Kissed at Midnight (6 page)

The carriage drew up at the entrance to the tunnel. Piles
of stone and rubble marked the entrance. Wooden jousts supported the great hole
in the hillside. Wagons and a wooden hut sat in the mud in front of the tunnel.
August climbed out of the carriage and put on his hat before straightening his
waistcoat.

Apprehension hummed through
him. Though this time it was not anxiousness over the tunnel that caused it. It
was Miss Davis. He prayed she managed on her own today. She had seemed a might
ruffled yesterday.

A smile twitched on his lips
as he recalled the curls spilling over her face and her flushed cheeks.
Unfortunately he too had suffered a few days like that with Elsie, where the
child seemed to want to do everything possible to make his life hell. He
supposed he had eventually come to grips with it but it mattered little.  A
child needed a woman’s touch and he had to work. Regardless of whether he had
proved himself capable or not, he needed Miss Davis.

She would be just fine, he
assured himself, as he took a moment to study the Pennine hills. Pride made his
chest swell. They said it couldn’t be done, that the tunnel was too big an
undertaking, but here they were likely only four months or so away from
completion. They were now putting in the brickwork and the ends of the tunnel
had met with mere inches in error.

August strode down the muddy
hill to the wooden shack where he found one of the foremen. Mr Phillips greeted
him genially and expressed pleasure at seeing him on site. August didn’t need
to visit the site regularly but he still did so. He was reluctant to leave it
totally in the hands of the foremen in spite of the knowledge they were smart
men who would follow his plans to the letter.

“Are we still likely to open
as planned?”

“Yes, sir,” Mr Phillips
nodded and offered August a cup of tea. August took the cup but knew the drink
would be weak and tasteless. The facilities for making tea were not the best
and the tea leaves had likely been used over and over.

The wooden hut smelled of
damp and was lit with only two lamps. The whole site had been plagued with
water and the workers had spent many, many months working in deep water. He was
grateful the hardest tasks were behind them. A few men had been killed with
collapses and explosions, and the water hindered their progress. Still, they
were making good progress now.

People often doubted his
visions. Too young, they said, too progressive. But he understood modern steam
trains better than the men who had been working with less powerful engines.
They still did not grasp what they were capable of and would choose to navigate
around hills and obstacles rather than risk pushing a train up an incline.

August sipped the weak tea.
“Any further collapses?”

“We had some brickwork come
down a few days ago. No accidents and it didn’t set us back by much.”

August nodded. “I’ll go and
take a look myself. Thank you, Mr Phillips.” He placed his unfinished tea on
the table and ducked out of the cabin.

He spent a good two hours
inspecting progress and speaking with some of the navvies. The workers were
rough, hard-working fellows and most found them too coarse but August enjoyed
their ribald sense of humour. He didn’t even take offense when they referred to
him as a toff. He’d come from a relatively privileged background and amassed
quite a bit of wealth for his age, but he refused to forget who lost lives for
his vision. Being a navvie was one of the most dangerous professions of their
time, such was the cost of progress.

When he’d finished his
inspection, he paused to eye the front of the tunnel. The stonework at the
front would go up later on in the year. He had a castellation effect in mind.
He imagined the trains rocketing past, their steam billowing from their
funnels, the sound of the wheels on the track and the hiss of water in the
tenders.

There was nothing like the
sight of these great beasts cutting their way through the countryside. They
were the future for Britain. With the growth of the railways, people from all
walks of life would be able to travel and industry could grow. August looked
forward to seeing the day when distance really was no object.

By the time he was back in
the carriage and returning to Manchester, it was late afternoon and his stomach
rumbled. He had missed lunch, not even getting the chance to eat with the
workers. He peered out at the rolling hills and recalled his quiet morning
meal. Should he ask Miss Davis to join him with Elsie? He had grown used to
having the child on his lap while he fought to eat. She liked to snatch what
she could off his plate and that had become how they’d discovered what foods
she liked and could manage.

August scowled at the
scenery. It was not really done, perhaps, eating with the help, but since the
arrival of Elsie—and Miss Davis, he supposed—he’d become acutely aware of being
alone.

Before Elsie, he’d used the
time to work or think about any problems he was likely to encounter. Now, with
the child in Miss Davis’s care, he spent mealtimes wondering what they were
doing. Did Miss Davis smile at Elsie? Did she sing to her? Did her eyes turn
bright as they so often seemed to?

