The Governess Heiress - Elizabeth Beacon

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to tell Mrs Winch dinner was overdue. The lady’s services as chaperon to her and her pupils felt more important than whatever was delaying her and the sooner this meal was over the better.

      ‘Oh, him. He’s a rascal,’ Moss murmured when she was on her way back to the stiff-backed chair as far away from him as she could get and still feel warmth from the fire. She had taken it because she disliked him, she reassured herself, and gave a little nod of confirmation she hoped he’d take so badly he wouldn’t tease her again.

      The girls needed practice at polite dining and proper topics of conversation when gentlemen were present and she would usually admit she needed more adult company. As a single lady who might end up alone and at her last prayers, the whole neighbourhood would assume Miss Court was doing her best to marry any spare bachelor who came along. No doubt everyone in the area would assume she was intent on catching the wretch now he’d turned out to be vigorous and well looking. The thought of speculative eyes watching them at church every Sunday made her shudder. The last thing she intended to do was break her heart over Moss and she doubted he had one to break if she was so inclined. She would stick to the schoolroom or wait for the paragon who might inspire even half the love and passion in her as her brother Colm and his new wife Eve had for one another.

      In public the newlyweds acted like a very proper young couple. There was no sitting gazing into each other’s eyes and sighing for a bed and just a bit more privacy for them. Yet they showed how much they loved each other by small glances and little touches. One always knew where the other was without having to watch every little movement and, whereas most people grew heavy eyed and weary the later it got in the day, those two glowed with delicious anticipation of being alone again at last. Nell had never seen two people so silently and discreetly delighted at the idea of being wrapped up in the night when nobody else would expect them to be polite for a few precious hours.

      Something told her Moss would never let his cynical detachment drop long enough to allow a female that far into his life. What would she find if he did offer to share it with her? A hardened heart and calculating mind? Or perhaps, a protected heart—because he had such a tender, ardent spirit under all that cynicism? And look where misplaced love got your late father, Nell reminded herself, resolving to get on with real life before it got out of control.

      A suitably bland topic of conversation eluded her. She doubted Mr Moss would let the mild amusement of speculating who the new rector of Great Berry might be run for long. It was impolite to wonder who was up or down in local society when he didn’t know them; which left the state of the nation or the arts. Nell opted for the latter until Mrs Winch finally tore herself away from other duties and they could go in to dinner and get this difficult evening over with the sooner.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Winch said breathlessly as she hurried into the room a few minutes later. ‘One of the maids has managed to scald herself and tip half the fish course on the floor,’ she murmured in Nell’s ear before greeting their guest graciously and signalling to Parkins it was time to announce dinner was served.

      Nell hoped that part of the meal went to the pigs, however spotless the kitchen floor was before it fell. And what would Moss make of the simple dishes they were used to in the Earl’s absence? The girls were too young for elaborate sauces and the clever touches of a French chef and Nell and Mrs Winch were happy with Cook’s beautifully cooked but simple meals. If the man usually took his dinner in the sort of company his evening attire indicated he must, he’d be disappointed. He seemed to enjoy it though, so perhaps he really was a simple man in dandy’s clothing. If so, his godmother’s folly in outfitting him so splendidly was no kindness when he must earn his own bread. Why, he could sit down to dinner with the Earl and not be outshone and what a mistake that would be in an underling.

      How had she got from hoping her food had never been on the floor to worrying about the social niceties of Moss’s wardrobe? The man was old enough to look after himself and if he chose to ride around the country fine as fivepence or dressed in the meanest homespun it wouldn’t matter to her.

      ‘Surely a fine novel can outshine the shady reputation of its kind, Mrs Winch?’ she intervened in the conversation she had started earlier, before Georgiana could recite a list of those she had read and enjoyed. That might reveal the fact Nell had allowed her to read books many would consider unsuitable for a young girl.

      ‘A fine novel might, but the occasional triumphs are lost in the morass of sensation and fantasy,’ Moss answered before the worthy but upright lady could condemn the whole genre and Georgiana might argue hotly for her most-loved examples and let out their secrets. ‘I have neither the time nor patience to work my way through stacks of three-decker novels to find the occasional gem. Poetry and plays are an established form and I can trust time to sieve out the worst and keep the best of them,’ he added as if dropping stones into a pond just for the pleasure of making ripples.

      ‘Some might say that makes you a lazy reader, sir, but I hope you will concede that Dean Swift and Mr Defoe tower above their imitators,’ Nell argued because she couldn’t seem to help herself.

      ‘I grant you those excellent examples, ma’am, and Sir Henry Fielding’s works, although these young ladies must be ignorant of all but Amelia now society thinks the rest improper, which says more about society than Sir Henry if you ask me.’

      Hiding a smile as Mrs Winch tried to decide if she should argue, Nell shot Georgiana a warning look. It had seemed a good idea to let her read The History of Tom Jones as well as Amelia at the time, to show her the world wasn’t always kind to an innocent abroad. Luckily Lavinia had no interest in any but the popular novels Moss was being so scathing about, so Nell needn’t worry she would let Mr Jones’s name out unwarily. Caro was worried enough about what lay outside the gates of Berry Brampton House not to burden her with such vivid misadventures.

      Luckily talk soon moved on and Nell could relax while they argued for this or that favourite poem. It was a chance to listen instead of having to instruct her pupils. The elder girls seemed much like any on the verge of womanhood and, considering what a pair of hostile little savages they were when she’d arrived here, Nell was proud of them. Penny was confident enough to sit and listen when she had nothing to say, but Nell couldn’t rest on her laurels. Even Penny would soon feel the changes in mind and body that transformed little girls into women. The others were well launched on that stage when Nell arrived and she tried not to shudder at the memory.

      For once Mr Moss was a welcome diversion. He was a strong man, she decided after a few furtive glances at him to take in what the shadows hid earlier, long-limbed and oddly graceful, despite his air of suppressed energy and to-hell-with-you manner. Something about him recalled Lavinia for an instant, but she looked again and thought it was a trick of the light. They both had intensely blue eyes, but he was dark as the devil and Lavinia was fair and the shape of their faces were quite different.

      And what did an almost-handsome man think of the governess? That she was a middling sort of person and quite unremarkable, she concluded. Her once angelically fair locks were halfway between gold and brown and her eyes were plain brown. She was neither tall nor short and even at seventeen Lavinia outdid her in womanly curves. All Mr Moss’s worst fears must be realised by candlelight, not that it mattered; once he settled into the agent’s house he’d be in such demand among local society they would not meet except by chance.

      It was no small thing to be land steward to the Berry Brampton Estate and, as the Earl did not live here, some of his status would fall on Mr Moss. Genteel young ladies would badger their fathers and brothers to call and invite him to dinner or an informal party so he’d soon be too busy charming the local beauties to dine with four unfledged young ladies, their plain governess and Mrs Winch. The Selford cousins were above his touch and Nell beneath it. What if he wasn’t Mr Moss and she wasn’t Miss Court, though? With a fortune like hers he could buy his own estate to manage. Revolted at the idea of being courted for her money, Nell decided if she ever married it would be to a man who loved her for herself. She came out of her daydream to find the others all but done with their meal and Mrs Winch more than ready for a cup of tea and half an hour nodding by the fire.

      ‘Parkins will bring in the port, Mr Moss,’ the lady said. ‘It’s time we left you

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