A Lady Becomes A Governess

She cleared her throat. ‘Who is it?’

‘The maid, miss.’ Not Lord Brookmore.

Rebecca opened the door, unsure if she were relieved or disappointed.

The young woman helped her take off her dress and assisted her with donning her new nightdress. When the maid left, Rebecca crawled into bed and buried herself under the covers.

She had very likely ruined her respite as a governess. Brookmore would discharge her; his nieces would endure another loss and she would be forced to tell him who she really was and beg for enough money to travel to London.

Worst of all, she would have to find another way to avoid marrying Lord Stonecroft and enduring his wet, disgusting kisses.

But how could she ever kiss another man after being kissed by Lord Brookmore?

* * *

The next morning Lord Brookmore had sent her breakfast to her room to avoid her, no doubt.

After she dressed again in her riding habit, she dismissed the maid and tried to eat the cooked egg, bread and cheese Lord Brookmore provided for her. Giving up on finishing the food, she picked up her new bag packed with the new dresses and fabrics with which he’d surprised and delighted her. She left the room, fearful he might have already abandoned her.

When she entered the yard, though, he stood by his horse. An ostler held the reins of another horse wearing her side saddle. As she approached Lord Brookmore mounted his horse and avoided looking at her.

The ostler helped her into her saddle and fixed her bag behind her. Lord Brookmore handed the man a coin and started for the gate. Rebecca called a quick thank you to the ostler and hurried to catch up.

She could tell already that the horse she rode was more spirited than the horses provided for her the day before, but the enjoyment of riding such a horse was dampened by the fact that Lord Brookmore acted as if he were riding alone. He said not one word to her.

Rebecca, too, stayed silent, concentrating on keeping her horse steady and keeping up with him on the busy streets of Preston. They rode past Horrock’s Mill and eventually reached the countryside.

Rebecca began this journey feeling shame about her behaviour and fear that she had lost any good opinion Lord Brookmore might have had of her. By the time the roads cleared, she felt angry. How dare he not even address what happened between them, not even acknowledge her presence? That kiss had not solely been her fault. She might have acted like a hoyden, but Lord Brookmore had not behaved as a gentleman, had he?

In any event, this silence was intolerable.

Her father might have blocked her out of his life and treated her as if she did not exist, but Rebecca would not take such treatment from anyone else.

She quickened her horse’s pace until she reached his side. ‘You must speak to me some time, sir.’

He darted a glance at her, but said nothing.

‘I did not know you would kiss me,’ she snapped.

His gaze was again fixed on the road. ‘It will not happen again.’

He spoke this like an order, in a tone he might have used with his soldiers. He did not have to order her not to kiss him again. As if she would! Her anger was escalating and she was not sure if its source was his icy treatment of her or if it was her disappointment that he’d turned out to be just as thoughtless and cruel as other men in her life.

‘It is unfair to blame me for it,’ she retorted. ‘You kissed me, after all.’

He actually looked at her. ‘Blame you?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I fear you are trying to discharge me. Or perhaps you have already discharged me by giving me the cut direct.’

A day ago she would not have believed him capable of such thoughtlessness.

He gaped at her. ‘I am not discharging you.’

Her voice rose again. ‘Then why pretend I do not exist? Why refuse to speak to me? I am left to guess you wish me gone.’ As her father had done.

He stopped his horse. His jaw flexed. ‘Is that what you think?’

‘What else am I to think?’

He turned his horse and came directly next to her, leaning towards her. The space between them was only a few inches more than when they’d kissed. ‘Think that I behaved abominably towards you. Think that I do not know what to say to you.’

He thought he’d behaved abominably? She almost softened towards him. ‘Did you also think boorishness was preferable to a simple apology?’

‘A simple apology seemed inadequate.’ He frowned.

He turned his horse and rode on. This time she held back a little.

He had not discharged her! She could still pretend to be Claire.

Her cheeks burned with shame. She had called him a boor and here she was, nothing but an imposter.

* * *

Garret had even more reason to chastise himself. He’d assumed she would know he regretted what he’d done to her—and what he’d almost done. He’d simply made matters worse by not speaking of it.

They stopped at an inn to change horses.

He dismounted and turned to assist her. ‘Let us get some refreshment.’

She looked down at him with a haughty expression. ‘As you wish.’

She slid off the saddle, landing nearly as close as when he’d kissed her the night before. He must keep more distance.

The ostlers took charge of the horses and Garret escorted Miss Tilson into the tavern. At this morning hour, the public room was nearly empty and Garret thought better of a private room. Best not to be private with her.

He chose a table some distance away from the other diners, helped her sit and chose the chair across from hers. He ordered tea and biscuits for them which came quickly, accommodating those patrons who needed to be quickly on their way.

She poured the tea for him.

He knew they must discuss what had transpired between them. He searched for a way to begin.

She spoke first. ‘I want you to know that I did not intentionally entice you, sir. I have been accused of such wiles before, but, I assure you, I do not know precisely what one does to entice.’

Who was it who’d accused her? he wondered in a surge of jealousy.

Jealousy? He had not the right.

He leaned towards her and spoke quietly. ‘What transpired last night was entirely my fault.’