His Unusual Governess (15 page)

Sarah hesitated. She knew exactly what the young girl meant, for quite often at home the assemblies were very thin of presentable gentlemen, most being older and married or the kind that trod on your feet and exuded sweaty odours—and there were usually more unmarried girls than eligible gentlemen.

‘We do have some presentable neighbours,’ Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Besides, some of our guests are rather attractive, Miss Carter.’

‘Yes, I know—but Mama says I must look higher than a mere knight and she would not consider a plain Mr anything, even if he is rich.’ She sighed deeply. ‘This looking for a husband is so frustrating, is it not? I suppose you do not bother over such things? You can afford to be independent and not worry about catching a husband.’

‘No, I do not bother over such trifles,’ Sarah agreed, managing not to laugh at the girl’s
clumsiness in describing her as an old maid and past such things—which perhaps she was. Even Sir Freddie had treated her as he might a favourite aunt or an older lady with whom it was safe to flirt. ‘I am much too old to worry about marriage.’

‘Oh …’ Helena flushed. ‘I did not mean it to sound like that—but I heard Mama say you were rich and could buy yourself a husband if you chose.’ Her colour deepened, as if she realised she had plunged deeper into the morass.

‘Please do not worry,’ Sarah said kindly. ‘I am not in the least offended.’

‘I did not intend—’

‘Sir Roger Grey and Mr James Monks… .’

‘Oh …’ Helena flushed as the names were announced. ‘I did not know that Sir Roger was staying in the country.’

The painful expression in her eyes told Sarah that the gentleman had made an impression on her, though she could not be sure whether it was favourable or otherwise.

‘Helena, come here, my dear,’ Mrs Carter called and the girl rose obediently and went to her mama.

Sarah saw that Rupert had returned with Lady Foxton. Immediately, he made every other man in the room look less impressive. There was something so very masculine about him …
so powerful. His long legs looked strong and muscular in his tight-fitting breeches, his shoulders broad without being massive, and his countenance noble—like a beautiful marble statue from ancient Rome, only vital and very much alive.

‘Sarah.’ Sir Roger bowed his head to her. ‘We did not realise you had guests staying. I trust we do not intrude?’

‘How could you, sir? I am sure Lord Myers must welcome all his uncle’s neighbours.’

‘May I sit beside you for a moment?’ He fluffed out his coat-tails and sat without waiting for her answer. ‘You look very well, Sarah. That gown becomes you.’

Sarah knew that he’d been puzzled by the plain gown she’d worn when he called at the house for the first time since her arrival. She was now wearing one of her own.

‘Thank you, sir. You are most kind,’ Sarah said. ‘I believe that was the gong for nuncheon. I am sure you will be welcome to stay.’

‘Oh, no, we shall not intrude further,’ Sir Roger said. ‘I am returning home in a few days—when may I call on you? I should like to speak with you in private.’

‘I fail to see what you can have to say to me, sir. I have told you before that you are wasting your time.’

‘A matter has been drawn to my attention. I think you would be wise to hear what I have to say—unless you wish to be ostracised by all your new friends?’ The look in his eyes was so menacing!

Sarah went cold all over. ‘What on earth can you mean?’

‘I see you are listening now. A pity this is neither the time nor the place. I shall call in the morning at about ten. Please be prepared to see me. I should be loath to threaten you, Sarah.’

With that he got up and walked away, leaving her to stare after him in dismay. As she joined the general exodus to the dining room, Sarah’s thoughts were in a whirl. Whatever could he have meant? Surely he was not referring to her masquerade as a governess. While that might make some of the guests frown, it was hardly likely to ruin her.

He was bluffing. She had done nothing of which she ought to be ashamed and she would not allow him to intimidate her.

‘Is something wrong?’ Rupert asked when he found her alone in the small parlour later that day. ‘Why are you not with the others?’

‘I wanted a moment to be quiet. I shall join them for tea.’

‘Did Lady Foxton upset you? Her bark is
worse than her bite, Sarah. She will become accustomed to you in time.’

