Page 9 of The Earl’s Disguised Governess (Delightful Dukes and Damsels)

Chapter 8

Once Claire received the letter from her mother, then danced with Lord Bannerdown, and fled the music room shortly after he had vacated it, the following week elapsed quickly.

If Lady Katherine was angry and suspicious of them dancing together, even if it was in the interest of tutoring Lady Florence, then Claire had to be careful. While Lord Bannerdown might receive scrutiny, Claire’s employment was on the line. She could not lose this opportunity.

However, no further incidents occurred that week, allowing Claire to feel more relaxed in her position as Lady Florence’s governess. And where she expected Lord Bannerdown to keep his distance after his mother’s outburst, he did not. He took every opportunity to smile at her, ask her how she was, and about her day.

Claire ventured through the halls now, a week on from the waltz lesson. She knew that Lord Bannerdown had many books in his study that Lady Florence would adore. He had a whole special collection of Shakespeare and many poetry and classical novels that Claire knew the young lady would be interested in perusing.

“You may acquire them at any moment,” he had told Claire one evening in passing when he had enquired about his cousin’s progress. “My study is always unlocked. Please help yourself to the books. I understand that is rather unheard of, but I have nothing to hide, and that study does not entirely feel like mine. If my cousin can make use of the books in there—books that I myself have loved—then they should be used, yes?”

So, Claire slipped down the hallway to Lord Bannerdown’s study, feeling as though she should not be anywhere near the heavy wooden door as she pushed it open. She had her thoughts set on an Austen book she knew was in there.

But when she pushed open the door, she blinked, her brows lifting in surprise, when she saw Lord Bannerdown still at his writing desk.

“L-Lord Bannerdown,” she stammered. “I am terribly sorry. I will take my leave. I did not realize you would still be in here working.”

He looked up at her, his face pale but eyes bright. “Miss Gundry.” His voice was low and soft, his smile gentle in the candlelight illuminating the otherwise dark room. Outside, night had fallen. “Please come in. Are you here to speak with me?”

“I—I was coming to look for a book for Lady Florence. Forgive me, My Lord. I did not realize you would still be working so late.”

“It is not often,” he admitted. “But tonight is a night where … Ah, well, let us say my thoughts are quite loud.” He gave her a wince of a smile. “The work helps. Writing helps.”

Claire still hovered on the threshold, but he beckoned her inside. A flit of his eyes to the hallway beyond her made her move faster, mindful that eyes could be on them. They were doing nothing wrong. After all, it was not as though she was a lady of the Ton, at the risk of societal ruin if caught alone with him.

No, you have already suffered that due to a man. Although he was not improper with you but your own family. Your own family caused you societal ruin. What more do you have to lose by entering this man’s study for a book?

She stepped inside, ensuring to leave the door open unless he instructed otherwise.

Claire did not feel any fear as she moved into his study, sitting in the chair that he beckoned for her to take up. Should she have felt fear? Being alone with a man would have once put some worry into her. But now she found herself completely comfortable. Despite the late hour, despite the intimacy of his study, and the glowing illumination of candlelight, Claire felt calm and at peace.

“What is it you are working on?” she asked politely. Sat at his desk with his shirt undone at the collar, his cravat loosened, and his jacket slung over the back of his chair, he looked like a relaxed scholar, burning the candlelight as he worked late into the day. There was a tired but pleasant smile on his face, his dark hair rumpled. He messed it up further as he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Graham—my Courtenay—has drawn up plans for a new ward in the hospital, and I am reviewing them. It is in honour of our fallen friend whom we both mentioned.”

“The viscount,” Claire finished, wanting him to know she had listened.

Despite his fatigue, he looked happy that she had. “Yes.” He rubbed his eyes. “I am intending to fundraise for it to help with the costs. I want to be a part of the project without being the direct investor.”

It did strike Claire odd that Lord Bannerdown wouldn’t simply pour money into the endeavour, but it was clear those questions were written on her face, for he laughed quietly.

“I assure you it is not greed that stops me from funding it myself,” he said. “I have offered Graham heaps of funds, told him he has land at his disposal, even, to sell, but he claims it will only make him feel indebted to me. He wants this project funded without my direct help. Ideally, he wants it funded by the public, a way for them to honour Captain White.”

“That is very honourable.” Claire nodded. “I would like to help.”

Although her governess’s wage paid her way in life, she wanted to do what she could.

“I am sure Graham would be most appreciative.” She felt the heavy pause. “He … He mentioned you several days ago, in fact.” His eyes flicked from her and back to the plans. Was he aware that he frowned? Claire watched the troublesome look on his face for a second before he composed it into something more placid. “He seemed very fond of asking how you were. He mentioned that perhaps he would visit.”

“Oh,” Claire said, her own brow pinching as she folded her hands in her lap. “That is kind of him. However, he should not concern himself. I am not a woman who cares for … visitors of that sort.”

“Of what sort?” he asked, and she heard the curling tease in his voice.

