Gift-Wrapped Governess (9 page)

She was no longer a virgin, yet she felt neither ruined nor afraid. For the first time in all her life she understood utterly that she was in the place she was meant to be. There was no question in any of it, no wondered truth.

Stretching her legs, she began to smile. Today was Christmas Eve and the gift of love shimmered brightly. Her fingers closed around the pearl at her neck and she whispered softly, ‘I know now, Mama. I know how you could not have lived without him.'

Another gift, she thought, that of the acceptance of her mother's death. A great ease came. Her world had turned and wisdom had followed, the dark shadows of resentment softened into understanding.

 

Everyone was in the salon that housed the Christmas tree when she was finally dressed and came down an hour and a half later.

Her new gold-velvet gown shimmered in the light of a chandelier, lit at midday in the winter dullness, and the Brussels lace cascaded across the bodice in a perfect fit.

Everything stopped, voices, movement and music, as the faces around the tree noticed her presence. Then the boys whooped with delight, Melusine barked at their excitement
and Margaret and Gordon Westleigh watched with broad smiles on both of their faces.

But she looked towards none of them. Trey Stanford stood beside the window, like a god, she thought. Today he wore black broken only by a white cravat tied simply at his throat.

She had never seen him more beautiful.

‘Seraphina.' He came forwards and took her hand, the joy in his eyes making him appear younger. ‘You look…perfect in gold.'

‘Mrs Thomas fashioned the gown for me.'

‘Like an angel,' Gareth whispered from the place at her elbow, his small hand creeping into her own. ‘Our angel.'

The other boys stood beside her now, too, and in the far corner of the room Melusine played with the remains of a broken paper chain.

Her life. Fine and true and real, the smells of a Christmas feast wafting in from the kitchens.

Trey's expression, however, grew serious, a heaviness suddenly about him that was worrying. ‘I should like to ask you something before we go in to eat.' Tension coated his brow and a shot of panic lanced through Seraphina's stomach. So formal. So distant. Could he think their union a mistake?

He stepped back and went down on to one knee before her, his face raised to hers as his hand held out the narrow gold ring he always wore on his little finger.

‘I should like to ask you, Seraphina, if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.'

Tears pooled in Seraphina's eyes, tears of happiness and wonderment. ‘Yes. Yes, I will.' She could not believe this was actually happening, even when Trey stood and took her left arm to place the band upon the third finger. It was too big.

‘I promise to buy you a proper one as soon as we can journey to London to choose.'

‘I love you.' She said the words to him directly, glad that
everyone could hear and that the boys would know the true meaning of a marriage.

And then beneath the glow of the tree and amidst the cheers of congratulations she kissed him, no light kiss, either, but one that spoke of all the longing that yearned inside.

Perfect, she thought, as the embrace finished, and the sun broke through the latticed windows and flooded the room with light.

Blackhaven Castle
Christmas Eve 1813

‘L
et's call her Eve,' Trey said as his daughter was wrapped in soft blankets, her face red with the energy required for birth as she gave a loud and lusty cry. Small tufts of pale hair sprouted from her head, curling in whorls of moisture.

‘Eve Elizabeth Stanford,' Seraphina returned and held the baby to her breast, her dark eyes the exact same copy of her father's.

A year since Trey had asked her to marry him, nine months since she had fallen pregnant and six since the debacle of Ralph Bonnington had been thrown out of a London court.

‘The boys were hoping for a sister. They have said it time and time again.'

‘And you, my love. What did you hope for?' She reached for her husband's hand, liking the way his fingers wound around her own as they always did.

‘That you would deliver safely, that was all I wanted. But a daughter…' She saw his eyes fasten on the rosebud lips and the flaxen hair. ‘Now a daughter such as this one is likely to
run me ragged when she is older.' He stopped and began to laugh.

‘When you came to Blackhaven in the eye of a storm, I thought that the boys would eat you up for breakfast, but they did not. You were the one who changed us instead and made us a family again. Six now,' he added and bent down to lay a kiss on the forehead of his daughter before his lips came to her own.

