcement of her stepson’s forthcoming marriage to the Honourable Clarissa Newton to whom he had been betrothed since they were in the cradle. Louisa and the child she carried must stand aside and forge a new life … for the good of everyone. Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had said that while she sympathised with Louisa’s plight, such things happened when women behaved lewdly. The knowledge of a child would not bring him back, Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had advised, and could Louisa even prove the babe she said she carried was Jonny’s. Then, when Louisa had been ready to storm out, Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had waved her hand and offered to provide Louisa passage to Italy as she did feel responsible for her stepson ruining one of her former employees. Her one condition was that Louisa should never return, never contact her again. Faced with starvation, Louisa had accepted the offer with tearful gratitude. She had even kissed the woman’s hand.

‘Fancy you knowing Aunt Daphne’s delightful friend, Chesterholm.’ Lord Furniss’s voice rang out, recalling her to the present. ‘Who’d have supposed it? Miss Sibson, you have been keeping secrets from me.’

‘Miss Sibson keeps her secrets very well.’ Jonathon’s eyes pinned her. ‘Some day, Miss Sibson, you must tell me how one can rise from the dead. I visited your grave not more than three months ago.’

Miss Daphne and Lord Furniss exchanged shocked glances as the entire Assembly Hall fell silent. Louisa wanted to sink down beneath the floorboards and hide. Everyone was looking at her as if this mess was somehow her fault.

Dead? A gravestone with her name? Louisa fought against a wave of dizziness. She had suffered a sort of death. She had even forbidden her friend Daisy Milton to tell Jonathon where she was if he should ever ask. But it was not what Jonathon meant. He had thought her dead. In the ground. Buried.

‘But you are gravely mistaken, Chesterholm. Miss Sibson is happily very much alive,’ Lord Furniss boomed into the silent void. ‘She nursed my late great-aunt through her last illness. She is a pillar of strength to Aunt Daphne. Words fail me to think of her dead. Who could have been so cruel as to give you misinformation? You must have had the wrong person.’

As Lord Furniss finished, suddenly the room was filled with noise.

Louisa shot Lord Furniss an admiring glance. He had taken her part. The tiny gesture meant so much. She was far from alone. She had friends.

‘Rumours of Miss Sibson’s demise appear to be without foundation,’ Jonathon said in a clipped tone. ‘They are to be regretted.’

‘I remain as I always have been—alive,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I know nothing of a gravestone. It must belong to someone else.’

‘Nevertheless, it is a surprise.’

‘I trust a welcome surprise,’ Miss Daphne said, fluttering her fan. ‘Louisa is such a treasure. My sister looked on her as the daughter she never had.’

‘I had not expected to see Miss Sibson again in this lifetime.’ His eyes slowly examined her from the top of her carefully constructed crown of copper-brown plaits to the bottom of her mauve-silk evening gown, slowly, as if mentally taking off each garment.

Louisa fought against the rising tide of heat. She was over him. Every time she woke at night with the memory of their passion lingering in her brain, she gave the same promise—Jonathon meant nothing to her and her rules guarded her reputation. Never again would she be that impetuous woman who was so desperate for love that she believed a rake’s promise of love was for ever.

‘Nor I you, Lord Chesterholm.’ She graciously inclined her head. Two could play at this game. The rules for winning were simple—icy politeness and never to allow any of her inner turmoil to show.

‘Four years, Louisa,’ he said in that slow seductive voice of his, the one which even now made warm tingles run along her spine. ‘Where did you hide?’

With an effort, Louisa closed that particular door of her memory and concentrated on filling her lungs with life-giving air.

The woman she had once been was dead. Long live the reborn Louisa—the one who believed in schedules and rules, rather than following her desires. Jonathon—indeed none of the Ponsby-Smythes with their smug words and self-satisfied manner—had any power over her. This time she had money and a position of sorts in society, maybe not as grand as the one she had dreamt of in those halcyon days but it was one she had on her own merit and one she would keep as long she remembered the rules of conduct.

She tugged one last time and he let her go with such suddenness that she had to take a step backwards. A faint smile touched his lips. He had done it on purpose and was enjoying her discomfort. ‘In some ways, Lord Chesterholm, it has been but a moment, but in others a lifetime.’

‘You never speak, Louisa, about your past,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a frail hand on Louisa’s shoulder and looking at her with faintly accusatory eyes. Louisa shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to cause Miss Daphne distress. ‘I had no idea you were friendly with the Ponsby-Smythes. Young Jonathon’s mother was the only niece of Arthur Fanshaw, the late Lord Chesterholm. Did Mattie know? She would have been very interested, I am sure.’

‘Did you offer references, Miss Sibson?’ Jonathon asked with an arrogant curl of his lip. ‘Or was it a little detail you neglected, Louisa? Miss Sibson was never very good on details.’

‘Your sister, Miss Daphne, was always considered an excellent judge of character. She interviewed me and was satisfied. More than satisfied.’ Louisa ignored Jonathon’s barb. She knew what game he was playing—trying to drive a wedge between her and Miss Daphne. Not content with ruining her once, he wanted to ruin her again. Hopefully Miss Daphne was not suddenly going to become difficult and demand particulars. Here. In public. The last thing Louisa desired was a reliving of her dismissal for improper behaviour with the very reason towering over her.

