Gift-Wrapped Governess (14 page)

And Honeysuckle was so poor she had to work for a living.

It was astonishing. The men in his club that night might as well have sat down and just written the name ‘Honeysuckle Miller' when they'd collectively drawn up a list of all the attributes that would make a perfect wife. The perfect mother to the children it was their duty to sire.

He laid one palm flat against the door that separated them. Honeysuckle would give him sons to make him proud. They would be plucky, and clever and resourceful.

And, by God, but he would enjoy the getting of them.

Contrary to what Lady Springfield had said, he couldn't even see himself ever getting bored with Honeysuckle. Not the way he grew bored with his mistresses, anyway. A man looked for entirely different qualities in a wife than a mistress. A mistress was for…the moment. A wife was a woman with whom to build a future.

In the past, when he'd tried to imagine being tied to one
woman for the rest of his life, he'd had to run a finger round his neckcloth, as though he could feel it tightening like a noose. But he did not feel trapped, or tricked or imprisoned at all. On the contrary, he felt curiously liberated.

Right up til the minute he'd left London, he'd been declaring he was happy living the way he did. But that was not the whole truth. Of late, he no longer felt quite comfortable visiting any of his properties outside London, knowing they were all desperately in need of a woman's touch and that pretty soon he would have to give serious consideration to finding that woman.

Well, now he'd found her—when he had not even been looking. There was not a woman anywhere who would be better at transforming his estates into homes where he could raise his children than Honeysuckle Miller.

Honeysuckle took another step away from the closed door that parted them as the silence from the other side went on and on. This was worse than his laughter. To her, that kiss had been like a taste of paradise. But he was regretting it already. Counting the cost of it. There could be no other explanation for all that silence. He'd reminded himself that as a gentleman he ought to propose after kissing her like that—but he hadn't. And he wouldn't. Men like him didn't marry penniless governesses. He might want her, in a certain way, but there was nothing he could do about that either. He couldn't take a friend of his sister's as his mistress.

‘Do you know,' he suddenly said, brightly, ‘it has just occurred to me that Havelock had the right idea? Or at least, he was thinking along the right lines. No man wants to be leg-shackled to a harpy, just because she comes from a good family, and has a lot of money. It is like…a bit like…the fact that I brought Brown Bess down here as well as Diamond. Diamond is a fine-looking creature and I enjoy showing off his paces, but when it comes to the hunt, I cannot do better
than Brown Bess. She has the temperament to keep going all day. Will never let me down.'

She shook her head, slowly. Just how much had he had to drink tonight? Until now, he'd seemed fairly lucid, but this rambling way he was talking about his horses, and some friend of his who sounded as though he really
was
contemplating marriage, made her think again.

‘Honeysuckle? What do you say?'

There was only one thing she could say.

‘Go away!'

He chuckled. He'd taken her by surprise. Well, he'd taken himself by surprise. But when she thought it over, she'd come to the same conclusion as he had.

She slumped against the door as she heard him turn and stroll away. She was sure he had not meant to hurt her by taunting her with the impossibility of them ever marrying. He was just doing what he always did. Saying the first thing that came into his head without thinking about what he really meant.

She was stupid to feel so hurt because he'd spouted a lot of nonsense whilst in his cups. He probably would not even recall much of what he'd said, once he'd sobered up.

With any luck, he wouldn't even recall he'd come up here.

Oh, Lord, she hoped he wouldn't. It was bad enough that he'd brought up the topic of marriage at all, when she knew full well that men like Lord Chepstow did not marry penniless governesses. When he eventually settled down, it would be with some wealthy, titled, fashionable lady. No Brown Bess for him. He would demand a Diamond. A showy, expensive creature, who would be quite willing to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions. For there would be many.

Lord Chepstow craved variety. Constant stimulation. He would never be content to restrict himself to just one woman.

Whereas there would never be, had never been, any other man for her.

‘W
ell, have you nothing to say in your defence?'

Honeysuckle looked at Lady Budworth with a sinking heart.

She could not gainsay Lady Springfield, not while she was standing right there. Besides, she
had
been kissing Lord Chepstow and she
had
only been wearing her nightgown.

Useless to protest it had gone no further than kisses, or that she had not permitted him to set foot inside her bedroom. For if she were to deny that part of Lady Springfield's tale, it would be to call her a liar to her face. Lady Budworth would have to decide which of them was telling the truth.

And how likely was it that she would take the word of a lowly governess over that of an earl's daughter?

‘Your silence is an admission of guilt,' said Lady Budworth. ‘You will leave my employ at once.'

Honeysuckle felt the blood drain from her face.

‘You will not return to your room,' Lady Budworth continued. ‘I cannot have you walking through the schoolroom. My guests will not want their children exposed to the corrupting influence of a person such as yourself.'

