My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) (8 page)

“Miss Palmer’s a good listener.” Thompkins chuckled. “She always laughs at me jokes.”

They talked briefly of weather and road conditions, then the courier departed and the others went about their business.

Was this scene as innocent as it appeared? Adrian wondered. Or, was Miss Palmer an even better listener than the courier supposed? Adrian was fully aware that she had sent some sort of message to London via the post, though Olmstead had been unable to determine the precise direction. That she had chosen to post it herself without asking him to frank it was curious indeed. Now here she was—apparently quite at ease in the company of a man who regularly had access to extremely sensitive information.

Adrian was as perplexed as he ever remembered being in his adult life. He absolutely did not want to believe her guilty of spying. Why did it matter so much? he asked himself. The spy was certainly someone connected to him. She was new. He knew little of her. She was a logical suspect, was she not? But, not her.
Please, let it not be her. . . .

Then he was struck by the personal interest this silent plea indicated on his part. He was not such a fool that he could ignore his own physical reaction to her. Dancing with her had been a mistake, but he had not been able to help himself—and doing the pretty for all the female guests had provided the opportunity. Even now, he recalled the scent she wore and the way she fit so perfectly in his arms.

Nor was it just the physical attraction. He liked her as a friend, found her to be as easy to talk with as ever any of his best male friends had been. He liked watching her emotions flit across her face, seeing her eyes light with humor or soften with concern. He loved watching her with his children.

Bloody hell! She was the governess. Of course she should be good with the children. That was, after all, what she was paid to do. And be.

He should be concentrating on the lovely Merrilee. His mother had made her intent quite clear before the arrival of the Grimsley party.

“I have included the Dowager Lady Grimsley and her son and daughter,” the duchess had informed Adrian when he joined his mother in her sitting room on the morning after his arrival. “I believe you are acquainted with them.”

“Yes, Mother. You know very well I am.” There was a resigned, I-know-what-you-are-about tone in his voice.

“Merrilee Grimsley is a taking little thing,” she suggested. “Now do not give me that arch look, son. It is beyond time you should remarry.”

“And you think Lady Grimsley would make a perfect mother-in-law for me?”

“Actually, I was thinking more of the
daughter.
Never mind her mother.” The duchess gestured dismissively. “She is silly and dotes on that spoiled son of hers. But the daughter’s behavior is all that is correct.”

“I grant you she has always seemed intent on making herself agreeable and amiable.”

“She has had proper training, I am sure. She exhibits all of the accomplishments one might expect of a lady.”

“You have been examining her very closely, have you?” There was a slight teasing note in his tone.

“She would be a very correct wife for someone of your station,” she said firmly.

“Correct.”

“Now, look.” He recognized the note of impatience he had known as a child. “She is agreeable, accomplished, cheerful. What more could you want?”

“Someone to talk to. Someone to share my views. Someone to argue with occasionally. Someone who would be a good mother to my children.”

“Well, give the girl a chance. Perhaps she can be that someone.”

“Perhaps.”

The conversation had then turned to other matters.

Now—more than two weeks into the house party—his mother and Lady Grimsley and the accomplished, attractive, and agreeable Merrilee all seemed intent on bringing him up to scratch. She was a lovely girl, whose studied manner made little secret of the fact that she and her mama thought she would make a perfect nobleman’s wife.

And she probably would.

She had certainly responded warmly when he kissed her under the kissing ball. Moreover, she had subtly let him know she would welcome a more private repeat of that performance. But he had seen fit to restrain himself. Nor could he bring himself to offer for her. Every time he even thought of doing so, a pair of gray-green eyes flashed into his consciousness.

 

 

After the conversation with Adrian’s Aunt Henny, Elinor had tried to take more pleasure in her surroundings. She was determined that no one else should perceive her as unhappy or elicit from her such confidences as Lady Henrietta had.

Elinor quite enjoyed certain of the Wallenford guests. Aunt Henny was a favorite and as she became acquainted with the admiral, she grew to appreciate his dry sense of humor. He, in turn, seemed to appreciate her as a good listener and intelligent conversationalist. Adrian’s sisters had been kind, but not overly familiar. The Grimsley ladies were not rude, but neither did they condescend to spend any special time or effort with someone of so little rank.

Only one person gave her pause.

Lord Reginald Everdon, whose mother was a lifelong friend of the duchess, had accompanied his parents and his older sister and her husband to this country affair. Elinor knew he was considered something of a rake. Talk among the nursery maids and kitchen help was that he made himself obnoxious to more than one comely lass belowstairs. He often sought Elinor’s company during evening diversions and she had been paired with him for dinner more than once. He was a handsome, dark-haired man of an indeterminate age—mid—thirties to mid-forties. He dressed fashionably and exuded an air of self-confidence.

