Marrying the Governess!

Buttoned-up governess Daisy Milton buries dreams of marriage and family life in order to support her sister and orphaned niece. But maddeningly attractive Adam, Viscount Ravensworth, is one distraction that shakes Daisy’s safe, stable existence.

Now ghosts from Adam’s past in India threaten Daisy’s future. Just what will it take to convince a tightly-laced miss to forgo society’s strict code of conduct…and come undone in the arms of a reformed rake?

Chapter One

July 1837 Gilsland, Cumberland

The carriage’s abrupt stop jolted Adam Ravensworth, the third Viscount of Ravensworth, from a fitful sleep, and sent his cane clattering to the floor of the carriage. Adam gripped the horsehair seat with his long fingers, and narrowly prevented his body from tumbling after the cane.

‘In the name of all that is holy, what sort of driving is that? You are paid to avoid potholes, not drive through them!’ Adam banged on the roof.

Silence filled the unmoving carriage, only to be broken by the tramp of heavy feet and muffled voices. Adam froze, listening. Not poor driving but something far more sinister.

With a practiced hand, he reached towards where his pistol was stored and encountered -- air. A loud oath dropped from his lips.

Adam forced the remains of sleep from his mind. The pistol was there. It had to be. He had placed it alongside the necklace before they left the coaching inn this morning, an integral part of his ritual. His hand groped for the ruby necklace. His shoulders relaxed slightly. That at least was there.

He reached out again, fumbled in the dark with the hidden compartment’s latch, but despite his frantic groping the space remained empty of all weapons. Gone. Vanished.

What else had they done? And when? The fog of sleep clawed at his mind, making it difficult to think. Adam shook his head noting the vile taste in his mouth. Drugged. He swore at his own stupidity. Meticulous planning had gone into this unscheduled stop, but this was where it ended. It would not reach the desire conclusion. He would see to it. Personally.

‘Down from the carriage!’

 ‘Here. What is this all about?’ His new driver Hawkins’s protest was a heartbeat too slow, too certain.

‘We mean business. Stand aside.’

A single shot rang out.

Adam grabbed the ruby necklace and slipped it into the waist band of his trousers. Everything else was replaceable, but not the necklace -- his talisman, a reminder of who he was and what he had done. If he lost the necklace, he might as well be dead.

‘Step out, my lord,’ Hawkins said.

 Adam’s neck muscles relaxed slightly. Hawkins lived. But how loyal was he? His words held the barest veneer of civility.

Rapidly Adam searched on the floor for the pistol, hoping that in some mad moment of sleep, he had dislodged the weapon. Nothing. His hand closed about the cane, a weapon of sorts, something to even the odds.

‘Get out, I say!’ The door rattled again and Hawkins’s voice became harsher. ‘Get out or I will drag your lordship’s carcass from the coach.’

‘When I am ready.’

Adam tugged at the sleeves of his frock coat and straightened his stock. He tucked his cane under his arm and knew he looked the perfect gentleman, perhaps a bit foppish and overly concerned with clothes, but not someone who waited for an opportunity to strike.

 Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the night and surveyed the scene, weighing his options. Seven men, far too many to fight and have a hope of success. Whoever planned this left nothing to chance, but someone always made a mistake.

The leader snapped his fingers and Hawkins plucked the cane from Adam’s hand. ‘Sorry, my lord. The cane is required. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.’

‘Is there some problem, Hawkins?’ Adam kept his voice calm and unhurried, the epitome of an aristocrat who frequented the environs of St James. ‘Why have you stopped the coach? I need to get to Newcastle to catch the packet to London. The Atheneaum’s annual election waits for no man.’

‘Outlaws. Road was blocked ahead and I slowed. These men grabbed the horses’ heads.’ Hawkins shifted from foot to foot as the lantern cast strange elongated shadows. The cane with its hidden sword was now clasped lightly in Hawkins’s unsuspecting hand. ‘It weren’t my fault. Not expecting it like. There was nothing I could do. Honest my lord.’