The rise of smokestacks and
rows of houses came into view and August found himself anxious to return home.
He squeezed his hand tight around the edge of the carriage window. They were
fine, he assured himself. Mrs Cartwright was there and Tilly was not a daft
girl. Unfortunately it was in his nature not to trust anyone to do things as he
would. He hoped she had put Elsie down for a nap after lunch and remembered not
to give her too much milk so the child was hungry enough for supper.

The carriage drew up in
front of his house and he noted the gentle glow from the drawing room window.
She was in there then. He stepped out and glanced at the darkening skies. The
days would grow longer soon enough for which he would be grateful. Returning to
a semi-dark house always filled him with dread. Jamieson could rarely be
counted on to ensure the lamps were burning upon his return.

August opened the door
cautiously and paused to listen for telltale screams—from either female. But
neither Elsie nor Miss Davis was screaming. In fact, the house was deathly
quiet. Unease dripped into his gut. He pressed open the door to the drawing
room and released a slow breath.

Warmth replaced the unease
and he couldn’t resist the twitching of his lips. Sprawled on his large wing-backed
chair, Miss Davis slept. Her head rested against one of the velvet wings and
one arm was draped over the side while Elsie slept on her chest, her head
burrowed against the governess’s breast.

He eyed Miss Davis’s parted
lips and closed lashes. Her hair was loose again, several curls spilling down
her neck and dashing across her chest. Like melted chocolate, they were a
waterfall of beautiful colour against the purple of her dress. A dress that was
created of fine fabric. Exactly who was this governess of his?

Reluctant to disturb them but
noticing the cup that hung loosely from one of Miss Davis’s fingers, he
snatched it up. He winced at the s0und of rattling china on the table but
neither child nor woman stirred. They must have had an exhausting day.

August’s gaze was snared by
the discarded newspaper on the table. He recognised the picture well enough. It
was the tunnel. He lifted the paper and skimmed the article, noting the mention
of his name several times. She had been reading about him.

He couldn’t help but draw up
his chin. She was curious about him. He had to admit they knew little of each
other but they were master and servant. Why would they need to know anything
about one another? However, he was thankful she was just as curious about him
as he was about her.

Except they were at odds
now, for she surely knew more of him. The deep, aching desire to find out more of
her settled low in his stomach, and he flicked his gaze back to her face.

He couldn’t deny it. He
longed to know everything about the beautiful, vibrant woman he had hired to
look after his charge. And the dragging sensation in his gut told him he wanted
to know more than he really should. Like how would she sound when he pressed
his lips to her skin? And exactly what did those plump lips taste like?

August snapped his gaze
away. He had promised her he wouldn’t touch her and he was a man of honour. He
would never break that promise, no matter the cost.

The morning had gone relatively smoothly compared to the
previous days, Ivy was pleased to note. There had been no vomiting incidents,
and neither she nor Elsie had completely broken down. Exhaustion still
encroached on her vision, but their nap yesterday had revived her somewhat. If
she could travel to London and then Manchester alone and live in some of the
roughest parts of the city, she could certainly handle anything this
eight-month-old threw at her.

She paused at the bottom of
the stairs, having intended to change Elsie before taking a stroll again, when
a knock rattled the door. She peered around and knew Jamieson was still in the
kitchen and was likely to take a good half an hour to reach the door, so she
opened it herself. Before she had a chance to offer a greeting or a query, the
woman on the doorstep swept in.

With a red feathered hat and
large skirts, the woman filled most of the hallway. Ivy was forced to press
herself against the console table and nearly knocked a vase from it. Elsie let
out a grunt and shoved a fist in her mouth—her typical greeting it seemed. Ivy
felt the need to let out a similar noise of dissatisfaction.

“Can I help you?” Ivy had to
dip slightly to get a view of the woman under the wide brim of her hat.

The woman, who appeared
several years older than she, was attractive in a slightly masculine way. Her
jaw was strong and her nose straight, but she had long lashes and elegant red
hair. It did not particularly match her garments but if she was trying to
appear striking, it certainly worked. Ivy imagined if such a woman wanted to be
on stage, she would succeed in garnering attention with ease.

The red lady’s gaze swept
over her dismissively, barely acknowledging the child in her arms. “Where is Mr
Avery?”

“He is out at present.” Ivy
couldn’t say where. He had left before she had even seen him that morning. It
seemed Mr Avery either went out to work or shut himself away in his office.
Whether he did anything else, she didn’t know, but she suspected not. He had
stayed true to his promise not to drink again or to touch her. The teasing
thought that she might miss that touch flitted through her mind and she shoved
it aside. It was entirely inappropriate.

“Who are you?” The words
were sour, as if the lady had just sucked a lemon.

Ivy had to mask a smile. Now
this woman would make a fine governess with her pursed lips and disapproving
expression.