Although she had initially accepted his attentions as friendly overtures, Elinor had begun to find his presence somewhat oppressive. He often found excuses to touch her as they stood talking, or he would stand too close. At table his knee chanced to bump hers too often for it to be purely accidental. He invariably sought her hand for dances.

At the duchess’s grand entertainment with the mummers, he had been determined to have the seat next to Elinor, and afterward, he asked her to dance twice. The first time, he had tried to maneuver them under the kissing ball, but she was adamant in refusing to allow that. Their second dance occurred after Adrian had kissed Merrilee Grimsley under the kissing ball. As Everdon waltzed her around the edge of the room, Elinor was scarcely aware of her surroundings. She was aware that he holding her too close.

Suddenly, he had ducked them into a dimly lit curtained alcove. He pulled her roughly into his arms and lowered his lips to her mouth, immediately trying to force his tongue between her teeth. She put her hands against his chest and shoved hard.

“Lord Everdon! Let me go at once,” she said, her voice insistent, but kept low.

“Now, why would I do that?” he asked with a throaty laugh. He sought her lips again.

She turned her head abruptly and said, “Perhaps because a lady asked you to do so.”

“You are overdoing the maidenly protests, dear girl. You have been teasing me for days now.”

“I have done no such thing.” Strong indignation forced her voice to rise slightly.

“Come now, my dear. I know an invitation from a woman when I see one.”

“You what?” she cried as he clapped a hand over her mouth, still holding her very firmly about the waist.

“Keep your voice down, love.” His chuckle held a condescending sneer. “We would not want to be caught in this compromising position, now would we? It would not be my reputation that suffered.”

She went still, knowing very well how such a scene would appear to others. She might even lose her job.

“That’s better,” he crooned, his hand still over her mouth. “Now. We both know what these country house parties are all about, don’t we? You are not some green schoolgirl.”

She made an incoherent sound of outrage against his hand and twisted herself from his grip. He pulled her back against him, his hands gliding over her body.

“Let me go!” she hissed.

“In a minute, my love.” He caught her face and pressed his mouth against hers again. “Until later. Leave your chamber door unlocked.”

“You arrogant ass!” she whispered hoarsely. She saw a flash of anger cross his face, but he relaxed his hold on her slightly. “If you so much as come near me again, I shall scream my head off. I do not think the duke would take kindly to your behavior.”

She knew this threat hit home, for he immediately released her and gave her a stiff little bow. She quickly escaped the alcove. She tried to look calm and at ease as she emerged into the ballroom. She wanted nothing so much as to escape to her room, but she forced herself to do so sedately, smiling and speaking trivialities as she made her way to the door.

That night the nightmares came again. They had plagued her in London, but gradually ceased during her stay at the Abbey. Now they returned with a vengeance.

To Elinor, it seemed the incident in the alcove had whetted Everdon’s appetite for pursuit. She took care he did not again catch her in an intimate encounter. She also locked her chamber door now when she had not done so before.

She tried to avoid him, but it was not always possible to do so. She was wary of attracting undue attention among this assemblage of social elite. She actually remembered three or four of them as people who had been guests at some of the social affairs she had attended in the past. They were unlikely to take notice of someone else’s governess, though they would have welcomed warmly Lady Elinor Richards, decked out in her daughter-of-an-earl finery.

It would never do for a person of her present station to disrupt a house party of one of the
ton’s
most revered hostesses. Everdon obviously sensed her reluctance to make a scene, though he also seemed to take seriously her threat to go to the duke. Now, he appeared to enjoy playing a game to keep her off balance.

He somehow ensured she was often his partner in cards and other games. If there was dancing, he never failed to ask her to stand up with him, though she had been adroit in avoiding another intimate waltz. It often chanced that partners were able to exchange a few words during the movements of a dance, or he would separate her from others in the social atmosphere of the drawing room. Elinor kept her remarks as brief as civility allowed. His were full of innuendo. One of his ploys was to pretend, for her ears alone, that they were lovers.

“My darling, I am so sorry I was unable to come to you last night,” he would say, his voice low and obscenely seductive. “The duke insisted on keeping the gentlemen away. Tonight, my sweet.”

Or, “I know how you must have waited for me last night, all hot and ready. I won’t fail you again, sweet thing.”

Or, “It will be worth the wait, my love, for I know well how to please a woman’s appetites.”

