The Unconventional Governess

What did she know of teaching? Nothing, which was why it was best to find a position with a sweet, biddable child.

“In that case, bring me Jacks and ready my carriage for departure,” he said in a voice that resonated with an irritating earl-like authority. He was a man obviously used to being obeyed.

“You are not going anywhere.” Annoyed by the determination on her patient’s face, she gave him a stern look. “There is no telling what internal damage you may have suffered. To get up, to be active, could worsen your condition.”

The man scowled at her. And it was a dark scowl indeed, on such a handsome face. She crossed her arms and sent the apothecary a pointed look. “Do you not agree?”

“I do agree.” He stroked his chin. “Are you sure we should not bleed him? His humors are visibly imbalanced. His coloring, for example.”

“We will not be using leeches. My uncle, Mr. William Gordon, says they are ineffective, and that conclusion is based on years of observation and experience.”

“A fine physician. I’ve seen his works in various medical journals.” The apothecary dipped his head. “No leeches, then.”

Grunting, their patient pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She examined his physique for any other weaknesses, any inordinarities. Pain whitened his lips, but did not soften the stubborn jut of his well-defined jaw. He was a larger and broader man than Henrietta had realized. When he’d been lying down, it had been easy to forget his size. Her own stature had often been called average, as had most everything about her besides her intelligence.

“I’ve business to attend while you are wasting time discussing bloodsuckers and the humored color of my skin. Send for my valet. Instruct him as to my needs.”

A rustling of skirts and a perfumed puff of scent announced Lady Brandewyne’s arrival. She entered the room, forcing Henrietta to move toward the foot of the bed. Though comfortable, the room was hardly spacious, and with their medical tools set up, the space further shrunk.

“He’s awake! How unfortunate, how terrible that you were attacked by bandits on my property. Those roving groups of perfidious miscreants...but never mind. After all you’ve been through, and now this. We are all deeply sorry about your family’s loss.” She clucked her tongue. “How can I see to your comfort, my lord?”

He lifted a pointed look to Henrietta. “My valet, if you please.”

“But certainly.” The lady called for a servant. “What else?”

“Louise must be ready to go within the hour. It’s paramount I return to my northern estate.”

“Why, yes, yes, of course.” Lady Brandewyne cast a searching look to Henrietta, who felt tempted to shrug her shoulders and leave this beast to his wildness. This might be her last opportunity for nursing, however. If she had to find a post... The depressing thought weighed upon her.

“It is my opinion—” she gave St. Raven a steady look “—that the jostle of a carriage will be quite painful and his wounds might reopen. Keeping them clean will also be problematic. I cannot recommend he be moved.”

He looked about to retort when a commotion outside their room ensued.

“Oh, my.” Lady Brandewyne pressed a hand to her bosom and exited, followed by the doctor. Henrietta remained in the room, along with her lady’s maid—an extravagance she had insisted she did not need, but Lady Brandewyne would not hear otherwise.

St. Raven leaned back upon his pillow, weakness overcoming his pride. Foolish man. Of course a man who asked for a new cravat while half-conscious with pain would refer to going to his estate as paramount.

Henrietta pursed her lips, peering out the doorway. Downstairs a girl with thick raven hair and an obstinate expression wrestled with a servant. Behind them, Lady Brandewyne’s butler, housemaid and three other servants watched the tussle. Henrietta leaned forward, attempting to listen without leaving her patient. For all she knew, he was just waiting for an opportunity to sneak away.

Like Uncle William. How could he have done such a thing to her? All because she contracted rheumatic fever...such nonsense to fear for her life. Risks were always present, no matter where one lived. She’d much rather face death on a field with her uncle than waste away as a companion to a crotchety rich person or, worse, governess to a spoiled child.

“Eavesdropping?”

Henrietta’s attention flickered, but she did not turn toward that voice. And what a voice. Husky and laced with humor. His scowl earlier had seemed out of character. This man acted like a coddled prince, dressed like a dandy and spoke like a...well, she wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing: no patient of hers was going to be harmed due to willful ignorance.