‘Join me, Hawkins.’ Adam held out his hand, and willed the driver to place the cane into his palm. ‘It is not too late. I will save you, Hawkins.’

Hawkins took a step backwards, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry my lord. They...they threatened... my child.’

‘Indeed and here I thought you a single man without a relation in the world.’ Adam lowered his voice. ‘How much did they pay you, Hawkins? How did they get you – drink, gaming or was it opium? Did you think about your child then?’

Hawkins raised the cane, but Adam caught it before the first blow fell and pulled Hawkins towards him.

 ‘Whatever it was, it won’t be enough.’ Adam saw the man’s contort with uncertainty and fear.

‘Leave Lord Ravensworth to me. I have waited a lifetime for this moment.’ The leader’s muffled voice rang out again. ‘Back to your place. And this time take his cane out of his reach.’

The driver yanked the cane away and turned on his heel.

 Another wave of drug-induced tiredness attacked Adam. He fought against it, fought to stay upright. Survival first. Retribution later.

‘You have something we want. Something you stole.’ The leader’s voice was rough but held a tone that Adam’s brain faintly recognised. ‘A treasure beyond reckoning. Give it here.’

He lifted his hand and Adam saw the tattoo of a blackbird between the man’s thumb and forefinger. The ground shifted beneath Adam’s feet. He knew the tattoo. Once it had a meaning, but that was more than a continent and half a dozen years away. The gang of particularly murderous thieves who preyed on innocent traveller who sported it were dead. The last ones danced from the end of a noose after he had testified in Bombay.

 ‘You are making a serious error,’ Adam said. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Wrong answer.’ A blow struck the side of his head, sent him staggering towards the dark edges of his mind. ‘A rich nabob like you. You brought the treasure from India. You thought yourself beyond the curse. It has taken us a long time but the goddess will be satisfied once we have tasted your blood.’

Adam put his hands on his knees and attempted to breathe. Ghosts did not possess cudgels and curses were for the weak-minded. These were flesh and blood, but who? And why now? When had the tattoo been revived?

 Another blow rained on his back and shoulders -- heavier, harder. He stumbled and fell, lay still and waited. A tiny portion of his mind told him to offer up a prayer for help, but any higher being had forsaken him after India. He knew that.

‘Here, you’ll kill him. They never said nothing about killing. That’s murder like!’ Hawkins squawked.

‘It’s a dirty business. You knew that.’

 ‘It is not here,’ a voice called out

‘Search the carriage again!’

‘What about him?’

‘Him?’ A contemptuous kick landed on Adam’s back. ‘He will be dead before sunlight. Did you see him stagger as he came out? They did their work  at the inn.’

 ‘You will get what you deserve,’ Adam muttered under his breath, but he kept his body still and his face in the mud, waiting.

 ‘I’ll check his person.’

‘It won’t be there. It will in the coach. He didn’t have time like,’ Hawkins protested. ‘He always takes the necklace when he travels. He has a special compartment for it, see. He didn’t have the time or the wit to get it.’

‘Just the same.’ Hands tore at his coat, ripping it from his back.

‘That was a mistake. My tailor hasn’t sent the bill yet,’ Adam said as he flipped over and brought his boots up into his attacker’s chest and kicked hard.

The man flew backwards, collided with another.

Adam crouched for a heartbeat and then began to run. Behind him, he heard the screech of the men and call of the dogs. He did not stop until he reached a small cliff, lit silver in the moonlight. He checked his step as a stone bounced down and hit the river.

The dogs howled again, closer. Two shots rang out.

Adam kicked off his boots, grabbed them with one hand, jumped and allowed the current to take him.

--#--

‘Miss Milton! Miss Milton. You must come. A man is lying by the river. Without any clothes on! Undressed -- that is to say naked!’

