The Governess Was Wicked (12 page)

A lady’s companion. It would be a change, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a positive one.

“And,” Mary added with a grin, “I think your lack of a reference will be one of your most appealing qualities in Lady Crosby’s eyes.”

And suddenly Elizabeth went from being a governess to being a lady’s companion.

“I take my tea at three o’clock sharp. No exceptions.”

Just one day after seeing her friends, Elizabeth sat opposite Lady Crosby, a woman of considerable height and elegance, wondering just what to think of her potential employer. The widow wore her gray hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate set of twists, and her dress of black moiré silk was heavy with jet trim. Her hand wrapped around an ebony cane topped with a carved fox head set with amethyst eyes. The effect was positively regal.

“Three o’clock,” Elizabeth repeated. “And tea is not served earlier even if there are callers?”

“If they want refreshment, they can come at three,” said Lady Crosby with a sniff. “If anyone takes issue with that, they can get out. I have more than enough company as it is with my three nephews.”

“That must be a great comfort to you,” she said.

“They like to come around every few weeks to see if I’ve done them the courtesy of dying yet.”

Elizabeth tried to muffle her laugh, achieving what was a rather unladylike snort.

The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Is something funny, Miss Porter?”

Carefully, Elizabeth set down her cup. “Yes, Lady Crosby. Yes it is. But I suppose that means we shall just have to make sure that these nephews of yours know that you’re in the peak of health and determined to stay there.”

It was risky speaking so boldly in an interview, but she suspected Lady Crosby wouldn’t look kindly on a simpering companion. She also had the distinct impression the lady was like a child, trying her best to shock Elizabeth and see just how far she could push her.

The gray-haired lady studied her a moment before tilting her chin up. “You have spirit.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Not usually a desirable quality in a lady’s companion.”

“Well, I am not your average dowager. I don’t want to wait around to die. I’d rather spend my annuity and amuse myself while those nephews of mine try to count every penny that leaves my accounts.” Lady Crosby leaned across the gap between them. “My family settled all the money on me, you see. All Crosby did was get himself knighted.”

Oh, Elizabeth liked Lady Crosby very much.

“Now, I’ll have Gardner put you in the Blue Room,” the lady continued. “Colton’s wife prefers that room when they come to visit. It will peeve her to see it occupied.”

“Lady Crosby, you haven’t offered me the position yet.”

Lady Crosby rapped the small table between them with her stick. “What are you waiting for? A proposal on bent knee? You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Elizabeth would have laughed if she didn’t think there was a distinct possibility that Lady Crosby might rap her next. “Do you care that I come from my old position without a reference?”

Lady Crosby was studying her with a keen eye. “Miss Porter, all I hope is that you did something very wicked to be dismissed. When a woman has reached my level of age and wealth, she cares a lot less about propriety. Not that I ever cared much in the first place. Now”—she rang the silver bell next to her hand—“where is that butler?”

A harried Gardner appeared in the doorway seconds later.

“Take Miss Porter to the Blue Room,” Lady Crosby instructed.

Gardner opened and closed his mouth a few times—not unlike a fish pulled from the water. “But Mr. Colton—”

“When I die, Mr. Colton can decide who sleeps where in this house. If I leave it to him. Until then, I’m still mistress here,” Lady Crosby boomed.

Gardner swallowed and scurried backward across the threshold with a “Yes, ma’am.”

Elizabeth rose. “Thank you, Lady Crosby. I’ll endeavor to amuse you during our time together.”

“Don’t be dull and we shall stumble our way through the days just fine.”

Elizabeth was almost to the door when Lady Crosby called out, “I hope he was worth it, Miss Porter.”

Another cut. Another sting, and an ache this time. She just dipped her head, choosing not to let her new employer see the pain on her face. “He was.”

Chapter Nine

A governess prepares a young lady for the rest of her life. She will guide her and mold her into the perfect picture of womanhood. If the governess is very lucky, she will have the pleasure of seeing her charge marry a man of character. It is best, however, to stifle any ambitions to marry for love. That is a circumstance that’s rare indeed and cannot be relied upon.

—Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses

Edward stared at the papers spread out over his desk. He was supposed to be making notes on the condition of the Earl of Hundley, who was suffering from a particularly bad bout of gout, but his hand hadn’t moved across the page at all in the last five minutes. Instead his mind was occupied with a much more intriguing puzzle.

For the first time in three weeks, Miss Porter had not returned his letter. Edward dared to hope that perhaps she’d forgiven him for the embarrassment he caused.

Then—at half past five—he spotted the Nortons’ kitchen boy through his study window. His clerk came in a few moments later bearing a message. He snatched it out of the man’s hand, broke the blue seal, and skimmed its contents.

Come to the house. We have much to discuss.

—E.

He snatched up his jacket and was out the door before the letter could flutter to the table.

Thirty agonizing minutes later, he was being led up the stairs of the Nortons’ home, wondering what he should say to Elizabeth first. It was awkward walking into the home that he’d quit the employ of, but that didn’t matter. She’d written, having read much of what he wanted to tell her in his letter already. He spoke of his shame at exposing her to any danger, his regret at not indulging his fierce instinct to protect her and keep her safe, and his desire for her. Yet he had saved the most important message for when they stood together again.

