Rules for a Proper Governess

  Sinclair’s heart beat faster, heat creeping into his body, which had been cold too long. “Then we’ll plan an assignation.” Sinclair caressed Bertie’s face, loving her soft skin, her smile, the beautiful eyes that had snapped Sinclair out of his prison of grief weeks ago and set him on the path to the world again.

  Bertie grinned at him. “Too right,” she said. “I look forward to it.”

  Chapter 28

  After a week, Sinclair was able to rise from his bed and move about, regaining more of his strength. Bertie watched him anxiously, and so did his children—not to mention Mrs. Hill, Macaulay, the maids, Peter, the cook, and the coachman. Sinclair began to growl that he didn’t need to be mollycoddled, but they refused to leave him be.

  Inspector Fellows and his sergeant paid Sinclair a visit in the second week, and Sinclair invited Bertie to stay and listen to what Fellows had to say. Sergeant Pierce looked uncertain about her being there, but Sinclair knew she’d played an integral part in bringing James down. She deserved to be in the room. Besides, Sinclair simply liked her near.

  “James Maloney survived your shot,” the inspector said, his voice as dry as ever. “A resilient man, he is. But he has much ill will from those in the East End—a number of witnesses have come forward to claim they saw him pursuing you, stabbing you, tackling you, and numerous other things. Some went into flights of fancy of things he couldn’t possibly have done. The word has gone out, apparently, that Maloney is to fall, and East End dwellers are required to speak up.”

  “Devlin, possibly,” Bertie said. “He doesn’t like me or my father, but he hates outsiders even more, especially ones who get him into trouble. He must have decided James’s money wasn’t worth it, and turned against him instead.”

  “Bertie has many friends, as well,” Sinclair said.

  “True,” Fellows said. “We can bang up Maloney for assault, attempted kidnapping, paying a known criminal, coercion, and numerous other things. Possibly also for causing you anguish through the letters, though we might have a devil of a time proving that. However, with the things Miss Frasier happened to . . . find . . . inside Mr. Maloney’s coat, we can tie him to other confidence games and blackmail. Seems he had several identities, and papers connecting him to victims in France, England, and Prussia. I’m enjoying going through them.” Fellows smiled one of his rare smiles. He did love catching a crook.

  “Make sure he stays put this time,” Sinclair said in his deep rumble. “I don’t want him turning up again, trying to make my life and my family’s lives a misery.”

  “No fear,” Fellows said. “My case will be very solid against him, and I’ll use my influence to get the best prosecutor there is. I’m sorry that barrister can’t be you, but you’ll make a very good witness.”

  “That will indeed be a pleasure,” Sinclair said. “As long as my late wife’s name, and Bertie’s, stay out of it.”

  “Since I don’t have hard evidence that he sent the letters,” Fellows said, “that won’t come up. Trust me, he’s done plenty else to fix himself. He’s a charmer, but juries don’t like tricksters—they’ll all have been fooled at one time or another, or know someone who has, and I’m sure they’ll see to it that this one, at least, gets his just deserts.”

  Fellows left soon after, happy to get back home to his wife and put together his case.

  The next visitor to gain entrance was Sinclair’s brother-in-law, Edward. Again, Bertie was present, though she wasn’t certain she wanted to be for this meeting. Edward put her back up too quickly. Then again, she’d rather be there to make sure he didn’t make Sinclair worse.

  Sinclair received Edward in his study. Sinclair wore an informal suit, his abdomen bulked by bandages, and he didn’t rise from the sofa when Edward came in. Bertie had been reading Sinclair’s correspondence out to him, making notes on what he wanted to say in reply. She remained at his desk, pen poised, as the irritating Edward entered.

  Edward swept his gaze over her then fixed it on Sinclair, looking him up and down. “I heard you were in a brawl,” Edward said coldly. “Somewhere in the gutter. Defending her honor, were you?”

  Sinclair gave Edward his stern barrister’s stare. “If you don’t keep a civil tongue about Miss Frasier, I’ll be defending her honor against you, and winning.”

  “I don’t brawl,” Edward said. He sniffed.

