Page 58 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“I will try my hardest to come back. I promise you; we will see one another again and soon.” Charlotte’s lip wobbled, and she wrapped her arms around her.

“I’ll miss you, Miss Haddington.”

“And I’ll miss you, Lady Charlotte. Very much.”

They held on to one another, and Lydia inhaled Charlotte’s unique scent of sweet soap mixed with lemon once more as if to commit it to memory. When they parted, tears rolled down the girl’s face, and Lydia also felt the bite of tears in her eyes.

Parting was indeed sweet sorrow. And as she walked away, she was grateful that she did not have to do the same with Nicholas, however guilty she might feel.

Instead, while Mrs. Funny loaded the carriage with her things, Lydia sat and wrote a letter to him, bidding him farewell, asking his permission to write to Charlotte. Then, as she folded it, she walked to his study. It was odd to see it empty as she took it in one last time. The fireplace with the stool where he’d dabbed vinegar on her beestings. The rug upon which they’d stood and almost kissed. The desk where he sat as she told him she was leaving. And yet, the room was empty now, just another space with four overly decorated walls in a palace-like house that was never meant to be her home.

She left the letter on his desk and turned. In the hall, she looked up at the late Duchess of Queensberry for one last time.

“I tried to do good by your daughter. I did. I hope it was enough. The rest is up to you. And her father.”

And then, Lydia made her way down the stairs, hugged Mrs. Funny goodbye and left the grand manor house, and its owner, behind her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I cannot believe you. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life. I shall see to it that you’re left with not a single friend in parliament. Not one ally. Nobody. You will walk into White’s or Brooks’ or whatever gentlemen’s club you choose, and everyone will turn their backs on you! I will make it so! Enjoy your life with your little governess!” Nicholas shuddered as Lady Evelyn’s voice echoed in his mind. It had been six hours since he’d told her he did not wish to proceed with their wedding.

Six hours since he’d been forced to flee her friend’s country home as the beautiful, refined mask of the young lady slipped and the ugly harpy that had hidden beneath emerged.

Indeed, he’d run to the stable yard to escape her screeching and her friends’ judgment, boarded the carriage with nothing but the clothes on his back, and ordered his coachman to leave. How he would ever get his belongings, he did not know, but he’d gladly sacrifice a few pairs of trousers, pantaloons, and waistcoats to be free of her.

In hindsight, it would have been best if he had told her the truth before they ever left. For the truth was, he’d thought of nothing but Lydia the entire time. He should have told her when she revealed her plans to leave that he intended to free himself off Lady Evelyn. He should have done more than to ask her for a longer conversation when he returned. He should have told Lady Evelyn they were over before going to the country with her.

But Nicholas knew he had a hard time learning anything. He’d procrastinated and dreamed, planned scenarios out his mind all his life, but hardly ever acted on them. And too often, he’d paid dearly for it when reality surprised him by dashing all his carefully laid out plans.

This time he’d do right by Lydia, Charlotte, and himself. What did it matter what society thought? What did it matter if Charlotte did not get a duke for a husband? Surely there were a great many gentlemen who wanted to make a match with a beautiful young woman who was intelligent and came with a large fortune. Even if her father was not well respected. He’d been silly to consider otherwise.

And who knew if Charlotte even wanted a gentleman for a husband? What if she fell in love with a trader, a commoner like his own father had? Would he treat her like his grandfather treated his father?

For he knew with certainty his grandfather would have disinherited his father if he’d had any other heirs. Nicholas would never do this to his daughter. He’d learned, but as so often, the lessons took a while to sink in.

He entered the warm entrance hall and handed his top hat and great coat to his butler before leaping up the stairs. He would change everything now. He’d do what was right.

He glanced at his golden pocket watch. It was eleven in the morning. Lydia would be with Charlotte in the classroom. He’d go there, fetch her, and ask her to take the air with him. Then, once outside, he would tell her the truth about everything, his love for her, his regrets – everything. And then, he’d ask her to be his wife as he should have done years ago.

Nicholas knocked on the door, turned the doorknob, and let himself into the classroom with a big smile. He’d expected her at the blackboard, writing down equations with chalk, or at the table in the middle of teaching Charlotte about the stars and planets. However, to his surprise, he found the room deserted. Or almost, for sitting in the corner on her pillows with a math book in her lap was Charlotte.

“Charlotte?”

She looked up and, to his shock, flew directly into his arms. “She’s gone. Miss Haddington is gone.”

“Gone?” He got to his knees and cradled his daughter. It couldn’t be. She had to have misunderstood. Lydia would not have just gone like this without a word. She’d promised him…

“Her father is ill; he might die. A messenger came five days ago, and she had to leave right then. She promised to return, but I don’t think she will. I don’t think so. Oh, Papa…” She cried bitterly, and he held her, but he had to admit, his feet itched already. He had to find Mrs. Funny and get the entire story. Was her father really so ill? She’d hardly mentioned Caroline and her father all these months, even though he’d repeatedly asked.

She’d mentioned he’d never quite recovered from his prolonged melancholy after losing his wife, and Nicholas knew that gout was not a condition that easily went away, but he hadn’t realized he was so ill.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked, and Charlotte pushed herself out of his arms. He gently tabled her cheeks with his handkerchief while she sniffed in a way that would have set Lady Evelyn’s bristles up.

“He caught a cold, and it made his chest hurt,” she explained, and he nodded. A sudden illness, then. He’d half worried that she might have planned this out. That she’d already known she’d leave while he was away would have felt like a deception. In a way, he was glad the illness had been sudden, so he did not have to deal with a potential betrayal. Not that he would have had any right to be upset; after all, he’d betrayed her more than once.

“She said he might die, and if he does, she won’t return, will she? And if she does, then Lady Evelyn will send her away.” Charlotte paused and turned her big eyes up at him. “Papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart? “he asked, surprised at how easily the word passed his lips and how readily she accepted it. “I’m sure Mr. Haddington will be just fine.”