‘Mattie … yes, she had an instinct for character. One I sadly lack. I trusted her judgement on such things.’ Miss Daphne ducked her head like a child, her grey ringlets hanging in submission.

Louisa’s heart squeezed. She had been far too quick to judge. Miss Daphne had a kind heart, far kinder than most people’s. While Miss Mattie knew about the failed love affair and its aftermath, Louisa had never confided the full story to Miss Daphne. Obviously Miss Mattie had done as she had promised and kept the confidence. The thought made Louisa miss the elderly lady with her vinegar tongue all the more.

‘You have been in Italy,’ Jonathon said, his lips becoming a thin white line.

‘Yes, Italy. Sorrento, in the Kingdom of Two Sicilies, to be precise.’ Louisa fixed a polite smile. The next round in the match had begun. Italy had been his stepmother’s idea of precisely the right place for an inconvenient governess in a delicate condition to go. Within moments of Louisa agreeing, Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had produced a ticket for the mail coach and one for a packet leaving London and bound for Naples. And Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had been correct. Eventually Louisa had found a far better life than in the gutters of Warwick. ‘The air there has been more conducive to my health than Warwickshire’s.’

‘And now you have returned. Is England to have the benefit of your company for long?’

‘I have returned to the north-east. Not to Warwickshire. And only temporarily. Miss Daphne wished to visit those places she remembered from her childhood.’ Louisa swallowed hard, hating the way her breath caught in her throat. She curled her hand about her fan and concentrated on taking calming breaths. ‘You must remember me to your sister, Margaret. When will she have her first Season?’

‘Next Season, if my stepmother gets her wish.’

Louisa took another deep breath. Icy politeness, talking about inconsequential acquaintances. But equally she had to know—what had happened to her rival. Had he married her?’And Clarissa Newton?’

‘We married a year after you … disappeared,’ Jonathon said in a measured tone. ‘Clarissa nursed me back to health and everyone agreed that it was the correct thing to do. Chesterholm needed an heir.’

They had married. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had told the truth. Louisa’s insides churned as she forced her back to be ramrod straight. Clarissa had been everything that she was not—well connected, accomplished and possessing looks that were in fashion. With the little misalliance out of the way, he had married Clarissa, no doubt in a huge wedding with all the ton in attendance.

‘And is Lady Chesterholm with you?’ Miss Daphne asked.

‘Regretfully, Miss Elliot, Lady Chesterholm died eighteen months ago. She contracted a fever and died hours after giving birth.’ Jonathon inclined his head and his face showed genuine sorrow.

Died. Louisa’s retort withered on her lips. Clarissa was dead. Despite everything that Clarissa had done, all the petty remarks about governesses getting above their stations and all the boasting about how she’d rule the ton as Jonathon’s wife and how they had been betrothed in the cradle, Louisa had never wished for the woman’s death.

‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she whispered.

‘As am I,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘It is so tragic when a young woman loses her life in childbirth.’

Louisa silently put the shawl about Miss Daphne’s shoulders. If she was very lucky, she would be able to escort Miss Daphne home now. Miss Daphne loved a good weep. This night and her meeting with Lord Chesterholm would be behind her. Tonight demonstrated how easily she could lose everything she held dear if she failed to keep to her rules.

‘And now, my dear lady, it is my turn to offer condolences.’ Jonathon captured Miss Daphne’s hand, and prevented Louisa from leading her off. ‘Lord Furniss informs me that your sister recently died. You both visited Furniss several times at Eton for the Montem celebrations.’

‘How good you are.’ Miss Daphne’s eyes shimmered. ‘We always brought iced buns. They were Rupert’s favourite.’

‘My dear mama always forbade them as she thought it bad for my figure,’ Lord Furniss said, puffing up his chest. ‘But there is something glorious about an iced bun—sugar on the top and soft dough underneath.’

‘And now you have returned to the land of your birth, Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said.

Louisa frowned, trying to work out why Jonathon was determined to prolong the painful encounter. Silently she willed him to give up and go.

‘For a fleeting visit. Dear Louisa wishes to return home as soon as possible.’

‘I am hoping to persuade them both to stay in the country,’ Lord Furniss said, reaching for Louisa’s hand.

Louisa avoided it. Tomorrow, she promised silently, tomorrow she would check the steamship timetable.

‘I regret, Lord Furniss, our schedule …’ Louisa said, inclining her head.

‘How long are you here, Miss Elliot?’

‘Louisa took charge of all the arrangements, even though England holds few good memories for her. She has a wonderful talent for scheduling and making sure all the details are sorted.’ Miss Daphne gave a tremulous smile. ‘But then you know Louisa, how kind she is and what a wonderful eye for detail she possesses.’

‘Yes, I do know her.’ His eyes shone like cold emeralds. ‘I will take your word for her kindness. And I’m pleased to learn her eye for detail has improved.’

