Page 3 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

Mrs. Patmore, the governess, a heavy-set woman with a severe bun that gave her the appearance of a disciplinarian, entered. Her usually red face was white, and her eyes were wide. The woman’s ample chest heaved up and down as though she’d run from London to Hatfield. Nicholas pressed his back into the windowsill, eager to escape what was sure to be yet another unpleasant exchange.

“Your Grace, I resign immediately,” she declared as she stepped inside.

Nicholas groaned and rubbed his temple, showing no sign of surprise. Mrs. Patmore was the third governess this year alone, and he’d long since lost count of how many had come before her.

“What in the world happened now, Mrs. Patmore?”

The woman stepped toward the heavy oak desk in the center of the room and placed her flat hands on the shiny surface. Nicholas noted how red her hands were compared to her face and how they shook. The vibration spread up her arms and into her shoulders, all of which pulsated as though she were caught in an earthquake only she could feel.

“Your daughter, Your Grace. She... She...” the woman’s words trailed off, and she rose to her full height, staggering backward as her legs shook beneath her.

Alarmed, Nicholas rushed forth. The last thing he needed was for the governess to faint in his study. He had no smelling salts to revive her, and he’d rather not deal with a physician on top of whatever disaster it was that presently unfolded.

“She... my shoes... they came out of my...”

“Mrs. Patmore, get a hold of yourself,” he called as he grabbed her elbow and directed her to the wing chair in front of the crackling fireplace. The woman slumped into the seat just as the click-clack of shoes on the hardwood floor in the hall sounded, and Mrs. Funny, his trusted housekeeper, entered.

Contrary to what her name implies, she was not a social creature but rather stern in her approach. Today, however, her countenance was one of concern. In her hand, she balanced a cup that clattered against the saucer.

“Your Grace,” she said and curtsied without spilling a drop. “I’ve brought a cup of tea for Mrs. Patmore. May I?”

He waved her in and squatted in front of the governess before remembering his station. He rose to his full height and looked down at his employee.

“Mrs. Patmore, I demand to know what has happened.”

The older woman took the cup from Mrs. Funny, slurped in a most unladylike fashion, and then struggled for her words.

“Lady Charlotte placed several...” the housekeeper snapped her mouth shut, glanced at Mrs. Patmore, and bent forward with her voice just above a whisper. “Spiders, Your Grace.”

“Oh, nasty creatures. That demon child knows I’m terrified of them.”

Nicholas was about to scold her for talking about his only child, his nine-year-old daughter, in such a way but stopped himself. Other governesses had called Charlotte far worse, and to be quite frank, it was clear the woman was shaken to the core.

“I will speak to her. Again. I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. But, please, do not let her chase you away,” he said, working hard to keep the desperation from his tone. The older woman looked up, color had returned to her face, and when she stood, it was with such certainty and determination that Nicholas knew what she’d say before she opened her mouth.

“Your Grace, I have never in all my life seen a child as difficult as Lady Charlotte or as unyielding.”

“I understand,” he pleaded. “I am more than happy to compensate you for your troubles. How about a raise? Double your salary? And an additional day to yourself?”

The woman’s upper lip twitched, and her green eyes narrowed.

“Your Grace, there is not enough money in all the realm to make me stay here a moment longer,” she gathered her skirts, curtsied, and then walked out of his study without another word.

Nicholas sunk into himself while Mrs. Funny picked up the teacup abandoned on the little table by the chair and flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“I had better see her,” he said with all the enthusiasm of a man headed for the gallows. He knew one should not be so reluctant to see one’s daughter. And yet, as he left his study and walked down the grand staircase to the second floor, his stomach filled with tension, and he had to force himself to press on.

Nicholas sucked in a lungful of the cool mid-morning air, tasting hints of freshly baked bread that had come out of the oven in the kitchen below the stairs, and then knocked on Charlotte’s door. He entered without waiting to be admitted and found his precocious child seated on her bed, cross-legged with a ragged stuffed doll in her hands. She would have looked angelic with her dark-blonde ringlets that framed a heart-shaped face. Her innocent appearance was enhanced by her bright blue eyes, inherited from her late mother. Alas, the devious smirk on her lips revealed her true nature. While calling her demonic was going a tad far, she was a difficult child and always had been.

“Is she gone then?” she asked in a voice as sweet as honey dripping from a comb.

“Mrs. Patmore has chosen to leave our employ, yes,” he said and stepped closer, one hand on the post of her large, canopied bed. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself. That is the third governess this year.”

“Good. She was a bore and uptight as though she’d swallowed one of Mrs. Funny’s broomsticks.” Charlotte pursed her lips and blinked at him as if to challenge him. “She did last three months; that is better than the last lot.”

“Charlotte, these women are not here for your amusement. This is their livelihood. By Jove, these are people, not toys, and you treat them as if they’re nothing. Poor Mrs. Patmore nearly suffered apoplexy after what you did to her.”

“It was only a little joke,” Charlotte replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She tucked her bottom lip out in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of his late wife. Clad in a lemon-yellow dress with her hair arranged neatly, Charlotte looked just like her mother, Louisa.