Page 33 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
Even the soft comforts of her bedroom could not bring her any relief. And especially not as she moved further into the room, dismissed by Florence for the time being, and not wanting to see Lord Bannerdown lest he see her crimes written on her face.
She went to her writing desk, thinking of writing an order for a new book in town. Fiction always cheered her up.
But as she got closer, Claire’s breath caught. She gripped the back of her writing chair and steadied herself as panic choked her. With wide eyes, she took in the mess of her escritoire. Paper was scattered across the wood surface, ink pots were in disarray, and her quill was torn. Somebody had rifled through her belongings.
But even more worrying was that her mother’s letter that Claire had ignored, had put away in the escritoire drawer, was right on top, the letter open, revealing Claire’s own heritage.
Her secrets were bared, and somebody had read them.
Chapter 11
The following morning, the bitter February air nipped Ernest’s cheeks as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back respectfully, looking at Lady Samantha. Her own cheeks were red with the cold, and she huddled deeper into the fur collar around her cloak.
“Farewell, Lady Samantha,” he said, inclining his head. “I hope your journey back to your hosts is pleasant. And please know that Little Harkwell will welcome you anytime.”
“Thank you, Lord Bannerdown, for both your kindness and hospitality.” She curtsied, and beside her, her aunt did the same. Behind Ernest, he was aware of eyes on him. Lady Florence stood a further distance from her governess, and Miss Gundry herself watched the farewell exchange with a purposefully blank look that he could not make sense of.
“It is the least I can do,” he told her gently. He had sought Miss Gundry’s counsel last night, finding her strangely averted to giving it. Had he asked too much? Perhaps he had been selfish. He should have pressed harder on whatever had happened between Lady Florence and Miss Gundry. Perhaps then she may not have fled from him.
He could not stop thinking of the lingering silence that had settled around them in the empty hallway.
But now he focused his attention on Lady Samantha. “Do write to me, still,” he told her. “I would like us to see one another again, for our time in Bath is concluded, and we return to London for the season.”
The season, he thought. Where Lady Samantha shall be pushed right back into the marriage mart.
He saw a similar thought cross her mind, and her face flickered before she pushed a smile onto her face.
“I would like that, Lord Bannerdown.”
She nodded once more at him in farewell before she turned to where a footman held open her carriage door and assisted her inside. Lady Samantha disappeared in a skirt of powder blue and a full cloak before her aunt followed, and the door was closed. Then the carriage pulled away with a shout from the driver, and Lord Bannerdown turned on his heel, walking back inside.
Inside, he walked down the hallway, unsure of whether he ought to return to his study or find Miss Gundry and find out what had ailed her the night before. But he did not get far when he heard a happy humming coming from the parlour. He paused, glancing in to find his mother at a writing desk, a smile on her face.
He lingered for too long, and she caught him, her face shifting into a wide smile. “Ah! Ernest. How was Lady Samantha upon her leaving?”
“Very well,” he answered tersely. He still had not forgiven her for the argument they’d had the other night. “I would think that, as the one who invited Lady Samantha here, you would have wished to see her off.”
“And interfere with your conversations with her? Do not be foolish.” She gave him a light smile as if he was merely being chided for something small. “Do tell me, Ernest, what do you think of her now you have met her?”
“Mother,” he warned quietly. “It seems you do not remember my thoughts from when Lady Samantha first arrived.”
“Oh, that nonsense!” Lady Katherine laughed. “I do not pay it much mind, no. For I am your mother, and I must orchestrate the things you refuse to.”
“Do not involve yourself in my personal life,” he warned. “I told you once before, Mother, not to do so, and I meant it.”
Her face blanched in shock and insult, her lashes blinking and her mouth working as she processed the insult of his words.
“Ernest,” she said sharply, standing up from the desk. “I do not think you understand the situation. I truly do what I must because you refuse to. You are neglectful of your duties. We have a new life now, and I will not see you squander it with your ineptitude.”
“My ineptitude!” he laughed, outraged. “Mother, you are a meddlesome woman, and we both know what this game is about. But Lady Samantha is still grieving her betrothed and—”
“They were never married,” she hissed. “She lost a friend, is all. Her heart and hand are still available, Ernest, grief or not. Do you not think it dutiful to your friend to honour him in such a way that you would not see his former betrothed ruined by the grief? You would do him honour to court her so she would not suffer the consequences of almost being widowed at such a young age.”
“Mother,” he hissed.
“Heed me,” she spat. “You do not take your earldom seriously, and it is about time that you do. For that, you will need a wife and an heir.”
“You cannot possibly think Lady Sam—”
