The Unconventional Governess. Jessica Nelson

      Her second reason for not outright denying Lord St. Raven is that he had made a good point. Louise needed someone who cared. And for some reason, perhaps because of their shared orphan state, she did.

      Groaning, she rolled out of the bed to face the day.

      And the handsome earl for whom she was going to accept a governess position.

      The guests dispersed after an involved luncheon. Henrietta hardly noticed. Her mind was preoccupied. She saw Lord St. Raven at one point, and offered him a nod, but he looked peaked and wan. Perhaps he’d woken with a stomachache as well, she thought ruefully.

      Her mind conjured multiple scenarios. She paced her room. She ate four scones and drank three cups of hot chocolate.

      Finally, around the three-o’clock hour, she sent Lord St. Raven a note via a housemaid that she would accept his offer and be ready to leave whenever he required.

      Then she found Lady Brandewyne resting in the solarium. The bright room captured sunlight with oversized windows and then painted glowing swaths of yellow across the terra-cotta floors. Fauna of varying colors lined the walls and a cheery bench sat in the middle of the room for those wishing to admire the views.

      “What did you think of the 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