The Governess Was Wicked (13 page)

“I do,” she said, her voice remarkably level for all that her body threatened to shake. “He was the Nortons’ family doctor when I was governess to their daughters.”

Lady Crosby’s eyes narrowed, but rather than inquire further she simply said, “Then I suppose you must show him up, Gardner.”

Elizabeth’s hands clasped in her lap as she fought the warring emotions that ruled her every day. She wanted to believe that he’d come after her, but at the same time she couldn’t help the hint of doubt that stirred in her stomach. He hadn’t told her of his affection or made it known that he believed her to be anything other than a diversion from the regular grind of his day. True, she hadn’t felt as though the doctor believed she was just some light-skirt he could toy with. Yet he’d left the Nortons’ house after trying to save her position, saying nothing of his affection for her. Surely if he felt anything real for her, he would’ve told her.

The door opened again, and there he was. Edward seemed to fill the room, commanding respect rather than demanding it. His short black hair was brushed perfectly from his brow, and she wished she could muss it just as she’d done weeks ago in those intimate moments she would never forget even if she wanted to.

His
hair
was making her miserable. What was wrong with her?

“Lady Crosby,” said Edward with a sharp bow.

“Dr. Fellows, I don’t know that we have been introduced.”

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. “You must forgive me for such a breach of etiquette. I have a rather pressing matter I must speak to Miss Porter about.”

“Well,” said Lady Crosby, absentmindedly tapping the staff of her cane with her nail. “You certainly wouldn’t mind sharing it with me as well. I couldn’t in good conscience allow a gentleman I don’t know to speak with my companion unattended. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, what if you upset her? I need Miss Porter at the very sharpest wit so that she can help me in dealing with these wretched relatives of mine.”

Edward appeared pained as he looked at Elizabeth for the first time since he walked into the room. Her breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to remain still.

“Elizabeth—”

“You’re rather familiar, sir,” observed Lady Crosby.

His eyes never left Elizabeth’s face. “That’s because I love her.”

He loved her. Edward Fellows, brilliant physician, loved
her
. It was all too much, too overwhelming. She couldn’t be here with all of them staring at her, waiting for her to act, waiting for her to say something.

“Well, this is certainly interesting,” said Lady Crosby.

At the same time, Elizabeth asked, “How can you love me?”

He took a step closer to her and brushed a stray curl that had worked its way out of her chignon off her face. “How could I not love you? I think I have since the first time we met; it just took me a shamefully long time to realize it.”

Her heart slammed against her chest, and for a moment she thought she might faint, except that governesses and companions and army captain’s daughters do not faint. They’re wrought from stronger stuff than that.

“You never gave me any indication,” she whispered.

“This is even more entertaining than Drury Lane,” said Lady Crosby. Elizabeth shot her a look, but it did nothing to wipe the grin off the lady’s face.

“I didn’t think I was worthy of you,” he said.

“Not worthy of
me
?” She laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I’m a governess, Dr. Fellows!”

“I asked you to call me Edward.”

“I am choosing not to indulge that request.”

He pursed his lips and nodded once. His fingers slipped from her arm. She could see hurt in his eyes. Good. She wanted him to feel what she had felt these last weeks.

“I should have gone after you,” he said.

“Yes, you should have.” And despite all of her high-minded scolding about how she wouldn’t hold him back from his research fellowship, she knew that it was the truth. She wanted him more than anything, and now that he stood in front of her, she couldn’t understand how she’d denied herself him for nearly a month.

“Is it too late now? Have I ruined any chance of happiness we might have together?”

“You don’t want a wife. You’re going to New York.”

“No, actually, I’m not.”

All the breath rushed from her body, but she managed to choke out, “You’re not?”

“I’m not sailing for America,” he said. “I’m taking a teaching fellowship here in London. I want the life that I never thought I would, with a house and a family. I want you by my side to be my partner on this journey, Elizabeth. I can name for you every part of the human body we know. I can patch people up. I can cure diseases. But I couldn’t see what was happening in my own heart. Please tell me there’s a chance for us.”

He had sacrificed the one thing that mattered most to him—his passion. She should have felt guilty, and yet she realized she was glad. Finally, for the first time in her life, someone was choosing her. Someone was putting her first. Even her own father hadn’t done that, leaving her destitute and alone with no provisions for her welfare after he died.

