Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,4
had so nearly injured her and the child appalled him. He could have killed them. His gut twisted with shame and fresh anger.
The governess had been trying to save the child. Then she had tried to hide her fear, facing down his no doubt maniacal stare with a calm relief that was curiously free of judgment. She seemed…different to the females he normally encountered, absorbing without offense, the ridiculous name bestowed upon her by her charge. Miss Tumblebumpkin indeed.
He smiled reluctantly. His grandfather would be well-served if he really did marry a governess. Immediately. Then Gosmere Hall would be his, along with his maternal grandfather’s fortune, and he could begin his educational experiment and the more independent life he craved. Even without seeing the old man’s face, the marriage would be worth it for so many reasons.
And damn it, what governess would not prefer to be the mistress of a fine house and estate than to be a mere drudge in someone else’s family?
Reluctantly, he turned the horse’s head back toward the hall. With luck, his grandfather would be gone by the time he returned. Fury surged again. What difference could two years make to the old man? He just took delight in thwarting him, refusing to believe he was serious when the merit of his plan was clear to everyone else. And even if the experiment failed, then at least it would have been tried. At least some children would have choices not previously open to them…
Damn it, I will marry the governess. If she’ll have me, and I don’t see any reason she wouldn’t.
Except that I just behaved like a madman.
Well, she hadn’t seemed upset… In fact, she had rather pleasing gray eyes, soothing to a man’s ill-temper. And she was pretty enough, with a few locks of honey-blonde hair escaping her bonnet, those fine eyes and an expressive mouth that seemed to want to smile but wasn’t quite sure if such a thing was allowed. An intriguing girl, uncommon…and if she was a governess, it was probable she came of good family.
He frowned suddenly. In fact, now he thought of it, she looked rather like Lucy Shelby, whom Edmund Letchworth wished to marry. And like the child, she had seized out of his way. The name-calling and her reaction were suddenly much understandable.
She’s no more the governess than I am.
So why pretend she is?
The mystery engaged him until he found himself on the drive up to Gosmere Hall. His grandfather’s carriage was rumbling toward him. He doubted it would stop, and it didn’t. But Christopher swept off his hat and bowed ironically. His grandfather nodded in return, gracious in victory.
Well, the old man hadn’t won. Not yet.
*
Christopher woke, still resolved to call that day at the Shelbys’ house. Despite desiring a marriage of convenience, he had no intention of saddling himself with an ill-natured, vulgar, or stupid woman. Which was why any old milkmaid wouldn’t do. Or, God help him, the grasping Nell, who had a body to delight the senses and conversation to dull the soul. Only at his very angriest had he considered marrying Nell.
But no, a wife who would annoy him was hardly a convenience. So, he resolved to talk to the Shelby girl at least once more before deciding whether or not to marry her.
As he threw open the shutters of his bedchamber, it came to him that although his life was in London, he rather liked this house. He had always known it would be his, and on his rare visits, he had always been rather proud of the fact. Of course, it needed to be lived in, to be whipped into shape by a mistress’s touch.
Washed and dressed, he ran downstairs and found several letters awaiting him. One from Andrew Gates, his radical teacher friend, asked eagerly for news of his interview with Lord Hawfield. Christopher sighed and laid it aside.
Another epistle, from Lady Letchworth, asked him to come for tea and to tell her anything his people had discovered about the Shelby family, who would also be invited to tea. He tossed that aside, too, in favor of the third letter from Ludovic Dunne, an unusual friend with a knack of discovering whatever one needed to know. This had proved useful to Christopher in several political matters. So when Lady Letchworth had asked him what he knew of the girl Edmund Letchworth wished to marry, he had invoked Dunne’s help again. It seemed he finally had an answer.