What if she wasn’t good enough for them either?
She swallowed; her throat was parched and her stomach continued to make loud noises of hunger. Wiping off her brow, she gazed further down the road and saw a lone rider coming towards her. The hairs on her arms stood up and her pulse quickened. She was all alone. No family. No friends.
Could he mean her harm?
Chapter Four
There was nothing for it. He would have to find the erstwhile governess and offer her more money. His sisters needed constant supervision and he was not able to give it to them whilst he took care of the affairs of the estate.
Wick heaved a sigh filled with exhaustion and frustration. He pointed his finger at his three youngest sisters. ‘Don’t get into any mischief while I’m gone.’
‘We won’t,’ Helen assured him with her most charming smile.
It set him on his guard. His usually sweet sister was like the snakes she carried around; you never knew when she was going to strike with her strongest venom.
‘Don’t count on it!’ Frederica said.
At least she was always honest.
‘Where are you going, Wick?’ Becca asked, taking his hand and pulling on it. ‘You have only just got home.’
‘To find your blasted governess. No thanks to any ofyou,’ he said gruffly.
Wick called for the groom to harness a horse to the curricle. His greys were already spent from the drive to Hampford. Shoving on his hat, he climbed up into the driver’s seat. He was dusty, tired and abominably thirsty, but there was nothing else to be done.
‘Which way did she go, Becca?’
His little sister hesitantly pointed to the north gate—a direction he usually avoided. It was the opposite way from the village and the vicarage where Miss Young’s aunt and uncle lived. The foolish governess had headed in the wrong direction.
Wick flicked the reins to urge his horse forward. The north gate was not used as often as the south. Both still had the wrought-iron pulleys of another age, but the gates were rarely closed in these modern days. The only time he remembered them being shut had been when Papa had lost control of his emu and contained it by closing the iron gates.
Wick only wished that he could have kept the governess in the same way.
His heartbeat was irregular as he passed Animal Island, the animal sanctuary where his father kept those creatures too domesticated to be freed. The island was close to the family crypt, where those they’d loved were buried. The grief had not lessened over time. If anything, it had become more keen and painful.
Wick felt an overall feeling of weakness, but it was growing dark now. He had to find Miss Young and make sure that she was safe.
He drove for another five miles, his headache increasing with each furlong.
Where could the blasted woman be? She clearly had no sense of direction or she would have long before realised that the village was in the opposite direction and much closer to the castle. She should have been at her uncle’s vicarage long before now.
Wick had nearly given up hope of locating the governess when he saw a woman trudging down the road. She was coming his way.He rocked back and forth in his seat in relief. Perhaps the governess had finally realised that she was heading in the wrong direction. Or that it had been foolish to walk away without her belongings.
Urging the horse on, he sped towards her. The woman wore a blue dress that was liberally covered in dirt from the knees down. She clutched a small bag in her hands as if it possessed her entire fortune. Mayhap the woman wasn’t as careless as Becca had said, and hadn’t left all her money and belongings at the castle.
As he got closer to her the woman looked up at him. He’d been expecting a plain governess with sensible hair, a no-nonsense stern mouth, and hands like cricket bats. The young woman before him had none of those things. She was tall and slender, but with gentle curves. Her hair was a riot of red curls, completely untamed. Her pale skin was covered in hundreds of sweet freckles. Wick had the most unaccountable thought that it would be lovely to kiss every single one.
The young woman smiled at him, but it was fearful. Her expression was like his little sister Becca’s when she was in trouble.
Wick felt the hardening in his stomach lessen. The poor woman was already scared—he didn’t need to bite her head off. Though he dearly wished to.
‘It would appear that you are in need of a lift, miss.’
She tipped her head up to look at him. Her eyes were a bright green that sparkled like emeralds in her face. There was a freckle just above her lips—that was the one he’d kiss first. If he kissed any of them. Which he wouldn’t. Because she was the governess, and such things weren’t done. And, frankly, he’d never been tempted to kiss his own governess. Miss Nix hadn’t inspired affection or physical admiration. She’d been an old battle-axe, who had retired after Mantheria’s debut four years before.
‘I should not wish to put you out, sir,’ the lady said in a soft tone, and well-spoken accent. It was no wonder that his sisters had ridden roughshod over her. They were wild animals compared to this gentle woman.
Wick held out his gloved hand to her. ‘You can sit by me.’