Page 12 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

How foolish he’d been, how ignorant. Of course, she could not forgive him just like this. He’d broken her heart just as he’d broken his promise. He tasted the betrayal still on his lips and heard the words he’d uttered that day. He’d never forget her. He’d be back. They’d be duke and duchess – side by side. And he’d meant it. For a long time, he planned to come back for her, but then, somehow, his new life had clawed at him and never let go. He’d come for her once he had a handle on his estate, he’d told himself. Once he took his seat in the House of Lords, once he dealt with the mess his grandfather left behind. Once… once… once…

And then, a year had passed and another and, somehow, the life he’d once had in the little teashop on Bond Street had faded away. She would never understand if she explained this to her. She’d never see things from his perspective.

A knock on the door tore him out of his thoughts, and Mrs. Funny appeared. She eyed him carefully, her questions evident in her curious eyes. Yet, her years of training made her hold them in, and for that, Nicholas was grateful.

“Dinner is served, Your Grace,” she simply said.

“Dinner? I am not…” his words trailed off. It was true, the horrifying afternoon’s events had chased his appetite right out of him, but he didn’t want to be impolite. Besides, it was a good opportunity to introduce Charlotte to Lydia; perhaps once they met, Lydia might change her mind. He nodded and pulled his waistcoat down.

“Very well,” he turned and walked out the door, the housekeeper a few steps behind him.

“I hope I did not alarm you too much with the events,” he said as he walked down the stairs, taking two steps simultaneously while Mrs. Funny hurried to keep pace.

“Your Grace certainly had his reasons for doing things in this manner,” she said diplomatically. He glanced over his shoulder.

“You have more faith in my ability to be reasonable than I do. I'm afraid I was unwise, as I often am.” He sighed and turned right into the dining room. In the arched doorway, he stopped and squinted. The grand table, which could easily seat a family three generations strong, was set in a single-place setting.

“I am dining alone?” he asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Miss Haddington is not joining us?”

“She was exhausted from the journey. I arranged a hot bath in her chamber, and then she requested dinner be brought to her.” Mrs. Funny explained while Nicholas nodded.

” I see. And my daughter?” Charlotte usually dined with her governess – whoever the unlucky lady was at the time – and only joined him on special occasions. Or when the latest candidate had successfully been chased away.

“She elected to eat in her chamber as well. She was rather tired.”

“Tired?” Nicholas asked, eyebrows raised. It came to him that he had not the faintest idea what his daughter had been doing all day. He’d seen her that morning but left her to the care of Mrs. Funny and Gabriella, her maid.

“She and Gabriella went to the gardens, and then Lady Charlotte rode out.”

Nicholas nodded. There were times he wished he could ride out with her. Or rather, he wished that he had made a habit of riding out with her when she was little so she’d be used to it, but like with so many other things, he’d never taken the opportunity.

“Very well,” he said and waved his hand, dismissing his trusted housekeeper. When she was gone, he slipped into his seat and motioned for a footman to bring the first course. It was white soup, one of his favorites. Usually, he’d greedily spoon the smooth, velvety soup into his mouth and soak up the rest with freshly baked white bread. Today, however, he could eat no more than two spoonsful before his stomach refused to accept any more. He sat back and pushed the bowl away, snapping his fingers to have it carried away.

The second course – hare with butter-soaked vegetables – did not fare any better. Even the flummery served as the final course tasted like ash. It was through no fault of his cook. Mrs. Barns had a skill in the kitchen that even the Prince Regent would envy. No, his shame and melancholy robbed him of his appetite. Vexed, he got up with such force his chair tumbled backward and banged against the stone wall behind him, rousing the attention of the assorted servants who stood in the shadows awaiting his orders.

Ignoring them, Nicholas pressed on and made his way into the parlor. There, underneath a painting of his great-great-grandfather, the first Duke of Queensberry, was an old white sideboard. The paint had chipped away in parts, revealing the beige underside. It was a plain sideboard with a single door. During his drinking days, he’d kept an assortment of decanters, bottles, and carafes on it. Now, it helped nothing but glasses, which were much more for decoration than anything else.

