Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner

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      Her stomach bunched into a gulp and then bounced from one side of itself to the other. ‘William, I fear you would not make a good husband.’

      ‘I know I would not. That is one of the reasons I have not considered marriage in the past. I think it a suffocating, strangling gaol. It is not a leg shackle. It is a throat shackle. I have said it is likened to having leeches attached to bleed the body dry and leave it a desiccated shell. Much like the body left behind centuries after death.’

      She pulled her hands away. ‘You have worked long on this proposal?’

      ‘Twenty-four years.’

      ‘Am I the first to hear it?’

      ‘Yes. This is a first.’

      ‘I dare not ask...’

      ‘I don’t think I should talk of my life if we are to be married. Last night I thought never to see you again so I didn’t care overmuch. If we might be seeing each other at a marriage ceremony, then I don’t care to discuss how I spend my nights.’

      ‘The socks and night caps would probably not make a good gift for you.’

      ‘No.’ He gave the saddest smile she’d ever seen. ‘All that I ask is that you stand at my side and answer a few words.’

      ‘Those vows and nonsense?’ She might end up the desiccated shell, but she was not quite doing as well on her own as she’d hoped. And she had no desire at all to be a governess. None.

      ‘Yes.’ He stood. ‘I see a bit of concern on your face. But you do not have to worry I will be a brute like Wren. I will not...be unkind.’

      She didn’t speak.

      ‘Ours would be the most perfect of marriages.’

      She lifted her brows.

      ‘Yes. If you have need of me once we are married, you will only have to give a note to my butler and he will see that it is delivered and I will read it immediately. We won’t see a great deal of each other. I truly do not like to be home.’

      ‘You did rather help me,’ she said. When she looked into his eyes, it was as if they begged her to say no. Forces behind him pushed him her way, much like a pirate would shove a person into the deep. ‘Do you not think you are making a terrible mistake?’

      He shook his head. ‘All my sisters’ lives I have been there for them. Perhaps even when they had no one else. I have had one unselfish task, only one, and that has been to see that they are safe and have a home. When that is provided, they content themselves. I cannot bring disgrace upon them. A few tales about my revelry doesn’t hurt—that is shrugged away. But that I might harm a woman would not be tolerated. A man who hurts weaker people for his pleasure is condemned. His family—particularly sisters of a marriageable age—would be tarnished.’

      He moved to the window, looked out, shook his head and returned to her. His smile was directed inwards, but the question in his eyes was for her alone.

      ‘Can you not think of another solution?’ she asked.

      ‘Not at this moment. If I could, I would give it.’

      His words rested in her like a wooden ball rolling down a stair, clunking to the bottom.

      ‘If you do not wish to wed,’ he said, ‘I understand. But, Sophia will be damaged if you do not. So will my other two sisters and my Aunt Emilia. My father will manage to consider Cousin Sylvester his heir. I will be tossed from my home. At least half of the servants will be without employment.’

      ‘You do not play on someone’s sympathies...do you?’ She brushed her fingertips over the sleeve of his coat. They had only met the night before, but they were not strangers. Nor friends. Nor enemies. But they had shared a moment of decisions together that few ever faced and her life would plunge one direction or the other based on her response.

      ‘And there is the fact that I found you a place to stay last night. Although I understand if you have no wish to marry,’ he said. ‘I certainly can understand that. Perhaps better than anyone.’

      That he could understand her wish not to marry ‘perhaps better than anyone’ was not a resounding push in his favour.

      ‘I must give this some thought,’ she said. ‘But you should give it a great deal more consideration as well. Marriage is about love and holding the other person in the highest esteem. At least it is for me.’

      ‘As a governess you would not be allowed to have a marriage.’

      ‘I can eventually leave a governess post. Or I might fall in love with a tutor, or stable master, or linen draper—on my half-day off. And if that person loves me back, just a little, it is more than you’re offering.’

      ‘I’m wealthy.’

      She paused. One shouldn’t marry for money. But one shouldn’t overlook funds either. ‘How wealthy?’

      ‘My children will have a governess. A tutor. And if you wed me—’ He shrugged. ‘Your children will have a governess. A tutor.’

      ‘My son would be a viscount,’ she mused.

      He frowned. ‘Bite your tongue. There is never any rush for that.’

      ‘He would. Just not until he was very old.’

      ‘So we will wed.’

      ‘My daughters would be able to have the finest things.’

      He nodded. ‘I can also ensure that you have reputable avenues for your talent. I would consider it a way of thanking you for taking on the misfortune of marriage.’

      ‘I don’t— Marriage is not such a thing.’ She turned away. ‘As your wife I wouldn’t wish to sing. That’s over for me and I can accept that easily.’

      ‘You would be giving your chance at love away, but it would enable more choices for the children you might have. A sacrifice, for sure.’

      The clouds inside her head cleared. A mother did such things, or should.

      ‘You may wed me,’ she said. She could pretend. Perhaps if she didn’t pay attention to the marriage words they would not quite count as much and she could pretend to be a governess with the children away on holiday. That could be pleasant. And she would not mind to have a little family for herself. And if the boys favoured him, oh, she would preen, and it would not be a problem for the daughters to inherit her hair colour or his.

      ‘I don’t see that either of us have many other choices. You are all the things a woman would want in a husband,’ she said, giving a smile that didn’t reach her heart. ‘And all the things she would not.’

      * * *

      Isabel sat at the writing desk which had been moved into the room. She didn’t feel like opening the ink bottle. She’d never written a letter while wearing a borrowed chemise, but the garment would do her well to sleep in and by the time she woke, her own laundered dress would be dry. She didn’t have to worry about choosing matching slippers, СКАЧАТЬ