Page 3 of The Governess’ Unlikely Suitor (The Dashworth Brothers #2)

K ate pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, the wind ruffling her hair as she walked.

Wishing she’d worn her coat, she cursed herself for not checking its condition before today.

When she’d pulled it from the wardrobe earlier, she’d discovered that moths had been feasting on it and it was full of holes, certainly not suitable for a visit to a ducal residence.

The glorious summer they had experienced had finally faded and it seemed that the people of London were being punished for their enjoyment of it with a dismal autumn.

Or perhaps it was that her bones were cold from the months of living in a rickety building.

It had been fine while the sun shone, well, not fine but not awful.

Now that the wind whipped through the streets, the house was not fit for a family of mice.

Any complaining was pointless, however. At least they were not on the streets.

Not yet. And her brother, who could have cut ties with her and left her to fend for herself after everything that had happened, had stuck by her.

Simon had said nothing to her since they had left their house, only walking determinedly forward, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

It had been a long time since she had seen his wide smile.

The boy who had played indulgently with her and laughed until both their sides had ached was long gone, gradually worn away by the injustices of life.

Over the years, he’d supported and looked after her, but never more so than recently.

In doing so, she had slowly lost him as a friend and she wanted that back more than anything.

Gradually, the streets they were striding along became cleaner and wider, the air fresher.

Inhaling deeply, she revelled in filling her lungs with air that wasn’t grey with smoke; Simon did not appear to see or feel the freshness of it against his skin.

It was hard to tell from his inscrutable face, but perhaps he was reliving the last awful year or so, or maybe he was remembering a time when each day wasn’t like trampling through dirt.

A group of boys ran past them, laughing, their clothes neatly pressed, their knees clean.

Behind them, a tutor followed, his eyes creased with worry as the young lads disappeared around a corner.

Her heart squeezed in sympathy, remembering what it was like to be in charge of someone else’s children, the special kind of worry that was specific to keeping young people from doing something foolish that might see them injured.

Watching them reminded her of her years as a governess.

The times she had enjoyed before she’d had to run away from her last post, escaping in the dead of night to get away from a man who terrified her.

She had left without references because the master of the house had brought her so low through actions and words that she’d stopped believing herself worthy of existing.

When he’d all but destroyed her confidence, he’d forced his attentions on her.

The terror of it had left her shaken, almost broken beyond repair.

Simon had picked her back up, his kindness reminding her that not everyone was awful and that she was worth more than Chorley had made her believe.

By the time she was ready to face the world again, she had thought she would find other work so that she need not be a burden on her brother.

She had not reckoned on the wrath of Michael Chorley, who’d gone a step further than she would have believed possible.

Perhaps nobody had defied him before, or maybe he’d done it for his own amusement, but in an alarmingly short time he had destroyed her reputation and that of her brother.

No one would hire either of them and their circumstances had deteriorated rapidly.

If the Dashworth family turned out to be monsters, it wouldn’t matter.

By the time today was over, Simon would believe that she loved them all and that living with them for however long this assignment took him was the pinnacle of all her dreams. Her brother, who had worked so hard and had built up a sterling reputation, had had it taken away from him in less than a month because of her.

‘Goodness,’ she murmured, as they entered the avenue on which Glanmore House stood.

Kate had been a governess to some wealthy families, but she had never seen anything like this before.

The homes that lined the way were like palaces, the gates so clean she would be able to see her reflection in them if she paused to look.

On one sweeping driveway, two matching black horses were pulling a carriage worth more than all the possessions she and Simon had ever owned put together.

How drab her dress seemed against all this splendour. How humiliating that the two brothers had visited her and Simon’s home when they came from this.

‘I hope you plan on charging triple what they first offered for your services.’

‘Damned right I do,’ Simon muttered darkly.

‘It will be good to work again, will it not?’ she said, pleased that he had at least considered asking for the money. It was a sign that he might take the case.

‘I am not going to take the job if it means life will be uncomfortable for you.’

If Simon were a demonstrative man, she would have reached over and squeezed his hand but, although he was loyal and protective, he was not one for touching. Since their mother had died, no one had held Kate and sometimes she ached for a friendly, warm touch.

As they got ever closer to their destination, her stomach squirmed uncomfortably and her palms became slick with sweat.

Reassuring herself that she had met Freddie Dashworth and he had seemed nice enough didn’t seem to help, even if she could not imagine him making crude remarks about her body as she stood within hearing distance.

It couldn’t be allowed to matter if he did; she and Simon were out of other options.

Turning away from her brother, she studied the passing houses.

In happier times, Simon had told her that every emotion she felt played out across her features and she did not want him to know what she was thinking right now.

He might march them back the way they had come, protecting her even at a cost to himself.

Glanmore House was larger than all the rest. A pretty archway covered in late- flowering blossom framed the entrance to a footpath lined with neatly cut shrubs.

They followed it and she counted six windows across the bottom left-hand side of the house before they reached the front door and the rest of the facade was lost to sight.

Simon thumped the knocker twice and was answered almost immediately, suggesting the butler had been waiting for them to arrive, either behind or very close to the door.

It was strange to think that this family could afford for a man to do this, when she and Simon would be eating a tasteless broth for dinner, not splurging out on more as they eked out what little savings they had.

The entrance was vast; their tiny rented house would fit inside it with room to spare.

