From Governess To Society Bride

‘I have a proposition to put to you, Lord Stainton, that may benefit both of us.’

‘Mrs Brody, the last time you had a proposition to put to me it was to apply for the position of nursemaid to my children. What is it this time?’

‘Well—I—I would like to ask you—in all humility—to marry me.’

‘What?’ He was incredulous. The startling pale blue eyes swept over her face. ‘Mrs Brody, I think you must have taken leave of your senses.’

Eve straightened up and walked towards him. ‘Please have the good sense to take me seriously.’

‘I do,’ he ground out, angry now, and insulted. ‘And the answer is no.’ It was an instant response. Unconsidered. Automatic.

Eve met his eyes. This man was sharp, intelligent, and he was observant. ‘The marriage would merely be a business arrangement. You need someone to look after your children and financing. I need a home for myself and my daughter. It will be a marriage in name only—an affair of convenience.’

Lucas gazed at her unblinkingly—a sudden interest seemed to appear in his eyes, and then it was gone.

Helen Dickson was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her husband, on a busy arable farm, where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE PIRATE’S DAUGHTER

BELHAVEN BRIDE

THE EARL AND THE PICKPOCKET

HIS REBEL BRIDE

THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE

ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS

A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE

WICKED PLEASURES

(part of Christmas By Candlelight)

FORBIDDEN LORD

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

Helen Dickson

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

1820

The young woman paused to look around. It was early morning and most people were still abed. There was not a sound in this great London park, shrouded in the kind of thick fog the city was famous for. It was as if she were alone in the world. This was the time of day she loved best.

But then, somewhere in the distance, she could hear the pounding of a horse’s hooves. She could almost feel the ground tremble beneath her feet. She resented the sound, that anyone should disturb her solitude. Turning full circle, she strained her eyes, listening to the thundering crash coming ever closer, when suddenly a sharp shout rent the air and a huge black shape of a horse and rider descended on her.

She cried out for him to stop and threw herself to one side, landing on the grass in a tumbled heap. The rider jerked at the reins and the beast reared, its hooves flashing like quicksilver, its coat glistening as the muscles beneath it rolled and heaved. Flared nostrils and blazing eyes gave him the look of a demented dragon. It missed her by mere inches.

The woman saw the man as if through a long tunnel. A small cry came from her throat as she saw the black apparition swing himself from his mount in one quick, effortless bound. With his cloak flying wide behind him he resembled a huge bat swooping down toward her. Seized by terror, she scrambled to her feet; brushing down her skirts she glared at him, her heart pounding fit to burst.

‘You damned fool,’ he roared. ‘What the hell are you doing on the track? I could have killed you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she retorted sharply, setting to rights her bonnet, which had been knocked sideways, and trying to smooth away the mixture of terror and anger that had taken hold of her. He was so tall she was forced to look up at him, and she found herself confronting pale, snapping eyes. Black hair accentuated lean cheekbones and a resolute jaw, and his mouth was compressed into a stern arrogant line.

‘If you had been any closer you could have been trampled to death. Is there no room in that brainless skull of yours for common sense?’

‘Why, how dare you?’ She was incensed, her face pink with indignation. ‘And will you please not wave your crop about like that as if you were going to thrash me.’

The stranger slapped the offending weapon to his side without relinquishing her eyes. ‘I am sorely tempted. Don’t you know not to walk on the track? It’s for horses, not ladies to stroll on.’

She raised her chin belligerently. ‘I do know that, but I didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to be out riding with the fog as bad as this. And I was only following the track so that I wouldn’t become lost.’

‘Which is a dangerous thing to do at the best of times.’ Abruptly the man interrupted his tirade to say with a touch of concern as a thought occurred to him, ‘Are you hurt?’

She glowered at him accusingly, her face showing no sign of softening. ‘No—no thanks to you. If you had been riding with more care and attention, this would never have happened—or perhaps your horse got the better of you and you haven’t taught it who is master.’