“Yes,” she finally said, keeping her eyes trained on the situation below. “I cannot leave you here alone.”

“You have no regard for my station.”

He obviously wanted to converse. Sighing, she turned. He sat resolutely on the bed, his hands spread upon the mattress for balance. A curious smile played about his lips.

“Should I? You are an injured man. Your title and your wealth have little importance in a sick room.”

“Come now, Miss Gordon, do not be serious with me. Your brows are knit so tightly that I fear they shall remain forever stuck that way.”

“You are impudent.”

“I am bored and, most unfortunately, beset upon by many responsibilities not of my own making. It appears your word is more revered than the town doctor’s.” His eyes, that striking rich green, regarded her laughingly. “Release me. Give permission.”

The town apothecary was a nice man, but he had not updated his medical knowledge in years. It had not escaped her notice that he had seen rather than read her uncle’s articles. He was slightly better than a self-taught surgeon. Heat flushed through her, turning her palms sweaty. Lord St. Raven befuddled her.

Had she ever met such a charming personality? She could not recall, though, when one was dying on a battlefield, she doubted charm was of any importance.

But how very annoying to be almost swayed by this man’s smile, by his persistent eyes.

“No.” A high-pitched girl’s voice came from below stairs. “I insist on seeing him at once.” The shrill proclamation was followed by the patter of footsteps on the long, winding staircase that served as the centerpiece to Lady Brandewyne’s home.

Determined footsteps, Henrietta concluded. She put her back to the wall, bracing herself for the child about to burst into the room. Lord St. Raven regarded the entrance with interest, his arms propped on his knees.

The girl flew into the room. She was a wisp of a child and shot directly to the earl’s sickbed.

“Oh, Dom, how could you?” She threw herself against him, eliciting a pained grunt from the subject of her emotions. “First you leave me for months on end, and then you act the hero, taunting criminals until they chase you and leave you practically dead on the roadside, beaten to a bloody pulp by pernicious ruffians.”

Henrietta felt her eyebrows raising at this exclamation.

“I’d hardly call myself close to dead. Roughed up a bit, that’s all.”

“That is not what Jacks said.”

“Dear one, you’ve been listening in on adult conversations,” Lord St. Raven murmured, his hand patting the girl’s back, belying the censure in his tone.

“And I’ve had to deal with insipid servants all week. I declare, Dom, you are perfectly horrid to have left me by myself at St. Raven in the first place. You shall never leave me again.”

After that impassioned declaration, the child swiveled around and leveled a sharp look at Henrietta. She quickly smothered any existence of laughter.

“Who are you?” Eyes the same shade of emerald as the earl’s regarded her with distrust, but where his twinkled in immature mischief, hers were intensely serious.

A grudging admiration for her pluck rose within Henrietta. She inclined her head ever so slightly. “I am Miss Gordon.”

“You don’t look like a lady.”

“And you do not speak like one.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you to answer thus?” The imperious quality to her tone suggested an unfamiliarity with conflict from those she deemed less than her equals.

Henrietta squared her shoulders. This little girl did not bother her. After all, how many people had doubted her abilities as an adequate nurse? Men considered her silly and women accused her of misplaced priorities, going so far as to suggest she lacked femininity.

“My lord.” Lady Brandewyne came into the room, nursing a frown. “The girl refused to stay in the nurseries.”

“The girl has a name.” The child’s eyes blazed green fire.

Oh, the impertinence! These two were most certainly related.

For Lady Brandewyne’s part, she puffed up her chest, cheeks billowing with suppressed irritation. “What manner of child is this to speak so? Someone must take her in hand, at once.”

“Louise.” The earl placed his hand upon the bristling girl’s shoulder in a reproachful manner, but Henrietta did not miss the betraying quiver of his chin. She pressed her lips together to keep from uttering an ill-timed criticism. Or chuckle. “Go with Lady Brandewyne to the nursery, please.”

“The nursery? Why, I am practically upon my thirteenth year. The time for this nonsense has passed. You almost died. I cannot be apart from you any longer.”

