Page 71 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“Oh, I know, Miss Godfrey.” He laughed as he came around her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She clung onto his upper arms, leaning back into his touch.
“I believe this Lord Basington wishes Miss Godfrey to know he adores her,” Ernest murmured, pulling her face up to his. “And that he wishes to be at her side, no matter what comes next. He does not know the future, but he is rather excited for it.”
“And Miss Godfrey wishes Lord Basington to know that he saved her,” Claire whispered, meeting Ernest’s gaze. “And that she was lost without him. And that he is the most handsome man she has ever set eyes on.”
She smiled prettily at him, her heart fluttering in her chest, as Ernest leaned in, his mouth pressing to hers in a tender kiss. His mouth was soft against hers, and Claire leaned up, turning to clutch his jacket.
“We shall miss the start of the play,” she murmured, kissing him between her words.
“I do not mind if you do not,” he teased, drawing back to raise his brow at her. “For if I cannot have a trip to London and kiss my betrothed when I wish, what can I do?”
“Well, I would say the most ideal thing would be to kiss her again,” Claire suggested playfully. “That is a wonderful place to start.”
Epilogue
A month passed, and Claire and Ernest found themselves in Bristol.
The street Claire had lived on with her father was not one she had intended to see again, but as the carriage pulled up outside Flogsend House, she did not quite know what to make of her former home.
It had been kept in a beautiful state, the white front of the townhouse tended to intricately and maintained. The gardens were tidy, and the pathway was clear of falling petals from overhead trees.
“Will you tell me more about Flogsend?” Lady Florence asked Claire, peering alongside her through the carriage window.
“It is where I grew up, as you know,” Claire reiterated. “But I spent many happy years here. It was where my own governess taught me every language I could ask for, and where she taught me to be proficient on the pianoforte and harp.”
“I did not know you played the harp!”
“Oh, yes. I actually prefer it over the pianoforte.” She frowned. “But my life here was not always as happy as I remember. I watched from that window up there—” She pointed to one of the higher floors, a small peeking window. “For my mother to return, to no avail. And I spent the rest of my days being a ghost, so I did not disturb my father. But you know what? The days I spent with my governess were some of the best.”
“I can also say the same thing,” Lady Florence said softly, smiling at Claire.
“And tomorrow I shall marry Ernest, and my life shall start over for the better.”
“I am only glad Lady Katherine shall not be in attendance,” Florence muttered. “I do hope she finds peace in Scotland after she was exiled from the Ton, but I cannot help thinking she does not deserve the forgiveness. What she did to my father, my mother … It is a betrayal I cannot forgive yet.”
“And you do not have to,” Claire assured her. “It is yours to decide alone when you are ready.” Claire reached out to hold Florence’s hand. She was no longer her governess but was about to be her family. After her wedding tomorrow, that was what they would be to one another. They already were in every way that mattered, but tomorrow it would be solidified in name, truly.
***
The following morning, Claire’s only wish was that she did not trip over her dress as she descended the stairs in Ernest’s London townhouse.
At the base of the stairs, her mother waited with tears in her eyes and a hand over her heart. Although Claire had not yet forgiven Magdalene, she had opened communication long enough to invite her to the wedding. Claire had offered to repair the damage done slowly but had made sure her mother knew it would be a very long road to forgiveness and normalcy.
Still, seeing her there unlocked something in Claire that she did not realize she had craved all her life. The knowledge that her mother would be there on her wedding day. Her father had told her to bury such a notion, for her mother would never return.
Yet there she was, waiting for Claire, and looking as though she could hold all the pride in the world in her expression.
“Claire, you look lovely,” her mother told her, gathering her hands. “Lord Bannerdown is a very lucky man indeed.”
“Thank you,” Claire murmured, unsure of how to take a compliment from her mother. She cleared her throat right asWinnie appeared, placing her veil atop her styled hair. Winnie brushed back tears, sniffling.
She had moved to London two weeks prior upon Lady Katherine’s departure to Scotland and was now serving as Claire’s own lady’s maid, but Claire suspected it would not be a long-lasting position. She had already published the story of Lord Basington and Miss Godfrey, and the Ton had raged for it, loving her every word. Winnie had discussed the prospect of making stories based on true events within the Ton, letting people clue into who the scandals centred around.
Claire had no doubt her friend would be a prolific author soon with multiple published works out in the world.
She could only hope the Haberdasher Bookshop sold them so she could return to her favourite haunt in Bath one day.
“You are the most beautiful bride, Claire,” Winnie told her. “And I shall not cry, I promise!”