‘I assure you he knows who is his master.’ He looked at her closely, seeing a gloriously attractive young woman whose whole manner spoke of fearlessness, of her need to let him see that she was afraid of no one, and certainly not of him. Even if she had not jumped out of the way as she had done, he would not have run her down. He was too good a horseman for that, but it had been a close shave. He smiled lazily. ‘What a firebrand you are. Are you sure you stumbled and didn’t just swoon at the sight of me and my horse?’

His hollow chuckle held a note of mockery. A flush of anger spread to the delicate tips of the woman’s ears and icy fire smouldered in her deep blue eyes. ‘Why, you conceited, unmitigated cad. You are arrogant if you believe I would ever swoon at your feet. Thank God I’m not afflicted by such weakness.’ She stepped away from him, finding his closeness and the way he towered over her a little intimidating. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

Not yet ready to be dismissed, he touched her arm to delay her. ‘At least let me escort you to your home.’

Her chilled contempt met him face to face. She slapped his hand away. ‘Do not touch me. I am quite capable of taking myself home. Go away and take that vicious beast with you,’ she snapped, glancing irately at the black stallion that had begun to snort and stamp impatiently, its vigorous temperament reminding her so very much of its master.

‘Aren’t you taking a risk? You might be set upon by footpads or worse. Anything could happen to a young woman walking alone at this hour.’

‘It just did, and I’m of the opinion that I’m in less danger of being set upon by footpads than I am from you. At least they may have better manners.’ Turning her back on him, with her head held high she began to stalk away.

He sighed in feigned disappointment, slowly shaking his head. ‘Such ingratitude.’

She spun round. ‘Ingratitude?’ she gasped. ‘You call me ungrateful? You almost trample me to death and I am supposed to be grateful?’

His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Have it your way.’ He set his tall hat securely on his head and swung himself back in the saddle on his prancing beast. ‘Good day to you.’

He kicked his horse into motion. His laughter drifted back to her, his mockery infuriating her yet further. She stamped her foot and glared after him, muttering all kinds of threats under her breath. She had never met a man who had irritated her as he had just done and it chafed her sorely to consider his flawless success.

It was a glorious spring day. The sun had risen out of a broad expanse of opal mist, and scraps of cloud floated like spun gauze in the sky. Ash and sycamore, cherry and lilac trees were bursting into full flower, and trumpet-headed daffodils and clusters of primroses filled beds and borders. The air had a trace of freshness in it, a breeze blowing across Hyde Park from the river beyond. The park was quiet, save for a skylark singing high above and a few people taking an early morning constitutional, including a young woman walking aimlessly along the paths with two small girls trailing behind her.

Seated on a bench watching her five-year-old daughter, Estelle, running happily between the flower beds pursued by Jasper, a Labrador pup that was a recent addition to the Seagrove household, Eve sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. Why did she feel so despondent? What was the matter with her? Why did her life seem to be so limited? She had her health. She had a good friend in Beth Seagrove. She was not unattractive and, thanks to her dear deceased father, eventually she would have more money than she would know what to do with. She was reasonably clever and had a broad base of interests. Everyone was always telling her how lucky she was to have Estelle, whom she adored. That should really be enough for anyone—but it wasn’t. There had to be more that she could do with her life, something else to absorb her time and energies.

Tonight she was to attend a private party at Lady Ellesmere’s house in Curzon Street. These affairs where most of the faces were familiar were more to her taste than the more established venues, and she really did enjoy attending them with Beth and her husband. However, Eve was determined to find something to do to earn her keep until her father’s money was made available to her and she could look for somewhere else to live.

Turning her head, she looked at the young woman with the children. She was perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her clothes were of good quality, but plain grey and unadorned—the same clothes a nursemaid would wear. Her face was pale and dark rings circled her eyes—she really didn’t look at all well. She was seated on the bench adjacent to Eve’s and her head was lowered on to her chest. Her shaking shoulders indicated that she was weeping very quietly.

