The Wicked Governess Read online

  Today, he had almost missed Miss Grey as the cart in front of him had disgorged several female servants. It had taken several seconds to connect her dowdy, respectable person to the beautiful lady he’d seen with Benedict last night. He’d followed her into church from instinct, listening and learning as he went.

  Oh yes, there were possibilities there. Smiling, he raised his brandy to his lips just as someone large and clumsy bumped into him. Remembering where he was, he slapped his hand to his pocket and caught a grubby hand. It belonged to the man who had bumped into him, a big, villainous looking individual with his hat pushed to the back of his unclean head.

  Swayle did not underestimate the difficulties here. The landlord didn’t like trouble and apparently, he didn’t take a moral stance over events like this, just took the quietest way out. Swayle was likely to be thrown out for any accusations of theft. Or the villain could simply stab him where he sat and walk away.

  He suspected the man thought about it. Then the brute grinned. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he observed. “Not when he’s hard-up.”

  An idea began to dawn in Swayle’s head. He would find a way to a devastating revenge on the man who had humiliated and impoverished him. But he would need help.

  “Hard-up,” Swayle repeated. “Then you are a man open to earning a little money, with no questions asked.”

  The large man pushed his hat even further back. “Might be,” he admitted. He smiled in what he probably imagined was an ingratiating manner, but in fact was quite terrifying. “They don’t call me Killer Miller for nothing.”

  *

  “I was thinking,” Miss Benedict announced at luncheon.

  “Congratulations, Marjorie,” her brother said provokingly.

  She cast him a quelling look.

  “What were you thinking?” Richard asked.

  “That we should invite Lord and Lady Tamar to dinner,” Marjorie said in a rush.

  Javan laid down his knife.

  “Ah, the mythical Lord Tamar,” Richard observed, “who turned out not to be a myth at all. Did he really marry Braithwaite’s sister?”

  “Yes,” Caroline said since no one else answered him.

  Javan’s gaze was locked with his sister’s, though he looked more stunned than annoyed. Eventually, he picked up his knife again. “Ask the Grants, too, if you like. He’s a good man for a vicar.”

  Marjorie’s jaw showed an initial tendency to drop at this easy victory. Then she frowned. “You confuse me. Isn’t a vicar meant to be a good man?”

  “Never confuse your definition of the word good with Javan’s,” Richard advised. “The Reverend Mr. Grant will no doubt be discovered to be a man of wit and sound strategic knowledge in military matters. And probably learned in botany.”

  Javan raised his wineglass to him.

  “I hope they have well sprung carriages for getting up the drive,” Richard added wryly.

  “Try to contain your concern,” Javan said. “I have some men coming over to clear and repair it next week.”

  “Have you?” Marjorie said in surprise.

  “They should be here first thing in the morning, so there’s no cause for panic if you hear a racket.”

  “Goodness,” Marjorie said, clearly impressed. “What evening shall I invite them, then?”

  “Whichever suits. I have,” Javan said self-deprecatingly, “no unbreakable plans.”

  “Wednesday?” Marjorie suggested. “Richard, you will still be here, will you not?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Richard drawled.

  “Excellent. Miss Grey, should we invite the Braithwaite children?”

  Rosa’s head snapped up as she smiled from her aunt to Caroline and back.

  “They are quite civilized,” Caroline replied, “and will be thrilled to attend an adult dinner. Especially with Rosa. I’m sure Lady Tamar will be happy to bring them.”

  Miss Benedict beamed.

  After lunch, Caroline and Rosa went for their daily walk. As was usual, Javan and Tiny accompanied them, although rather to her surprise, Richard did not.

  “Does Mr. Benedict not care to walk?” Caroline asked lightly.

  Rosa grinned, pointing to her feet and then leaping back as though horrified by the mess appearing on her boots.

  Javan laughed. “You think he’s afraid of dirtying his fine footwear? He has a very superior valet to clean his boots. I expect he’s just tired after his journey. It’s a long way from London.”