‘Will she?’ Sarah frowned. ‘I wasn’t upset by what she said. I’ve met ladies of her kind before and they do not bother me particularly.’

‘Something has distressed you—was it Sir Roger?’

‘It isn’t important. Shall we join the others for tea?’

‘He has disturbed you. Please tell me. If he has made himself unpleasant I’ll thrash him for you.’

‘No, please do not. He did make a threat, but I shall not regard it.’

‘What kind of a threat?

‘He said that a matter had come to his attention—one that, if revealed, would mean that my new friends, as he called them, would no longer wish to know me.’

‘That is nonsense! You haven’t done anything improper or illegal, have you?’

She lifted her head. ‘You shouldn’t need to ask. I told you the truth about myself. You must know I did.’

‘Yes …’ He nodded. ‘He must have something up his sleeve. Leave him to me, Sarah. I shall sort the rogue out for you.’

‘No, I will deal with it. I have done nothing
wrong so he can have no reason for his blackmail.’

‘You think he hopes to blackmail you into accepting his offer?’

‘He might. I have made it clear I shall not accept him.’ She shook her head. ‘Please do not trouble yourself, Rupert. He can do nothing to harm me.’

‘He’s a sly rogue,’ Rupert replied and looked thoughtful. ‘Forget him for now, Sarah. Whatever he has to say to you, we’ll sort him between us.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed, but a cold shiver ran down her spine.

What could Sir Roger know that might make her an outcast from society?

Sarah spent a restless night, tossing on her pillows. She had painted a smile on her face the previous evening, but felt as if a shadow hung over her. The look in Sir Roger’s eyes had been menacing and triumphant. Clearly, he believed he had found a way to coerce her into doing what he wanted—what could it be?

Surely there was nothing in her past that he could learn to her disadvantage? She had tried to dismiss her fears as nonsense, as Rupert clearly felt them to be. Her father was the owner of several mills and her mother had been
the daughter of a clergyman. Sarah Richards was the granddaughter of a baronet, of good birth if no fortune. Sarah had been named for her and she remembered her mother as a quiet gentle lady who had always been respectable and had taught her daughter to be the same.

How could Sir Roger know something that would make the people gathered in this house turn against her?

Of course he could not. It was an empty threat intended to force her into accepting his offer. He would quite possibly invent a lie, but she must simply deny it and hope that others believed her—particularly Rupert.

With that in mind, she turned over and finally fell into a restless sleep in which she dreamed that she was on an island in the mist and all alone.

Sarah dressed in a plain but stylish grey gown. She went downstairs to the kitchen and told Mrs Brancaster that Sir Roger might call that morning.

‘I shall be in the back parlour if he does,’ she said. ‘I believe he wants to speak with me in private on some matter—if you will kindly have him shown there.’

‘Yes, of course.’ The housekeeper looked
at her oddly, but made no comment as to the wisdom of her decision.

Standing looking out at the garden, Sarah heard the footsteps and turned as someone entered. Sir Roger had dressed smartly, obviously intending to impress.

‘Ah, Sarah,’ he said and gave her the false smile she disliked so much. ‘I am delighted you granted me this interview. You know, of course, that I wish to renew my offer of marriage. You are the woman I adore and it would make me the happiest of men if you were to become my wife.’

‘Forgive me, sir. I have told you before that I shall never marry you.’ Sarah looked at him coldly. ‘If that is all you have to say, I shall leave you.’

‘You would be well advised to stay,’ he said and moved to block her path. ‘I had hoped you might be sensible—but as you force me to tell you, I have no choice… .’ He paused for effect as Sarah dug her nails into her palms. Why did he look so pleased with himself?

‘Nothing you can say will harm me. I have good friends …’

‘Lord Myers, I presume?’ Sir Roger sneered. ‘How long do you imagine he will harbour you
in his house when he discovers you are an impostor?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You believe yourself to be the daughter of Sarah Richards and Hardcastle, do you not?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Sarah’s mouth was suddenly dry, her heart racing. ‘Please be plain, sir. I do not know what you mean.’

