Excerpt of Temptation of a Proper Governess by Cathy Maxwell

Chapter One

March 1804

Miss Lillian Wardley's bed was empty. Isabel Halloran, her governess, greeted the sight with a combination of frustration and panic. Lillian had a reputation for being promiscuous. Curbing her wild ways was one of the duties Isabel had been hired to perform three months earlier.

Isabel did not need a clash of wills with Lillian tonight. She was fighting her own demons or rather, one demon, Lord Riggs, Richard, a man she once believed she'd loved until he had attempted to take her by force. He was a guest under this roof, and she was determined to avoid him. She didn't want him to know she was there. The pain of his betrayal was still too fresh. Isabel had no desire to be out wandering the halls, looking for her errant charge.

She should have known Lillian was up to something. The seventeen-year-old had been too quiet, too accommodating, and had excused herself far too early for bed that evening. Her unquestioning obedience was out of character and had disturbed Isabel enough for her to rise from her own bed, throw her brown day dress over her nightgown, and check on Lillian.

It was half past midnight ... and she had a sinking suspicion where Lillian might be.

Holding a protective hand around the candle flame, Isabel hurried across the hall to knock on Nanny's door. It took more than one knock to disturb the older woman's sleep.

The door opened. "Miss Halloran, is there something with the children?” Nanny rasped, squinting at the candle flame. She had the care of Mr. Wardley's three younger children by his second wife, a very buxom former tavern girl with ambition to match her husband's.

"Lillian is missing."

"Missing?" Nanny repeated without comprehension.

"She's not in her bed. I need your help finding her."

Nanny came awake. "Oh, dear." She opened the door while she reached for her dressing gown hanging on a nearby nail. "The last time she did this we found her with the stable lad. 'Twas before your time. I know you've heard about it."

"I thought I was making progress with her."

"I thought so, too." Nanny slipped her arms into her gown, leaving her nightcap on her head. "The Master had the boy transported to Australia." Isabel had heard this story, but Nanny never tired of repeating it. "He begged for mercy, he did, but the Master would hear none of it. Them with the money makes the rules. That's what my mother used to say. Let's pray Miss Lillian's not got another young laddie in trouble."

"No, I think she has her sights set higher." Isabel started for the stairs at the end of the hall. Her nightly braid had come loose, but she wasn't going to waste time rebraiding it.

Nanny moved with surprising speed and caught Isabel's arm. "One of the guests? Why, the Master's friends are all rakes and scoundrels, even if they do have titles to their names. They'd gobble up a young girl, spit out her bones, and the Master wouldn't be able to do a thing about it."

"I know," Isabel answered. She couldn't an-swer for all of Mr. Wardley's guests, but Richard certainly fit that description.

"We could lose our positions."

"Yes." Isabel was relieved that Nanny grasped exactly what was at stake.

"We'd best hurry," the older woman said as she picked up a candle stub from the hall table and lit it off Isabel's. The two women hurried toward the stairs. "I wish the Master would marry Miss Lillian off as soon as possible. Yes, she's young, but she is going to come to grief with her wild ways."

Their master was Mr. Thomas Wardley, a merchant who had made his fortune brokering wool to the army and fancied his money could buy his way into Society. He was fond of expanding on how he was part of the "new social order," where a man didn't need a title to be accepted. But the servants knew he desperately wanted one; they often called him "Sir" Thomas behind his back.

And Isabel knew he was wrong about a new social order. The divide between the aristocracy and everyone else was deeper than the ocean. Richard had taught her that, just as he'd taught her that a title didn't make a man a gentleman. The five titled gentlemen visiting this week were supposedly there for hunting -- although no one had gone hunting yet. Instead, the downstairs reeked of port and brandy, and Nanny and Isabel had their hands full keeping the children away from bad influences.

The two women reached the floor where the guest bedrooms were. Candles in wall sconces had the area ablaze with light. Mr. Wardley might be stingy with his servants, but no expense was spared for guests.

Isabel paused. The footman who usually sat in a chair at the top of the stairs leading down to the main floor was missing from his post. She felt a cold suspicion.

The quiet of the hall was broken by a burst of boisterous male laughter drifting up the stairs from the dining room where the gentlemen liked to play cards. "They are having a rowdy good time tonight," Nanny muttered.

"I don't know why Mrs. Wardley tolerates it," Isabel said.

"The Mistress is usually down there with them."

Isabel frowned but feared she'd already said too much. A governess walked a fine line. She was a servant and yet had a higher standing than the others. It didn't help the situation that Isabel was not good at being subservient. Pride was her besetting sin, and she didn't like itwhen her employers pretended shewas invisible.

"You don't think Miss Lillian is down there with them?" Nanny wondered in round tones.

"No." Isabel studied the closed doors lining the hall. "Which room do you believe is Mr. Severson's?"

The mention of the man's name brought forth a gasp of horror from Nanny ...