Page 8 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

Chapter Six

J ack hadn’t planned to reveal himself to anyone on the ship, least of all to a half-drunk colonial.

But needs must.

An expression of astonishment spread over Mr. Dimsdale’s face.

It was one Jack had frequently seen before.

The name of John Beresford, Earl of Allendale, often inspired such a reaction.

Jack’s father was both wealthy and powerful, as well as being one of the largest landowners in the West Country.

He was also a gentleman known far and wide for his ruthless temperament.

A temperament, many people claimed, that his children had inherited. His ice-cold heir, James. His firebrand of a second-son, Ivo. His dauntless daughter, Kate. And his wild, neck-or-nothing youngest son, Jack, who had departed England fourteen years ago to fight for Queen and country.

Dimsdale’s throat bobbed on a swallow. “The Earl of Allendale you say?” he managed. “And, er, he’s your father?”

Jack felt the weight of Miss Layton’s stare. Doubtless he’d shocked her too. It wasn’t his foremost concern at the moment. “He is,” Jack replied stonily. “And like him, I don’t approve of gentlemen in your condition inflicting themselves on ladies.”

Dimsdale turned red as a beetroot. “Look here,” he said. “This woman’s a member of my household. My children’s governess. I?—”

“Which makes your actions this evening that much more reprehensible,” Jack said. “If this lady is indeed a member of your household, you’re responsible for her wellbeing.”

Dimsdale drew himself up with unsteady authority. “Exactly so. Which is why?—”

“It didn’t appear to me that you were looking after her welfare,” Jack interrupted. “Quite the reverse.” He turned to Miss Layton. “Are you all right?”

Miss Layton’s chin was upraised and her shoulders squared. “I’m well, thank you.”

Despite her brave face, Jack couldn’t fail to notice the thready quaver in her voice.

The man had frightened her. And not only because of what he’d been about to do, but because of who he was. Unless Jack was mistaken, Miss Layton was entirely at the Dimsdales’ mercy.

Why else would she remain in their employ when the children hurled abuse at her? When they bullied her? Struck her, by God? And now this insult to heap atop the rest. The very worst insult by Jack’s reckoning.

Dimsdale’s face relaxed into a too jovial smile. “There, you see? Nothing to trouble yourself over. Just having a word with one of my staff about a small domestic matter.”

Jack didn’t believe it for a second. “I think not,” he said. “Not in your condition.”

Dimsdale’s smile wavered. “I say, Beresford. This is really none of your business.”

Jack took a threatening step toward him. He may have a gammy leg, but he could still deal with a man of Dimsdale’s ilk. “I’m making it my business,” he said. “You’re unfit for company. I suggest you retire to your cabin until you’ve sobered up.”

Dimsdale scrunched his brow, as though he were attempting to solve a thorny mathematical problem.

If he could exercise his feeble wit to the task, he’d realize that Jack was giving him an out.

A means of blaming his despicable behavior on drink when they both knew it was a question, not of whiskey, but of character.

“Now you mention it, I did overindulge a bit at the gaming tables,” Dimsdale replied at last. “Congenial company, and a rousing evening of cards. Not unheard of for a gentleman, but I take your meaning. A good night’s rest will see me straight.

” Offering Jack a teetering bow, he backed away, but not before casting a flinty look in Miss Layton’s direction.

“You may address yourself to my wife in the morning,” he said to her. “She will see to any arrangements.”

With that, he staggered off in the direction of the stairs that led to the deck below.

No sooner had he gone than Miss Layton’s shoulders slumped. A visible tremor went through her. She rested both of her hands on the rail of the ship to steady herself.

“Arrangements about what?” Jack asked.

Miss Layton’s reply was little more than a whisper. “About my dismissal, I fear.”

Jack was incredulous. “You believe you’re going to be sacked?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He came to stand beside her. “But why?”

“For upsetting the status quo.”

Jack’s temper rose. “For refusing his advances, you mean.”