  Rosa shrugged and ran ahead with Tiny. Silence lapsed between Caroline and Javan, but in truth, she only noticed when he said, “You are quiet. Are you wondering how to treat me after yesterday evening?”

  Caroline drew a breath for courage. “Actually, no. I have been wondering whether or not to worry you with something else entirely.”

  “My shoulders are broad,” he said flippantly. “Go ahead and worry me if you can.”

  “I spoke with Marcus Swayle this morning.”

  Although she was gazing deliberately straight ahead at Rosa throwing a stick for Tiny, she was aware Javan’s head turned toward her, almost felt the new tension tighten within him.

  “More accurately, he spoke to me,” she corrected herself. “Outside church.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked about Rosa.” At last, she met his intense yet veiled gazed. “And he warned me against you.”

  Javan curled his lip. “I would expect nothing less. I’m sorry he chose you to bleat at, though. I was hoping he’d fled the country.”

  “He said you beat him to within an inch of his life.”

  “A slight exaggeration. Given what I suspect now, I wish I’d hit him harder. What else?”

  “That you…that you forced your wife to marry you for her money and that you were responsible for her death.”

  He kicked a stone out of his path. “Perhaps I was,” he said moodily.

  “And he said that you mistreat Rosa,” she blurted.

  He glanced at her with contempt, though for what or whom she could not be sure. “And you believe that?”

  “No. I suppose I might have believed the rest if it hadn’t been for that, but I know nothing could induce you to harm Rosa.”

  “You can’t know that,” he snapped. “One never knows what oneself is capable of, let alone what another person is. What you mean is, you hope I would never harm Rosa, because for some reason I have yet to fathom, you like me.”

  “And that is why you hired me?” Caroline retorted. “In the mere hope that I would not harm her?”

  A smile twisted his lips. “Exactly.”

  She waved one dismissive hand. “You are impossible. Sir, if Mr. Swayle took the trouble to speak to me in this way, he may well be traducing you in Blackhaven to anyone who will listen.”

  “I’m sure it’s all grist to the rumor mill,” he said without interest. “Which, judging by the way you looked at me when we first met, has already been working hard.”

  “I had no idea who you were when we first met.”

  “Do you know any better now?”

  She held his gaze, watching with fascination as the icy contempt and fury behind them drained into something far warmer. “A little,” she whispered. “I think.”

  His hand brushed her wrist among the folds of her cloak, and his fingers threaded through hers. “How did I exist without you, Caroline Grey?” His fingers curled convulsively. “How will I exist without you.”

  Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. She was afraid to breathe, to say or do the wrong thing. But she could not prevent her hand clasping his.

  “I will not leave unless you bid me.” The words came out hoarse, almost broken.

  Abruptly, she was half-pushed, half-dragged off the path and into the trees until she felt the roughness of bark at her back and the hardness of his body pinning her there. His eyes blazed down into hers.

  “You should not say such things to me,” he whispered.

  “You should not do su
ch things to me,” she returned shakily.

  A warm smile flickered across his face. “No, I shouldn’t.” But he remained thrillingly pressed against her, forcing her to awareness of his muscled thighs, his hips, and the hardness that grew between. Delicious weakness held her still. Desire raged through her.

  Slowly, his forehead dropped to hers and rested. “I wish…”

  “What?” she asked desperately, and as suddenly as he’d seized her, she was freed.

  “One day I might tell you that, too,” he flung at her as he broke back on the path. “Until then, you should avoid being alone with me because it seems I can’t keep my hands off you. Rosa! This way!”

  Her trembling knees were reluctant to hold her up as she trailed after him to meet Rosa, struggling to work out what had just occurred.

  *

  At luncheon the following day, Miss Benedict happily revealed that she had received notes of acceptance to her dinner from both Lady Tamar and Mrs. Grant. And that Lady Tamar would gladly bring her younger sisters—news which made Rosa clap her hands, her face lit up with delighted expectation.

