Page 27 of The Governess and the Rogue

“How dare you!” Mrs. Dimsdale cried.

“As for my complaining,” Bea continued sharply, “I wouldn’t have to if your children were possessed of a shred of basic good manners.”

“Insolent jade! I won’t hear another word⁠—”

“There’s a reason you’ve been unable to keep a governess for them. And it’s got nothing to do with those governess’s failings, and everything to do with your failures as a parent.”

“Hateful creature!” Mrs. Dimsdale’s reply vibrated with fury. “First you malign my husband, and now my sons and my innocent daughter? Be grateful I’m only dismissing you. I could just as easily have you arrested for fraud and for obtaining this position by false pretenses!”

Jack’s blood ran cold. Could she, by heaven? He would see about that.

Tightening his hand on his cane, he limped into the saloon. Bea stood at attention in front of an expensively clad, red-faced lady seated in a tall-backed chair. Mrs. Dimsdale, Jack presumed. Her chin was wobbling with fury.

“For that’s what you did, I vow,” she went on scathingly. “Accepted employment with us purely to secure your passage. You had no intention of doing the work for which we hired you. And you shan’t do it now. I’ll have no devious slatterns in my household. As to the monies you owe us for your board and fare⁠—”

“Good morning, ladies,” Jack said suavely.

Bea’s head turned with a start. Her blue eyes widened, taking in the whole of him—from the close-cropped layers of his golden-blond hair to the polished sheen of his boots—in one arrested glance.

Mrs. Dimsdale did the same, yet nowhere near as discreetly. Her eyes bulged and her mouth fell open. She stared at Jack for a full five seconds before closing it. “I declare—it can’t be, can it?” She moved to stand. “Upon my soul, but it is! Colonel Beresford, a passenger on the Pera! Why did no one tell me of this?”

“You have the advantage of me, ma’am,” Jack said. “You know my name, yet I have no recollection of meeting you.”

Mrs. Dimsdale hurried to greet him, the lace trimming on her morning gown rustling loudly in the sudden silence of the saloon. “We were never formally introduced. But I was in Delhi when you visited with General Havelock.” Stopping in front of Jack, she dropped him a deep curtsy. “You might remember my husband, Mr. Dimsdale. He often played polo with the officers.”

“In fact, I met your husband last night,” Jack said. “An encounter I’m not likely to forget.”

Mrs. Dimsdale’s smile wavered at the lack of warmth in Jack’s words. She shot a look at Bea, as though she were to blame for it.

Bea remained standing by the chair. She was wearing one of her plain wool dresses again, but there was nothing else plain about her. Not today. Rather than looking cowed or fearful, she appeared as formidable as a diminutive Amazon, with bright eyes and cheeks flushed, not with blushes this time, but with something approaching anger.

Jack’s heart performed a disconcerting somersault.

“I must apologize,” Mrs. Dimsdale said to him. “You’ve caught me in the middle of a minor domestic matter. That person is a former servant of mine who I’ve been given cause to discharge.”

“Can I be of assistance?” Jack inquired.

“How very gallant of you to offer,” Mrs. Dimsdale replied with a girlish titter. “I would be⁠—”

“I wasn’t asking you, ma’am,” Jack said. “I was asking Miss Layton.”

Chapter Nine

It was all Bea could do not to gawp at Jack like a beached mackerel.

So, this is what all the fuss was over. The reason he had been hounded across continents, pursued like some mythical golden hind.

He wasn’t only handsome.

He was, as Pearl had stated, outrageously handsome.

Far too handsome to be troubling himself over Bea’s problems. And yet, he was doing just that.

Her chest tightened on an unnerving swell of gratitude.

Until this moment, she had been resigned to forging ahead on her own. And doing a rather good job of it, she thought, despite the certain knowledge that she was burning her bridges behind her. But to have Jack appear in all his splendor, and for him to ally himself with her, was akin to having a crushing weight lifted from her shoulders.

For the first time in Bea’s life, she wasn’t facing the firing squad alone.