Gift-Wrapped Governess (12 page)

‘You know,' he said casually, although he had been struck by a rather unsettling thought, ‘Pippa never complained so much about the school. If it was really so dreadful…'

‘Oh, well, she was a parlour boarder. Since you paid extra for her, she ate her suppers with the staff and other wealthy girls. And enjoyed all sorts of privileges denied to us charity cases.'

‘I am sorry to hear your schooldays were so unhappy,' he said, though he was relieved to hear Pippa had not suffered in silence.

She sighed, removed her spectacles and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

‘How I wished there had been one teacher, just one, who would make some attempt to alleviate the drab uniformity of my life. Every child ought to know some happiness, don't you think? Even if she has been relegated to an institution. But they were all trapped in their own cycle of despair. I vowed I would never end up like them. I vowed if ever I had charge of children and I could celebrate Christmas how I wanted, I would make it a Christmas they would never forget. I wanted so much for it to be perfect. My first Christmas away from Moulsham Lodge and I have the freedom to do whatever I want with my rooms and their schedule. And I was going to organise games, and sing carols, and make garlands and…' She waved her hands at the greenery he had not yet made any attempt to sort into any kind of order. ‘It's all ruined. They don't appreciate what I'm doing. They don't know what it's like to do without. They cannot imagine what it would feel
like if their parents were to die and they were to find themselves suddenly transported to a place like Moulsham Lodge, where nobody gives a fig for their grief and loss. Where they are beaten for crying and punished for complaining—' She brought herself up short.

‘I am sorry,' she said stiffly. ‘You did not come up here to listen to this sort of talk.' Though she could not imagine what he had come up here for. Whatever it was, she would never know now. As soon as he decently could, he would beat a hasty retreat, thinking that he had never encountered such a pathetic creature in his life.

Dowdy, and dull and pathetic: that was her.

‘Please, don't apologise. You have nothing to apologise for,' he said with a frown as she slumped back against the windowsill. What a grim childhood she'd had. Yet she hadn't let it make her bitter. Oh, she was not in the best of spirits at the moment, but if he knew anything about it, and he was beginning to think he did, once she had unburdened herself, she would throw herself right back into her quest to make the world a better place for children.

‘I do,' she said. ‘I don't deserve to have this job at all. I'm an impostor. A more experienced governess would have no trouble keeping those boys in line, no matter what time of year it was.'

It was a great pity she had not come to London for Pippa's Season. She was exactly the sort of woman who ought to have married and become a mother. She would make a damn sight better one than any of the society females downstairs who, once they'd whelped, had fobbed their offspring off on servants.

He'd watched the women at table earlier, gorging themselves on course after course of the lavish dinner the Budworths had laid on, knowing they'd dropped off their children at the front door along with their luggage, and thought of nothing from that moment forth but their own amusement.
Dammit, you couldn't treat children like that. It was one of the reasons for avoiding the state of matrimony for as long as possible. He could not see himself ever dragging his own children halfway across the country to spend Christmas in the home of a stranger without so much as providing them with their own nurse, or maid or whatever to give them some sense of security.

And nor would Miss Miller.

‘You know, I think you are being too hard on yourself.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, in spite of—' He stopped short of telling her what kind of governess he had expected her to be. ‘What I mean to say is, whenever I have seen you with the children, they all seem to be having a marvellous time.' He eyed the fire surround that was splattered with spitballs.

‘Perhaps it is not in exactly the way you pictured them enjoying themselves, but they are having a…good experience of Christmas. Better than it would have been had you not been here.'

‘Do you really think so?' What a lovely thing for him to say. Even though he could not possibly mean it. It was part of his charm, she supposed, to be always able to find exactly the right thing to say to a woman to make her feel…special.

‘I do.'

She looked so wistful, so hopeful, so utterly…vulnerable that he wanted to go over and put his arms round her. Quite badly.

While he was still wondering how she would react should he give way to
that
particular impulse, she said, ‘Thank you, Lord Chepstow. For listening to me. I do not know why you came up here,' she said, looking utterly perplexed, ‘but…'

‘Call it a whim, if you like,' he said, affecting indifference, though he didn't like the view she held of him. Any more than he liked the view he'd had of her. Who could blame
her for being a tad…defensive, when she'd suffered so many misfortunes? Had known so little kindness?

