The Earl's Runaway Governess

Swallowing hard—she could almost feel the fear in the back of her throat—she gave the landlady a polite nod and followed him out to the yard.

There he was, barking orders at the ostlers, instructing them to harness his horses to the carriage as soon as they could find the time. Two men and a stable boy had immediately jumped to their task, apparently caught out by the gentleman’s earlier than anticipated departure from the taproom.

Marianne walked slowly towards him. He glanced sideways at her, then turned his impatient gaze back to the ostlers. They stood like that, with Marianne feeling increasingly awkward and unsure, until the four beautifully matched greys were ready. The gentleman then held out his hand.

Confused, Marianne just looked at it.

‘Your bandboxes?’ he said mildly.

‘Oh!’ She passed them to him, and he stowed them in the back. One of the ostlers handed her up, and the gentleman got up beside her. He threw the men a couple of coins, and then they were off.

Marianne had never ridden in a high-perch phaeton before. It was high up, and there were no sides to speak of, and she was with a strange man who was taking her off to God knew where.

As a governess, this was now her lot. She had not the protection of any relative, nor even a servant known to her. Anything might happen to her, and no one would know or care.

It was not to be wondered at that fear, her constant companion these days, was now screaming inside her.

The carriage continued along the narrow streets of Netherton and onwards to the countryside beyond. Once free of the village the gentleman increased speed, driving his horses to what Marianne worried was an unsafe pace.

She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself against the cold air and gripped the side of the carriage with her left hand. When they turned a bend in the road at what she felt was unnecessary speed, she could not prevent a small gasp.

Hearing it, he raised an eyebrow, but only slowed the pace slightly.

Marianne bit her lip. Between anxiety about being alone with a young man and driving too fast, she was all inner turmoil. Still, he had not so far shown any interest in her person. Except—Her mind wandered back to that first compelling gaze, when their eyes had been locked together and she had felt...something. Had he felt it too? Or had she imagined it?

The narrow seat was built to just about accommodate two people, with the result that he was seated uncomfortably close to her. His left thigh was aligned with her right leg, and she could feel his muscles tighten and relax as he concentrated on the exertions of driving. She could even detect his scent—a not unpleasant combination of what she thought was wood smoke and lye soap.

He seemed incredibly big and powerful and dangerous. And she had no idea who he was as he had not even had the courtesy to introduce himself.

They rounded another bend—to find a wide farm cart coming straight towards them! Marianne moaned, anticipating the inevitable collision. Their pace was too fast and the road too narrow to avoid it. She gripped more tightly and closed her eyes.

Seconds passed. Nothing. They were still moving! Opening her eyes, she was amazed to see that somehow they had passed the cart without collision. Twisting around, she saw that the cart was also continuing on its way. She sank back into her seat, unable to account for it.

‘I apologise.’

Surprised, she looked at him.

He took his eyes off the road long enough to give her a rueful grimace. ‘I was driving too fast. I have been taking out my frustration on you and everyone else.’

This was unexpected! She inclined her head, unable to disagree with him. ‘You were—and you have.’

His eyebrows rose and he chuckled. It was a surprisingly attractive sound.

‘Shall we begin again?’

He slowed the horses to a walk and turned to half face her. ‘Ashington—William Ashington. Also—since very recently—Earl Kingswood.’ He bowed his head to her.

Warily, she nodded back. ‘I am Miss Bolton.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bolton. I understand,’ he continued politely, ‘that you are to be the new governess at Ledbury House?’

‘That is correct.’

She was as suspicious of his politeness as she had been thrown by his puzzling tone earlier. Still, perhaps he could give her some more information about the family.

She watched him closely. ‘I am to be governess to a girl, or a young lady, who lives there with her widowed mama.’

‘Lady Cecily, yes. Lord Kingswood died very recently.’

A flash of pain was briefly visible in his eyes. Interesting. So he was the new Earl and the previous Earl had been Lady Cecily’s father.

‘How old is Lady Cecily, do you know?’

He considered this, speaking almost to himself as he thought it through. ‘John and Fanny were married in ninety-four, and I believe their child was born a year or so after the wedding, so—’ he turned to Marianne ‘—she must be twelve or thirteen.’

‘Twelve or thirteen!’

Marianne had not been expecting this. She had, she realised, been hoping for a younger child, who might be easier to get to know. There was also the fact that a young lady of that age would soon be dispensing with the services of a governess anyway. So this position might not last for more than a few short years, regardless of how she performed in the role.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Oh, no! Of course not. Just that I had somehow expected her to be younger.’ She waited, but he had nothing to say to this. She tried another angle. ‘Is Lady Cecily a quiet young lady, or rather more spirited?’

He snorted. ‘I have met her exactly once—certainly not long enough to form an impression of her character.’

His tone indicated he was becoming uninterested in the topic, so she let it go.

‘You are not, then, a regular visitor to Ledbury House?’

‘I have been there twice in the past fourteen years—once just before Lord and Lady Kingswood’s wedding, and once this week for Lord Kingswood’s funeral.’ His tone was flat.

‘Oh.’ This was a little confusing. If he had been the heir presumptive, then why was he not close to the family, and why had he so rarely visited?

She stole a glance at him. Gone was the indulgent politeness of the past few moments. In its place was the hard jaw that she had seen before. She sighed inwardly. She had no idea why he was so frustrated, or whether any of it was due to something she had said. Still, it confirmed that she was right to maintain her wariness.

They continued on in silence for a few moments, with Marianne trying to think of something to say, and Lord Kingswood seemingly lost in his own thoughts. The road continued to twist and turn, and Marianne, despite herself, began to relax a little as she saw how deftly the Earl was handling the reins. She would not, it seemed, perish today at the hands of a breakneck driver.

After a particularly neat manoeuvre in which he negotiated a double bend with skill and ease, she could not help exclaiming ‘Oh, well done!’ Immediately she clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I do apologise! It is not for me to comment on your driving.’ She held her breath as she waited for his response.

His brows arched in surprise. ‘Indeed it is not. However, I shall indulge you, as you seem to have gone from abject terror to trusting my handling of the team.’

She blushed. ‘Oh, dear! Was it so obvious?’

‘Er—you were gripping the side as if your life depended upon it and gasping at every turn in the road. So, yes, it was fairly obvious.’

‘I have never been driven so fast before, and have never sat in a carriage so far above the ground. It all seemed rather frightening. I would not presume to judge your driving skills.’

He threw her a sceptical look. ‘Would you not?’