He wanted to see her expression when he told her he would love her for the rest of his days.

Crane opened the door to one of the drawing rooms on the first floor and intoned in his low voice, “Dr. Fellows, madam.”

It did not strike Edward as odd that Crane should address Elizabeth as “madam” until he stepped into the room. Mrs. Norton sat on a sofa at the head of the room like the queen observing her empire. Next to her was a small, mousy woman who wore a severe gray dress devoid of trim that buttoned all the way up her chin.

Where was Elizabeth?

“Good day, Mrs. Norton. I was given to believe that Miss Porter sent for me,” he started slowly.

Ice frosted over the lady’s eyes. Whatever she was about to tell him would not be good. “Miss Porter was let go three weeks ago. The very night that she was caught doing unspeakable things with you.”

He thought he’d felt guilt at being stupid enough to allow them to get caught. That was nothing compared to the sickening wave that swept through him now. “But my letters—”

“Have been returned to you every day at my express order.”

“You ordered what?” His hands clenched as fury coursed through him. He hardly trusted himself to speak to this woman—a former patient—whose family he had cared for, for so many years.

Aorta. Anterior vena cava. Semilunar valve. Right atrium. Calm down. Calm. Down.

Mrs. Norton shot him a sharp look. “The letters have become a nuisance, so I’ve decided you must stop sending them. What if a visitor were to see that a gentleman is endeavoring to communicate with a woman who had been in my employ? That simply would not do.”

He tried his best to hold on to both sense and propriety.
Right ventricle. Posterior vena cava. What I feel for her is not pathetic. Pulmonary artery. Fuck.

“Mrs. Norton,” he said, throwing off the last scraps of civilized behavior holding him back, “I have every intention of marrying your governess. You are compromising my chance at happiness as well as that of a woman who has been nothing but kind to your daughters.”

That was when the woman sitting next to Mrs. Norton rose. “Actually, I am the governess now, sir.”

His head swam. This was all wrong. His very worst fears—the ones he wouldn’t let himself fully articulate lest they become true—had been realized. And still he did not know where Elizabeth was.

“What’s your name?” he asked the new governess.

The woman pulled her rather diminutive shoulders back. “Miss Archer.”

“Well, Miss Archer, I do wish you the best of luck with Miss Norton and Miss Cassandra. They’re wonderful children, even if their parents lack kindness and common decency.”

Mrs. Norton’s eyes narrowed. “It’s lucky for you that you’re leaving for America or I could ruin your reputation in London in the space of a week.”

“I’ll accept that challenge, Mrs. Norton.”

The woman looked up sharply. “What?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he shook his head. “I’ve accepted a teaching fellowship here in London. I’ll be able to continue my practice, but I’ll only be able to retain the most exclusive clients. Your sister, for instance.”

The barb—well honed and perfectly aimed at Mrs. Norton’s insecurity over her sister’s higher status—landed. The lady’s mouth gaped open. The problem was that it was only a small victory. For Elizabeth he would have fought a war. She didn’t ask for his help, but he wanted to be there with her anyway. He only hoped it wasn’t too late to ask her for a chance to prove himself worthy.

“Tell me where Miss Porter is currently employed,” he ordered.

He waited, but Mrs. Norton stared him down, silent.

“You didn’t give Miss Porter a reference,” he said.

“No,” said Mrs. Norton.

“You left her to fend for herself without a lifeline.” His voice grew louder, and he clenched his hands, which had started trembling with fury.

“She was found in a compromising position. I could hardly give her a reference.”

“She raised your children!” he bellowed.

Mrs. Norton scoffed and looked away. “She did nothing of the sort.”

The edges around his vision turned scarlet. “How old are your daughters?” he spat out.

The lady hesitated, no doubt doing the arithmetic in her head.

“Miss Norton is eleven, and Miss Cassandra is nine,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “In the last six months, I have been to this house at least a dozen times. I’m certain this comes as a shock to you, because that governess whose good name you disparage cared for your children when you had no interest in doing so.”

“I will not be abused in such a manner,” cried Mrs. Norton, her lace-edged handkerchief flying to her mouth. “And in my own home no less!”

He was wasting time. Arguing with this woman would bring him no closer to Elizabeth. He had no idea how he was going to find her, but he’d comb all of London if that was what it took.

In one last-ditch attempt to reason with Mrs. Norton, he asked, “Where can I find Miss Porter?”

“How should I know?”

“You condemned a good woman to a hard life with no certainty of work when you refused her a reference. She was a gentleman’s daughter. Not so very different from you. Or your own daughters.”

Mrs. Norton’s face went pale. “All I know is that she used to take tea with a pair of governesses at a shop in Pimlico every Wednesday.”

A light in the darkness. One sliver of information could change everything in his search for Elizabeth. “Tell me which one.”

“She’s just a governess. I really don’t see what all the bother is about.”