“A male caller,” Claire said, blushing. “That is what you meant, yes?”

He looked as though he had tasted something sour. “Yes. I believe that was his intention.”

“Then please advise him not to waste his efforts, for I am not interested in either courtship or marriage. I have a grand life as a governess and intend to keep it that way.”

Ernest’s face, at once, both fell in what she thought was disappointment and loosened in relief. Claire panicked. Had she disappointed him by insulting his friend?

It is strange, she thought. He is disappointed with that, but he looked at me so softly when we danced together the other day.

“My Lord, I wish to quickly assure you that it has nothing to do with the quality of your friend,” she hurried to say. “It is only that—”

A knock interrupted Claire, and she cut herself off. What was she about to tell him?

It is only that I am a liar and could not ever trick a man into a courtship under a false identity. It is only that being saddled to a husband means I would have to rely on him and hope he does not leave me destitute like … like in my past with my father …

A man would ask me to give up being a governess, and I would find myself unable to do so. I find myself loving my employment.

The thoughts rolled through her mind as Lord Bannerdown thanked the maid for tea, shuffling his papers so a saucer and teacup could be set down for them. The maid excused herself and left, carrying the empty tray. Lord Bannerdown took two sugar cubes in his tea, and Claire laughed softly, forgetting all about her original reason for seeking out his study.

“Two sugar cubes at such an hour, Lord Bannerdown?” she teased.

“Ah.” He winced, sipping the hot tea. “It is a habit from my profession.”

“It is surprising that a man in your position still works at the hospital,” she commented.

“I know,” he sighed. “It has become a bothersome point in my life as of late. However, I cannot bring myself to give it up for the sake of societal norms.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Claire resonated quietly. “They say a title makes a man noble, but I believe your choice to continue your work at the hospital is what makes you noble.”

“It is tiring,” he admitted, “but it makes me happy. It is why I try to balance both aspects of my life. My duty and my passion.”

“This new ward …” Claire pressed. “Will it be for any specific conditions?”

He nodded. “The captain did not die immediately. He was not struck and fell in battle, like most. His injury was not an amputation gone wrong or a bullet wound to the heart. He did not fall by a sword. All those things were common things to see in the field tent, but Viscount White … he was struck in the back of the head by flying shrapnel. He was not where he ought to have been because he wanted to help a flagging battalion. He buckled, fell, and was unconscious for many hours before they found him, thinking he was one of the fatalities.

“When they …” He inhaled sharply, his eyes vacant. “When they brought the captain to Graham and me, we did everything we could to save him. We argued with one another, yelled orders and accusations that were unkind, all in our desperation to have some sort of answer. But the captain had an internal wound even when we patched up the external damage. He was in our hospital for a long time before he died.”

Tears shone in his eyes as he gazed off. His fingers picked at a corner of the plans. Claire wished to reach out and offer the earl some comfort, but she couldn’t. Lord Bannerdown sipped his tea and gave her a wince of a smile as if to tell her he was okay.

“It is still rather fresh,” he said quietly. “I erected a memorial for him and envy Graham’s ability to do far greater things with his position. The ward shall be specifically for those with head injuries. Brain, nerves, eyes. Anything that we can treat to do with that, we shall. We did not have the resources to save my friend, but I wish to see that Bellott’s does.”

Claire gave him a comforting smile. “I did not know the viscount, but I am sure that he would love this plan. You and Mr Courtenay do him a great service.”

“To tell you the truth, Miss Gundry, there are nights I have nightmares about my time in the king’s army, only to spend the entire day wishing I was back there, despite everything. I have felt more at home in those conditions, rushing to save a man’s life, holding his hand in his last moments, than I have in this very fine, opulent house.”

“I understand that,” Claire said. “My father used to say opulence is only beautiful because it hides a lie beneath.” The words spoke too close to home, and she managed a laugh. “Only in that riches and inheritances are not always the most meaningful, are they?”

“No,” he muttered. “They are not. And to admit that is quite blasphemous, I imagine.”

She reached out as if to comfort him once again by touching his hand. “No, not to me, it is not.”

“Miss Gundry, two weeks before the Battle of Waterloo began, I was informed of my uncle and cousin’s death,” he told her, sitting up once again. “It arrived in a letter from a royal barrister, informing me very bluntly of their lost fight to consumption, their deaths, and how I was not only an earl now but the guardian for a sixteen-year-old lady who was grieving her father and grandfather. She had no other relatives to take her in except from me and my mother.”

His hand trembled as he lifted his teacup.

“Although my world was turned upside down, I imagine hers was, too. Suddenly, her family was deceased, and a new man entered the house with the title her own father should have had. Not only did I enter in such a manner, but my mother, of course, came with me. I came from the battlefield to Bannerdown, expected to take care of my new, young ward. She understood what had happened, and I do not wish to insult her by telling her it word for word, but I did not know how to offer her comfort. I have grieved, I am grieving, and yet I feel as though we sail on the same ship of that grief but reside on different ends of the boat. That boat is sinking, and we ought to be there for one another, perhaps talk of our grief, but I simply do not know how.”