Daisy Milton glanced up from her sister Felicity’s latest letter about their niece and the unwelcome return of her illness, alarmed at her young charge’s words. A naked man? Here in this peaceful spot? Nella Blandish was supposed to be gathering flowers for a botany project, not spying. She had given the strictest orders. But Nella had returned with her hat ribbon askew, pinafore stained, no flowers and another outlandish tale.

There were times when a governess was forced to make a judgement. Her sister’s problems would have to wait.

‘Truly Miss Milton, there is a naked man! I saw him with my very own eyes.’

Daisy folded the letter and replaced it in the wicker basket, each movement precise and unhurried. ‘Is this another of your fables, Prunella Blandish? This one does bear some semblance to last week’s tale about the lion eating buttercups.’

 ‘It is the truth…this time, Miss Milton. Honest, there is a naked man. You could see everything – all the way to kingdom come.’ Nella’s bottom lip stuck out and she shook her golden curls. ‘I watched him and watched him and he has not moved. He lies there, feet dangling in the water, head resting on a log.’

‘And what was this naked man of yours doing before he started lying there? Swimming?’ Daisy strove to keep her voice calm. She refused to enquire what this Everything-to-Kingdom-Come Nella saw was. If Nella’s tale was true, and if they did encounter this man on the way back to the house, she would explain in a quiet but firm voice about common decency and the necessity of wearing something when bathing.

 Nella’s reactions were only natural, the result of being a lively twelve year old. But what would Mrs Blandish say once Nella related the tale? And Nella’s sister? A tiny pain appeared behind Daisy’s eyes. She needed this position and its wage.

 No one ever set out to be a governess, least of all, her. But Felicity had to spend her time looking after their niece, and the annuity from her father was barely enough for one to manage on, let alone three. There was little to be done with falling sickness but she completely agreed with Felicity that Kammie must be kept at home. It was Felicity, not her, who bore the hardest burden. Daisy’s sole contribution was to provide what funds she could.

‘How should I know, Miss Milton, what the man was doing before I saw him?’ Nella adopted her butter wouldn’t melt face. ‘You always tell me to refrain from speculating.’

‘It is lovely afternoon in July.’ Daisy kept her voice light and tried to regain some of her authority. ‘I do hope you came away without saying anything. It would have been the height of bad manners, Prunella, to interrupt a man’s bathing.’

‘He wasn’t bathing. He was lying there in his altogether...’ Nella’s brow wrinkled and she clasped her hands under her chin, the very picture of injured innocence. ‘That is the very honest truth, Miss Milton.’

Daisy frowned, tapping her fingers against the basket.

How many times had she heard the words – the very honest truth --over the past few months only discover that Nella had managed to exaggerate or somehow twist the story until it bore little resemblance to the actual sequence of events? This tale stopped here.

‘You solemnly promised your dearest mama no more tales or untruths.’

‘I know what I saw, Miss Milton...’ Nella pushed her bonnet more firmly on to her head. ‘I’ll prove it. Don’t you want to see the man? Judge for yourself?’

To see the man? Daisy set her bonnet more firmly on her head and smoothed the pleats of her black stuff gown. Nella made it seem as if she was some sort of sex-starved spinster who had nothing better to do than spy on men bathing. She had a healthy appreciation of the masculine form, but the consequences had to be considered. Someone had to contain Nella’s enthusiasm.

‘It fails to be a question of want, Prunella, but of decorum.’

‘It would be the Christian thing to do,’ Nella’s being positively glowed as the idea took hold in her brain. ‘To see if he was in trouble and needed our aide. He could have gone over the waterfall, or have been attacked by brigands...or...’

‘I do know my Christian duty. Thank you, Prunella. And I endeavour to do it. Always. As you should.’

  Daisy checked the little watch pinned to her gown. Nearly half past three. Did they have time to investigate? She could then deliver the Importance of Always Telling the Truth lecture for the seventh time in as many days when Nella’s falsehood was revealed.

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