Miss Layton didn’t look at him. “And for complaining about the children. And failing to manage them. And not being suitably deferential. And yes, for refusing his advances.”

Jack muttered an oath.

Miss Layton flinched. “Must you use such coarse language?”

“If ever there was a time for it,” he said.

She cut him a glance. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you really the son of the Earl of Allendale?”

“I am.”

“Not the one who was very nearly engaged to Miss Faraday?”

Jack’s mouth hitched briefly. “You’ve heard of me?”

Miss Layton didn’t appear amused. Her porcelain blue gaze was all too incisive. “Is that why you’re traveling incognito?”

“The chief reason,” Jack admitted.

She huffed. There was no humor in the sound. “How novel.”

“Is it?”

“To be some glorious creature all the young ladies are hunting?”

He cocked a brow at her. “Glorious?”

Her cheeks turned the exact color of the pale pink musk mallows that dotted the landscape near his childhood home in Somerset. “I only meant?—”

“I know what you meant,” he said. “What people like you don’t readily consider is that the hunt is only ever enjoyable for the hunter, not the hunted. Particularly when we’d prefer not to be caught.” He studied her face. She was worryingly pale behind her blush. “ Are you all right?”

She managed a faint smile. “One hunted creature to another?”

“If you like.”

“I suppose I am a trifle shaken,” she said. “But I shall be well directly.”

Jack gestured to a pair of deck chairs arranged beneath one of the hanging lamps. Miss Layton wordlessly preceded him there, taking a seat. Jack sat down in the chair across from her, glad to relieve the weight on his leg.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “No one can.” The shadow of a smile vanished from her lips. It was replaced with a look of resignation. “If Mrs. Dimsdale sees fit to dismiss me in the morning, I shall have nothing, and nowhere to turn.”

“Come now. We’re nearly to England. It isn’t as if she can toss you over the side and command you to swim the remainder of the way home.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“In all seriousness?—”

“In all seriousness,” Miss Layton said, “swimming would be preferable to the alternative.” She folded her hands tight in her lap. “She’ll likely demand that I pay her back for my fare. That was the agreement, passage home from India in exchange for my looking after the four children.”

“Was there anything in that agreement about physical abuse? Or about being subjected to overtures made by the family patriarch?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—”

“You’re speaking as though any of it were fair. As though their conduct to me was governed by law, or… or basic good manners. It isn’t that way with servants. We’re at the mercy of our employers. And if you’re me…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Go on,” Jack prompted.

She took a deep breath. “Being a governess is already difficult.”

“Because of the Dimsdale children.”

“No. That is . . . yes, but not only because of them. It’s the position itself that poses the problem.

” She hesitated again before explaining, “A governess is neither lady, nor servant. We lead an in-between existence, snubbed by our betters and shunned by those who feel we think we’re better than them.

It’s a fact in even the finest houses, and with the very best, most capable governesses.

And I . . . I am not the best governess. ”

Jack’s throat tightened. She looked so alone. So defeated. He had to stifle the urge to set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It’s what he would have done if she were his younger sister, Kate.

But the last thing Miss Layton needed right now was another man pawing at her, however well intended.

“You’re too severe on yourself,” he said.

“I am not,” she informed him. And then: “Service hasn’t come easily to me.

I’m constantly failing. Making mistakes.

I can’t converse in fluent French. I regularly mistake countries on the globe.

I’m over-opinionated, I laugh too much, and I too often speak my mind.

If that doesn’t convince you I’m a lost cause?—”

“Not at all,” Jack said stoutly. “It makes me like you all the more.”

“You’re just trying to reassure me.”

“Precisely. A heroic effort too, if I say so myself. I would that you could do the same for me.”

“You don’t require my reassurance,” she said, dashing the heel of her hand across her cheek.

Jack started. Good lord. Was she wiping away a tear?

She glanced at him again when he didn’t answer. Her eyes were indeed damp. “Do you?” she asked.

“You seem to forget that I just told your employer who I am,” Jack said.

“He’s in no condition to repeat the information.”

