Page 7 of A Stranger’s Promise

To her relief, he obeyed, perhaps as eager to leave Lady Prescott’s domain as she was herself. She quickly shook out the blanket and spread it over their legs. She’d just tucked it around them when the carriage dipped under Lord Cassilis’s weight.

He ducked as he entered the small space and removed his hat as he took the seat opposite them. The door closed with a click and he rapped sharply on the window to signal the coachman their readiness to leave. Hat on his lap, he settled back and stretched his long legs to the side. With a long sigh of apparent relief, he closed his eyes.

The barouche lurched forward and Charlotte caught sight of the footmen, mounted on fine geldings and dressed in warm coats and scarves against the bitter winter air, before they disappeared behind the carriage. As the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the jingle of harnesses filled the air, Charlotte heaved a deep breath of relief. It was really happening. She was leaving London. At last. She glanced at the children and read an excitement in their eyes that mirrored her own.

She smiled.

It was the wrong move. The boy responded with a dark scowl and deliberately turned his bony shoulders away to ignore her. Charlotte suppressed a snort. Well, she’d outwit the little trouble-causer. Give her time. Still, it would be helpful to know what had made him so distrustful. Perhaps Lord Cassilis had taken too long in accepting his responsibility?

From the corner of her eye, she studied the man. Heavens, he was a handsome devil. The kind of man who could charm birds right out of the trees. The children’s mother had likely found him irresistible. But he had to be a cad…a man should know the names of his own children. Her mouth twisted in disapproval.

Almost as if sensing the subject of her thoughts, the dark ruffled line of his lashes fluttered. Charlotte yanked her gaze to the window. Shame washed over her. She, of all people, had no cause to judge. She could only be grateful. After all, the man had basically plucked her off the streets and made her a governess…a role for which she was scarcely qualified. She winced. Well, she could read and write. Pianoforte? Eh, maybe she could stay ahead of her pupil. But French? Melting back in her seat, she scavenged her memories for every French word she might have heard, wondering how many a smattering made.

The barouche threaded its way through north through London, and when Charlotte looked at the children again, she found them fast asleep, mouths slack. She studied their thin, pinched faces. Poor motherless mites. They probably felt much like herself, lost and overwhelmed.

A glance at Lord Cassilis revealed he’d fallen asleep as well. She had to admit. Something about him drew her eye. The firmness of his lips? The sensual line of his jaw? Oh, he was quite attractive. If he looked at her with even a hint of passion in those striking eyes, could she resist? Heat flooded her cheeks. She hastily forced her gaze back out the window and schooled her thoughts into the task that lay ahead as governess.

The carriage rolled on. Slowly, they left London behind, always heading north, until the sun sank below the horizon and darkness fell. The footmen took the lead with bright torches and lanterns to light the way along the forested road. The way turned rough. The carriage jolted and creaked along, rocking her body to the uneven rhythm.

Still, the children and Lord Cassilis slept.

Snow began to fall. The footmen’s torches illuminated the large, feathery flakes that drifted down from the canopy of darkness above. Charlotte pressed her cheek against the window and trailed a finger down the plate glass, dreamily following the snowflakes’ lazy descent.

She abruptly became aware of being watched and glanced over her shoulder. Lord Cassilis’s green eyes glittered against the faint flicker of the exterior torchlight. She froze, heart beating like a drum as their gazes locked. Long seconds passed before his eyes slid away. Her cheeks heated and she busied herself with adjusting the children’s blanket when the distinct odor of urine unexpectedly wafted up to her. Frowning, she lifted a corner of the fleece for a closer inspection. The odor blasted her nostrils. She squinted until she discerned a dark, wet patch on the little girl’s dress.

“My lord.” She cleared her throat. “We must stop the carriage.”

The children awoke with a start.

Lord Cassilis queried softly, “Why must we do so, Miss Atchenson?”

Charlotte hesitated. How did one tell a peer of the realm that his daughter had wet her petticoat? “A necessity. A necessity of nature, sir.”

“A necessity of nature?” he repeated.

She sent him an exasperated look. What did the man expect when traveling with children? Yes, he didn’t know their names, but did that mean he knew nothing of their care?

Understanding dawned on his handsome face. “Ah, I see.” He shrugged. “But the deed is already done, is it not? Can’t…she…” His voice trailed off when Charlotte stared in shock and he heaved a sigh, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Very well, then.”

He gave the window a solid rap.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

A footman opened the door and torchlight filled the interior. Charlotte took the girl by the hand and addressed her employer once again, “I will need fresh clothes, my lord.”

His inscrutable gaze raked her from head to toe. “Very well,” he granted, then addressed the footman, “Ye heard her, I’m sure? Untie the children’s trunk.”

A little flustered, Charlotte stepped down from the carriage into ankle-deep snow with both children close behind. It didn’t take long to search through their trunk. It was practically empty. Charlotte pulled out the only other dress inside—a thin, patched pink fabric adorned with a limp, bedraggled ribbon—and held it up in the torchlight.

“Is this all you have?” she asked, surprised.

Both children nodded.

“Well then, it must do.” She nodded her thanks to the footman, then escorted the little girl to the nearest tree. The girl’s brother followed and Charlotte hid a smile when he stood guard while she and the girl stepped out of sight behind the trunk.

In minutes, they were back inside the carriage, the children rosy-cheeked and shivering. Someone had lit the interior brass lamps during the wait. Charlotte bundled the children back under their blanket and wondered if their feet were as cold and wet as hers. Flickering light caught the gilded windows and the silver buttons of Lord Cassilis’s fine overcoat. The contrast to the child’s worn dress couldn’t be sharper.

Charlotte settled back beside the lass and couldn’t stop herself from saying, “My lord, your children are in dire need of clothes.”