The Governess And The Earl

By Ann Lethbridge

Yorkshire, 1913. When Mrs Sarah Drake applies for the position of governess to the notorious dark Earl of Ralston's motherless son she thinks she's made the biggest mistake of her life. Merrivale Hall doesn't look the slightest bit merry and the brooding earl is anything but welcoming… But Sarah brings light into the darkest of places…

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460823583

Ann Lethbridge

Ann Lethbridge majored in history and business. She always loved the glamorous, if rather risky, Georgians and in particular the Regency era as drawn by Georgette Heyer. It was that love that prompted her to write her first Regency novel in 2000. She found she enjoyed it so much she just couldn’t stop! Ann gave up a career in university administration to focus on her first love, writing novels and lives in Canada with her family. Visit her website at: www.annlethbridge.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Yorkshire 1813

THIS HARSH AND FORBIDDING place was her last chance. Sarah Drake peered through the carriage window at stone crenulated towers stabbing the purple velvet of dusk. Fail this time and her family’s gleefully dire prediction of a bad end for her would likely come true. From here Merrivale Hall didn’t look the slightest bit merry. Not even the ivy hanging over the doorway in the slate-grey wall between the two towers softened its fortress-like appearance. Definitely gloomy. No other word would do.

In that respect it matched her mood, since this position might well be her biggest mistake yet. Governess to the son of a murderer. Was she really so desperate?

The silent answer came back a ringing yes.

The carriage slowed and Sarah reached for the door handle. A jolt flung her back against the plush squabs of the Ralston carriage’s interior as it turned into the courtyard at the back of the house. A hot flush scalded her face. Stupid. Only guests and family entered by the front door. Governesses used the back door, like the rest of the servants.

When the horses halted outside low-slung stable buildings she picked up her valise, opened the door and jumped down. The coachman might let down the steps, but if he did not it would be far too embarrassing. And besides, she proved herself quite capable of leaping a foot or so to the ground.

The coachman, Miles, touched his forelock from the box. ‘If you’d care to go inside, Mrs Drake, I’ll see your trunks are brought up.’ He gestured to a low arched doorway. ‘You are expected.’

‘Thank you, Mr Miles.’ Sarah stepped smartly across the cobbles. The heavy iron-studded door swung back as she raised a hand to the black iron knocker, and a large male figure blocked the light from the passage behind him. ‘You are late.’

How rude. She gave him a glare. ‘The stagecoach was held up at—’

He waved an impatient hand. ‘Well, you are here now.’ He had a deep timbred voice with a cultured drawl.

The man stepped back into the light, revealing the face of a fallen angel beneath tousled black hair. He wore no coats. Reddish-brown stains that looked suspiciously like blood splattered his open-necked shirt and a day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw. His expression was as dark and forbidding as the house, his features starkly beautiful.

Dissolution personified.

This must be Brandon Talbot, Earl of Ralston, her employer. It felt as if a flock of pigeons were looping over and around in her stomach. Parts of her she’d thought were long dormant warmed and stirred at the sight of his cold male beauty. A frisson of awareness rippled across her shoulders.

Attraction of the worst sort. Great heavens, what was the matter with her? This man was rumoured to have killed his wife and, according to Iris, in his youth he’d been a well-known rake!

A man to be wary of at all cost.

But why on earth was he answering the door?

Putting a hand to her throat, she swallowed. An urge to run tensed her shoulders, but she couldn’t. She had nowhere to go. She endured his sweeping gaze in silent indignation.

‘I was expecting someone older,’ he said in disgruntled tones.

Then they were both disappointed. She’d been hoping for something more welcoming. She mustered a calm voice. ‘I can assure you—’

‘Come in.’ He pointed down the passage. ‘Up the stairs on the right.’

Rude, and autocratic to boot.

It didn’t matter, she told herself, hefting her valise. She’d long become accustomed to her place in the world. She could endure this disreputable man and his offspring for two months. She didn’t have a choice.

She swept past him without a word.

As she marched along the stone passageway, his presence behind her had the hairs on her nape standing on end. The skin across her shoulders felt tight and her ears strained to hear his footsteps. Was he drawing closer?

