The Governess Was Wild

By Julia Kelly

Travel through the English countryside in this third delightful historical Regency romance in the Governesses series by award-winning author Julia Kelly!

When Lady Margaret Rawson is caught trying to elope with the thoroughly unsuitable James Lawrence, Lord and Lady Rawson decide it's time to send their daughter away from the temptations of London. The job of delivering the headstrong girl to the family’s isolated Yorkshire estate naturally falls to her governess, Jane Ephram. It should be an easy task, but with the wild Lady Margaret, nothing ever goes according to plan. To make matters worse, Lord Rawson has made it clear that if anything happens to his daughter along the way, Jane will be dismissed without a letter of reference. When Jane finds Lady Margaret’s inn room empty and the charming Lord Nicholas Hollings’s horse missing one morning, she must embark on an adventure of her own with the devilishly handsome baron. Will Jane and Nicholas find Lady Margaret, the scheming Mr. Lawrence, and the missing horse, or will they discover something else entirely?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pocket Star
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781501139352

Julia Kelly

Julia Kelly is the award-winning author of books about ordinary women and their extraordinary stories. In addition to writing, she’s been an Emmy-nominated producer, journalist, marketing professional, and (for one summer) a tea waitress. Julia called Los Angeles, Iowa, and New York City home before settling in London. Readers can visit JuliaKellyWrites.com to learn more about all of her books and sign up for her newsletter so they never miss a new release.

Book preview

Chapter One

March 3, 1860

Somewhere on the road

between London and Yorkshire

Jane Ephram woke in the unremarkable room of an inn situated in a village of no consequence with the distinct impression that she was alone.

It took a half second for her usually sharp mind to begin whirring, but the moment the creaky cogs clicked together she bolted up in her cot. She was alone. The massive bed that dominated the center of the room was empty, and Lady Margaret Simon, only daughter of the Earl of Rawson, was nowhere to be seen.

Jane jumped up, rushed to the bed, and threw back the covers, hoping in vain that she’d discover Lady Margaret nestled somewhere underneath the mound of linen.

Nothing.

There was no sign of her charge.

"No no no," she muttered as dread began to gnaw at her stomach.

Crossing the room, Jane threw open the doors of the tall armoire where Lady Margaret’s maid had stowed the hand luggage meant to save them the trouble of pulling their trunks down from Lord Rawson’s carriage every night. Jane’s modest, slightly tattered bag had fallen over, no longer supported by the most substantial weight of Lady Margaret’s smooth leather valise.

Oh, you foolish girl!

Jane didn’t curse—what governess would risk such vulgarity?—but in the bright light of the late-winter morning she was closer than she’d ever been in her life. This was her nightmare realized—the one that had made for restless sleep the last three nights on this slow progress to their exile at Lord Rawson’s West Riding estate.

Jane breathed deeply and tried to calm her already frayed nerves. Yes, the bed was empty, and yes, Lady Margaret’s bag was gone, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d run off. Even the young lady who’d sulked during the entire journey from Rawson House on Berkeley Square to this little village couldn’t be so irresponsible. So selfish.

She’s headstrong enough to ruin her reputation just to spite her father though, Jane muttered.

She yanked at the ties of her night rail and ripped the plain garment with a patch on the right elbow over her head with lightning speed. She’d been dressing herself since she was seven, and that morning she couldn’t have been more grateful that she was used to lacing her own corset, strapping on the modest crinoline that went with her traveling dress, and working the long buttonhook down her back. She shoved her feet into her serviceable flat boots, snatched up her reticule, and sprinted from the room.

She clattered down the hall and up a small set of stairs to a floor of considerably less well-appointed rooms where Lady Margaret’s maid, a Highlands girl named Elspeth, slept. She rapped hard on the door, not stopping until the stiff bolt groaned in the lock.

What do you want? demanded a sleepy young woman with wild black hair escaping from its braid.