The tiled floor gleamed, and a large vase of colourful flowers rested on an ornate table that flanked a wide staircase.

Their scent filled the air. There was nothing about this house that was like her former employer’s, nothing to remind her of the horror, and yet for some reason her body reacted as if she had been plunged straight back into the nightmare.

A tremor ran through her body as the duke’s butler led them through the house, their footsteps sounding loud against the polished floor.

Taking her shawl from her shoulders, she folded it over her hands so that her shaking fingers were not visible.

Simon frowned at her, but she smiled back reassuringly even as her knees turned to water.

The butler showed them into a lounge. For a moment, she could only blink at her surroundings, aware that there were many faces turned her way but unable to tear her gaze from the startling blue of everything. The floor, ceiling and all the decorations were various shades of the same colour.

‘It is very overwhelming,’ said a woman’s voice.

‘But you get used to it after a while and then it somehow grows on you and becomes one of your favourite rooms of the house.’ Kate turned her attention to a slender, blonde-haired lady who was coming towards her, hands outstretched, smile wide. ‘You must be Miss Hornel.’

Kate moved her shawl over her forearm and Countess Blackmore, whose pregnancy was not yet showing, clasped her hands; her skin was warm against Kate coldness.

‘Come and sit,’ said Emily. ‘I believe you have already met my husband, Lord Blackmore. Call him Freddie, everybody does.’

The tall, dark-haired man, whose pocket watch Young Pete had so easily stolen, was smiling kindly at her.

He was charming despite his lack of street sense and Emily seemed equally as pleasing, if not more so.

Telling her brother she was fine with him disappearing to America for months, possibly years, might not need to be as much of a lie as she had initially feared.

‘And you also met my brother-in-law, Mr Edward Dashworth.’

Kate turned to greet the man with whom her brother had been dealing and whom she had not met.

Her smile froze. Wider than his older brother, Edward Dashworth was a towering presence in the corner of the room, scowling at her like she had committed a terrible crime.

A chill crept down her spine at his glare.

Shuddering, she turned away from him and back to Countess Blackmore, who was still smiling as if nothing were amiss, and maybe nothing was.

Kate was almost expecting to be treated badly, so perhaps she had read the situation wrong.

She risked another peek. No, the man was still glowering at her.

‘No,’ said Mr Edward Dashworth. ‘Miss Hornel and I did not have the pleasure of meeting.’ The tone of his voice suggested meeting her now was akin to a fork scraping discordantly across an empty plate.

It did not matter if the man liked her or not.

She was going to be living at his home because it was the last option available to her.

Chorley had tried to destroy her with his cruel words, but no one would do that to her again.

If Edward Dashworth did not like her, he could go and boil himself in butter for all she cared.

Now that she had seen the size of the dwelling, when Emily did not have need of her, she could tuck herself into a corner and could probably go a whole day without seeing anyone.

The social girl she used to be before life had shown her its ugly side barely even raised a protest at the thought.

The two other men in the room were Mr Christopher Dashworth, the youngest brother of the family, and the Duke of Glanmore, the austere owner of the room.

Both men seemed polite if distant. The meeting creaked on.

Simon asked questions as to where she would stay, how long they would be willing to provide accommodation for her and what realistic expectations they had of him finding out anything while in America, since it had been years since their brother’s death.

Keeping her head bent, staying silent, she studied her fingers as much as anything else.

Every now and then she felt the weight of Edward Dashworth’s stare against her skin.

But as she was not looking at him, it might have been a figment of her imagination.

‘Shall I show you the rooms that will be yours should you choose to stay?’ asked Emily, after an age. ‘You will have a bedroom and sitting room, so you will have plenty of space to call your own.’

She risked another look at Edward Dashworth. He was still not smiling, but at least he was no longer frowning in her direction.

‘I would like that very much, My Lady,’ she said warmly, because Emily appeared to be a delight even if one of her brothers-in-law looked like he would like to wipe her from the Earth.

Edward Dashworth probably did whatever gentlemen of his station did all day anyway, whatever that might be; drinking, fencing, gambling, she could not begin to guess.

The point was that she need not see him very often.

‘Would you like to join us, Mr Hornel?’ asked Emily.

Simon glanced at the Dashworth brothers and then at her.

Smiling slightly, Kate hoped she conveyed that she did not mind what he chose to do.

Even if these rooms were located in the servants’ quarters, she had no doubt that they would be better than what she was used to, especially over the last few months.

‘Please take all the time you need, Mr Hornel,’ said Edward Dashworth, sounding human when addressing her brother. ‘If you are satisfied with the rooms provided for your sister, we can finalise terms then.’

Kate kept her smile in place, even as she bristled inside. If everything were equal, Edward should appreciate that it was her decision whether or not the rooms were adequate, but it was unlikely the arrogant man thought a woman’s opinion mattered.

‘Shall we?’ Countess Blackmore gestured to the door. ‘And please do call me Emily. If we are going to be living together, I hope that we will become friends and friends do not call one another by their titles.’

‘I should be delighted. And in the same spirit, please call me Kate. It’s short for Katherine but I prefer it.’

Emily beamed at her and turned towards the door.

Before leaving, Kate risked a final glance at Edward.

He was still scowling at her, as if she had done him a terrible wrong.

For a long moment, she looked back, determined not to be cowed by a man who gave her such a brazen stare of hostility.

It was a win when he was the first to look away.