The Reluctant Governess (23 page)

How dare he! Eliza wanted to throw the newspapers clear across the room, but did not want to make her mother any more upset than she already was. If Eliza got her hands on Nicholas Raeburn, she'd throw him across the room instead!

“I don't understand, Eliza. Why didn't you tell me the other day? You know I wouldn't judge.” Mrs. Lawrence's blue eyes peered over her reading glasses, giving her daughter a knowing smile.

Tell her when Eliza herself had no idea? What kind of a man announced his impending marriage to the press before he'd even asked the bride?

Eliza knew Nicholas wasn't out of his head—he had an injury to his shoulder, not his brain. Yesterday she'd slipped upstairs while Dr. Samuelson was removing the southern stitches after sewing the north part of Nicholas up. Packing her little suitcase quickly, she'd run off to the bus stop amidst the curious stares of the reporters.

Perhaps she should have waited until Sunny returned home, but the thought of saying good-bye to the little girl made her chest squeeze. She hadn't even said good-bye to Nicholas, though she had phoned Sir Thomas when she got home to inform him of the current state of affairs on Lindsey Street. Sir Thomas would know what to do.

Yes, she'd been a coward as she'd snuck out of the house. But after all they'd been through, Eliza wanted some space to think. She couldn't seem to think around Nicholas Raeburn. He made her feel things and do things that were completely out of character.

Like whack a giant with a valuable vase. Eliza hadn't thought twice. If she
had
thought, she would have realized she could barely lift the thing. The day might have turned out very differently, and it would have been all her fault.

As it was, a man had died because of what she'd done. True, Daniel Preble probably deserved death, though she wouldn't want to be put in a position to judge. Everyone sinned. According to her imperfect biblical understanding, that was a given.

The papers said they'd caught Cross hiding in a shed in a neighboring garden. Nicholas had been eloquent in his defense of the man, and it was doubtful he'd be charged with murder.

If she'd thought Nicholas would come after her yesterday afternoon once he realized she was gone, she was mistaken. How could he when he was giving the most ridiculous interviews to the press? There he was in grainy picture after grainy picture, standing on the steps wearing nothing but a bloody shirt and torn trousers. Her mother had sent the housekeeper out to buy more papers, and the front-page stories and photographs were more or less the same.

Eliza was already fifteen minutes late to work, but reading all the newspapers had taken a considerable amount of time. “I have to go, Mama. We'll talk about it when I get home tonight.”

“Why are you keeping that silly job when there's a rich young man who wants to marry you?” her mother asked, shaking one of the papers in Eliza's direction.

“My job is not silly, Mama. And I don't know that Nicholas Raeburn wants to marry me. He's never asked, you see.”

“Never asked? But what about—”

Eliza leaped from the breakfast table—not that she'd eaten any—and kissed her mother's cheek. “Later. I'll explain it all later once someone explains it to me.”

The Evensong Agency was an eight-minute walk from their flat, but Eliza was so agitated she made the trip in six, arriving with embarrassingly damp armpits and a crooked hat. The typewriter girls stopped mid-stroke, and the silence in the outer office was deafening. Everyone had read a paper this morning.

Eliza headed straight for Oliver's office and shut the door.

“I didn't expect you this morning. But since you're here, you're late,” Oliver said, not looking up from an invoice.

“That's all you have to say? Not, congratulations, Eliza! Or what an ordeal, Eliza!”

“I don't believe everything I read, my dear. I expect you'll tell me the truth.”

“If I knew what it was I would!” Eliza threw herself down in a chair. “Where is Mrs. Evensong?”

“The old girl is feeling a bit under the weather. All this damp, you know. But she'll want a full report. I promised to pop upstairs and give her one.”

Eliza sighed and pulled off her gloves. “I really don't know what to say. I was held at gunpoint by one villain and foiled another, not very effectively.” And she'd fainted first like a useless ninny.

“Fascinating, I'm sure, but what about this marriage business? You and Mary will be sisters-in-law.”