‘Have you really no idea, Sarah? Did you never wonder why you were the only child of the marriage?’ He looked horribly confident and sure as he added, ‘Your mother could not give Hardcastle children. He went to a prostitute and lay with her, kept her in seclusion and gave her money to stay away from other men. When she gave birth to you, he took you home with him and his wife accepted you as her own. You have no claim to gentle blood at all—you are, in fact, the daughter of a woman of low birth who made her living on her back.’

Sarah gasped and stepped back, feeling as if he had thrown cold water over her. ‘No, it is not true,’ she gasped. ‘You are lying. Father would have told me … my mother loved me …’

‘Your father never told anyone, but someone knew his secret. Your true mother came looking for you before she died. You might wish to know that she died of the whore’s disease
and your father refused to let her see you even though he knew she was dying.’

‘No …’ Sarah put her hands to her face. ‘You are a wicked, evil man to say such things. My father would not have been so cruel.’

‘If you do not believe me, ask your uncle. He told me the truth—which is why he has agreed that you should marry me without delay. Who else would want you now?’

‘You are lying. This is just a wicked tale to discredit me and force me to sell my father’s business. I suppose that offer came from you?’

‘I would buy the mills if I could, but I want you to marry me, Sarah.’

‘Even though you say my mother was a whore?’ Sarah’s eyes flashed with temper.

‘I don’t care whose daughter you are. I am willing to overlook your birth. You have the money and that’s all I’m interested in. If you want to know, I shall be ruined if you don’t marry me. My creditors have hung on because they thought I had prospects, but if they learn you have other ideas …’

‘Your money problems are not my concern,’ Sarah said coldly. ‘This is the final time I shall tell you. If you persist, I shall speak to Lord Myers. Please leave and do not return. I have no wish to speak to you ever again.’

Sir Roger glared at her, disbelief in his eyes.
He had been so certain she would crumble when he revealed her terrible secret.

‘You’ll pay for this, Miss High and Mighty Hardcastle,’ he said and lurched towards her in a fury. ‘I shall give you twenty-four hours to reconsider and then I’ll start spreading the tale. If you imagine your friends will wish to know you, then you are mistaken. Think about it carefully before you ruin yourself for good—and don’t think your fine friends will save you. If they should manage to avert a scandal, I’ll kill you. One way or the other I’ll have my revenge on you.’

Sarah stood absolutely still as he stalked out of the room. His threat to kill her had not sunk in as yet. She was numb, but the pain had started deep inside her. Her mother was not her mother, even though she’d always loved her as if they were related by blood. Her father had gone to a prostitute to get himself an heir… .

‘How could you?’ Sarah whispered as her throat began to close. ‘How could you die without telling me the truth?’

Hot tears burned behind her eyes. She struggled to hold them back but her throat was closing and she felt so much pain that it was all she could do to stay on her feet.

Mama …’ Sarah brushed away the tears that squeezed from the corner of her eye and ran
down her cheek. She felt sweeping loneliness as she realised that her whole life had been based on a lie.

Sarah had always known that she could not hope to mix in the upper echelons of society, but her mother was of gentle birth and that had been sufficient. It did not matter that her father was a rough northern man with an abrasive tongue and a sharp business brain. He’d been honest and kind to her, giving her all the love she could want—except that it had all been a lie.

How could he have left her to discover the terrible truth for herself? He must have been certain his secret was safe, believed that no one knew she was not his wife’s daughter.

The knowledge that her mother was not truly her birth mother was so painful that Sarah hardly knew how to hold her tears inside. Yet she knew she must go on, she must put on a brave face and pretend that everything was as it should be. There were a few more hours before Sir Roger would carry out his threat.

