More Than a Governess Page 17

  ‘My dear Giles, you must accept that your father knows best in these matters.’ Lady Frances’s voice cut across the room, carrying clearly to everyone present. ‘Damon, Mama tells me they plan to be in Rome by the autumn. You have been there, have you not? Do come and tell us all about it…’

  Giles, flushed with embarrassment at the snub, looked as if he wanted to stride out of the room, but Sir Richard beckoned to him.

  ‘That new mill has fired your imagination,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘If there is coal in the moors, then we should mine it,’ muttered Giles in a furious undervoice.

  ‘It should certainly be investigated,’ put in Juliana. ‘I read that there is a way of finding out these things, of looking at the landscape.’

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. ‘It is in the layers of rock, the way they are laid down. The—the strata.’

  ‘I, too, have heard that,’ said Sir Richard, nodding. ‘A man named Smith has produced a geological map of the country.’ He looked up at Giles. ‘You should find out a little more—I will help you if you like, then you can put the case to your father. But not,’ he added with a twinkle, ‘when you have company. Choose a time when he is not occupied with social niceties!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  For the first time since arriving at Blackthorpe, Juliana awoke from her night’s sleep refreshed and eager for the day. Looking back at the evening, she thought it the most pleasant she had spent at the house. The conversation had been lively, and Sir Richard’s kindness had ensured that she had not been excluded. She acknowledged that there was nothing of the lover in Damon’s attentions to Lady Frances, and although it did not lessen the dull ache of longing inside her, she felt her emotions were under good regulation.

  Juliana set the children to work on their lessons and ran down to the library in search of an atlas. The morning was well advanced, and she knew enough of the household’s routine to be confident that Damon and his guest would be engaged in some outdoor pursuit. She skipped downstairs, humming and went into the library without knocking.

  ‘Oh!’ She stopped in the doorway. ‘Oh, I am sorry—I thought you had gone out…’

  Major Collingham was sitting at his desk, engaged in mending his pen. He looked up as she entered. ‘As you see, I am still here. Richard has gone out riding with Giles and left me to attend to my business—no, don’t run away. Come in and close the door. I want to talk to you.’ He said as she came towards him, ‘You were singing when you came in, and you were in spirits last night.’

  ‘Sir Richard is charming company. He went out of his way to entertain me.’

  ‘As I do not.’

  His voice was taut with anger. She forced herself to speak calmly.

  ‘I do not expect it, sir.’

  ‘You enjoy Mondwyck’s company?’

  ‘Why, yes.’

  ‘No doubt that is why you were so delighted to see him yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, I was pleased to see him,’ she retorted, nettled. ‘As I would be pleased to see any old friend.’

  He walked to the window and stared out. ‘Perhaps you would like him to be more than a friend.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why not? I cannot marry you, so why should you not set your cap at him?’

  Her cheeks flamed. She replied furiously, ‘I would never set my cap at anyone. That is a crude term and I find it offensive.’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ He flung himself across the room and stood before her, frowning down at her with such a dreadful scowl that she stepped back, only to find the unyielding edge of the desk behind her. ‘Well, I find it offensive that you are flirting with him in my house!’

  She gasped. ‘How dare you accuse me of flirting. How dare you!’ she railed at him, seething with anger. ‘I see what it is—you are jealous. You think because you cannot have me—’

  ‘Can I not?’

  With something that sounded like a snarl he grabbed her. She looked up to protest and his mouth swooped on her. The force of his attack made her senses reel, and all the emotions she had held so rigidly under control were released. She was overwhelmed by him, by the familiar hint of spice on his skin, the strength of his arms around her—it was intoxicating. For a moment she clung to him, then reason reasserted itself and she pushed against him, tearing her mouth free.

