Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner

her and caught her there.’ He hoped no one had truly noticed her in the shadows before. But he doubted they had. At first, the bonnet had hidden her face and covered her hair. She’d remained in shadows, her presence overridden by the woman on the stage. Then, when he’d moved her outside, her clothing dishevelled—everyone had noticed them and the light reflected on her hair when the door opened.

      He took a breath, gathering his thoughts. ‘The driver had to keep the horses steady while fighting off the dog and didn’t realise Miss—’ If he’d heard her surname, he’d forgotten it ‘—my Isabel had exited the carriage and been attacked.’

      His father stared. ‘And why would a woman of quality be wishing to meet you there?’

      ‘We had corresponded. We were to go to Gretna Green. I plan to wed her, but could not start out with her in such a state. That is why I bought the new carriage. To elope. She is waiting at Sophia’s to recover and then we will marry.’

      The heat of the day had collected in the room and the Viscount rubbed sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand.

      ‘She is alive? A reddish-haired woman?’

      ‘Very much alive. She is a good woman. I wish to marry her. We are betrothed.’

      His father examined William’s face. ‘Without so much of the piffle spread in—did you attack her?’

      ‘No. I could never do that.’ He used his eyes to convince his father. ‘She didn’t realise where she was.’

      ‘You believe her?’

      He nodded. ‘She is a country squire’s daughter. She had no notion.’

      ‘From the country, you say?’ He shut his eyes. ‘And you have been corresponding with her and she agreed to meet you—’

      ‘Father. We have corresponded many times while she trained to be a governess. We were not certain, with the differences in our station, that people would accept our union. So I thought it best, to avoid dissension, to present Isabel as my wife.’

      ‘You can produce her for view?’

      ‘Of course.’

      The Viscount slammed his cane against the door frame. ‘I will remember this story well enough. I cannot have my only son accused of defiling a woman. I cannot.’

      ‘I didn’t. When she didn’t meet me as planned, I found her crouching behind Wren’s and without thinking I took her through the place, hoping I might see the cutpurse and have him contained.’

      ‘I could not believe what the others are saying, but I have heard the tales of your courting the women of the demi-monde. You are known in every gambling hell and tavern in London. And yet, you say you were with an innocent miss. If she weds you I will know you tell enough of the truth. If she doesn’t, I forbid your name spoken to me and I’ll not have it said in my presence that I have a son.’

      He stopped mid-turn to the door and then returned his gaze to William. ‘Should I trust you enough to spend the day at the club laughing at the tale Sylvester is telling because he thinks to get me to switch funds his way and a jest got out of hand?’

      ‘Yes.’ The word had the strength of a church bell.

      He turned his back to his son. ‘I will explain this fluff to your Aunt Emilia and she will begin combating the tales. But you must produce this sweetheart of yours and she must be at your side. And she’d better have red in her hair.’

      Every rail on the bannister sounded to have received a thwack from the cane as the Viscount left the house.

      William went to the window. His mouth was dry. He put a hand on the wooden shutter running the length of the door. No, the houses across the way were not like his. He swung his leg back, planning to kick out the window, but returned his boot to the carpet. He could not. If he did, they would think him the one cracked and no one would believe him innocent.

      He would marry. Isabel must understand. His future depended on her saying yes.

       Chapter Four

      The clean dress looked more mending thread than cloth, but it did wonders for Isabel’s spirit. She held the skirt away from her body and curtsied to her image in the mirror. She dreaded sitting down to dinner with Sophia and her husband because she’d never eaten in such a fine house and she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself.

      A maid knocked, then entered when Isabel answered. ‘Miss, you are requested to the mistress’s sitting room.’ The woman darted away before Isabel moved.

      Truly, she didn’t want to step outside the bedchamber. But she must. She must put on a brave face and accept her fate as a governess. Quickly, she practised the brave face in the mirror and then she laughed at herself. To be safe was all that mattered.

      She would regain that governess position without losing her reputation. Her parents had sacrificed so that she might attend Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies and have the best education they could provide. She could not reward them by failing to be able to care for herself.

      When she walked into the sitting room, Sophia wasn’t present. A lone figure sat on the sofa. William, legs stretched, his gaze on some distant thought. Her spirit leapt. Isabel rushed forward to thank him again. William rose from the sofa, legs straightening in a controlled slowness.

      She lost her thoughts. She’d not seen a man such as him. Ever. He could have trampled any man in one of her novels. This lone man had saved her against a man with a knife. His inside was as magnificent as his outside.

      A true rescuer in gentleman’s clothing. The cravat, perfect. The waistcoat under his dark coat gold with matching buttons.

      ‘I do not know how I will ever thank you,’ she said.

      His lips thinned, then turned up. His kept his gaze on her. His eyes had no true happiness in them, but his mouth seemed determined to laugh.

      ‘Marriage?’ he asked.

      She leaned forward. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

      He clasped his hands behind him. ‘Will you be so kind as to wed me? Vows. For ever. All that nonsense.’

      She needed two tries before she could speak. For ever? Nonsense? ‘You did save my life,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I could stitch you up a rather nice nightcap. My father quite likes the one I did for him.’

      ‘We have quite a kettle boiling around us,’ he said, leaning his shoulders forward and tipping his head close to hers. He smelled better than any perfume she’d ever scented. Perhaps like lilacs, but not flowery. More like something to deflect the scent of shaving and masculinity and things that might tempt a woman.

      Yet the words he spoke had no sweet fragrance in them.

      For ever? Nonsense? She had dreamt of true love. Of all that ‘for ever’ and ‘nonsense’. And even asked that if there were angels up above, one might send a nice vicar or soldier her way. He didn’t need all his teeth, or hair or even the usual number of fingers or toes, and this man seemed to have all that, whereas a man missing a few parts might be more willing to share all his love to find a wife. She wanted someone who gazed upon her as a shining star. Someone who could shower her with love...and perhaps not be found in a brothel. Although she could not complain he had been at Wren’s the night before, but still that didn’t induce her to wed him.

      She put a firm, competent look on her face. ‘I am quite good at making stockings which keep the feet warm on a cold night,’ she said.

      He shut his eyes briefly and pulled back, lips upturned, as if they knew no other direction. ‘You would not ever know I was about. I doubt I would be home enough you’d notice. You would be a governess of sorts still, but it could be for your own children. One would hope for children to be a part of the endeavour.’

      Oh,