The Scottish Governess: Regency Romance by Arietta Richmond

Author:Arietta Richmond [Richmond, Arietta]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Dreamstone Publishing
Published: 2020-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

That night Constance went up to her room tired, but happy.

She could still hardly credit the complete about-face of the girls' attitude. Of course, there was a degree of self-interest involved in their zeal for reform - they wanted their privileges restored, they wanted to go to London for the Season, and, Lady Clara of course, wanted her coming out. But still, it was an amazing and gratifying change. It also made Constance feel rather better about the incident on the stairs, when she had slapped the Earl's face and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he must deal with his daughters (even if she had then kissed him…).

If the incident hadn't occurred, their father wouldn't have spoken to the girls as he had. But then... if Lady Amelia hadn't dropped her handkerchief when snooping in Constance’s room, she, Constance, wouldn't have stormed out and slapped the Earl's face... Perhaps, Constance mused as she slipped out of her clothes with relief, and began washing herself, Amelia's dropping of the 'kerchief was a kind of unconscious appeal to Constance for help?

The girl had a fearsome intensity of emotional energy, and was the possessor of a passionate nature - she hated passionately and, Constance was sure, could love as passionately too, but she needed guidance, patience, a loving hand. Of the three, she needed a loving hand – the sort that was normally provided by a mother - the most. The Earl would need to marry again, and marry a good, sensitive woman...

But it was dangerous to think of the Earl so directly. Constance looked in the mirror, and noted with pleasure what she saw, the high, firm bosom, the stately neck, the loose red hair brushing her smooth pale shoulders... and then the Earl standing behind her, the warmth of his hands on her, caressing... her imagination drew him there, as clearly as if he really stood behind her.

'Please Constance, spare me, don't. Let's get to bed and sleep,' she chastised herself.

She was reluctantly obeying herself when Anne tapped on the door.

“Constance! Mrs Temp sends her apologies but asks if you would kindly deliver a decanter of port to his Lordship, he's in his rooms.”

Constance was on the point of asking why she was being asked to take port to the Earl's rooms so late, that was a job for one of the footmen, surely? But the query froze on her lips, and she found herself hurrying back into her dress, and giving her assent to Anne. The prospect of seeing him alone, even if only for a minute, was too tempting to refuse.

She quickly tidied her hair, and went down to the ground floor to collect the tray.

Her heart was thumping alarmingly as she went up the stairs and walked along the gallery, where the paintings of the Earl's ancestors looked down upon her, their expressions surely disapproving. She must just deposit the tray and leave, as politely as possible, but, oh! it seemed like an eon since she had seen him! Even though, as she rightly knew, it was but one full day.

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