Governesses Under The Mistletoe. Liz Tyner

a glass to her lips and three glittering bracelets slid on her glove. Four musicians played and only about twenty people bustled about in the room.

      William led her to a woman and introduced her.

      ‘So at last we meet your love,’ the lady responded.

      William’s smile beamed. But his expression froze for just that instant the word love lingered in the air.

      Their eyes caught. ‘Yes, we have not been wed long,’ she said, looking adoringly at him. Now wed caused his warm brown eyes to have flecks that looked like spear tips. She didn’t wish to end the evening impaled so she struck the offensive words from her vocabulary.

      Apparently, he didn’t like profane speech.

      ‘Ah.’ A voice at her elbow jarred her. No one had been standing there a second ago. ‘I believe no introductions are necessary for me,’ the voice said.

      ‘They are.’ William’s smile never faltered, as he introduced his cousin to her.

      From a direct view, Sylvester’s delicate features and long-limbed stance would have made artists ask him to pose, but when his head turned and she saw his profile Isabel noticed that, when in shadows, he could have passed for a well-attired weasel, in a handsome sort of way.

      ‘May I have the first of what I expect to be many, many dances throughout the years?’ Sylvester bowed as he spoke.

      William answered as Sylvester finished the question, ‘As long as you mind your manners.’ The commanding inflection in his voice couldn’t be mistaken.

      ‘Correct,’ Sylvester answered, holding his arm for her to grasp. ‘I could never do anything else with my enchanting new cousin.’

      Sylvester whisked her away for a dance and she dodged his conversation easily. One didn’t attend a governess school without having lessons in how to handle impertinent questions.

      When the dance ended, he led her to the refreshments, and she suspected it was because the other guests had abandoned the area to begin a reel.

      ‘I am impressed,’ he said. ‘Both with my cousin’s choice and your ability to dance, not just with your feet, but with words as well, manoeuvring the talk back to me each time I spoke of Will.’

      ‘The two of you are quite close and I’m sure you know all there is to know of him and only wish to learn my thoughts on the matter. I assure you, I feel the deepest loyalty to William Balfour.’

      He grinned in response. ‘My loyalty to him comes and goes, and I know it is not possible yet for you to have found out all the cracks and crevices in our world.’

      ‘I would like to never find them out. So you may keep your silence.’

      ‘Ah, Cousin. You speak the impossible.’ He handed her a lemon drink, which surprised her as she expected him to give her the punch. ‘I was merely a pawn in the elders’ plan to shake William into the game of producing an heir. William may have let it slip to Mother that he never, ever intended to go through the uncertainty of watching children mature and having the responsibility. He may have felt that Harriet’s birth contributed to his mother’s illness. Everyone else thought so.’

      ‘Your mother would scheme so?’

      ‘It is not scheming—it is her family concern. She feels she didn’t assist William enough when his mother died and she is making it correct now.’

      The pianoforte sounded and the violinists began. Sylvester stepped closer so he could hear her.

      Isabel took in a breath. ‘He was hardly more than a child when his mother died. He couldn’t have been expected to handle it all on his own. And yet I understand he certainly did much of it.’

      ‘I would say he did all of it. Including the care of his father. The Viscount was near bedfast after the death just because he could not go on. My own mother had her hands full with her family and could not help. William had three sisters. Grieving.’

      ‘He grieved, too.’

      ‘I doubt his sisters let him.’ Assured words.

      She indicated a glass of the drink for him, but he shook his head.

      ‘William often confided to me he expected never to marry,’ he said, ‘and part of that was because he wished never to have the worries of children. When I heard you were trained as a governess, the marriage made sense. A woman experienced in care for little ones. William has said to me many times that he managed his sisters and he does not wish to become a parent again. After Harriet got lost in the woods, I heard his recriminations to himself. When Sophia noted how dashing the foxed soldier was and thought he might need a wife to write to, William rushed straight to Mother to get her help. He now has enlisted her assistance on getting the other two wed also. Said she had had good luck with Sophia’s marriage.’

      She could not follow his conversation well because her mind had fixed on the first part of it. ‘I don’t think that my training as a governess mattered.’

      ‘I would not bet the stables on that. Not that I do not think any man would find you appealing for a wife.’ His cheeks reddened. ‘But William was sincere in his intention not to wed. But I can see—’ His face brightened more and he reached for the glass nearest and gulped down some of the lemon drink. Made a face and looked at the glass and swallowed as if trying to get the last vestiges from his taste. ‘A governess. A person to care for the children. You know what I mean.’

      ‘Yes. But, he is close to his sisters.’

      ‘In a distant way. He is nearer Sophia now that she has married and has a husband to care for her. If you’ll note, even the horses, Marvel and Ivory, were at his father’s home. William prefers a wide swathe around him.’

      ‘Thank you for keeping your cousin’s confidences.’

      ‘I have,’ he said, leaving and tossing a wink her way. ‘With family.’

      He moved to the outer doors where William now stood and both began talking.

      She didn’t doubt a word Sylvester said. William had put some distance between himself and everyone else. It could have started when his mother died, or when he realised she was sick. Or earlier. It didn’t matter.

      Isabel took the lemon drink, finished it and noted the punch with reluctance. She was not sure how it had been mixed. She had heard the drinks ladies mixed for themselves often had more strength than what might be found in the men’s glasses.

      Isabel reached for a drink. The punch had its use. She was stranded in a sea of jewellery and wanted something to float about on.

      On her first day at what she’d then called Madame Dubois’s School for Abandoned Young Ladies, her parents had done exactly the same. They had introduced her, smiled all around and then she’d been on her own.

      Her mother had made her leave her doll at home, telling her that she was all grown up. She didn’t know what had happened to that plaything, but it would be nice to have her now, except, she supposed, the punch was the more mature version.

      The liquid slid into her stomach, marking progress with heat. No, she’d never had any drink mixed quite so liberally. Putting the rim of the glass to her lips, she took an even tinier sip than before. Oh, she could quite shake the jewellery if she wished to.

      More dancing. The music was quite good. The dancers were quite accomplished. The world was quite perfect around her. Just like the first day of school. Society, even a children’s one, didn’t allow cowering in the corner. Sipping very, very slowly, she examined the room, ignoring the glittery baubles.

      This event was to set the stage for the rest of her life. She smiled and replaced the glass, reminding herself that no one could see beyond a confident smile into quivering insides.

      Something bumped her from behind and she turned, a turban brushing her face. White hair straggled from the head-covering and one eye had a milky frost and the other a clear