‘Ahh, Seraphina, if you had not come…'

She shushed him. ‘I would have found you somehow.'

‘I believe that you would have, my darling.' The darkness that had cloaked him was gone now, his velvet eyes raking across her face in love.

‘Are you ready for the others? They have been waiting most impatiently outside.'

‘Of course.'

He opened the door to their chamber and a flood of happy excited people streamed through. The boys came first, subdued a little in the unfamiliar face of birth, then came Margaret and Gordon with their many grown-up children, Melusine barking at their feet. Mrs Thomas had returned as well, her help with the birth invaluable, and bringing up the rear came three local women with whom Seraphina had become firm friends.

A life, she thought, as all looked at the newest Stanford. Connections and community. Outside the world was white and the wind hurled itself headlong against the castle.

Aye, Christmas indeed was the season of miracle and surprise….

Annie Burrows

In loving memory of my dear Godmother, Aunty Peggy.
I shall miss my Christmas card from you this year.

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I
t was when he heard the sound of children playing, somewhere just beyond the belt of trees, that Lord Chepstow suddenly recalled why he'd had a niggling suspicion he ought to think twice about accepting the invitation to spend Christmas at the home of Lord and Lady Budworth.

Pippa's former school friend, Miss Honeysuckle Miller, worked here as a governess.

Honeysuckle—hah! If ever a girl was less aptly named, he'd yet to meet her. The name Honeysuckle conjured up images of sweetly scented warm summer evenings, and delicate, clinging blossoms. But Pippa's friend was sharp and prickly. The last few times he'd seen her, she'd given him the impression she was looking down her bespectacled nose at him, which was no mean feat, considering the top of her head barely reached the bottom of his chin.

Oh, yes, he could just see Miss Miller as a governess. While Pippa had blossomed, year by year, growing into a lovely young woman it had been a pleasure to launch into society, Miss Miller had hardened into a veritable gorgon.

Yet he pulled Diamond up, allowing the rest of the party to canter on without him. Though he was at a loss to understand
why, Pippa still regarded Miss Miller as her best friend. It made no difference that they now inhabited very different spheres. They wrote to each other regularly. And once Pippa discovered he'd stayed here, she would think it very odd if he hadn't, at the very least, enquired after Honeysuckle's health.

As well to get it over with as soon as possible. In fact, he could not think of a better time to renew their acquaintance. While he was mounted on Diamond—the most recent, and by far the showiest addition to his stables—surely she could not help admiring him, just a little, when he cut such a dashing figure?

He'd always been at a loss to comprehend that disapproving way she'd taken to looking at him, not when he'd never had any trouble charming any other female. He shook his head. It was absurd that it should matter, but he would infinitely prefer this one brief meeting to occur while he was on horseback, and she on foot, so that he could maintain the illusion of being the one looking down.

Anyway, even if she did find something of which to disapprove, she would not be able to be rude to one of her employer's guests, not surrounded by so many little witnesses. A smile played about his lips at the prospect of having Miss Miller, for once, at a distinct disadvantage.

As he turned Diamond's head to urge him towards the group of children he could now pick out, through the branches, he heard another of the riders break away from the group and approach.

‘Where are you going, Lord Chepstow?'

He glanced over his shoulder to see Lady Springfield urging her pretty little roan mare after him.

‘Just going to take a look at the children,' he said, tolerating her intrusive question only because Lady Springfield was scarce out of the schoolroom herself. ‘Or rather, their governess. Got a notion she's an acquaintance of my sister's.
They boarded at the same school. Ought to pay my respects, since I'm here.'

Lady Springfield pulled a face. ‘Oh, governesses. A dreadfully boring breed.'

His smile faded. Even though he'd just been thinking far less charitable thoughts towards Miss Miller himself, it was quite different to hear a person who knew nothing whatever about her utter such a disparaging remark.