The two little girls, her young charges, stood in front of her and stared at her. Their faces showed confusion and they were clearly anxious and frightened. The youngest child picked up on her mood and started to cry and shrank into the girl next to her.

‘Don’t cry, Sarah,’ the eldest girl said to the woman on the bench. ‘It will be all right.’

Her words seemed to calm the young woman, not because she was able to believe them but because of the sweet unselfishness of the child uttering them. Raising her head, she smiled at the child but her shoulders remained drooped in dejection.

Eve stood up. Fishing a handkerchief out of her pocket, she went to the unhappy trio. ‘Can I be of help?’ she asked, directing the question at the woman while bending down and smiling at the weeping child. ‘Here, let me wipe your face.’ Gently she dabbed at the tears of the child, who was looking up at her with solemn light blue eyes that reminded her of a wounded puppy. ‘What are your names?’ she asked.

‘I am Sophie,’ the older girl replied politely, ‘and this is my sister Abigail. Abigail is three, nearly four, and I’m five.’

‘Is that so? Well, I’m pleased to meet you both,’ Eve said, thinking what pretty children they were. Both had heart-shaped faces and glossy dark brown curls and were dressed in identical blue dresses. Looking towards where Estelle was playing, Eve waved her over. ‘Estelle, while I sit and talk to…?’ She looked enquiringly at the young woman.

‘Sarah, Sarah Lacy,’ she provided quietly.

‘While I talk to Miss Lacy, why don’t you take Sophie and Abigail to play with Jasper—would you like that?’ she asked the two little girls. They nodded, looking shyly at Estelle, but not moving until Sarah had given them her permission.

‘It’s all right, children. You can go. I can see you from here.’

Typical of Estelle, who was accustomed to playing with Beth’s two boisterous boys, she held out her hand to Abigail, and the three of them chased over the grass after a staggering Jasper, who stopped suddenly and sat down in a heap of tumbled legs.

Smiling, Eve sat next to the young woman. The poor girl was obviously not well. Her skin was pale and her soft grey eyes had a wild, almost desperate look about them.

‘I hope you didn’t mind me suggesting that your charges play with my daughter. The puppy is quite harmless.’ The young woman shook her head. ‘My name is Eve Brody, by the way.’

‘No, I don’t mind. I’m their nursemaid. It’s good for them to be with other children. They so rarely are, poor mites.’ Lowering her head, she stifled a sob. ‘I’m sorry…’ she began, then broke off miserably.

‘It’s all right, Sarah,’ Eve said, moving closer to her. ‘Are you ill?’

Unable to meet the kind stranger’s eyes, Sarah looked down at her fingers twisting her handkerchief in her lap. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache, that’s all,’ she answered shyly.

‘Have you seen a doctor? Perhaps he can give you something that will help to make you feel better.’

Sarah shook her head and sniffed. ‘I’ll be all right. I feel better than I did.’

‘Then why are you crying? You look quite distraught.’

‘To tell you the truth, miss, I’ve been at my wits’ end these past weeks. I don’t know what to do. Really I don’t.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Mark, my young man, lives and works as head groomsman at a big house in Surrey. He’s asked me to marry him, but it would mean leaving my job—and the children.’

‘What’s so terrible about that? Surely there is someone else to care for them—their mother?’

‘They have no mother. My master, Lord Stainton, the children’s father, is in the middle of closing down the house, which is why I’m out with them so early—to get them away from the upheaval. Workmen are all over the place and his lordship isn’t in the best of tempers. Apart from myself and the housekeeper, most of the servants have been dismissed, and very soon we are to move to Lord Stainton’s country estate in Oxfordshire. I haven’t told Mark yet and I’m dreading it. He doesn’t understand, you see, the bond I have with the children.’

‘If your position means so much to you, then why doesn’t your young man go with you?’

