The Governess Club: Bonnie (6 page)

Noticing some movement, Bonnie straightened and pointed, “Look, there’s Henry.” She lifted him to stand on the second rail, giving him a better view. “They’re coming home from their ride. Let’s wave them in.” She held Arthur securely with one arm and waved with the other.

They watched and waved as Henry came galloping down the hill. Bonnie had a moment of fear that he was going too fast, that he wouldn’t be able to handle the pony at that speed, but suppressed it, knowing that Sir Stephen likely had him practice out on the fields.

They watched and waved as they saw Sir Stephen crest the hill at a breakneck speed. Arthur kept waving, but Bonnie stopped as she saw Sir Stephen head directly for Henry. She heard his shout carried on the wind, couldn’t make out the words but could clearly hear the panic.

Something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Sir Stephen wasn’t a man prone to panic.

Arthur watched and waved. Bonnie watched, her heart moving into her throat, everything happening slowly as Henry slid to the side with his saddle. Sir Stephen was gaining on him, his arm outstretched to lift him from the pony to safety, but he was still so far away. At the last moment, Henry tried to grab at the pony’s mane but missed and fell to the ground, the saddle bouncing over him.

Bonnie gasped as Henry tumbled over the ground, his body twisting and crumpling. Sir Stephen sawed on his reins, his horse heading straight for his now inert body. The horse reared at the sudden yanking of the reins and Bonnie felt a second type of fear at the prospect of the guardian being thrown from his horse. But Sir Stephen kept his seat, controlling his horse.

Without a thought, Bonnie placed Arthur on the ground, lifted her skirts and ran towards Henry, her thoughts already moving into dangerous territory. Behind her, she heard the shouts of several grooms and Arthur’s shrieking. No choice but to ignore that; Henry needed her now.

Sir Stephen had already dismounted and was beside him by the time Bonnie reached him. She dropped to her knees and cupped Henry’s face in her hands. “Henry, sweetie, wake up, wake up.”

“He’s out cold,” Sir Stephen said. “Best move him now when he can’t feel a thing.”

“Henry,” Bonnie repeatedly gave him light slaps in an effort to rouse him. “Wake up Henry. You’re fine, you’re not hurt.”

Sir Stephen pushed her aside and scooped Henry into his arms. “Miss Hodges, see to Arthur. You there.” He nodded to two grooms. “Fetch Emperor and Harold. You, go for the closest doctor. You”—he indicated a footman who had heard the commotion—“get Lord Darrow’s saddle and bring it to the study. Lock it in there and don’t let anyone in, not even Renard.” He strode towards the house, not waiting to see if any actually followed his orders.

Bonnie hurried after him. “Henry is fine, is he not? He’s not dead, he can’t be dead. He’s not hurt at all, is he? What will we do if he is hurt or dead?” She knew she was babbling but could not stop herself.

Sir Stephen halted. “Control yourself, Miss Hodges,” he snapped, his brown eyes flashing. “You cannot indulge yourself. You need to see to Arthur. I will see to Henry for now. Arthur needs you. Remember that.”

Bonnie drew in a shuddering breath. “You’re right,” she said, her head jerking in nods. “Arthur needs me. I will see to Arthur. We will look after Henry together. He must not see me panic.”

Taking another deep breath to calm herself, she resumed walking, picking up the wailing Arthur when she reached him. “Let’s go to the nursery, shall we sweetie?”

B
onnie knocked on the door to the viscount’s study. At the gruff response, she opened the door and entered. It was late, yet the house had not yet settled for the night. The fright of losing a second viscount in as many months had shaken the very beams of the manor.

She stood unobtrusively just inside the room. Sir Stephen gave her a quick glance and stood. “Thank you, doctor,” he said to the other man rising. They shook hands. “I appreciate your haste in coming here today.”

“Quite right of me to do so,” said the elderly man. “He is a boy, a viscount at that. Can’t let another one go.” He sighed deeply.

Sir Stephen closed the door after the doctor and moved back to the desk. “He says Henry will be fine. He has a dislocated shoulder and a small concussion. He has been given laudanum.”

“Yes, I spent the last few minutes with him.” Bonnie moved to stand in front of the desk. “Arthur would not settle until he saw his brother. We are much relieved to know that he is not seriously injured.”