‘Miss Miller is by no means boring,' he said firmly. No, what Miss Miller was, was awkward. On her first visit to one of his homes he'd assumed she was shy, and perhaps a little in awe of her friend's big brother, since she'd been unable to utter a single word without turning bright red.

Subsequent visits had made him revise his opinion. Eventually he'd asked Pippa outright why on earth she would keep on bringing such a sullen, joyless creature into his house.
‘Why couldn't you bring a pretty, amiable girl to stay, just once?'
—instead of one who grew steadily more withdrawn and less easy on the eye with every passing year.

To his astonishment Pippa had squared her shoulders, taken a deep breath and, with the air of a martyr about to go to the stake, declared, ‘It does not matter to me what she looks like. She's my best friend. If it was not for her, I do not know how I would cope with school.'

He'd accepted that could be true. Pippa was not all that bright. The Miller girl had probably helped her with her work. He could see her as one of those dull but diligent scholars who excelled at whatever task their teacher set. He still had a set of watercolours she'd done whilst staying with him one year, hanging in the bedroom she'd used. They looked so like the leaves of the bushes she'd copied, they could have gone into a book.

Besides, the girls had both started at Moulsham Lodge about the same time, having both just lost their parents. That, too, must have created a bond. Strong enough for Pippa to
want Miss Miller at her side during her Season. She'd been quite downcast when the girl refused, saying she could not afford it. So downcast that he'd very generously offered to meet all her expenses.

He looked towards the belt of trees. He had actually quite admired her for refusing to let him frank her. Whatever the source of friendship between the girls, avarice played no part on Miss Miller's side. Which was a rare quality to find in a female in a society where self-interest was generally predominant.

And while Pippa had taken her place in society, Miss Miller had been obliged to take a job as an unpaid teacher at the school where they'd both spent their girlhood, just to secure a roof over her head.

‘Do you know,' he observed to Lady Springfield, ‘I find it impossible to despise any woman, gently born, who finds herself obliged to work for a living.'

He didn't suppose a spoilt, pampered creature like Lady Springfield would understand, but getting Miss Miller this post had been the cleverest and kindest thing Pippa had probably ever done. She'd somehow managed to persuade her husband to use his connections to find her friend a paid position, which was how she'd wound up here, looking after Lord Budworth's brood.

Lady Springfield raised her delicately plucked brows. ‘But we surely do not need to go out of our way to socialise with them?'

It was a touch unsettling to find that he disapproved of sentiments he'd held not two minutes earlier. He hadn't intended to so much as dismount from his horse or waste more than a moment or two in getting an unpleasant obligation over with.

But he had decided to do the right thing, no matter how grudgingly, and was not about to change his mind because some chit barely out of the schoolroom disapproved.

‘We?'
He smiled sardonically, turned his back on her and
spurred Diamond through the thicket. He was going to pay his respects to a friend of his sister's.

She
could do as she liked.

He checked the moment he broke through into the clearing where a group of children of varying ages were charging around, ransacking the shrubbery for seasonal foliage with the aid of two youngish undergardeners. They all looked as though they were having a wonderful time.

Miss Miller was sitting to one side, all bundled up against the cold in an ill-assorted collection of shawls, gloves and overcoat, topped off with the most unflattering bonnet he'd ever seen perched upon a woman's head.

‘Good God. Miss Miller, what on earth do you look like, perched on that tree stump?' He couldn't help it. The entire scene was so very far from anything he could have imagined her presiding over that he burst out laughing.

She got to her feet. The light reflecting off her spectacles made it impossible to make out her eyes very clearly. But he would wager she was giving him one of her gorgon glares.

From behind him, Lady Springfield's voice rang out, clear as a bell. ‘A gnome! I do declare she looks just like a gnome.'

Miss Miller stiffened. She said nothing, but a tide of red surged into her cheeks.

‘Lady Springfield,' he said reprovingly, turning his head to frown at her.

