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  A Lady Becomes a Governess

  by Diane Gaston

  Chapter One

  June 1816

  Lady Rebecca Pierce trailed behind the seaman carrying her portmanteau on his shoulder and the dour-faced maid who was her companion for this undesired trip sailing across the Irish Sea to England to marry a man she loathed.

  The seaman led them across the deck, following other passengers, a woman with children, a gentleman, a tradesman. The seaman took them through the companionway and down the steps to the cabins below.

  Rebecca inhaled the scent of brine that permeated the ship’s wood. Must she be stuck breathing that sour mockery of fresh sea air for the entire journey? Would Nolan, the maid her half-brother, the Earl of Keneagle, hired to accompany her, at least allow her to spend some time on deck? She loved standing at the bow of a ship, feeling the sea breeze on her face and watching the vessel cut through the inky water.

  She slowed her step, simply to annoy the woman. Nolan’s duty was to make certain Rebecca fulfilled the nuptials her brother had arranged for her—forced on her—but that did not mean Nolan could control her every move.

  Rebecca glanced behind her. But there was no escaping the ship, not when it was anchored in the middle of the harbour. Even if she could swim the distance to shore, her brother had also arranged it that she would have nothing unless she married Lord Stonecroft.

  ‘Lady Rebecca!’ a strident voice called. Nolan, of course. ‘Hurry. Your cabin is ready.’

  Her lips thinned and she simply stopped.

  ‘Lady Rebecca!’ Nolan had walked back to get her.

  Reluctantly—and slowly—Rebecca followed her to the cabin.

  *

  In her cabin, Rebecca sat at the small table and chairs that were securely fastened to the floor. Through a small porthole she watched the ship leave the harbour. There was a good wind. No doubt they would reach England in the morning.

  In the open sea, the water grew choppy and the ship heaved and swayed.

  ‘Oh,’ Nolan moaned, clasping her stomach. She dropped into the seat across from Rebecca. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  Not in her cabin, thought Rebecca. ‘Come.’ She rose and helped Nolan to her feet. ‘I’ll take you to your cabin. You can rest there.’

  Nolan had a small cabin near Rebecca’s, nothing more than a berth and, luckily, a bucket. She helped Nolan into bed.

  ‘Oh,’ Nolan moaned again. The older woman had turned pale. She rolled over and faced the wall.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Rebecca asked. It was hard not to feel sympathy for the woman. ‘Eating something will help seasickness.’

  Nolan thrashed in the bed. ‘No food. No food. Leave me alone.’

  Rebecca placed the bucket next to the berth. ‘There is a bucket, if you need it. I will check on you later.’

  ‘No,’ wailed Nolan. ‘Leave me alone.’

  With pleasure, thought Rebecca.

  But she would check on the maid none the less. She’d never experienced seasickness herself, but in her trips across the Irish Sea during her years in school, she’d witnessed many others who had endured such misery.

  She walked into the passageway and could not help feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was free to do as she wished—within the confines of the ship, at least. It was worth something.

  She quickly found her sea legs and easily walked to the companionway. Free of Nolan, this was the perfect time to go on deck and enjoy what she could of the voyage.

  The hatch opened and a young woman descended the stairs. She wore a hooded cape that was damp and smelled of the sea.

  Rebecca waited. There was only room for one on the stairs.

  Head down, the woman passed Rebecca and Rebecca started up the stairs.

  ‘Were you planning to go on deck, miss?’ the woman asked. ‘The midshipman sent me down.’

  Rebecca turned.

  The woman pulled the hood of the cloak off her head. ‘Rough seas—’ Her eyes widened.

  Rebecca gasped.

  This woman had her same pale hazel eyes, her nose and lips, her nondescript brown hair. She was of a similar height and figure and age. Her cloak was even a similar shade of grey.

  Rebecca was looking in a mirror. Except her mirror image wore her hair in a simple style and her dress was a drab brown.

  When Rebecca managed to breathe again, she shook her head. ‘You look like me!’