Each time Elinor would stiffen and lower her eyes, lest others in the company should see the anger flashing there. But she could not stop the color rising to spot her cheeks. Sensing her reaction, he would laugh diabolically.

Still, it had not gone any farther—in part because she had taken to retiring early when her attendance was not absolutely required. She was honest enough to admit to herself that avoiding Everdon’s overwhelming presence was only one reason for such withdrawal. The other was to escape the pain of watching Adrian with the lovely Merrilee.

Although she might leave the company early, Elinor rarely went to sleep early. Always a reader, she now buried herself in that pastime. Books kept her mind from dwelling on how she was to keep up this charade for the next several months. Or wondering how Peter was getting on. Or considering her growing fixation on her employer. Or worrying that Everdon might become even more obnoxious.

As it was, Lord Everdon and the horrible Baron Pennington seemed to take turns plaguing her dreams. The dream was always the same. She was being pursued through a dark forest, a corridor of trees looming ominously overhead. Her feet were leaden, never able to move as fast as she wanted them to. Ahead there seemed a lighter opening in the trees and a figure could be dimly seen there. Heavy steps thudded closer and closer. Unwelcome hands reached for her, often touching, never quite grasping.

At that point, she would awaken. Often she was wakened by her own sobs. Fear was a foul taste in the back of her mouth. It would then be a long time before sleep reclaimed her.

She became increasingly reluctant to go to sleep and deliberately prolonged her evening reading, hoping eventually to be too tired to entertain horrible dreams.

 

 

Christmas had come and gone with its special festivities of a Yule log, caroling, and gifts. It was followed immediately by St. Stephen’s Day, the day to spread goodwill and good things among the tenants, the servants, and the parish poor. The children played hard and often fell into bed without the usual protests. Elinor still spent a good deal of time with her three charges and often found herself entertaining other children as well. Bess and Geoffrey established their proprietary rights to the spots nearest their Miss Palmer when she read to the entire group in the afternoons.

One day just before the new year, Elinor noted that Bess was unusually fussy and her face seemed flushed. Putting her hand on the child’s forehead, Elinor thought she might be slightly feverish. She consulted the children’s nurse and the two of them agreed to monitor the little girl’s condition throughout the night. They would notify Lord Trenville only if her condition worsened.

Elinor’s room was directly across the hall from the room Bess and Anne shared with a girl cousin. The nursery maids had a room two doors down. Convinced by now that Everdon was more an annoyance than a real threat to her person, Elinor decided to leave her door and the door to Bess’s room slightly open so she could hear the child if she cried out. She wondered if she would sleep at all this night.

Adrian had never cultivated Everdon’s friendship, though he had accorded the man proper civility as a close connection of his parents’ friends. As he became aware of Lord Everdon’s attentions toward Miss Palmer, he was increasingly critical of the other man. He decided he did not like the man’s dress, his demeanor, his views, his attitude.

Hell and damnation! He was doing it again! What difference should it make to him—beyond the possibility of losing a governess—if Everdon showed interest in Miss Palmer?

Because,
he answered himself,
you know what the man is, what his reputation is. He can have no honorable intentions toward a woman of her station. He is said to be hanging out for a rich wife
. Well, so what? She seemed friendly enough to him. What gave Trenville the right to interfere in Everdon’s business? Or Miss Palmer’s?

She is in your employ and thus under your protection. You have an obligation to see that she is treated with respect.

Oh. Is
that
it?
He sneered at himself.
You are merely exercising a proper interest in her welfare, eh? No other motive at all?

He had seen the couple disappear into the curtained alcove the night of his mother’s grand party. Had Elinor not emerged when she did, he would have charged over there to see for himself what was going on. Since then, he thought there was a distant coolness on her part toward Lord Everdon. Adrian also thought she occasionally found Everdon’s presence disconcerting. However, as long as she tolerated it without complaint to him or his father, Adrian felt there was little he could do.

The billiards room was a favorite retreat for the gentlemen of the house party. One afternoon, most of them had gravitated to this refuge from the female-dominated drawing room. In a comfortable corner of the room, Adrian had been talking for some time with his father, his uncle, and three others. The topic was—as usual—the effect of events in Vienna on British politics and economics.

Gradually, the ribaldry and knowing laughter of the mostly younger men around the billiards table penetrated his consciousness.

“Come now, Chase,” Jason Sidwell said with a hoot of laughter. “You must give Everdon credit for consistency. He never quits trying.”

“True,” Chase replied. “But then his successes are none too challenging.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Everdon had an edge to his voice.

“Merely that your current targets are not precisely the sort one finds at Almack’s.” Chase laughed disarmingly.