“I'm not getting married!” Eliza unpinned her hat, her ugly gray hat, and felt a pang. She'd left the pink one behind on Lindsey Street.

Oliver reached under some papers for an album. “According to my clippings, you are.”

“You've cut and pasted everything already?”

“Believe it or not, it's been a slow morning. The notoriety will die down soon—the agency is too invaluable for people to shun it for long.”

“Shun it?” Eliza gasped. The Evensong Agency had been mentioned in several of the articles.

“Well, eventually they will see the advantage of hiring someone we've recommended. It's not every employee that can stand up to violence and rid the world of a thoroughly abhorrent man. A couple of men, actually. You're a heroine, Eliza, or will be once everyone reads their newspaper this morning. No wonder Raeburn wants to marry you.”

“But he doesn't! He's never even asked me!” If Nicholas was going to propose anything, Eliza suspected he'd ask her to be his mistress.

Which was not such an awful idea, really.

“Oversight, I expect,” Oliver said. “Busy day, wasn't it?” He gave her his naughty-boy grin. “He telephoned this morning, you know.”

Eliza's stomach flipped. She was just hungry.

“He wanted your address. I didn't see a reason why I shouldn't give it to him—after all, he's your fiancé.”

“He isn't! Oh, Oliver, I don't want to see him!” No wonder Nicholas hadn't come yesterday—he didn't even know where she lived.

“That's unfortunate, because I think I see him coming into the reception area now. Tall, red-haired fellow, very, very good-looking? And you not sitting there where you should be to welcome him.”

Eliza slumped down in her seat. “Tell him to go away.”

“Too late. He's speaking to Betty, and she's pointing in this direction. And no, you cannot climb into the safe. You'd smother.”

Oliver rose and walked around his desk. “I'll just give you some privacy. Nothing I can do about the glass window in the door—maybe we should install frosted ones. I'll consult with Mrs. E. Let me know what happens!”

With a wink he was gone, the door banging behind him. Eliza heard male murmuring just outside it and slipped deeper into her chair. This was disastrous on so many levels. For one thing, she hadn't slept much, and the circles under her eyes advertised the fact. She was wearing a dull brown business suit and one of her oldest shirtwaist blouses.

And it was possible that she
smelled
.

She heard the doorknob turn, the hinges squeak. Oliver should oil all the mechanisms—she'd have to tell him. Nicholas cleared his throat behind her. “May I come in?”

“Suit yourself.” She sounded like a mulish child. What was wrong with her?

She knew—she'd fallen in love with Nicholas Raeburn.

“You forgot this.” He stood over her and placed the blue and white hatbox into her lap.

“
This
is the reason you wanted my address? I didn't forget it—I left it behind.”

“Why?”

Eliza had to look up at him, he was looming so. Nicholas was pale and had circles under his eyes as well. Good.

“I don't need a hat like this.”

“Indeed you do. An artist's wife should be beautiful.”

“An artist's wife! You mean
your
wife? Perhaps I've forgotten something else, like the time you asked me to marry you and I accepted. A lot has happened this past week, but I have no recollection of either of those things. How could you talk to a bunch of reporters and forget to tell me?”

Oh Lord. He was dropping to his knees, wincing from his various injuries.

“Do get up,” she snapped.

“Can't yet. I wanted to ask you yesterday, but we were somewhat interrupted.” There was a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Thank you for saving my life, Eliza. And would you please marry me? I don't think I can live without you.”

She needed to stay strong, or her heart would break. Nicholas was not a marrying kind of man, even if he was grateful to her, or felt responsible for taking her virginity. Hell, he hadn't taken it so much as she'd shoved it at him. “You don't want to get married. You've told me time and again you don't believe in marriage or love or f-fidelity.”

“I was mistaken. That was before I got to know you.”

“You don't know me. As you're so fond of saying, we don't know each other at all. You didn't even know where I lived!”