  Her eyes must be deceiving her. She blinked twice, but her mirror image remained.

  The other woman laughed nervously. ‘I—I do not know what to say.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ What did one say to one’s exact likeness?

  ‘It is most unsettling.’ The young woman straightened. ‘But forgive my manners. Allow me to present myself. I am Miss Tilson. A governess. Nobody you would know.’

  Rebecca extended her hand. ‘Lady Rebecca Pierce. It is a pleasure to meet you.’ She almost laughed. ‘To meet me.’

  Miss Tilson accepted her handshake.

  The hatch opened and a gentleman descended.

  They moved to one side so he could walk by them. Miss Tilson turned away from him.

  He glanced at them as he passed. ‘You ladies should stay in your cabins. The sea is rough. Do not fear. A seaman will bring your meal to you.’

  Had he noticed their resemblance to each other?

  Rebecca and Miss Tilson did not speak until he disappeared into one of the cabins near the end of the corridor.

  ‘We should do as he says, I suppose.’ Miss Tilson opened a door to a space as tiny as Nolan’s. ‘My cabin is here.’

  ‘I would like to speak with you more,’ Rebecca said hurriedly, before Miss Tilson left her. ‘I am quite alone. My maid suffers the mal de mer and remains in her cabin.’

  The young woman lowered her gaze. ‘The sea has never bothered me. I suppose I have a strong constitution that way.’

  As did Rebecca.

  ‘Will you talk with me?’ Rebecca’s pulse quickened with excitement. ‘Maybe there is some sense to make of this.’ She made a vague gesture in the air between them.

  Miss Tilson gazed into her cabin. ‘You are welcome to come in, but there is very little room.’

  ‘Come to my cabin, then,’ Rebecca said. ‘We may be comfortable there.’

  The two women settled in Rebecca’s cabin, seating themselves across from each other at the small table. Through the small porthole choppy waves spewed white foam.

  Rebecca bit her tongue. Instead of blurting out Why do you look like me? she asked, ‘Where are you bound, Miss Tilson?’

  ‘To a family in the Lake District. Not a family, precisely. Two little girls whose parents were killed in an accident. They are in the care of their uncle now, the new Viscount Brookmore.’

  ‘How sad.’ Rebecca had been nearly grown when she lost her parents to illness.

  ‘And you, Lady Rebecca? Where are you bound?’ Miss Tilson spoke without the hint of an Irish brogue, Rebecca noticed. As did Rebecca. She’d lost her accent in a Read
ing boarding school.

  ‘To London,’ she replied.

  ‘London!’ Miss Tilson smiled. ‘How exciting. I was there once. It was so…vital.’

  ‘Vital, indeed.’ Except Rebecca had no wish to go there. London would be a prison to her. With Lord Stonecroft.

  Miss Tilson’s eyes—so like her own—narrowed. ‘You sound as if you do not wish to go.’

  Rebecca met her gaze. ‘I do not. I travel there to be married.’

  The young woman’s brows rose. ‘Married?’

  Rebecca waved a hand. ‘It is an arranged marriage. My brother’s idea.’

  ‘And you do not wish to marry this man?’

  ‘Not at all.’ She straightened in her chair. Marrying Stonecroft was the last thing she wished to talk about. ‘May I change the subject?’

  Miss Tilson blinked. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.’

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘Perhaps I will tell you the whole story later.’ She leaned forward. ‘For now I am bursting with questions. Why do we look alike? How can this be? Are we related somehow?’

  They traded stories of parentage and lineage, but nothing seemed to connect them. Miss Tilson’s family had been gentry. Her mother died giving birth to her and her overwhelmed and grieving father put her in the care of nurses and governesses and finally to school in Bristol when her father died, leaving her to fend for herself. She’d come to Ireland to be a governess and was now on her way to a new position.

  Rebecca, on the other hand, was the daughter of an English earl whose estate was in Ireland, but she’d spent much of her life in England, in that boarding school in Reading.

