Page 21 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

Chapter Eighteen

I t was dark by the time Lord and Lady St. Clare’s lavish traveling coach entered the gates of their vast Somerset estate. Beasley Park, it was called. At one time the childhood home of their mother, it was now the primary residence of the viscount and his family.

Bea had learned much about its history during the long drive to Somerset. Lady St. Clare—or rather, Hannah—had told Bea all. She was a kindly lady, with a gentle aspect and a solicitous manner.

Unlike her husband.

In comparison to the warmth of his wife, Lord St. Clare might have been carved from a block of ice.

He said little during the journey, and smiled even less.

His expression was closed off. Reflective.

As though he were attempting to solve a vexing puzzle.

When he wasn’t looking at Jack, he was looking at Bea, the vaguest suggestion of a frown etching his brow.

Bea felt the unhappy weight of his scrutiny too many times to count during their journey. It was an unpleasant reminder of the deception she and Jack were perpetrating.

A deception that had been meant to end hours ago on the Southampton docks.

Bea dared another glance at Jack from beneath her lashes as the coach came to a crunching halt on the estate’s graveled drive. He was on the velvet upholstered seat across from her, his hardened countenance nearly as unreadable as that of his older brother.

His leg was paining him, Bea suspected. And he was angry at having his plans thwarted by his family.

Not to mention the fact that, but a few seconds before his brother had appeared on the docks, she’d had the temerity to suggest the ludicrous possibility that they might turn their fake engagement into a real one.

Bea inwardly winced to recall it.

If only she could have a moment to speak with Jack alone, she was certain the two of them could sort everything out. And they must sort things out, and soon, before the situation got any worse.

A footman opened the carriage door. Lord St. Clare descended first so that he could hand his wife down. Jack climbed out after her, ignoring his brother’s offer of help.

A retinue of liveried servants emerged from the house under the command of a stately gentleman who appeared to be the butler. “The bags, Alfred,” he was saying. “And you, Duncan, see to that trunk.”

Amid all this activity, Jack turned and extended his hand to Bea.

Bea took it gratefully, allowing him to assist her down from the carriage. “Jack,” she said under her breath. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m trying to think of something,” he muttered back.

Bea gripped tight to his hand. “Think faster.”

In that same moment, four children of various sizes hurtled from the house, bounding down the torchlit steps and across the drive.

There were two boys in short pants and two girls in pinafores and hair ribbons.

None appeared to be any older than twelve, and the smallest among them—an auburn-haired little imp—might have been as young as six.

Three large dogs galloped along with them; a wolfhound, and two scruffy coated mongrels of dubious origin. Their jubilant barks intermingled with the children’s equally excited shouts and squeals.

Hannah’s expression softened. “Oh goodness. I told the children they weren’t to wait up for us.”

“Uncle Jack!” the oldest boy called. He was the first to reach them, along with the still barking wolfhound. His face was wreathed in smiles. “Did you get my letter?”

Jack smiled broadly in return. Dropping Bea’s hand, he stepped forward to embrace the lad with one arm. “Of course I did, and responded to it too.”

“I haven’t received any reply yet,” the boy said.

“I’m not surprised,” Jack told him. “I’ve likely beat it here.”

The second oldest boy was close on the first boy’s heels.

The other two dogs danced around him, big bodies wiggling and tails wagging, nearly causing the child to lose his balance.

“What about my letter, Uncle Jack? I sent you the watercolors I did on our holiday in Derbyshire. The ones of the peaks.”

“I hung them in my quarters,” Jack said, hugging the boy in turn. “And wished like the devil I could have been there with you.”

“Uncle Jack!” the little girls cried in unison. They clutched at Jack’s trouser legs and pulled at his coat, surrounding him in company with their brothers and the barking dogs. “Uncle Jack! What did you bring us?”

“Greedy as ever,” Jack teased. He bent to kiss the girls. “I thought you’d grown out of surprise gifts?” He tugged the youngest one’s plaits. “Hadn’t you Charlotte? Or is that Agatha I’m thinking of?”

“Not me,” the older girl replied.

“Nor me,” the littlest one said. “Did you bring me a puppy? Or a kitten?”

“Don’t be stupid,” the younger boy chided. “He can’t put puppies and kittens in his traveling trunks.”

“Mind how you speak to your sister,” Lord St. Clare said to his son.

“Sorry, Charlotte,” the boy uttered promptly. “But really, Papa,” he added with a long-suffering look at his father. “Puppies and kittens? As if we don’t have enough already.”

