Page 76 of The Governess and the Rogue

Together they rode down the drive, and through the gates that led to a tree-lined country lane. Maberly followed a distance behind them, close enough to be on hand if anything dire should occur, but far enough away to assure their privacy.

Soon Beasley Park faded into the distance. Trees closed around them, their branches curving over the lane in a graceful arch. The horses’ hooves clip-clopped steadily on the hard-packed earth.

“So,” Jack said at length, “what do you make of my family?”

Bea didn’t hesitate. “I like them.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” She readjusted her reins between her gloved fingers. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I knew you would,” he said. And then: “I hoped.”

A resurgence of butterflies tickled Bea’s stomach at the husky note in Jack’s voice. “They’re easy to like,” she said. “So very kind and genuine. I’m amazed that—” She stopped herself.

Jack flashed her a glance. “What?”

“That they don’t mind my being a governess,” she said.

He smiled, as though something had amused him.

Bea resumed looking straight ahead. The road was on a gentle incline, heading toward a small rise in the distance. “But I suppose they do mind. They’re just too polite to show it.”

“They can be polite,” he said. “But if they disliked you, you’d know it.” He slowed his horse when Bea began to fall behind, waiting for her to catch up. “As far as your being a governess… We Beresfords aren’t as high in the instep in that regard as people might think.”

Bea brought Nightshade back alongside Jack’s horse. The little mare boldly stretched out her face to nuzzle the gelding. He bumped her nose in return.

“The family of an earl is expected to have certain standards,” Bea said.

Jack scratched his horse’s withers. A thoughtful line etched his brow. “My father wasn’t always the earl. He wasn’t always the heir to an earldom either. For a time, when he was a lad, he had no knowledge of his true lineage. For quite a few years, actually. He spent them working as a stableboy at Beasley Park. It’s where he met my mother.”

Bea couldn’t conceal her surprise. “You’re not serious?”

“As the grave.” Jack guided his horse up the rise. “It’s our family secret. Though not much of one, if you ask me. Not when there are some blackguards out there who still whisper that my father’s claim to the earldom is illegitimate. Which,” he added darkly, “would mean that St. Clare’s claim is illegitimate too. It’s why he’s so sensitive about anything that might tarnish the family name.”

Bea kept pace with Jack on her mare as they crested the hill. She didn’t know what to say. It was all too astonishing.

Jack gave her a wry smile. “So, if St. Clare looks at you askance, you can chalk it up to that. He’s always on his guard for adventurers and the like. It’s nothing personal.”

“Does he think I’m an adventurer?” Bea asked.

“I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Bea’s heart sank. “I see.”

“You don’t,” Jack said.

“But if he⁠—”

“It has nothing to do with you. It’s about him. And about his propensity to listen to meddling busybodies whose only purpose in life is to stir up trouble.”

Her brows notched. “What do you mean⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter in any event,” Jack interrupted. “St. Clare is already warming to you.”

She gave a snort of disbelief.

“He is,” Jack said. “After your valiant effort to save his daughters’ tea cake? The way you complimented Hannah’s vegetarian dishes at dinner, and the way you jumped right in with us at charades? If ever he did think you an adventuress, he knows better now.”