The Governess Was Wanton Page 2

  Except he couldn’t. Asten knew that there were men all over London who took advantage of their elevated rank to exploit situations just like this. From a young age he’d watched the glacial ice grow between his father and his mother as housemaid after housemaid was dismissed without a reference. But while his mother’s jewelry box had grown fuller, her disapproval of her husband had as well. Then, just before he’d been sent off to Eton, he’d found his mother crying in her sitting room. It had shocked him in his childish naivety. She was such a strong, stiff-lipped woman he’d never even thought that she might be affected by her husband’s infidelity. Instead, she’d just become skilled at hiding her distress.

  When Asten became the fourth Earl of Asten just months after his unhappy mother’s death, he vowed he’d never touch a woman in his employ. That meant that Miss Woodward was absolutely, unconditionally not for him.

  He tried to keep that at the front of his mind as he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “I’ve asked Warthing to prepare a room for you. Perhaps you’d like to see the schoolroom before you arrange for your things to be brought around?”

  “Very much,” said Miss Woodward.

  “If you’ll follow me.”

  She didn’t move when he stood. “You’re going to show me?”

  It pleased him more than it should that he’d surprised her. “I’m as able as Warthing, although if you’d prefer he do it I can certainly arrange that.”

  This time she rose, smoothing out the creases in her unadorned blue skirts. “Not at all.”

  “You’ll find this a rather informal house when only my daughter and I are at home,” he said as he led her out into the corridor. “I spend much of my time at Westminster when Parliament is in session. That’s quite enough pomp for me.”

  He probably should also mention that he spent much of his time at home in just his shirt and waistcoat, but there was no need to shock Miss Woodward unduly this early.

  She followed him silently as they climbed the stairs to the third floor and he showed her through to the schoolroom. He’d ordered it redone when Eleanora was born and now it was bright and cheery—a complete change from the dark, dreary nursery he’d been raised in.

  “A very pleasant space,” she said, admiring neat rows of books sitting on their shelves.

  “These were the books Miss Fairhart felt were appropriate for Eleanora’s education. Of course, my library is open to both you and my daughter if you find the collection lacking.”

  Miss Woodward reached out and ran her fingers over the spines of volumes by Bewick and Ruskin. “Is Lady Eleanora a great reader?”

  “She enjoys a good book, but her real passion is the harp.”

  Miss Woodward’s eyes twinkled a little bit and he felt an irrational amount of pleasure that he’d pleased her. “Is that right?”

  “I think you’ll find that she’d rather play for you than conjugate French verbs.”

  She laughed. “Even so, I’ll find a way to make sure that her French sparkles.”

  “I’m sure she’s in very capable hands, although I do ask that after luncheon you bring Eleanora to my study when I’m home. I’ve taken it upon myself to educate her in certain subjects,” he said.

  “And those would be?”

  “Latin, Greek, mathematics, and botany,” he said. “The latter is of particular interest to me, and I’m lucky she indulges me.”

  He watched her pull a volume of Dickens off the shelf and leaf through it. “Most fathers don’t encourage a girl’s education, especially not in the subjects traditionally taught to boys.”

  “Eleanora has more than enough aptitude to handle a classical education,” he said with more than a little pride in his voice.

  “That’s most encouraging.” Miss Woodward snapped the book shut. “And my own room is through here?”

  He nodded and tried his best to keep his eyes off the sway of her hips as she passed, but her full skirt drew his attention. A powerful urge to see her spread out over the clean, crisp sheets he’d ordered be put on her bed gripped him. His fingers twitched to trace over the smooth swell of her breasts and down the softness of her stomach to where her hips flared out. He ached to taste her, feel her, be inside her. She would be magnificent, he had no doubt.

  It was only when he realized he was playing with the chain of his pocket watch—an annoying habit he’d been trying to break for years—that he snapped back to reality. Miss Woodward was in his employ. He wouldn’t touch her. He couldn’t.

  “Please excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat. “I have an appointment. I’ll send Warthing to make arrangements to retrieve your things.”

  And without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room before he did any of the things he’d promised himself he never would.

  Chapter Two

  Mary’s first night in Asten House was a quiet one. Warthing had shown her around before promising to send up a maid with a tray. She’d dined alone in her room—not an uncommon thing for a governess. She couldn’t eat with the staff, but she wasn’t expected at the family’s table either. She lived in a strange limbo between respectable and pitiable—a woman educated in all the ways of a lady who was still required to work. That one dirty word was the difference between her and a place of respectability in the drawing room. The moment she’d accepted her first position out of the desperate need for an income was the moment she’d reconciled herself to never having a family or a home of her own.

  She’d gone to bed with the weight of that resting on her chest. In the light of morning, however, her situation didn’t look quite so grim. Her room in Lord Asten’s house was larger than she was used to, with a decently sized bed and enough space for a little sitting area by the fire. Her clothes were already folded away in the cabinet and a couple of books lay waiting for her on her bedside table. She would have Saturdays free and a half day on Wednesdays, the most important day, as that was when she’d meet her friends Elizabeth and Jane for tea. It was more freedom and privilege than some governesses were allotted, and she was glad of it.