He felt a strong surge of annoyance with her employers, and wished he could do something to improve her lot. Or at least, help her to enjoy the kind of Christmas she had always yearned for. It wasn't just children who deserved to enjoy Christmas. Governesses did, too. Especially ones who worked so hard to make it enjoyable for children who would otherwise have been neglected.

She might write him off as a…butterfly, but one thing he did know about, and that was how to have fun.

‘Come for a walk with me tomorrow, when you have some free time.'

Oh, God. He felt so sorry for her, after listening to her whining and complaining, he'd asked her to go for a walk with him. But the last thing she wanted was his pity!

‘Free time? I don't have any free time. I have the children from seven in the morning until seven at night. And my next half day off is not until January.'

‘January!' No wonder she looked so worn down. And, worse, he would be long gone by the time she had her half day of leisure.

So he would just have to come up with some other way of bringing a little Christmas cheer into her life while he was still staying at Budworth Hall.

T
here was somebody in the schoolroom.

Honeysuckle, who had been getting ready for bed, swung away from the mirror and stared hard at the door, her ears straining.

There it was again. The noise of a chair scraping across the boards, a desk lid rattling.

Her fingers clamped tight round the handle of her hairbrush.

She might have known one of those beastly boys would try to stage some kind of prank. Especially after the way Lord Chepstow had come to the schoolroom talking about gentlemanly behaviour and then encouraging them to
mis
behave. It was all of a piece. Men of his class grew up knowing they could wreak havoc, then stroll away without a backward glance. They didn't care who got hurt during their pursuit of pleasure. All those girls at Moulsham Lodge, who were the natural daughters of peers who never, ever wanted any reminder of their existence, were proof of that.

Well, she might not have any say over what they did when they left, but she wasn't going to let them get away with wrecking what it had taken her all day to achieve. She seized
the candle as she rose from the dressing-table stool and strode to the door that connected her private quarters to the schoolroom.

She flung open the door and, in her sternest voice, demanded, ‘Just what do you think you are doing in here at this time of night?'

Then she froze.

‘Lord Chepstow?' She had not seen him all day. To know he was somewhere about the place, avoiding her, had been like a weight she was dragging round with her, making every task she undertook need twice as much effort. She had turned down an offer he was never likely to repeat and he'd just bid her goodnight and gone away. And stayed away.

But now here he was, back in her schoolroom again, with a tray containing a bottle of wine and two glasses, which he'd just deposited on one of her desks.

‘I'm bringing you a little Christmas cheer, Miss Miller,' he said. ‘You work so hard to make it a happy time for the children. You ought to take a little time for yourself to enjoy the season, too. Come…' he held out his hand in invitation ‘…sit with me.'

She wanted to gush,
How kind of you my lord. Especially since I am so unworthy of your notice
, which made her annoyed with herself, and snap, ‘I will do no such thing. I was about to go to bed.'

His eyes skimmed her figure, as though he'd only just noticed she was clad in a nightgown. He frowned. ‘Why are you going to bed so early? This time last night, you were still bustling about—'

‘This time last night,' she retorted, trying very hard not to dwell on the fact she was practically naked, ‘I hadn't spent the entire day playing ball games and coming up with ever more inventive bribes to get the boys involved in decorating the schoolroom for Christmas.'

‘And a splendid job you have done, too. It looks…like a
fairy grotto.' In the space of one day, she'd transformed the schoolroom completely. The greenery was no longer heaped in random piles, but fashioned into swags and bunches, decorating every available surface, as well as hanging from unlikely-looking corners. Even the way the fire, banked down for the night, bathed the hearth in a crimson glow lent a touch of magic to the atmosphere.

‘Come on.' He indicated the tray. ‘I have cake, as well as wine. What harm will it do to sit for half an hour?'

On their own? While she was completely naked under her nightgown? Was he mad?

No, just impervious to her as a woman. To him, she was just a…dreary drudge in need of cheering up.

‘I am far too tired to entertain you, Lord Chepstow,' she said wearily. ‘Can't you find someone downstairs to talk to?'

