Page 50 of The Governess and the Rogue

“Self-imposed confinement to your quarters.”

“That too.”

She gave him an arch look. “A fake fiancée.”

His mouth hitched. “A stroke of genius on my part, I must say.”

“But not part of your original plan?”

“God no. It never occurred to me at all until I met you.” He paused. “And yes, to answer your question. It was worth it.”

* * *

Bea wasn’t unaccustomed to lengthy journeys. During all her years in India, and throughout her various positions as governess, she had traversed the length and breadth of the continent by carriage, train, dak cart, and palanquin. A rail journey from Marseilles to Calais was nothing in comparison.

Except for the fact that she was making the journey in company with Jack.

They were seated side-by-side, close enough that her wool skirts billowed over one of his legs and her arm intermittently brushed against his.

She’d thought sitting beside him would be easier than taking the seat across from him. But just because she couldn’t see him without angling her head didn’t mean she didn’t know he was there. His broad-shouldered maleness seemed to fill up the compartment. Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she could still smell his cologne. Still hear the steadiness of his every breath.

He was, for the most part, a pleasant companion. At times talkative, amusing her with stories about his family or anecdotes from his time in the army, and at times quiet, gazing out the window with a pensive stare while Bea busied herself writing in her journal.

It was during one of the latter moments, not long after departing the station in Paris at half past eleven in the evening, that Bea tucked her journal away into her traveling valise and asked the question that had been plaguing her since sunset.

“How will we be addressing our sleeping arrangements?”

Jack continued staring out the window as the railway station disappeared into the darkness behind them. He didn’t appear to have heard her.

“Jack?” Bea prompted.

“Just making sure they didn’t find a way to get back on the train,” he said.

Mrs. Rawson and the Farradays had disembarked at the station, but not before making a final visit to Jack and Bea’s compartment. Mrs. Rawson had once again encouraged them to join her in Paris. When her entreaties had failed, she and the Farradays had bid Jack and Bea a final adieu.

“Let us not say goodbye,” Mrs. Rawson had said. “For we shall meet again.”

“We shall,” Mrs. Farraday had concurred with a glitter of determination in her eyes. “That much, I vow.”

Bea had seen them on the gaslit platform but a few moments ago, Mrs. Farraday looking furious at having been thwarted, Miss Farraday as composed as ever, and Mrs. Rawson wrangling a barking Benjamin with Pearl’s assistance.

Jack couldn’t have failed to notice them, as intently as he’d been staring out the window.

“That would be impossible, surely,” Bea said to him.

“Nothing is impossible where Mrs. Farraday is concerned,” he muttered. “Didn’t you hear her vowing to see me again? She may even now be clinging to the brake van.”

Bea stifled a reflexive grin. She could too easily picture Mrs. Farraday leaping onto the last car of the departing train. “I don’t imagine she could hang on for very long. Not with all her petticoats and crinoline.”

“That’s because you don’t know what she’s capable of,” Jack said grimly. Abandoning the window, he sat back in his seat. “After Paris, she and her daughter will undoubtedly come to Somerset. It won’t matter a jot that I’m engaged.”

Bea looked at him in the light of the small oil lamp that hung in the corner of their compartment. “But you won’t be engaged then, will you? Our engagement ends in Southampton.”

Jack met her eyes. “Ah yes. Our amicable breakup.”

“Don’t say you’d forgotten?”

“On the contrary,” Jack said. “I remember everything.”