The Ungrateful Governness

11

Lady Hope was looking almost pretty, Jessica decided. And it was strange really, because that lady was not dressed up in any of the finery that she usually wore when Jessica saw her. She was wearing a warm woolen dress, which had obviously seen better days. And even that was not wholly visible behind a large paint-streaked bibbed apron. Her dark hair, usually schooled into a tidy and smooth chignon, was less than immaculate, stray wisps having escaped from their bonds all over her head. Her cheeks were glowing with color.

The two ladies were relaxing on the window bench of the nursery at Hendon Park, favorite country seat of the Duke of Middleburgh. Lady Hope had been on all fours on the floor, one shrieking nephew on her back, a cousin's infant yelling to be allowed up as well, when Jessica had come to visit. The game of horsy had come to an abrupt end despite Jessica's laughter and protests. Lady Hope had scrambled to her feet, apologizing for her loss of dignity, her less than immaculate appearance, and the paint that her young niece had daubed her with earlier as they had tried to reproduce the scene from the window.

And now she was trying to appear dignified as she perched beside Jessica, ignoring the pleas of niece and nephews and other young relatives to come and play.

"I daresay I would quickly tire of playing with the little dears if I had some of my own," she said. "Foolish, is it not, my dear Miss Moore, to enjoy romping with the youngsters at my age?"

"Not at all," Jessica assured her. "I am sure they all look forward vastly to seeing you, Lady Hope. I believe too many times children see all too little of their parents or other adult members of their family until they are old enough to join them at adult entertainments."

"Just look at that child!" Lady Hope said with an indulgent smile. "No, no, Robbie, my love, it is not gentlemanly to pull your sister's hair. You see? Now you have made her angry. Don't slap, dear. Yes, I know he pulled your hair, but it is not ladylike to retaliate. There. Robbie will apologize, will you not, my love?"

"Mm." Jessica drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I do believe a person can smell those mince pies all over the house. Christmas does have a special smell all its own."

"I do wonder where Charles is," Lady Hope said. "Only two days to Christmas and not a word from him. Mama will be very upset if he does not come, not to mention the rest of us. We have never had Christmas without our all being present. I remember how empty it seemed the first year without Grandpapa, though I was a mere girl at the time."

"Perhaps he will come yet," Jessica said, schooling her voice to casualness. "Surely he would have let her grace know if he were not coming at all."

Lady Hope sighed. "I do wish Charles would marry soon," she said. "My youngest niece is four years old already, and I am quite sure that Faith does not intend to have any more. It is high time Charles set up his nursery. He will be thirty on his next birthday. He just does not seem to be interested in any of the young ladies of the ton. It is said-though I should not repeat such gossip to someone of your years, Miss Moore-that he is too busy with his high flyers to be interested in more refined ladies. I do hope someone of exceptional beauty and breeding will appear next spring. Someone to catch his eye."

Jessica said nothing. The thought of Lord Rutherford paying court to a lovely girl fresh from the schoolroom made her feel slightly ill.

"I suppose I could have had children of my own if I had not been so fussy," Lady Hope said rather wistfully.

Jessica looked her inquiry.

"I have loved, you see," Lady Hope said, flashing her rather nervous smile. "And love is not always good for a person, Miss Moore. It leaves one dissatisfied with lesser feelings. You would not dream to look at me now, would you, that I had numerous offers even up to my thirtieth year? Of course, I daresay most if not all of them came because of who I am. Anyone can see that I was never a beauty. Not like Faith. But some very eligible gentlemen offered, for all that. And I refused them all. I loved my Bevin even when it was useless to do so-he had been long dead. Sometimes one regrets the lost opportunities. I would have liked to have a child."

"Yet you are still not old," Jessica said gently.

Lady Hope seemed to come out of a reverie and laughed heartily. "Oh, my dear," she said, "I am very firmly on the shelf and gathering dust. Two and thirty years old, you know, and no beauty to begin with. No matter." She patted Jessica on the knee. "I take pleasure these days in watching other people make good matches and produce children for Aunt Hope to play with. I was so glad to see Sir Godfrey arrive yesterday. I was afraid that with Charles away, he would not come. Not that he had anywhere else to go, of course, with his father away in Scotland with his sister. I thought perhaps you would be out walking with him, my dear Miss Moore."

