Regency Surrender: Defiant Lords. Anne Herries

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      She would forget their mentor and concentrate her thoughts on them. She was here to be of service to the children.

      Francesca wasn’t a child, though. She was on the verge of womanhood. In past centuries she might have been married by now; she might even have had a child of her own. To treat her as a child would be foolish. Sarah had taken to the girl and, as she slipped into bed and leaned forwards to blow out the candle beside it, she was determined to do what she could to make her life better. She would enjoy getting to know her charge and she would find it pleasant to share her own love of reading, poetry, history and even the occasional novel.

      There was a wealth of books on the library shelves, including some with pictures of mythical beasts that she thought might appeal to John. Perhaps she wasn’t a conventional governess, but she was quite capable of giving them both an education. Sarah loved to play the pianoforte and she thought Francesca might enjoy playing a duet with her.

      Life here could be extremely comfortable and pleasant. She would be able to walk first thing in the morning if her lessons were not to start until nine-thirty. She would have liked to ride, but wasn’t sure that privilege would be granted to a governess.

      For a moment she felt a pang of regret. Her own horses would miss her and so would her dogs—and some of her servants. She had written to reassure everyone that she was quite safe. She would have to make sure that she kept in touch with her agents or they might become anxious about her and set up a search to find her.

      Closing her eyes, Sarah drifted off to sleep, though her dreams were unaccountably disturbed by the look on a man’s face.

      ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘I shall find you out...you cannot hide from me...’

      * * *

      Rupert frowned as he brooded over his glass of wine after the governess had gone up. The shadows seemed to fold about him and he was aware that the room seemed empty. He was a fool to allow the woman under his skin, because very likely she would turn out to be the adventuress he’d imagined her at first. Yet something about her had captured his interest and he’d wanted her to stay after the children had gone up.

      It was years since Rupert had enjoyed feminine company—other than in bed. Most society women bored him and he was wary of foolish young misses who were out to capture a husband. To have sat talking into the night with an intelligent woman would be pleasant, he thought.

      In London he was seldom aware that he was lonely because he spent his evenings either at his club in the company of male friends, drinking, gambling or talking of politics and the price of stocks, or with his mistress. Had his uncle been here he might not have realised his lack, but in this situation it had come to him forcibly that his life was far from satisfactory.

      As a young man Rupert had imagined that he would fall in love, marry and rear a large family, but a woman who preferred money and a superior title had shattered those dreams. He’d taken his bruised heart and damaged pride off to war and had for a time found content with his fellow officers—but when they turned against him...

      Rupert’s mind shied away from the memories. Mixed with the pain of seeing his men broken and dying, their blood spilling out on the hot dry earth, what happened later was too painful to contemplate. He’d shut away his pain and hurt, just as he’d shut out the humiliation he’d received at a woman’s hands, determined to rise above the petty spite of others. And he’d succeeded so well that he’d come to be what he wanted others to think him—careless, stern and reserved. Rupert needed no one’s approval. He was his own man, ruled by principles of iron and he answered to no one. Only a few ever saw the other side of him—a side he had almost forgotten.

      Once he’d known how to enjoy the small pleasures in life. He’d known how to love, to show caring and to give and take joy from being intimate with another.

      That was years ago, before he’d learned that no woman was to be trusted. They were all the same—greedy, grabbing, jealous little kittens that liked to be stroked and given a saucer of cream, but would scratch you if you annoyed them.

      Undoubtedly, the governess was exactly the same, though for the moment he confessed to being more than a little intrigued, if only by the mystery he sensed in her past.

      Yet she had reached out to him in a way few other women ever had, arousing feelings of need and desire with just one flash of her gorgeous eyes.

      * * *

      Sarah awoke when a maid drew back the curtains. She yawned and stretched, her mind still lost in dreams as she said, ‘Good morning, Tilly. Have you brought my chocolate?’

      ‘It’s Agnes, Miss Goodrum—and you told Mrs Brancaster you would take breakfast downstairs.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah said, the realisation of where she was returning with a rush. She had given herself away and could only hope the maid would not repeat her words to others. ‘If I go down immediately I shall be finished by the time the family is up. I do not see why you should wait on me.’

      ‘I’ve brought your hot water, miss—as Mrs Brancaster told me.’

      ‘Thank you, that was kind.’ Sarah threw back the covers. On waking she’d thought she was at home and her own maid was bringing her the hot chocolate she took every morning before she rose.

      It would be a while before she accustomed herself to the life she had chosen—a very different life, but one that had its own compensations.

      After Agnes had gone, Sarah washed, dressed in one of Hester’s sensible gowns and, on looking from the window to see the sun was shining, decided against a shawl. Since she was walking on private grounds she saw no reason to wear a bonnet and left her room without one.

      She found her way down the back stairs to a side entrance that led into a walled garden. The bricks were faded, trailed with roses and clematis, and would look a picture in a few weeks from now. However, she was accustomed to long country walks near her home and left the pleasant garden to explore more of the estate. She had insufficient time to walk as far as the village she’d seen, but would certainly do so on her day off. Hester had been promised one a month, which could be saved and taken together for visits home. Sarah would require only a few hours of freedom, perhaps in the early mornings or at night. If necessary, she might have to visit her home to reassure her anxious friends—if she continued here for more than a few weeks, of course.

      Should Lord Myers discover her true identity she might find herself summarily dismissed. Sarah would be truly sorry if that happened. She had a lovely house herself and friends, but at home there was always the sense that she was being watched...that people were waiting for her to make mistakes.

      She would forget her worries and enjoy her walk. The air was fresh and there was a hint of real warmth for later. Sarah walked as far as a small lake, where she watched ducks and swans gliding on its still waters. There was an intriguing wood to the right of the lake and a summer house that looked interesting. Perhaps she had found the site for their picnic, she mused as she returned to the house.

      Her walk had made her hungry and she entered the breakfast room, thinking she would have it to herself, but a little to her dismay she discovered Lord Myers sitting at the table. He got to his feet as she entered, came round the table and pulled out a chair.

      ‘I was hoping you might join me, Miss Goodrum.’

      ‘I thought I might have finished before the family came down.’

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