  ‘No, Damon, this is wrong.’ She glanced up into his face and suffered a shock; there was a wild look in his eyes, no sign that he understood her. He cupped her face with one hand and kissed her again, even more savagely. When she pushed her hands against his chest, it was not the Major who gave way. With the desk behind her she felt herself bending backwards. Damon was pushing her down, using his arm to sweep everything out of the way as he lowered her on to the desktop. She heard the clatter as the inkwell and pens fell to the floor, followed by the heavy thud of the paperweight. She found herself looking up at the strapwork on the ceiling, noticing the carved cornices on the top of the tall bookshelves; her world was quite literally turned on its head. Then every thought was obliterated as he kissed her again. Inwardly she fought against her own desire while struggling against him, but her feet no longer reached the floor, and she had no strength to fight him off. She had no will to fight him off; her resolve was slipping away. This must not happen, she told herself, turning her head aside to avoid his mouth, knowing that if he continued to kiss her she would be unable to prevent her body giving in to his demands. Her heart was thudding so hard it made the blood sing in her ears. Denied her lips, his mouth moved over her cheek, gently now, the tip of his tongue tracing the line of her jaw up to the tender lobe of her ear. She bit her lip hard to stop herself from responding. Her panic grew as he began to trail kisses down her neck—she was losing control. He tore aside the muslin fichu and began to kiss the swell of her breasts. A groan was wrenched from her.

  ‘Damon, we should not be doing this.’

  He raised his head and stared at her, his eyes blazing. ‘You want me,’ he muttered, breathing heavily, ‘You know you do.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do, but not like this!’ Even as she spoke he lowered his head again, his body crushing her on to the desk. She gasped, for his touch had turned her insides to molten fire. She arched towards him, giving the lie to her whispered pleas for him to stop. She was losing control. Her hands beat a futile tattoo on his shoulders. Another minute and it would be too late, the hot liquid in her belly was spreading to her limbs, making them wayward, responding to his touch rather than her will. It would be so easy to give in to him, to abandon herself to the heat of the moment, but there was a part of her that told her she would regret it; even more painful, she was sure that Damon would hate himself when he realised what he had done to her. Unable to push him off, her hand groped around the desk, knocking a sheaf of papers to the floor, brushing against the feathers of a pen. Then her fingers touched metal. She stretched out and grasped the handle of the pen knife. Summoning up the last shreds of her resolve, she brought her arm round and drove the knife with as much force as she could muster into his arm. Restricted as she was, the blow had little force, but it was enough.

  With an oath the Major pulled away from her. Juliana rolled off the desk and scrambled away from him, holding the knife before her.

  ‘That may be the way you take your whores, but you shall not treat me thus!’ she hissed at him.

  She had moved out of reach, watching him, ready to fly if he should come towards her, but he remained by the desk, feeling his arm.

  ‘You stabbed me, you little vixen.’

  He was breathing heavily, but she noticed with relief that the mad light had gone from his eyes.

  ‘Have—have I hurt you very much?’ She could not resist the question.

  ‘Not as much as I deserve,’ he said ruefully. ‘Ju, I am sorry.’

  ‘I asked you to stop.’ She blinked away the tears that were welling up. Silently she straightened her bodice. He sat down on the edge of the desk, clutching at his arm with his go
od hand.

  ‘You did. I am sorry.’ He looked chastened. ‘I never expected you to defend your honour so fiercely. I thought you cared for me.’

  ‘I do!’ She dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘I do. But you are engaged to marry another woman and I cannot—will not—come between you. Do you not see? You are an honourable man; I would not have you demean yourself—or me.’

  ‘But we love each other, Ju. There can be no shame in that.’

  She shook her head at him, raising her hands in frustration.

  ‘What would you have me do—become your mistress? If I did that, I could no longer teach your children. And what of Thomas and Amy? Are they to grow up knowing that their sister is—is a—’ She turned away, her voice suspended in tears.

  ‘No, you are right.’ He sighed. ‘You see everything so clearly, and you are so much stronger than I. You must be my example, Juliana. I will try to match your fortitude in future.’ He paused. ‘Do you think you could help me out of my coat? You need not look so suspicious, I give you my word I will not touch you, but I would like to see how deep you have cut me.’

