Seducing the Governess (21 page)

But now that he had, he wanted to stay there with her all night, lying together on that narrow bed in the servants’ quarters until dawn when he woke her and sent her back to her own bedchamber and he went to his.

Chapter 23

R
uthie had not even seemed to notice Mercy’s absence for most of the night. And Emmy was content, sitting on her bed and watching while her new nursemaid unfolded all her old clothes to make assessments of which dresses were salvageable and which ought to be given away.

Mercy felt like an extra thumb, in every way. She was barely an adequate teacher, and she was surely not the kind of wife Nash needed.

“I can use these old dresses to make you a brand-new frock, Lady Emmaline.” Ruthie held up two gowns that were made of complementary cloths. “Until your uncle . . .” She turned to Mercy. “Have we any funds for new cloth?”

Mercy gave a quick shake of her head. “We’ll have to ask Lord Ashby.” But she knew the answer. There would be no funds unless Nash married Miss Carew.

Tears welled in her eyes and she walked to the window to wipe them away without calling attention to her distress.

She had given herself to a man who could not marry her. In spite of his denials, Mercy knew that Nash had commitments and responsibilities, none of which could include her.

She was dismayed by her lapse in the morals she’d been taught, in the principles governing decent behavior, and in her own good sense. She hardly recognized herself.

And yet it wouldn’t have happened with any other man. Only with Nash Farris, Earl of Ashby. She loved him.

Mercy’s thoughts were as bleak as the sullen sky. Her throat felt thick and raw, and she could not think what to do. Resign as she’d planned?

She thought of Andrew Vale. In all good conscience, could she send him the letter she’d written? Marry him if he still wanted her, despite loving another? Despite having had intimate relations with the man she loved?

A sudden chill came over her, and she rubbed her arms against it. If she did not go to Whitehaven, what then? Find another governess post somewhere?

She turned suddenly, feeling as close to despair as she’d ever done. “It’s going to rain again, Emmy. Why don’t we go outside for some air before it does?”

Nash shoved his fingers through his hair and tried to set aside his thoughts of Mercy and his hunger for her. But memories of her sensual sighs and the scent of her silken skin consumed him, even as he turned his attention to his brothers’ ledgers.

He let out a rasping sigh. There was work to do. He could not allow himself to be so thoroughly sidetracked by a woman, as utterly bewitching as she was. He’d been a disciplined officer with far better control than that. Becoming earl had not changed him so very much.

But he realized meeting Mercy Franklin had.

He’d stopped at the nursery door to catch a glimpse of her, but she and Emmaline’s new nursemaid were completely immersed in a discussion of his niece’s wardrobe. They hadn’t noticed him and he had not wished to intrude, though he had a nearly crippling urge to take Mercy away and find a private little space where he could peel away every layer of her clothing. He wanted to kiss the few patches of skin he might have missed the night before, and feel the smoothness of her naked skin against his.

He squeezed his eyes shut at his memory of the exquisite pleasure of sliding into her, of feeling her wet heat surrounding him, flexing around his shaft.

Mercy had been quiet, allowing the red-haired nurse to take the lead in their discussion of fabrics and colors. He hoped she was reliving their stolen moments in the servants’ quarters, remembering the intimacies they’d shared.

How could she not? It was all he’d been able to think of since they’d parted in the darkest hours before dawn. He’d suffered no nightmares, and felt no twinges of a headache when he lay with her. She was his balm, far more healing than any massage Parker could devise.

Nash took his leave of the group of females, promising himself he would come back later and collect Mercy for a few moments alone. He went downstairs with every intention of accomplishing some work, and found the butler in the dining room.

“Grainger, Sir William Metcalf told me that your brother is a sheep man down near Windermere.”

“Aye. George is the best in the Lake District. Lives with his son now. Though he doesn’t like it much.”

“Do you think he’d like it any better here? At Ashby Hall?”

Grainger looked at him quizzically. “You want him, my lord? For the herd?”

“Aye. I have need of an experienced sheep man. Someone who can help me rebuild what we once had. I’d like to hire him to advise me and . . . eventually share in the wealth when we’re back in the black.”