Edward Fellows wanted her love over all else, and all he asked in return was that she give him her heart.

A low cough behind them yanked her back to Lady Crosby’s drawing room. The woman stood, leaning on her cane. “I think I shall retire to my sitting room for a good long spell. Perhaps an hour.”

Elizabeth nodded, her cheeks flaming. “Thank you, Lady Crosby.”

The old woman glared at Edward. “You’d do well not to leave this room until she says yes. Fight her if you have to, because if I ever hear that you’ve given up so easily on a woman of Miss Porter’s caliber again, I shall knock you between the eyes with my stick.”

Edward made a muffled choking sound that might have been laughter or fear. “I’ll bear that in mind, Lady Crosby.”

“See that you do.”

The two of them watched as Lady Crosby let herself out of the drawing room. Then Edward turned back to Elizabeth almost cautiously and said, “This is not quite how I planned my declaration of love for you.”

“Do you truly love me?”

He gathered up her hands in his. “More than I love anything else in this world.”

“I was so unhappy with you,” she said, her thumb toying over his wrist. “I knew that it was my fault for letting us get caught, and I didn’t want to force you to marry me. I knew that you’re the sort of man who would do the honorable thing.”

“It might have been honorable, but it’s what I wanted too. I was an idiot to let you out of my sight that evening. I tried to write to you and tell you all of this, never realizing that you weren’t at the Nortons’ to receive those letters.”

“I wanted you beside me, Edward. I wanted to know that someone stood up for me when no one else has.”

His arms went around her waist and he pulled her in close. “I thought for so long that you could never love a man like me.”

“Why is that?” she asked into the fine wool of his jacket.

“I’m a stodgy physician who obsesses over his work. I can go days without eating a proper meal when I’m mulling something over. I dream in Latin half the time. You deserve someone who is going to entertain you, who will take you to New York and do everything on your list.”

“Do you know what I want more than anything else?” she asked, turning her gaze up at him.

“What’s that?”

“I want a man who will look at me every day and say to himself, ‘That’s the woman I want to spend my life with. That’s the woman I want to raise my children with. That’s the woman I love.’ Can you do that?”

He dipped his head so that their lips hovered mere fractions apart. “I can do that, and I can be grateful that my wife is as brilliant as she is beautiful. If you’ll take me as your husband.”

Rather than answer, she went up on her tiptoes to press a long, deep kiss to those lips that had tormented her dreams these last weeks. The slide of his mouth over hers and the weight of his hands on her waist sent heat flaring through her body once again. This was what she had been craving. This was the man she wanted.

Edward eased her down to the sofa and then sprinted over to the drawing room door and locked it. “Can’t be too careful.”

Elizabeth laughed as he dropped onto the sofa next to her and pulled her into his lap. But then his lips were on her neck, and she wasn’t laughing any longer. Instead, she gasped as he nipped at her earlobe.

“Mine,” he growled.

“I haven’t said I would marry you yet,” she said as he sucked at the sensitive skin along her jaw. Her hands edged his jacket open. “Besides, you wear far too much clothing.”

“You’re going to ruin me,” he groaned.

“You have to promise me that we can have a library, and we’ll do wicked things in there.”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

She ran her hands down the hard muscle of his arms, feeling what was now hers. “Perhaps I’ll take you sometimes too.”

He lifted his head to find her lips. “Marry me,” he murmured.

“I’ll marry you, Edward. Yes.” And she kissed him, tracing her tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened for her. She missed this, the taste of his mouth and his fingers dancing across her back.

“I suppose that I’ll have to give Lady Crosby my notice,” she said as Edward ran his fingers down the hooks of her dress, tempting her.

His fingers paused on the small of her back. “If you wish.”

Laughing, she turned in his lap to lay her head on his shoulder. “If I never have to spend another day in someone else’s employ, I’ll be a happy woman.”

“I plan to make it my life’s work to make you very, very happy, Elizabeth.”

“And I’ll do the same.”

As she kissed the man who would become her husband, Elizabeth thought to herself how happy she was that she’d once been wicked.

Acknowledgments

Every writer needs her people. Alexis Anne, Alyssa Cole, Mary Chris Escobar, Alexandra Haughton, and Laura von Holt, thank you for being mine.

