A Governess for the Scarred Viscount (Love and Yearning in the Ton #10)

Chapter 1

The coach lurched violently as it struck another rut in the road, and Eloise caught herself against the seat with both hands and pressed her lips together until the rattling subsided.

She had spent three days in the cramped, jolting conveyance, over roads seemingly determined to deposit her in the Highlands without an ounce of dignity. She turned toward the window. England had disappeared sometime during the afternoon, and Scotland stretched before her in its place.

The hills were larger here, wilder, and the villages smaller, separated by long stretches of open land that looked untouched for centuries. The sky itself seemed broader, with vast gray clouds rolling across it in formations that made her feel very small indeed.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Scotland thus far was beautiful. And after everything that had happened back in London, it was a pleasant surprise.

“Nearly there, miss.”

The driver’s voice drifted back through the small opening above her. Her stomach tightened at once. The journey ending meant the difficult part was beginning, and she had been carefully avoiding that thought for the better part of three days.

She dropped her gaze to the reticule in her lap. The leather was worn at the clasp, and it had long turned beige from its original white. Her fingers tightened around the handle. She told herself not to think about it. But it was impossible not to think about the reason for her journey.

Her father had destroyed them. Not intentionally, which was perhaps the cruelest part.

Baron Lawing had simply believed that luck would change, that one more hand of cards would recover the losses, one more loan would solve the problem, and one more promise would hold the family together long enough for everything to come right.

Instead, every promise produced another debt, every debt another lie, and every lie eventually became public knowledge and terrible scandal.

The coach slowed, then stopped altogether.

“Here we are, miss.”

Eloise released a long breath, then another, and reminded herself that there was no sense in delay. She opened the door and stepped down onto the road.

Cool air met her immediately, carrying with it something she had not expected. Salt. The sea was close. She turned instinctively toward the smell of it, briefly forgetting her fatigue and worries.

The village was small. Stone cottages lined a winding road, smoke curled from chimneys, and a handful of villagers paused briefly to glance at the stranger in their midst before continuing on. She had never been this far north, or this far from anything she recognized.

“Eloise?”

She turned.

A woman was hurrying toward her across the road, gray hair escaping from beneath a sensible bonnet, her face fuller than Eloise remembered and considerably older, yet the smile was exactly the same as it had always been.

“Mrs. Maggie.”

The housekeeper caught her hands and then pulled her into a firm, unambiguous embrace.

“It has been ages since I saw you, yet I would recognize your mother’s nose slope and eye set anywhere.”

Eloise laughed.

“How did you ever end up all the way in Scotland?”

“England is rather too fond of its own propriety,” she said with a flip of her hand. Then, she grew serious for a moment. “And truthfully, once finances forced me away from your mother and family, it felt unfaithful to simply take up work with another noble family so nearby.”

Eloise nodded, her heart warmed by the housekeeper’s loyalty to her mother.

“It is not hard to imagine why Mother loved you so.”

Mrs. Maggie laughed, wiping quickly at a tear that had suddenly escaped her left eye. Then, she surveyed Eloise, shaking her head with worry.

“You are tired.”

“I am thoroughly exhausted.”

“Then you shall rest properly tonight.” Mrs. Maggie offered her arm. “Come. Walk with me first.”

Eloise gladly fell into step beside her.

The older woman’s company eased some of the tightness in her chest. Mrs. Maggie had been her mother’s closest friend since girlhood, back when the Lawings still lived on the estate where Maggie’s family worked.

When word of Eloise’s situation had reached Scotland, she had offered a solution when none seemed to exist.

“How is your mother?” Mrs. Maggie asked.

“Worried. She sends her love and approximately four pages of instructions I have already committed to memory.”

Mrs. Maggie smiled. “A mother never changes.”

“No. She does not.”

“And your father?”

The question settled between them. Eloise kept her gaze on the road ahead. “He is trying,” she said.

The older woman’s face filled with sympathy, and Eloise looked away. She did not want sympathy.

After a moment Mrs. Maggie smiled. “The village is smaller than you expected,” she said.

“It is. Though I do not mind it.” Eloise glanced at the quiet street, the smoke from the chimneys, and the hills visible beyond the last row of cottages. “It feels peaceful.”

