Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner

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СКАЧАТЬ quite the lovely bride in the patched-together dress. Her marriage would take place some time the next day as William was getting the special licence and telling all his friends how delighted he was to be married.

      She could marry, or, she could go home in disgrace.

      She chose to take the stopper from the ink bottle. The letter would be easiest. She would write her parents of how wonderful everything was as she had met the man of her dreams... She shut her eyes and tapped her closed fist at her forehead. Oh, this news had to be delivered in a letter. They would never believe it if she said it to their faces.

      Or they might.

      She remembered her father picking daffodils for her mother each spring. Roses in the summer. Walking hand in hand in the crisp autumn air and calling her the best gift of his life—one he could hold each day of the year.

      Her parents loved her. She knew it. But when they looked at each other an affection shone in their faces, along with something else. It was much like a clockmaker might want to see how the mechanisms worked to turn the hands of a timepiece. Isabel had imagined how it would feel when her own husband cherished her so.

      When she had realised that she was being trained to be a governess and a governess didn’t have a husband, she’d felt tossed into a rubbish heap. She could never be loved in the same manner her parents loved each other. She’d put all of her spirit into her song the next time she sang—the very first time she had noticed tears in a listener’s eyes. Her dreams had soared. Singers could marry. They could have their own family.

      She imagined the devotion she wished for. She began to write. The man she wrote of in the letter was so deeply devoted that he could not bear to be away from his beloved one moment more. He had cherished her from afar...

      She tapped the nib against the inside of the bottle, planning just how it would have been.

      Her parents had missed one of the events where the school had let her sing, so that was where she had met William. And he had been instantly smitten. Tears had flooded from his eyes—no, scratch that. He had shed one lone, intense tear as he had thanked her for the overwhelming performance and called her a songbird. She smiled when she penned the word songbird. He had called her Miss Songbird.

      She dipped the pen again. He’d begged, yes, begged that they might correspond. She had refused, most assuredly, but he had managed to get his letters to her, and after great personal dilemma, she read them. Slowly her heart had melted—but, no, she’d insisted, she could not neglect her dream to become a governess. Over time, however, his devotion had overtaken her and she had agreed to wed.

      * * *

      William stared at the darkened ceiling in his bedchamber. The ceremony would be in a few hours.

      He’d not slept at all. He’d kept remembering the deep love his parents had had for each other and then his mother had died. The world had gone silent that night after her last breath. Then he’d had to remove her cherished ring from her finger. None of them had been the same after that night. His father began to substitute liquid for air.

      Love had destroyed his father. Took him from them in the guise of drink. But William didn’t blame his father for that weakness.

      William had heard the noises the second night after his mother’s death and crept to his mother’s room. His father had been huddled on the floor, arms around himself, rocking. He’d been crying out his wife’s name over and over.

      William had pulled the door shut and walked the hallway. Silence had followed, and permeated deep into the walls around him. In the days afterwards, he’d watched the family move about and it had felt as if he watched a play. He could see the actors and hear them. But he wasn’t even standing near the stage.

      He rolled in the bed, kicking the last of the covers to the floor.

      Marriage. Children. Such a risk.

      But he didn’t love Isabel, so marriage could not destroy their lives. He would not allow her to love him either. He imagined himself standing beside Isabel as the vicar asked—

      He had forgotten a vicar. No one might be standing there to marry them.

      He’d been so concerned with getting the special licence, the town coach, and telling as many people as he could think of to expect the happy event, he’d forgotten someone to make the words official.

      Within moments, his boots were on and his shirt stuffed into his trousers. He tied his cravat as he rushed down the stairs and he had no idea of how to progress but he was certain the butler would know of someone who could perform a marriage.

      The butler chuckled as he gave William direction to a vicar’s home.

      * * *

      William had had a bit of difficulty finding the house in the darkness, but he banged on the door. He heard a voice grumble out, and then he waited, rubbing his chin, feeling the stubble.

      The vicar, a wisp of a man, finally appeared, his hair falling in snowy frazzles around his face and a scrap of a belt around his nightshirt covering. Without speaking, he waved William inside.

      ‘I have a special licence.’ William shot out the words. ‘I need to be married quickly.

      ‘Is the babe arriving now?’ the vicar asked, tugging the belt tight.

      ‘No,’ William said, taking a step back. ‘There’s no child.’

      ‘Well, then, what’s the rush?’ He squinted.

      ‘I’m marrying today and I didn’t remember I needed someone to speak the words.’

      ‘Are you going to battle?’ the man questioned. ‘Leaving soon?’

      ‘No.’ William shook his head. ‘I just need to be married.’

      ‘Ah.’ Again the man tugged on the tie at his waist and then stepped back, peering through squinted lids. ‘You might come back after breakfast and I’ll decide then.’

      The speck of a man was saying no? ‘It’s your job.’

      ‘A young man pounding on my door in the middle of the night when there is not a babe arriving before morning makes me concerned that he might not be considering the options.’

      William tightened his stance. ‘I cannot go into the details. Just tell me who might be able to say a few quick words to take care of this for me.’

      ‘I suppose you should prepare us a pot of tea and tell me about it.’

      ‘Tea?’ William gasped out. ‘I do not know how to make tea.’

      The man grunted. ‘And you expect to be able to handle a marriage?’

      ‘The servants will handle the tea.’

      ‘Would you like my advice?’ the vicar asked.

      ‘No. But if I stand here much longer I suppose I will be hearing it.’

      ‘Yes. And I know how to make tea, so I do have more knowledge than you on some things and I am not rushing about in the wee hours. So perhaps you should come in.’ He walked СКАЧАТЬ