Page 26 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“Oh,” Claire said, her own brow pinching as she folded her hands in her lap. “That is kind of him. However, he should not concern himself. I am not a woman who cares for … visitors of that sort.”
“Of what sort?” he asked, and she heard the curling tease in his voice.
“A male caller,” Claire said, blushing. “That is what you meant, yes?”
He looked as though he had tasted something sour. “Yes. I believe that was his intention.”
“Then please advise him not to waste his efforts, for I am not interested in either courtship or marriage. I have a grand life as a governess and intend to keep it that way.”
Ernest’s face, at once, both fell in what she thought was disappointment and loosened in relief. Claire panicked. Had she disappointed him by insulting his friend?
It is strange, she thought. He is disappointed with that, but he looked at me so softly when we danced together the other day.
“My Lord, I wish to quickly assure you that it has nothing to do with the quality of your friend,” she hurried to say. “It is only that—”
A knock interrupted Claire, and she cut herself off. What was she about to tell him?
It is only that I am a liar and could not ever trick a man into a courtship under a false identity. It is only that being saddled to a husband means I would have to rely on him and hope he does not leave me destitute like … like in my past with my father …
A man would ask me to give up being a governess, and I would find myself unable to do so. I find myself loving my employment.
The thoughts rolled through her mind as Lord Bannerdown thanked the maid for tea, shuffling his papers so a saucer and teacup could be set down for them. The maid excused herself and left, carrying the empty tray. Lord Bannerdown took two sugar cubes in his tea, and Claire laughed softly, forgetting all about her original reason for seeking out his study.
“Two sugar cubes at such an hour, Lord Bannerdown?” she teased.
“Ah.” He winced, sipping the hot tea. “It is a habit from my profession.”
“It is surprising that a man in your position still works at the hospital,” she commented.
“I know,” he sighed. “It has become a bothersome point in my life as of late. However, I cannot bring myself to give it up for the sake of societal norms.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Claire resonated quietly. “They say a title makes a man noble, but I believe your choice to continue your work at the hospital is what makes you noble.”
“It is tiring,” he admitted, “but it makes me happy. It is why I try to balance both aspects of my life. My duty and my passion.”
“This new ward …” Claire pressed. “Will it be for any specific conditions?”
He nodded. “The captain did not die immediately. He was not struck and fell in battle, like most. His injury was not an amputation gone wrong or a bullet wound to the heart. He did not fall by a sword. All those things were common things to see in the field tent, but Viscount White … he was struck in the back of the head by flying shrapnel. He was not where he ought to have been because he wanted to help a flagging battalion. He buckled, fell, and was unconscious for many hours before they found him, thinking he was one of the fatalities.
“When they …” He inhaled sharply, his eyes vacant. “When they brought the captain to Graham and me, we did everything we could to save him. We argued with one another, yelled orders and accusations that were unkind, all in our desperation to have some sort of answer. But the captain had an internal wound even when we patched up the external damage. He was in our hospital for a long time before he died.”
Tears shone in his eyes as he gazed off. His fingers picked at a corner of the plans. Claire wished to reach out and offer the earl some comfort, but she couldn’t. Lord Bannerdown sipped his tea and gave her a wince of a smile as if to tell her he was okay.
“It is still rather fresh,” he said quietly. “I erected a memorial for him and envy Graham’s ability to do far greaterthings with his position. The ward shall be specifically for those with head injuries. Brain, nerves, eyes. Anything that we can treat to do with that, we shall. We did not have the resources to save my friend, but I wish to see that Bellott’s does.”
Claire gave him a comforting smile. “I did not know the viscount, but I am sure that he would love this plan. You and Mr Courtenay do him a great service.”
“To tell you the truth, Miss Gundry, there are nights I have nightmares about my time in the king’s army, only to spend the entire day wishing I was back there, despite everything. I have felt more at home in those conditions, rushing to save a man’s life, holding his hand in his last moments, than I have in this very fine, opulent house.”
“I understand that,” Claire said. “My father used to say opulence is only beautiful because it hides a lie beneath.” The words spoke too close to home, and she managed a laugh. “Only in that riches and inheritances are not always the most meaningful, are they?”
“No,” he muttered. “They are not. And to admit that is quite blasphemous, I imagine.”
She reached out as if to comfort him once again by touching his hand. “No, not to me, it is not.”
“Miss Gundry, two weeks before the Battle of Waterloo began, I was informed of my uncle and cousin’s death,” he told her, sitting up once again. “It arrived in a letter from a royal barrister, informing me very bluntly of their lost fight to consumption, their deaths, and how I was not only an earl now but the guardian for a sixteen-year-old lady who was grieving her father and grandfather. She had no other relatives to take her in except from me and my mother.”
His hand trembled as he lifted his teacup.
