The Tempting Of The Governess - Julia Justiss Mills & Boon Historical

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of some tropical fever, Hugh vaguely remembered. ‘Probably because she didn’t want you to get sick, too.’

      ‘Papa told us you were his best cousin. That you were a brave soldier in In-dee-yah. When Madame Julienne sent us away, she said you would w-want us.’ Tears welled up in Elizabeth’s eyes and little Sophie was already soundlessly weeping.

      Hugh knew he ought to embrace the girls—if they’d let him. Reassure them. But as much as he felt for their pain and loss, he couldn’t quite force himself to touch them.

      So, trying to summon soothing words, he said, ‘You mustn’t be afraid. I was a soldier, just like your papa told you, so I know all about protecting. You’ll be safe here and we will look after you.’

      He hadn’t done such a wonderful job of protecting his own child, he thought, another wave of anger rolling through him. But this was England, not a hot, exotic land full of poisonous plants, reptiles and dangerous diseases that could snuff out a child’s life between sunset and midnight. Though he’d sworn he’d never take responsibility for a child again, surely he could tolerate watching over them until he could turn them over to a suitable female.

      At last, Mrs Wallace’s tall, austere figure appeared at the door. After rapping, she walked over to peer down at where he still knelt beside the children—whom she swept with a disapproving glance.

      ‘Mansfield said you wanted me, Colonel?’

      Rising, Hugh bit back a sharp reply. No point taking his aggravation out on the housekeeper, even though he knew Mansfield would have already told her about the Allens and what had transpired in the library. Hugh had no doubt she knew full well what he wanted.

      ‘Mrs Wallace, may I present Elizabeth and Sophie Glendenning, my late cousin’s daughters. They are to be staying with us at Somers Abbey for a time. They’ve had a long journey and, I’m sure, could do with some bread and soup before they go up to bed. Take them to the kitchen, please, and see to them.’

      The housekeeper’s gaze swept from the huddled children back to Hugh. ‘I don’t deal with children, Colonel.’

      The last of his patience unravelling, Hugh snapped, ‘Well, you’re going to have to, at least until I can hire a governess. See them fed and settled in, at once!’

      ‘Very well.’ Glowering, the housekeeper curtsied to him. ‘Come along, children.’

      Though Hugh didn’t much like turning the girls over to a cold stick like Mrs Wallace, his skeleton-staffed bachelor household didn’t offer many alternatives.

      He’d write to a hiring agency at once. Fortunately, Robert had left ample funds for his children’s care, so Hugh could demand their most superior candidate and pay extra to have her travel by private coach, so she might arrive at Somers Abbey with all possible speed.

      It was the best he could do, under the circumstances. Stalking back to his desk, he flung himself into the chair, noting grimly that his hands were trembling. Doubtless from the shock of having a raw wound ripped open. Drawing in a shaky breath, he took out the bottle of Scotch and poured himself a full glass.

       Chapter Three

      Slightly more than a week later, as the evening shadows blurred the view from her coach window, Olivia craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her new employer’s residence. ‘Somers Abbey’, she’d read on the note of introduction the agency had given her—and the pile of grey stone she could just perceive in the hazy distance certainly looked the part of a medieval manor wrenched from the grip of a religious community by a greedy monarch.

      She had to shiver, just looking at it. Not a very welcoming appearance. Perhaps the two orphaned girls she had been sent to care for found it a place of wonders, with priest’s holes to hide in and long, rambling corridors to run through.

      She’d never been around children much. Stirring uneasily, she hoped they would get along.

      As the carriage drew to a halt, she tried to subdue the nervous foreboding in the pit of her belly. She was no shrinking young miss, but a well-educated, intelligent, competent young woman who had managed her mother’s household for years. She could handle a nursery and two little girls.

      Besides, she had insisted the employment contract run for only six months. She could bear anything for six months. Although she would then return to London, as she’d promised Sara again when they exchanged their final tearful goodbyes, she didn’t expect anything would happen to change her circumstances. She would still be on her own, forced to find a new position to earn her bread.

      And earning about as much as, in her former life, she would have spent on a ball gown without thinking twice about it.

      But reflecting on that would do no more good than giving in to her distress over leaving her home and the last close friend she had in the world. There was no possibility of going back; she could only move forward.

      The hired carriage halted before the entrance. Marshalling all her resolve, she descended from the vehicle.

      Her knock was answered by an elderly butler, whose livery looked as shabby as the worn carpet in the entry hall. ‘Miss Overton, I presume?’

      ‘Yes. Would you announce me to the Colonel? I should like to present my credentials before he takes me to meet the children.’

      ‘This way, Miss Overton. I’ll have your trunk conveyed to your room.’

      Wondering where she would be received—probably in an office or study, not in the parlour reserved for guests, certainly—she followed the man down the hallway and into what looked to be an older section of the house, all stone walls and dark wood panelling.

      He stopped before an ancient, solid oak door. After struggling to open it, he intoned, ‘Miss Overton, Colonel.’

      Ruthlessly quelling her nervousness, Olivia walked in to meet her new employer, who rose as she entered.

      Encouraged by that gesture of respect—as he was receiving a mere employee, not a lady of the ton, he might well have retained his seat—she looked up at him squarely.

      Tall and ash blond, with a rigidly upright bearing that proclaimed his military background, the Colonel cut an impressive figure—and was much younger than she’d expected. Having learned her employer had served his military career in India, she assumed he’d returned to England to retire. Though weariness lined his sunburned face, the man before her was in his middle thirties, at most.

      Belatedly realising that she had been staring, Olivia pulled herself together. ‘Good evening, Colonel,’ she said, dropping him a curtsy.

      ‘Miss Overton,’ he acknowledged her with an incline of his head. ‘Won’t you take a seat? That will be all, Mansfield.’

      Initially taken aback, she squelched the reaction, reminding herself she had been ushered into this man’s presence merely to have her credentials examined and be given whatever instruction he deemed necessary prior to taking up her work. She shouldn’t expect to be entertained or offered refreshment.

      Yet the stark contrast with the warm hospitality she’d been offered upon her arrival at every other stately house she’d ever visited brought her close to tears.

       You will accustom yourself. You must. And you’re not going to turn weak and faint-hearted at the very first hurdle.

      Willing herself to calm, she walked over and handed him the documents the hiring agency had made up for her, then took the chair he indicated in front of his desk. ‘These should confirm what the agency already informed you about my background.’

      Scanning the papers, he nodded. ‘Yes, I see that you were well educated at a private ladies’ academy. You are capable of teaching English, literature, mathematics, geography, French, Italian, music and proper deportment? I see also that you have excellent references

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