  Rebecca blew out an exasperated breath. ‘We are no closer to understanding this. We are not related—’

  ‘But we look alike,’ Miss Tilson finished for her. ‘An unexpected coincidence?’

  There was a mirror affixed to the wall. They stood and gazed into it.

  ‘We are not identical,’ Miss Tilson observed. ‘Look.’

  Rebecca’s two front teeth were slightly more prominent, her eyebrows more arched, her eyes a bit wider.

  ‘No one would notice unless we were standing next to each other,’ Miss Tilson added.

  ‘Our clothes set us apart. That is for certain.’ Rebecca swung away from the mirror to face Miss Tilson instead of her image. ‘If you wore my clothes, I’d wager anyone would take you for me.’

  ‘I cannot imagine wearing fine clothes like yours.’ Her likeness sighed.

  ‘You must wear them then,’ Rebecca said impulsively. ‘Let us change clothes and impersonate each other for the voyage. It will be a great lark. We will see if anyone notices.’

  Miss Tilson shook her head. ‘Your clothes are too fine for you to give up. Mine are plain.’

  ‘Precisely. But I believe people pay more attention to dress than to other aspects of one’s appearance. Perhaps even more than one’s character. In any event, I think there is nothing undesirable about wearing a simple dress.’

  The other woman touched the fine vigonia wool of Rebecca’s travelling dress. ‘I confess, I would love to wear a gown like this.’

  ‘Then you shall!’ Rebecca turned her back to her. ‘Unbutton me.’

  They undressed down to their shifts and traded dresses, acting as each other’s maids. Miss Tilson pulled Rebecca’s hair into a simple knot at the back of her head. Rebecca placed Miss Tilson’s hair—it even felt like her own—high on her head and arranged curling tendrils around her face.

  They checked their images in the mirror again and laughed.

  There was a rap at the door.

  Rebecca grinned. ‘Answer the door as me.’

  Miss Tilson blanched. ‘I could not.’

  Rebecca gave her a little shove. ‘Of course you can!’

  Miss Tilson straightened into a more regal bearing and opened the door. Rebecca returned to her seat at the table.

  The seaman who’d warned them to stay in their cabins balanced a tray as the boat continued to pitch. ‘Some refreshment, m’lady,’ he said to Miss Tilson.

  Miss Tilson lifted her chin. ‘Thank you.’

  Rebecca stole one quick glance at the seaman before averting her face.

  Miss Tilson gestured to Rebecca. ‘Miss Tilson passes the time with me. Will you bring her food here for her?’

  ‘That I will, miss.’ The crewman stepped into the cabin and placed the tray on the table. He returned a moment later with two more trays. ‘Your maid, miss?’

  Miss Tilson’s gaze darted quickly to Rebecca, who pretended not to notice. The governess finally answered, ‘My—my maid is resting. Perhaps you might leave her tray here, as well? We will tend to her.’

  The seaman bowed. ‘Very good, miss.’ He placed both trays on the table.

  When he left, Rebecca glanced up and they stared wide-eyed at each other.

  ‘I was afraid he would notice we look alike,’ Rebecca said. ‘He must have glimpsed me when he left the trays.’

  Miss Tilson shook her head. ‘A governess is not important enough to notice, my lady.’

  Their trays each held two slices of bread, some cheese and a tankard of ale with a cover on it. The two women continued to talk as they ate and Rebecca felt as if they’d known each other for ages.

  As if they were sisters, although they clearly were not.

  ‘I believe we should call each other by our given names,’ Rebecca said. ‘It seems silly to be formal to one’s mirror image.’

  Miss Tilson fluttered her lashes shyly. ‘If you desire it… Rebecca. Then I am Claire to you.’

  ‘Claire!’ Rebecca felt as if she were conversing with a sister.

  Miss Tilson—Claire—must have felt a similar ease. ‘Might you tell me now why you do not wish to be married?’ She gave Rebecca a daring look. ‘Now that we are no longer formal?’

  Rebecca stared into her tankard of ale which she held with both hands to keep it from spilling.