At that, Louise’s eyes moistened and Henrietta felt a deep compassion overwhelm her. “Your father is quite healthy and should recover nicely as long as he rests these few days.”

She gave him another hug and then sailed past Henrietta with a toss of her head, in which the hair looked almost as unmanageable as the personality.

“Dom is not my father.”

* * *

Dominic sat back against the pillows, palming the sore place in his ribs and containing a wince. No need to let the dragon nurse in the man’s profession see his discomfort. How he loved Louise, but she’d exacerbated his pain in more than one way.

He could not let Barbara have her, but somehow he must find a way to be well again. To be a fit guardian.

“Are you in pain, my lord?” Miss Gordon edged near his bed while the doctor did something at the makeshift table they’d set up at the side of the room. “Can I offer you relief?”

“Now you’re solicitous,” he muttered. What an inconvenience this entire fiasco was. He’d been invited to several parties this week, but had sent his regrets. His past friends would never understand his illness. “When my valet has freshened up, send him to me.”

“I shall do so.” Her brisk tone left no doubt she would. That serious look on her face...did she ever laugh or make merry? He squinted up at her, scrunching his nose in such a way as to draw the lightest bit of humor to her dark eyes.

She did not smile, but an attractive blush stained her delicate skin. Almost too delicate, as though she’d been ill. He studied her more thoroughly as she turned to the doctor, murmuring in a low tone. Yes, her clothes hung a tad too loosely about her frame. They were not of the best quality, though certainly better than what a maid would wear.

He would know, as in the past he had made it his business to ensure his household was dressed to represent him. An illusion of perfection that, until the accident, he’d taken great joy in creating.

A groan caught up to him, gurgling inside. Louise. Whatever was he going to do with her? She absolutely hated his sister, Barbara. But could he really raise her when he had no idea of his future? If Barbara discovered his epilepsy, then he’d have a battle on his hands.

As though hearing the subject of his thoughts, Miss Gordon came back carrying a drink. “Who is the child?”

“What is this?” He took the cup, peering at the foul-smelling brew.

“Tea with a tincture of herbs to soothe the pain you’re in. The girl?”

The reiterated question was rude, yet Dominic found himself amused by her plain speaking. He sipped the tea, ignoring the wretched taste for the sake of his aching muscles.

“She is my niece,” he finally said, meeting Miss Gordon’s frank gaze. “Bequeathed to me last year when her parents died.”

“Bequeathed? What a terrible thing to say.”

“One more mark against me shall not make a difference. It is all adding up, is it not?”

“What is?”

“Your blatant disapproval. You do not know me, and yet you find fault.”

“Nonsense. I simply asked about the girl.” She had the grace to look away from him, as though acknowledging a slight deviance from the truth. “Your niece is—”

“A terror, I know.”

“Not at all.” She looked up then, a warmth to her eyes. “Her manners are lacking, but her absence of guile is appealing and she obviously holds a deep love for you. I can commiserate with her, as my own parents died when I was about her age.”

Dominic did not know what to say. Perhaps this explained the odd accent, the plainness of her clothes despite her regal bearing. “What happened?”

Her eyes flickered. “A fire. My father pulled me from the house. He went in for my mother. Uncle William took me in afterward. I assisted him in the medical field. I have traveled around the world with him and intend to continue to do so.” There was a shadow to her features, and her gaze lowered.

Neither of her parents had come out of that house.

The implication soured the air between them. A clench of empathy stirred within, and Dominic then experienced the most curious urge to know what she was thinking. He could not recall ever wondering such a thing about a woman. What made her different? Perhaps her obvious lack of artifice. The simplicity of her presentation combined with the gentility of her manners? Or perhaps it was such a simple thing as her refusal to fawn over him.

His ego could not recall such a neglect.

She cleared her throat. “Where is your niece’s governess?”

“She unexpectedly quit.”

“The governess gave you no warning? No time to hire someone new?”

“It all became too much for her, I suppose. I myself would never wish to teach children.”

“You never know what you must resort to in difficult situations, my lord.” Henrietta’s smile looked suddenly sad.