I couldn’t have wished for a better editor in Marla Daniels. Her gentle nudges here and there made this book—and me as a writer—more than I could have imagined.

Emily Sylvan Kim, my wonderful agent, plucked me out of her query inbox and promised me everything was going to work out. Thank you so many times over.

Female friendship is a powerful thing, and I’m lucky enough to have Katherine, Christy, Jackie, Sonia, Allison, and Jenn in my life. Ben, Sean, Bryan, and Mat are pretty great too.

And finally, thank you to Mum, Dad, Justine, and Mark, who have been listening to me talk about this book for what I’m sure feels like years. I love you all.

Keep reading for a sneak peek at Mary’s story, the next installment in Julia Kelly’s Governess series

The Governess Was Wanton

Coming Fall 2016 from Pocket Star Books!

Chapter One

London 1857

Mary Woodward sat in the middle of what she could only assume was just one of No. 12 Belgrave Square’s impressive drawing rooms, awaiting her fate. She wasn’t anxious—she’d never admit to being flustered—but she was beginning to think that taking a new position as governess to the Earl of Asten’s daughter sight unseen might have been a grave mistake indeed, for both the earl and his daughter seemed to have forgotten her very existence.

Just a month before, she’d watched Lady Caroline, daughter of the Viscount and Viscountess Eyling, walk down the aisle at St. Paul’s Knightsbridge and out of her life. She’d told the family she intended to leave her position as soon as the engagement had been announced, cutting short any awkward explanations of how the soon-to-be-married Lady Caroline would no longer need the services of a governess. Then Mary had packed her bags and decamped to the home of her dear friend Elizabeth and her new husband Dr. Edward Fellows with little more than a second thought. She was already on the hunt for a new position.

A few carefully worded letters to her former charges spread the word around London’s elite that she was once again available. The initial flood of responses was of little interest to her. Then, ten days ago, a letter written in a man’s strong, slashing script had come in the morning post. The Lord Asten wanted her to educate his daughter, Lady Eleanora, a young woman of seventeen who had just been presented to the queen.

“I know, as surely every parent in London does, of your reputation for educating young ladies not entirely at ease in society,” Lord Asten had written. “In the past year, my daughter has become rather retiring, and I hope your guidance may help restore her natural vivacity as she navigates her first season and secures a suitable match. Eleanora has not been herself for some months, and I worry for her happiness.”

Something about the earl’s letter gave her pause. It was polite, but the faintest hint of a father’s frustration came through the lines. It was so contrary to the man she’d read about in the papers. Lord Asten was known for his political prowess in the House of Lords, and everyone who had the good sense to study their
Debrett’s
surely knew of his reputation as steadfast and moral—a rare combination among the peerage. This wasn’t the sort of man who ever needed to ask for help, because he never seemed to have problems in the first place.

More intrigued than was perhaps prudent, Mary had written back and accepted the position that day.

Now, fifteen minutes past their appointed time, she was still waiting for the earl and his daughter to appear in their own drawing room. It did not bode well for her future in the house.

Never one to let boredom conquer her, Mary began a slow circle around the room, taking in the casual display of wealth that typified each of the seven homes she’d worked in during the last fourteen years. In some ways, however, this house was different. A Chinese vase here, a carved Spanish chest there—the room she stood in was jammed with all manner of eclectic things. It was a home built for comfort rather than for posturing elegance.

She passed by a sizable pianoforte that sat open and ready between two high windows. Her fingers trailed over the ivory keys, playing C, D, E, but before she could strike a chord a large portrait of a young, raven-haired woman caught her eye. A collar of emeralds set in halos of diamonds circled the beautiful woman’s throat. Those, she reasoned, must be the famous Asten emeralds, and that must be the earl’s late wife.

She moved to examine the portrait more closely when a young woman’s shout came from behind the drawing room’s closed door.

“I don’t
want
another governess!”

“Oh no,” she murmured.

“Miss Woodward is one of the best governesses in London. She comes highly recommended,” said a man—presumably Lord Asten—in a muffled baritone.

She appreciated the earl’s vote of support, but shouting matches in the hallway didn’t exactly instill confidence.

“All I want is to be left alone,” said the girl as a dog close by started to yip. “Why can’t you just let me be?”