Grainger smiled and gave a quick nod of his head, obviously pleased. “George is not far—his son’s farm is at the north end of Lake Windermere. Hardly a day’s ride, my lord. If you were to send one of your men for him now, he could be here tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, if he has any business to close.”

“Very good, Grainger. Will you have Mr. Bassett send Harper and Roarke to me in the library?” Harper knew the Lake District well and could find his way to Ambleside today, collect George Grainger, and have him back at Ashby Hall on the morrow. Once he gave his appraisal of the situation at Ashby, Nash would know how to proceed.

“Yes, very good, my lord.”

Nash went into the library and saw that the steward had placed the morning’s post on his desk. There were two letters, both unsealed, as usual.

Nash unfolded them and read quickly, massaging his forehead as he did so. The letters were from army officers he’d contacted—neither of whom had ready funds to lend. Of course they regretted not being able to help, etc., etc.

He dropped both missives onto the desk and sat back, wondering if he would ever hear from his other friends. He was not yet defeated, though it seemed strange that he had not received replies from Randall and Fitch—two of his closest comrades—for they had both insisted Nash contact them if he had any need. Nash had written them immediately upon his arrival at Ashby Hall, and there had been more than enough time for them to reply.

He wondered if any of the mail could have been lost. Or
misplaced
.

The fire gave a loud crack, startling Nash, but at least it did not immediately take him back to Hougoumont Farm this time. He took a deep breath and thought of Mercy’s kiss and the soft press of her body against his, and was soon able to function again.

He’d meant it when he told Mercy that Helene was not for him. Nash’s own funds would have to suffice for now, and when he needed rams for the mating later in the year, Nash had decided to ask Sir William to borrow a few. Surely his old friend would understand Nash’s need to conserve his money and put off any significant purchases until he was better able to afford them.

He also decided to delay his house party, since it would cost money he needed to put into the sheep. Besides, he would likely meet several of the men from Hoyt’s deer stalking at the ball. He doubted it would be as productive as having them all together and talking freely at Ashby Hall, but he might be able to glean some of the information he sought.

Feeling slightly more settled on the issue of his humble finances, he took Arthur’s ledgers from a drawer of the desk. Poring over the pages, he searched for the notation about the land Carew had wanted to buy.

He finally came upon the page, very near the end of Arthur’s neat entries. “
South acres a boggy mess, but they are mine
,” he had written, underscoring the word
mine
twice. Then, he had added: “
Once again, NO to Carew
.”

Which implied that Horace Carew had offered at least once before to buy the land. Nash could not imagine what was so bloody appealing about those acres. They would never be good grazing land, but perhaps Carew intended to complete the improvements Nash had in mind. Maybe the man hadn’t wanted to say as much to Arthur.

He wished Arthur had noted what price Carew had offered, for that would put Nash in a better position to negotiate. But in the absence of that information, Nash decided to ask Sir William what he thought the land was worth, boggarts and all.

Then Nash would ask for ten percent more.

He got up from the desk and went to the window, catching sight of Mercy with Emmaline, playing catch with a ball, and felt a surge of emotion unlike any he’d experienced before. He allowed his gaze to wander over the governess’s fetching form, wanting nothing more than to go down to the garden and take possession of her now.

Philip Lowell’s arrival interrupted Nash’s musings, but did naught to abate his intense craving for her.

“Yes, my lord? You wished to see me?” He caught sight of Arthur’s ledger on the desk. “Did you find something of interest?”

“Not really. I just wanted to have another look at this note my brother made about the land he refused to sell to Horace Carew.”

Lowell’s expression was devoid of expression, but a flush of color rose up on his neck. Nash found it curious. “I don’t understand.”

“ ’Tis naught,” Nash replied. He returned to the desk and closed the ledger. “Just thinking about why Mr. Carew would want a handful of useless acres.”

“If he offers to buy them from you, I hope you’ll take the offer.”

Nash regarded him curiously. “Why?”

“Why not? If they’re so useless, you won’t miss them, and Ashby has need of the funds.”

But why, then, would Carew want them?

