The Unconventional Governess. Jessica Nelson

house party?” The dowager countess looked up from her sewing.

      “The guests appeared to enjoy themselves greatly.”

      “And did you?”

      “That is what I’ve come to speak to you about.” Henrietta slid onto the bench across from Lady Brandewyne. “I have decided to accept a governess position for Lord St. Raven.”

      If Henrietta had been watching the countess more closely, she might not have missed the strange little quirk at the corner of her lips. As it was, she was staring at her hands in silence and so did not realize that Lady Brandewyne was not altogether unhappy.

      “My dear, I shall miss you, but this is for the best. He shall treat you well.”

      “Is there anything I must do before leaving?”

      “Do? Of course not.” Lady Brandewyne waved her diamond-encircled fingers. “The servants shall see to your trunks. Are you leaving today?”

      “Whenever Lord St. Raven is ready. I shall leave a letter for my uncle for you to post, if that will do? And we will keep this between us?”

      Lady Brandewyne nodded, and the matter was settled. The rest of the day passed with a flurry of activity. She had been staying there for several months and had much to pack. Her lady’s maid would not be going with her. Governesses did not get such a luxury.

      A note arrived from the earl stating that they’d leave at first light in the morning, as it was half a day’s travel to reach the St. Raven estate from Lady Brandewyne’s. For the first time, Henrietta felt a flurry of nerves. She’d been traveling for half her life, from one place to another, but always with her uncle.

      When morning came, and she found herself safely ensconced in the earl’s unsurprisingly plush carriage, the feeling still had not abated. She waved to Lady Brandewyne out of the gold-rimmed windows before closing the curtain and settling back against the squabs. She’d brought a book to read, but the passing countryside, with its verdant slopes and kaleidoscope of flowers, snared her attention.

      Perhaps an hour or so had passed when the carriage slowed, then pulled to the edge of the road. Henrietta opened the door before the footman did, peering out. The earl’s valet walked toward her, a grim expression on his face.

      “Miss Gordon, his lordship has requested we stop for a moment. He is in need of rest. Might you like a small repast by the creek?” He pointed to a sparkling creek in the distance. A few trees stood sentry on its banks.

      Henrietta blinked and then reached for her book. He had looked tired last night, she recalled.

      “I hope he is well?” she murmured.

      With the valet’s assistance, she climbed out of the carriage. The balmy summer day stood in stark contrast to the concern on the valet’s face. The sound of hooves grew louder as St. Raven pulled his horse up and dismounted. The sunlight drew attention to the pallid taint of his skin, the grooves at the corners of his eyes. The whites of his eyes were not yellow, though, and his pupils appeared normal.

      “What are your symptoms, my lord?”

      His lips pressed together. He shook his head. “Jacks, make sure Miss Gordon has all she needs.”

      “Are you sweating?” She reached to touch his skin, but he jerked back. There was a strange sheen to his coloring. “Let me check your heart and lungs. Jacks, if you would be so good as to retrieve my leather satchel. Be gentle, for I’ve valuable items inside.”

      “Go with him, now.” St. Raven’s words came out funny. Slightly garbled.

      The carriage door remained open and Lord St. Raven stumbled toward it, in a lurching stagger that caught Henrietta by surprise. She slid to the side, allowing him room, but already she could see his eyes rolling back in his head. He fell into the carriage, drawing his knees up and lying on the floor.

      His left arm jerked, the hand curled into clawlike rigidity.

      Henrietta glanced down the road, noting the valet still digging in the other carriage for her medical supplies. The footman helped, and the coachman was nowhere to be seen. She grabbed the carriage door and half closed it, blocking the opening with her body. Lord St. Raven convulsed on the floor, his head knocking against the seat in a macabre, uneven rhythm.

      Henrietta forced herself to keep looking, to watch even though her palms dripped and her heart wrenched in her chest. She had seen this before. The strange contortions, the stretched grimacing of the face.

      In an asylum in France. When she was sixteen.

      Epilepsy.

      Finally the fit ended. St. Raven’s body relaxed, though guttural noises were coming from him. She wanted to go in and check to make sure his head had not been injured, but the valet was bringing her medical bag. She closed the door more, shoving the earl’s boots inside the carriage to do so.

      “Your supplies, miss.”

      “Thank you. The earl does not feel well and is lying on the floor. I shall need something soft, a blanket perhaps. Fetch Alice, please, as I will need to go in and examine his lordship.” It seemed forever, but finally the female servant Lady Brandewyne had sent to protect Henrietta’s reputation arrived. She’d ridden with the trunks in the other carriage. She wore a put-out expression that Henrietta ignored.

      “If you will just stand right there.” She pointed to the side of the carriage, where it could be reasonably said that Henrietta had been chaperoned, and yet Alice would not be able to see the earl. She opened the door and climbed in, shoving her skirts to the side and hefting her bag onto the seats.

      A bluish cast to his face told her he’d stopped breathing at some point, though now the forceful exhalations of sound indicated steady respiration. She put her ear to his chest. No distress. Perspiration stained his underarms.

      Henrietta examined him quickly, gently putting the blanket the valet brought beneath his head. She kept the door slightly closed, leaving a mere crack, and waved away the worried eyes of his staff. When she emerged, she shut the door firmly behind her.

      They stood at the side of the road, the bright sunlight drawing attention to their somber faces. After all, it had only been a few weeks ago that he’d been attacked. Their worry attested to their regard for their employer.

      “Does he have these episodes often?” She set her bag on the ground and studied them, particularly the valet.

      “Episodes? What do you mean, ma’am?”

      Every face reflected confusion. Sighing, Henrietta tapped her hips as she thought of what to say. She didn’t care for the ratlike curiosity in Alice’s beady eyes. A gossiper, no doubt. She suspected his lordship’s condition was a secret that even his valet was not privy to.

      Or else he was doing a splendid job of acting ignorant.

      Either way, Henrietta had no desire to reveal St. Raven’s infirmity to this group. She cleared her throat. “Tiredness and fatigue. Perhaps it is a side effect of his cracked ribs. Let us take a short break and then be on our way. I shall ride with Alice and we will leave the earl to rest.”

      “Will he be all right?” That from Jacks.

      Henrietta nodded with force. Yes, he would be fine as long as no one in English society ever found out about his epilepsy.

      She did not know much of the condition, but one thing she did know: those with it were often ostracized from polite society and confined to an asylum for the remainder of their lives.

      How he had managed to escape detection, she could not fathom, but she would not be the one to expose his secret.

       Chapter Six

      An epileptic.

      Henrietta could hardly believe the truth. A rare condition that she longed to research, but