‘B-but am I not to be permitted to bid Annabel and Mary
farewell?' She had grown very fond of them and, she thought, they of her.

Lady Budworth made a slashing motion with her hand. ‘Absolutely not. The fact that you have abused your position of trust in my home by acting like a…like a…'

‘Harlot?' Lady Springfield helpfully supplied with a malicious smile.

It was all Honeysuckle could do to keep her hands meekly folded at her waist, rather than curling them into angry little fists. How could Lady Springfield be getting so much pleasure from causing her to lose her job? What kind of person was she?

Leaving that aside, there were more practical matters to consider.

‘Surely you cannot mean to turn me out without letting me pack my things?'

‘I will have them sent on.'

‘But I don't know where I shall be going. I have nowhere…'

Her middle section clenched into a block of ice as the full horror of her predicament sank in. She had no family. No close friends apart from Pippa. But how could she possibly go to his sister, telling a tale that would make him sound like a…like a rake! Well, he was a rake, but he drew the line at seducing innocent girls of good birth. Besides, if she ran to Pippa, her husband was bound to want to call Lord Chepstow to account. He might even insist that he marry her. And if Lord Chepstow had really wanted to do so, he would have asked her last night, not muttered something about his horses and sauntered away.

It would be completely unfair to make Lord Chepstow pay such a terrible price.
She
had been the one to give in to temptation. For once in her life, she'd snatched at the chance to taste an experience she had known full well to be wrong. If she really had dashed into that baker's shop when she'd been a schoolgirl and stolen one of those slices of gingerbread, they
would have hauled her off to the constable for theft. Last night she had stolen a moment of illicit bliss in Lord Chepstow's arms. She could have stopped him, had she wanted to.

But she hadn't wanted to.

‘Would you…would you at least let me have a character?'

Lady Budworth flung up her hands in exasperation.

‘I cannot be fidgeted with details at this hour in the morning. I have not even had my chocolate. Oh…go downstairs to the housekeeper's room. It is her job to deal with this sort of thing. All I want is to never have to see your face again. It is most inconvenient of you to let me down like this, with a house full of guests,' she finished pettishly. ‘Now who is going to mind the children?'

She should have thought of that before she'd summoned her to answer Lady Springfield's charges.

Or, better yet, told the spoiled, spiteful madam that she would look into the complaint discreetly, then interviewed her in private, to ascertain the full truth of the matter.

But no. Lady Springfield had pretended outrage on behalf of one of her younger sisters, and because she was a guest, a titled, wealthy guest, Lady Budworth had yielded to her demands.

Honeysuckle dipped a curtsy and headed for the door, her back ramrod straight. She would not give in to tears, or beg for mercy, or show any weakness whatever! Besides, she didn't feel like crying. She was too angry for tears. Once in her life, just once, she had misbehaved and not even all that badly. But then when had the world ever been a place where justice reigned? Poor people could face imprisonment for stealing a loaf of bread to keep from starving. But if you had wealth, and position, you could behave as badly as you liked and get away with it.

‘Is something the matter?'

Honeysuckle came to herself to see Mrs Gulpher looking at
her with concern. Somehow she'd reached the housekeeper's room without knowing quite how she'd got there.

‘I have been dismissed,' she said, reaching out to steady herself against the door frame. All of a sudden, her legs had gone quite weak. How was she going to survive?

‘No! What on earth for?'

Mrs Gulpher took her by the arm and ushered her into the upper servants' sitting room.

 

The next hour passed in a daze. She told her tale to Mrs Gulpher, and the butler, Rothman, and though they were sympathetic, there was not very much either of them could actually do beyond offering her tea and advice.

The next thing she knew, she was walking down the driveway, with one small bag in her hand, which Mrs Gulpher had one of the maids pack for her, and the driving rain was stinging her face like a million needles.

Rothman had suggested she go to the vicarage and ask for refuge for a few days while he attempted to extract the wages owing from Lord Budworth, though she could not see him paying up. Why should he? He might consider her alleged conduct left him with no obligation towards her. And men of his class saw nothing wrong in withholding money owed to tradespeople like tailors, or butchers or…governesses. You only had to look at the papers and read the lists of all the people who went bankrupt every week.

He wouldn't care that without that money it was going to be hard for her to survive until she could find a new post. Which would take a very long time indeed if he did not provide her with a satisfactory character, either.

Her future looked bleak indeed. As bleak and harsh as this December weather. Not only did she have no home, and no job, but precious few prospects, either.

Squaring her shoulders, she gripped her small overnight bag more tightly and marched into the wind, screwing her face
up against the stinging rain—and the pain of losing everything, just when she'd been on the verge of really belonging. She had longed for somewhere she could call home for so long. She had never dared hope it would be the kind of place Pippa had found, with an adoring husband. She knew she wasn't pretty, no matter what fustian Lord Chepstow had spoken last night. Nor did she have a dowry to redress that lack of allure. The most she had hoped for was to find a place where her skills as an educator would be valued.