Elspeth! Jane called, peering around the woman’s shoulder. Elspeth, get up right now.

There was a muffled protest and the sound of sheets rumpling, but a few seconds later the maid was at the door of her shared room yawning, her cap slightly askew. There’s no need to carry on like Revelations are upon us. I can’t have overslept. Not when you can hear every creak through these thin walls.

Where is Lady Margaret? Did she call on you to dress her? Even as she asked, Jane knew the question was foolish, but there was still a part of her that hoped against all hope her charge hadn’t done something incredibly stupid. Maybe Lady Margaret had risen early and dressed to take a meal in a private room downstairs. Maybe if Jane wished hard enough, she could will that into being true.

Elspeth’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. What’s the matter?

When was the last time you saw her? she pushed. While Jane could ready herself for the day without assistance, Lady Margaret’s traveling costume was far too complicated to manage on her own. Besides, the young lady had likely never dressed without a maid’s assistance.

I haven’t seen Lady Margaret since yesterday evening. She asked me to brush out her hair, but then told me that she wanted to undress herself because she was too tired for a fuss, said Elspeth.

Jane rolled her eyes and prayed for the strength not to shake the gullible young woman. "When has Lady Margaret ever not wanted a fuss to be made over her?"

Elspeth’s face crumpled and the tears began to fall. I didn’t think there was any harm in it.

Of course there was harm in it, but Jane didn’t have the heart to berate the girl. She was just as culpable as Elspeth. She’d thought nothing of the fact that Lady Margaret was already in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin when she returned to the room yesterday night after having a word about their morning meal with the innkeeper’s wife. Jane had been exhausted from the slow, long journey in the carriage and wishing for the speed and comfort of the Midland Railway trains that would’ve brought them within five miles of Holmesfield Hall. She’d been distracted and careless and now the worst had happened.

Elspeth, look at me, Jane said. There are times for crying, but right now is not one of them. I need you to think back to yesterday. Is there anything else that Lady Margaret did that struck you as odd?

The maid hiccuped between sobs. She asked me to get down a few things from her trunk and pack them in her valise. She said she wasn’t sure what she wanted to wear the next day.

Oh, Elspeth, you should’ve let me know!

I’m sorry! Elspeth wailed. I was so tired of being in that carriage. I just wanted to go to bed.

I know, Jane said, trying once again to dull the sharpness in her tone. The maid was young and in many ways naive. How was she supposed to know what Jane had learned over ten years of teaching Lady Margaret—that the girl was crafty as a Whitechapel street urchin and just as slippery.

Why didn’t we take the train? Elspeth cried.

Jane didn’t have time to explain—yet again—that Lord and Lady Rawson felt traveling in a private carriage with no family crest through tiny villages would be far more anonymous than parading their daughter through the middle of Euston Station with her governess, maid, and a footman in tow. It would be too hard to maintain the pretense that Lady Margaret had fallen ill and was confined to her Yorkshire home for her convalescence if she was seen healthy and traveling on one of the country’s most trafficked railways.

Elspeth. Jane gripped the girl by the shoulders. I need you to dress.

Where are you going? Elspeth asked, her sobs replaced by a hint of panic.

To see if anyone saw Lady Margaret leave. If we’re lucky, she might not have too much of a head start.

The maid sniffled but nodded before withdrawing.

Jane turned on the hard heel of her boot and swept down the passageway, trying her best to rationalize the situation as she went. Lady Margaret had always been the sort to push boundaries before pulling back and smoothing ruffled feathers with cooing words and sweet smiles. Several times she’d run off from Jane while they’d shopped on Bond Street, only to be found a few hours later enjoying a cup of tea with an equally willful friend in the back of a tearoom, chaperoned by the well-meaning but far too indulgent Elspeth. But Lady Margaret’s latest stunt—well, that had been a step too far for Lord and Lady Rawson.

