Jessica Nelson - The Unconventional Governess

What did she know of teaching? Nothing, which was why it was best to find a position with a sweet, biddable child.

“In that case, bring me Jacks and ready my carriage for departure,” he said in a voice that resonated with an irritating earl-like authority. He was a man obviously used to being obeyed.

“You are not going anywhere.” Annoyed by the determination on her patient’s face, she gave him a stern look. “There is no telling what internal damage you may have suffered. To get up, to be active, could worsen your condition.”

The man scowled at her. And it was a dark scowl indeed, on such a handsome face. She crossed her arms and sent the apothecary a pointed look. “Do you not agree?”

“I do agree.” He stroked his chin. “Are you sure we should not bleed him? His humors are visibly imbalanced. His coloring, for example.”

“We will not be using leeches. My uncle, Mr. William Gordon, says they are ineffective, and that conclusion is based on years of observation and experience.”

“A fine physician. I’ve seen his works in various medical journals.” The apothecary dipped his head. “No leeches, then.”

Grunting, their patient pushed himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She examined his physique for any other weaknesses, any inordinarities. Pain whitened his lips, but did not soften the stubborn jut of his well-defined jaw. He was a larger and broader man than Henrietta had realized. When he’d been lying down, it had been easy to forget his size. Her own stature had often been called average, as had most everything about her besides her intelligence.

“I’ve business to attend while you are wasting time discussing bloodsuckers and the humored color of my skin. Send for my valet. Instruct him as to my needs.”

A rustling of skirts and a perfumed puff of scent announced Lady Brandewyne’s arrival. She entered the room, forcing Henrietta to move toward the foot of the bed. Though comfortable, the room was hardly spacious, and with their medical tools set up, the space further shrunk.

“He’s awake! How unfortunate, how terrible that you were attacked by bandits on my property. Those roving groups of perfidious miscreants...but never mind. After all you’ve been through, and now this. We are all deeply sorry about your family’s loss.” She clucked her tongue. “How can I see to your comfort, my lord?”

He lifted a pointed look to Henrietta. “My valet, if you please.”

“But certainly.” The lady called for a servant. “What else?”

“Louise must be ready to go within the hour. It’s paramount I return to my northern estate.”

“Why, yes, yes, of course.” Lady Brandewyne cast a searching look to Henrietta, who felt tempted to shrug her shoulders and leave this beast to his wildness. This might be her last opportunity for nursing, however. If she had to find a post... The depressing thought weighed upon her.

“It is my opinion—” she gave St. Raven a steady look “—that the jostle of a carriage will be quite painful and his wounds might reopen. Keeping them clean will also be problematic. I cannot recommend he be moved.”

He looked about to retort when a commotion outside their room ensued.

“Oh, my.” Lady Brandewyne pressed a hand to her bosom and exited, followed by the doctor. Henrietta remained in the room, along with her lady’s maid—an extravagance she had insisted she did not need, but Lady Brandewyne would not hear otherwise.

St. Raven leaned back upon his pillow, weakness overcoming his pride. Foolish man. Of course a man who asked for a new cravat while half-conscious with pain would refer to going to his estate as paramount.

Henrietta pursed her lips, peering out the doorway. Downstairs a girl with thick raven hair and an obstinate expression wrestled with a servant. Behind them, Lady Brandewyne’s butler, housemaid and three other servants watched the tussle. Henrietta leaned forward, attempting to listen without leaving her patient. For all she knew, he was just waiting for an opportunity to sneak away.

Like Uncle William. How could he have done such a thing to her? All because she contracted rheumatic fever...such nonsense to fear for her life. Risks were always present, no matter where one lived. She’d much rather face death on a field with her uncle than waste away as a companion to a crotchety rich person or, worse, governess to a spoiled child.

“Eavesdropping?”

Henrietta’s attention flickered, but she did not turn toward that voice. And what a voice. Husky and laced with humor. His scowl earlier had seemed out of character. This man acted like a coddled prince, dressed like a dandy and spoke like a...well, she wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing: no patient of hers was going to be harmed due to willful ignorance.

“Yes,” she finally said, keeping her eyes trained on the situation below. “I cannot leave you here alone.”

“You have no regard for my station.”

He obviously wanted to converse. Sighing, she turned. He sat resolutely on the bed, his hands spread upon the mattress for balance. A curious smile played about his lips.

“Should I? You are an injured man. Your title and your wealth have little importance in a sick room.”

“Come now, Miss Gordon, do not be serious with me. Your brows are knit so tightly that I fear they shall remain forever stuck that way.”

“You are impudent.”

“I am bored and, most unfortunately, beset upon by many responsibilities not of my own making. It appears your word is more revered than the town doctor’s.” His eyes, that striking rich green, regarded her laughingly. “Release me. Give permission.”

The town apothecary was a nice man, but he had not updated his medical knowledge in years. It had not escaped her notice that he had seen rather than read her uncle’s articles. He was slightly better than a self-taught surgeon. Heat flushed through her, turning her palms sweaty. Lord St. Raven befuddled her.

Had she ever met such a charming personality? She could not recall, though, when one was dying on a battlefield, she doubted charm was of any importance.

But how very annoying to be almost swayed by this man’s smile, by his persistent eyes.

“No.” A high-pitched girl’s voice came from below stairs. “I insist on seeing him at once.” The shrill proclamation was followed by the patter of footsteps on the long, winding staircase that served as the centerpiece to Lady Brandewyne’s home.

Determined footsteps, Henrietta concluded. She put her back to the wall, bracing herself for the child about to burst into the room. Lord St. Raven regarded the entrance with interest, his arms propped on his knees.

The girl flew into the room. She was a wisp of a child and shot directly to the earl’s sickbed.

“Oh, Dom, how could you?” She threw herself against him, eliciting a pained grunt from the subject of her emotions. “First you leave me for months on end, and then you act the hero, taunting criminals until they chase you and leave you practically dead on the roadside, beaten to a bloody pulp by pernicious ruffians.”

Henrietta felt her eyebrows raising at this exclamation.

“I’d hardly call myself close to dead. Roughed up a bit, that’s all.”

“That is not what Jacks said.”

“Dear one, you’ve been listening in on adult conversations,” Lord St. Raven murmured, his hand patting the girl’s back, belying the censure in his tone.

“And I’ve had to deal with insipid servants all week. I declare, Dom, you are perfectly horrid to have left me by myself at St. Raven in the first place. You shall never leave me again.”

After that impassioned declaration, the child swiveled around and leveled a sharp look at Henrietta. She quickly smothered any existence of laughter.