To have it all so cruelly snatched away, just when it had been within her grasp, was almost more than she could bear.

As she'd sat at Mrs Gulpher's table, sipping endless cups of hot, sweet tea, she'd discovered, much to her surprise, that the staff of Budworth Hall thought of her as one of them. They'd been, without exception, incensed that she was losing her job because one of the male guests had strayed into her territory and snatched a couple of kisses. Instead of laying any blame on her at all, they had asked what on earth Lady Springfield had been doing up there, so far away from the guest wing? The maids had packed her this overnight bag and promised to stow all the rest of her belongings safely in a trunk that a footman had volunteered to fetch down from storage.

And they had all said she had been such a good influence on the girls, she was bound to find another job in no time.

Jane had promised to spend her day in the schoolroom, making sure the children were properly looked after. And when Honeysuckle had raised the subject of their Christmas party, several other, younger members of the staff had assured her they would make sure the children would have a rollicking time of it.

In fact, they had all been so kind that she suddenly found herself blinking back tears. The way they had closed ranks round her, their instant assumption that she had done nothing wrong, the way they had all been so swift to castigate Lord Chepstow and Lady Springfield had been so…touching.

She had never guessed they thought so highly of her. How could she, when none of them had made any attempt to breach what Lord Chepstow derided as her shrewish nature?

Not that she was really as shrewish as all that, was she? Her throat closed up as she tried to suppress a sob. She'd just grown used to standing up for herself. She didn't quite know how to handle having so many people rallying round her like that. To discover that they regarded her as one of their own.

Just as she was being forced to leave.

The sob broke free. And then tears began to stream down her face. And before long, she knew she was going to have to stop and blow her nose; for the combination of stinging rain and bitter tears was making it run in a hideous fashion.

As she put her bag down to fumble in her pocket for a handkerchief, she realised she had already, somehow, reached the wall surrounding the churchyard. The lych gate wouldn't be a bad place to shelter from the worst of the wind while she attempted to compose herself. She simply couldn't march up to the vicarage in this state. Making a litany of complaints against her employers, railing at the injustice of it all, would not make her look like the kind of person Reverend Colleyhurst would want to take into his home. Especially since he relied very heavily on Lord Budworth's patronage.

After a few moments, during which she thought she would never be able to stop crying, it occurred to her that the whole thing was much harder to deal with because it was happening at Christmas.

For once again, it felt as though everyone else was preparing to feast and make merry, while she was out in the cold, friendless and alone.

She looked up the path to the church, seeking—well, she wasn't sure what. But her eyes came to rest on the nativity scene the villagers had set up next to the porch. It struck her that the Holy Family had been poor and homeless at Christ
mas, too. There had been nowhere for Him to lay His head except a place intended for cattle.

At least she wasn't going to have to sleep in a stable, not if she knew the Reverend Colleyhurst, she sniffed. Nor was she a helpless babe.

She was a grown woman, with a strong will, a healthy body and a good education. She might have nothing else, but nobody would ever be able to take her education from her. Moulsham Lodge had been a harsh place, but she had learned a lot there.

To start with, she had learned that it was pointless yearning for things she could not have. It only made her more miserable. She'd learned that the strong trampled down the weak to get what they wanted, that the wealthy lived by a different set of rules from the poor.

And there was nothing an orphaned girl could do about it, but endure life just exactly as it was.

With one last shuddering sigh, one last sniff, she removed her spectacles and rubbed the lenses on the one dry corner of her handkerchief remaining.

So, she was on her own again. But she had known, from the moment those heartless trustees had deposited her in Moulsham Lodge, that she would have to make her own way in the world.

She was not, she decided, perching her spectacles back on her nose, going to sit here wallowing in self-pity. And though anger was much more energising—only consider how rapidly her legs had carried her thus far—it would not do to let it take over her life completely, either. She would only end up bitter and twisted, like the teachers at Moulsham Lodge.

Besides, if she could go back and do things differently, would she? If she had known this would be the result, would she have found the resolve to virtuously spurn Lord Chepstow?

And never have known what it felt like, to be in his arms?

Oh, no. For once she agreed wholeheartedly with Lord Chepstow's philosophy. This life was the only one she had. She could not be sorry that, if only for a few seconds, she'd discovered what it felt like to be a desirable woman. A woman desired by the man she adored. Nobody would ever be able to take
that
away from her. She sat for a few moments, reliving the feel of his body pressed against hers from shoulder to knee. Of his hands clutching her so close there was no mistaking how much he was enjoying the encounter, too. She committed his scent to memory, and his taste, and the silky texture of his hair as she ran her fingers through it.

And then she blew her nose one last time, got to her feet, picked up her bag and crossed the village green to the vicarage.