An Improper Governess: An Improper Liaisons Novella, Book 2 (3 page)

But today, Sir Nicholas had made her think about all manner of lustful things. And a woman in her position couldn’t afford to. He wasn’t helping matters by insisting she change rooms for the night. Her gaze drifted to the massive, sumptuous looking four-poster bed of carved oak and she immediately pictured herself and Sir Nicholas tangled up together in the pristine linen sheets.

Oh, sweet Lord, that superbly made man would be sure to take her breath away if she ever saw him naked. He was undoubtedly a rakehell and as such, she was certain he would know exactly how to pleasure a woman in bed. She covered her burning cheeks with her cold, trembling hands as she blushed to the roots of her hair.

Even if Sir Nicholas’s reasons for installing her in the Amber Room were completely noble, he was putting her in a most tenuous position. Lady Barsby had been right to question him. Mrs. Graham and Keziah in particular kept eyeing her like she was a strumpet from the gutter. And she couldn’t bear it.

Because deep down inside her heart, she feared they might be right.

Yes, she’d best lock the door tonight. It seemed she couldn’t trust herself either.

To cover her discomfiture, Abigail hurried over to the fireplace and began to help one of the other maids, Bessie, light the fire.

“Would you like me to fetch you a change of clothes and your night attire, miss?” the girl whispered as they pushed twig fagots between the logs neatly stacked in the grate.

“Oh, thank you so much, Bessie,” returned Abigail in a soft, shaky voice. Touched by the young woman’s kindness, she found she was suddenly having to blink away tears. “And if you could retrieve my soap and hairbrush too—they’re on the washstand—I would be most grateful.”

“Of course.” Bessie put down the tinderbox and touched her hand. “I wouldn’t worry so, miss. Sir Nicholas is a good and fair employer. He’s handsome to be sure, but he’s not the type of man to take advantage, if that’s what you are thinking. Well, not in the time I’ve been here which is near on three years now. I’m sure—”

“Bessie. Enough of your prattling and get on with lighting that fire,” sniped Mrs. Graham from right behind them, making Abigail jump like a guilty child caught reaching for the dish of sweetmeats. “Miss Adams, your bath is ready. Please mind the Aubusson rug. I can see you’ve already muddied it by the door.”

Abigail rose from the hearth but didn’t bother retorting that the muddy footprints were clearly made by Sir Nicholas’s boots. She was already in the prickly housekeeper’s bad graces and she didn’t want to make things worse. Instead she inclined her head and replied as meekly as she could, “Of course, Mrs. Graham.”

Mrs. Graham humphed at her by way of reply and with an imperious wave of her bony hand, cleared the servants from the room. When the door clicked shut, Abigail poked the logs to encourage the flames to take purchase and then carefully removed her remaining kid slipper, ruined gown, petticoats, half-stays, shift and stockings and placed them in a neat pile on the hearthstone. Sinking into the tub of steaming water, she at last gave herself permission to enjoy the luxurious sensation of having a proper bath. It had been far too long since she’d indulged in such an extravagant thing.

All too familiar sadness filled her heart at the thought that there wasn’t really anyone in this world who cared for her. Her aunts, Meredith and Euphemia, were distantly fond of her at best, considering the cloud of disgrace she’d left under when she’d been sent away to Mrs. Brooke’s Young Ladies’ Academy in London to receive some ‘much needed discipline’.

But as Abigail lay back in the bath and let the glorious warmth seep into her bones, she reminded herself as she had so many times in the past, there was no point in dwelling on things she could not change. She could only look forward. And regardless of Sir Nicholas’s motivation for bestowing such an unexpected privilege upon her, or the censure of Mrs. Graham or anyone else at the Hall, she was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

She’d worry about the aftermath, tomorrow.

N
icholas scanned
the list of lost items Miss Adams had dutifully written out for him.

He frowned and put down his first cup of coffee for the morning. Good God. Did Miss Adams really make her own clothes? Not only that, the dashed woman hadn’t added her gown, slippers and stockings to the inventory. He wasn’t used to having his orders circumvented like this. And he’d been most explicit with his instructions the day before. Miss Adams’s concern about being obligated to him must be genuine. And for some reason he didn’t really wish to explore, her distrust bothered him.

“Nicholas. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

Nicholas sighed wearily and glanced over the top of Miss Adams’s flagrantly deficient list to where his sister-in-law sat at the other end of the long mahogany breakfast table. Attired in a frivolously trimmed silk gown of a truly dreadful shade of purple that seemed to clash with, rather than compliment her guinea gold hair, Regina reminded him of a gaudy butterfly or perhaps even a parakeet. Bright, flighty and loud. It was moments such as these that made him question his brother’s state of mind when he’d chosen such a querulous mate. It also reminded him of the reason he tended to stay away from Hartfield.

