Page 27 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Funny’s voice ripped into their peace like a lightning bolt, and Lydia sat back as Nicholas stood.

“Come in,” he called while pulling down his waistcoat. Lydia shifted, not wanting to give even the glimmer of impropriety. However, when Mrs. Funny entered, she instantly stopped in her tracks and looked from one to the other, eyebrows arched as if she, too, felt the change in the air.

“I’ve sent Banks to fetch some ice from the icehouse,” she said cautiously. “For the stings. I’ve got a pot of honey at the ready in your chamber, and I took the liberty of bringing the wash tub up. That lake water might look sparkling, but it smells something awful.”

Lydia gulped and looked down at her hand, already missing his touch.

“Thank you, Mrs. Funny,” she said quietly. "I do rather smell like the lake. I ought to bathe. Thank you for your aid, Your Grace," she said, curtsied, and then slipped past the housekeeper, now acutely aware that living in Nicholas’s home would be much harder than she anticipated.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A week passed, during which Lydia did not leave her chamber except for a daily venture to the library for a new book. Her face, arms, and legs were swollen, and it was challenging to walk for long periods or even stand up. So, she’d remained in bed, cared for by Mrs. Funny and the maids.

On the seventh day of her confinement, Mrs. Funny entered with her breakfast tray and saw Lydia had risen and was dressed. A bright smile flashed across the woman’s face.

“Are you returning to your duties?” Her tone betrayed her delight at the prospect because, in Lydia’s absence, it had fallen to Mrs. Funny to tend to Charlotte. While Charlotte did not torment the housekeeper as much as her governesses, she was still a difficult charge.

“I am better, and I think it is about time Lady Charlotte’s lessons continued, do you not?”

Mrs. Funny sat the tray down with a clatter and clasped her hands together.

“By Jove, is it ever. Of course, I adore the child, but I would, at times, rather spend my days plucking chickens than trying to teach her anything. She knows everything already, anyhow, according to her.”

Lydia chuckled. “She believes as much.”

“His Grace and I have spoken to her about what she did,” Mrs. Funny said, hands clasped in front of her lap. “She understands what she did was terrible and could have cost you your life.”

“You did?” Lydia said.

“She was mortified, at least by the looks of it. She remained rather stoic, but you could see in her eyes she knows what she did was terrible,” the woman assured.

She’d wondered this past week what Charlotte’s thoughts were on the outcome of her so-called prank. Nicholas told her that Charlotte saw her and the injuries – did she regret what she did?

“How are your sores?” Mrs. Funny asked, her mood elevated now that she had rid herself of the most unwelcome duty.

“Better. I will tell you,” Lydia said and bent at the waist, motioning to her behind, “those pesky bees stung me in places I thought entirely inaccessible to anyone or anything.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Funny giggled and blushed. “I once sat on a bee, and it took its revenge. I could not sit upright for a week. I had to have three pillows arranged just so.”

The two commiserated over their unfortunate encounters with the bees. Then, after taking her breakfast, Lydia made her way into the hall. Her heart thundered. Even if Charlotte regretted her actions, could they move on from this? She’d promised Nicholas she would stay and work with the child, but could she really? She could have died, indeed.

Just steps from her destination, boots pounded on the hardwood behind her, and she turned.

“Nicholas?”

He slowed his pace and smiled at her, as handsome as ever. Lydia took a step back, one hand wrapped around her waist as if to protect herself. He’d called on her several times this past week, but his visits were short, and their conversations tense.

She was still highly alarmed by the incident in his study. To call it an incident was perhaps not the right description, for nothing truly had happened. Other than holding hands, it had been perfectly ordinary. What had occurred was not so much outward but inward. The atmosphere between them had changed, and the old magic revived, at least briefly.

What else might have happened if Mrs. Funny hadn’t arrived when she did? Would the change in emotions have led to more? She’d repeatedly pictured the scene during her recovery, their closeness and touch. Had a kiss been inevitable? Lydia shook her head, chasing away those thoughts.

“Mrs. Funny told me you planned to start your lessons again,” he said in his pleasant, slightly scratchy voice. He wore his burgundy waistcoat, the one that brought out the hazel in his eyes even more. She noted that he’d not bothered with a coat. Instead, she saw his muscles stretch under his crisp white shirt. Her stomach pinged, but she forced herself to look at his eyes instead.

“I am on my way now,” she explained, and he nodded, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Do you mind if I come along?” he asked, his eyes fixed on her no longer puffy face.

“I do not need a chaperone, Nicholas,” she said, though touched by his offer.