Page 45 of The Governess and the Rogue

“Have I?” Bea asked absently. She wasn’t entirely paying attention to her friend. She was too focused on Jack.

He stood a short distance away, dressed for travel in a heavy wool coat, black gloves, and a tall black hat. He was speaking with a raven-haired gentleman that Bea had never seen before.

The man’s stern face was partially concealed by the upturned collar of his greatcoat and the hat he wore tipped low over his brow. He seemed to be glaring at Jack for some reason.

Not that one would know it by Jack’s easy demeanor. He was untroubled as ever, his weight balanced on his cane, and his mouth curved in its perpetual wry smile of amusement.

As she looked at him, Bea’s stomach quivered with butterflies. The same wretched winged irritants that had been plaguing her ever since their ill-advised kiss on the deck of the Pera. It had been days since that unfortunate encounter. Every one of which she’d spent in Jack’s company.

His behavior toward her had been perfectly gentlemanly. His aspect civil. His conversation friendly. Practically brotherly.

Or at least, how Bea imagined a brother might be.

And yet…

Every time she looked at him, she was thinking about that wretched kiss. Both regretting that it had happened, and regretting that it could never happen again.

“You have snared a Beresford,” Pearl said.

Bea flashed her friend a repressive glance. “What does an eleven-year-old girl know about snaring anyone?”

“It’s all she’s heard from the ladies since we set out from Bombay, how exceptional a catch Colonel Beresford is. And you’re the one who caught him.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bea said under her breath.

“I know,” Pearl said. “I’m sorry we must part. I’d have liked to see you married and settled in your grand estate in the west country.” She smiled. “I’d ask you to write to me if I thought you’d be willing.”

A leaden weight formed in Bea’s chest. She recognized it as guilt. “Why wouldn’t I be willing?”

“The daughter-in-law of an earl can’t be corresponding with a maidservant she met on the crossing,” Pearl replied matter-of-factly.

Bea hadn’t thought she could feel any worse. “Of course I shall write you,” she said. “The moment I’m settled, I’ll send word to you at…”

“Mrs. Rawson’s residence in Hampshire,” Pearl supplied. “The Birches, it’s called.”

Across the platform, Mrs. Rawson emerged from the telegraph office as though their conversation had summoned her. Benjamin was on his lead ahead of her, and Mrs. Farraday and her daughter were close behind. Like Bea and Jack, the three ladies had elected to book passage on the next train to Calais rather than take rooms in a hotel for the night.

Catching sight of Bea, Mrs. Rawson raised her kid-gloved hand in greeting. “Miss Layton!” she called. “Well met.”

Bea suppressed a sigh as the three ladies came to join them.

Standing as a barrier between Jack and his encroachers hadn’t turned out to be as simple an endeavor as she’d originally hoped it would be. For one thing, the fact of Jack’s engagement to Bea did little to keep those encroachers at bay. They were still there, persistently pressing their acquaintance, and—in Mrs. Farraday’s case—forever reminding Bea how ludicrous it was that a drab creature like her had supplanted Mrs. Farraday’s beautiful daughter in Jack’s affections.

It was trying at the best of times, but after so many days at sea, Bea was tired of it. She nevertheless grudgingly rose to greet them.

“Mrs. Rawson. Mrs. Farraday. Miss Farraday.” Bea inclined her head.

Mrs. Rawson came to a halt, struggling with Benjamin. The little dog continued pulling wildly on his lead. It was obvious why his owner preferred to carry him. When left to his own devices he was barely civilized.

Setting aside Bea’s valise, Pearl scurried forward. “Shall I help you with Benjamin, Mrs. Rawson?”

“Yes, do,” Mrs. Rawson said. “What a relief it will be to have you resume your duties!”

Bea opened her mouth to offer a word of thanks, or possibly apology. It was, after all, because of her that Mrs. Rawson had been deprived of Pearl during the voyage.

Mrs. Rawson forestalled her. “Not that I begrudged your use of her. A young lady, newly betrothed, can’t be sleeping alone in a stateroom without a servant to attend her. What would people say? No, my dear. So long as we were on the Pera, I considered it my sacred duty to see that all proprieties were observed on your behalf.”

“You are too kind,” Bea said stiffly. “But really⁠—”