The Tempting of the Governess Page 2

  It wasn’t as if her options would change upon longer reflection.

  A lady’s only other alternative was to become some genteel female’s companion. Not being much given to taking orders, it would probably be preferable to earn her pittance as a governess, where she would be giving them.

  So, it appeared, a governess she would be.

  She’d always longed to be independent, in charge of her own destiny, not forced to depend upon a father or brother or husband. Well, this ironic twist of fate had certainly granted that wish, she thought blackly. Just not at all in the way she’d envisaged.

  ‘A position as a governess in an out-of-the-way manor might be preferable,’ she said, pulling herself from those reflections to confirm her decision. ‘Lady Patterson, do you know of an agency to which I could apply for such a position? And would you be kind enough to write me a character?’

  Lady Patterson sat quietly for a moment. ‘I suppose there isn’t time for me to enquire among my friends and relations to discover someone in need of a governess.’

  ‘Lady Overton could show up on the doorstep of Upper Brook Street tomorrow.’

  ‘Surely you could stay with us long enough for my aunt to find you a position with someone she knows,’ Sara pleaded. ‘Somewhere we’d be assured you would be treated with kindness and respect.’

  Though touched by her friend’s concern, Olivia said, ‘Sara, I know you mean well. But can you even imagine how it would be? Everyone in society would know. I wouldn’t be invited anywhere. I’d have no funds to borrow books or even for the paper and ink we use to write letters for the Ladies’ Committee. I’d have to hide myself here just...existing. Suspended in some awful void between the life I’ve always known and the reality of my life now. I... I don’t think I could bear it. Since the break must happen, I’d rather it be swift and clean.’

  Her eyes filling with tears, Sara nodded. ‘I suppose I can understand. I just...hate to lose you.’

  Unable to respond without giving in to tears of her own, Olivia pulled her friend close for a hug. For a long moment, they clung together.

  Pushing away the friend who, for the first time in their lives, was unable to help her solve a dilemma seemed to symbolically echo today’s events in her life.

  ‘Well, I’d best go and pack up my things. Lady Patterson, if you would be so kind as to give me the name of that agency?’

  Even Sara’s gruff aunt had tears in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten. Let me go to my sitting room and ask my maid, and I’ll send you a note. I am sorry, my dear.’ After rising to give Olivia a quick, most unusual hug, the older woman walked out.

  ‘Promise me one thing,’ Sara insisted as she escorted Olivia to the door. ‘Don’t accept a contract for more than six months. You know the three of us—you, me and Emma—have always been able to solve whatever problem has arisen in our lives. I don’t expect that will change just because Emma married Lord Theo. Promise me, when they return from their Grand Tour, you will come back to London and let us all re-examine your situation, together.’

  Olivia knew that, unless some unknown benefactor had left her funds of which not even the family solicitor was aware, nothing about her circumstances would change in six months. Nor would she be any more able to accept charity from Emma than she could from Sara. But her friend looked so distraught, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, that Olivia didn’t have the heart to refuse her.

  ‘Very well. I’ll not sign a contract for employment that lasts longer than six months and I promise to return to London and speak with all of you when Emma and Lord Theo come back from Italy.’

  In the hallway, the two clung to each other, Olivia fighting back tears once more after being informed by the butler that Lady Patterson had ordered the family carriage to bear her home.

  Perhaps her last journey as a well-born member of society.

  ‘Don’t you dare leave London without saying goodbye!’ Sara said, giving her one last hug.

  ‘I will let you know my situation as soon as everything is arranged,’ Olivia promised. Then, as the butler held open the door for her, she walked out of her past and grimly set her face towards the future.

  Chapter Two

  Meanwhile, as the afternoon light faded in Somerset, Colonel Hugh Glendenning, late of his Majesty’s Second Imperial Foot, sat down at his desk in the shabby library of Somers Abbey, his family’s ancient home. His back ached from a long day of riding the tenant farms, occasionally dismounting to help some elderly householder with the pollarding of the willow trees that would enable him to cure the branches and weave them into the baskets that produced most of the estate’s revenue.

