Page 50 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“I won’t,” she agreed. “I think I shall now retire, Lord Bannerdown. Thank you for everything today and recently.”
They parted ways outside the gallery, with Ernest heading to his office. He had more plans of Graham’s to look over regarding the White Wing. But he was stopped when he pushed open the study door to find his mother sitting in the chair alongside one wall, her face turned to him as if she had awaited his approach.
“The governess has retired,” Lady Katherine said, smirking. “If that is who you were hoping would be waiting for you in here. I have heard about your secret rendezvous.”
“There has been no such thing, Mother.”
“Hmm.”
“Leave the girls alone,” he warned her. “You have meddled well enough with my life, as well as Lady Samantha’s. You do not need to involve them in your games.”
His mother let out a laugh, tipping her head back. “Oh, Ernest, dear. I cannot undo what is already in motion.” She stood up, sweeping her skirts behind her as she clasped his face. Once that gesture would have been tender, a soothing touch from his mother. Now, it had a sense of threat to it. “Do not fear. I shall still be here to guide you when everything comes to light.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I shall not meddle with Lady Florence or her governess.”
“Why?”
“Why bother? They mean little to me.”
But as much as she shrugged it off, he saw a flicker of uncertainty. It wasn’t a lack of care that made her leave Claire alone, he realized. It was her own pride. He could see it in her eyes, the lift of her chin, and the stance of her shoulders.
And Ernest understood. He had told Claire he did not know his mother anymore, but as he looked at her now, he knew perfectly.
Everything is a game to her. Gossip, lies, scandals.
And the only thing preventing her from revealing Claire’s secret was the fact that it would implicate Ernest himself, the golden heir. A direct attack could be his downfall from an already tentative perch.
“Mother, I do not think you are half as in control of anything as you believe you are,” he told her. He sat behind his desk and nodded at the door. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have work to do.”
His mother stared at him, and he thought she would protest until a slow, satisfied smirk graced her mouth. She gave a tut before she strolled out. Ernest sighed and tried to look at his papers, but the words blurred. He could not understand any of it.
Nothing made sense, but he would get to the bottom of it; he was sure of that.
And he would ensure Claire’s and Lady Florence’s safety, no matter the cost.
Chapter 18
Claire walked around Little Harkwell after making her confession, feeling so much lighter. Since admitting her former identity, she had grown closer to Ernest.
They shared quips during short carriage rides when Ernest attended the hospital and Claire went to the Haberdasher Bookshop, and they joked about the correct cutlery at dinner and discussed what suits Lady Florence would be most appropriate for. Ever since she had stopped pretending like she knew nothing about the ways of nobility, she felt so much more at ease. It felt like Ernest had grown closer to her, too.
It was as if confessing her true name had made him see her as more than his ward’s governess.
But then … perhaps he already had done so but knew it was improper.
She told herself it did not matter. She was not a lady of the Ton any longer. Whether he held any affection for her or not they could not pursue it. But it did not stop Claire from leaning into those feelings that were steadily growing.
They scared her, even as she got closer to Lord Bannerdown.
In the library, the curtains were pulled open to expose a stream of sunlight. It spilled onto the library floor, bathing Ernest in a shower of light that Claire could not quite look away from.
It caught the brown hues of his hair, lightening the strands. Claire’s heart swooped, and she tampered it down. She had not felt so giddy over a man since her debut days. Only the day before, she had been coming into Little Harkwell as Ernest had been leaving it, and they’d danced around one another, sidestepping, and he jokingly asked, “Can I have this dance, Lady Claire?” And although it was not who she was anymore, she had giggled, despite herself, and given in to the improper request and danced around the step to avoid crashing into him.
She had only hoped nobody had seen them.
Instead of worrying, she tried to turn back to the book Lady Florence had open on her lap. The Taming of the Shrew, a new favourite of hers that Claire had recommended.
