From Governess To Countess. Marguerite Kaye

as spartanly as those belonging to the lowliest of servants. She’d tended to sick children shivering in bedchambers where the wind whistled through the bare floorboards, children living like moles in windowless rooms below stairs. Ideal preparation, she’d been informed time and again, for the character-building privations of the boarding school which almost every little boy attended, and an increasing number of girls too. The process of estrangement happened, in many cases, from birth, when babies were handed immediately to a wet nurse, and thence on to a nanny, a governess, a tutor.

      Or in her case a grandmother, an arrangement which had turned out to be permanent. Her mother had not even deigned to turn up for Seanmhair’s funeral seven years ago. Or perhaps she had simply not dared. Seven years, during which Allison had worked tirelessly to establish herself. And now that life too was gone.

      But now, she had been given the chance to make a new future for herself. Her charges might well have lacked parental affection but their material needs were abundantly satisfied. The children’s quarters were sumptuous, as richly decorated as the one she occupied. The playroom was an Aladdin’s Cave of toys. Wondering why the doll’s house looked familiar, Allison realised it was a miniature replica of the Derevenko Palace. The rocking horse which stood in the window had the look of an Arabian thoroughbred. A positive army of lead soldiers were lined up in one corner commanded, she noted with a wry smile, by an officer wearing Count Derevenko’s regimental colours. Next door to the playroom was a schoolroom complete with three desks and a large slate board, a cupboard full of text books, all in French and English. And next door to that, what must have been the nursery, but which now seemed to be the nanny’s room. There was no evidence of any sort of sick room.

      Allison made her way back to her own chamber. She had thought herself accustomed to children, but really, she was only accustomed to children in distress, in the throes of illness. Fractious children, sobbing children, suffering children whose pain she relieved, whose maladies she remedied. Children who were grateful for her soothing presence, and whose parents too were grateful. But these three orphans were an entirely different proposition. Her presence would surely emphasise the absence of their mother and father. No matter how distant those parents had been, the children must be grieving. And then there was the governess who had also, mysteriously, deserted them.

      There was no getting away from it, Allison must prepare herself to be perceived as an unwelcome intruder, and an inadequate one at that. Empathy did not make a teacher of her, and one thing she did know about children was that they were not easily fooled, seeing a great deal more than most adults realised. Her charges would likely sense she was a fraud.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was overthinking the situation. Honestly, Allison chastised herself, how hard could it be, really? Her life had been dedicated to caring for sufferers. Sympathy and understanding were as much a part of her armoury as her precious herb chest. What’s more, she had been selected, interviewed and judged capable. She had passed muster last night, she knew that, for if she had failed, she would have been ushered out of that hot, glittering ballroom tout de suite. The Count was not a man to tolerate failure. He hadn’t exactly relaxed by the end of the evening, in fact he’d been watching her like a hawk, but several times, when she had found the confidence to riposte some of the sly remarks, he had pressed her hand in approval or given her the most fleeting of nods.

      Everyone to whom he introduced her had been informed that she was the new English governess. Everyone assumed she was also her employer’s mistress. ‘You are the envy of every unmarried lady in St Petersburg, Miss Galbraith,’ one of the courtiers had confided sotto voce. ‘As next in line to the dukedom, Aleksei is now one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. How unfair of you to force us to wait until he is done with you. You will understand why I hope that your liaison is short-lived. Though I cannot blame you for wanting to keep him to yourself. There is something about an officer in uniform, is there not? It makes one almost indifferent to the possibility that a ducal coronet may follow. Almost.’

      That the Count was sought after did not surprise Allison. That she herself was drawn to him however, surprised her very much. That the attraction was mutual—now that was the biggest surprise of all.

      Time and again, she had been propositioned, by husbands and fathers and brothers of her patients, by apothecaries and physicians. Not once had she been tempted, knowing full well that her reputation must be above reproach. All very well for a man in her profession to take a lover, but as a woman, she must be either an angel or a whore, to paraphrase The Procurer. Save for that one secret, salutary entanglement, Allison had never had any difficulty in opting to be the former. Which made it all the more infuriating that the gutter press had branded her a Jezebel with no more evidence than her hair and her figure and the vengeful mud-slinging of a few medical men intent upon protecting their own interests. It was so unfair it made her blood boil. At least, she thought sardonically, if it had been true she would have had some pleasurable memories to bolster her. Instead, ironically, she was a fallen woman with a past that was only one step removed from the virginal. Though as far as London society was concerned, she was irrecoverably ruined.

      Which was, if one turned the idea on its head, rather a liberating thought, for the worst that could be said of her had already been said. Allison smiled slowly. What’s more, what was damned in London was positively encouraged in St Petersburg. Why should she make a virtue of resistance?

      She enjoyed sparring with the Count. He brought out a teasing, playful side of her that she didn’t recognise. Another sign that she was emerging from the fog of the last six months? Smiling to herself, Allison sat down at the dressing table and took a brush to her hair. Perhaps so, but it wasn’t only that. It was him. Count Aleksei Derevenko. If she was being skittish—and she did feel rather skittish—then she’d have said that he had been fashioned to her precise design. She’d responded to his body on a basic, visceral level that was unknown to her, and she had flirted—yes, unbelievably, that is what she had done, she’d flirted with him. What’s more, she’d enjoyed it.

      And so had he. He’d wanted to kiss her last night. Had they not been in the ballroom of the Winter Palace—Allison paused mid-brushstroke. She couldn’t believe they had nearly kissed in the middle of a ball in the Winter Palace.

      She resumed her brushing and rolled her eyes at her reflection. She had far too much to lose to make a fool of herself over a man who was her employer, but provided she kept that salient fact in her head, where was the harm in indulging in a light flirtation, if he too was so inclined? She had nothing to lose. She was in St Petersburg, after all. It was pretty much expected of her. What the hell, why not!