The Unconventional Governess. Jessica Nelson

enjoyable, either. She spent the rest of the ride clicking her knitting needles while Henrietta churned the facts over and over in her mind.

      She knew very little about epilepsy. Only enough to recognize the symptoms. Surely St. Raven was resting now. He hadn’t emerged. The carriages had kept up a steady clop and now it had grown dusky and cool, a hint of rain in the air. They turned into a long drive lined by trees and statues. Henrietta’s window encompassed a view of the St. Raven estate. It was a smaller version of Lady Brandewyne’s. They rounded up the drive and then slowed to a stop.

      Perhaps she’d be brought around back to the servant’s entrance? She gathered her bags, prepared to get out when told. Alice watched, her mouth a crimped line, reminding Henrietta that she was no more a servant than she was a peer.

      In the middle. That was her new position. Neither privy to the confidences of the servantry, nor entitled to the privileges of the ton.

      The carriage door opened and St. Raven peered inside. “We’re here,” he said, his grin lopsided. He looked no worse for wear. His cravat had been straightened and his skin had regained its color, as far as she could tell in the twilight.

      With his help, she exited the carriage. Alice was behind her and then St. Raven guided her to the front door. “This is it. My humble abode.”

      “Humble, indeed.” Square-shaped beds of grass decorated the front yard, carefully trimmed and verdant. The house itself was composed of rectangles and squares that sharply jutted into pointed roofs. The typical country home, resplendent and tight-angled.

      A butler came out to greet St. Raven. She observed the earl, hanging back to watch his loose-limbed gait. He did move slowly, as though tired. There was no other evidence that only a few hours ago his body had contorted outside of his control.

      Yes, she’d have to research more.

      Behind her, the carriages rolled away and she realized that she was to follow St. Raven into the house. She joined him at the doorway, looking past him to the gilded entryway lit by several lamps along the walls.

      He ushered her in, his eyes shadowed, belying the curved dimple in his cheek. “My childhood home.”

      “It is lovely,” she said. “If you’ll show me my rooms, I’ll get situated.”

      “Would you care for tea first?” His question was not a question. He guided her to a small parlor before she could say no.

      St. Raven’s eyes were tenebrous in here, without the sun to make them sparkle. One could almost mistake them for a dark green.

      He did not shut the door. He meandered to a corner of the room, next to a lit golden girandole whose worth appeared to be more than the annual earnings of a governess. The furniture was ornate, heavy. Strange lionlike creatures rose from the edges of the couch. All in all, an uncomfortable, auspicious room.

      She faced St. Raven, and was reminded of his overall largeness in comparison to her size. She’d been called slight. Never had she felt so, until she stood next to St. Raven. A shiver crept through her at the intensity on his face. She rubbed her arms, conscious that her medical bag remained with her belongings.

      “About earlier...” He trailed off, stroking his chin with long, well-manicured fingers.

      Henrietta pulled herself taller. “Yes, your epileptic attack.”

      “You saw.” His eyebrows narrowed, ebony lines against tan skin.

      “It was a shock, to be sure. You have lived with this condition unbeknownst to your staff?”

      He shrugged, a curiously unaffected movement. “To most, yes. It is not something I want bandied about.” He paused. “Are you familiar with epileptic disorders?”

      “The only fits I have seen were in an asylum.” An honest answer, though it emerged slowly.

      “And is that where you think I belong?”

      A strong, undeniable current pulsed between them. A moment of energized tension that illuminated the cost of this secret and the fortitude it took to maintain a cover of health and normality. She swallowed, her heart drumming, her fingers picking at her skirt.

      He had given no indications of madness. His staff cared for him, as evidenced by their worry. She wet her lips, meeting his eyes, which bored into her, questioning, seeking. She drew from the wells of her authoritarianism on all things medical. Perhaps she had no experience with society, but she knew patients.

      And despite the rocky planes of his face, the stiff cut of his shoulders, fear hid beneath it all.

      “You are not a madman, my lord, and I do not believe you should be institutionalized.”

      His gaze flickered. The jaw that had been granite-hewn relaxed ever so slightly. “I quite agree, Miss Gordon. You will keep this information between us?”

      Another question that was not a question.

      “I shall do my best.” After all, he was her employer now. And quite possibly, her patient.

      He locked his arms behind his back, regarding her so seriously as to make her wonder how she’d ever thought him careless and lacking in soberness. “That will be all, Miss Gordon. I will ring for Mrs. Braxton, the head maid. She will show you to your room, the schoolroom and the general layout of the servants’ quarters. I trust you will tell me should you feel unwelcome in any way.”

      “How I feel is of no consequence. My job is to teach Louise, and that is what I shall focus on.” Speaking of the girl, she hadn’t seen or heard her. Which struck her as immensely odd. “Where is she?”

      St. Raven paused. “It is odd that she has not come to greet me.”

      He called for the head housekeeper. She appeared promptly.

      “Where is Louise?” asked the earl.

      Her fingers fluffed the folds of her dress. “She heard she was to have another governess, and to prove her lack of need for one, she ran off again.”

      “How often does this occur?”

      “As often as she wishes.”

      “And you allow it?”

      His housekeeper looked surprised. “She did it with her parents and they were not alarmed.”

      “Well, they should have been,” he snapped. “Assemble the servants in the hall at once.”

      Henrietta nodded with approval. Until she could do more research, there was nothing more to be said about his epilepsy. Standing there looking into his handsome face accomplished nothing. He wasn’t even trying to be charming, and yet she found herself studying the lines and curves of his features, storing the scent of his cologne in the back of her mind.

      It was positively the most disturbing response she’d ever had to a man, and becoming a governess was probably the worst idea she’d ever had, but Lady Brandewyne had backed her into a tight and inescapable corner.

      Besides, she now felt a deep concern for Louise’s whereabouts. “What do you mean to do?” she asked St. Raven.

      “I mean to find the girl.” He pivoted, leading Henrietta into the hall. Mrs. Braxton stood as stiff as a marble statue, her features settled into a frown. “Don’t you ever look for her? Doesn’t anyone chase her down and tell her to stop running away?”

      “My apologies, my lord,” she replied. “But why on earth would we do such a thing when her parents allowed it? Where can she go?”

      “Those questions are irrelevant. She should not have left at all. When she returns, she shall have warm tea and biscuits waiting for her. Mrs. Braxton shall put hot irons at the foot of her bed to heat her toes, and it will not be allowed again.”

      “Hot irons? Tea and biscuits?” Henrietta crossed her arms. “You are rewarding negative behavior. This simply will not do.”

      His