“I am Miss Ivy Davis,” she
offered, aware she wasn’t fully answering her question.

The woman’s eyes grew
steely. “You are a relation? His cousin from America perhaps?”

Ivy had little idea who this
cousin was. Mr Avery had made no mention of relatives in America but then he
had told her little. Most of what she knew of him had been garnered from the
newspaper and the few titbits Jamieson shared with her. Mrs Cartwright could be
counted on to stay entirely silent on the matter of her master.

“No, I am not.”

The woman’s gaze finally
fell on the child. “A nursemaid?”

“A governess.”

A sharp, ugly smile
stretched the woman’s lips. “Indeed. And pray tell what a governess is doing
looking after an infant?”

She bristled at this. Who
was this woman and why was she questioning her role? “Forgive me, but who can I
say called? I must see to Elsie.”

“Mrs Pepperwhite. I live next
door. I have been taking an interest in Elsie here. It isn’t right, a man
looking after a child on his own.” She fished into a tasselled purse the same
shade of her dress and handed her a calling card.

Ivy bit back a retort,
desperate to remind the woman Mr Avery wasn’t looking after the baby alone and
from what little she knew, Mr Avery had done a fine job on his own. Elsie
appeared well looked after and Jamieson had said Mr Avery had a great deal of
patience with the child.

“I shall be sure to let him
know you called,” she said instead.

Gaze narrow, Mrs Pepperwhite
nodded briskly, but Ivy could tell she longed to stay and perhaps press Ivy for
more information about her role. Or perhaps she didn’t like being dismissed by
a mere governess. Either way, there was something about the neighbour that made
her innately uncomfortable. She claimed to be interested in Elsie’s welfare yet
had barely glanced at her.

Maybe it was Mr Avery that
truly claimed her attention. He was handsome after all.

For all she knew he even
enjoyed her company. Was she a widow? Or were they having an affair? Oh dear.
Ivy put a stop to the thoughts before she conjured up some fanciful tale and
instead summoned a brilliant smile.

“I must get on. Good day,
Mrs Pepperwhite.”

She didn’t miss the slight
huff as the woman left nor did she prevent her smile from turning triumphant.
Whoever the woman was, Ivy did not like her one bit. If her hands had been free,
she would have opened the door to add emphasis to the dismissal but, as it was,
the woman conceded defeat and left. The door shut with a dramatic slam that
made the oil paintings rattle on the picture rail of the hall.

“What an unpleasant woman,”
she said to Elsie who sucked on the lapel of her shirt. Ivy grinned. “And I see
you agree.”

She whirled when the door
clunked behind her and she released a breath when she saw Mr Avery standing in
the hallway. “Oh thank goodness.”

The words were out before
she thought about them and had she not been holding Elsie she might have
clapped a hand across her mouth. Then she realised her mistake. Why should she
be relieved it was Mr Avery rather than Mrs Pepperwhite? He put her on edge
more than that rude woman.

“You met my neighbour, I
presume,” he said dryly.

The grin that broke her face
proved impossible to resist. From his sour expression, he wasn’t any keener on
her than she was. “I did.”

“Mrs Pepperwhite’s husband
died a year ago and the woman seems to have little better to do than shove her
nose into my bloody business.”

Her eyes widened at his
coarse language and frankness but she could not help appreciate it. Her master
was a man of brutal honesty it appeared. She could not claim to be
well-travelled but she had met enough liars to last her a lifetime, including
several men who claimed they could find her fame and fortune. Thank goodness
she had discovered their true motives before something awful had happened to
her. Thank goodness she had this job. She was sensible enough to know she was
easy prey.

“I suppose it must be hard
for her to be alone,” she offered charitably.

He released a derisive
noise. “Hardly. Her husband was never around as it was and as near as I can
tell she hardly mourned at all.”

Understanding dawned. Her
gaze skimmed his broad shoulders in a fine-cut navy jacket. Mr Avery was
wealthy and attractive—a fine catch for any woman. Mrs Pepperwhite clearly had
her sights set on him as a replacement for her husband.

She couldn’t blame her
really. Of its own accord, her gaze dropped to the matching navy necktie that
knotted around a really quite attractive neck. Men’s necks had never held any
appeal before but the way his Adam’s apple moved and the cords in his neck
undulated, hinting at some kind of restrained power, did something strange to
her stomach.

When she dragged her gaze
away, she realised Mr Avery’s own gaze had dropped to her lips and she’d been
licking them as though he were a tasty morsel. Heat flooded her face. The room
grew smaller, the air thicker. She longed for the red carpet to turn into
something soft and enveloping so as to swallow her and hide her embarrassment.

