A Family For The Widowed Governess. Ann Lethbridge

her. Pain?

      She narrowed her eyes. ‘Good day, Lord Compton.’ She spun around and marched back the way she had come.

      How dare she come here and accuse him of not looking after his children? And...and did she think he was going to beat them? Damn her, for judging him so poorly. ‘Johnson, get a chain and a lock and secure the damned gate. And find out who left it open.’

      He strode for the nursery. As he expected, his daughters, his little girls, were gathered around Nanny’s chair. They looked so innocent. So sweet. They were the bane of his life.

      No. No. That was not true. But somewhere along the line he had lost control. And that would not do. A man needed to be in control of his family or bad things happened. A shudder ran down his spine. The memory of what had happened to his wife when she took it in her head to go visit her scallywag of a brother without his knowledge leapt to the forefront of his mind. If he had been stricter, more in control of his wife, she would be alive today.

      ‘Elizabeth, what on earth were you thinking?’ He fixed his gaze on his oldest daughter. ‘I have warned you about this sort of thing. This was your last chance, I am afraid. As I said, you must face the consequences.’

      ‘Now, now, Master Jack,’ Nanny said. ‘What has you in a pelter?’

      ‘In a pelter?’ He stared at the woman who had been his wife’s nanny. ‘I can assure you I am not in a pelter. I would simply like to be informed why my daughters ignored my orders and went roaming the countryside. That is not too much to ask, is it?’

      Elizabeth stared at the carpet and the toe of her shoe traced the pattern on the carpet. ‘No, Papa,’ she whispered.

      Now he felt like an ogre. He steeled his resolve. He could not give in. Would not.

      ‘We wanted to find a frog,’ Janey announced as if that was a perfectly good explanation. ‘Bert told Sam there are frogs in that field over there. He put one in his sister’s bed and made her scream.’

      She was talking about two of his grooms. Which meant they had been hanging about the stables. Another thing they were not supposed to do. Horses were dangerous.

      Janey’s eyes filled with tears. ‘But we couldn’t catch one. Then I wanted to pick a bouquet for you, but I couldn’t reach the flower and then the weeds bit Lizzie and she screamed. I was frightened.’

      He winced. ‘Were you?’

      She nodded. ‘Then the nice lady came along.’ She beamed up at him. ‘And here we are.’ Her expression changed. ‘We didn’t mean to be bad, Papa. It won’t happen again.’ Her lower lip trembled. He reached out and she stepped into the circle of his arm.

      ‘No crying,’ he said. He couldn’t bear it if they cried. He picked her up and held her close to his chest. Unfortunately, they knew their tears troubled him and he was never sure if they were real or if they were simply using them to get their way.

      He also did not fancy carrying out his threat. But how could he run his estate if he was always worrying about his girls getting into some sort of scrape? His only option was to send for his spinster aunt Ermintrude. She would keep the girls in order.

      He’d been terrified of her as a lad. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot have the rules disregarded in this way. I will write to your great-aunt today.’

      Nanny paled. ‘They won’t do it again, dearie.’

      Netty climbed on to Nanny’s lap and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Almost three already. He could scarcely believe it was nearly two years since Amanda had been brutally murdered. And still Netty wasn’t talking. Nanny kept telling him there was nothing wrong. That she would talk when she was ready, but Jack was starting to worry.

      ‘Please, Papa,’ Elizabeth said, clasping her little hands to her chest. ‘We promise we won’t do it again.’

      No tears from Elizabeth.

      ‘You promise?’ he said, suddenly weary. ‘On your word of honour?’

      ‘Yes. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

      He put Janey down. ‘This really is your very last chance.’

      ‘Yes, Papa,’ the girls chorused.

      Exhaustion rose in him. ‘Very well. But I am holding you to your promise. A Vincent always keep his or her word.’

      They hung their heads. ‘Yes, Papa.’

      Nanny cocked her head on one side. ‘You did thank the lady, my lord? For bringing the girls home?’

      Had he? All he recalled was trying to defend himself from her unwarranted attacks on his character. Damn, no doubt he’d been rude. He usually was these days. He didn’t have time for niceties and walking around on eggshells. ‘I will thank her next time I see her. And I will see you both at bedtime.’

      He left before they convinced him to do something else that was against his better judgement. Frogs indeed. Apologies to rude young women. Yet another chance. Was he losing his grip on things?

      He pitied the men who married his daughters. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

      Not that he had any intention of letting any man within a hundred miles of them before they were at least twenty-five.

      Perhaps he should try another governess. The girls had chased two off already. He needed one with a strong character.

      * * *

      Two days later, and after another foray into a bog closer to home, Marguerite could not get the sight of those dejected little girls out of her mind. Nor the way their father loomed over them. He’d been terrifying. Dark haired, broad shouldered, tall and ruggedly handsome. Handsome? Well and so he might be, but looks meant nothing. It was actions. He was clearly a brute.

      She had wanted to say more on the matter of punishment, but she also knew that sometimes arguing with angry males only made them worse. She could only hope that he had calmed down before he decided on a punishment. He had seemed to listen to her words, even if he had seemed shocked by her temerity at speaking up.

      She had quickly learned not to argue with Neville or he would find some way to hurt her: a pinch on her arm, a slap to the back of her head, places where no one would see the marks. But Neville was gone and she was dashed if she would remain silent while another man did things she did not like.

      Marguerite stared at the dissected flower on the table. She needed to stop thinking about the broodingly handsome Lord Compton and his children and concentrate on drawing this plant. She only had this one to complete and she would have completed her contract and she could send them away. If all was approved, she should get her payment within two weeks.

      Lord knew she needed it.

      Instead of worrying about those two little girls she should be worrying about what was in the pantry for dinner. But that would have to come later, when she had finished this sketch. She picked up her ruler and measured each yellow petal.

      * * *

      When next she raised her gaze, she realised what had been troubling her for the past half-hour. She rubbed her eyes. It was almost too dark to see. With the light rapidly fading, she would have to finish the work tomorrow. She got up, stretched and lit two candles. Not enough to work by, but enough that she would not fall over the furniture.

      She went down to the kitchen. Bread and cheese would have to do for this evening.

      A scrap of paper sticking out from beneath her door caught her eye. Her stomach fell away. It could not be... He had given her a month to get the money together. She snatched up the paper and took it over to the table, where the light was better.

      Five pounds. A week hence. To be deducted from the final payment.

      She dropped her head in her hands. How on earth could she get five pounds in a week? She would have to meet him and explain.

      Oh, what an