W
hat was she to do? Sarah’s problem lingered on her mind as she consulted with Mrs Brancaster on the menus, changed flowers and then waited for the guests to come down. Some of the gentlemen and most of the ladies did not rise until just before noon and were down in time for nuncheon. Until that time Sarah was free to attend her chores, to walk in the gardens if she chose, or, had she wished, to go riding. However, she knew that Rupert had ordered she was to be accompanied by two grooms whenever she rode out, whether or not in the company of Francesca. To put them to so much trouble just for her pleasure seemed wrong. Besides, walking was a favourite pastime and she decided on a walk to the lake.

The fresh air cleared her head a little. She was still Miss Sarah Hardcastle, still wealthy and she still had friends—but for how long once the spiteful Sir Roger had carried out his threat? Some might not care a fig for his revelations, but the kind of society hostesses that would welcome Francesca would not wish to know Sarah once the rumours began to circulate.

She was determined not to allow him to frighten her into submission. Nothing would make her agree to his proposal now. If it were only she who would suffer, she would remain where she was and accept the consequences—but could she inflict her shame on Francesca? The girl was so looking forward to her come out and to Sarah being her chaperon, but if the scandal became common knowledge that would be at an end. No one would invite the daughter of a low-born whore to their social evenings—at least none of the important hostesses—and that meant Francesca would be tarnished by Sarah’s shame. Also, the very fact that she had bad blood in her would cast doubts on how she had conducted herself while living under the marquess’s roof. It only needed someone to say she had come there under a false name and she would be finished.

Her throat was tight with pain and she could scarcely control her desire to weep. To leave
the girl she had come to love—and Lord Rupert—would slay her. The way he had looked at her the previous day … she’d hoped that he truly cared for her. Yet Sir Roger had said he’d shut Arkwright up—so did he know the truth?

No, she shook her head. Had he known he would have requested her to leave. He would have been aware of the scandal it would cause if her secret became known.

Sarah could not hold back her tears. They trickled silently down her cheeks as she stood by the lake, watching the swans swim gracefully across the still waters. Normally the sight would have been a pleasure, but all she could think was that she was seeing it for the last time. She would have to leave … and she could not tell anyone why.

Brushing away her tears, Sarah raised her head. She would leave a letter for Francesca, assuring her of her love and apologising for having to leave. She would tell Rupert that she had discovered something that made it impossible for her to take up his kind offer to stay with them in London.

Having made up her mind, she turned as she heard a voice hail her. She saw it was Monsieur Dupree and forced a smile as she walked to meet him.

‘Forgive me, my so-dear
mademoiselle—
’
Andre began just as the shot rang out. Sarah felt it strike her left shoulder, gave a cry of distress and fell to the ground in a heap.

‘Mademoiselle
… Mademoiselle Sarah …’ The Frenchman sounded distraught as he bent over her to discover the extent of the damage. She was barely conscious as he exclaimed and clucked over her, but then, as he gathered her into his arms and began to stride away in the direction of the house, she fainted.

‘What happened?’ Rupert demanded. He had seen them from the house and went out immediately to meet them. ‘Good grief! She has been shot.’

‘She was by the lake,’ Andre said. ‘I had seen her walking there and she seemed distressed. I was told she had a visitor this morning—that so-dreadful Sir Roger. I do not why she wept for he is nothing but a scoundrel.’

‘He has been trying to force her to marry him, which was why she came here as a governess.’

‘He is the one who so upset my Sarah?’ The Frenchman’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘I, with my bare hands, will kill him.’

‘I would have been there before you, but I need to know who did this to her.’ He held out his arms. ‘Give her to me, Dupree. You’ve carried
her far enough. Alert Mrs Brancaster that we need someone to fetch the doctor and help Sarah undress.’

‘Oui,
my lord. This I shall do at once.’ Rupert frowned as he carried Sarah into the house. She moaned slightly and he thanked God she was still alive. Pain assailed him as he realised he might have lost her—lost her before he’d even had time to be sure of his intentions for the future or to tell her of his feelings.

Who could have done such a wicked thing? Had Sir Roger taken a spiteful revenge on her for refusing him—or was her uncle playing a double game? He was, after all, her heir, though Sarah could change things if she made a new will.