“Where have you been?” she
spilled out, the urgent need to cover her behaviour forcing the question that
she’d been pondering from her lips.

“The library,” he said
simply.

“Oh.” Well there went that
avenue of distraction. She summoned a polite smile.  “If you’ll excuse me I
must change Elsie. We were to take a walk to the park.”

A ghost of a smile flickered
on his lips and she knew he was recalling her last trip out and the disaster
afterwards. The cad.

“Of course, do not let me
keep you.”

Swallowing the knot wedged
in her throat, she pivoted and her feet somehow found the first step. Her knees
felt like someone had replaced them with sponges overnight.

“Miss Davis.”

She turned. “Yes?”

“May I accompany you?”

Inwardly she laughed. She
also wanted to cry and cringe and do a dance of excitement, such were the
emotions this stoic man conjured up. Why that was, she had little idea.

Outwardly, she pasted on a
serene smile. “Of course.”

His stern nod of
acknowledgement and the way his gaze clashed with hers lingered as she took
Elsie upstairs and made sure the child was clean and ready to leave the house.
She’d only just fed her so she hoped there would be no tears this time.

Mr Avery waited for her in
the hallway, apparently having remained there during her time upstairs. In his
camel trousers and embroidered waistcoat, he made her heart somersault. It
didn’t matter she had only seen him minutes before. Every time she set her gaze
on him it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

She shook her head at
herself and slipped Elsie into the pram. Thinking this way about her master was
not at all appropriate. Tales of seduced governesses, ruined by their masters
were not rare and she certainly did not plan to be one of those. Besides which,
it wouldn’t do to get attached to him in anyway. As soon as she found a singing
role, she would be gone.

He opened the door and aided
her with the pram down the steps, for which she was grateful. She paused to do
up her green jacket and tuck Elsie’s blanket around her. The sky was thick with
white clouds, preventing the spring sun from warming them.

They began their journey to
the park in silence. What did one say to a man one hardly knew? One who was her
master? And with her tendency to speak without thinking, silence was certainly
the preferred option.

Passers-by nodded their
greeting and Mr Avery touched his hat in response. Ivy drew up her shoulders
and saw a few admiring glances sent their way. Did people think them a handsome
couple perhaps? Did they see a beautiful young family? Thoughts of having a family
of her own had never really occurred to her until now. Her parents were not the
most loving of people and avoided each other as much as circumstances allowed.

To her, family meant little,
yet walking alongside this attractive, powerful man with Elsie behaving
beautifully filled her with an empty ache. If she pursued her dream of singing
it was unlikely she’d ever marry. Few men would tolerate a wife who performed,
and the lifestyle didn’t lend itself to having children.

“How are you settling in,
Miss Davis?”

His voice, so soulful and
deep, shattered her thoughts. “Very well, thank you, sir.”

“I feel...” He cleared his
throat. “I know very little of you yet you live under my roof. I thought it
sensible that we get to know each other a little better.”

“I see.”

Her stomach dropped. What
could she tell him that would not make her look irresponsible and foolish?
Your
governess ran away from home to become a singer but the amusing thing is, Mr
Avery—and you shall laugh quite heartily at this—she freezes every time she
steps on stage and now she is too ashamed and scared to return home to whatever
arranged marriage her mother has in store for her.

How foolish she sounded.

“You do not wish to get to
know me?” Wry amusement made his voice warm.

“Oh no, it’s not that. I
just... there is little for you to know about me.”

“Let us start simple. Where
do you come from? You’re not from the north.”

“No, I’m not. I’m from
Surrey.”

“And why are you so far from
home?”

She swallowed. Lying did not
come easily to her. Falsities always came out awkwardly, and she usually
fidgeted and gave herself away. She clamped her hands around the handle of the
pram.

“I could no longer stay.”

“You ran away?”

“I suppose one might say
that, yes.” She slid a glance his way and braced herself for a look of disapproval.

“And you came to
Manchester?”

“London first,” she replied,
surprising herself with her response. But his lack of censure drew the truths
from her. She would have to be careful indeed not to admit to her ambitions.
What refined man would want a singer as his ward’s governess? “I came here
looking for work.”

“As a governess?”

“Not at first.” She pursed
her lips. Would he continue to press her or leave the subject be?

A tiny splash on her face
saved her from finding out. She glanced up and noted the thick cloud cover. Funny,
she hadn’t even realised it was going to rain. She’d been far too preoccupied
with Mr Avery. Another few drops fell and she stopped to ensure the hood of
Elsie’s pram covered her.