"It is snowing," Jessica reminded her.

"And so it is." Her companion turned to look out of the window. "I hope not too hard to block the roads. Then Charles will never be able to come. Someone has arrived, though." She leaned closer to the window. "The carriage has moved away. I could not see if it was familiar. Oh, I do hope it is Charles."

Jessica sat very quiet and tense, quite unable to decide if she shared Lady Hope's sentiment or if she should pray hard that the snow would form into twenty-foot drifts so that no horse or vehicle would be able to move for a month.

"Oh, delightful, Annie!" Lady Hope exclaimed. "You have written your name, dear, and not a letter missing. How very clever you are. And now you are going to write 'Mama'? Indeed, dear, are you able to do that? Yes, certainly I will watch you."

Jessica held her breath. Had it been Lord Rutherford arriving? How soon would they know?

She had not long to wait. A mere few minutes later the door to the nursery opened to admit the animated figure of Lady Bradley.

"Oh, here you are, Miss Moore," she said. "So exciting, my dear. Grandmama is quite beside herself. Guess who has arrived?" She did not wait for an answer. "The Marquess of Heddingly. Your grandpapa! And we had no idea. Why did you not tell us? Aubrey has had the honor of meeting him once before. Such a distinguished gentleman. And he has traveled all this way to see you, Miss Moore, and to spend Christmas with us. But just listen to me prattle on. Go down immediately. He is in the blue salon with Grandmama. Oh, I am so excited for you, my dear." She caught Jessica as the latter reached the door and hugged her warmly.

Jessica's mind was in a daze. She had been half expecting a reply to her hostess's letter some time over Christmas. Indeed, until a week or so ago, she had been wondering if her grandfather would make the journey to Hendon Park for Christmas. But only now did she realize how very unprepared she was to meet him again.

More than two years had passed since they had met last, and that parting had been a bitter one.

She did not stop to go to her room to tidy herself. She passed her hand over her hair as she ran lightly down the stairs to make sure that her curls were not too wayward, and smoothed out the creases of her dress. She would be cool. Affectionate but cool. She would show him that she loved him but could live very well without him.

Jessica paused outside the doors leading into the salon, schooled her features into bright welcome, took a deep breath, and nodded to the liveried footman who was waiting to open the door for her.

The first person she saw when she entered the room was the Earl of Rutherford, standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, looking grim and surely more handsome than she remembered him to be. She could feel the color draining from her face. There has been some mistake, she thought, some trick.

But at almost the same moment she was aware of her grandfather rising from a winged chair, the dowager beside him, smiling with benevolent triumph. Her grandfather looked very familiar though she had not seen him for so long. A little more stooped, perhaps. But Grandpapa nevertheless. Her very own. The only relative of her very own.

"Grandpapa," she said, holding on to her dignity, smiling politely, and advancing on him with both hands outstretched.

"Well, Jessica," he said gruffly, "you have led me a merry dance, my girl. I was beginning to think I would not see you again this side of the grave."

"Oh, Grandpapa," she said, her outstretched hands reaching up suddenly to encircle his neck as she hurled herself against him, wondering for one startled moment who it was that was sobbing so loudly.

It was a humbling experience, the Earl of Rutherford considered, to find himself so totally ignored. He had been away from her for three weeks, living and breathing Jess Moore, scarce able to live through the days until he would see her again, until he could try once more to persuade her to be his wife. And it looked for all the world as if she in the meanwhile had forgotten his very existence.

There had been that moment, of course, when she had entered the blue salon and seen only him. There had been no unawareness of his existence, no indifference in her face for that brief spell. He had been about to start forward to catch her before she swooned. But it had lasted only a moment. She had soon been distracted. And there had been nothing like that first look in the whole day since. And who could say now what it had meant? Acute embarrassment at coming face to face with him again most probably.

He watched her now covertly from across the drawing room, sitting close beside Heddingly, her arm linked through his, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with happiness. They were in conversation with Faith and Aubrey. It was impossible to hear the topic on which they talked. The room was crowded to overflowing with his own family and aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins' children galore, in addition to special guests like the marquess, Jess, and Godfrey. The week of Christmas was the one time of the year when the nursery brood were allowed to spill downstairs on numerous occasions. No one minded. It all added to that special atmosphere of the season.