Stupid. He wasn’t going to harm her! He needed her to educate his son, and for that she had to be living and breathing. She took a deep steadying breath and stopped at the foot of a stone stairway that wound upwards. From an open door further along the passageway pots clattered in an oddly cheerful manner. That must be the kitchen. She glanced back for instructions.

The broad-shouldered Earl manoeuvred around her with a whiff of lemon soap and something fruity—an odd, if pleasant, combination.

‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Watch your footing and keep to the right, where the steps are widest.’

Good Lord, the place was as medieval inside as it was outside. Fortunately, sconces placed at intervals on the high stone wall lit the uneven stone steps. After one flight her calves burned with fatigue. She pitied the poor maids and footmen who ran up and down these stairs.

On the second landing he ducked beneath an arch and strode down the corridor leading off it.

Expecting to be shown her room, she followed him into a chamber halfway along. She blinked at the sudden dazzle of candles, staring at the four-poster bed where a small blond child was propped up on its pillows. The boy stared back with large blue eyes.

A liveried footman, aged about sixteen and nigh as tall as the Earl, stood stiff and straight just inside the door.

‘Wait outside, please, Peter,’ Ralston said.

The young man slipped out silently.

The Earl crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside the bed. He clasped the boy’s small pink hand with a worried frown. For the first time since she’d met him Ralston looked approachable, and the concern in his gaze caused a softening in her chest.

She stiffened against such foolish female sentiment. Her weakness, Iris called it.

‘Jonathon,’ Ralston murmured, patting the boy’s hand, ‘here is Mrs Drake, your governess. She doesn’t look so very bad, does she?’

Both Earl and child regarded her gravely.

Candlelight glinted gold in the Earl’s brown eyes and shone onto a sticky substance amid his hair’s dark waves. Blood on his shirt and something nasty in his hair. What had he been doing when she arrived?

Inwardly Sarah shuddered. She didn’t dare imagine!

Dash it, she was a governess. Here to teach a small boy his letters. The Earl was her employer and what he did with his time was none of her business.

She smiled at the little boy, who looked like an absolute angel—the kind one found painted on church ceilings. ‘Good evening, Jonathon. I have been looking forward to our meeting.’

The little boy’s gaze swivelled to his father. ‘I don’t want a governess. I want Maddy.’

The crease between Ralston’s jet brows deepened. He shook his head wearily. ‘You are too old for a nurse.’

The little boy stuck out his bottom lip and dragged his hand free of his father’s. ‘Want Maddy. Want Maddy. Want Maddy!’ He kicked his feet in time to his chant.

Ralston slammed his fist into the mattress. ‘Enough.’

Sarah jumped and the little boy burst into tears.

Ralston leapt to his feet and strode to the window. He gripped the curtain as if he’d like to tear it to shreds. He looked like a man pushed to the edge of his patience, a man trying to regain control. Well, she knew what that was like; children could be absolute monsters when they wished.

After a moment or two, the Earl drew a deep breath and turned back to his son, his face stern, his eyes dark with regret. ‘Enough, Jonathon. Nurse Maddy is gone. Be a gentleman and shake Mrs Drake’s hand.’

Gone where? Sarah wondered. And why, if the child loved her so much?

Tears running down his cheeks, Jonathon crossed his arms tight over his chest and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. ‘Don’t want to.’

‘I’ll take you up on my horse tomorrow,’ Ralston coaxed.

Oh, dear. No wonder the child threw tantrums. Sarah pressed her lips together: criticism of an employer only led to dismissal.

‘Promise?’ Jonathon said, looking a touch triumphant. At his father’s nod, he untangled his hands.

Ralston beamed. A ray of light shafting down between storm clouds could not have been a more awe-inspiring sight. ‘Good boy.’

Sarah couldn’t prevent a shiver of feminine appreciation as she took the boy’s outstretched hand.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Drake,’ the lad said in a small high voice.

‘Excellent.’ Ralston said. ‘Now

Reviews for The Governess And The Earl

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

3.5? . Its a decent novella with a strong story and decent characters.
Recommended ?