“Come, my dears.” Hannah urged the girls away from Jack. “Don’t overwhelm your uncle.”

“And mind his leg,” Lord St. Clare warned the oldest boy. “That cane isn’t a toy.”

Bea hung behind Jack in the shadow of the coach as the dogs sniffed at her skirts. She would have shrunk back still further if Jack hadn’t extended his hand to her again. The children peered at her as she took it. There was no malice in their expressions, only curiosity.

“Who is that lady, Uncle Jack?” the older of the girls asked.

“Is that your new wife?” the littlest wondered.

“Not his wife,” the older boy said. “His betrothed .”

“This is Miss Layton,” Jack informed them.

He drew Bea forward to stand at his side.

“Bea, these are my rapscallion nieces and nephews. That’s Nicholas, his younger brother, Arthur, and their sisters, Agatha and Charlotte.

Scapegraces all, and markedly bigger than when I last saw them.

Especially you, Nick. You look more like your father by the year. ”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintances,” Bea said. “Your uncle has spoken of you often.”

The four children continued to gape at her until their father sent them a stern look. They responded in a flash, sketching formal bows and dropping dainty curtsies, as though they were miniature lords and ladies greeting a dignitary at court. “Miss Layton,” they said in unison.

Bea smiled in spite of herself. She had been too much in company with the Dimsdales. She’d almost forgotten how endearing children could be. And these ones were endearing, with their eager faces, their innocent exuberance, and their pack of raucous dogs.

“Let us go in,” Hannah said. She encouraged the dogs and children to precede them before turning her attention to Bea. “You must be longing for your bed.”

“I am, rather,” Bea confessed.

“Our housekeeper has made up your rooms for you.” Hannah set a hand on Bea’s back, guiding her inside. “I shall take you to yours myself.”

Bea relinquished Jack’s hand, allowing Hannah to escort her up the stone steps and into the house’s marble entry hall.

There, in the light of a blazing chandelier, they were met by a helpful footman who divested them of their hats, bonnets, coats, and gloves.

Even more footmen carried in their trunks and cases, while a kindly looking woman in a ruffled apron appeared at the top of the stairs to take the children back to the nursery.

“What about our presents?” Charlotte asked Jack.

Jack had entered the hall with Lord St. Clare only a few seconds behind Bea and Hannah. “Tomorrow,” he promised.

“At breakfast,” Nicholas insisted. “First thing.”

“I will come and wake you,” Arthur said.

Jack chuckled. “I shall be sure to lock my chamber door.”

“Which trunk holds our presents?” Agatha asked. “We could find them ourselves and?—”

“That’s enough, my loves,” Hannah said to the children. “Your uncle and Miss Layton have been traveling for weeks. You must give them a chance to rest. Mrs. Lovell? If you please?”

“Come, children,” Mrs. Lovell said. “Do as you’re told. There’s time enough for all that in the morning.”

The children grudgingly mounted the stairs to join their nanny. The dogs ran up the steps with them amid calls of “Goodnight!” and “Sleep well!” and “Don’t forget, Uncle Jack!”

Lord St. Clare exchanged a private glance with his wife. “We’ll be fortunate if they sleep at all.”

“Poor dears,” Hannah said. “They’ve been so dreadfully excited.” She turned to Jack and Bea. “Are either of you desirous of dinner? Cook suggested a cold collation in the dining room, but given the hour, I thought you might prefer trays in your bedchambers.”

“An excellent idea,” Jack said.

“Shall we have a glass of brandy before you retire?” Lord St. Clare asked Jack.

Jack’s expression sobered. “If you insist.”

Hannah smiled. “We shall bid you goodnight, then.”

Jack looked at Bea. Bea thought she detected a glimmer of apology in his eyes.

And well he should apologize.

It was one thing to lie to the Mrs. Rawsons and Mrs. Farradays of the world. It was quite another to lie to Jack’s family. A family who obviously adored him, and who he loved deeply in return.

Every moment that passed without telling them the truth only served to exacerbate Jack and Bea’s crime.

Bea wanted no part of it. Not when Hannah was so lovely and gracious and the children were so charming. But what could Bea do? It wasn’t up to her to betray their secret. Only Jack could do that.

Her eyes followed him as he and his brother departed together down the candlelit corridor.

Hannah’s smile dimmed. “They’ll be going to the library,” she said. “To converse over a glass of something strong. It’s best we give them a moment.”

Bea could only imagine what the conversation would entail. No doubt Lord St. Clare would be interrogating Jack about his sudden engagement.