“Yes, that is indeed the case, Regina,” he replied after taking another sip of his coffee. He wouldn’t apologize for his inattention. Regina may have been the mistress here for ten years, but since his brother Benjamin’s passing two years ago, the woman was lucky he hadn’t had her and his two constantly twittering nieces relocated to the dower house on the edge of the estate. Examining the list again, Nicholas wondered if it would just be easier to accompany Miss Adams on a shopping trip...

Good Lord, what the devil is wrong with me?
Such an expedition would invite too much comment and he doubted the governess would go with him anyway. Apart from that, he recalled that he loathed shopping.

“Nicholas, I’ve just had a letter from my sister and she’s invited me to stay with her in Brighton for several weeks,” persisted Regina. “The girls would love to see their cousins and I am dying to take the sea air. I shall need both carriages.”

Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. “Take both for as long as you like. My own carriage arrived from London, late last night.” Due to yesterday’s infernal heat, he’d opted to ride his latest acquisition of fine horseflesh, Oberon, rather than traveling in the close confines of his coach. In hindsight, it had been a more than satisfactory decision considering how he’d made the acquaintance of the delightful Miss Abigail Adams and her even more delightful legs. And arse.

Before he’d even considered the ramifications of what he was going to say next, Nicholas asked, “Are you taking the governess?”

Regina frowned. “Of course.” The furrow between her brows grew deeper. “Why?”

Nicholas drummed his fingers on the table for a moment sorting through the possible ways to answer his sister-in-law’s question.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I have another use for her.”

Regina’s fair eyebrows shot up. “Nicholas!”

“Now, now, Regina. There’s no need to look so alarmed. It’s not what you think. I was in the library this morning and I realized how woefully disorganized it is. Nothing is where it should be. It took me a good half hour to find the book on estate drainage systems that I was after. I was simply going to ask Miss Adams to catalogue the books. It’s a large undertaking but it needs to be done. Besides, I’m sure Lavinia and Kitty need some respite from their lessons.”

Regina studied him for a long moment through narrowed eyes. “You want Miss Adams to become your librarian?” she asked, her voice edged with sharp skepticism.

Nicholas shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure she is well-equipped for the task. Apart from that, I’m the one who pays her wages. I’m sure she’ll do whatever is requested of her.”

As he suspected, Regina had no response to that. She picked up her hot chocolate and simply glowered at him over the rim of the cup as she took a sip.

Ignoring her fit of pique, Nicholas glanced back down at the list in his hand. “Who makes your gowns etcetera?”

Regina gaped and almost dropped her cup. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a simple question, madam. I know you have at least one dressmaker as I foot the bill. Who makes your gowns? Apart from your modiste in London, is there someone local you use?

Suspicion glinted in Regina’s china blue eyes. “Well, it depends on what I want done,” she said carefully as she placed her cup back on the saucer with a decided chink. “Sometimes I use a modiste in Crawley. But there is a passable seamstress here in Hedgecombe. She conducts her business out of the draper’s shop. Mrs. Thorpe.” Her gaze grew even sharper. “Why do you ask? Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

Nicholas narrowed his own gaze. “I’m sure I can manage,” he responded dryly.

Regina’s mouth flattened. “I’m sure.” She picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corner of her still compressed lips before rising from her seat in preparation to depart. “So tell me, how long do you intend staying at Hartfield on this particular occasion? And are you planning on hosting any dinner or house parties that I should know about? Because if you are, I should consult with Mrs. Graham to ensure we have sufficient supplies before I leave.”

Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll stay for as long as I damn well like, Regina. And invite whomever I like, whenever I like.” The woman’s imperious manner irritated him no end and he couldn’t resist the perverse urge to rankle her in return. “You know, you can always relocate to Hedgesparrow House at any time if you’d rather not put up with my habits... Or should I say, proclivities…?”

Regina paled beneath her powder. “Nicholas, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Of course not,” he remarked with a sardonic twist of his lips. “You never do.” As his sister-in-law took her leave with a good deal of indignant flouncing and silk rustling, he called out after her, “Perhaps it would be wise to remind Lavinia and Kitty, to avoid walking about the north end of the lake near the folly whilst I’m here. It looks like we are in for another scorching day.”

Regina turned and inclined her head. “As you wish.” She took a few more steps toward the door but then paused on the threshold. “Oh, whilst I think of it, what are you intending to do with Miss Adams other than using her in the library? ”

Nicholas almost laughed at her question.
You really don’t want to know...
Instead, he simply said, “I don’t take your meaning.”

Regina puffed out her chest like a ruffled pigeon. “Well, she cannot take up residence in the Amber Room.
If
you entertain house guests, as I know you do on occasion, it will look decidedly odd if the governess is sleeping in one of Hartfield’s best suites. Aside from that, the servants will talk. But then of course, it’s entirely up to you...”

Nicholas sighed heavily. Although he hated agreeing with Regina, he was afraid she might be right on that score. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to let her off easily. “You can install her in one of the spare bedrooms in the east wing then. I can’t imagine the third floor apartments ever get much use. And before you even think to quibble, might I add a fourth floor bedroom that is little more than a cupboard, is entirely unsuitable. I won’t have one of the upper servants treated so shabbily.”