“She’s the woman I’m trying to be worthy of because she’s the woman I love.” The words were out of his mouth before he could even think. It felt good. For the first time in years he was telling the truth.

The new governess let out the tiniest of sighs. Even Mrs. Norton had the good graces to look mollified. “It was Mrs. Something’s Tea Shop in Pimlico. Mrs. Seltzer or Salter or Salver.”

“Salver?” He frowned. “Like the tray?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Mrs. Norton. “Ridiculous name.”

Finally
. He bowed his good-bye and left without another word.

Jumping into a cab and racing off to Mrs. Salver’s Tea Shop took almost no time. Walking into the utterly female tea shop, however, proved to be something of a new experience for him. Every single woman stopped her conversation and stared at him like he’d forgotten to put his trousers on that morning.

Finally, a frowning woman wearing a starched white cap over her straw-blond hair addressed him. “Can I help you, sir?”

He clutched his hat in his hand and stepped forward. “I was hoping you might be able to assist me in finding a lady who takes tea here sometimes. A Miss Porter.”

The woman’s face softened. “Miss Porter is a good patron. So are her friends.”

“It’s imperative I find her. Is she a governess still?”

The woman he had deduced was Mrs. Salver frowned. “She took on a new position as a lady’s companion.”

From governess to lady’s companion. He could almost breathe easier knowing that at least she had a place to live and an income. Almost—for she should never have had to worry about finding a new position in the first place.

“Mrs. Salver, can you tell me whom she works for now?”

He could feel a dozen pairs of eyes narrow as the ladies in the room watched him quite openly. He didn’t blame them. It couldn’t have been every day that a man came crashing into their pale-peach tearoom trimmed with eyelet curtains and demanded to know where one of the patrons resided.

“I’m not in the business of speaking about my patrons to strangers,” said Mrs. Salver, drawing herself up to her full height.

This was not going at all to plan. He could see the future with Elizabeth he’d dared to imagine slipping away. “I wronged the lady. I must make amends.”

Mrs. Salver’s eyes narrowed to slits. “If you wronged her, why should I tell you anything at all?”

“Because I love her,” he said.

For a moment he thought he had her, but the proprietress shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re welcome to come back on Wednesday to see if Miss Porter is here, but I’ll not have you bothering her if she has no wish to see you.”

Edward’s hands balled up into fists around the brim of his hat, and he fought to keep his composure. He didn’t want to wait until Wednesday. Elizabeth needed to hear what he had to say yesterday. Three weeks ago. Three years ago.

And yet Mrs. Salver would brook no protest.

Frustrated, Edward bit out as polite a good-bye as he could muster and pushed out to the street, leaving behind him only the jangle of the bells above the doors.

He would find her.
He had to find her.
He just didn’t know how he would achieve it before Wednesday.

He was halfway down the block when he heard a shout behind him. He turned and saw a young woman wearing a flour-covered apron racing after him.

“Sir!” she exclaimed as he came to a stop. “Sir, I know where she is!”

His heartbeat quickened. “You do?”

“You really love her?” she asked.

Just as he understood the bones of the human body and the way that the blood circulated through the veins, he knew that he loved Elizabeth. She might still reject him, punishing him for the time he’d stayed away—or even because she didn’t favor him—but he would not back down without telling her that he loved her. She needed to hear it just as much as he needed to say it.

“More than anything in the world.”

“Good,” said the girl. “I’m glad to hear it, because she was so very unhappy about something the other day, and I can only assume that you were it.”

It had better be me.
The possessive thought gripped him, warming him through and through.

“I overheard her tell the other ladies that she’s taken a position with Lady Crosby. They were talking about her very grand house on Eaton Square when I was pouring.”

This young blond girl had to be heaven-sent. He clasped the girl’s hands and laughed. “Thank you.”

The girl cocked her head to one side. “They spoke of you. She seemed to miss you.”

He thanked her again and watched her race back to the tea shop before jumping into his third cab that day. He told the driver to speed to Belgravia. There was a woman whose good favor he needed to win back. And then maybe—just maybe—he could convince her to give love a chance.

The bell jangled just before two in the afternoon. Elizabeth and Lady Crosby looked up at the same time. In the short week they’d been together, they’d fallen into stride with one another, and it seemed more often than not that they did things in tandem.

Elizabeth shot Lady Crosby a look, and the lady said, “If that’s Sandon, he’s far too early for his weekly visit. If he’s going to insist on seeing that my health is woefully robust, I wish he would do so at a consistent time.”

Elizabeth strained to hear the sound of the outer door opening and closing. Then came the soft pad of Gardner’s shoes as he came into the room carrying the silver tray on which he delivered Lady Crosby her visitors’ cards. “A Dr. Fellows, madam.”

Elizabeth’s blood went cold. Dr. Jesup tended to Lady Crosby. That must mean . . .

“I’m not acquainted with a Dr. Fellows,” said Lady Crosby with a frown at the cream-colored card on the tray. Then she glanced at Elizabeth. “Do you know a Dr. Fellows?”