“That reminds me... I shall need to write her a letter of recommendation. Could you have writing utensils sent up to me?”

“You would reward a governess who has quite effectively left you in the lurch?”

“Why, no, dear Miss Gordon, but neither will I punish her. No doubt she is already fretting over her future. She will perhaps wonder what is to become of herself? A genteel woman of good family and no money, fallen on hard times. Who will take her on now that she has left her current situation? Without a letter of recommendation...suffice it to say, England is a harsh place for those caught between the servant class and the peerage.”

“You are very astute for one who wears such expensive clothing.”

“Another jab.” His lips quirked. “Miss Gordon, I think you should count yourself very fortunate that you are not in need of employment, for that sharp-edged tongue of yours could very well be your downfall.”

“Fiddle faddle,” she rejoined, but an odd expression had crossed her face.

“And what is the meaning of your distaste of the finer things?” he continued, enjoying her discomfiture. He thought she might deserve a bit of perturbation. “I enjoy silk cravats and well-made clothing, and there is nothing wrong with such enjoyment. You would begrudge me my clothes, but have me refuse to recommend my governess? Even knowing that Louise can be trying? You’re a hard woman, Miss Gordon.”

She searched his face, and so he kept his features blasé. Her inability to correctly discern his intentions showed upon her features. “Perhaps one must be strong to survive in this world.”

“Hardness will certainly deflect any arrows to that armor you’re wearing,” he said easily.

Behind them, the apothecary coughed. Or perhaps it was an ill-disguised laugh. Scowling, Henrietta set her shoulders. “I shall return this evening to check your dressings.”

“Please do,” he called out, chuckling at the stiff way she left the room.

At the very least, she would amuse him while he contemplated how to find Louise a governess while searching for a cure for his illness.

Chapter Three

What a positively bothersome man.

His outlandish comments followed Henrietta the rest of the day.

Tea with Lady Brandewyne that afternoon furthered her agitation. Only moments into the expected social tradition, and Lady Brandewyne reached into the pocket of her dress.

“A letter came for you today. From your uncle.” She held out a thick square, her eyes keen despite her advanced age. “I have news.”

“News,” Henrietta repeated, sounding just like her uncle’s pet parrot. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, rather like the jostling of organs when a ship took a sudden dip into boisterous waves.

“Would you prefer to read your letter first?” The lady sipped her tea, eyeing Henrietta expectantly over the rim of the cup.

Swallowing a smart retort, Henrietta opened the paper. Her shock increased with every line. Her fingers trembled as she read. Her heartbeat strummed to a near stop. Feeling very grim indeed, she set the letter to the side. “I suppose you know all about this?”

“It had been discussed.”

According to the letter, Uncle had left England without her. He had gone to Wales in order to instruct more students, but felt that Henrietta was in no shape to be traveling. He asked Lady Brandewyne to watch over Henrietta until he returned. He worried for her safety. He no longer believed a woman’s place should be assisting him at wartime, serving the poor souls of wounded soldiers. Henrietta’s battle with rheumatic fever had shown him that he wanted her safe in England, away from illness and the ravages of war. He did not believe her heart could sustain the exhaustion of working in the field again.

“Well?”

“He wants me to stay in England,” she said flatly. As she had expected, but to have it confirmed was more of a shock than she realized it would be.

“A wise decision. You are of marriageable age. The orphan daughter of an earl. Your plainness is not detracting, and your form is comely. We shall get you to London, spiff you up and find you a baron in no time. Perhaps even a viscount?”

“I have no dowry, nothing to bring to marriage but my bloodline. An engagement is out of the question.”

“A baronet, then.”

Henrietta squared her shoulders. Her life was with Uncle William, practicing medicine. He might not want her there, out of misplaced fear, but she would prove those fears to be unfounded. Time for her alternate plan.

“I shall search for a post until I have the money to join my uncle. Will you write a letter of recommendation?”

“Certainly, but I cannot approve such nonsense. This makes me quite unhappy, Henrietta.”