He was happy for her. Remembering how she had appeared to him during that week at Lord Barrie's, he could imagine how very lonely her life had been for the past two years with no family of her own around her. It was hard for him to picture life without family. His was always there to exasperate him, to criticize him, to interfere in his affairs, to love him. Above all, he supposed, to give him a sense of his own identity. Jess had been without that for more than two years.

The scene in the blue salon had been very affecting. It was the only time he had ever seen Jess completely out of control of herself. Her face had crumpled as she hurled herself into old Heddingly's arms, and she had sobbed there loud and long before the marquess had given over kissing her hair, patting her back, and blinking his eyes fiercely and had drawn a large square of linen from a pocket and put it into one of her hands.

His grandmother had also been blowing her nose, Rutherford recalled, her face severe, muttering about the drafts at Hendon that always succeeded in giving her a cold over Christmas. And he had had to clasp his hands behind his back until his knuckles almost cracked and regard his boots with particular concentration to keep from showing his own emotion.

She had stopped eventually and availed herself of the handkerchief. And she had sat on a sofa beside Heddingly, as she did now, his hand firmly clasped in hers, her eyes wide on his face, almost as if she believed that if she lost touch with him and stopped seeing him he would disappear again.

Not a look in his direction.

"We have Charles to thank for your grandpapa's arrival, my dear Jessica," his grandmother had said during the conversation that ensued. "The marquess had decided that he did not own a traveling carriage fit for the journey. A letter would have had to suffice until the weather grew warmer. But Charles brought him."

She had looked at him then. Through him, rather. He had had the impression that she did not see him at all.

"Thank you, my lord," she had said before turning and smiling with warm affection at the old man again, laying her cheek against his shoulder for a moment.

No questions of how it had come about that he had gone to her grandfather. No queries about his health, about his whereabouts for the past three weeks. No polite wishes that his morning's journey had been a pleasant one. No sign of any gladness to see him. Or of displeasure in seeing him. No reaction at all.;

"Charles." Hope was tapping his arm. "Claude has asked you twice already if you wish to play a game of billiards. You look as if you might be a million miles away."

The cousin in question laughed. "There must be a female in it," he said. "And where have you been for the last three weeks anyway, Charles? Is she to appear in London during the coming Season?"

The group around him all joined in the laughter.

"My lips are sealed," he said, grinning. "You don't think I would confide in you, Claude, do you, you puppy? An older cousin has to have some secrets. And I thought you had learned long ago not to humiliate yourself by challenging me to a game of billiards. It seems I have to refresh your memory. Are you coming, Godfrey?" He got to his feet.

"I shall stay to keep your sister company," Sir Godfrey replied. "I know that I would be drawn into challenging you too. And I know just as surely that you would crush me as you always do. You run along, and I shall stay here and hold on to my self-esteem."

Lord Rutherford put his arm across the shoulders of a tall, thin young lad who had been hovering in the vicinity of his group for several minutes.

"Are you coming too, Julius?" he asked. "Have you really grown a foot since last year, or is it just my imagination? Can I interest you in a game of billiards?"

Young Julius was beaming with pride as he left the room with his idol's hand still resting casually on his shoulder.

"I understand that the pond is to be scraped off tomorrow for the children to skate on," Sir Godfrey said. "And you are to accompany them, Lady Hope?"

"Oh," she said, flashing him an apologetic smile, "skating at Christmas time has always been traditional, Sir Godfrey, when there is ice. We are not always so fortunate, of course. We all go, you know. The distinctions between children and adults become somewhat blurred at this time of year."

"And is a mere family friend permitted to join the fun?" he asked.

"You, sir?" she asked. "But of course, if you wish to do so. You must not feel obliged to, of course. We will all understand perfectly if you choose to behave in a more dignified manner than the rest of us."

"How could I resist?" he said. "I do not believe I could even count the years since I last wore a pair of skates."

"You will not be the only person outside the family to be there," Lady Hope said, smiling slyly at her companion. "Dear Miss Moore is also to come."

"Is she, indeed?" he said, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Then I shall certainly have to attend, shall I not, Lady Hope?"