He felt the frustration and anger burn inside him as he looked down at her pale face. If ever he discovered who had done this wicked thing, he would thrash him to an inch of his life—and he would see the culprit hanged. A fraction of an inch closer to her heart and Sarah would have died. The thought shook him to the core. What would he have done if she had been killed? The pain of it was almost overwhelming as he realised that he would find her loss unbearable. She had intrigued him from the start, but much warmer feelings had been gradually growing within him.

God damn it, he was in love with her. He’d found her amusing, contrary and at times irritating, but this feeling had been growing inside him for a while now. It wasn’t just lust he felt for her, but something much deeper—something he’d never expected that he would feel. Indeed, until this moment he had doubted that the romantic love of the poets truly existed, but now he knew exactly how those tortured knights felt when their love was lost to them.

Rupert’s wariness had made him hold back from giving more of himself than he had. Having been burned and scorned by Madeline as a young man, he had held a part of himself aloof, never giving his heart, always keeping a part of himself in reserve. He’d enjoyed pleasant relationships with his various mistresses, but, he acknowledged now, none of them had meant even a tiny part of what he felt for Sarah.

She must not die! He would seek out the rogue who had done this to her, but for the moment the answers must wait. He had given orders that she was to be accompanied by grooms if she rode out beyond the estate, but he had not dreamed she might be in danger here. The keepers must be doubled, but that would do later. All that mattered for the moment was that she should be made as comfortable as possible—and that she should not die of her wound.

Rupert knew only too well how painful these wounds were and how easily they turned septic, resulting in blood poisoning or a fever that killed. He’d seen too many strong men succumb to fevers after being tended by the surgeons.

Pray God she did not die. He would never forgive himself. He should have protected her better! The wild thoughts churned endlessly in his mind as he strode towards the staircase.

‘My lord …’ Mrs Brancaster had been alerted and came running at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Oh, poor Sarah. Who could have wanted to harm her? She’s such a lovely lady.’

‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed grimly. ‘Rest assured that when I discover the culprit he will be punished. If I do not kill him myself, I shall see him hang.’

‘He certainly deserves it, sir.’ Mrs Brancaster hesitated. ‘Do you think it was that man … Sir Roger? He called to see her this morning and one of the footmen said they had words. Jennings did not hear what was said, but he heard raised voices and he thought she sounded upset for he was in two minds to go in, and then Sir Roger came out with a face as black as thunder and pushed past him in a right temper. Sarah went straight up to her room and looked as if she was crying.’

‘Indeed. If that is the case it may explain why she was out at the lake alone, when I’d told her …’ Rupert shook her head. ‘It does not matter. Draw back the sheets, Mrs Brancaster. We need someone to undress her and sit with her until the doctor comes. I would stay myself—but I have guests to see to.’

‘Yes, of course, sir. Besides, that would not be fitting.’

‘You are perfectly right, Mrs Brancaster. If I may, I shall call to see how she goes on after the doctor has been. You will make sure that someone stays with her all the time—at least until we are certain she is out of danger.’

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll come in as much as I can myself. I don’t mind telling you I’ve become quite fond of the lady. When she first came I wasn’t sure—but of course she is a lady, not a governess.’

‘Thank you.’

Rupert placed Sarah gently amongst the soft linen sheets, stood looking at her for a moment and then turned away. His eyes were dark and angry as he left the room. He wanted to inflict vengeance on the devil who had hurt her. He wanted it to be him who had been shot in her place, to take away the pain he knew she must suffer. If he had only himself to think of he would not have stirred from her side, but it
would be impossible in the circumstances. Besides, he must tell Francesca and John, both of whom would be distressed.

‘Sarah has been shot?’ Francesca looked at him in dismay. ‘Then that shot
was
meant for her when we were out riding. She dismissed the idea as nonsense, but John said he saw the man take aim directly at her.’

‘Yes, I know. He could not describe the man’s appearance, unfortunately, except to say he wore the clothes a gamekeeper or poacher might wear—a large grey coat over dark breeches, a muffler about his neck, which hid his chin, and a black hat pulled down over his eyes. The description is accurate, I think, but of little use in finding the rogue.’