He cleared his throat. “It could have been worse.”

“Yes. He was fortunate that he only fell from a pony and not that stallion he asked for three days ago.” Bonnie smiled, but wiped it away when he gave her a look worthy of a basilisk.

This Sir Stephen behind the desk was much different than the one that took tea in the kitchen with her. Bonnie would do well to remember that. She had allowed herself to be drawn in by the casualness and intimacy of the kitchen, allowing herself to enjoy the Scottish lilt of his voice instead of remembering that he was the guardian and she was, quite simply, the governess. She had no business enjoying said lilt of his voice, nor thinking the memory of him racing to save Henry was reminiscent of medieval knights of old.

And that was that.

Sir Stephen handed her a list. He sat down and began to write on another piece of paper. When he didn’t speak, Bonnie began to read it.

Her eyebrows rose before she even finished reading it. She cleared her throat.

“Is something wrong?”

Aside from your penmanship?
“I don’t understand what this is.”

He didn’t look up. “It is a list.”

Well. “I do understand that much, sir. What I do not understand is the purpose for this list.”

“You are to adhere to the restrictions detailed on that list.”

She quoted, “All excursions from the manor are subject to your prior approval.”

“Aye.”

“I am to provide detailed itineraries of each approved excursion.”

“Aye.”

“If you are not available, I am to take two footmen or grooms as escorts.”

“I am aware of what the list says.”

“All encounters, however seemingly insignificant, are to be reported to you upon our return.”

Sir Stephen sighed and tossed down his pen. “You have an issue with the list.”

Smart man
. “It is not my place to take issue, sir.”

“And yet there you stand, taking issue.” His tone was sardonic.

“Why the need for these restrictions?”

“I do not need to explain my reasons to you.”

“Respectfully sir, my role is to provide superior education to Henry and Arthur. I cannot do so with these restrictions in place.”

“You will have to adapt.”

“I cannot.”

“You must.”

He brought to mind the moments when Arthur was at his most stubborn. “These restrictions are . . . restrictive.”

Sir Stephen cocked a brow. “Was this an example of your ability to provide superior education?”

“What I mean sir, is that these restrictions will inhibit my ability to provide said superior education.”

“Lord Darrow and I used to see how many times we could get our professors to speak a certain phrase during a lecture. Shall we see how many times we can say
superior education
?”

Bonnie took a breath to control herself. “Sir, you are making light of what I think to be a serious matter.”

“Actually, what I am trying to do is distract you. It does not appear to be working.”

“Please explain to me the need for these restrictions.”

“No.”

“Sir, I must insist—”

“Miss Hodges, you have a rather arbitrary definition of what your position as governess allows you to do.”

“Respectfully sir, as I said, my priority is the education of Henry and Arthur. Recently this has expanded to include their safety and well-being.”

“You adapted.”

“Yes.”

“Adapt again.”

“The reason for my adapting was clear, sir, something that is lacking in this situation.”

Stephen sighed. She was not going to let this rest. “Can you not simply accept that I am acting in the best interests of the boys?”

“Not when you wish to inhibit the performance of my duties to such an extent.”

He leaned back in George’s chair. Had Henry seriously thought they would have rubbed on well enough to make a marriage work? The woman was impossibly stubborn. Intelligent, yet stubborn.

Stephen regarded Miss Hodges, standing before him, the desk between them. She was wearing a plain, modest green gown, her hands folded in front of her and the demure expression on her face, eyes connected with his, belied the persistence she was currently demonstrating.

He almost felt pity for Henry and Arthur.

His eyes focused on her hands again, much as they had on his first day as guardian, in the same position they were in now. Again he was struck by the smallness, the delicacy of her fingers. Again, despite that, he could sense the strength in them, the confidence in them.

From her hands, it was only a moment away from her wrist and up her nicely curved arm, to the hollow of her collarbone and neck, down to the nice swell of her bosom and back up until his eyes once again rested on her face. Her slender delicacy hid strength, certainty, and capability, unlike his own mother.

It didn’t hurt that he liked the way she looked as well, this Miss Hodges with her hazel-green eyes, her appealing breasts, and her bonny ankles that haunted his dreams, even though he hadn’t seen them yet.