Regina flushed scarlet at his intended slight, but nevertheless, she simply tilted her head again. “I will make it so.”

Telling himself he’d done all he could do to better Miss Adams’s lot in life at the present moment—whilst still steadfastly refusing to examine why he should care so much, indeed at all—Nicholas returned his attention to his other correspondence, but after fifteen minutes, he realized it was a useless endeavor. His mind kept straying to other things, or rather, a particular someone, he really shouldn’t be thinking about.

The fact that the breakfast room felt like the Devil’s own furnace wasn’t helping matters. Even though it was still quite early and the casement windows were wide open, nary a breeze stirred the gauze curtains or the foliage in the willow copse beside the lake. After discarding his navy tailcoat and loosening his damnably tight cravat, Nicholas wandered over to one of the doors with his coffee cup and leaned against the frame to admire the view. The sky, a cloudless azure blue, vividly reminded him of the long, lazy summer days he’d enjoyed during his sojourn in Tuscany last year.

Today certainly wasn’t a day for being holed up with his steward in a stifling hot office going over the accounts. It was a day for lying in the shade somewhere beside the lake, drinking chilled champagne and eating juicy summer strawberries or sliced peaches from the fingers of...

Miss Adams suddenly appeared on the northern edge of the emerald green lawn and like a hound who’d just scented the quarry, his heart rate immediately kicked up a notch. Dressed in a gown of pale yellow, she looked as bright and fresh as one of the roses in Regina’s garden. Even though a white parasol concealed much of her face, he caught a glimpse of her glossy brown hair as she turned—she was clearly
sans
bonnet—just before she called over her shoulder to someone. A moment later, his nieces came into view. Giggling and skipping, they quickly caught up to the governess and then all three of them headed across the grass in the direction of the willow copse and the Doric temple folly.

He wondered if Regina had reminded Lavinia and Kitty not to go too far in that direction. Or perhaps more importantly, had she warned Miss Adams?

His mouth curved into a smile as he watched the governess disappear around a bend in the lakeside path. Then again, it might be quite interesting if Regina hadn’t informed her...

For several long moments, Nicholas considered his options for the day ahead whilst he finished his coffee. As much as he hated to deny himself a swim in the lake, he really should wait until later in the afternoon. And whilst he couldn’t ignore estate matters forever, right now, there was a duty that was even more pressing. A task he couldn’t entrust to anyone else.

Thrusting aside the thought he was acting like a fool possessed by midsummer madness, Nicholas strode over to his chair and retrieved his tailcoat.

It was time to go shopping in Hedgecombe.

* * *

“
M
iss Adams
, I do not think we should go any farther.”

Abigail paused on the path that led to the lakeside folly and frowned down at her nine year-old charge, Miss Lavinia. The small Doric style temple was one of Abigail’s favorite haunts in the park surrounding Hartfield, and given the hot weather, she was particularly looking forward to sitting on a marble bench in the cool shade as she conducted today’s reading lesson. Even at this early hour, the schoolroom was far too hot. “Whyever not?” she asked, adjusting the small bundle of books threatening to slide from her damp, slippery grip.

Kitty, Lady Barsby’s youngest daughter, giggled before whispering, “Uncle Nicholas might be about. He likes to swim... with nothing on.”

Oh,
thought Abigail just as Lavinia cried, “Kitty!” The girl’s blonde ringlets quivered about her flushed cheeks as she stamped her foot. “You cannot say things like that. It’s not good manners.”

“Well, it’s true,” pouted Kitty, crossing her arms. “Mama says Hartfield is Uncle Nick’s home now and he can do as he likes, even if that means swimming during the day without a stitch on. I also heard Keziah whispering to Nurse about it, and Keziah said she would very much like to see—”

“Kitty, it is never a good idea to listen to the idle chat of servants,” chided Abigail, but her tone was far from stern. Keziah wasn’t the only one who would like to see such a thing. The mental image of Sir Nicholas striking out across the lake, his sleek, muscular body plowing effortlessly through the water made desire bloom low in her belly and a hot blush washed over her cheeks. In a feeble attempt to cover how flustered she was, she added with a bit more conviction, “Besides that, eavesdropping is not a ladylike behavior.”

“We could always sit over there,” suggested Lavinia, nodding toward the willow copse beside the bank.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that would be wise,” said Abigail with a sigh. The problem was, she was wearing a gown of pale lemon dimity cotton; she couldn’t bear wearing one of her more serviceable gowns of calico or stuff on such a sweltering summer’s day, and both Miss Lavinia and Kitty were wearing white muslin. Because Abigail had anticipated sitting upon a bench in the folly, she hadn’t brought a blanket along, only the girls’ books. The grass was probably still damp from yesterday’s downpour and all their dresses would become horribly stained if they sat down. She couldn’t afford to ruin another dress, not when she’d just spent a good deal of her savings on items that were now lost. Even more importantly, she was loath to incur the wrath of Lady Barsby who was very particular about how the girls presented themselves.