The Governess Was Wanton by Julia Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

came to an earl. Even if Lord Asten did want her, he wouldn’t want her in that way. Peers had affairs with governesses, they didn’t marry them. It simply wasn’t done.
    But there was no telling her friends that.
    â€œDoes your pulse quicken every time he walks into a room?” Jane asked dramatically.
    â€œHardly.” Sometimes.
    â€œDoes the sight of his jet-black hair make your fingers itch to muss it?” Elizabeth asked.
    â€œNot at all. And his hair isn’t jet black,” she said peevishly.
    â€œWhat color is it?” Jane asked.
    â€œBrownish.”
    Elizabeth pulled a face. “Brownish? That’s too normal to be romantic.”
    â€œYou’re the one who’s trying to make him into a hero in one of your novels,” Mary said.
    â€œIs the earl truly that handsome?” Jane asked.
    â€œHe is,” she said, knowing that if either of her friends ever caught a glimpse of the man there would be no way of denying it. “He’s also the father of my charge.”
    Both of her companions—one a former governess and the other still holding a position—sobered at the reminder that there was a young lady’s education and Mary’s position on the line.
    â€œDoes Lady Eleanora have a particular gentleman in her sights?” asked Jane, deftly steering the subject to safer ground. “I know it’s her first season.”
    â€œThat’s what I intend to find out,” Mary said.
    That thought preoccupied her on her walk back to Belgravia after tea. Except when she arrived at No. 12 Belgrave Square, she found herself caught in the middle of a row between father and daughter.
    Mary was taking off her hat when she heard an upstairs door slam followed by the pounding of footsteps.
    â€œOh dear,” she muttered as she tucked her hatpin neatly into the brim of her bonnet.
    Warthing, who had opened the door for her, frowned. “Perhaps, Miss Woodward, you would be so good as to visit Lord Asten in his study.”
    Another door crashed open and the sounds of the earl bellowing, “Eleanora, wait!” drifted down the stairs to them.
    â€œAre you sure he’s still in the study?” she asked.
    Warthing grimaced.
    â€œI’ll find Lord Asten,” she reassured the man, handing him her coat and picking up her skirts to climb the stairs with hurried steps.
    Finding the earl and his daughter wasn’t difficult. They were faced off in the middle of the gallery. Lady Eleanora looked as though she was about to cry, while Lord Asten was visibly frustrated. All around them, their ancestors peered down from smoky portraits with marked expressions of disapproval on stony painted faces.
    â€œI don’t want to go to the masque,” Lady Eleanora cried.
    â€œIt was all you could talk about just two months ago, and now you don’t even want to look at your dress. Why?” Lord Asten asked, fists clenched at his sides and his teeth gritted.
    â€œBecause I don’t want to!” the young lady cried as she spun around. She stopped short, however, as soon as she saw Mary. “Miss Woodward, you wouldn’t make me attend a ball I didn’t want to go to, would you?”
    Oh dear.
    â€œI’m not entirely sure what we’re speaking of,” Mary said carefully, looking from daughter to father and back again. “Would you mind enlightening me?”
    â€œEleanora’s dress was delivered this afternoon,” said the earl. “Now she tells me she no longer has a need for it. She doesn’t want to attend the ball.”
    â€œI don’t want any season at all,” said Lady Eleanora in a rather petty tone.
    That was very hard to believe. In the last six days, Lady Eleanora had been to three dinners, an opera, and two dances. She’d donned two new gowns from London’s most fashionable modiste, Madame Modrian, which she’d relished showing Mary. However, to Mary’s