Stephen refocused his eyes to find that hers had not wavered from his and now held a hint of censure. He cleared his throat and sat up, feeling his neck warm underneath his collar. Based on her position with the boys, he could see the advantages in confiding in her. If the boys were at risk, then she should be made aware of this. Her proximity to her charges placed her at risk as well and that thought made his skin prickle.

But first, he had to indulge himself for a moment. “Miss Hodges, what is your name?”

She blinked at the change in subject. “My name?”

“Your Christian name.”

“Bonnie, sir.”

Bonnie. Bonnie with the bonny ankles. A bonny lass. How fitting. He allowed himself a small smile.

“Miss Hodges, these restrictions are necessary after what happened to Henry today.”

“He had an accident,” she replied. “As young boys are prone to do. There is little reason to prohibit their movements to such a degree.”

“I disagree—”

“Sir, these restrictions are reminiscent of Newgate or Bedlam, not a home.”

“Miss Hodges, is interruption one of the skills you teach in your superior education?”

She took a breath and bowed her head briefly. “I apologize, sir.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “This was not an accident. There is a threat to Henry’s life, possibly Arthur’s as well.”

“With respect sir, he fell off his pony. Many young riders do so.”

“He didn’t fall.”

“I was there. You were there. He fell.”

Stephen stood up and moved around the desk. “No he didn’t.” He strode to the sofas in front of the fire. Behind one, he produced Henry’s saddle and placed it on the sofa. “What do you know about saddles?”

“Not much. I am not a rider.”

“Come here,” he gestured. Stephen knelt down and fingered the girth. “The girth goes underneath the horse’s belly to secure the saddle. Henry fell off the horse because the girth was no longer holding it in place.”

“He didn’t secure it properly?”

Stephen held up the buckle. “I checked it myself before he mounted. The buckle is intact.” He slid his hand to the broken section. “The girth snapped.”

He held the broken girth to show her. Miss Hodges looked at him questioningly before kneeling down beside him and taking the girth from his hands. Her fingers brushed his palm momentarily, sending tingles up his arm. He cleared his throat again. “What do you notice about this?”

She fingered the tear. “Why is it only partially frayed?”

Sir Stephen ran a hand through his hair. “It had help. Someone cut it in a discreet spot underneath the flap and to an extent that a ride, especially ending with a gallop, was enough strain to complete the damage.”

Bonnie was dumbstruck. Her eyes were wide when she lifted them to the man kneeling next to her. “Wha—”

Sir Stephen stood and retrieved something else from behind the sofa. He placed a large plank of wood across the saddle and knelt down again. He pointed at one end and Bonnie turned her eyes there.

Similar to the girth, part of the end was splintered, but a good two thirds of it was a smooth angled cut, such as made by a saw.

Dear heavens. “From the bridge?” she choked out.

“It was only a matter of time before it gave out. There is no telling who would have been crossing at the time.”

“So it—I—when . . .”

“Yes, it could have been you on the bridge.”

Bonnie took in a shuddering breath. It didn’t reach her lungs, so she tried again. And again.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I can’t breathe.”

Sir Stephen moved quickly, his fingers undoing the laces at her back. Once accomplished, he went to the decanter table and poured two generous glasses of Scotch. Bringing them over to her, he held one out.

“No, breathe, I need to breathe.” She was gasping deeply.

“This will help you.” He forced the glass to her mouth and poured a bit down her throat. She choked and sputtered and he did it again. The fiery liquid trailed down her throat, drawing tears to her eyes and burning her stomach. Bonnie gasped, air finally making its way to her lungs.

“Better?”

She nodded. “What do we do?”

His voice was solemn. “We must keep this quiet. I believe the attacks may be on the viscount title itself, so if Henry comes to harm, attention would shift to Arthur.”

“But they are children!”

“I highly doubt that matters. And as their governess, you are likely to be caught in the line of fire.”

Bonnie swallowed, her throat working tightly. “My mother raised me to be a governess. Prepared me for a wide range of situations. This was not one of them.” She took a sip of the remaining Scotch. She turned to look at him. “How did you know?”