  Juliana went to him and eased the coat away from his shoulder. The woollen sleeve had taken most of the force and there was no more than a tiny tear in the shirt, but it was surrounded by a bright red stain.

  ‘Oh, heavens, what have I done?’ gasped Juliana, tears coming to her eyes again.

  ‘Well, let us see.’

  He shrugged himself out of his flowered waistcoat, unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off the shoulder to expose the wound on the top of his arm. Juliana blinked and swallowed hard. Not at the sight of his injury, which was nothing more than a small cut, but at the shadow of dark hair on his chest, and the hard bare muscle of his shoulder.

  ‘There is a clean handkerchief in the pocket of my coat,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can find it; we must bind up the arm until it stops bleeding. I could call for Plumstead, of course, but I would rather the servants did not know of this.’

  Juliana found the handkerchief, shook it out and proceeded to fold it into a bandage. The Major watched her as she bound up his arm, but she kept her eyes resolutely on her task, aware that the emotion sizzling between them a few moments ago was in abeyance, but it had not disappeared.

  ‘There.’ She stepped back. ‘I think that will hold. I am relieved it is nothing more serious. Truly.’

  He grunted. ‘It is merely a scratch, but you have ruined a perfectly good coat.’

  She did not smile. ‘It will not work, sir. I cannot stay here.’

  There was a silence, broken only by the steady tick, tick of the clock.

  ‘So you will leave me.’

  ‘I think I must. I know I must.’

  Silently he put on his waistcoat and walked over to the window. He sighed. ‘Yes, you must. I cannot be trusted when you are near me. I shall buy you a house. Do not argue with me, Ju. I will not let you leave here unless I know that you are safe. If not for yourself, accept it for Thomas and Amy. It shall be wherever you please. Harrogate, or perhaps Manchester—that is a growing town, there will be many rich merchants who want a good education for their daughters. You may be sure that I shall give you a glowing reference.’

  Juliana nodded. Her heart felt like lead and she did not care where she went since it meant she would not see him again.

  ‘I will set Brasher on to it. You can tell him what it is you require; I shall not interfere.’

  He began to collect up the pens that were scattered across the floor.

  ‘I must be gone within the week, sir.’

  He looked up at that. ‘So soon? You would have me pay dearly for my loss of control.’ He suddenly saw the tears rolling down her cheeks and jumped to his feet. He would have taken her in his arms, but Juliana put out her hand, mutely shaking her head at him.

  ‘If you will not let me comfort you, then dry your tears,’ he said roughly. ‘To see you cry is more than mortal flesh can stand.’

  ‘I must go. The children will wonder where I am.’ She wiped her eyes, then turned to the mirror and arranged the muslin around her shoulders. Her hair had escaped from its pins and she did her best to scrape it back into some sort of order. In the mirror she watched the Major go back to his desk and sit down. The tears welled up again when she saw how tired he looked. It would be better for them both once she was gone away. Damon would busy himself with his estates and soon forget her: she would retire to a genteel little house in Harrogate and wait to die.

  Juliana squared her shoulders. That was silly talk. She had Amy and Tom to look after. She could not afford to indulge in such maudlin behaviour, and neither could Damon.

  ‘I shall see Brasher in the morning, and when I have decided upon where to live I shall ask him to find me lodgings until such time as we can find a house. If you have no objection, I would like to continue teaching the children—I would prefer not to tell them I am leaving until I have some idea of my direction.’

  ‘They will miss you.’

  She raised her chin. ‘I shall miss them, but they have much to occupy them, a wedding and a new mama.’

  ‘Yes, there will be a great deal to do in the next few weeks. Which reminds me…’ He began sorting through the papers he had retrieved from the floor. ‘…Brasher informs me that the glass has arrived to replace the cracked window in the schoolroom. They plan to do the work tomorrow—would you be able to teach the children in the morning room?’ He looked up, his mouth twisting into a humourless smile. ‘It should only be for the day, and you have my word I will not disturb you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am sure we will manage very well.’