‘Not about Pippa,' he said, playing his trump card. ‘After what you said earlier about me not writing letters, it occurred to me that I may have been somewhat remiss. She does love getting letters. I only have to recall how she would squeal with pleasure whenever one came from you. It used to puzzle me, because surely she was the one with all the news, since she was the one having a Season? I could not imagine what you might have to say that would be of such interest to her. But then again,
I
have no idea what to say that might be of interest to her, either. Could you not help me compose something suitable, while we share a glass of wine?'

‘If it will prevent you from mentioning all those things I told you last night, in confidence,' she grumbled. ‘I really don't want her to find out that I feel as though I got the job under false pretences. Or that I'm struggling to cope with the additional demands of his lordship's guests. I would feel as if…as if I'm letting her down.'

She took a step closer to the desk where he was sitting, her brow wrinkled as though she was so intent on making her point, her feet had moved closer to him without her volition.

‘And her husband. He gave Lord Budworth his personal recommendation, just because Pippa asked him to…'

She still looked a touch reluctant to come closer, but if he was any judge of things, concern about what he might put in a letter was now overriding her embarrassment at being caught in her night attire.

‘She will be interested to read my impressions of how you are faring in your first paid post, though. Perhaps,' he said, ‘I could relate the tale of how your kingdom was invaded by pirates and how you managed to put all their energy to good use. Because I have to say, I am intrigued myself as to how you got them involved in making so many decorations.'

‘Oh, well, it was something
you
said, actually.' She looked as though the fact something he had said had been of help had astonished her.

‘About them enjoying things in their own way. I realised that fighting them over those revolting paper pellets was a waste of time. Instead, I bargained with them. I said that if they made a garland of their own, they could then cover it in, um,
snow
, with my blessing.
After
they had helped to nail up all the garlands the girls had made, too, of course…'

‘Glad to be of service.' He chuckled, noting that a good proportion of the garlands were covered in ‘snow'. ‘I am sure she would be highly entertained by that sort of tale,' he said, pulling a sheet of paper from a desk drawer and reaching for a pen.

‘Now,' he said, ‘where to start?'

Since it was obvious she wasn't going to be rid of him until he'd done what he came for, she pulled up a chair and sat as far from him as she thought she could get away with, without revealing how uncomfortable she felt. For he was acting as though it was perfectly normal to sit and have a conversation by firelight with a woman who was dressed only in a nightgown.

Knowing what she did of his history, no doubt it was.

She pinched her lips together in disapproval.

‘What, by the by,' he said, eyeing the hairbrush she'd forgotten she was still holding, ‘what were you intending to do with that? Spank me? From the look on your face you would dearly love to. Though…I thought you had vowed never to beat
any
boy, no matter how naughty he'd been.'

Immediately, he wished he had not said that. Not that he'd ever been much of a one for those sorts of bedroom games, but for some peculiar reason the thought of bending over one of the desks and letting her chastise him to her heart's content had sent blood rushing straight to his groin.

‘As if anything I could do,' she said, settling her candle down on the desk, ‘could have any effect upon you.'

‘You might be surprised,' he said, shifting in his seat to ease the tightness of his breeches. ‘I am surprised myself, to be honest.' He studied her with a puzzled frown. Her nightgown covered her from throat to ankles, not touching any part of her body in between, yet just knowing she was probably naked underneath it made him recall how very shapely she actually was.

‘Perhaps it's your hair,' he said musingly. ‘Because, you know, it looks very…enticing, unbound like that.'

Self-consciously she reached up with her free hand and pushed the mass that had slithered over her shoulder back into place.

She had been on the point of braiding it when she'd heard him blundering about in the schoolroom. She had not had it cut for years, except to trim the ends. It reached right down to her waist.

‘And without your spectacles…' He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Your eyes are brown.'

‘My eyes are brown all the time.' She tried to retain a strict tone of voice, but the intent way he was studying her was making her feel all soft and melting inside. It was thinking about all those other cosy fireside chats he'd had with all
the other women in his past. The ones who'd also only been wearing…whatever it was that women of loose morals wore to bed.