  As they returned to the schoolroom, Caroline said lightly, “You’re looking forward to seeing the Braithwaite girls again.”

  Rosa nodded.

  “You enjoy their company,” Caroline observed, “as they enjoy yours. I’m glad you have found ways to communicate with them so that you can join in.”

  Rosa’s smile faded. She looked away.

  “You can’t always join in?” Caroline asked gently.

  Rosa shook her head. A single tear squeezed out of the corner of one eye and trickled down her face.

  “Rosa.” Caroline put her arm around the child, hugging her to her side. “No one thinks less of you for it. Your family loves you. I love you. Your friends will love you whether or not you speak. I just wonder if you wouldn’t have more fun if you could bring yourself to say the odd word here and there. We grow too comfortable sometimes, with the way things are, but we can always make them better. Like your father and your aunt giving up solitude for company.”

  Rosa smiled wanly. For a moment, she clung to Caroline, and then broke free, and ran to the schoolroom.

  Later that afternoon, while Rosa was lost in her painting of a bowl of fruit, Caroline was drawn to the window by the clop of hooves on the drive. Dr. Lampton, Blackhaven’s preferred physician, dismounted, and, leaving his horse with Williams, walked up the steps to the house.

  Anxiety flooded Caroline. Was Marjorie taken ill? Was Javan? She thought his appetite had been a little better this last week or so, but she’d no real idea what his injuries entailed.

  More than half an hour later, Dr. Lampton still hadn’t ridden away, and Caroline had to force herself not to pace and thus disturb Rosa’s concentration with her own worry. Ginny the maid stuck her head around the door.

  “Master asks that you bring Miss Rosa to the drawing room, Miss.”

  Rosa heard that at once, hastily shoving her painting to one side.

  “That’s very good,” Caroline observed. “We’ll take a look at the light when we return.”

  Javan Benedict was discovered in the drawing room with Dr. Lampton who, since his wife’s death, had developed a rather forbidding aspect to go with his already cynical humor. He did at least relieve his scowl as they entered, presumably for Rosa’s benefit, after she pulled up short at the sight of the unexpected stranger with her father.

  Caroline’s anxious gaze could find nothing ill or even out of the ordinary about Javan. Dr. Lampton gave her a slight bow but came to shake Rosa’s hand when her father introduced them.

  “How do you do, Miss Rosa?” he said gravely. “Your father tells me you haven’t spoken a word in two years and would like to see if I can fix whatever is wrong, so that you can speak to him again. Is this a good idea?”

  Rosa gave a little shrug, which he appeared to take as assent.

  “So, do you feel ill? In pain? Unhappy?”

  To each of his questions, Rosa shook her head.

  Dr. Lampton then asked permission to examine her mouth and throat, then turned her toward the light from the window.

  “Will you let him examine you, too?” Caroline asked.

  “He already has. And Marjorie. I got a special price for a family group. He’d probably throw you in for free if you’d like a quick—”

  “Thank you, I am never ill,” she interrupted. “Please don’t be flippant. Did he find you…well?”

  “I believe so. He gave me some ointment and a vile tasting tonic, and some exercises to strengthen my leg. He seemed to be a sensible man so I let him talk to Marjorie and Rosa.”

  Caroline, who hadn’t expected to learn even those few details from him, cast him a quick glance, but his attention was all on Rosa. While he examined her, Dr. Lampton asked her a lot of questions, even fished a notebook from his bag and a pencil and asked her to write down answers that required more than a nod or a headshake. It was, however, doubtful she would write anything new. Javan had already questioned her in this way and learned very little from her short, evasive answers.

  While Rosa wrote, Dr. Lampton walked across to Javan and Caroline.

  “She’s frightened,” he said abruptly. “And is either afraid to speak of it, or simply doesn’t wish to remember. Therefore, she doesn’t speak at all so that she can never speak about that. I suspect she’ll speak again when she’s ready, for her understanding seems to be quite superior for a child of her years, and I can find no physical damage. If you want to encourage her to speak…my advice would be to confront her—while she feels safe in your protection—with a dilute form of whatever frightened her in the first place.”