"Is it not delightful to see her so happy?" she said, gazing fondly across the room at Jessica. "And she kept so quiet about the Marquess of Heddingly's being her grandfather."

"I suppose it would be a happy occasion to be reunited with the sole remaining member of one's family after longer than two years," Sir Godfrey agreed.

"And so pretty she looks with her fair hair and delicate complexion," Lady Hope continued.

"Indeed, yes," he said, "though sometimes I believe I prefer a dark beauty. Dark hair can be more striking."

"Perhaps," she agreed absently. "Would you not say that happiness has made Miss Moore look years younger, sir? Tonight she could pass for a girl in her first Season, I declare."

"My feelings exactly, ma'am," he said, a tremor of something very like amusement in his voice. "I suppose I must be feeling the effects of my age. I do believe my attention is usually caught these days by ladies of more mature years."

"Yes," she said, "and that is just as well. Miss Moore is four and twenty, after all. Have you told her about your horses, sir?"

"My horses?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Is she aware that you own one of the best stables of racing horses in the country?" she asked. "I am sure Miss Moore would be vastly impressed."

"I do not believe the chance to mention them has arisen in my conversations with her," he admitted. "No matter. There is always time. But what about you, ma'am? I begin to think you are not as interested in them as you have always appeared to be. You have been promising these five years past to visit my stables with your brother, but I have yet to see you there."

"Oh, me," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I am sure you do not wish to be encumbered with the likes of me at your stables when you must be forever busy with the horses."

"I have grooms and stable hands and jockeys to tend my horses for me," he said with a smile. "Really, Lady Hope, I am just a lazy owner who happens to have a shrewd eye for a good horse and a large enough purse to indulge my whims. I would not have invited you, you know, if I did not wish you to come."

"That is very civil of you, I am sure, sir," she said. "Perhaps when the weather improves I can accompany Miss Moore on a visit."

"A good idea," he said. "She seems to be a suitable chaperone."

Lady Hope appeared to miss this last comment. A whole flock of little children had descended on her demanding good night kisses. A nurse stood in the doorway, a firm look on her face. Evidently even the persuasions of the Duke of Middleburgh himself would not have shaken her decision that it was high time all those in her care were tucked up in their beds.

Jessica was brushing her hair absently before her mirror. She had dismissed her maid for the night several minutes before. What a very eventful day it had been!

She still could scarcely believe that her grandfather had actually come-all the way to London in the middle of winter, merely to see her, the granddaughter who had defied him and rejected his care two years before. And he had not scolded all day. He had been content to let her hang on his arm, and had even patted her hand frequently with what she could only interpret as affection.

She had not realized until this day how starved she was for love. Not that she could complain. The Dowager Duchess of Middleburgh had shown her quite remarkable kindness since her arrival in London, and for no real reason at all except that she had been a friend of Grandmama's. But Jessica had not been able to quite relax. She had been so very aware of the fact that she was living entirely on the charity of a near stranger.

Now she had Grandpapa, and everything was going to work out well for her. They had not had any sort of personal talk during the day. They had not been alone together at all. She did not know what he would suggest, whether he would stay with her in London perhaps until the Season and continue with his plans of a few years before, or whether he would take her back home with him after Christmas. At the moment she did not care. It was enough to relax her stubborn independence for just a little while and let someone else decide her future for her.

Jessica turned from the mirror and climbed into the high bed. She pulled the covers around her although she did not lie down. The fire was still burning in the grate. But it was going to be a cold night. She must warm up the bed before the fire burned itself out.

The Earl of Rutherford had brought Grandpapa. He had been gone for three weeks, and he had returned with her grandfather. Why? What had he been doing all that time? It seemed very clear to Jessica that after all he must have gone in search of her identity. And he had discovered the truth. But why? She had refused him. Why would he still show any interest in her? Had he been hoping to find some dreadfully low or even scandalous background so that he could return to

London and expose her to the ton? Yet he had said that he wished to marry her even if her mother had been a scullery maid.

It had been a happy day. She could not deny that. The happiest she had known since before Papa had died. But, oh, it had been a wretchedly unhappy day too. How was she to spend a week longer in this house when Lord Rutherford would be there too? He was there now, sleeping in his own bedchamber. She did not know where that was. Perhaps not far off.