  “I don’t care,” Sinclair said with his impatient growl. “If you continue to insult her, I’ll come off this couch and punch you in the nose. What do you want?”

  “To see how you are, of course.”

  Oh, of course, Bertie thought. Come to kick a man when he’s down, more like.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Sinclair said. “You may go now.”

  “I was mostly worried about the children,” Edward said, ignoring him. “With you an invalid, my wife and I think it best that we take over the caring of them. Arrange Andrew’s school, find Caitriona a proper governess. You may visit them at holidays, of course. I’ve consulted a solicitor, who assures me such a thing is logical and feasible. They have no mother, and their father is unfit to take care of them. They will be well provided for by me.”

  Sinclair sat still and listened until Edward finished. How Sinclair didn’t come off the couch with a roar, Bertie didn’t know.

  “I’ve consulted a solicitor as well,” Sinclair said in his reasonable voice, though Bertie heard the bite of fury behind it. “As you know, I am acquainted with many. While it’s common for families to take in the children of sisters and brothers, it is entirely the father’s and mother’s choice if the parents are alive and competent. Since Margaret is no longer with us, I’ll have to speak for her. No, my children will not live with you, Edward. I’ll not have Cat and Andrew turned into stiff-necked prigs who need a pulley system in order to bow their heads. I have already ensured that if I shuffle off this mortal coil before my children are of age, either my brothers—Elliot, Patrick, or Steven—or my sister, Ainsley, will have care of them. My brothers and sister all have plenty of money and good social standing, and you’ll never need to worry about Cat and Andrew with them.”

  Edward’s face suffused with red. “I’ll not have my sister’s children associated with Mackenzies.”

  “Why not? My sister is deliriously happy, and her children are well cared for.” Sinclair sat up straighter. He didn’t wince, but Bertie saw the lines around his mouth tighten. “You aren’t concerned for your niece and nephew, Edward. You’re worried about your own standing. Margaret embarrassed you by running off to find some happiness, and you want to shove Cat and Andrew back into the Davies mold to show the world that your way is right. Sod you, and your wife too. My children are mine, and they’re staying with me.”

  “To become indolent little layabouts?” Edward asked. “There’s also some question, I’ve always known, about whether you married my sister correctly or not.”

  “I’ll show you the license if you doubt.” Sinclair’s voice hardened. “The marriage was true. I’d think you’d not be so hasty to bastardize your own niece and nephew. But I’ve decided to make you happy.” Sinclair sank back, keeping his gaze firmly on Edward. “Your main objection seems to be that my children are being educated at home. I’ll have you know that at Easter, Andrew will be starting at Harrow, and Cat has been enrolled in Miss Pringle’s Select Academy, one of the best schools for girls in the country. She’ll begin at Easter as well.”

  Edward blinked in surprise then shot a sharp look at Bertie. Bertie regarded him calmly, the revelation no surprise to her. Sinclair had discussed it with her—and Cat and Andrew—at length. Cat had asked most of all to take drawing lessons. She’d shown Bertie a few more of her astonishing pictures, and she’d shyly agreed to let her Uncle Mac see some of them. Mac had looked at them, been quietly stunned, and told Cat she had the beginnings of great talent. Which had sealed Cat’s decision to go to Miss Pringle
’s and study with the best teachers she could.

  “And Miss Frasier?” Edward asked.

  “My children will no longer need a governess. Will all that keep you from running to my house every fortnight or your wife accosting me in tearooms?”

  Edward still looked surprised, but he wasn’t the sort of man to not find something to be annoyed about. “I suppose it will have to do,” he said sourly.

  “You may of course visit the children on holidays and for school treats,” Sinclair said.

  Edward made a sound like a grunt, and gave Sinclair a stiff nod. “Very well then. Good day.”

  He turned around and walked out of the room, to find Macaulay standing slap outside the door holding Edward’s hat and coat. Edward was uncomfortable with Macaulay, it was clear as he cringed away from the big Scotsman. Macaulay herded Edward toward the stairs, nearly chasing him with the coat and hat.