“Enjoy that feeling while it lasts,” Mrs. Maggie said, and her tone made it clear this was not a pleasantry.

“That sounds rather ominous.”

Mrs. Maggie lowered her voice. “We should discuss your name before tomorrow.”

Eloise’s heart sank.

“Please, do not tell me I have to assume a false identity.”

Mrs. Maggie gave her an apologetic look.

“Not entirely. You are your mother’s daughter, and your mother was a Beauchamp before she wed.”

Eloise nodded. That was hardly better. But she had Beauchamp blood in her. It is close enough to truth that it does not count as a lie, she told herself. She did not believe herself, however.

“It is what must be.”

“No surname defines a person.”

Eloise smiled wanly.

“Society does not agree with that position.”

“Society rarely agrees with common sense.”

Eloise laughed, properly this time. “There is the Mrs. Maggie I remember.”

“Good. Hold onto that memory, because I am about to say several things you will not enjoy hearing.” The older woman’s voice turned brisk.

“The children are grieving and struggling. The little girl is quiet to the point of silence most days. She startles easily, does not sleep well, and does not trust strangers readily.”

“That is understandable, given what she has been through.”

“The boy is twelve years old and angry at everything within his line of sight. He argues with the servants, argues with me, and would argue with the furniture if it gave him any encouragement.”

“That is also understandable.”

“Less charming in practice than in theory, I assure you.” Mrs. Maggie paused. “Three governesses have attempted the position before you.”

Eloise stopped walking. “Three?”

“Yes.”

“And the viscount? Was he the cause of their departure, or was it the children?”

Mrs. Maggie appeared to give this genuine consideration. “Both. The children are not easy. But the viscount …” She let the sentence trail into a silence that communicated more than any completed thought would have.

“What is wrong with him?” Eloise asked.

“He avoids people, avoids conversation, and avoids anything that might require him to be present in his own household for longer than strictly necessary.”

“He was not always this way,” Mrs. Maggie continued. “Before the Navy, before the accident, he was different. People liked him. He had a reputation for being fair, decisive, and even good-humored.”

“What happened?”

“There was … an accident. At sea.” Mrs. Maggie’s voice was careful.

“I do not wish to gossip or speak too much about business that is not mine. I mention it because you deserve to not be shocked, but I can only tell you that he came back wounded and scarred, inside and out. He had decided the world was better off with less of him in it, and no one has yet persuaded him otherwise.”

Eloise nodded sympathetically.

“And his sister’s death did not help matters.”

“It did not.” Mrs. Maggie was quiet for a moment. “He blames himself for that as well, though he has no cause to. She and her husband were traveling to visit him when the accident happened. You will find that Lord Macalpine is very gifted at deciding things are his fault.”

They stopped before the village inn, a solid stone building with warm light showing in the lower windows.

“You can rest here tonight,” Mrs. Maggie said. “I will send word first thing in the morning.”

“And then tomorrow I meet the viscount.”

“Tomorrow, you meet the viscount.” She squeezed Eloise’s hand once, firmly, and then released it.

Eloise smiled as bravely as she could manage.

She wanted to ask the housekeeper more about the viscount’s accident and the scarring mentioned.

But she understood enough. And she certainly understood how it felt for society to make a person feel as though it was better off without them in it.

Mrs. Maggie departed, and Eloise stood in the doorway of the inn and watched her go until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She did not go directly to the inn, however. Instead, she continued walking toward the edge of the small town.

The village thinned gradually around her, the cottages growing farther apart and the road narrowing, until she had just begun considering whether to turn back when she heard a soft, uneven sound. There was a small, quiet sniffle. Then, another.

Eloise stopped. She looked around and at first saw nothing but the road, the stone wall running alongside it, and the hills beyond. Then she noticed the small figure tucked against the base of the wall, half in shadow, hunched over something in her lap.

It was a little girl, seven years old at most, wearing a blue dress that had once been good quality and now showed hard use. A rag doll was pressed against her knees, and her small shoulders were trembling.

Eloise’s chest ached. She approached slowly, keeping her steps audible on the road so as not to startle the child.

She startled her anyway.

“Hello.”