A Lesson in Forgiveness (8 page)

God was once again smiling down on her, because Gerard still had a pulse, which meant he had a chance. Every five seconds she would push air into his lungs. In between she would pray and beg God to help him. After what seemed like forever, but was in reality probably only a minute, Gerard lurched over and began coughing up all the water. Ginny helped turn him to his side and was slapping his back to get the water out of his lungs.

She barely felt the jacket thrown over her shoulders, barely heard the talk of everyone who was suddenly by the edge of the lake. All she heard was this little boy, now breathing and crying and clinging to her as if she were his life force. She felt her own tears, streaming down her face. Slowly, the sound of the boy and of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears began to subside. Looking up, she noticed she had an audience, staring at her in awed silence.

Whitmore and the other men had just arrived back at the house after the shoot. They had bagged several birds, not that it mattered. They were men and they liked to shoot at things. All in all, a good morning's recreation was had by all. During their walk back, there was no shortage of good natured ribbing, mostly surrounding Mr. Thompson nearly killing a dog.

“Clarendon, you seemed to be in a subdued mood today,” Whitmore was quite surprised that Clarendon had joined in the festivities, mostly sticking to the outer edges and keeping quiet and to himself.

Acknowledging his friend, he smiled. “I have had a lot to think about as of late.”

“Really. For instance, marriage... perhaps.” Whitmore had never been capable of great subtlety and this was no exception.

“Indeed. I have received word that my father is nearly dying again. This would be, what... the fifth time at least. My mother was most persuasive in trying to get me hitched up.”

Slapping his friend on the back, he said, “I am sorry, old man. But it is the way of the world, is it not?” It suddenly occurred to Whitmore that his old friend would probably be making an offer to Miss Hamilton, since she had been the only girl at the party that Clarendon had spent any time. The feeling of loss both confused and infuriated him. After all, he had his plans, and marriage was not one of them.

“You need not look so forlorn on my account, Whitmore. It is not like marrying is the worst chore to be done by man.” Thankfully, Clarendon misinterpreted his reaction. Whitmore was not about to correct his assumption.

Coming to the side door, the servant's entrance, so that they could deposit their muddy boots, a boy ran up screaming. Whitmore, not thinking twice, ran to the boy to find out what was going on. A few of the men followed, most continued on their way figuring it didn't concern them anyway.

Reaching the boy, Whitmore asked, “Stop screaming, boy. Tell me what is wrong.”

Panting from the exertion of running from the lake, he sputtered, “Gerard... cannot swim.... in lake...”

That was all it took for Whitmore to take off in a full run for the lake. He barely noticed Clarendon and Thompson close behind him. He found himself angry. Why would their be unsupervised children by the lake? It was an accident waiting to happen and someone would pay dearly.

When the lake came into sight, Whitmore could hardly believe his eyes. There, dragging a small boy onto the shore was a very wet and mostly naked Miss Hamilton. As he pressed on, he could see her leaning over the boy, kissing his face, then turning her ear to listen.
Is the boy alright
, he thought as he reached the shoreline.

Once close enough, he saw she wasn't kissing the boy, but blowing air into his mouth. Every few seconds she would repeat the process, then turn her ear to the boy's mouth and listen. Suddenly, the boy lurched to the side and vomited water all over the ground. As Bethany turned him, she was slapping his back.

It was then that Whitmore noticed that through her very sheer chemise, Bethany's breasts were visible. He was sure that the rest of her would be just as visible were she to stand up. Quickly, he removed his coat and threw it over her shoulders as she clung to the small child, whispering soothing words as the boy cried. A moment later, Bethany looked up and saw the large group of people who had now gathered around the lake.

Not a moment later, a large woman came forward, screaming for someone named Miss Jones. Whitmore ignored her screaming and turned to kneel next to Ginny. She must have noticed her near nakedness, because she had put her arms through his jacket and closed it up as much as she could.

Turning toward Whitmore, she said, “I'm sorry, my lord. Can someone fetch me a blanket?”