  How could she explain?

  ‘A woman gives up everything by marrying,’ she said. ‘Any wealth or property she might have. Any right to decide for herself what she wishes to do. If I am to give up everything, it should be to a man who loves me and respects me and will not confine me.’

  Claire’s brows rose. ‘And this man?’

  Rebecca grimaced. ‘I met him only once. He merely wished to ensure himself I could produce an heir.’

  Claire did not look the least dismayed by this information. ‘But of course he would want an heir. Especially if he has a title and property.’

  ‘He does.’ Rebecca tapped her pewter tankard with her fingernail.

  ‘Is the gentleman wealthy enough to provide for you?’ Claire asked.

  ‘He is said to be prosperous,’ she replied. ‘He must be, because he is willing to marry me with a mere pittance for a dowry.’

  Claire nodded approvingly. ‘Will you tell me who he is?’

  Rebecca could see no reason not to. ‘Lord Stonecroft.’

  Claire gave her an enquiring look.

  ‘Baron Stonecroft of Gillford.’

  ‘Ah.’ A look of understanding came over Claire’s face. ‘You were hoping for a higher title than baron. I mean, you said you are the daughter of an earl.’

  Rebecca sniffed. ‘I care nothing for that.’

  Claire looked surprised. ‘Did he seem like a cruel man, then? Is that your objection?’

  Not cruel.

  Indifferent.

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I do not believe there is precisely anything to object to in him. I simply do not wish to marry him.’

  ‘Refuse, then.’ Claire spoke this like a dare.

  Oh, Rebecca would love to refuse. ‘My brother—my half-brother—says I am too much of a burden for him to wait for me to find a husband I would like. I’ve refused every offer he’s arranged for me. He has made certain I will be turned out without a penny if I do not marry Lord Stonecroft.’ Her face heated at the memory of her brother railing at her. ‘I’ve no doubt he means what
he says.’ Still, her mind whirled with ways she might avoid this marriage without being turned out into the streets.

  None were viable, however.

  Claire looked sympathetic. ‘How sad. One would hope a brother would understand. Family should understand, should they not?’

  Rebecca regarded her curiously. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters? Any family at all?’

  Claire shook her head. ‘I am alone in the world. Any relations are too distant to be concerned with me.’

  More reason to feel a kinship towards her. ‘My parents are gone,’ Rebecca confided. ‘And my brother might as well be dead. He said he never wishes to see me again. Ever. Even if he visits England. He made that very clear.’

  Her brother had always resented her. He’d resented her mother, as well. Possibly because their father had loved her mother better than either his son or daughter.

  They fell silent.

  Claire finally spoke and with a resolved tone. ‘I think you are fortunate to marry, Lady Rebecca—Rebecca. You have little money or property, correct? You can only gain by marrying. You’ll gain a home of your own to manage. Children of your own. Comfort and security. Even status and a respectable position in society.’

  Rebecca glanced away.

  All that was true. But Lord Stonecroft had only cared that she was young and healthy enough to breed and apparently tolerable to look at. He’d made no effort to know her. How was she to endure that sort of emotional wasteland? How was she to tolerate life with such a man?

  Claire must have sensed Rebecca’s desolation. Her expression turned consoling. ‘Perhaps it will not be so onerous to be Lady Stonecroft.’

  Rebecca managed a polite smile. ‘Perhaps not.’

  As if by mutual agreement she and Claire began talking of other things. Books. Plays. Art. Music. From time to time Claire, pretending to be Rebecca, checked on Nolan, who never seemed to question who she was, to Rebecca’s delight.

  Rebecca and Claire talked until night fell, turning the churning sea inky black.

  Claire stood. ‘I should return to my cabin so you might get some sleep. I’ll help you out of your dress, if you help me out of this lovely gown.’

  Rebecca rose and let her lookalike untie and loosen the laces at the back of the plain dress she’d worn most of the voyage. What a shame. She’d quite enjoyed not being herself, playing a woman whose life seemed so much simpler, so much within her own control.