The Highlander And The Governess

‘You’re no’ staying,’ he pointed out. ‘I am granting you a meal, but there’s no need for notes. I ken how to use a fork.’

Miss Goodson set down her pen and took her napkin, folding it in her lap. ‘Of course, you know that. But there is still a great deal to learn about etiquette in London. There are many unspoken rules.’

Lachlan eyed the door, wondering if it had been a mistake to allow Miss Goodson to join him at supper. He was accustomed to taking a tray alone in his room. It had been years since he’d had a formal meal, and he wasn’t about to change his habits.

The governess appeared entirely too cheerful, as if she thought she could talk her way into becoming his tutor. There was a brightness about her, of a woman filled with joy and enthusiasm. Perhaps she thought it would change his mind about sending her away. Far from it. It made him want to push back, to behave like a wicked barbarian. And so he glared at her, letting her glimpse his bad mood.

‘Is something the matter, Locharr?’ Miss Goodson appeared concerned. ‘You seem angry with me.’

Good. His plan was working.

‘It doesna matter what I think of you. You’ll be gone, soon enough.’ He kept his tone deliberate, not bothering to be nice. It would be cruel to lead her on, to let her think she had a chance of staying—even if she did need the position to support herself.

Miss Goodson’s expression dimmed, but she picked up her pen once more. They waited for Alban to bring in the food, but there was nothing yet. The clock ticked away a few more minutes, and finally, Lachlan called out, ‘If you dinna bring the food out soon, Alban, you’ll have to fetch shovels to bury us! For we’ll both be dead of starvation!’

Miss Goodson’s eyes widened at his shouting. Her pen scratched rapidly over the paper, but she did not correct him. Aye, he knew he wasn’t supposed to bellow for his servants, but Alban might not hear the bell. The elderly man’s hearing had worsened over the years.

His younger footman, Gavin, entered the room, carrying a tureen of soup. He plunked it down on the table and ladled out a healthy serving to Lachlan before he turned to Miss Goodson. She did not say anything, but Lachlan corrected the footman, ‘You should be serving the lady first, Gavin.’

‘I’m sorry, Locharr. Miss Goodson.’ The footman gave a slight bow and took the tureen away.

Lachlan eyed the soup, waiting for her to eat first. The governess was staring at him. When it became clear that she was not going to taste the soup until he did, he picked up his spoon and took a small sip.

‘Very good,’ she said.

‘I wasna going to pick up the bowl and drink it,’ he told her.

There was a veiled smile playing at Miss Goodson’s lips. ‘No, of course not.’ She wrote another note on the paper and then set her pen down. ‘I can tell that you have had some instruction, Locharr. Your table manners are not bad at all. They only need some minor adjustments.’

‘Which are not your concern,’ he reminded her.

‘It could be.’ She smiled at him, and the encouragement in her eyes caught him unawares. For a moment, he watched her eat. Her hands were small and delicate, her motions graceful. There was a strand of curling blonde hair that had slipped free of her chignon, and it hung against her neck. Although she had done nothing untoward, there was something about a good girl that made him want to discover if there was more beneath the surface of propriety.

‘Why did you seek work as a governess?’ he asked. Miss Goodson was quite pretty, with the fresh face of innocence. Surely, she could easily find a husband. Why, then, had she travelled alone to Scotland?

‘Poverty is an excellent motivation for employment,’ she answered. Though she spoke with a lightness of mood, he believed there was far more to her story.

‘You were a lady once, weren’t you?’ he predicted.

Her face flushed, but she did not answer his statement. Which meant it was likely true. If she had fallen upon difficult times, being a governess or a wife was her only option. It seemed that Miss Goodson was a woman of secrets, and Lachlan wondered what they were. He supposed he would never know. He reached for his goblet of wine and drained it.

She eyed him and bit her lower lip. Then she frowned and dipped her pen into the inkwell, writing furiously.

Aye, it wasn’t right for a man to finish his wine in one gulp. Even so, he couldn’t deny the urge to tease her. He reached for the decanter and poured himself another glass. There was a pained look in her river-green eyes, and she bit her lip, drawing his attention to its fullness. She was a bonny lass, indeed. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Goodson was a danger to herself. She might be posing as a governess, but this young lady was a walking temptation.