Everdon shrugged. “Ah, well. One takes whatever opportunity offers.”

“Even a comely upstairs maid now and then, eh?” Chase leered.

“Poor Chase is feeling a bit downhearted. That little redhead turned him down.” Sidwell’s tone dripped false sympathy.

“Who says so?” Chase asked in blustery denial.

“You did,” Sidwell laughed.

“Any time you boys need some lessons, just feel free to consult with Uncle Everdon,” that one said with exaggerated condescension. Adrian observed that the “boys” were only a few years younger than Everdon.

Chase snorted his derision. “Oh, yes. We have noticed what great success you are having with Trenville’s pretty little governess!”

“My dear Chase.” Everdon’s tone belittled the other man. “You really must learn more about women.”

“Oh-h-h?”

Everdon nodded. “Some women, you see, are simply more coy—and clever—than others.”

“Clever? In what way are women so clever?”

“Some
women manage to conceal their activities from watchful eyes. Cold in company, passionate in private.” The pat phrase was delivered in airy dismissal.

“You hope!” Chase responded. “That one seems able to resist your oh-so-considerable charms.”

“He’s got you there, I think,” Sidwell laughed.

“The game is not over yet.” Everdon sounded decidedly smug.

That is what you think
, Adrian thought. Just as he was about to put a stop to their unseemly discussion, the duke’s ancient butler announced the ladies were awaiting the gentlemen’s presence for tea in the drawing room.

 

 

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Adrian was preoccupied with thoughts inspired by the billiards room discussion. He was inclined to doubt Everdon’s hints of his success with Elinor—Miss Palmer. Why
did
he persist in thinking of her as
Elinor?
The idea that she might welcome the other man’s advances was strangely disquieting.

It was very late when he started to retire that night. He and his father and his uncle had talked long after the others sought their chambers. Adrian told them of the spy plaguing his diplomatic work and the government’s unproductive efforts to identify the culprit. The older men were as shocked as he had been when he confessed the French agent was almost surely connected with him. Try as they might, they could come up with no means of flushing out the person responsible.

Adrian had not told them of Olmstead’s stated and his own latent suspicions of Miss Palmer. Had anyone confronted him with this omission, he would have found it difficult to explain. The truth was, he was having difficulty enough just explaining it to himself! Somehow, openly talking of her in such a light would make his doubts more credible. And he desperately wanted her to be what she seemed.

Having stripped down to his shirt and breeches, he dismissed his valet. Then it occurred to him that he had not looked in on the children as he nearly always did prior to retiring. It was a habit he had formed when they were still in cradles. He liked watching over their innocent sleep. He put on a pair of slippers and picked up a candle to find his way to the nursery wing.

He found the nursery maid bent over Bess’s sleeping form. She turned as the light from his candle penetrated the room.

“Oh, ’tis you, my lord,” she whispered.

“Is something wrong?”

“We don’t think so, sir. But she did seem slightly feverish earlier.”

“Why was I not informed?”

“Miss Palmer and me thought to tell you if she got any worse. We been taking turns looking in on the poor wee dear.”

“I see.” He touched his daughter’s cheek with the back of his hand. “She is a bit warm, all right. Not truly hot, though. Let me know how she does in the morning.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I will just check on Geoffrey. You go on back to bed, Baxter.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He made his way on down the hall to the room occupied by his son and two other boys. He pulled disheveled covers over two of them and started back to his own chamber.

He knew Miss Palmer had the room across the hall from Bess’s. As he passed, he heard her cry out.

“No! Oh, please—no-o-o ...”

Good God! Was she being assaulted? Had Everdon really overstepped himself? Without stopping to think beyond this initial flash, he rapped on her door.

“Miss Palmer, are you all right?”

To his surprise, the door swung open. He stepped into the room and, holding his candle high, looked around. She lay on the bed, tossing and sobbing, “No. No.” There was no one else in the room.

Instinctively, he elbowed the door closed and approached the bed. Her hair was a mass of tangled curls against the pillow. Her lashes lay dark on slightly flushed cheeks. In her thrashing about, the bedcovers had slipped to her waist. Her night dress was open at the neck to reveal a soft rounding of breast. He drew in a breath at the sheer beauty before him.

Setting the candle on the night table next to her own unlit candle and her spectacles, he bent over her. It flashed through his mind that his presence might frighten her—but surely not as bad as what was already distressing her. He touched her shoulder.

“Miss Palmer. Elinor. Wake up.”

Her eyes flew open, pools of very dark green in the dim light of the single candle. Sheer terror shone in them. She gave a little yelp and sat up, her eyes still not registering true awareness.