Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Read online

  Giggling could be heard as the she-devils ran up the stairs to the nursery, punctuated by the sound of a door slamming.

  It could have been worse, he consoled himself. They’d started pilfering things in the past fortnight. It had begun with small things about the house, but yesterday, during a walk in the park, they’d lifted a lace handkerchief and—to his horror—a rather pretty enamelled fob. Heaven alone knew who owned it. His own fault for entrusting the girl’s care to his twin brothers, Solomon and Sherbourne. It was like asking Lucifer to keep two fallen angels on the straight and narrow. Bloody laughable.

  Where the girls had inherited their larcenous talents from, he wasn’t sure. Yes, their father had been a black-hearted villain, and he himself was one of four adult siblings known universally as The Scandalous Brothers, so it wasn’t as if the rest of their family were paragons of virtue.

  The recent demise of their vile father, whilst shocking, had been a relief to all concerned, and he didn’t believe the girls missed him or the disturbing atmosphere their wicked parent had created whenever he was home. What other damage his sire had done by marrying his second wife, Sampson didn’t know. The girl had been young enough to be his daughter and was ill-prepared to endure his particular brand of cruelty. Heaven alone knew what effect it might have had on two innocent little girls.

  His heart constricted.

  Sampson had recently inherited his father’s title and become Viscount Cheam, along with an estate that desperately needed his attention, a hysterical step-mother six years younger than he was, and his two seven-year-old half-sisters, who were showing every sign of going to the devil. Whilst he and his brothers had shown remarkable skill in following a similar path, their excesses ran to gambling, carousing, and debauchery, thankfully talents the girls had declined to show an interest in… yet.

  This talent for thievery was new and troubling.

  Sampson had decided earlier in the year it was time to drag the family back into the realms of respectability. His little sisters being crowned The Scandalous Sisters when they finally came out was too horrifying to contemplate.

  Things had begun badly with the spectacular arrival of his bastard half-brother Captain Ross Moncreiffe, who had immediately challenged his father to a duel. Not that Sampson could blame him in the least. He’d been sorely tempted himself.

  When the duel had taken place, his dishonourable father had tried to shoot Ross in the back and botched the job, disgracing himself—and the family—even further, and had been forced to flee to France in shame. Not content with this, five weeks ago he’d been found dead in a brothel.

  Sampson, whilst not regretting in the least his father’s demise, wished him to perdition for the manner in which he’d gone about it. Not that there was much chance of his father going anywhere else.

  To evade the rabid interest in the latest scandal surrounding his father, and therefore the rest of the family, Sampson had leapt at an invitation from Ross to spend the Christmas holiday with him and his new wife, Freddie. The farthest reaches of rural Scotland seemed like heaven on earth at this moment. Surely, in such a remote place, the family could get a little peace and escape the humiliation and shame that the late viscount had heaped on each of their heads?

  Sampson certainly hoped so. The girls’ mother—never the most effective parent, though a good-natured one—had suffered some kind of nervous collapse on hearing about her husband’s demise, and had returned to live with her parents, leaving her daughters in Sampson’s care. He was out of his depth and he knew it. The girls needed a father, not a poor excuse for a brother whose own reputation was far from pristine. He was weary and felt unequal to the herculean task of making his family respectable again. Of course, there was only one thing that he could do that would make any real difference to how the family were viewed. He knew it, and yet his mind shied away from the idea.

  Face it, you fool, he cursed himself. He would have to marry her.

  Miss Agnes Crawford wasn’t so bad, from what he could tell. He’d only met her a handful of times, after all. It wasn’t her fault she had a rather horsey countenance, and that braying laugh… one could get used to it. She might be a kind and loving woman behind that harsh and somewhat intimidating exterior.

  She really might.

  Sampson swallowed down the knot that had leapt to his throat. Yes, she had seemed to be rather bossy and yes, her father appeared to be afraid of her, and yes, she had bullied her companion unmercifully, sending the poor little creature fleeing the room in tears… but she was respectable.

  Indeed, there was likely not a more respectable unmarried female in the entire ton.

