The Governess's Convenient Marriage

‘How do you do, Your Grace?’ he said with a bow, all perfectly correct.

‘How do you do?’ the Duchess murmured.

But Alex held her hand out to him. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. Would he remember her? ‘Mr Gordston. How do you do?’ She prayed her voice wouldn’t waver or dissolve into giggles. Luckily, it came out quiet but steady, like a normal person. ‘We do hear so much about you. I’m glad to meet you.’

He took her hand. He wore no gloves and through the thin silk of hers she felt the heat of his touch, the rough strength of his fingers. Just as when they had touched in the park, a spark seemed to dance over her skin, hot and shocking, bringing life with it. Everything around him turned into a mere blur of colour and she couldn’t look away from him.

He seemed to sense something odd, too. A frown flickered over his face and he looked rather discomfited, something she was sure he didn’t often do. He seemed made of confidence and strength and surety. ‘Lady Alexandra. How do you do?’

Alex’s mother gave a small cough and it was like being dropped with a thud back on to the hard stone terrace. Everything that had turned hazy sharpened and Alex saw that Lady Cannon and Lady Smythe-Tomas were watching her with avid interest.

She knew she would be gossiped about, which was the last thing she wanted. She stepped back, listening as Lady S.-T. and her mother exchanged news about Paris, and Lady Cannon was called away.

‘Your Grace, have you tried the raspberry ice yet? It’s quite divine,’ Lady S.-T. said and smoothly led Alex’s mother away under a cover of bright chatter that smothered any protest. Alex wished she knew that trick.

And now she was alone with Malcolm Gordston. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment and she wondered desperately what he was thinking. If he, too, was remembering their first meeting.

‘Would you care for a stroll, Lady Alexandra?’ he asked at last, his Scottish accent blurring his words.

‘Thank you, that would be nice,’ she answered. He offered his arm and she hesitated for a moment, wondering if that spark would fly through her again at his touch and she would burn to cinders. He frowned, as if he noticed her hesitation and mistook it, and she quickly slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

She did not burn up, but she did find she enjoyed the feel of his arm under her touch. A lot. Too much, maybe. But there was no turning away now.

He led her down the steps to the pathway that wound past the flowerbeds. The rose-scented breeze caught at her hat, but luckily Mary had pinned it down firmly enough there were no new millinery disasters. He was so much taller than her, his stride so purposeful, that she felt quite protected. It was rather nice.

He cleared his throat, and Alex glanced up at him. ‘I—I feel I must apologise, Lady Alexandra, for our last meeting. I must not have been quite myself that day.’

Alex thought surely he was himself in the park. It was here that he, that both of them, were constrained, unsure. She felt so shy, so flustered, which was silly. They came from different worlds; they could have no expectations of each other. Surely they should be free around one another? She wished she could be, anyway. That she could just be Alex with him, whoever that was, and not Lady Alexandra. Once she could do that with him. But no longer. He had changed.

‘It is quite all right, Mr Gordston,’ she said. ‘It was an—an odd moment. And it was nice not feeling like a porcelain doll for a little while.’

They turned a corner on the twisting paths, into a small herb maze that was much quieter. ‘Is that how you usually feel? Like a doll?’

‘Sometimes,’ Alex said, marvelling at how he made her feel. Shy and yet bold at the same time. ‘Many times. I’m told where to go, what to say, who to sit with, who to dance with…’

‘Who to walk with in the garden?’

Alex laughed. ‘Yes, usually. But this time I was rescued by Lady Smythe-Tomas.’ She glanced back towards the terrace, now far distant, where Lady S.-T. was still chatting with her mother. ‘She is so elegant, isn’t she?’

‘One of Gordston’s best customers.’

And was she more than that? Alex found she didn’t like the little green-eyed pang that came over her at the thought. ‘Is she—friends with you? Old friends?’

He looked down at her with a crooked smile and she feared she had given too much away. ‘Friends, yes, only. We’re too similar to get along in any other way.’

‘As we were once friends?’ Alex blurted.

He frowned. ‘Friends?’

‘Do you not remember me? In Scotland? You taught me to fish. I never forgot.’ And she had never seen him again after that day she saw him with Mairie McGregor. How high had he climbed since then.

‘I did remember you later, after we met at the park. I felt so foolish for not realising right away. You were quite a terror with a rod and reel back then. Are you still?’

‘There isn’t much call for it here in London.’ Alex looked away, pretending to study the flowers. ‘Look at you now, though. And Lady Smythe-Tomas shops at Gordston’s, as does everyone! How did you come to own such a place? They say it’s so elegant, all the latest fashions.’

‘You haven’t been there?’

Alex bit her lip. ‘I don’t often get to choose where to shop.’

‘The porcelain doll?’

‘Yes.’

He led her to bench under the shade of a looming oak tree and sat down next to her. ‘Well, I didn’t grow up dreaming of department stores. I was born in Scotland, a country lad, as you know.’

‘Yes.’ She remembered when she was a child, the craggy hills against the lavender sky, the cold, smoky air, running free over the moors. The excitement of fishing with Malcolm. ‘I’ve never felt so gloriously free as when I was allowed to explore the hills.’

He watched her closely, his expression closed, unreadable. ‘It’s a bonnie place, nowhere else like it, in the hills. But it’s no good for work. I was an apprentice at a draper’s shop in Glasgow when I left. My father had recently died then.’

‘Oh, I am sorry!’ Alex cried. She remembered his father had not been well the last time they met.

‘He missed my mother so much, it was probably a blessing he went quickly,’ Malcolm said tonelessly. ‘I found work a good way to forget.’

Alex fidgeted with her parasol, not sure what to say. ‘And you found you liked that work?’

‘Aye. I was surprised by it. As you said, I was used to exploring the hills, being free. But I liked meeting the customers, seeing the pleasure it gave them to find just the right fabric, the right style. I even liked keeping the accounts, seeing them all add up. It was a great satisfaction.’

‘I do envy you,’ Alex said. How lovely it would be to have a job to do, learn how to do it well and see its rewards.

But Malcolm looked surprised. ‘Do you? It’s long hours, learning from mistakes, hard work on your feet. Even now, with a new kind of store. Maybe even especially now.’

‘That’s why I envy you! You forge your own path. I have to always follow. I don’t even know what I would be good at.’ She didn’t want to admit to him she had never tried anything. Emily was good at business, Diana at writing. All Alex had that was her own was the charity work she did and she did find great satisfaction in that.