‘How is she?’ Francesca asked. ‘Is she in terrible pain?’

‘I imagine she will be when she recovers her senses. The doctor has been sent for and one of the maids is caring for her until then. Mrs Brancaster will send for me if I am needed.’

‘May I visit her, please?’

‘I think you should wait until the doctor has been, Francesca. She is being looked after and will be better once her wound is tended and she has been given something to help the pain—either laudanum or some brandy, I think.’

‘Poor Sarah. I do not like to think of her in pain. She has been as a sister to me, Uncle Rupert—I cannot tell you the difference she made to our lives here.’

‘Sarah has her own charm,’ Rupert agreed and frowned. ‘We should all miss her if she left us.’

‘She wouldn’t leave us!’

‘She might wish to go away somewhere once she feels better—perhaps to France or Italy where she could recover in peace and quiet.’

‘It is peaceful at Cavendish. I need Sarah here with me,’ Francesca protested.

‘Yet her life may be in danger if she stays here. She may have to travel for her own safety.’

‘If she does, I shall go with her.’ Francesca set her mouth stubbornly. ‘I have no wish for a London Season if Sarah cannot be with me.’

‘She would feel guilty for taking you away from it, Francesca. I am not sure what she will wish to do. She has been shot at twice now and in a place where she had every reason to feel safe. I cannot think what might have happened had Monsieur Dupree not chanced to be walking by the lake.’

‘He did not happen to be there. He followed her,’ Francesca said. ‘I think he is in love with Sarah. He told me he would give his life for her.’

‘I see.’ Rupert frowned, for he had not realized
the dancing master’s intentions were so serious. Had Sarah encouraged him to think of her? He felt a sharp slash of jealousy, but quashed it. His feelings were not important. Only Sarah mattered now. ‘Shall you tell John about her injury or would you prefer I did?’

‘I’ll tell him. I suppose you will have to inform the guests.’

‘Yes, I imagine they have the right to know, if only to warn them a dangerous man is in the vicinity.’

‘You don’t think he will shoot anyone else?’

‘I think not, but I shall be asking the keepers to patrol the grounds frequently just in case.’

Francesca shuddered. ‘It is so horrid, just as we’re having such a lovely time. Poor Sarah. Who could want to harm her?’

‘I do not know—unless it was Sir Roger?’

Francesca’s brows rose. ‘Why would he do such a thing? I thought he liked her.’

‘He wants to marry her for her money and she does not wish to oblige him. I gather he has been quite unpleasant on more than one occasion. She told you why she came here—did she not tell you about him?’

‘Not his name, though I did notice she seemed to avoid Sir Roger if she could. To think I asked him to stay to nuncheon! Sarah should have warned me.’

‘I dare say she thought he would accept her answer in time—and we cannot know who did this to her. We can surmise, but we have no proof.’

‘Well, I shall tell Mrs Brancaster that I do not wish him admitted again.’

‘That would be the height of rudeness and might harm you. We have no proof of his guilt. However, should he come again make sure you are never alone with him—and make sure someone is with Sarah. I shall speak to the man myself if he dares to show his face here.’

‘I think I shall just pop up and see if the doctor has arrived. I shall not go in if he is with her, of course.’

‘You must not forget your guests,’ Rupert reminded her. ‘Sarah will be properly cared for and you may visit her when you can.’

‘Yes, I understand. She would tell me the same, but …’ Francesca’s face creased. ‘I should be so upset if anything … If she should die …’

‘She will not die,’ Rupert said, his expression grim. His fists balled at his sides. Sarah’s death was unthinkable. He could not bear to speak of it, even to the girl who loved her. ‘I shall not allow it. She is to be attended at all times and the doctor will be sent for if she shows the slightest sign of taking a turn for the worse.’

‘You care about her, too, don’t you?’ Francesca
said. ‘I’m glad. I thought once you didn’t like her, but I was wrong. You do not show your feelings openly—but you care.’