Page 28 of The Governess and the Rogue

Mrs. Dimsdale’s thin brows elevated all the way to her hairline. “Do you mean to say that you know my children’s governess, Colonel Beresford?”

“I have that honor,” Jack replied.

Mrs. Dimsdale looked between the two of them with swift displeasure. There was only one reason an impoverished governess would be acquainted with an unmarried gentleman who was not of her class and it had nothing to do with honor.

“So,” she said, turning on Bea. “Your crimes have managed to outpace even the ones for which you stand accused. Not content with defiance and deception, you’ve seen fit to add harlotry to your list.”

Bea’s cheeks burned with mortification. In all her many trips before various firing squads over the years, she’d never yet been accused of that. Impertinence, yes. Even insubordination. But never a lapse of morality.

Jack’s expression was transformed by a thunderous scowl. “Now see here, madam⁠—”

“You misunderstand,” Bea said at the same time. “Colonel Beresford and I are⁠—”

“Are what?” Mrs. Dimsdale demanded.

Bea’s gaze found Jack’s. They’re eyes met for a weighted moment. Something seemed to pass between them. Bea felt it as surely as if he’d taken her hand just as he had last night, his voice deep and his manner reassuring, promising her that his plan “would solve everything.”

This time, Bea believed it.

The words emerged from her lips before she could stop them. “We are engaged to be married.”

Mrs. Dimsdale’s face drained of color. “You’re what?”

“Miss Layton and I are engaged,” Jack confirmed without missing a beat.

The next thing Bea knew, he was at her side. She had no memory of him walking there, or of anything else for that matter. She feared she may have fallen into some manner of self-induced shock.

“Naturally she can no longer remain in your employ,” Jack said. “She’s under my protection now. As to the accusations you’ve levied—” He took a step toward Mrs. Dimsdale, sufficient to make her draw back. “I’ll thank you not to repeat them. You will find me woefully absent a sense of humor when it comes to gossip about the lady who is soon-to-be my wife.”

“But Colonel,” Mrs. Dimsdale sputtered. “How can you⁠—How can she—It isn’t at all⁠—”

“If you have any other issues, you may bring them to me,” Jack said. “Miss Layton is not to be bothered by you. Or by your husband.”

Mrs. Dimsdale blanched. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but⁠—”

“Now, if you will excuse us?” Jack offered Bea his arm. “Shall we go into breakfast, my dear?”

Bea took it numbly. My dear, he’d called her. She moistened her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Jack didn’t bat an eye. “A breath of fresh air, then.”

Bea nodded. She held tight to Jack’s arm as he led her from the saloon, leaving Mrs. Dimsdale behind them.

And what have I done? Bea thought.

Good lord above, what on earth have I done?

* * *

Jack withdrew a small silver flask from the interior pocket of his coat. He unscrewed the cap before passing it to Bea. She was at the rail of the ship, her face to the sea. The breeze over the water played in the loose tendrils of dark hair that framed her pale countenance.

“Here,” he said. “Have a swig of this.”

She did as he bid her, grimacing mightily at the taste of it. “What was that?”

“Whiskey,” he said. “For shock.”

She thrust the flask back at him in disgust. “I’m not in shock.”