The Unconventional Governess

“It was a shock, to be sure. You have lived with this condition unbeknownst to your staff?”

He shrugged, a curiously unaffected movement. “To most, yes. It is not something I want bandied about.” He paused. “Are you familiar with epileptic disorders?”

“The only fits I have seen were in an asylum.” An honest answer, though it emerged slowly.

“And is that where you think I belong?”

A strong, undeniable current pulsed between them. A moment of energized tension that illuminated the cost of this secret and the fortitude it took to maintain a cover of health and normality. She swallowed, her heart drumming, her fingers picking at her skirt.

He had given no indications of madness. His staff cared for him, as evidenced by their worry. She wet her lips, meeting his eyes, which bored into her, questioning, seeking. She drew from the wells of her authoritarianism on all things medical. Perhaps she had no experience with society, but she knew patients.

And despite the rocky planes of his face, the stiff cut of his shoulders, fear hid beneath it all.

“You are not a madman, my lord, and I do not believe you should be institutionalized.”

His gaze flickered. The jaw that had been granite-hewn relaxed ever so slightly. “I quite agree, Miss Gordon. You will keep this information between us?”

Another question that was not a question.

“I shall do my best.” After all, he was her employer now. And quite possibly, her patient.

He locked his arms behind his back, regarding her so seriously as to make her wonder how she’d ever thought him careless and lacking in soberness. “That will be all, Miss Gordon. I will ring for Mrs. Braxton, the head maid. She will show you to your room, the schoolroom and the general layout of the servants’ quarters. I trust you will tell me should you feel unwelcome in any way.”

“How I feel is of no consequence. My job is to teach Louise, and that is what I shall focus on.” Speaking of the girl, she hadn’t seen or heard her. Which struck her as immensely odd. “Where is she?”

St. Raven paused. “It is odd that she has not come to greet me.”

He called for the head housekeeper. She appeared promptly.

“Where is Louise?” asked the earl.

Her fingers fluffed the folds of her dress. “She heard she was to have another governess, and to prove her lack of need for one, she ran off again.”

“How often does this occur?”

“As often as she wishes.”

“And you allow it?”

His housekeeper looked surprised. “She did it with her parents and they were not alarmed.”

“Well, they should have been,” he snapped. “Assemble the servants in the hall at once.”

Henrietta nodded with approval. Until she could do more research, there was nothing more to be said about his epilepsy. Standing there looking into his handsome face accomplished nothing. He wasn’t even trying to be charming, and yet she found herself studying the lines and curves of his features, storing the scent of his cologne in the back of her mind.

It was positively the most disturbing response she’d ever had to a man, and becoming a governess was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but Lady Brandewyne had backed her into a tight and inescapable corner.

Besides, she now felt a deep concern for Louise’s whereabouts. “What do you mean to do?” she asked St. Raven.

“I mean to find the girl.” He pivoted, leading Henrietta into the hall. Mrs. Braxton stood as stiff as a marble statue, her features settled into a frown. “Don’t you ever look for her? Doesn’t anyone chase her down and tell her to stop running away?”

“My apologies, my lord,” she replied. “But why on earth would we do such a thing when her parents allowed it? Where can she go?”

“Those questions are irrelevant. She should not have left at all. When she returns, she shall have warm tea and biscuits waiting for her. Mrs. Braxton shall put hot irons at the foot of her bed to heat her toes, and it will not be allowed again.”

“Hot irons? Tea and biscuits?” Henrietta crossed her arms. “You are rewarding negative behavior. This simply will not do.”

His head tilted, then his gaze shifted past her. “Mrs. Braxton, call the servants. We must find Louise.”

At that moment, a crack of thunder shook the house. Rain tapped the roof, picking up speed and then turning into wild dance of sound.

“This weather is not good for her lungs.”

“We will find her,” he said, his features strained.

Servants filed into the hallway, lining up by rank.

St. Raven crossed his arms behind his back, posture ramrod-straight and mouth firm. “Please welcome Miss Gordon. She is Louise’s new governess.”

She did not miss the exhalations of relief many of the servants tried to hide. Was Louise so terrible? Perhaps these people just did not know how to contain an excitable child. Not that Henrietta had much experience with child-rearing, but common sense told her that consistency and a gentle attitude went far toward taming mischief and being spoiled.

“We will be looking for my niece, and she is not to run off like this anymore. Does anyone have an idea of where she might’ve gone?”

“She likes the horses,” a young footman volunteered.

“Or the pond,” said Mrs. Braxton. A portly woman with a severe set to her chin, she nevertheless carried a twinkle in her eye. “Always catching the minnows, though I tell the young miss it isn’t sightly.”

“Excuse me?” A maid at the back stepped forward. “I’ve seen her at the folly...a few times, my lord.” She bowed, looking apprehensive as she did so.

“The folly?” St. Raven stroked his chin. “That does sound like a good place to hide and it would appeal to a twelve-year-old’s imagination. Very good, thank you. Stay here and set out tea and sandwiches for when the others return. Check the stables and the pond. Look through the house. I will search the folly.”

“I will ready the horses.” A whiskered man bowed and left quickly.

Henrietta lifted her skirts, prepared to follow the man.

St. Raven put out a hand to stop her. “Not so fast, Miss Gordon. You’ve just overcome a lung disease. You’ll stay here.”

“It was an infection.” She narrowed her eyes, dodging out of reach of his imperious touch. “I certainly will not stay. I am going with you. I’ll wear an extra layer. You might need me. Louise could be hurt.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” His voice was harsh, his eyes glints of green. Another shock of thunder resonated.

She took the thick shawl a footman handed her. The butler opened the door and rain sluiced into the house, pelting the floor in huge, splattering drops.

St. Raven gestured her out and, summoning fortitude, and aware of a simmering panic for Louise’s safety gaining ground within, she stepped into the storm.

* * *

Dominic didn’t think he’d ever felt such intense fear in his life. His jaw ached from clenching, and his neck kinked. The ride to the folly had been arduous and bumpy, the carriage traversing the rain-slicked path and mud holes with ferocious dexterity.