Louisa flinched. Once he had proclaimed her the kindest of women and told her that he’d love her until he died. She refused to let his words have any lasting sting. They were only words. And she wanted nothing from him. She needed nothing.

‘I think it might be best if I checked on the carriage, Miss Daphne. We would not want to put the schedule in jeopardy.’ Without giving Miss Daphne a chance to answer, Louisa marched away, clinging to the remnants of her temper. It was better to leave than to fight.

‘Don’t forget my shawl … Louisa.’ An elderly voice floated out over the crowd. ‘You promised …’

Jonathon watched the swinging mauve skirt of the very much alive Louisa Sibson disappearing into the crowd. He wanted to shake her insolent shoulders for vanishing in the way she had. For years, he had thought her dead, religiously visiting her supposed grave on the anniversary of her death, but she was alive and far more beautiful than his last memory of her.

Why had his stepmother allowed him to think Louisa was dead? That he had accidentally killed her? Even with his stepmother’s legendary efficiency she could not have achieved the deception without Louisa’s active co-operation. Louisa had to have participated in the deception.

For months he had lain, staring at the white walls of the Newtons’ sickroom, waiting to heal, willing his body to prove the doctors wrong and to walk again. And the first thing he had done was to walk to Louisa’s supposed grave. He had taken such pride in standing in that windswept graveyard, solemnly vowing to live his life as she would have wanted him to. But the entire thing had been a monstrous lie.

Now, he wanted answers, answers from the one person who could give them—Louisa. She was not going to find it that easy to dismiss him. With a few quick strides, he reached Louisa and caught her by the elbow. ‘Oh, no, no more disappearing tricks. You are staying.’

‘What do you think you are doing, Lord Chesterholm? Unhand me!’ Louisa pulled away from his grip, but Jonathon tightened his hold. ‘Jonathon, please, people are beginning to stare! For propriety’s sake!’

‘We are going to have a conversation, Louisa,’ he said through gritted teeth as white-hot anger seethed through him. ‘One we should have had four years ago. We can have it here in this public space or we go into one of the private card rooms, but we will speak. You may begin by explaining why you faked your death.’

‘I have nothing to say to you!’

‘But I have things to say to you.’ Jonathon kept a leash on his temper. For years he had thought about what he would have said to her if he had had one more chance.

The woman had never been dead. She had left, leaving others to heal him and his broken heart. And now she had returned, more desirable than ever. The innocent promise of four years ago had blossomed into a sensuous combination of rich, autumn-red hair, amber eyes and dusty-rose lips—all staring provocatively up at him. ‘And you will listen.’

Without giving her a chance to protest further, he led her to a small room that was often used for card games when balls were given and shut the door with a distinct click, then turned to face his adversary.

She crossed her arms and her amber eyes blazed with fury. ‘You have precisely two minutes before I scream, Lord Chesterholm. We finished a long time ago.’

‘You may have finished, but you neglected to inform me personally.’

Her mouth opened and shut several times. ‘Your stepmother served as your emissary. The Kingdom of Two Sicilies was her suggestion. She paid for my passage. It was a chance for me to start again.’

A red mist settled on Jonathon. ‘You asked my stepmother to help you rebuild your life?’

‘She was my employer. What reason did she have to lie? There was nothing for me here, as she so helpfully pointed out. You were engaged. I was an unwanted reminder.’ Her crown of auburn hair quivered with indignation. ‘I shall leave now. Miss Daphne will worry.’

‘Furniss can guard his aunt.’ Jonathon held up his hand, stopping her. Louisa was going to stay and they would speak under his terms, not hers. ‘Why did you return to England?’

‘To allow Miss Daphne to visit the places of her youth. She wants to see them one last time.’ Her lips turned up in a false smile. ‘You need not worry. I intend to depart from these shores as quickly as possible. England is anathema to me.’

‘A pity. And what charms does Italy hold?’ He looked her up and down, noting how she no longer tried to hide behind demure high-necked gowns but chose instead to wear a décolleté gown that barely skimmed her breasts, proclaiming she was a woman of the world instead of the naïve and somewhat gauche governess who blushed so charmingly. ‘For a woman like you.’

The beauty-spot mole in the corner of her mouth flashed. ‘A marriage proposal. To a baronet. Think of that. Sir Francis Walsham wishes to marry me, honourably, with a large church wedding.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I have rebuilt my life, Jonathon. Give my regards to your stepmother. Her instincts were correct. Italy has been far better to me than England ever was.’

‘When rebuilding anything, Louisa, you should have a care that the foundations are not made on sand.’

A crease appeared between her perfectly arched brows and for the first time, she appeared less certain. ‘You have lost me, Jonathon.’

‘You admire plain speaking.’

‘Wherever possible.’ A smug smile crossed her lips. She tilted her head upwards. She believed she’d won.

Jonathon waited, savouring the moment.

‘Unlike some I could mention, I am an admirer of the unvarnished truth,’ she said with absolute assurance.

‘Your besotted beau’s proposal might prove difficult to accept.’

Her eyes narrowed and her smile trembled. ‘Why?’

Jonathon leant forwards, his breath brushing her cheek. ‘I have a prior claim.’