  ‘Then it is settled. You had best go now. Have no fear, Miss Wrenn: your colour has returned to normal, and with that muslin wrapped around you so demurely no one would guess how near you have come to being ravished.’

  A thread of laughter fluttered inside her; how like Damon to show humour when they were in the midst of a nightmare.

  Chapter Twenty

  Heavy, lashing rain delayed the replacing of the window and three days later Juliana was still using the morning room as a makeshift schoolroom. When the day dawned dry and bright, Juliana took the children out of doors for an early morning walk to collect leaves and flowers for a drawing lesson. They were all quietly employed at this task when the door of the morning room burst open and Lady Frances swept in, the velvet skirts of her riding dress caught up over one arm. She stopped in surprise when she saw them.

  ‘We have been ejected temporarily from the east wing by the workmen,’ Juliana explained. ‘Did Brasher not say?’

  ‘I did not see Brasher,’ came the curt reply. ‘I came in through the garden door. I expected to find Collingham here.’

  Juliana blinked. ‘Major Collingham went out early this morning, with his son and Sir Richard,’ she said quietly. ‘If he is expecting you…’

  ‘No, no.’ Lady Frances strode about the room, tapping her riding crop against her gloved palm. ‘We made no plans, but he should have known I would ride over on the first fine day.’

  Something very like a pout marred her serene features. She walked around the room, looking at the children’s work. She stopped beside Wilhelmina and picked up the sheet of paper at her elbow. It bore sketches of several different leaves.

  ‘Ju—Miss Wrenn drew that,’ offered Minna, holding up her own attempt. ‘This is mine.’

  Lady Frances put the paper back down. ‘I wonder the Major does not hire a drawing master for you.’

  ‘Perhaps he will,’ murmured Juliana, ‘if they show an aptitude for the art.’

  Lady Frances raised her fine brows. ‘And are you qualified to tell if they have a talent, Miss Wrenn? Really, I think they would do a great deal better at school.’

  Thomas looked up from his sketchpad, quick to take offence at this insult to his sister. Juliana gave him a little smile and the tiniest shake of her head. She thought it best not to reply. After all, in a few days’ time she would be go
ne, and the Major would be free to consult his future bride about his children’s education. She withdrew to a sofa at the side of the room.

  ‘And these…’ Lady Frances pointed her riding crop at the dolls propped up on a chair. ‘What place have such toys in a schoolroom?’

  The two younger girls looked up anxiously and Juliana smiled to reassure them.

  ‘It is usual for Wilhelmina and Amy to leave their dolls in their bedrooms, but with the workmen making such a noise upstairs, we decided to keep them with us today.’

  ‘I do not hold with such indulgence,’ announced Lady Frances, continuing her perambulation. As she moved away, her crop caught the hair of Wilhelmina’s doll and it toppled off the chair. Wilhelmina gave a gasp. Lady Frances did not notice, and continued to walk up and down the room with quick, angry strides. Wilhelmina waited until she had turned away again, then scrambled down from her chair to retrieve her doll.

  Unfortunately, Lady Frances had allowed her skirts to slip from her arm, and as Wilhelmina jumped down, her feet caught the edge of her train. There was a ripping sound, and Lady Frances jerked to a halt.

  ‘Oh, oh.’

  Wilhelmina stepped back quickly, whimpering. Lady Frances swung round.

  ‘You clumsy child!’ she cried, her cheeks scarlet with anger. ‘Why can you not be more careful? It is no wonder you were the death of your mother.’

  A sudden stillness fell over the room. Gwendoline gasped, Amy and Thomas looked anxiously at each other and Wilhelmina, white-faced, turned and ran to Juliana, who pulled the little girl on to her lap. Lady Frances noticed none of this; she was examining her skirts, and muttering to herself.

  ‘No great damage done, thank heaven. The stitching is pulled, but with a little pressing it might not show.’

  Juliana gave Wilhelmina a quick hug and set her down on the sofa. She rose and went across to Lady Frances.