  “Close the door, Bertie.” Sinclair sank back to the cushions, sounding tired.

  Bertie left the desk and shut the door, but her anger wasn’t assuaged. “He has no call to come here and berate you while you’re feeling poorly.” Bertie looked at the door, picturing Edward fleeing down the stairs. “No wonder your Daisy ran away from him.”

  Sinclair grunted a laugh. “I fully understood the first time I met him. She’d simply picked the wrong man to run off with at first.”

  “She was lucky to find you,” Bertie said. She left the door and came to stand in front of the sofa. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Now that Cat and Andrew are going away, and they won’t need a governess . . .” She drew a breath. “I’d like to stay on. I can help you write letters, like today. Or help Mrs. Hill. Or be the cook’s assistant, or black the boots—I’m not particular.”

  Sinclair watched her without changing expression. “Why do you want to stay on in my poky house? There’s a large world out there. I thought you wanted to see it.”

  Bertie swallowed, a little pain in her heart. “Because, truth to tell, I’ve got nowhere to go. With Mrs. Lang moved in with my dad, there’s not much room for me. Not that I want to go back to him at all. If I can’t stay here, then can you at least help me be governess for one of your brothers? Or housekeeper, or cook’s assistant?”

  Sinclair let her finish without interrupting, but he watched her closely. “No, Bertie. I won’t get you a place in one of my brothers’ houses. I think you should stay on here. In what capacity—that we must discuss.”

  Bertie’s heart beat faster. “I agree. We should discuss it. At length.”

  Sinclair looked her over, a much more welcome scrutiny than what his brother-in-law had given her. Then he laid his head back and closed his eyes. “The first thing we should talk about is your clothes.”

  “My clothes?” Bertie glanced down at her dark gray dress, a new one to replace the frock sadly torn on her East End adventure. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “You’ll need more of them. Much more.” Sinclair opened his eyes a slit, humor sparkling in them. “A wedding dress first, I think. Have my sister and sisters-in-law find something you’ll be so beautiful in I’ll forget all my lines when we’re standing in front of the vicar.”

  Bertie’s breath deserted her. The room spun around, as had the ballroom when they’d danced, whirling faster and faster until she couldn’t think. “Sinclair McBride,” she said, her voice scratchy. “You open your eyes and look at me.”

  Sinclair did, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?” she demanded.

  Sinclair shrugged. “Wedding gown, church, vicar, vows—if we put it all together, I believe that’s exactly what I am saying.” He lost every bit of indifference and pinned her with a sharp look. “What answer will you give, Miss Frasier? Remember, you’re under oath.”

  “Damn and blast you.” Bertie got herself across the room to him, her shaking legs threatening to collapse under her. She knelt beside him on the sofa, being careful of his wound. “Are you sure? We’re not exactly the same, you and me.”

  “Thank God,” Sinclair said fervently. “The women pushed at me are wooden, expressionless, and afraid to say yes or no without permission. You’re forthright, honest, courageous, full of life, and my children love you. I love you. I remember telling you that before we ran out to meet our maker.” Sinclair put his large hand on her cheek, his fingers warm, the chill of his injury gone. “I love you, Roberta Frasier. My Bertie.”

  Bertie felt herself floating. “I love you too,” she whispered.

  “Then marry me. Marry me, and to hell with them all.”

  Bertie nodded, a lump in her throat so tight she couldn’t speak. Sinclair’s gray eyes were free of emptiness, the bleakness gone. The pieces of the broken man were back together again, Sinclair ready to take on the world.

  They’d face it together.

  Bertie put her hand in his and drew herself up to kiss him. Sinclair cradled her head and kissed her back, his lips strong on hers, mouth seeking. The kiss went on, happiness flushing Bertie as she realized exactly what was happening. She would marry Sinclair and be his wife, have his warm body beside her for all her days.

  She eased back from the kiss and looked into his eyes, her heart in her smile. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Mr. McBride.”

  “Hooray!” The door, which Bertie was certain she’d shut, swung open and banged into the bookcase behind it. Andrew ran in, shouting the word. Cat followed him, her eyes alight with more excitement than Bertie had ever seen in her.