‘Lord Stainton can’t afford to take on more staff. His lordship’s affairs really are in quite a bad way, which is why he has to sell his London house.’

‘Even so, his problem is not yours, Sarah. Lord Stainton must find someone else to look after his children. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m sure there are lots of young ladies with the right credentials who would jump at the chance.’

‘I know—but there has been so much heartache in their young lives that I hate the thought of deserting them. They’ve been in my charge since Abigail was a year old. I can’t bear to leave them. It will break my heart—and theirs—but I know I must.’

‘Your concern is commendable, Sarah, but you do have to think of yourself.’

Estelle’s laughter came to them from across the grass. Eve’s eyes were drawn towards the sound, seeing her daughter rolling on the grass with Jasper on top of her licking her face, while Sophie and Abigail looked on, reticent to join in, but smiling none the less. Concerned, she fixed her attention on the young woman by her side.

‘You really do look quite poorly. Perhaps you should go home and lie down for a while,’ Eve suggested.

Sarah shook her head. ‘That’s impossible, although I really should be getting back.’ She stood up, putting one hand to her head and the other grasping the back of the bench as she swayed slightly. ‘Oh, dear. I do feel quite dizzy.’

Standing up, Eve took her arm. ‘Come, I’ll walk back with you. I can’t let you go by yourself.’

‘Oh, no. You’ve been very kind, but I’ve imposed on your time long enough.’

‘I insist. Besides, I have nothing better to do. Where do you live?’

‘Not too far away, just across the park in Upper Brook Street.’

‘Then it is not far from Berkeley Street, which is where I live. Come, children,’ Eve called. ‘Estelle, you must carry Jasper.’ She smiled as she watched her daughter bend down and pick a wriggling Jasper up off the grass and tuck him beneath her arm.

Stainton House was certainly in a state of upheaval. Workmen swarmed about all over the place and furniture was being either covered with dustsheets or loaded on to wagons in the street. Holding the children’s hands, Eve and Sarah went inside. The size of the house surprised and impressed Eve. With its white-and-gold décor, she could well imagine how elegant it must have looked before the workforce moved in.

Eve was about to say her farewells to Sarah and the children when Jasper broke free of his captor and landed on the floor. Excited by the new environment and noise, the little dog bounded yelping loudly up the broad sweep of the staircase rising gracefully from the centre of the hall.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah said, having recovered a little from her earlier discomfort. ‘I’ll go after him.’

The three children went and sat halfway up the stairs, watching the workmen with rapt expressions on their faces. Eve stepped aside to let two men pass carrying a gold-and-green striped sofa in the direction of the street, and turned when a voice barked out, ‘Bloody hell, man, be careful! That portrait is worth a small fortune. Any damage and the buyer will refuse to take it.’

Eve strode over to the owner of the remark—a jacket-less, dark, forbidding figure, his grey breeches moulding his muscular legs and thighs, his white shirt open at his tanned throat, and his hair as black as a panther’s pelt. Her face was a mask of indignation.

‘Do you have to swear in front of the children?’ she remarked haughtily. She saw his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice and when he spun round and his eyes sliced over her, she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control. The man had ramrod posture and an aura of exacting competence, and Eve almost collapsed when she saw his face—it was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture and he was looking at her as if she were a mad woman who had invaded his domain.

She also recognised him as being the man whose horse had almost trampled her to death the day before.

‘I’ll swear when I like in my own house…’ Suddenly he froze and his eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, it’s you—’

‘Unfortunately that is so. And do you have to shout? My hearing is perfectly sound and you’re frightening the children.’

‘Children? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m their father.’

‘Precisely, and for that reason alone you should have more control over your temper,’ Eve snapped, having recovered from the shock of meeting the rude and thoroughly obnoxious gentleman for a second time.

Lord Stainton turned his dagger gaze on the terrified servants, who had ceased what they were doing and stood frozen to the spot, their eyes agape. ‘Who the hell let this emotional woman into my house without consulting me first?’