The compartment below was another matter altogether. He yanked open the door, pushed aside a stack of books, and removed a bottle of old whiskey he’d found in his grandfather’s chamber on his first day here. He’d kept the whiskey for special occasions, only taking a fifth at a time to make it last.

The last time Nicholas drank from it, he’d passed out in this room. He recalled how his bones had felt as though someone had glued them in place when he woke in the middle of the night after his drinking escapades. It had taken an arduous ten minutes to rise off the floor, so heavy were his joints from laying on the cold ground for hours. He hadn’t known what day it was or even what year and that morning, he’d put the bottle away with a promise to himself not to drink again.

He’d broken that promise several times but hadn’t gone beyond his bounds. However, between his daughter’s obvious indifference to him and Lydia’s open anger, he felt today was the day to break open the bottle again.

He unscrewed the golden lid and let it rattle onto the surface while whiskey splashed into a glass. He didn’t measure, didn’t care. There was no point saving it for another day. The worst day of his life surely had already come, for he could imagine nothing worse than seeing such hate in Lydia’s eyes while also comprehending at last that there wasn’t a single person in the world who loved him.

He’d held on to the hope that she might still carry love for her in his heart, buried beneath the hurt. He’d longed to reignite it and return them to the Nicholas and Lydia they’d once been, not so much the romantic parts of it all, but rather the friendship that once united them. Before they’d fallen in love and vowed to spend their lives together, they’d been companions and friends. She’d cheered him after his mother’s death, and he’d done the same for her.

Nicholas had wished to rediscover that friendship. He hoped Lydia would remember the care they’d given one another and apply it to his daughter in her capacity as a governess. That hope was extinguished; that possibility gone forever. Today, Nicholas decided it was not a day for abstinence and good intentions. Today was a day for drinking and forgetting.

He raised the glass and sneered as he pictured Lydia’s beautiful face twisted into a mask of sheer disgust upon looking at him. “Here’s to you, Lydia,” he said bitterly. “Cheers to a life that never was and never will be.” Then he let the old whiskey run down his throat, feeling the burn. When the biting sensation gave way, he finished the glass, poured another, and repeated the process until his grandfather’s precious whiskey bottle ran empty, and he no longer cared about the fact that there was not a single person in all the world who loved him.

CHAPTER SIX

“Thank you,” Lydia said quietly as one of the young maids placed a steaming bowl on the table before her. The white soup looked delicious in the pretty bowl, reminding her of the hand-painted cups in her father’s shop. Freshly baked bread was placed on a plate beside it, and she could almost taste the crunch.

“Is there anything else, ma’am?” the girl asked, but Lydia shook her head and the maid departed. The moment the door closed, Lydia grasped the bowl with both hands, the heat warming her still-cold hands. She shivered despite the fact that steam was blowing up to her face and the fireplace to her right was emitting a pleasant warmth. Regardless of the fresh white dress she'd been given and the rose-colored pelisse that went with it, the cold persisted in her bones. She'd wrapped a thick woolen blanket around her legs, but it wasn't enough. She spooned the silky-smooth white soup into her mouth and closed her eyes as it passed down her throat. It was good and warmed her from within, but when she was finished, the cold returned.

What she craved at this moment was a cup of tea to finish the meal. She glanced around the chamber she’d been assigned. In her old home in Kent, there had always been a bell one could ring, and a servant would appear. Here, no such bell existed, at least not in this part of her chamber. She’d been taken aback to see that Mrs. Funny had given her a chamber three times the size of her quarters at her last place of employment. She had a bedchamber, a sitting room, a dressing room, and a little space used as a washroom. There, Mrs. Funny ordered the large metal washtub filled with hot water brought by a nearly endless row of servants.