  “Papa is going to marry Bertie!” Andrew announced at the top of his voice. He ran out into the hall, yelled it again, then dashed back inside. “Bertie’s going to be our mum!”

  “We heard you, Andrew,” Cat said with big-sisterly annoyance.

  Sinclair held his hand out to them. “Come here, you two. Give Bertie a kiss.”

  Andrew flew at them, flinging himself into Bertie’s lap. The sofa suddenly became very crowded as Cat joined them. Andrew kissed Bertie’s and then his father’s cheek, then he drew back and gave Sinclair a manly handshake.

  Cat hugged Bertie. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Bertie gathered her in. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

  “We’ll adjourn to Scotland,” Sinclair said. “And marry there, in our home in the Highlands.” He let out a long breath, then gave Bertie a look that was so loving, she feared she’d burst into tears. “I can recover well there, with you all running around making noise. We’ll invite the whole McBride clan, and throw in the Mackenzies too.”

  “Hooray!” Andrew shouted again.

  Sinclair winced at the piercing sound, but he stretched out his arm to encompass Bertie and Andrew too. “Nothing I can’t do without my family.”

  “And what a family.” Bertie laughed again. “Cheeky and loud, always arguing or pestering you about something.”

  “If they were quiet and meek, I’d know something was wrong.” Sinclair sat up. “Now go on. Start packing. We’re off.”

  Andrew cheered again. He scrambled off the chaise and headed for the door. Cat gave Bertie another hug, then Sinclair, and ran after her brother. There was more spring in her step, a flush of happiness on her face.

  “What a family,” Sinclair repeated Bertie’s words. He drew her close. “What a wife I’ve chosen. You’re going to give me merry hell, aren’t you?”

  “That I am.” Bertie sank into the curve of Sinclair’s arm and raised her face to him for another kiss. “You ain’t getting away with nothing, Mr. Basher McBride.”

  “I wouldn’t want it to be otherwise,” Sinclair said softly. Then he kissed her, and Bertie lost herself in his warmth.

  Epilogue

  The wedding photo showed Bertie in white, a lace veil trickling to her hips, a large smile on her face. Sinclair stood ramrod straight next to her, holding her arm and
trying to look dignified. Caitriona sat in a chair in front of the happy couple, with Andrew standing beside it, a large dog sitting next to him.

  The dog was a present from Ian and Beth Mackenzie, a puppy from their estate who’d grown gangly and unruly. Andrew had fallen in love with him on the Christmas visit, and so the dog joined Bertie and Sinclair on their journey to Sinclair’s Highland home.

  It was March, the Highlands just showing the light green of spring. Bertie loved Sinclair’s house the moment she saw it. A large three-story stone structure, it had been built in the late eighteenth century, as Kilmorgan had been, but it was about one tenth Kilmorgan’s size, which was fine with Bertie. The house was plenty big to her, and she didn’t want to rattle around and not be close to Sinclair or the children. The walls were plain stone with tall windows and red-painted shutters, dormer windows peeking out from the slate roof.

  The house sat on the banks of a pale blue loch, with green hills rising around it. Farms filled the valley around the village, as did pastures full of sheep. Fat cows with long hair falling over their faces wandered about, even into the streets of the village and the front door of Sinclair’s house. Ospreys soared across the loch, and bubbles did indeed boil in the middle of the water. Bertie and Andrew would have to watch for their very own monster.

  The wedding was held at the chapel near the village, with the McBrides—Steven and his wife Rose, who was expecting; Juliana and Elliot with Elliot’s daughter Priti and their year-old son, Patrick; and the older Patrick McBride, with his wife, Rona. The Mackenzies were in attendance, from Hart to Ian, with their wives and growing brood of children. Inspector Fellows and Lady Louisa also came, Fellows hovering protectively around Louisa and their newborn daughter, who’d come to them in February. Daniel Mackenzie, filling out more every time Bertie saw him, arrived with Ainsley and Cameron. Twenty years old now, he was full of energy and plans for his future.