“Not tonight he isn’t, but in the morning, he’ll be broadcasting it all over the ship. First to his wife, then to his friends in the gaming saloon. From there, the news will spread like wildfire.”

Jack could already imagine the result.

The instant Mrs. Farraday learned he was on board, she would be fast on his scent, keen as a hound at the commencement of foxhunting season. And Jack was no longer a healthy fox, capable of outrunning his pursuer. The odds were far greater than usual that he’d be cornered, trapped, caught.

Miss Layton’s brow puckered. “Truly? But then?—”

“The hunt for one Jack Beresford will resume,” Jack pronounced grimly.

A spark of feminine interest flickered at the back of her gaze. “Is that your given name? Jack?”

“It is.” He smiled, briefly diverted. “Dare I ask yours?”

“Beatrice,” she said. “Or Bea, if you like. That’s what my parents called me before they passed away.”

Jack’s fleeting smile was transformed into a wince. Bloody hell . On top of everything else, she was an orphan?

Miss Layton—or Bea—didn’t seem to register his reaction. “May I ask you something personal?” she inquired. She didn’t wait for his reply. “Why don’t you wish to marry Miss Faraday?”

“I don’t wish to marry anyone,” he said.

She examined his face in the lamplight. “You object to the institution?”

“On the contrary,” Jack said. “I think marriage a fine thing. My parents are deliriously happy in theirs. My siblings are too, or so they claim. They’ve all entered into love matches. It’s the Beresford way, to marry for some grand passion. Makes one rather reluctant to settle for anything less.”

“I didn’t know gentlemen considered such things.”

“I can’t speak for all gentlemen,” he said. “Only myself.”

“And you don’t believe you could feel such a passion for Miss Farraday? But why not? She’s lovely to look at. And she’s surprisingly kind. She helped me with Miss Dimsdale today when I was struggling with her. Few ladies would have done the same.”

Jack was unmoved by recitations of Miss Farraday’s finer qualities. “I don’t care to be chased.”

“And now you will be, thanks to me.” Bea’s expression took on another layer of anguish. She hung her head. “Oh, but this is all my fault!”

Jack raked a hand through his hair. “Aren’t we a fine pair? Two desperate souls stuck on this blasted ship, at the mercy of everyone else.” He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Our lives are going to look very different tomorrow if things develop in the way we expect.”

“Yes, they will,” Bea acknowledged bleakly.

“Perhaps we might revisit jumping overboard?” Jack suggested, only half in jest.

“ You needn’t do so. The worst that could happen to you is an entanglement with an exceptionally beautiful young lady.

While I—” There was a pitiful catch in her voice.

“I may not have forfeited my position, but I’m certain to have forfeited my reference.

Who in England will ever hire me now? I’m as likely to starve in the street as to find respectable employment.

The only hope I have is to throw myself on Mrs. Dimsdale’s mercy.

A slim hope at best, for she has no mercy that I’ve ever seen. ”

Jack regarded Bea in the shadows cast from the softly swaying lamp above. She was an orphan, with no friends and no family, soon to be sacked from the very position that was ensuring her passage home.

While he?—

He could no longer walk unaided, let alone run. Until such time as he healed from his latest surgery, he was completely reliant on his cane. Without it, he’d be something worse than an injured fox. He’d be a sitting duck.

Unless…

An idea entered his head.

A reckless idea.

Jack’s pulse leapt. It had been far too long since he’d had such a wild notion. He’d begun to fear he never would again. But there it was, as clear as day, firing his senses and burning in his blood.

And really, Jack told himself, the idea wasn’t entirely foolhardy. When looked at in the right light, it was downright sensible.

“I think I may have struck on a solution,” he said as it began to take shape in his mind.

Bea raised her head. “For you or for me?”

“For both of us,” Jack said. “All it requires is that we engage in a very small act of subterfuge.”

A doubtful frown darkened her gaze.

Jack plunged ahead. “Tell me,” he said. “Would you be at all opposed to pretending that we’re engaged?”