The Unconventional Governess. Jessica Nelson
his illness a secret from the ton?
For some reason, Miss Gordon entered his thoughts. Strong and plucky, making her way in a man’s world. If anyone knew how to accomplish something, she would. Perhaps he ought to meet with her.
When he returned to the main house, Jacks greeted him with a letter and a squirming Louise.
“I simply wanted to have tea with you,” she said crossly, speaking before the valet. “I’ve missed you. Are you home for the rest of the afternoon?”
“Yes.” He eyed her.
She twisted away from Jacks. “I shall meet you in the solarium, Dom, and we can discuss our new life together over tea.” Flashing a smile that looked just like her father’s, which stabbed pain through Dom, she pivoted and ran down the hall.
He opened the letter, which was an invitation to a ball hosted by Lady Brandewyne. Miss Gordon would be there, he realized. And suddenly, it felt imperative that he speak to her, face-to-face.
He handed the invitation back to Jacks. “Send an acceptance.”
Henrietta had definitely been duped. As the time for the house party drew closer, Lady Brandewyne’s intentions became completely clear.
She was trying to marry off Henrietta, no doubt with Uncle William’s blessing. His reasons for leaving were obviously a strategic tactic to aid Lady Brandwyne in her matchmaking.
Had he stayed, Henrietta would have been able to talk him out of this madness. But he had left to avoid the conversation, a realization that put her in a decidedly black mood.
To make things worse, Lady Brandewyne seemed to think Henrietta had forgotten the most basic tenets of How to Behave Like a Lady. When Henrietta emerged from the library or returned from a walk, invariably the woman gave her not-so-subtle etiquette lessons. Henrietta gritted her teeth and bore the verbal onslaught. After all, she was a guest in the dowager’s home.
It was not as though she had not considered leaving for London. Uncle William let a house in Mayfair, but the Season was in full swing and Henrietta had no desire to stay in an area where carriages would be bumping across the roads into all hours of the morning. If not for that, she’d leave at once for a more peaceful setting with less marital hints.
“The house party shall be a small affair, really.” Lady Brandewyne had called Henrietta in for tea in the parlor. She eyed Henrietta as though examining an infectious wound.
“I am expected to attend?” She knew she was, but she asked anyway, some puckish urge overtaking her mouth.
“But of course! It is, in a way, in your honor.” She ignored the horrified expression Henrietta could not stop from displaying. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring gowns based on the measurement of your other dresses.” She gestured to the maid, Sally, who came over. “Bring me those boxes that were delivered earlier today.”
Sally left while Henrietta struggled to control her temper. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the ferocious pounding. “You have bought gowns?”
“Only a few. I wanted to surprise you.”
Henrietta barely swallowed her snort. Surprise, indeed. More like browbeating. She feared this house party would best her social skills in unanticipated ways. She drew a deep breath, willing herself to smile, though her cheeks bunched unnaturally and her lips felt tight.
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,