‘I am not an emotional woman and, as I have already told you, I am not deaf, so kindly lower your tone.’ Turning on her heel, she strode to the stairs to collect Estelle.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he thundered, striding after her irate figure with the silent sureness of a wolf, stopping in his tracks when he saw three apprehensive young faces peering down at him from the stairs instead of the usual two. Placing his fists on his hips, he glowered from the extra child to the angry young woman. ‘Miss Lacy,’ he shouted. When Miss Lacy failed to appear, he cursed softly and pinned Eve with his gaze. ‘Where has that child come from,’ he demanded, pointing a long narrow finger at the offending child, ‘and what the hell is she doing in my house, today of all days?’

Eve’s eyes flew to the children while still feeling concern for Sarah. After all, it was the purpose for which she had walked into the lion’s den just minutes before.

‘The child you are referring to is my daughter.’

‘Then do you mind removing her from my house and yourself along with her? As you can see—’

‘You are moving out,’ Eve snapped.

‘Do you always make a habit of stating the obvious, Miss…?’

‘Mrs—Brody, and, yes, I do,’ she said, her eyes flashing as cold fury drained her face of colour and added a steely edge to her voice.

He returned her gaze steadily, studying her as though she were some strange creature he had just uncovered in his home. He had already noted her slight American intonation; her Scottish name was another fact that intrigued a rather bemused Lord Stainton. There was a moment of silence in which he tried to calm himself.

At thirty-two years of age, six feet four inches tall and with amazingly arresting eyes he was a strikingly handsome man. Rugged strength was carved into every feature of his bronzed face, from his straight dark brows and nose, his firm and sensually moulded lips, to the square, arrogant jut of his chin. Just now he was also formidable as he glared at the young woman who stood before him on his black-and-white marble floor. Every line of his face was set with disapproval.

‘Have you had an edifying look at me, Lord Stainton—I assume that is who you are?’

‘You are correct in your assumption, Mrs Brody.’

‘You are also the most ill-mannered, arrogant, inconsiderate man I have ever encountered,’ she upbraided him coldly.

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. ‘I dare say I am all you accuse me of. It goes with the title.’

Eve was in no mood to be mocked, and she could see by the gleam in his eyes he was doing exactly that. ‘Then with you as an example, I can only hope you are the last titled Englishman I shall ever meet. Yesterday I fervently hoped and prayed I would never have the misfortune to set eyes on you again. Nothing has changed. Such an outward display of temperamental frustration is regarded as a sign of bad breeding where I come from.’

Ramming his fists into his waist, leaning forward, he stared at her in blank fury. ‘Really! You really are the most infuriatingly outspoken woman I have ever met. How dare you come into my house and say these things to me—things you know nothing about.’

‘Oh, I dare say a lot of things to a man who scares his children half to death and terrifies each and every one of his servants so they creep about in fear of you. The whole house vibrates with a tension that springs from you, Lord Stainton. It’s a wonder you have any servants at all to order about. By the look on your face I would wager I’ve hit a sore spot. Please don’t disappoint me by holding your temper. I would hate to see you explode with the effort.’

‘Believe me, Mrs Brody, you would not want to see me explode. I have a temper, I admit it, a violent one when I am driven to it. And how I raise my children and choose to live concerns only myself.’

Eve had made her point with an icy calmness. Lord Stainton was so taken aback by her outburst and her forthright way of speaking that his superiority evaporated as he stared at the attractive young woman whose fury turned her dark blue eyes beneath gracefully winged dark brows to violet. Framed by a heavy mass of auburn hair arranged neatly beneath her bonnet, her face was striking, with creamy, glowing skin, high cheekbones, and a small round chin with a tiny, intriguing cleft in the centre. Her nose was straight, her mouth soft and generously wide. His gaze moved over her slender body with a familiarity that brought a rush of colour to her cheeks.