Looking into her eyes, knowing what she had done to save that little boy, Whitmore had an overwhelming urge to pick her up and walk off to somewhere more private. The surge of sexual emotion hit him like a ton of bricks. Before it could completely drown out his better sense, he rose to his feet and called to one of the servants who had arrived during the commotion.

“Henry, please run to the house immediately for some blankets.” Before the words had left his mouth, the young footman was running at full tilt back to the house. Meanwhile, the large woman kept screaming for Miss Jones.

The large woman, a guest named Mrs. Mary Rodendale, seemed near apoplexy by the time a slight woman in her thirties approached. Mrs. Rodendale began to scream anew at the sight of the woman. Meanwhile, Miss Jones said nothing, receiving each scream as if it were a physical blow, wincing at each word. Both Ginny and Whitmore watched in horror as the abuse continued.

Whitmore walked over to Mrs. Rodendale and asked, “May I be of assistance, Madam?”

Gaining some composure for her host, Mrs. Rodendale turned and answered, “This woman is Gerard's governess. It is obvious that she allowed the children out of her sight, which led to this... this debacle.”

Before Whitmore could say another word, Mrs. Rodendale began to ream the poor governess once again. When she finally stopped, she simply said, “I cannot deal with this right now. I believe my headache is coming back. Please excuse me, Lord Whitmore.” And with that, she began to walk back to the house, her daughter in her wake trying to hold her arm. Never once did she spare her son a glance to make sure he was alright.

Ginny felt her face flush, not from the embarrassment of sitting on the ground in see through clothing like some drunken college girl at a wet t-shirt contest. No, she wasn't embarrassed, she was pissed. How dare that woman. It may very well be the governess's fault for poorly supervising this child, but she didn't even bother to see if the child was alright. Acting as if the ordeal was worse for her than it had been for him. Her behavior was so grotesque that Ginny thought she just might run after the woman and start pounding her head into the ground.

The thought of her half naked going all WWE on some fat, obnoxious woman made Ginny smirk. Thankfully, it also calmed her down enough to know that Lord Whitmore would probably be displeased by such a display. Not that Ginny could fathom why she would care so much what Lord Whitmore thought of her.

The footman returned with several blankets. Whitmore immediately placed a blanket around Ginny, then turned and picked up the boy into another blanket. After transferring him to the arms of the same footman who fetched the blanket, he turned once again to help Ginny off the ground. “Henry, take the boy to the nursery. Have Pearce fetch the doctor to attend him.”

“Yes, my lord.” The footman, who didn't even break a sweat to get the blankets, was now effortlessly carrying the sixty pound child up the hill to the house. Ginny was duly impressed.

Walking with Lord Whitmore towards the governess, who was still standing in the same spot, Ginny felt sorry for the poor woman. There were still a number of guests milling around, including many of the bachelors she was there to impress. Judging by her appearance, she doubted she was doing a good job. Of course, seeing her practically naked may have helped her cause a great deal.

“Miss Jones, is it?” Whitmore asked, sounding impatient.

“Yes, my lord.” The woman was defeated, probably from years of verbal abuse at the hands of Mrs. Rodendale.

“Please tell me what happened.” Whitmore's stare could be intense, so he glanced at the ground, looking as if he were fascinated with his boots.

“The children tricked me. They asked me to fetch something from the closet and then locked me inside. I yelled until one of the maids let me out. By that time I went to look for them, I heard the screaming and came down here.” The governess was crying, but still holding it together enough to explain. “I never imagined this would happen.” The poor woman was now sobbing, for both what had happened to the boy and what would happen to her.

Ginny went to her side and tried to offer her comfort. She couldn't hug her without opening the blanket and revealing even more of herself to the crowd. Reaching one arm from under the blanket, still clad in the sleeve of Whitmore's jacket, she patted the woman gently. “Do they do that sort of thing often?”

Looking up into Ginny's eyes, she replied, “They learn how to treat me from their mother and you can plainly see how she treats me. I have been trying to find another position for months, but without a reference from my current employer, no one will hire me.” She spoke so quietly that only Ginny could hear her.