Guilt etched over his face as he shook his head. “That is why I avoid my cousin. I appear uncaring, but it saves me from her resentment that, no matter what I do, I cannot be her father or grandfather. Only her cousin.”

“Lord Bannerdown,” Claire murmured, “if I may speak so boldly, I believe she has more resentment for the quiet than any amount of effort you could give. She would appreciate an attempt more than the cold silence.”

“It appears cold?”

“It appears uncaring,” Claire admitted. “She thinks you are no more than burdened with her.”

“Heavens,” he muttered. “It is a joy to have this title if only so it brings me closer to her as my family. It is only that I do not know how to comfort her.”

“What if she does not need only comfort? What if she simply needs some normalcy? Some conversation? Comfort can come after that, Lord Bannerdown.”

He nodded, silently musing about her words. Once again, he nodded as he finished his cup of tea. And Claire, with the evening heavy with his own confessions, felt closer to him. Close enough that she even leaned forward in her chair, set down her saucer, and went to tell him about her own secret past.

She wished to speak of her life as Lady Claire, the disgraced marquess’s daughter, and running away from London to make a new name for herself to survive destitution.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, Lord Bannerdown put his cup down with a clink and stood up. “Miss Gundry, thank you for your company this evening, but I am afraid it is time for me to retire for the night. Thank you,” he hesitated, “for everything. For your dedication to my cousin but also your kindness and consideration towards me.”

Her secrets melted on her tongue, retreating into her heart, where she knew she should not speak of them lest she risk her position. She only nodded, stood, and left with Lord Bannerdown before they parted ways.

“Good night, My Lord,” she said. “I hope you sleep well.”

“I believe I shall tonight.” His face was soft and open as he nodded.

Claire was halfway to her own room when she realized that she had not retrieved

the book she wanted in the end.

***

Claire wasn’t sure if Lord Bannerdown would take her advice yet again about Lady Florence, but she was surprised when she entered the breakfast hall the next morning to find Lady Florence talking happily, chattering away with Lord Bannerdown.

She paused in the doorway.

“Miss Gundry!” Lady Florence called. “My cousin has come to dine with me. You must join us as well!”

It was common practice for Claire to join her but … well, she had not anticipated Lord Bannerdown attending breakfast too. She had hoped, for both her sake and Lady Florence’s, and now he was here, poised and composed as ever; her heart gave a small flutter.

Attempting to tamper down such a reaction, Claire entered the room, her dress swishing around her ankles with the movement.

“Good morning, Lord Bannerdown,” she said, curtsying to him. She turned to her young ward. “Lady Florence.”

“We have been discussing the next performance at the playhouse!” Florence exclaimed excitedly as Claire took her seat at the table and was quickly served a plate of breakfast. Eggs and toast piled on top of one another. She snuck a glance at Lord Bannerdown’s plate to see how he liked his cooked. Scrambled, with several streaks of bacon on the side. He had jam smeared over a darkly cooked piece of toast, and Claire found herself reaching for one of a similarly cooked level. He looked appreciative of her choice.

“What play is that?” she asked.

“Twelfth Night,” Florence told her, grinning. “It is to be showing in two weeks. I would love to attend. Shall we all go again together?”

Claire glanced at Lord Bannerdown, unsure if the invitation the other week was merely a one-off, but the man looked calm and happy as he said, “Once again, it shall be an honour for me to accompany you both.”

“Then I should love to attend as well,” Claire told Florence, who looked overjoyed. While she remembered Twelfth Night wasn’t one of Florence’s favourite plays, she knew the young girl would be looking for any opportunity to bond with her cousin. It seemed Shakespeare was at least one way to go.

They all ate and discussed Florence’s favourite character—Viola, of course—and if Lord Bannerdown had any connections with actors in this one—he did not. It was a perfect moment until a cleared throat broke the joyous atmosphere.

Lady Florence crunched into her toast, the sound loud in the silence.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Katherine’s voice boomed across the room. “I enter the breakfast hall to hear you talking of highly improper plays! Ernest, what are you encouraging for your cousin?”

“Mother, I—”

“Regardless,” she dismissed. Her hand waved him away. “There shall be no further talk of that. I would like you to be reintroduced to somebody, Ernest. It is someone I believe you should recognize very well, although it has been quite some time.”

Claire did not know for sure, but she thought that Lady Katherine’s smile was almost calculating as she stepped into the breakfast hall, revealing two women behind her. One was young but perhaps one or two years older than Lady Florence, with a pile of dark hair pinned back from her pretty heart-shaped face, and the other was a woman of Lady Katherine’s age, her own dark hair streaked with gray, emphasized by the sharp way it was pulled back to expose a rounded face.

The silence was so loud that Claire heard the intake of breath from Lord Bannerdown as he appeared to recognize their company.

“Lady Samantha,” he murmured, standing. “Mrs Elizabeth Brooks.”