“Lady Laughlin says—”

“Why do you always take her side, Papa?” cried the girl.

Mary moved as close to the door as she could without pressing her ear against it—although eavesdropping would have been more effective with the aid of a water glass.

“Eleanora,” said her father in a warning tone.

“Why can’t it just be you and me?” the girl asked, her voice so soft that Mary could hardly hear her over the dog’s whimpering. “Why does Lady Laughlin
always
have to be around?”

“Enough of this,” Lord Asten said. “We’ll go in and meet Miss Woodward together, and then you’ll ready yourself for the opera tonight. We are due at Lady Laughlin’s at six thirty, and I expect you to treat her and her daughters with respect.”

“Papa—”

“Enough, Eleanora.”

The conversation was finished, but the dull thump of feet pounding against thick carpet and the jangle of a dog’s collar told Mary that Lady Eleanora had gotten the last word by running off. A little smile touched her lips. She couldn’t help liking the girl for that.

As quickly and quietly as she could, Mary hurried over to a tasteful if not somewhat overstuffed gold and cream sofa. She was just rearranging her skirts when the doorknob turned. She looked up and her heart jumped straight to the top of her throat.

The man filling the doorway wasn’t just handsome. He was devastating.

Lord Asten could no doubt bring a woman to her knees with a mere look. He had a square jaw, razor-sharp cheekbones, and a pair of piercing green eyes that signaled an intelligent mind. His nose canted slightly to the right—not from a break but from a quirk of nature—but this strange little flaw only added interest to his serious yet open expression.

Yet that was not the most interesting part of him, Mary thought, before she could stop herself. That would be his wide mouth that, even pressed into a hard line, tempted her. She wanted to run her thumb over his bottom lip before slipping the finger between his lips to brand her with his own taste. She wanted to kiss him hard, letting his tongue slide over hers.

Don’t you dare,
she thought sternly. Desiring one’s employer was never allowed. Ever.

She was a governess. That was first and foremost, and she mustn’t forget it. Not quite a servant, but certainly not a lady any longer, Mary relied upon teaching to survive. She’d seen firsthand the way one false step could cling to a woman’s reputation like sticky spring mud on a boot. She wouldn’t compromise her good name no matter how much she might want to know how the rasp of Lord Asten’s beard might feel against her cheek, her wrist, her thigh. . . .

“Miss Woodward,” Lord Asten said, mercifully breaking into her thoughts. “Thank you for coming.”

She rose and curtsied deep enough to show respect and shallow enough to let him know that she was not afraid of him. He might be devilishly handsome—and a peer to boot—but he’d kept her waiting.

“It’s my pleasure, Lord Asten. Although I fear that I may not have come at the most opportune time,” she said

He cast a glance back at the door. “I suppose you heard that.”

“All of it,” she said with a nod as she returned to her seat. “I had the luxury of time.”

The earl blinked as though a little taken aback by her thinly veiled critique of his negligence. “My apologies that you had to wait, Miss Woodward. I’d asked Warthing to arrange for tea to be delivered, as my meeting with my secretary went longer than expected.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, sir,” she said, knowing her gentle but pointed censure had done its job. “I take it that Lady Eleanora is not delighted at the news of my arrival?”

Lord Asten dropped into a chair that could’ve been dolls’ furniture the way his large, athletic frame filled it. “My daughter and I never used to fight, but now it seems that’s the only time I can get her to speak to me at all.”

“I gathered from your letter that Lady Eleanora has become somewhat unmanageable.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, rasping at whiskers that were already beginning to show. “Not unmanageable so much as unhappy and quiet. I see flashes of her carefree nature from time to time, but mostly she seems to have receded into herself, much as she did after her mother died when she was three. For a year she hardly spoke at all. When she finally began to engage with the world again, we grew rather close. Now I can’t get through to her.”

The drawing room door opened, and Mary looked on with approval as a maid wheeled in a cart laden with tea things. Not all of her former employers had thought highly enough of governesses to do something as simple as provide tea upon their first meeting. There was no end to the snobbery and slights that some people would lob at a gentlewoman forced to take a position. Despite their inauspicious beginnings, she took it as a good sign that Lord Asten had arranged for the same pleasantries he might provide a lady of quality. Also, his cook’s tea cakes looked excellent.