“And I don't know your middle name or your favorite soup. You have years to tell me.”

Soup? He was discussing
soup
?

“Why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you, you silly girl. Eliza, I'm not sure I can get up on my own. I'm still a bit weak. Please say yes before I fall flat on my face.”

Eliza stared at him as he gripped the arm of her chair. “You love me?”

“I've just said so, haven't I? I tried to be logical about it, weighing pros and cons, but love is not logical at all. You'll probably drive me insane, but I wouldn't want to be driven insane by anyone but you.”

“This is not my first proposal, you know. The other one was better.” Her father's business partner had not mentioned insanity once.

“I haven't had much practice asking women to marry me. Do you want me to try again tomorrow? I might improve.”

“You would ask me again?”

“Again and again. On my knees if I have to, although I must say this is bloody uncomfortable. I'll ask you every day until you say yes. I'd like to be in Scotland by Christmas, though. I promised Sunny. By the way, she told me last night when I brought her home I'd better marry you. You don't want to disappoint a child, do you?”

Oh, he was treacherous. “You're not asking out of some misplaced sense of honor, are you?”

“Eliza, you must know I have no honor to misplace. I'm not proud of the life I used to live, but I swear to you, you'll have no reason to doubt me. I've changed, and I love you as I have never loved anyone before. Seriously, can you help me up? My bad leg is falling asleep.”

What could she do but assist him? Fall back into the chair on his lap and kiss him? Say yes and ignore the cheering outside the door?

Raeburn Court, November 1904

The registry office wedding had gone off without a hitch, except for little Jonathan Hurst's contribution. Fortunately the water balloon missed its mark, and Eliza's lovely cream-colored dress went unscathed. Tubby wasn't best pleased at becoming so damp, but as the small reception was held at his house, he had changed immediately. He'd been the perfect host, and Nick had teased him that it was his turn next to leave bachelordom behind. Tubby had turned slightly green and changed the subject. The man just hadn't met his own Eliza yet.

Nick's own Eliza lay sleeping in his childhood bed, her hand curled under her chin, her eyelids fluttering in whatever provoking dream made her kick so. He could stare at her all night long, which might be safer than trying to sleep next to her. To think she'd once complained about Sunny's active little nocturnal feet.

Nick reached for his sketch pad and turned up the lamp. There was no electricity in this wing of Raeburn Court, which didn't bother him in the slightest. The golden glow suited his wife, and would make an atmospheric portrait once he'd transfer his subject to canvas. His art exhibit this month would go on without his presence—he was on his honeymoon, and wouldn't stir from Scotland for any reason.

His family was here, all of them. Alec and Mary had returned from America, marveling over the modernity they'd seen. Evan was in his house through the park. Sunny was up in the nursery with a real governess the Evensong Agency had found for them, and Eliza was right over there where she belonged. His two girls loved him and loved each other. Eliza's transition from temporary governess to stepmother had been as seamless as window glass. She was the most remarkable woman Nick had ever met.

He was a lucky man, and about to get luckier still. His wife's lashes flicked, and then she was staring at him with the same intensity he had given her.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“Just puttering around.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have clothes on in the picture, don't I?”

“Do you want me to draw some on? You must know your nightgown is on the floor, and I aim for
some
realism.”

“Come back to bed.” The coverlet slipped as she rose up on an elbow and Nick's interest was instantly riveted.

“Is that an order?”

She pushed her hair behind her ears. “I don't know why you persist in calling me bossy. I do not order you around.”

“Oh, don't you? I may as well have a collar and leash on.”

“That would make you overdressed for what I have in mind, Nicholas.”

Nick tossed his pad to the floor, where it joined Eliza's nightgown. “You drive a hard bargain, madam.”

“You just need a bit of organizing. One is not supposed to stay up all night sketching and painting when one has a naked woman in one's bed.”

“I knew I married you for your good sense. Among other things.” And then he gave those other things the proper attention they deserved, for Nick was now a very proper husband indeed.