‘Would you be wanting some wine?’ he offered, holding out the decanter.

‘No, thank you. I do not partake in spirits,’ she answered. ‘And next time, you should ask your butler to pour the wine. Or a footman.’ She dipped her pen in the inkwell and wrote a few more sentences on the scrap of paper.

‘If I waited for them, we’d have no food,’ he pointed out. ‘They’re no’ exactly making haste to get here.’

‘Be that as it may, if you are a guest at a supper party, wait for the servants to pour the wine.’

A few minutes later, Alban brought out the next course. It was a mutton pie, and Lachlan cut into it with his fork, while steam rose from the pastry crust. Miss Goodson was still writing furiously, in between bites of her own meal. What could she be worked up about now? He’d done nothing wrong.

Finally, she set down her pen and took a sip of water from her glass. ‘How long ago was this marriage arranged with Lady Regina?’

He stabbed the crust with his fork and brought up a bit of mutton and gravy. ‘Our fathers went to school together and were good friends. They spoke of it for years, though ’twas only in jest. After my father died two years ago, Havershire wanted to fulfil Tavin’s wish. We set the wedding date for this May.’

At that, she set down her fork. ‘Without asking Lady Regina? And you haven’t seen her in ten years?’ Her expression was aghast.

‘Nay. But she’s an obedient lass.’

Miss Goodson took a bite of her mutton pie, but he could see her thoughts turning over the matter. ‘Why would you agree to marry a woman you haven’t seen in that long?’

Because it had been his father’s greatest wish. Lachlan had wanted to give that gift to Tavin, even if he hadn’t been able to save his life. A dark twist of guilt rose at the memory, prickled with grief. He didn’t want to marry anyone, and he knew he was hardly a fit candidate for a husband. Lady Regina would be horrified by the sight of his scarred face. But if he fulfilled his father’s last desire, at least it was one thing he could do for the man.

‘As I said before, Lord Havershire and my father wanted to unite our families together.’

‘Even so, why would you agree to wed her without meeting her first?’ Miss Goodson enquired. ‘You might not like her any more.’

‘I like the twenty thousand pounds her father has promised.’ Lady Regina’s dowry was money he needed, because repairing a five-hundred-year-old castle was costly. The offer of marriage was a welcome means of absolving him from financial ruin, for he hadn’t realised how deeply Tavin MacKinloch had fallen into debt. Lachlan had already cut back on as many expenses as possible, but he didn’t want to dismiss any of his staff. They needed their wages, and he’d do whatever he had to if it meant protecting his clansmen.

‘That is a great deal of money,’ she agreed. ‘But I don’t understand why Lord Havershire would offer so much.’ She set her fork down and pondered a moment. ‘Lady Regina has plenty of suitors. She simply turns them all away.’

‘Because she’s promised to me,’ he countered.

‘She doesn’t want to marry anyone,’ Miss Goodson predicted. ‘I have met her on several occasions. They call her the Lady of Ice.’

Lachlan didn’t concern himself with his fiancée’s reluctance. There was no reason for her to raise objections to the marriage—particularly since he intended to let her live her life as she chose.

‘Lady Regina values a gentleman with manners,’ Miss Goodson warned. ‘If you wish to marry her, you will need to make a good impression. I could help you with this.’

‘I’ve no need of your help.’

But the young woman ignored him and held out her list. ‘I’ve written down possible lessons for you. Dining, dancing, conversation, and so on.’

Dancing? Lachlan despised dancing, and he would never engage in such a pastime. ‘I won’t be dancing, Miss Goodson.’ He loathed the very thought.

‘Oh, but you must. At a ball, you will be required to dance with Lady Regina. Only once, of course, but it is necessary to making a good impression upon her.’

Lachlan would rather cut off his thumbs than dance in public. ‘I willna make a fool of myself.’

‘Of course not,’ Miss Goodson answered. ‘I will ensure that you are well prepared. And you may find that you enjoy dancing. It can be delightful.’

‘You won’t be here to give any lessons,’ he reminded her. ‘The coach will be here first thing in the morning.’

‘But I just thought that—’