She felt her cheeks heat. Whatever they wore, she was certain it was nothing as unflattering as the yards and yards of flannel currently swathing her from top to toe. He would want his mistresses adorned in scraps of lace and silk, not bundled up in a garment designed to keep the sole occupant of a chaste bed warm during the long, lonely nights.

She wasn't sure if it was too dark for him to notice her blushes or not, but he was smiling as he poured them both a glass of wine.

As he held out one of the glasses to her, it suddenly occurred to her that by this time of night, the chances were he was not completely sober. In which case, coming up here to write a long-overdue letter to his sister and cheer up the poor dowdy, incompetent governess probably seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do.

Not that he needed to be foxed to act in an unconventional manner. When she thought of the things Pippa had told her he got up to when stone-cold sober just because he took some crackbrained notion in his head it would be
fun
…

‘One glass, that is all, and then you must leave,' she told him firmly. ‘It is all very well for you, but I have to get up early in the morning. I don't have the stamina to sit up half the night drinking as well.'

‘Point taken,' he said, raising his glass to her in salute. ‘Though I do think you might give me some credit for thinking of you. How often does anyone come up here to just sit and talk to you at the end of your working day?'

‘N-never,' she stammered, taking the glass and raising it to her lips, suddenly assailed by a feeling of loneliness so strong she almost shivered.

‘I suppose you think it is entirely my own fault,' she said gloomily. ‘I have done nothing but snap at you every time
you have come near me, when I think, upon reflection, that you really have been trying to…I don't know, be friendly.' She shot him a questioning look.

‘In some ways,' he said slowly, ‘I can understand why you have spoken as you have. To be frank,' he said, setting down his glass and looking her straight in the eye, ‘nobody has ever made me question my behaviour the way you have done over the past two days. I was a touch irritated by your…cheek, at first.' He smiled ruefully, to show that the comment no longer held true. ‘But when you held that mirror up to my actions, you showed me an image of myself I did not much care for.'

He reached out and took hold of her free hand. ‘Miss Miller, you seem to think I abandoned Pippa when she was still grieving over the loss of our parents. Please, try to look at it from my point of view. I was hardly more than a boy myself. I knew nothing about how to look after a twelve-year-old girl. I really did think I was doing the best thing for Pippa by sending her to school, where she would be with girls her own age. When I interviewed Mrs Moulsham, she seemed like a motherly sort. And she assured me she would teach Pippa everything a young lady ought to know.'

‘Mrs Moulsham was certainly a very astute business woman,' Honeysuckle agreed. He was holding her hand. He had reached out and taken hold of her hand. It was almost impossible to concentrate on what he'd said about Mrs Moulsham, rather than just delight in the feel of his strong, warm fingers enclosing hers. ‘She
was
very good at telling prospective clients exactly what they wanted most to hear. And…Pippa…' Pippa had been painfully shy when she first came to school. Inside, she had not changed all that much, in spite of acquiring the kind of gloss that deflected most people's perception of her real nature.

‘She was never one to speak out. It used to infuriate me, the way she would keep up that determinedly cheerful front
every time we came to visit you, instead of telling you how lonely she was and how much she missed you…'

‘Aha! So you were almost as cross with her as you were with me? And you do accept that I was doing my best?'

She could not think why it should matter to him so much, after all this time, but she was nothing if not honest.

‘Yes. I admit that I was wrong to suspect you of being deliberately unkind to your sister. There were faults on both sides.'

‘Then we can drink to that,' he said, raising his glass again.

‘Drink to w-what, exactly?'

‘Getting to know one another. Now that we have both admitted that we have misjudged each other in the past.'

She gave him a dubious look, but she did obediently raise her glass and take another sip of wine.

‘I don't suppose I could get you to smile at me, could I? Just the once?'

‘Wh…what? Why?'

‘Well…' he leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on her mouth ‘…I have this philosophy of life, you see. That it is so short that we should take what pleasure we can, whenever we can. Even if it is just the satisfaction of coaxing a smile from a lovely woman who looks almost as though she's forgotten how.'

And then he totally shocked her by reaching out with his forefinger and tracing the outline of her mouth.

Even more shockingly, she sat stock-still and let him.

And then wished she had slapped his hand away, for now her lips tingled and wanted more than just the touch of his finger.