Lowell shrugged, but Nash sensed more interest than he wanted to show him. “Well, at least, I hope you’ll consider it.”

“I will,” Nash said as Lowell started for the door. “One question before you go, Lowell . . .”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Have you made any progress on finding a sheep man for us?”

“No, sir,” Lowell replied. “I’ve asked everyone in town, but no one knows of any—”

“Very good. Because I’ve found a man for us. He should arrive tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.”

Lowell showed a moment of bafflement, but quickly recovered, and Nash found himself doubting whether his steward had really put forth much effort to find them a head shepherd. He did not know why the man wanted Ashby to fail, but to Nash’s growing understanding of the estate’s finances, it had started its decline with Lowell’s arrival. That had been nearly a year before Hoyt’s death.

Was he a villain, or merely an incompetent?

“Who did you find, my lord?”

Nash returned to his desk and sat down. “Turns out Grainger’s brother has quite the reputation in the Lake District for managing sheep farms. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of him.”

Lowell did not blink, but turned directly to practical matters. “How will you pay him, my lord?”

Nash tapped his fingers on the cover of Arthur’s ledger. “For now, the man will work for naught, just to be close to his brother and away from his son’s wife. A fortunate turn of events for us, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Lord Ashby. You will not find many who sell their labors so cheaply.”

“As you’ve done yours?”

“Of course not,” Lowell said, though Nash detected a slight hesitation before the man’s reply. Clearly, he
was
sorry.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Nash managed to keep any sarcasm from his voice.

Lowell turned to go, but Nash stopped him. “One more thing . . .” He looked at the steward carefully, wondering if he had the wherewithal—and the motive—to orchestrate his brothers’ accidents. “I’d like you to make yourself available to take George Grainger around the estate and show him our borders when he arrives,” he said. “Probably tomorrow. And Lowell . . .”

“Yes, my lord?”

“From now on, Roarke or Bassett will be picking up the post in Keswick. You have other duties, so there is no need for you to trouble yourself with it any longer.”

A muscle twitched near the steward’s eye, confirming at least one of Nash’s suspicions.

“Very good, my lord.” He gave a slight bow and took his leave as Roarke and Harper came into the library for their orders.

Somehow, Mercy managed to get through Emmaline’s morning exercise and lessons, but after lunch, Ruthie took over. The girl was not so very much older than Emmy, and was clearly bored with her nursery work. She wanted to play.

“You mustn’t have had an afternoon to yourself in ages, have you, miss?” the nursemaid asked. “If you’d like to take some time, Emmaline and I will be fine. Won’t we?” she asked, turning to Emmaline.

Since Emmy had taken to Ruthie so well, Mercy agreed. Besides, it was a struggle to keep her mind on the task at hand when all she could do was dwell on what she had to do.

She left Emmaline in Ruthie’s capable hands and went across to her bedchamber. She removed her mother’s journal from the drawer and took it to the chair near the window, the one from which she’d nearly fallen that first night, only to have Nash catch her just in time.

He could not catch her now, for she’d already fallen as deeply as she could. She pressed one hand to her breast and tried to quell the futile longings within. Lord Ashby might want her, but the Ashby earldom did not need her. No matter how incredible the experience they’d shared the night before, Nash would have to come to the same conclusion.

Mercy knew how badly it would hurt when he realized what he must do.

Leaving her letter to Reverend Vale in the drawer, she opened Susanna’s journal and skimmed past the entries Emmy had already read.

22 August, 1795. Robert promised to keep Mercy’s origins secret, and he holds me to that same promise. Not that we really know anything about the child—only that she is unwanted by her own kin. What kind of mother would give away her child? My husband says she cannot have been a moral Christian woman.

Robert intends to take us far away from our Lancaster parish where we’ve lived all during our married life, to St. Martin’s Church in Underdale. No one will know us there, no one will know the girl is not our own. It pains me to leave here.

Mercy wondered if her true family was in Lancaster—the kin who did not want her. Who were they? And what were the circumstances of Mercy’s birth? Why had her mother abandoned her to the Franklins? She read on, afraid she might find a horrible answer to her questions.