  That morning, Mary had asked the chambermaid who collected her breakfast tray to tell Lady Eleanora’s maid that she’d expect her charge in the schoolroom at ten o’clock that morning. When, at a quarter past ten, she was still sitting alone in the bookshelf-lined room, she decided that she’d been forgotten—or worse, ignored—for the second day in a row.

  That was simply unacceptable.

  She could either sit in this schoolroom and fume, or she could find the girl and straighten out how things were going to work now that Mary was in charge. And so, determined to find the young lady who seemed not even the littlest bit interested in meeting her new governess, she made for the door.

  She stopped the first footman she saw. “Excuse me. Can you direct me to Lady Eleanora?”

  The tall young man’s eyes slid down and to the left—a sure sign that he was about to lie. “I haven’t seen her this morning, ma’am.”

  “Well, then, I shall just have to find her myself. Thank you,” she said as she strode off down the hallway.

  Mary searched for half an hour, combing through the music room, the greenhouse, and a succession of drawing rooms. Asten House seemed to have a whole warren of rooms nestled into odd corners. It would’ve been an excellent place to play a game of hide-and-seek with children or for a young lady who did not want to be found to squirrel herself away somewhere.

  It was nearly eleven when she finally got a hint. A small white-and-brown King Charles spaniel came bounding down the hall, its ears flying in the wind. It ran right up to her feet and sniffed her shoe. She leaned down to scratch the pup between the ears. “Are you the little one who was making all that noise yesterday afternoon?”

  The dog’s tongue lolled out of its mouth as it pushed its head up into her hand.

  She laughed and scratched a little hard
er. “Shameless, aren’t you? Now, if we can only find your mistress we might get on with her lessons and take you for a walk.”

  The dog yipped and raced down the hallway. It disappeared through the ajar library door and then poked its head out as though making sure she was following.

  With nothing better to do, she did follow.

  She found the little dog dancing around before a bookcase. With a frown, she picked up the creature and peered at the shelves. The little dog licked her cheek in approval.

  Perhaps . . .

  She surveyed the books. They were a mishmash of titles, some contemporary authors like Melville, Dickens, Hawthorne, and Brontë shelved next to Homer, Ovid, and Shakespeare. Then her eyes fell on a volume of One Thousand and One Nights that was oddly frayed at the top, almost as though it had been touched over and over again in that one spot.

  She began to slide the book out from the shelf when it caught and the whole bookshelf hinged open like a door. The dog in her arms barked and squirmed until she set it down and pushed the door open.

  There, sitting among a nest of blankets surrounded by an oil lamp, a stack of books, and a little picnic basket, was a young woman who was the spitting image of Lord Asten.

  “Hello, Lady Eleanora,” Mary said, repressing a smile at the look of horror on the girl’s face. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  Her errant charge scrambled up, dropping a biscuit onto the blanket, which the dog snapped up with a snort of delight. “You weren’t supposed to find me.”

  “I had help,” she said with a nod toward her canine companion.

  “Chaucer, you wretched betrayer,” murmured Lady Eleanora as she picked up the spaniel and buried her nose in its fur.

  The dog slurped the girl’s cheek.

  Mary looked around at Lady Eleanora’s hideaway. It wasn’t much—just a small, plain room with smooth white plaster walls—but it was just the sort of thing she would’ve loved when she was a girl. Some girls wanted dresses and jewelry, but a secret room of Mary’s own would have been the height of luxury.

  “This is a very clever spot,” she said.

  “Papa said that my grandfather probably used this room to get up to no good. I think he hid his mistress in here when his wife would come looking for him.”

  From the way Lady Eleanora studied her out of the corner of her eye, Mary knew that the girl had said it to shock her. “That is very likely true. Do you come here often?”

  “When I don’t want to be found.”

  “And you didn’t want to be found this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Weren’t you even just the littlest bit curious about me?” she asked.

  The girl’s eyes flicked to hers, but fell to the dog when she caught Mary looking. “No. I don’t want a governess.”

  Mary knew that she was going to have to choose her words very carefully in this conversation. Hiding, speaking about mistresses—it was all designed to test the boundaries of Lady Eleanora’s freedom. Careful not to let her crinoline pop up around her, she knelt down in the blankets and picked up a book. “The Warden. I’ve heard this is very good.”

  Lady Eleanora sank down with a sigh, accepting that she wasn’t getting rid of Mary. “It is. Papa promised to take me to his bookseller, Hatchards, when I’m finished so I can buy the next, Barchester Towers.”

  “That sounds like a fair deal to me. He tells me that he teaches some of your lessons. Do you enjoy them?”

  “I do,” said the young lady cautiously.

  “Excellent. Then perhaps we shall leave those subjects to your father. I never did have a head for mathematics. Now, tell me, what’s your favorite subject?”

  Lady Eleanora brightened a little. “I love music. I play the harp.”

  “And I play the pianoforte. We shall have to find some duets to perform.”

  “Could we?” asked the girl cautiously.