Jane hadn’t been in the room two weeks ago when Lady Margaret announced to her mother and father that she’d secretly become engaged to Mr. James Lawrence, but she—and no doubt the rest of Mayfair—had heard the ensuing row. Lady Margaret had made a vast miscalculation if she thought that the earl and countess would allow their only child to attach herself to a man with no prospects, no title, and no fortune who’d engaged himself to two heiresses in as many seasons before jilting the poor women for richer prey. They immediately forbade their daughter from seeing or communicating with Mr. Lawrence again.

This, naturally, only made Lady Margaret try harder to continue her attachment to the roguish and admittedly dashing young man. When, a week after the ill-fated engagement announcement, Lady Rawson had discovered a stack of letters from Mr. Lawrence stashed among her daughter’s needlework, she’d ordered the girl packed off to Yorkshire. Locked away in the great house to think about the life-changing mistake she’d nearly made, Lady Margaret would be able to do far less damage to her reputation than she could while surrounded by temptations of London. It would also give the earl time to arrange a meeting, open his bankbook, and pay off Mr. Lawrence to end the engagement discreetly. That would be that.

And Jane? She’d simply been collateral damage in the war between daughter and parents—the governess caught up in the middle of a family dispute. She was going north as well, away from the few friends she had in London. She’d always wanted to travel, to see the world outside of the confines of a governess’s restricted, disciplined life, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

On the ground floor, Jane pushed open the door to the inn’s public dining room. It was empty except for the innkeeper’s daughter, who’d served them the night before.

The young lady I was traveling with, Jane called out to the girl. Have you seen her?

The girl started but dropped her gaze to the counter she was wiping down. I haven’t seen anyone today, ma’am.

The girl was lying, not that it was surprising. Lady Margaret had a way about her that drew people in, and those she couldn’t win over were usually more than happy to put their loyalty up for sale.

What’s your name? Jane asked, trying to keep her voice light and friendly.

Sally, the girl mumbled.

Sally, Lady Margaret isn’t in her room. That means that she has to have come downstairs at some point. Since I doubt she would have thought to go through the kitchen, I assume she walked through here. Now, I want you to answer me honestly this time. Did you see Lady Margaret this morning?

My horse! A man’s voice cut through the quiet of the morning. Someone’s stolen my damned horse!

Jane groaned and picked up her skirts. Only Lady Margaret could stir up that sort of frustration in a person before breakfast.

She rushed outside to find a tall, imposing man standing at the door of the inn’s large stable. He was gesturing wildly with a riding crop, a long lock of his blond hair falling into his eyes as though a rake of his hands had knocked it out of place.

Excuse me, sir, Jane called as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, striding toward the avenging god while keeping a close eye on the crop. It wasn’t as though she thought the man would use it on her, but it made her nervous nonetheless.

What? the man snapped, whirling around. As soon as he discovered who had addressed him, he sucked a breath in and said, I’m sorry, madam. You’ve caught me at a disadvantage.

Your horse has been stolen.

Instead of starting to yell again, as she expected, the man offered a crooked grin and whacked the crop sheepishly against the top of one of his muddy boots. Is it that obvious?

Jane blinked, caught up in his smile. I—I did manage to overhear something about it.

I also apologize for that. I don’t usually make a habit of yelling curses in public before breakfast.

And after breakfast? she asked.

The man’s eyebrows jerked up. Only on special occasions, of course.

Of course. Well, she said, bracing herself for their conversation to turn sour, I might be able to shed some light on the situation.

Sure enough, the man’s eyes became slits. What do you know about Merlin’s disappearance?

A laugh bubbled up to her lips. Merlin?

It’s a perfectly sensible name for a horse, said the man, his tone a little defensive.

Except it wasn’t. Not really. The thought of a man as powerfully masculine as he was doing something as fanciful as naming a horse after an old wizard in a children’s tale was strangely touching.

She could see the veins in his neck tense so she kept