Page 6 of The Governess and the Rogue

“I am not lying,” Bea said. “For evidence, you need only consult the mark on my cheek. It is the exact size and shape of your daughter’s open hand.”

Mrs. Dimsdale resumed massaging her temples. “What’s the use of hiring a governess if I must deal with these trials myself?” she muttered. “Am I to have no rest? No peace? Better I should dismiss you and let the children do as they will than be constantly vexed in this tedious manner.”

Bea persevered. It mayn’t do her any good—to be sure, she very much doubted it would—but the mysterious rogue on the deck last night had been right. Bea must draw the line somewhere. If she didn’t, it would only get worse.

“I cannot perform my duties if I’m subjected to physical abuse from your children, ma’am,” she said. “It is beyond all bounds.”

Lilith tugged at her mother’s arm. Her voice took on a familiar wheedling tone. “She was bullying me, Mama. And she is only a servant. I knew you wouldn’t object⁠—”

“You did strike her, then?” Mrs. Dimsdale wearily inquired of her daughter.

Lilith’s face contorted. “Why should I go to bed at the same time as the babies? I’m the oldest! Papa promised⁠—”

“God preserve me,” Mrs. Dimsdale said. “My head is splitting. And I’ve yet to have my breakfast. Really, Miss Layton, this is not to be borne!”

“I might say the same, ma’am,” Bea replied. “The seriousness of the matter⁠—”

Mrs. Dimsdale was on her feet before Bea could finish. “You mentioned their father. Speak with him, by all means. Until such time, I would have you attend to your duties. Heaven knows they’re light enough as it is.”

Bea took a reflexive step toward her employer in protest. She may have brought up Mr. Dimsdale—desperately, foolishly—but the elusive gentleman was no favorable alternative to his wife. He was a hard-going colonial, consumed with shooting, drinking, and (it was rumored) the company of questionable women. Bea had never been alone with him even once since joining the Dimsdales’ household.

“Mrs. Dimsdale—” she objected.

“That will be all, Miss Layton,” Mrs. Dimsdale said curtly. “The children require their morning meal. If you value your position, you will have them at the table in the next five minutes.” With that, she sailed from the saloon, leaving her brood behind her.

Bea was left alone with the children, the two oldest still standing by their mother’s now empty chair, and the twins continuing to ricochet around the room.

Flaxen-locked Lilith regarded Bea with a kindling eye. “You won’t get any further speaking to my Papa,” she informed her.

Bea’s gaze fell to the child’s mutinous little face. Doubtless, she was right. All the same…

Is this what Bea’s life had come to? To be bested in a battle of wills with an eleven-year-old despot?

No.

Emphatically, no.

However bleak Bea’s circumstances, there was still some fight left in her.

She looked back at Lilith. Her stomach tightened with resolve. “We shall just see about that, young lady.”

Chapter Three

Jack watched Miss Layton cross the deck to the ship’s rail as he finished rereading his most recent letter from home. Unlike last evening, when the silver-soft moonlight had been all there was to light Miss Layton’s path, tonight her pensive face and quiet figure were illuminated by the glow of the hanging lamps one of the ship’s stewards had lit at sunset. As for the moon itself, it was half-hidden behind an incipient scatter of clouds.

Jack remained hidden too as Miss Layton surveyed the evening sky. It was only after giving her a moment alone that he folded his letter into the front pocket of his waistcoat and emerged from the shadows.

This time, Miss Layton didn’t seem surprised by his approach.

“A fine evening,” Jack said, coming to join her.

“Overcast,” she replied without looking at him. “I can scarcely see the stars.”

Jack followed her gaze heavenward. “Do you need to? For navigation or some such?” He wouldn’t put it past her. She was, after all, a governess. Astronomy might well be one of her subjects.

“I have no great purpose,” she said. “I simply enjoy beauty. Many people do.”

Jack’s attention returned to her face. A drab little sparrow, he’d thought her in the moonlight. One with unusually pretty eyes. But the lamplight revealed other allurements. Those eyes were framed by elegantly winged dark brows. And what he’d yesterday mistaken in her complexion for paleness, was in fact a clear, creaminess of countenance, accentuated by high cheekbones, a well-sculpted nose, and a firmly tilted chin.