Lord Asten, however, shot a rather dubious look at the tea set. “I would have asked Eleanora to pour, but . . .”

Mary raised a brow. She imagined there weren’t many instances when the commanding earl felt off his footing, but pouring tea was out of his realm.

“It’s such beautiful china. Might I be so bold as to ask for the privilege of pouring?” she asked.

The man sat back, looking quite relieved. “Please.”

As she busied herself with the strainer and teapot, she said casually, “Sometimes I’ve seen that large changes can unsettle a young lady and bring out elements of her personality that weren’t so evident before. Your letter said that it started a year ago?”

The earl worried the chain of his pocket watch as he sat back to think. “Really eight months ago, but it’s gotten worse in the last three.”

“Milk?” she asked, her hand hovering over the delicate handle of the china jug.

“Please. No sugar.”

She poured the milk and handed him the cup edged with a wreath of bluebells. Their fingers brushed and a jolt of awareness shot through her. She snatched back her hand, lips parted in surprise. Lord Asten simply stared into his teacup, lost in his thoughts. There was nothing there. She was just overexcited by the prospect of a new position—messy as this one might seem.

“What altered during that time?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

She pursed her lips as she set about fixing her own cup. If the man believed that, he was deluding himself. Gently raised daughters didn’t just burst into rows for no reason when visitors were in the house. Something prompted that change.

“Perhaps it is something more mundane,” she said, pushing him a little more.

He took a sip of tea and then set the cup down on the table next to him. “Other than her presentation at court last month, the only thing I can think of is that one of my late wife’s friends returned from the Continent after her husband died and began to call again.”

This must be the Lady Laughlin that Lady Eleanora had shouted about in the hallway.

“When Lady Laughlin returned, it seemed natural that we should rekindle our acquaintance,” he said. “She has two daughters who have already been through the season with an aunt of theirs. Eleanora has some friends of her own, but they’re also just in their first seasons. I’d hoped that Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia would help guide her.”

Mary chewed the inside of her lip and weighed the intelligence of asking a very personal, possibly delicate, question. Finally deciding that between his lateness and the awkwardness of the fight, there was little else that could go wrong with this first meeting, she asked, “When did it become clear that Lady Laughlin wishes to become your countess?”

The man sputtered his tea. “I
beg
your pardon?”

It probably would’ve been better if she’d just kept her mouth shut, but she’d never been one to walk by when there was a sleeping bear she could poke.

“You’ll have to excuse me for being so forward, Lord Asten, but as your daughter is already a month into her season, I don’t have much time for pleasantries. If Lady Eleanora suddenly became unlike herself around the time that Lady Laughlin began visiting once again and she—if my memory of your row serves—does not enjoy being around the lady, I can only conclude that your daughter sees Lady Laughlin as a threat.”

“A threat?”

“For your affection, yes. That’s why I assumed Lady Laughlin sees herself filling the role of your next countess. It’s really the most logical explanation.”

The earl looked shocked, as though he couldn’t decide whether to shake her or to throw her out of the house. Surreptitiously, she crossed her arms and slipped a finger into her cuff where, folded into a little square, was her talisman—a handkerchief embroidered by her onetime governess, Mrs. Cooper. It was one of only a dozen, each numbering among her most prized possessions. It was silly that a thirty-two-year-old woman still needed the reassurance of a good-luck charm, but knowing it was there comforted her nonetheless.

Finally the earl began to laugh. “Do you know, there are members of the prime minister’s cabinet who could take lessons in fearlessness from you?”

“A piece of cake?” she inquired as she gestured to the confection-laden tray.

The earl shook his head.

“I would never call myself fearless,” she said as she helped herself to a slice.

“Don’t be modest. It’s an admirable quality, Miss Woodward.”

She glanced up to find Lord Asten watching her. Just the sensation of his eyes on her felt good. Mary gripped the cake plate harder, grasping for reason and common sense like a shipwrecked woman clinging to driftwood. Nothing good would come of hoping that the earl would vault the tea cart, haul her up into his arms, and kiss her senseless. Imagining the press of his body and his hot lips working over her and the feel of his hands in her hair as the pins that kept it tamed scattered to the floor—

What are you doing?

She slammed the lid on the Pandora’s box that held her unmanageable desire. This was insanity.