  The Abbey was still far from recovered from the shambles it had been when he inherited it from his wastrel elder brother, he thought, with a pained glance at the faded curtains and the threadbare carpet on the floor. But a year and a half of determined toil had at least built back up the estate’s traditional trade in baskets and, if the apple crop were good this year, the additional income from selling cider might finally tip his finances, long tottering between solvency and disaster, firmly on to the positive side.

  He was stretching out his back and thinking that a quick whisky before dinner might be just the trick when a knock came at the door, followed by the entrance of the elderly butler.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but a Mr and Mrs Allen are here, demanding to see you.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Allen?’ Hugh repeated. After a rapid review of his memory, he shook his head. ‘I don’t believe I’m acquainted with a Mr Allen.’ Hoping the man wasn’t another of the numerous unpaid creditors his brother had left behind, he said, ‘Did they indicate what they wanted to see me about, Mansfield?’

  The butler shook his head. ‘Only that they’d just arrived from St Kitts in the Caribbean and must see you at once on a delicate matter of grave importance.’

  Hugh sighed. ‘If they are from St Kitts, it must have something to do with my late cousin’s estate. I thought his solicitor had already informed me of everything I needed to know, but I suppose I shall have to see them.’

  ‘Very well, Colonel.’

  Resisting the urge to jump up and help Mansfield when the old man struggled to close the slightly warped oak door, Hugh remained seated. He’d thought the butler already old when he was a boy growing up here, thirty years ago, he thought wryly. Mansfield should have long ago been put out to pasture, but Hugh’s brother had been too indolent to find a replacement and, for now, Hugh couldn’t spare the cash for the retirement the man’s lifetime of service deserved.

  Maybe next year.

  Maybe next year, he’d get that door planed down and rehung—yet another project on the never-ending list of repairs and renovations needed at Somers Abbey.

  A few minutes later, the butler ushered in a lady and a tall, thin, sunburned man—trailed by two solemn-faced little girls. ‘Mr and Mrs Allen, Colonel—and children.’

  Hugh hastily looked away from the girls as agony lanced through him. He fought to suppress the vivid, devastating memory of a round, gamine face, the sound of childish laughter...and the sight of dusty earth raining down as a small coffin was lowered into the hard-baked Indian soil.

  A surge of anger followed the pain. Why hadn’t Mansfield warned him the couple had children with them? He’d have instructed him to send the youngsters off to the kitchen before he escorted the parents up.

  Struggling to remain cordial, he rose and made them a bow. ‘Colonel Glendenning, Mr and Mrs Allen. You come from St Kitts, my butler tells me? I hope you had a pleasant journey.’

  ‘Tolerably pleasant, given its long duration,’ Allen said. ‘We’re anxious to complete it, though, and be back home again in Yorkshire.’

  ‘You are not residents in St Kitts, then? And, please, do have a seat,’ he said, waving them towards the sofa in front of the hearth. ‘Mansfield, b
ring us tea and ask Mrs Wallace to come up.’ Turning back to his guests, he said, ‘My housekeeper can take the children to the kitchen for some refreshment.’

  ‘That would be most kind,’ Mr Allen said, ushering his wife to the sofa, the children coming to stand stiffly behind them. ‘To answer your question, I’ve been the export agent for a trading venture on St Kitts these last several years, but my wife has been pining for home, so I resigned my position. We will join our family as soon as we discharge our obligation to the children.’

  ‘I see. So, how may I be of service?’ Hugh asked, still puzzled about why the Allens had come to see him. ‘I assume you were acquainted with my late cousin, Robert Glendenning. Did he ask you to bring something to me?’

  Mr Allen laughed. ‘In a manner of speaking. Although it was, as you know, his wife who did the sending. I was given to understand that you were expecting the children.’

