Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner
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waists and led them through a curtained hallway.
She let out a breath and all her dreams fluttered away with it.
* * *
William strode under the faded placard and stepped into Wren House, giving himself a moment to let his eyes adjust from the bright August sun to the dim light of a world only illuminated because men needed to see the cards in their hand. He’d have to go to a stable to get the scent of Wren’s out of his nostrils.
If his father knew this was where Cousin Sylvester spent every Wednesday night, things might have been different. But now Sylvester had Marvel and Ivory, the two best horses in England and the only ones whose eyes flickered regard when William neared them. The beasts would always stick out their necks for a treat when William appeared. ‘Spoiled,’ the stable master muttered each time.
William always replied, ‘And worth it.’
William surveyed the table, and spotted his cousin immediately. Sylvester mumbled a greeting and two others looked over, recognising William and giving him a grunt of their own before they returned to the cards. William jerked his head sideways, motioning for Sylvester to join him. The answer, a quick shake of Sylvester’s head, and a brief upturn of the lips, didn’t surprise William. He took a seat near the corner where he could watch the room. He didn’t want anyone at his back. A woman on stage finished singing, thankfully.
He ordered an ale and when the barmaid brought the drink, her brows lifted in question and she looked to the curtain at the back. He shook his head, smiling to soften the refusal. His fingers clasped the mug, but as he lifted it, he paused. Sticky residue lay under his touch. Jam? He gazed into the liquid, half-expecting to see something floating, but nothing looked alive in it. Then he sat the mug back on the table.
A perfect ending to a perfect day, but Marvel and Ivory were worth it.
And having a roof over one’s head did have some merit.
William’s father had visited early in the morning and had pontificated well into the day. The Viscount had picked a fine time to regain an interest in life and an excellent plan to disinherit his only son. The Viscount knew the entailment laws as well as anyone. He had to leave his property to William. But he could, however, lease his nephew the estate for the next fifty years. Upon the Viscount’s death, William would receive the proceeds of the lease. A bargain to Sylvester at one pound per year.
If his father had mentioned that once, he’d mentioned it one hundred times. And he’d had no smell of brandy on his breath.
The inheritance could be dealt with later. Marvel and Ivory were already gone from the stables.
Sylvester smirked at the cards, but William knew the smugness was directed his way. No hand could be that good.
William glanced around and, even though his eyes didn’t stop until they returned to his mug, he noted the woman sitting on a bench at the other side of the room. She sat close to the wall, her body slanted away from the group of men. The shadowed interior hid more of her than it revealed. He was certain she had a face, but she’d pulled the bonnet off-centre and it perched askew so he couldn’t see her features unless she turned his way. If not for the plume, he wouldn’t have noticed her.
In one movement to relax his frame, he twisted his chair just a bit in her direction so he could stare forward, but see her from the corner of his eye.
The barmaid sauntered by him. He waved a coin her way and asked for another drink, discarding any thought of asking for a clean mug. He didn’t imagine she would take kindly to that, particularly when he saw the crust at her fingernails.
He thought the lady at the bench was above the others in the room, particularly by the way her back didn’t leave the wall behind her and her hands gripped the satchel as if it might protect her. He wondered why she stayed.
The barmaid plunked another mug in front of him and brushed against his side before leaving.
Nothing floated in the liquid. Nothing stuck to his hand. He would take that as an omen that the ale was—he took a drink and smothered a cough. The mug’s contents could have been watered down more. He hoped his tongue hadn’t blistered. The owner apparently didn’t mind if his customers wobbled a bit and knew drink could loosen the ties of a purse.
The door opened and light dappled across the bonnet the miss on the bench wore. She turned towards the light. For an instant he could see wisps of her hair. Copper.
He took a small sip. The ale tasted better than it had before.
Copper. Just under the ghastly plume. His favourite colour of hair—now. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman with just that shade of hair. A shame the bonnet covered it.
Someone from Sylvester’s table belched and the woman with the falling plume stiffened even more and twisted away from them.
William noted the dress. Not quite the dash of colour his sisters insisted on. It reminded him of something he might see on a miss at a country fair, yet not a walking dress. Not a soirée dress either. He could see underskirts peeking from a tear in the skirt. All his muscles stilled. A woman would not be going about with such a rip in her skirts. Particularly not one sitting so straight and gloves locked on her satchel.
He stood, mug still in hand, planning to offer her his assistance. At his movement, her eyes darted to him. She took in a breath and the back of her head bumped against the wall.
He gave her a grim-lipped smile. The woman didn’t want him to approach her, obviously. Perhaps she was at Wren’s hoping to find her husband. In that case, William certainly didn’t want to draw notice her way. He sat the mug at the table and moved to stand at Sylvester’s side.
Putting a hand on the woollen shoulder of Sylvester’s coat, William leaned forward. ‘I must talk with you.’
‘Anything you have to say,’ Sylvester’s voice boomed, ‘you can say in front of my friends.’
‘I’m sure I can,’ William answered. ‘But I thought we might step out to speak of family matters.’ Sylvester had to have noticed if the Viscount was sotted when he gave the horses away.
‘These men are like family,’ Sylvester answered. ‘Only better, because they do not gift me with horses not worth feeding.’ He spoke to the man on his left. ‘Did I tell you my uncle gave me two horses? Broken-down old things. I could hardly refuse them and hurt the man’s feelings, particularly if his mind is clear as a cloudless day.’
Sylvester wouldn’t have said the Viscount’s mind was clear if it wasn’t true. ‘I will take them off your hands.’
‘Oh, I could not do that to you.’ Sylvester let out a breath. ‘I’ll just keep them for now, though I don’t see feeding them like they’re used to. A bit on the plump side. A few less rations will be good for them. Or maybe I should just put them down.’
William tightened his grip on Sylvester’s coat. ‘You will feed them properly and you will care for them.’
Sylvester laughed. ‘Just having a jest with you, dear Cousin. I know those beasts are your favourites. Your father does as well. Can’t think what he’s up to.’ He brushed a hand over his chin, tugging at it. ‘Or maybe I can.’ Sylvester spoke to the other players. ‘If Cousin William doesn’t get it on his mind to marry and have an heir, sadly, the title will pass to my son, should I have one, and I intend to have a full brood. I can’t think if I were in his boots that would be difficult. I’d be wedded, bedded and enjoying the bondage of matrimony, although that is not how I put it to Uncle. I told him I’m deeply in love and near to proposing. And I am.’ He smirked again. ‘Deeply in love with William’s inheritance and near to proposing to...’ Looking around the table, he asked, ‘Any of you have an unmarried sister who wants a husband?’
‘Not that we’d let wed you,’ one of the men answered. The rest laughed.
‘I will have Marvel and Ivory back.’ William released his cousin’s shoulder.
‘Well,