Breaking the Governess's Rules. Michelle Styles
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way her breath caught in her throat. She curled her hand about her fan and concentrated on taking calming breaths. ‘You must remember me to your sister, Margaret. When will she have her first Season?’
‘Next Season, if my stepmother gets her wish.’
Louisa took another deep breath. Icy politeness, talking about inconsequential acquaintances. But equally she had to know—what had happened to her rival. Had he married her?’And Clarissa Newton?’
‘We married a year after you … disappeared,’ Jonathon said in a measured tone. ‘Clarissa nursed me back to health and everyone agreed that it was the correct thing to do. Chesterholm needed an heir.’
They had married. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had told the truth. Louisa’s insides churned as she forced her back to be ramrod straight. Clarissa had been everything that she was not—well connected, accomplished and possessing looks that were in fashion. With the little misalliance out of the way, he had married Clarissa, no doubt in a huge wedding with all the ton in attendance.
‘And is Lady Chesterholm with you?’ Miss Daphne asked.
‘Regretfully, Miss Elliot, Lady Chesterholm died eighteen months ago. She contracted a fever and died hours after giving birth.’ Jonathon inclined his head and his face showed genuine sorrow.
Died. Louisa’s retort withered on her lips. Clarissa was dead. Despite everything that Clarissa had done, all the petty remarks about governesses getting above their stations and all the boasting about how she’d rule the ton as Jonathon’s wife and how they had been betrothed in the cradle, Louisa had never wished for the woman’s death.
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she whispered.
‘As am I,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘It is so tragic when a young woman loses her life in childbirth.’
Louisa silently put the shawl about Miss Daphne’s shoulders. If she was very lucky, she would be able to escort Miss Daphne home now. Miss Daphne loved a good weep. This night and her meeting with Lord Chesterholm would be behind her. Tonight demonstrated how easily she could lose everything she held dear if she failed to keep to her rules.
‘And now, my dear lady, it is my turn to offer condolences.’ Jonathon captured Miss Daphne’s hand, and prevented Louisa from leading her off. ‘Lord Furniss informs me that your sister recently died. You both visited Furniss several times at Eton for the Montem celebrations.’
‘How good you are.’ Miss Daphne’s eyes shimmered. ‘We always brought iced buns. They were Rupert’s favourite.’
‘My dear mama always forbade them as she thought it bad for my figure,’ Lord Furniss said, puffing up his chest. ‘But there is something glorious about an iced bun—sugar on the top and soft dough underneath.’
‘And now you have returned to the land of your birth, Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said.
Louisa frowned, trying to work out why Jonathon was determined to prolong the painful encounter. Silently she willed him to give up and go.
‘For a fleeting visit. Dear Louisa wishes to return home as soon as possible.’
‘I am hoping to persuade them both to stay in the country,’ Lord Furniss said, reaching for Louisa’s hand.
Louisa avoided it. Tomorrow, she promised silently, tomorrow she would check the steamship timetable.
‘I regret, Lord Furniss, our schedule …’ Louisa said, inclining her head.
‘How long are you here, Miss Elliot?’
‘Louisa took charge of all the arrangements, even though England holds few good memories for her. She has a wonderful talent for scheduling and making sure all the details are sorted.’ Miss Daphne gave a tremulous smile. ‘But then you know Louisa, how kind she is and what a wonderful eye for detail she possesses.’
‘Yes, I do know her.’ His eyes shone like cold emeralds. ‘I will take your word for her kindness. And I’m pleased to learn her eye for detail has improved.’
Louisa flinched. Once he had proclaimed her the kindest of women and told her that he’d love her until he died. She refused to let his words have any lasting sting. They were only words. And she wanted nothing from him. She needed nothing.
‘I think it might be best if I checked on the carriage, Miss Daphne. We would not want to put the schedule in jeopardy.’ Without giving Miss Daphne a chance to answer, Louisa marched away, clinging to the remnants of her temper. It was better to leave than to fight.
‘Don’t forget my shawl … Louisa.’ An elderly voice floated out over the crowd. ‘You promised …’
Jonathon watched the swinging mauve skirt of the very much alive Louisa Sibson disappearing into the crowd. He wanted to shake her insolent shoulders for vanishing in the way she had. For years, he had thought her dead, religiously visiting her supposed grave on the anniversary of her death, but she was alive and far more beautiful than his last memory of her.
Why had his stepmother allowed him to think Louisa was dead? That he had accidentally killed her? Even with his stepmother’s legendary efficiency she could not have achieved the deception without Louisa’s active co-operation. Louisa had to have participated in the deception.
For months he had lain, staring at the white walls of the Newtons’ sickroom, waiting to heal, willing his body to prove the doctors wrong and to walk again. And the first thing he had done was to walk to Louisa’s supposed grave. He had taken such pride in standing in that windswept graveyard, solemnly vowing to live his life as she would have wanted him to. But the entire thing had been a monstrous lie.
Now, he wanted answers, answers from the one person who could give them—Louisa. She was not going to find it that easy to dismiss him. With a few quick strides, he reached Louisa and caught her by the elbow. ‘Oh, no, no more disappearing tricks. You are staying.’
‘What do you think you are doing, Lord Chesterholm? Unhand me!’ Louisa pulled away from his grip, but Jonathon tightened his hold. ‘Jonathon, please, people are beginning to stare! For propriety’s sake!’
‘We are going to have a conversation, Louisa,’ he said through gritted teeth as white-hot anger seethed through him. ‘One we should have had four years ago. We can have it here in this public space or we go into one of the private card rooms, but we will speak. You may begin by explaining why you faked your death.’
‘I have nothing to say to you!’
‘But I have things to say to you.’ Jonathon kept a leash on his temper. For years he had thought about what he would have said to her if he had had one more chance.
The woman had never been dead. She had left, leaving others to heal him and his broken heart. And now she had returned, more desirable than ever. The innocent promise of four years ago had blossomed into a sensuous combination of rich, autumn-red hair, amber eyes and dusty-rose lips—all staring provocatively up at him. ‘And you will listen.’
Without giving her a chance to protest further, he led her to a small room that was often used for card games when balls were given and shut the door with a distinct click, then turned to face his adversary.
She crossed her arms and her amber eyes blazed with fury. ‘You have precisely two minutes before I scream, Lord Chesterholm. We finished a long time ago.’
‘You may have finished, but you neglected to inform me personally.’
Her mouth opened and shut several times. ‘Your stepmother served as your emissary. The Kingdom of Two Sicilies was her suggestion. She paid for my passage. It was a chance for me to start again.’
A red mist settled on Jonathon. ‘You asked my stepmother to help you rebuild your life?’
‘She was my employer. What reason did she have to lie? There was nothing for me here, as she so helpfully pointed out. You were engaged. I was an unwanted reminder.’