As Hannah showed Bea up the grand, curving staircase to a prettily appointed upstairs bedroom, Bea realized that her hostess had similar ideas.

“We were excessively surprised to receive Mrs. Rawson’s message yesterday,” Hannah said, closing the door behind them. She turned up the glass oil lamp that burned on a nearby table, casting the room in a soft halo of light. “We’d long resigned ourselves to Jack ending his days as a bachelor.”

Bea cast a distracted glance around the bedchamber.

It was generously sized, decorated in soft florals and pale Aubusson, with a chintz-curtained four-poster bed at its center.

An exceedingly comfortable space, that had little in common with the small, sparsely furnished rooms she’d inhabited during her many years as a governess.

“Mrs. Rawson should not have shared the news before we’d had a chance to do so ourselves,” Bea said.

“No, she shouldn’t have,” Hannah agreed. “Though I’m grateful that she did, given your situation.”

Bea’s brows lifted. “My situation?”

“Arriving in England with Jack, without a maid or a chaperone,” Hannah said. Her understanding expression robbed her words of any hint of censure. “What did you plan to do?”

“I intended to stay at a hotel,” Bea said.

“Until Jack could speak with us, presumably.” Wandering to the bed, Hannah gave an absent tug on the coverlet, straightening its edge. “In that case, I’m glad Mrs. Rawson informed us of your engagement. We’d far rather you stay at Beasley Park than put up at a lonely hotel.”

“It would have been no hardship,” Bea said. “I’m accustomed to fending for myself.”

“Haven’t you any family?” Hannah asked.

Bea saw no reason to sugarcoat the matter. “Both of my parents are dead.”

Hannah’s eyes softened with sympathy. “I’m very sorry to hear it.”

“It was a long time ago. Nearly ten years.”

“May I ask who they were?”

“No one of importance,” Bea said. “Except to me.” She hesitated before elaborating, “They were neither rich, nor titled, but my father was a gentleman. He left enough for me to obtain my schooling, so that I might have a secure position in life.”

Hannah looked at her in question.

“After losing them, I was sent to a school where I was trained to be a governess,” Bea said.

“I see,” Hannah murmured.

“I’ve been in India nearly ten years altogether. I’ve spent the whole of it working. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of.”

“Nor why should you be?” Hannah crossed to the window. She smoothed one of the curtains. “How did you and Jack?—?”

“On the ship sailing out of Alexandria,” Bea answered before Hannah could finish her question. “I was in a difficult predicament with my employers, and Jack was attempting to avoid certain of the passengers.”

Hannah’s mouth ticked up at one corner. “ Lady passengers?”

“Indeed.”

“Dear Jack,” Hannah said with a laugh. “Some things never change.” She paused, explaining, “He’s been quite sought after in his time.”

“Ruthlessly sought after, apparently,” Bea said. “Or so he’s told me.”

Hannah’s smile turned quizzical. “Has he?”

“We are used to speaking frankly with each other.”

“I didn’t know Jack could speak frankly. He’s more likely to jest.” Hannah finished arranging the curtain. She turned back to Bea. “What a shock it was to everyone when he decided to join the army.”

Bea was curious in spite of herself. “Why so?” she asked. “Don’t younger sons of the nobility often purchase a commission?”

“Second sons sometimes do. Third sons are generally for the church.” Hannah smiled again. “An even less suitable position for someone of Jack’s temperament.”

“I’d have said he was well suited for the army.”

“Would you? I daresay you’re right. Though it’s such a serious profession.

And he needn’t have taken it up. He has ample means at his disposal, and a handsome estate of his own now.

Not but that he’s had more than a few weeks at a time to live in it.

He only visits Somerset when he’s on leave, and sometimes not even then.

The children have met him but a handful of times. ”

“Only that?” Bea was surprised. “But they seem to adore him.”

“Oh, they do,” Hannah said. “Jack has a way with children. My husband would say it’s because Jack is still a bit of a child himself. He’s always had an appreciation for larking about. I’m pleased to see that hasn’t changed, despite his elevation in rank.”

Bea instantly thought of that night on the deck of the Pera when Jack had proposed their fake engagement.

“I’m far too old for such a childish prank,” she’d told him.

“I’m not,” Jack had replied promptly. “Not if it serves.”

“He has that knack, you know,” Hannah said. “To dazzle in small doses. Which is rather convenient, since a little of himself is all he’s usually disposed to share before he’s off again.”

Bea frowned. Was that a warning? It was difficult to tell. “He won’t be off this time,” she said.

“No, indeed,” Hannah agreed. “Not now he has you.”