“Happiness is ephemeral. I have no doubt it shall return to you shortly. In the meantime, I will begin searching for a position somewhere.” She paused. “I would ask discretion from you on this matter. Please do not say anything to my uncle at this time.”

Lady Brandewyne’s hand went to her mouth. “You are not telling him?”

“I think it’s best to find the position first, and I do not wish to worry him.”

She nodded, but there was a worried glint in her eyes. “Secrets are unwise.”

“It is not a secret,” Henrietta assured her. “I would like to tell him myself, though.”

“Very well.”

Satisfied, Henrietta nodded. After tea, she immediately wrote two letters of inquiry to nearby neighbors whom Lady Brandewyne intimated were looking for governesses. She left them with the butler to be delivered later.

Knowing that Lord St. Raven was now without a governess offered a slight temptation. She disliked his effect on her nerves, yet she found herself reflecting on his unexpected kindness toward the governess who had left.

No doubt Louise would prove an apt pupil. Very bright and most likely challenging. And then they were both orphans. Oh, how she sympathized with the child. She did not want to teach her, though. It would require a great deal of stamina, patience and forethought. And time.

Then there was St. Raven... She did not want to be a governess in his household. Only the most severe of circumstances would change her mind. She prayed he healed quickly so that he could leave.

An uncharacteristic restlessness plagued her. Dinner was not to be ready for several hours, so she wandered into the gardens. Lady Brandewyne kept a well-stocked pond at the edge of the path. Succulent flowers hugged the stone walkway, growing in wild, colorful profusion. The path itself was neatly groomed, creating a relaxing walk for Henrietta. She had not been outdoors yet today, and the gentle breeze riding on muted sunlight that filtered through the leaves of ancient oaks soothed her thoughts.

They had been hard to ignore.

She supposed she could be a companion of sorts to Lady Brandewyne, but their dispositions were so very different that no doubt it would not be long before they came to a disagreement. Henrietta felt no inclination to hold her tongue, and though she’d had lessons in deportment and the requirements of polite society, when her parents died, everything changed.

She no longer had the patience required to be an English lady.

She had discovered that good manners were unnecessary when struggling to save a soldier from death’s embrace. One did not need to wear the proper style to nurse back to health a child ravaged by fever. While helping Uncle William in the Americas, she had grown used to making her own decisions and speaking her mind without the petty rules of etiquette she’d been raised to hold dear.

And now he’d left her to the clutches of a traditional Englishwoman bent on finding her a husband. How could he?

She sank down onto a pretty stone bench nestled beneath a poplar some distance from the pond. Butterflies danced in fluttering abandonment around her, blissfully unaware of the bitter disappointment that tainted their visitor’s respite. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes to pray in the personal way she’d discovered overseas.

Treating God as a kind and heavenly Father was not something she’d learned from her family. Rather, a soldier recovering from an amputated leg had introduced her to a new perspective of God. She’d found the discovered relationship with her creator healed a void even Uncle William could not fill.

There was still pain, though. The loss of her parents remained a bruise within, sometimes unnoticed, but always tender to the touch.

She prayed now for wisdom, for forgiveness, because she resented that Uncle William had left her. She prayed that God would open a way for her to join him. Provide the funding.

The earl had called her a hard woman. The comment resonated uncomfortably, and she pushed thoughts of him from her mind.

When she finished praying, she simply sat and breathed. It was a lovely day, to be sure. Too lovely to squander. Nearby, a twig cracked. Then another. Louise emerged on the far side of the path, from a small copse of flowering bushes. Leaves stuck out from her hair and dirt stains smeared the front of her dress.

“Good afternoon,” Henrietta said.

“What were you doing with your eyes closed?”

“I was praying.”

“I don’t pray anymore.” Louise plopped beside Henrietta without any consideration of space. Her dress brushed against Henrietta’s hand. “Did you know that when my parents’ carriage crashed, Father was decapitated?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I plan to visit the place where they died. I overheard the servants saying it was a gruesome sight.” The girl stared wide-eyed at Henrietta, perhaps waiting for her to faint from a fit of the oh-so-feminine vapors.

Henrietta had never been afflicted by such a malady.