Turning toward her host, Ginny remarked, “I need to get out of these wet clothes. Miss Jones will accompany me.” Eyeing Whitmore to see if he would object, he merely nodded and they all walked back to the house. Miss Jones bent down and picked up Ginny's clothing and carried them for her. Then they walked ahead and Clarendon caught up to Whitmore's side.

“Damn interesting woman, wouldn't you say, Whitmore.” His voice sounded angry, which caught Whitmore's attention.

“Indeed. Why do you sound so ill-tempered?”

Raising an eyebrow, he simply replied, “Do I?”

Clarendon broke off from the group as they approached the house and kept walking toward the gardens in the back. Once there, he wandered among the tulips trying to contain his temper.
What was it about that woman
, he thought grimly.
How does she have the power to make me feel like a schoolboy?

He was all too aware of how his body reacted to seeing her wet and practically naked. No woman had made him lose his carefully crafted control before. The erotic thoughts that ran through his head, while she whispered to the child who had nearly drown, nearly overpowered him. Did this mean something? Was she the one he should marry?

Clarendon didn't want a love match. He didn't even want to respect his future spouse. What he wanted was a woman he didn't mind sleeping with long enough to produce an heir, then go about his business as usual. He didn't want his life to change, only to fulfill his obligations as a future duke.

And yet, over the past few days, he found himself pursuing her. Constantly seeking her out and spending time with her. It was no mystery that he wanted to bed her. If she would only marry some other chap, then he could go about making her his lover. That was the type of relationship he wanted with her. But marry her? When he went about his extra-curricular activities outside the marriage, then she might very well do the same. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand why that should bother him so much.

So now, he had to find a way to get her more involved with everyone else. The other bachelors seemed to think she was unobtainable, now that he had staked his claim. Things had to change, he had to get her married off as soon as possible. There were so many possibilities from which to choose.

Suddenly, as he made a second pass of the rose bushes, an idea formed in his head. It was childish, but certainly most of the available gentlemen would be more than willing to partake in a little bet. It was deuced boring in the country, so many would do it just for the amusement. Others would partake to prove their manliness. Either way, it would get the other bachelors to start paying attention to Miss Hamilton and it might just lead her to the altar in record time.

Chapter 8

By the time Ginny reached her room, Tabby had already been summoned and was arranging for a bath. Ginny escorted Miss Jones into her room and walked behind a screen that was placed to hide the tub. She went about peeling the wet clothing off her body and handing it to her maid. Her body smelled of the stagnant lake water and Ginny could only imagine what might be lurking in her hair. Not a fastidious woman by nature, she still enjoyed being clean. Ginny almost felt bad about Colin's coat, since it was now just as disheveled as she was.

“Why don't you have a seat, Miss Jones? I am going to have a bath, then we can walk up to check on Gerard.”

“I am sure that my employment will be terminated, Miss...” Miss Jones stopped, realizing she had no idea what this woman's name was.

“Hamilton. Bethany Hamilton. Please call me Bethany.”

Smiling as if she expected the other shoe to fall at any moment, Miss Jones said, “Bethany. Please call me Sarah. As I was saying, I would doubt that Mrs. Rodendale would care for me to check on her son.”

“Don't worry about that fat windbag.” Hearing a small gasp from Sarah made her correct herself. “I'm sorry. I meant to say Mrs. Rodendale. If you wish, I will speak to her on your behalf.”

“I fail to see what good that will do other than get her to make rude remarks about your character behind your back.”
Ginny barked out a laugh. “And why should I care if she speaks ill of me? She's a bully, Sarah. There is only one way to deal with bullies.”

“I used to be able to handle women like her. But now...” Sarah stared off into space, as if she were remembering a better time. Ginny took the silence as just that.

“What happened? You strike me as someone who used to know her way around society.”

Sarah regarded the screen behind which her new champion stood. If there was one thing she'd learned in her time as a lady, and more importantly, as an employee, it was that no one was to be trusted. And yet, this woman seemed different. She seemed capable of loyalty. How strange.