  For a moment, stark horror froze his tongue as the import of Allen’s words sank in. ‘The ch-children?’ he stuttered. Although he was terribly afraid he already knew the answer, he asked, ‘What children?’

  ‘Just the older ones, Mr Glendenning’s two daughters by his first wife. The second Mrs Glendenning wished, of course, to keep their son and heir with her. In any event, I believe you were only named guardian for the girls, Mrs Glendenning having convinced her husband to appoint her brother in that role for their son.’

  Turning back to the children standing behind him, Allen said, ‘Girls, make your curtsies to your guardian. Colonel, may I present to you Miss Elizabeth Glendenning, the elder, and Miss Sophie Glendenning, the younger.’

  No, this couldn’t be happening.

  Refusing to look at the children as they dutifully made their curtsies, Hugh stared at Mr Allen. ‘My cousin’s solicitor informed me that Robert had named me guardian for the girls. As their closest remaining relative, I felt obligated to accept the task and was prepared to oversee the management of their inheritance until they came of age or married—in St Kitts. There was never any mention of the children being brought to England.’

  While Mrs Allen drew in a sharp breath, Mr Allen looked at Hugh, his expression incredulous. ‘You...were not expecting them?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ Hugh said. ‘And had I been consulted, I would never have authorised them to leave St Kitts. Why would they wish to? That has been their home all their lives.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Mr Allen said, looking alarmed. ‘I’m very sorry! We were given to understand that all had been arranged in advance. This is most distressing!’

  ‘Indeed,’ Hugh replied with feeling. ‘I suppose there is no possibility of you returning the girls to St Kitts?’

  ‘None at all,’ Mr Allen confirmed. ‘As I mentioned, we are removing to Yorkshire permanently, and have no plans to return to the islands.’

  ‘Perhaps they could go with you to Yorkshire,’ Hugh said, searching about for any solution that did not require him taking over their care. ‘As I recall, my cousin left ample funds for their maintenance and upbringing. Surely they would be more comfortable in a land so foreign to them if they lived with people who know and care about them, rather than with a total stranger. A childless widower to boot.’

  Although once he had been neither...

  The Allens exchanged uncomfortable glances. ‘The Misses Glendenning hardly know us better than they do you, Colonel. We only met them the day the ship sailed from St Kitts.’

  Though he was nearly seething with fury and distaste, Hugh hadn’t been a soldier for fifteen years without learning how to take responsibility for duties shirked by another—or recognising when a position was untenable. ‘I suppose they shall have to stay, then.’

  Looking visibly relieved, Mr Allen nodded. ‘I’m sure that will be for the best.’

  The butler arrived with their tea. For the next ten minutes, Hugh nodded as Mr Allen made desultory conversation. He sipped at his own tepid liquid, wishing it was his prized Scotch, all the while thinking furiously.

  There was no way he could undertake the care of two little girls. After all that had happened, the idea was simply unendurable.

  The housekeeper would have to look out for them until he could hire a suitable governess. With any luck, he’d be able to avoid seeing them more than once or twice a month—until they were grown and gone.

  Even better, after more reflection upon the matter, he might come up with some appropriately placed female to whom he could send the children for their upbringing. After all, governess or not, the care of two small girls should be overseen by a woman, shouldn’t it?

  Speaking of females, the Allens were finishing their tea and making departing noises—and his housekeeper still hadn’t arrived.

  Very well, he could stand being alone with them for a few moments. Fortunately, they were a mannerly pair, for they had stood stock-still and silent ever since Allen introduced them.

  All too soon, putting down his empty cup, Mr Allen said, ‘We are much obliged for the refreshments and hospitality—especially after the shock of springing the children upon you with no advance notice! I can’t imagine what happened to the correspondence from Mrs Glendenning arranging their travel.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Hugh said drily. Though he had a pretty good idea what had happened to the ‘missing’ letters. His cousin’s second wife obviously had no interest in caring for the children of her predecessor; sending them unannounced precluded the refusal he would have returned, had his permission been sought.

