How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,40

folded up the letter motioning for Miss Thatcher to come in. Once she seated herself across the desk from him, he reconsidered putting away the letter and instead passed it to her.

She looked at him questioning with those sea-green eyes, afraid that it might be too personal to share with her. He nodded his encouragement, and she opened and read through its contents.

He watched as she scanned the letter. Despite the desperate situation, he couldn’t help but smile as her lips slightly moved as she read. He had never noticed it before. Had she always done that?

“I don’t understand. This says the duke was very upset to learn from Lord Babcock that you have taken in Betsy Smelting and a governess. How could he already not know himself?”

“Because,” Lord John said, crossing his hands on the desk, “I made a point not to tell him.”

Miss Thatcher looked down at the letter again. Perhaps she was willing the page to make sense of why Lord John had kept their presence a secret.

“You didn’t tell him? You had to know he would find out? Surely he knew of the Smeltings’ demise. Would he not question what happened to Betsy? Now he is demanding that you send her to him,” she finished in a panicked tone.

“I have no intention of doing so,” Lord John said calmly.

“But how can you stop it from happening. How could you not tell him yourself, Lord John?” She repeated her big eyes welling with tears. “Perhaps if you had told him and explained that it’s what Lieutenant Smelting wanted, he would have let it be. But to hear it from another, as circulated gossip…”

Miss Thatcher tossed the letter on the desk and began wringing her hands in fear. Lord John sensed the spiral and quickly came around the desk. He knelt before her and took her hands in his in a very familiar way.

“You’re right,” he said quickly. “I should have told the duke right away. I didn’t because…” he paused to find the words. “Because I was still trying to figure it all out myself. I knew if I told my brother, he would take charge as he has always done with everything. I wanted time to think it through myself and decide what was best for Betsy. I couldn’t do that with him over-lording me.

“I should have told him, though, once things started to settle. It was so nice,” he said, smiling up at her, “having you and Betsy here with me. We were in our own little world for a time, and I guess I just was holding off losing that. I should have thought things through better. I knew the ball would send word his way, and still I did nothing to stop it or precede it. I was wrong to do so. Please, Bridget, don’t cry,” Lord John finished in a pleading tone.

He wiped a tear that escaped down her cheek.

“He insists that you send Betsy to him by carriage right away. What will you do? She is too little to go by herself,” Miss Thatcher continued, doing her best to control her composure.

He could tell she was fearful, but more than that, she needed to know what his plan of action was. He realised that though he had always felt like his life was often not his own decision to make, this woman before him had much less control over her own. Everything she loved could be taken away with a simple choice made by another.

There had been almost no mention of Miss Thatcher in the letter. There was only the disapproval of having a social event centred on one such as a governess. How it made the family as a whole look like they had little respect for social class. It had given no requirements on sending Miss Thatcher with Betsy or dispensing of her services. He could understand why her first fear led her to believe that she would be separated from the child.

“I have no plans to take Betsy from you,” Lord John answered the question she didn’t speak.

He watched a shudder of relief run through her body.

“Thank you. I know it’s silly, but I can’t bear to be taken from her.”

“It’s not silly at all,” Lord John assured her.

He had kept his hand on her cheek, brushing it softly as they spoke. He knew it was an overly affectionate touch, and though he had no desire to, he now removed his hand from the warmth of her smooth