Jessica rested her forehead on her raised knees. Did he know, couid he possibly have guessed, how achingly aware of him she had been all day, from the moment of her entry into the blue salon that morning? Could he have any inkling at all of the fact that when she had wept in Grandpapa's arms, she had done so as much because he had come back as because Grandpapa had come? She had not realized that even herself at the time. She had tried to tell herself that she was dismayed he had returned. She had tried to pretend that he was not there.

But she had known when she was forced to look at him at last. The dowager had told her that it was Lord Rutherford who had brought her grandfather, and she had been forced to look at him and acknowledge the fact. He had been standing there before the fire exactly as he had when she had entered, the same stony expression on his face. There was no sign of gladness for her happiness, no sign that he had done what he had done for her sake. He had barely acknowledged her thanks.

She had wanted to jump up at the dowager's words, throw her arms around him, and share her joy with him. But he had looked like a man made of stone. And all day he had ignored her. He had talked with almost everyone else in the house, had appeared progressively more cheerful as the day wore on, had talked with and teased the children, whose favorite he clearly was as much as Lady Hope was. But she might have been a hundred miles away.

How perverse of her to have expected or even wanted some sign from him, she thought. What did she expect? That he still wanted her? She had convinced herself and told him in no uncertain terms that she had no interest in being wanted merely. Did she expect that he would treat her with more respect, deeper regard, knowing who she really was? She would despise such a change in his behavior.

So what did she want?

Jessica turned her head to rest her cheek on her knees. She wanted his love. How very, very foolish! What had she ever done to earn the love of the Earl of Rutherford? And what had he ever done to make her crave his love? He was a man for whom the satisfaction of physical appetites was the most important thing in life. A man to despise.

Or was he? He had respected her wishes on more than one occasion, although she knew that on one of those occasions she had asked more of his self-control than any woman had a right to ask of a man. He had charm and knew how to set one at ease in conversation. There was some kindness in him. How many gentlemen would give up their bed to a mere governess? Especially when that governess did have a bed of sorts to go to? And he was dearly loved by a family of which Jessica was growing increasingly fond. There must be good in him when she had seen how anxious all his family had been lest he not appear for Christmas.

It was stupid to pretend. Of course she felt a strong physical attraction to Lord Rutherford. She would be almost unnatural not to do so. He was extraordinarily handsome, and she had moreover tasted his kisses and caresses. Yes, of course she wished to be in his bed again but without any of the moral scruples this time to prevent her from knowing the deepest caress of all. Of course she wanted all that. Her body ached and throbbed at that very moment for his touch.

But it was not just that. Oh, of course it was not just that. She wanted Lord Rutherford. All of him. Every-thing that made him the person he was. She wanted him to talk and talk to her, as he had at dinner at the inn. She wanted to share her thoughts and emotions with him as she had done unconsciously at Astley's. She wanted to laugh and be teased by him, as his nephews and nieces and cousins had been that day. She wanted to know him.

Could one love someone one did not really know very well at all? If not, what other name could she use to describe this feeling that was washing over her, that would not let her go? This feeling she had not been free of since that night at the inn?

And how foolish to love a man whose offer of protection she had refused twice, and whose marriage proposal she had rejected with some contempt. How very foolish to be depressed because he had shown no interest in her for a whole day. How ridiculous to have felt in the drawing room earlier in the evening that half the candles must have been snuffed merely because he had left the room talking and laughing with a couple of his cousins.

She must live out the week somehow, Jessica decided. And then she must studiously avoid him whatever Grandpapa's decision was about where they would live. She must put him out of her mind, out of her life. She must encourage one of her present suitors. Or allow Grandpapa to find her an eligible husband.

That was what she would do. She would concentrate on being a docile and obedient granddaughter. Had she done so two years before, she would probably be contentedly married by now and even perhaps have a baby of her own. She would have been immune to these painful and dreadful excesses of emotion.

What was he doing now? she wondered as she slid down in the bed to lie staring at the canopy over her head, picked out by the flickering of the flames in the hearth. Was he asleep? Had he spared even a single thought for her? Did he still find her desirable?

Jessica closed her eyes. Enough! she scolded herself. Tomorrow perhaps she would be able to have some private time with Grandpapa, and she would find out what was to be arranged for her future.