  Despite his rage at having this charge foisted on him, he felt an inadvertent pang of sympathy for the two girls. They’d lost their own mother upon the younger child’s birth and now, so soon after the death of their father, they’d been exiled from the only home they’d ever known.

  He’d have to scour his London papers tonight and find an agency to provide him a governess with all possible speed.

  By now, his guests had risen, obligating him to rise as well.

  ‘We’ll be going now, girls,’ Mrs Allen said, kneeling to embrace the two in turn. ‘You must be as good for your new guardian as you’ve been for us.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the two said in unison, while the older added, ‘Thank you for watching over us on the journey, Mrs Allen.’

  Walking with the Allens to the door—very conscious of the two pairs of small eyes following his movements—Hugh said, ‘I wish you a safe homecoming.’

  ‘Very kind of you, Colonel,’ Mr Allen said. ‘We’ll be that glad to see our little stone cottage again, won’t we, my dear?’

  So, with a handshake and a murmured goodbye from the wife, the Allens departed.

  Hugh lingered in the doorway, but there still was no sign of an approaching housekeeper. If the damned woman didn’t show up in the next few minutes, he was going to have to escort the girls down to the kitchen himself.

  Taking a deep breath, Hugh turned around, the wave of anguish that washed through him as he forced himself to look at the girls less sharp than the first time, when he’d been taken unawares. Every step a painful duty, he paced towards the children, who were still standing silently by the sofa.

  Halfway there, it suddenly occurred to him that he should approach more slowly and put a smile on his face. A man as large as he was probably would look frightening, wearing the frown that usually furrowed his brow.

  As disturbed as he was about this unwanted burden, the two little girls must be even more upset. Tired and hungry, probably still grieving for their Papa, feeling lost and possibly terrified at having been plucked from everything that was familiar, ferried across an ocean and deposited like an unwanted parcel on the doorstep of someone they’d never met.

  He knew a little something about feeling tired, lost and grieving.

  Halting before them, he knelt, bringing his face almost down to the level of theirs. Despite his attempt to make his movements as unthreat
ening as possible, the younger girl shrank back against her sister.

  ‘Elizabeth and Sophie, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Your papa used to come here and play with me when we were boys. I know it must look very different from home, but I hope to make you comfortable here.’

  Until I can make alternative arrangements—the sooner, the better.

  Adding another curse on the head of the still-absent housekeeper, he continued, ‘Shall we go to the kitchen and get you something to eat? Then Mrs Wallace, my housekeeper, will take you up to the nursery and get you settled. It hasn’t been used since my brother and I were boys, so you will have to help her make it presentable again.’

  For a moment, the two simply stared at him—two pairs of large, bright blue eyes in frightened faces. Then the elder said, ‘You don’t want us either, do you?’

  In a flash, he remembered how honest children were, spitting out exactly what they thought with no subterfuge. Accurate as that statement was, he didn’t mean to make the situation worse by confirming it.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t—ideal, sending you here unannounced, with no time for us to prepare for you, was it? But we shall all muddle through.’

  ‘She didn’t want us either. Madame Julienne, Papa’s new wife. She was nice to us before baby Richard came. But after...’ The child took a shuddering breath. ‘She wouldn’t even let us see Papa after he got so sick.’

  His cousin had died of some tropical fever, Hugh vaguely remembered. ‘Probably because she didn’t want you to get sick, too.’

  ‘Papa told us you were his best cousin. That you were a brave soldier in In-dee-yah. When Madame Julienne sent us away, she said you would w-want us.’ Tears welled up in Elizabeth’s eyes and little Sophie was already soundlessly weeping.

  Hugh knew he ought to embrace the girls—if they’d let him. Reassure them. But as much as he felt for their pain and loss, he couldn’t quite force himself to touch them.

  So, trying to summon soothing words, he said, ‘You mustn’t be afraid. I was a soldier, just like your papa told you, so I know all about protecting. You’ll be safe here and we will look after you.’