  “I don’t know what that was,” Javan said miserably. “I was not in the country when she first stopped speaking.”

  Dr. Lampton shrugged. “Then give her time. For what it’s worth, I believe you are doing the right things.” His gaze flickered over Caroline.

  “And my sister?” Javan asked with difficulty. “Can you suggest anything other than bleeding her?”

  “Bleeding her will only weaken her,” Dr. Lampton snapped. “I would not suggest it at all. I have found a regular infusion of St. John’s wort to help in many such cases. Lavender also. And persuade her to take more exercise or she will atrophy.”

  The doctor took a breath, perhaps realizing he had sounded too short. “Forgive my blunt manners.”

  “I prefer them to any other,” Javan replied.

  “I do not belittle your sister’s condition,” Lampton said. “In fact, you were right to consult me on all three cases, and if you are agreeable, I would like to see you all again in one month. Or earlier, if you feel the need. Good day.”

  He collected his notebook from Rosa with a surprisingly kind smile and took his leave. Rosa and her father both gazed after him.

  “I’m glad you consulted him,” Caroline said.

  “Well, now that we have, let us see who can winkle Marjorie out for a walk with Tiny. My money is on Rosa.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the afternoon of the dinner party, Caroline changed quickly into her brown dress, and discovered Marjorie in the dining room, supervising the table setting.

  “Might I help with anything, Miss Benedict?” she enquired.

  Marjorie glanced up in clear relief, and then squeaked at sight of her. “No, no, the other gown, Miss Grey! The pretty one. Hurry.”

  Only when Caroline had changed again was she put to work, arranging table decorations and candles, while Marjorie gazed out of the window, anxiously watching the darkening of the sky.

  “Oh dear, I think a storm is coming,” she mourned. “They will not wish to come here in a storm, in case they cannot get home…”

  However, despite the fast-worsening weather, the Grants arrived in good time and were shown into the drawing room.

  “How wonderful,” Marjorie exclaimed. “We were afraid you would not risk it in this wretched weather.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, we’d never do anything in Blackhaven if we let the weather dictate,” Mrs. Grant said cheerfully. “And it is so kind of you to invite us.”

  While Marjorie was still introducing Richard, Rosa insinuated herself in front of Mrs. Grant, gazing up at her.

  “Rosa,” her father said, placing his hand on her shoulder to pull her back.

  But Mrs. Grant only smiled. “You’re wondering where your friends are, aren’t you? They’ll be here, soon. Serena—Lady Tamar—is never punctual, and time is somewhat stretchable to Lord Tamar!”

  The Grants were both sociable people and excellent company. Richard and Mrs. Grant turned out to have many London acquaintances in common. In fact, Richard claimed to have worshipped her from afar for years without ever speaking to her, although Mrs. Grant took that with a laughing pinch of salt.

  Before dinner had to be put back, the castle entourage arrived. By then, the weather had grown truly filthy, although Serena optimistically maintained the sky would be clear again by nine o’clock.

  They ate dinner to the accompaniment of the howling wind, rattling window panes and the battering of rain on glass, but it was a merry meal. Javan, as he occasionally did, exerted himself to be entertaining, and made sure no one was left out of the conversation, for it was an informal table. Caroline was seated strategically between Richard and Rosa, on the fringes of both the adult and children’s groups, and yet not truly part of either. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the fun of the children’s conversation as well as the witty repartee of the adults, to which she only contributed when addressed directly.

  Javan never spoke to her personally, although he laughed once at her jest with Serena. He seemed slightly taken aback when it was revealed Grant, too, had once been part of Wellington’s army. But he did not disclose his own career, and neither Marjorie nor Richard tried to make him. For the first time, Caroline began to think seriously that there was more to his secretiveness than just preserving Rosa from the unkind gossip that might be associated with Colonel Benedict.