The Unconventional Governess

She foresaw nothing good about the coming event.

And she was right. After over a week of thinly disguised lessons in deportment and conversation suitable to ladies, the house party began. Guests arrived in various types of carriages, some more fancy than others. Lord St. Raven was among them, to Henrietta’s shock. Louise was nowhere in sight, as expected. No other guests had brought children, either.

A rich evening meal started off the party. The countess placed Henrietta next to a baronet. “My neighbor to the south,” Lady Brandewyne explained with an encouraging smile.

Henrietta did not don a return smile. She had no need to pretend to be anything other than herself. The man looked her over as though sizing up a horse at market. After the necessary introductions, he asked, “What part of England are you from?”

“North. My father was Lord Iversley but after he and my mother died, the second brother inherited the title and estate. My uncle, the youngest brother, took guardianship of me. He’s a physician and we spent most of our time in the Americas. On the battlefield,” she added, noting the crease between the baronet’s eyebrows. “Tending soldiers, keeping my uncle’s records. That sort of work.”

The man blanched and, satisfied she’d made her point, she turned back to her food. No member of the peerage, even a baronet who technically was not considered a peer, wanted a wife who had worked. Henrietta set about eating her meal, a delicious concoction of boiled fowl with oyster sauce. She ignored the pinched disapproval on Lady Brandewyne’s face and savored her food.

It was possibly the only good thing about returning to England.

After dinner, music had been arranged in the drawing room. Somehow Henrietta made it through the rest of the night without displaying a bad case of manners. She did not speak to Lord St. Raven, though she felt his eyes on her several times throughout the evening. When it seemed he might walk over and start a conversation, she avoided him. She couldn’t say what drove her to do so, only a curious sense of self-preservation. On Friday and Saturday, she escaped some of the more strenuous activities planned by citing physical weakness.

But Saturday night arrived, despite Henrietta’s prayers otherwise. She entered the ballroom with trepidation. It was not grandiose compared to London ballrooms, but for a country estate, it was fashionably large and comfortable. Sparkling chandeliers cleaned to luminescent perfection hung from the ceiling. A quartet played quietly in a corner, warming up their instruments.

The butler announced guests as they arrived. Off to the side, Henrietta sipped her punch and listened as each entrant’s name was called out. “Lord Dominic St. Raven.”

Her head snapped up. The earl strode into the ballroom, tall and confident. A grin filled with charisma and mystery shaped his lips. A smile carved a dimple into his cheek. His clothes emphasized the broad swath of his shoulders and the strong length of his legs. His hair gleamed. A strange sensation curled in Henrietta’s stomach as she stared at him from her safe little spot, where, thus far, no one had spotted her.

He was as cavalier as she’d expected, she thought as she watched him bowing over the pale, uncallused hands of the ladies present. He was laughing yet searched the room, as though his attention could not possibly be wasted on one person.

She sipped again, the punch doing little to calm her sudden case of nerves. Would he talk to her? Why was he attending Lady Brandewyne’s house party anyhow? Henrietta had assumed he’d leave the country as soon as he was well enough.

Unbidden, a memory of Louise chasing butterflies flashed through her mind. Perhaps she should ask after Louise. Their shared grief created an invisible thread and it had been difficult for Henrietta to forget the girl. Or the uncle.

She studied him as he wound his way through the room. It was a scientific improbability that she would not notice him. All of the other ladies fawned over him, and men regarded him with a certain mix of respect and envy. He was a specimen of strong heritage.

She refused to fault herself for noticing the thickness of his hair and the confidence in his stride. His skin shone with improved health and his white, cared-for teeth hinted at a fastidious nature.

Yes, even a doctor could note such things. The churning in her stomach was very natural, she assured herself. Simply a physical and chemical reaction.

And then he turned and saw her.

Quiet and unobtrusive, she edged as close to a wall as possible, yet he saw her. Their gazes connected. She looked quickly away, eager to discourage him from approaching her.

The tactic did not work. Trying not to frown, she nodded a greeting as he neared.

“I see you are walking without pain,” she said promptly.

“Is that why you were studying me so closely?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. Oh, where was that infernal fan Lady Brandewyne had shoved into her hands earlier? “You are a former patient,” she said, hearing a primness in her voice that quite pleased her. Let him do with that what he will.

“Which is why I’ve meandered over. To allow you all the inspection you may need.” His eyes crinkled, laughing at her.

It was probably better she didn’t have a fan or else she’d be tempted to swat him with it, and then Lady Brandewyne might need use of her smelling salts.

His proximity was sending her pulse speeding along her veins. He wore a light cologne that teased her senses, and his fashionable attire did not scream dandy as loudly as she thought it might. He looked rather dashing, and that was enough reason for her to lift her chin and straighten her backbone.

“I am quite finished. You are in the pink of health. You may go now and continue your flirtations about the room.”

Those dratted crinkles deepened. “A good doctor would take more time with her patient.”

“Former patient, and I am not a doctor,” she huffed.

He inclined his head, accepting the response. Then he gestured about the room, his long, tanned fingers contrasting with the white crispness of his cuff. “So which man is to be the winner tonight?”

She followed the direction of his hand sweep, her gaze narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Your conquest...your intended. Who is it to be?”

Henrietta tilted her head, trying to figure out how he’d discovered Lady Brandewyne’s shenanigans.

His expression changed. “Don’t tell me you are not aware?”

“Aware of what?”

“Ah, that cross, suspicious tone. It tells me all I need to know.”

“You’re beastly, Lord St. Raven. Quit speaking in riddles and be out with it.”

“The guests here are a curious mingle of friends and men looking for a wife.”

“There are plenty of unattached females.” But her stomach was sinking. “Are you saying you know that this affair was created solely to marry me off?”

“There were several tells.” He tipped his cup toward her. “Your clothes, for instance. You are very pretty in that frothy confection of blues and satins. And slightly overdressed.”

“Says the man whose boots are reflecting faces.”

“They are Hessians, Miss Gordon. Do not fret, they can’t compare to your pearl-encrusted slippers that positively scream ‘marry me.’”

“I did not pick out the shoes, and the ruffles are a bit overdone.”

“Men like ruffles.”

She glowered at him, but then cast a surreptitious peek about the room, and realized he was correct. Several gentleman were staring at her. Waiting, perhaps? For her to finish her conversation with an earl who, by everything she’d overheard this weekend, had no intention of ever settling down.

To make matters worse, she had not heard from her governess-post inquiries. That left her at the mercy of Lady Brandewyne. Refusing to attend the dowager’s events would be the height of rudeness, in light of all that her ladyship had done for her.

“You’re looking very fierce, Miss Gordon,” St. Raven said lightly. “Is marriage such a loathsome prospect?”

“I have other goals.”

“When do you rejoin your uncle?”

Henrietta slid him a look. He had the appearance of sincerity, the clear green of his eyes inquisitive. “Why are you spending your time talking to me? Lady Anne is near the orchestra. She’s a beauty. Go cast your charm about her.”