The Runaway Governess. Liz Tyner
The same vice clenched him that had surrounded him so many times before, only this time, he had to use all his might to push it away so he could speak. ‘What happened?’
‘Tonight,’ the older man said, ‘I have lost my only son. I could not sup with someone such as you.’ He stepped around William, pulling his hat from the shade and grasping the cane.
William turned. ‘Father. What is going on?’
The Viscount took his hat, and clenched the cane. ‘I must blame myself, William. But it does not change a thing. I shouldn’t have mourned your mother so long. I should have opened my eyes before it was too late. But it is now too late.’
He stepped forward, but lowered the walking stick. ‘Oh, you showed me. You really did. But I will not ignore such behaviour. No longer. This was beyond the pale. Even for you.’
William squinted at his father. ‘The woman is safe at Sophia’s house. I took her from Wren’s, but she wished for me to.’
‘Sophia?’ His father started. ‘What does she know of this?’ His fists clenched. ‘I could pay the hangman myself for you attacking an innocent woman.’ He stepped back. ‘Your sisters. Think of your sisters.’ He dipped his head. The room was silent. ‘This will reach their ears. They’ll be humiliated.’
Attacking an innocent? His father believed William attacked Isabel? The vice gripped again.
‘The whole town will hear of it.’ His father’s voice ended on a high shriek. ‘Apparently the talk of your—behaviour became the centre of the dinner. Your aunt was mortified. The whispers have already started and will become shouts. She came to me in tears. She found Sylvester and he agreed that you dragged a woman from Wren’s. He said he was so shocked he didn’t think to chase you and rescue her until after you had spirited her away in your carriage.’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘All the men saw you leave carrying a woman of quality from Wren’s. A copper-haired woman with a bruised cheek. The men at cards heard her scream. Saw her in tatters. Blood on her sleeve. You forcing her out the door and into the carriage. Leaving a knife behind. It is thought her body was tossed into the Thames.
‘Oh...’ William stepped back, reaching a hand to the wall, steadying himself. ‘No. No. It is not that. I didn’t—’
This... This would destroy his sisters.
‘You will never step foot in my house again. You will distance yourself from your sisters for their sake. I hope you care enough for them for that.’ His father’s eyes twitched.
Events of the night before careened through William’s head. He’d done nothing wrong, except perhaps in letting Wren escape a magistrate, but he’d not wanted any notice of the night.
Now his name would be destroyed. The tales of his past weren’t enough to grieve his sisters, but with this added, everything would be embellished. The tarnish would never be cleansed.
William took in a breath. ‘Father.’ He laughed, but could barely manage the sound. ‘That is so absurd.’ He waved a hand. ‘She was to meet me, but was early and confused at her direction. When she was alighting the carriage, a dog, obviously trained by a cutpurse, ran out and startled the horses. The culprit knocked her about, but Isabel fought back before running into the back door of Wren’s. The criminal chased her and caught her there.’ He hoped no one had truly noticed her in the shadows before. But he doubted they had. At first, the bonnet had hidden her face and covered her hair. She’d remained in shadows, her presence overridden by the woman on the stage. Then, when he’d moved her outside, her clothing dishevelled—everyone had noticed them and the light reflected on her hair when the door opened.
He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. ‘The driver had to keep the horses steady while fighting off the dog and didn’t realise Miss—’ If he’d heard her surname, he’d forgotten it ‘—my Isabel had exited the carriage and been attacked.’
His father stared. ‘And why would a woman of quality be wishing to meet you there?’
‘We had corresponded. We were to go to Gretna Green. I plan to wed her, but could not start out with her in such a state. That is why I bought the new carriage. To elope. She is waiting at Sophia’s to recover and then we will marry.’
The heat of the day had collected in the room and the Viscount rubbed sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘She is alive? A reddish-haired woman?’
‘Very much alive. She is a good woman. I wish to marry her. We are betrothed.’
His father examined William’s face. ‘Without so much of the piffle spread in—did you attack her?’
‘No. I could never do that.’ He used his eyes to convince his father. ‘She didn’t realise where she was.’
‘You believe her?’
He nodded. ‘She is a country squire’s daughter. She had no notion.’
‘From the country, you say?’ He shut his eyes. ‘And you have been corresponding with her and she agreed to meet you—’
‘Father. We have corresponded many times while she trained to be a governess. We were not certain, with the differences in our station, that people would accept our union. So I thought it best, to avoid dissension, to present Isabel as my wife.’
‘You can produce her for view?’
‘Of course.’
The Viscount slammed his cane against the door frame. ‘I will remember this story well enough. I cannot have my only son accused of defiling a woman. I cannot.’
‘I didn’t. When she didn’t meet me as planned, I found her crouching behind Wren’s and without thinking I took her through the place, hoping I might see the cutpurse and have him contained.’
‘I could not believe what the others are saying, but I have heard the tales of your courting the women of the demi-monde. You are known in every gambling hell and tavern in London. And yet, you say you were with an innocent miss. If she weds you I will know you tell enough of the truth. If she doesn’t, I forbid your name spoken to me and I’ll not have it said in my presence that I have a son.’
He stopped mid-turn to the door and then returned his gaze to William. ‘Should I trust you enough to spend the day at the club laughing at the tale Sylvester is telling because he thinks to get me to switch funds his way and a jest got out of hand?’
‘Yes.’ The word had the strength of a church bell.
He turned his back to his son. ‘I will explain this fluff to your Aunt Emilia and she will begin combating the tales. But you must produce this sweetheart of yours and she must be at your side. And she’d better have red in her hair.’
Every rail on the bannister sounded to have received a thwack from the cane as the Viscount left the house.
William went to the window. His mouth was dry. He put a hand on the wooden shutter running the length of the door. No, the houses across the way were not like his. He swung his leg back, planning to kick out the window, but returned his boot to the carpet. He could not. If he did, they would think him the one cracked and no one would believe him innocent.
He would marry. Isabel must understand. His future depended on her saying yes.
The clean dress looked more mending thread than cloth, but it did wonders for Isabel’s spirit. She held the skirt away from her body and curtsied to her image in the mirror. She dreaded sitting down to dinner with Sophia and her husband because she’d never eaten in such a fine house and she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself.
A maid knocked, then entered when Isabel answered. ‘Miss,