‘Just come along to the house party and tell me what to do,’ Del said. ‘The Ottersbys said it was fine to bring you. I’ve known the family since I was a boy. It’ll be fun—a smallish group, enlarged by the usual county folk for some of the evenings, and we can count on excellent food and drink.’
Simon sighed again. Del was a good friend, and he didn’t want to let him down.
‘If I don’t have someone telling me what to do and say,’ Del said, ‘I’ll never get the courage to ask Eudora to marry me.’
‘Why in hell not?’ grumbled Simon. ‘The worst she can do is say no. There’s always another woman down the road.’
‘Not for me,’ Del said. ‘It’s Eudora or no one.’
Simon grimaced, but deep inside, a strange pang assailed him. He hadn’t thought much about marriage until recently. First his solid, responsible brother James had married, and he and his wife were disgustingly happy. Then, Simon had found himself the possessor of a sizeable house in London, which felt empty with only himself and a couple of servants rattling about in it. He would have to fill it up with a family someday.
But not by succumbing to the wiles of the matchmaking mamas. Sooner or later he would find the right woman, make her an offer of marriage, she would accept him, and that would be that. Marriage on his own terms, and no one else’s.
Meanwhile, Del needed him, and he never failed a friend. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll come.’
One week later
Simon Carling prowled the corridors of Ottersby Place, looking for a woman to waylay.
Ideally, he would happen upon a young, comely and virtuous servant who would make plenty of noise whilst repulsing him. Young and comely because kissing her would be enjoyable, and virtuous so she wouldn’t actually succumb to his advances. Not that he was averse to dallying with a pretty servant girl, but he simply wasn’t in the mood.
After two minutes at the Ottersby estate, he’d regretted his kind-hearted, mutton-headed decision to help Delbert Conk. One look at Lady Ottersby and her three simpering daughters, and he would have claimed to be pox-ridden if it weren’t for his promise to advise Del. He meant to leave Hampshire as soon as he’d shoved Del into making his proposal, but in the meantime he needed to protect himself from Lady Ottersby’s matchmaking wiles. Vilifying his own character seemed the most entertaining approach.
A maid bustled around the corner carrying a bucket of coal. Simon advanced upon her with a knowing smile.
A trill of nervous laughter erupted in the corridor outside Eudora Ottersby’s bedchamber. Hastily, Beatrix March shut the jewellery box she’d been searching.
‘Oh, no, sir! Please, sir. I really mustn’t!’ cried a female voice.
Beatrix recognized the masculine murmur that followed this protest. Never in her life had she met a more rampant—and dangerous—flirt than Mr. Simon Carling. Not that she’d actually met him—Lady Ottersby didn’t introduce her guests to the lowly governess—but Beatrix knew of him from when she’d worked for a family in London. He hadn’t noticed her then, but tonight he’d given her a long, assessing look when she’d brought Helena and Louisa Ottersby down to the drawing room—the kind of look that made a woman’s heart beat faster and her blood run hot.
As befitted her position as governess, she’d pretended not to notice, and his amused eye had roamed on. Since then, he’d flirted outrageously with every woman in the drawing room and a couple of the maids besides. He had quite a reputation with the ladies, but evidently he was a far more indiscriminate lecher than she’d supposed. Hopefully, the maid would have the gumption to send Mr. Carling to the rightabout.
She finished going through the jewellery box, but without success. During the last few months, she’d taken advantage of every opportunity to search. She’d gone through the drawers of the dressing table. She’d unpacked and repacked the clothes press. She’d even opened every single book on Eudora’s shelf in case pages had been cut away and the reliquary hidden inside. If St. Davnet wanted her toe bone restored to its rightful owner, she certainly wasn’t making its recovery easy.
A clang in the corridor, followed by an anguished squawk, broke into Beatrix’s thoughts. Muttering under her breath, she picked up the shawl she’d been sent to fetch, stomped to the bedchamber door, and flung it open.
‘Whatever is going on out here?’ she demanded in her best governess voice.
The maid gaped at her, red as a strawberry, hands pressed to her heaving bosom. Coal lay strewn across the passageway.
Mr. Carling retrieved the coal bucket from the floor. ‘Trust a governess to spoil sport,’ he drawled.
You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Carling. It may have been sport to you, but to Nellie it would have meant loss of employment and perhaps utter ruin.’
‘Pfft,’ Mr. Carling said rudely. ‘One little kiss doesn’t spell ruin.’ Astonishingly, he set about picking up the scattered lumps of coal. When Nellie hurried to take the bucket, he put up a hand and said, ‘Don’t come too close, girl. I’m a truly dreadful fellow. I might grab you and debauch you.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that.’
Unfortunately, he had such a charming grin that Nellie merely giggled. ‘Not with Miss March here to save me, you wouldn’t.’ The silly girl sounded almost regretful. Nor could Beatrix find it in her heart to blame her. Mr. Carling, from his wavy, deep reddish locks to his shiny black Hessians, was the sort of man to turn any woman’s resistance to mush.
‘Do give me the bucket, sir.’ Footsteps approached, and Nellie whitened, whispering, ‘Please!’
Simon passed her the bucket just as Lady Ottersby rounded the corner. Her gaze flickered from Simon to Beatrix and back again, and then to Nellie. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘Dear Lady Ottersby,’ Simon purred. ‘Wherever I turn, there you are again.’
She gave Simon a syrupy smile, which immediately changed into a scowl. ‘What are you doing here, Miss March? What has that clumsy girl done now?’
‘It wasn’t Nellie’s fault,’ Beatrix said. ‘Mr. Carling startled her, and she dropped the coal bucket.’
‘Tut, tut, Miss March,’ Simon said. ‘A governess should always be truthful. Not only did I startle Nellie, I accosted her, poor girl. I simply can’t keep my hands off pretty chambermaids.’ He brushed his sooty fingers, as if he could get rid of the dust of sin as well as coal. ‘Miss March stepped in to save her. I tried to make up for my abominable behaviour by picking up the coal myself, but Nellie wouldn’t let me.’
Lady Ottersby rebuked Nellie and turned her frown on Beatrix. ‘Why are you here? I ordered you to keep an eye on Helena and Louisa.’ She simpered at Simon. ‘They are such innocents, and need a watchful eye upon them at every moment. A girl’s reputation is so fragile nowadays. One indiscretion and she is compromised!’
‘Come now, Lady Ottersby,’ Simon said. ‘With such an unparalleled example as yours to follow, your daughters couldn’t possibly do anything indiscreet. And Miss March is a positive fount of propriety.’
Beatrix suppressed an indignant outburst, which made no sense. As a governess, she was obliged to be extremely proper. She should be thankful to know she was playing her role so very well.
If only propriety wasn’t such an almighty bore!
Simon grinned at Beatrix as if he read her thoughts. ‘I remember Miss March from London, when she worked for Lady Wade.’
Simon