He might have known it would be no easy matter to shake her off. She was due to make her debut in a month or two, and he was about the youngest and most eligible bachelor present at this house party. Last night, at dinner, it had amused him to let her practise her entire repertoire of eyelash batting, coy glances, fan fluttering and hair twirling upon him.

He wished now he had given her a sharp set down. He wished he could do so now. It was incredibly unkind of her to mock a person who had not the luxury of answering back.

It was not his place to reprove a lady publicly, but when
she drew level with him, he said in an undertone, ‘That was not kind.'

‘No, I suppose not.' She shrugged, flicking a derisive glance in Miss Miller's direction. And then added in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘She cannot help what she looks like, after all.'

The sneaky little cat. She'd made it sound as though he'd made another derogatory remark about Miss Miller, rather than attempting to remind Lady Springfield what she owed to her position.

At that point Miss Miller dropped them both a perfunctory curtsy.

‘Lord Chepstow,' she said in a voice dripping with scorn, as though she held him entirely to blame for Lady Springfield's behaviour. And expected nothing else.

And wouldn't you just know it, but there was absolutely no advantage in being mounted on a magnificent stallion after all. He might not have been the one to call her a gnome, but it had been because he had laughed at her that Lady Springfield had felt free to let fly with that poisoned barb.

At that point Diamond sidled and tossed his head, as if to say,
That fellow up on my back is nothing to do with me. I am very well bred. Shall I toss him into the dirt for you?

‘So
this
is your little governess,' Lady Springfield said with scorn while he fought to bring Diamond back under control.

‘She is not
my
governess. She works for Lord and Lady Budworth…'

‘Oh, how very droll,' she simpered, the look of scorn vanishing as she turned her face to him.

By heaven, she was an example of everything he most detested in society women. She did not see him as a real person at all, any more than she saw Miss Miller as a person with feelings that could be hurt. No, when she looked at him, she saw a matrimonial prize to be won at all costs. But what
man in his right mind would ever want to get leg-shackled to a creature who could change her face as rapidly as that?

Not that there had ever been any chance of anything developing between them. He had left London precisely to avoid falling into the matrimonial trap. One of his friends, Havelock, had developed pressing personal circumstances that obliged him to marry quickly. And while he hadn't minded sitting in the club, helping the poor fellow compile a list of characteristics to look out for in a potential bride, he had no intention of being there when he embarked upon his quest.

It didn't do to stay too close to a man who was so intent on putting his neck in a noose. Ten to one the ladies would take his brotherly support as a sign he was ready to go down the same route. And from what he heard, some of them could be pretty ruthless once they saw a man as legitimate prey.

Naturally, he would have to marry and produce an heir, eventually. But nobody but a really dull dog, or a man with a set of problems as dire as the ones Havelock was facing, would dream of hampering himself with a wife and children before his thirtieth birthday.

Especially not to a woman who could speak of another lady as spitefully as that. It had been like…watching someone kicking a kitten.

‘Well, you have done what you set out to do,' said Lady Springfield, all smiles. ‘We ought not to intrude upon her lesson, or whatever it is she thinks she is doing out here.' She wheeled her horse away as though she had complete confidence that he would follow.

He shot one irritated glance in the direction Lady Springfield had gone, then turned his full attention back to Miss Miller. He might not actually like her, but she was still Pippa's friend and, as such, deserving of his respect.

‘Miss Miller, I…'

She lifted her chin. ‘Well?'

‘Ah…' Something about her proud carriage made him feel
as though he ought to sit up straight and…attempt to measure up to her expectations.

How did she do that? With one hard look, she made him aware he had let not only her, but also himself, down.

He touched his riding crop to his hat in salute and made good his escape. Later, once she had recovered from this encounter, he would seek her out and devote at least an hour to actually examining her working conditions and really enquiring after her health.

And while he was at it, he could make it quite clear he thoroughly deplored the way Lady Springfield had behaved.