Diane Gaston - A Lady Becomes A Governess

When they walked through the tavern again, it was no less full of life. There were still men and women laughing and drinking away whatever their cares might be. He envied them. He had not imbibed nearly enough drink to drown his emotions this night.

The innkeeper greeted them when they walked back into the hall. ‘I hope your meal was satisfactory.’

Miss Tilson replied before Garret opened his mouth. ‘Thank you, sir. It was very satisfying.’ Then she shifted her gaze to him as if he might object to her speaking.

As they approached the stairway, Garret remembered the innkeeper’s offer of a maid. ‘Would you like the maid to attend you now?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied. ‘A maid now. Or as soon as it is convenient.’ She glanced back at the innkeeper.

The man spoke up. ‘I will send someone directly, miss.’

Garret followed her up the stairs and escorted her to her door. She took a key from her pocket and he opened his hand. She gave him the key and he unlocked the door. In the open doorway she turned to face him.

He was quite aware of how close he stood to her and how the soft light of the hall lamps made her skin glow and her eyes darken.

‘I’ll arrange for the maid to wake you in time to leave tomorrow,’ he managed to say.

Her voice turned raspy. ‘Thank you, sir. For eating your meal with me.’

He lowered his voice, too. ‘I hope it eased matters for you.’

Her eyes softened. ‘Much better than being alone.’

That seemed faint praise.

She affected him more than he wished to admit. His arms itched to hold her.

To comfort her, that was all. Merely comfort her. He had no business acting upon any other temptation, although it struck him how easily it could be done. She could not refuse him, could she? She had nothing but the position of governess that was entirely in his control.

No. He would not touch her.

Oh. And he was betrothed. He’d forgotten about that.

He stepped back. ‘My room is across the hall. Knock on the door if you need me—if you need anything. Otherwise, sleep well, Miss Tilson.’

She lowered her head and curtsied. ‘You, as well, sir,’ she replied dutifully.

She turned and entered the room, closing the door behind her. The key sounded in the lock.

Garret stared at the closed door for a moment before heading back to the stairway and returning to the tavern for something stronger than ale.

Chapter Four

The next day Garret rose early, ignoring the pounding in his head from too many glasses of a rather bad brandy. He sought out the innkeeper and arranged for a man to ride ahead to Preston on a specific errand.

When Miss Tilson was ready, he arranged for breakfast in the private dining parlour. The sun shone through the parlour window, lighting her face with its dark circles under the eyes. Her skin was nearly as pale as his first sight of her abed in Moelfre.

He frowned. ‘I fear you did not sleep well, Miss Tilson.’

She blushed, which at least gave her some colour. ‘Not very well.’

‘Were you troubled by dreams?’ Nightmares followed battles. Why not shipwrecks?

She glanced at him in surprise. ‘I was. I dreamed of the water.’

Poor girl.

‘You won’t always have the dreams,’ he reassured her.

She nibbled on toasted bread and jam. He ate a piece of ham and racked his throbbing brain for some way to make this trip less unpleasant for her.

‘I could hire a larger carriage, if you like. Ride with you.’ There was really no need for her to be alone.

Although how comfortable would it be to be so close to her for so many hours?

She looked alarmed. ‘I would not so inconvenience you, my lord. I will manage well enough in the landaulet. You must not give up the pleasure of riding horseback.’

He was most comfortable on a horse, that was true. On the Peninsula, he and his horse moved as one and in battle his horse never failed him.

He glanced out the window. ‘It does look to be a fine day for riding.’

Her voice turned wistful. ‘A lovely day for riding.’

He heard her take another bite of her toast. He gazed out the window, but his mind was working.

Finally he turned back to her. ‘Do you ride, Miss Tilson?’

To his surprise, her hazel eyes kindled with pleasure—a captivating sight.

‘Once upon a time I rode every chance I could,’ she said dreamily. ‘So I well understand what a joy it is to view the countryside from the back of a horse.’

He nodded. ‘If we can procure a riding habit for you and a ladies’ saddle, would you like to ride today?’

He could pay off the coachmen. They certainly would not mind receiving the same pay for a trip they did not have to take.

Her eyes widened. ‘Surely you cannot arrange such a thing.’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘I can try. We shall see what can be done.’

Her eyes brightened. ‘I would love to ride.’

* * *

It took some effort—and a generous output of coin—but Garret managed to provide Miss Tilson with a decent and well-fitting riding habit, riding boots, gloves, hat, riding crop and a side saddle that suited her almost as well as if made for her. He paid enough for the owner of the items to purchase three replacements and ones of finer quality, too.

But he would not tell Miss Tilson the cost. It exceeded her yearly salary, which would seem a fortune to her, but to him, now that he’d inherited wealth, it was a mere trifle.

The stable provided them both with horses, which they would change periodically at other coaching inns on the road.

The air was crisp and the sky so vivid a blue it almost hurt the eyes. Rolls of white clouds added to the day’s grandeur. What finer day could there be for a ride?

In Chester the road was busy with farm wagons, mail coaches, carriages of all kinds, from the simplest gig to elegant landaus to a lumbering post chaise, but as they rode further away from the town there were times they were alone on the road and could ride side by side.

‘How are you faring?’ he asked. ‘I can always hire a carriage if riding is too taxing.’

She was as game as he’d hoped, though. ‘It is not too taxing.’ She smiled at him. ‘It is wonderful!’

Garret was pleased. He’d brought her some happiness after all she’d been through.

‘You ride well,’ he said.

She grinned. ‘It is one of my favourite pastimes, I must say. When I was a little girl I rode astride and bareback on my beloved pony. When I was sent to school, my father provided a horse and I learned how to ride properly.’

‘Where was your school?’ he asked.

Her smile faded and she took a moment to answer. ‘Bristol,’ she finally said.

Whenever he asked her a question, her demeanour changed. It kept him from asking more.

But as they rode in silence for a while, he felt compelled to say something. ‘You must have the use of the stables at Brookmore. There are a couple of mares there—my sister-in-law’s horses—that you would find pleasant to ride.’

Her face lit up. ‘I might ride? How very wonderful!’

Changing horses at the inns gave them both a chance to stretch their muscles and ease any soreness from the time in the saddle. Garret was used to long hours on horseback, but Miss Tilson could not be as seasoned, even if she loved riding.

When they took refreshment at the inns, their conversation was more comfortable than the night before, but, then, any questions he asked her were about the inn, the food, the fresh horses they were given. Apparently questions about the present were not difficult for her to answer.

He liked being in her company. She was neither too chatty nor deadly silent.

* * *

When the sun dipped low in the sky, they reached the outskirts of Preston. Preston was a large and busy town and the traffic on the road was almost as bustling as London. Many a male rider would have found it daunting to guide a horse through such busy streets. Miss Tilson still rode confidently.