A Family For The Widowed Governess. Ann Lethbridge

The walk to Westram Cottage seemed impossibly far.

      ‘Lady Marguerite? Is that indeed you?’

      She spun around, hand to heart. ‘Lord Compton?’

      He had clearly just emerged from the Green Man. What a surprise to see him in Westram since he lived closer to Ightham.

      ‘What are you doing out here at this time of night?’ His voice contained suspicion.

      ‘I have been visiting a friend and am on my way home.’

      ‘Alone?’

      Now he sounded shocked. Men. They always judged one, whether they had the right or not.

      ‘This is Westram,’ she said coolly. ‘Not the streets of London.’

      ‘Allow me to escort you to your front door, my lady.’ He bowed and held out his arm.

      She would be an idiot to trust any man. He had come out of the inn. Men in their cups were inclined to be difficult. Neville had been at his most malicious when bosky.

      ‘I would not trouble you, my lord. It is only a few steps.’

      ‘It is no trouble at all.’

      He was clearly going to insist. He did not sound drunk. He wasn’t swaying or slurring his words. Giving in to him might be better than refusing and arousing more curiosity.

      Meekly, she took his arm, but she was ready to run if he showed any signs of aggression.

      They walked together in silence. For such a big man, he stepped lightly and matched his stride to hers. The lane became dark as they moved away from the torchlight on the walls of the inn. She glanced around nervously.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

      She found herself listening carefully to his voice. It was nothing like the blackmailer’s light reedy tenor. Lord Compton’s voice was a pleasant rumbling bass.

      ‘Everything is fine, thank you,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’

      ‘Your hand trembled when you laid it upon my sleeve.’

      Her throat became dry. Was her fear so obvious?

      ‘You startled me, looming out of the dark that way.’

      ‘I must beg your pardon, then.’ He walked a few more steps. ‘At this risk of sounding like too anxious a parent, may I ask you how you found my daughters? Were they truly co-operative?’

      Why would he ask yet again? Was he trying to find some fault with his girls? Some transgression that required punishment? They had been so very timid in his presence.

      ‘They did very well at their lessons.’

      ‘And they did not plague you at all?’

      She frowned. ‘Not at all.’

      ‘Good. They must like you.’

      ‘They need more than drawing lessons if they are to be properly educated. They scarcely know how to write their names.’

      Another long silence. ‘I must seek another governess, I suppose.’ He sounded unwilling.

      An idea popped into her head. A way to get the girls out from under his repressive rule. ‘Why not send them to school? There are several excellent academies in and around London where they can make friends with other girls of their age.’

      As a child she had always wanted to go away to school after hearing Red’s stories of fun and companionship. It had fallen to her to care for Petra, Jonathan and Papa after Mama died and she had been needed at home. Her drawing and painting had been the one activity that allowed her a bit of freedom from responsibility.

      ‘No.’ He spoke with such vehemence she drew away from him.

      ‘It was merely a suggestion.’

      ‘I went away to school. I know the sort of high jinks that occur out of the eye of the schoolmasters.’ He thrust his elbow towards her and she set her jaw and once more took his arm. She could not risk alienating him. Not when she needed his money.

      ‘I am sure you know what is best for your children,’ she said as calmly as she could manage. ‘I did wonder, though...’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Well, perhaps they might like to go outdoors once in a while. To draw from nature. We could set easels up outside at the edge of the lawn and—’

      ‘They are better off in the schoolroom. They can see all the nature they need from the windows.’

      She bit her lip. The man was impossible. ‘Children need fresh air. They need to run and climb and experience the world. I am not surprised they ran away if you do not give them a bit of freedom.’

      He stiffened. ‘I will thank you to leave the decisions regarding my children’s welfare to me.’

      She bit back a sharp retort. It really was none of her business how he decided to raise his children.

      They reached her gate. The porch lantern she had left burning lit their path to the front door.

      She put her key in the lock.

      He shook his head. ‘What is your family thinking, leaving you to manage alone?’

      How was this his business? Did he think to control her life, too? ‘My lord, I am a grown woman. I manage perfectly well.’ Or she would, if it were not for the man threatening to ruin her life.

      The light from the lantern softened his features, making him look younger, and handsome, rather than forbidding. Her insides gave a little flutter of feminine appreciation. She froze. This was not a reaction she either expected or wanted. The meeting with the blackmailer must be playing on her nerves.

      ‘No woman alone is entirely safe, Lady Marguerite. As a magistrate, I have reason to know this. Walking out alone at night is in itself a recipe for disaster. And, you know, I have a vested interest in your safety. My daughters would not like to lose their teacher.’

      With a start she recalled hearing that his wife had been murdered while out one evening alone. And he was not wrong. Only moments ago, in that dark alley she had been terrified for her life. ‘Then I shall be more careful in future.’

      He bowed. ‘Goodnight, Lady Marguerite.’

      ‘Lord Compton.’

      She stepped inside, then closed and bolted the door. She leaned her back against it, listening for his retreating footsteps. She had the strangest feeling that he had lingered, waiting to hear the bolt slide home.

      Imagination. He had no real reason to care if she was safe or not, even if he was a man who liked to control the lives of those around him. Besides, she would never be safe until she dealt with her persecutor.

      Once that occurred, she would also be free of His Lordship’s unsettling presence. He was far too domineering, too strict in his notions with regard to his daughters, for her liking. She could not help but be sorry for the poor little motherless mites.

      Perhaps that was what they needed. A mother.

      A handsome and wealthy man like Lord Compton ought to have no trouble finding a wife. A little stab of something pierced her heart. What, was she jealous of this unknown female and future wife? Surely not?

      As she knew to her cost, good looks and wealth did not guarantee happiness.