Page 19 of The Governess and the Rogue

“In all seriousness⁠—”

“In all seriousness,” Miss Layton said, “swimming would be preferable to the alternative.” She folded her hands tight in her lap. “She’ll likely demand that I pay her back for my fare. That was the agreement, passage home from India in exchange for my looking after the four children.”

“Was there anything in that agreement about physical abuse? Or about being subjected to overtures made by the family patriarch?”

“Of course not.”

“Then—”

“You’re speaking as though any of it were fair. As though their conduct to me was governed by law, or… or basic good manners. It isn’t that way with servants. We’re at the mercy of our employers. And if you’re me…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Go on,” Jack prompted.

She took a deep breath. “Being a governess is already difficult.”

“Because of the Dimsdale children.”

“No. That is . . . yes, but not only because of them. It’s the position itself that poses the problem.” She hesitated again before explaining, “A governess is neither lady, nor servant. We lead an in-between existence, snubbed by our betters and shunned by those who feel we think we’re better than them. It’s a fact in even the finest houses, and with the very best, most capable governesses. And I . . . I am not the best governess.”

Jack’s throat tightened. She looked so alone. So defeated. He had to stifle the urge to set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. It’s what he would have done if she were his younger sister, Kate.

But the last thing Miss Layton needed right now was another man pawing at her, however well intended.

“You’re too severe on yourself,” he said.

“I am not,” she informed him. And then: “Service hasn’t come easily to me. I’m constantly failing. Making mistakes. I can’t converse in fluent French. I regularly mistake countries on the globe. I’m over-opinionated, I laugh too much, and I too often speak my mind. If that doesn’t convince you I’m a lost cause⁠—”

“Not at all,” Jack said stoutly. “It makes me like you all the more.”

“You’re just trying to reassure me.”

“Precisely. A heroic effort too, if I say so myself. I would that you could do the same for me.”

“You don’t require my reassurance,” she said, dashing the heel of her hand across her cheek.

Jack started. Good lord. Was she wiping away a tear?

She glanced at him again when he didn’t answer. Her eyes were indeed damp. “Do you?” she asked.

“You seem to forget that I just told your employer who I am,” Jack said.

“He’s in no condition to repeat the information.”

“Not tonight he isn’t, but in the morning, he’ll be broadcasting it all over the ship. First to his wife, then to his friends in the gaming saloon. From there, the news will spread like wildfire.”

Jack could already imagine the result.

The instant Mrs. Farraday learned he was on board, she would be fast on his scent, keen as a hound at the commencement of foxhunting season. And Jack was no longer a healthy fox, capable of outrunning his pursuer. The odds were far greater than usual that he’d be cornered, trapped, caught.

Miss Layton’s brow puckered. “Truly? But then⁠—”

“The hunt for one Jack Beresford will resume,” Jack pronounced grimly.

A spark of feminine interest flickered at the back of her gaze. “Is that your given name? Jack?”

“It is.” He smiled, briefly diverted. “Dare I ask yours?”

“Beatrice,” she said. “Or Bea, if you like. That’s what my parents called me before they passed away.”