  “Of course. It will be our reward for studying. Now, as much as I like this clever little room, I’m not sure two wide skirts are advisable in such a small space. Perhaps we could relocate to the music room.”

  Lady Eleanora looked tempted but still hesitated. “May I bring Chaucer with us?”

  She gave a decisive nod. “If we’re to play, we must have an audience.”

  Lady Eleanora hadn’t entirely lost her wary look, but together they gathered up the books, lamp, and food and decamped to the most spacious music room.

  Mary’s fingers danced over the pianoforte as her charge sat at her harp. There was time for French conversation and geography later. For now, she needed to gain the young lady’s trust and, if the joy on Lady Eleanora’s face was any indication, she’d made the right first step.

  From her seat, Mary could easily study the girl. Lady Eleanora lacked the knowing elegance that was all the fashion at the moment, but she had a sort of angelic serenity about her that was striking in its own way. Her beauty wasn’t the flashy kind that attracted attention, but the shy Lady Eleanora didn’t need that. When it came time to find a husband, she didn’t need to catch every man. She needed the right man.

  Distracted as she was, Mary struck the last chord of the last measure slightly ahead of her charge. “Drat. I’m rushing.”

  “Synchronicity comes with practice,” said Lady Eleanora with a little smile. “That’s what my music teacher has always said.”

  “Your music teacher is very right. You play beautifully.”

  Lady Eleanora blushed and shuffled the sheet music that lay on the stand in front of her. “Thank you.”

  “Now tell me,” she said, “what are the subjects you think you need improvement in? Clearly not music.”

  The young lady’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have a natural eye for drawing no matter how hard I try. And Lady Laughlin believes my French is too crisp at the ends of words to sound truly cultured.”

  There was that woman’s name again. She’d heard it so often in the last twenty-four hours she was shocked to find that Lady Laughlin didn’t appear out of thin air like a summoned specter.

  “Vraiment? And what do you think?” she asked.

  Lady Eleanora hesitated. “Lady Laughlin did live in Paris for many years.”

  Mary didn’t like the girl’s guarded expression at all. “Tell me about Lady Laughlin. I don’t believe she was acquainted with any of my previous charges.”

  What Mary didn’t add was that several of her previous charges—two earls’ daughters and a young lady who had caught the eye of a viscount—were enviably well-connected. So how had this Lady Laughlin who seemed to have so many opinions not entered her awareness before?

  Lady Eleanora carefully set her harp upright. “She was Mamma’s friend, although she’s been on the Continent for many years. She only returned to London recently.”

  “And she calls frequently?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “With her daughters. Papa says that it’s good for me to be around young ladies who’ve had a successful season already.”

  Young ladies whom Lady Eleanora didn’t enjoy the company of, if her lack of enthusiasm was any indication.

  “What are they like?” she asked, keeping her tone light and casual. “I’m curious to hear about your friends.”

  “They’re not my friends,” Lady Eleanora said sharply. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her eyes dropped to her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I mean to say, Sophie Masters and Lucy Bigelow are my very closest companions. Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia are—”

  But Mary was never to know how exactly her charge would have ended that sentence because there was a soft knock at the door. Warthing stepped in, bowed to Lady Eleanora, and said apologetically, “Lady Laughlin is asking for you in the drawing room, my lady. Miss Laughlin and Miss Cordelia are with her.”

  Mary’s eyebrows sho
t up. “I thought Lord Asten left for Parliament early this morning.”

  Warthing sent her a significant look. “He has not returned yet, ma’am.”

  But that meant . . .

  Lady Laughlin couldn’t have appeared at the front door of the earl’s home with her daughters in tow, settled herself in one of the drawing rooms, and summoned Lady Eleanora like she was a child. It would be inconceivably rude and undeniably forward.

  Even more shocking, Lady Eleanora began to rise. “Tell her that I’ll be with her presently.”

  “No.” Mary’s single word made everyone freeze. She was overstepping the boundaries of propriety by ordering an earl’s daughter around just as much as this Lady Laughlin had, but she didn’t care. Lord Asten had hired her to teach and guide the girl. Lady Eleanora would not be able to learn if she was at the beck and call of a baron’s widow—a woman she outranked—in her own home.

  “Mr. Warthing, please tell Lady Laughlin that Lady Eleanora is not at home to visitors this morning,” she said. “We have French verbs to conjugate before luncheon.”

  Lady Eleanora began to wring her hands. “I shouldn’t like to keep Lady Laughlin waiting.”

  Mary’s smile became brittle. “I’m sure the baroness understands the value of a girl’s education, having raised two daughters herself. Please make our apologies, Mr. Warthing.”

  The butler nodded and backed out of the room.

  “Now,” she said, turning to a wide-eyed Lady Eleanora, “perhaps you’ll play me a solo work?”

  Lady Eleanora shook her head in disbelief. “You just said no to Lady Laughlin.”

  “She will understand.”

  Actually, Mary was positive the lady wouldn’t understand. She’d run across women like Lady Laughlin before—high-handed, imperious, and completely intoxicated by the idea of making everyone scramble to please them. She didn’t like those sorts of people, and she especially didn’t like it when they terrified sweet girls of just seventeen.