  Never mind that now, he counselled himself. He had more pressing troubles. Such as, for example, the prospect of enduring a long and tedious journey to Scotland, in bad weather, with Selina and Susan… and no governess. The urge to stamp his foot and bellow it’s not fair, as the girls would do, was becoming hard to resist.

  They could not spend another day in London. What if someone had seen the girls stealing that blasted fob? How much more scandal could the family endure before the ton turned their backs on them altogether?

  He and his brothers had always been welcome. Good-looking, eligible young men with the ability to charm the birds from the trees were generally welcome anywhere, no matter their reputations as rakes and libertines. Yet his sisters were part of this family too, and he owed it to them to clean up both his and his brothers’ stained reputations. He would not have the girls feel ashamed of their family, of their blood and their heritage. Their father had been a selfish bastard, but his sons… his sons would be better than that.

  Sampson looked up as his housekeeper, Mrs Sydney, bustled towards him. He mustered a smile, aware that his situation would be intolerable if not for her unflagging loyalty. His butler, Brent, had his undying gratitude too. That the two had stuck with him and his siblings, despite the dreadful way the late viscount had treated them, was beyond anything Sampson had the ability to express.

  “I tried to stop them,” she said with a sad shake of her head.

  “Not your fault,” Sampson replied with a sigh. “But I admit I’m at a loss for what to do now.”

  “Oh, my lord.” The woman brushed a greying lock of hair from her troubled face, and sounded anxious. “I would come with you myself, only—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Sampson said at once, horrified by the idea. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to seeing your grandchildren this holiday. Besides which, you’ve earned a little peace. I don’t think I would have survived these past weeks without you, and that’s the truth.”

  “It’s a pleasure to serve you, my lord,” Mrs Sydney said, such fondness in her eyes that Sampson felt his throat tighten. Mrs Sydney had been with them since he was a boy, one of the few sources of comfort and affection any of the brothers had experienced once their beautiful mother had died.

  Sampson patted her shoulder, uncertain how to show his gratitude, which ran deeper than he was equal to expressing. “Thank you, Syd,” he said quietly, using the nickname they’d given her as children, hoping to convey some of what he felt.

  He turned as footsteps on the stairs caught his attention, and saw his Aunt May making her way down, dressed for a long journey. His late mother’s older sister was a favourite with all the siblings and had hurried to their sides, travelling up from her home in Devon the moment she’d heard the news about their father. Widowed for many years, she was a forthright woman in her sixties who made no bones about the fact she blamed his father for her beloved sister’s untimely death.

  “Have you found a governess for those dreadful children?” she demanded before she was halfway down.

  “No, Aunt,” Sampson said, watching her shake her head in dismay.

  “Heaven help us then,” she said as she set foot on the ground floor and began rummaging in the large carpet bag she held. A moment later she brought out a handsome silver hip flask which she thrust towards to Mrs
Sydney. “Fill that to the brim with the best brandy you can lay your hands on,” she instructed. “I’m going to need it.”

  ***

  It was another hour before the carriages were packed and the twins wrestled into hats, gloves, and pelisses. His youngest brother, Samuel, was late, unsurprisingly, and Sampson paced as he waited for him. Sherbourne and Solomon had elected to take themselves off to a friend’s estate in the wilds of Derbyshire, and had given their sworn oath that they would behave themselves and not cause any further scandal for the duration. Sampson would have preferred them where he could keep an eye on them, but it was better than nothing.

  “Morning, Sunny,” Sam hollered, sticking his head around the front door. “What are we waiting for?”

  “You, you great oaf,” Sampson retorted, snatching up his hat and hurrying outside just as Aunt May ushered the squabbling twins into their carriage.

  “I’m not travelling with the devil’s spawn, I tell you now,” Samuel said, watching the proceedings, his expression stern as Sampson walked down the front steps.

  “We’re taking turns,” Sampson said, his tone crisp. “Aunt May said she’d get her bit over with, so she’ll entertain them until we stop to eat, if she can make it. If not until we change horses or she loses her mind, whichever happens first. Then it’s your turn.”

  “What about you?” Samuel demanded, the picture of indignation.

  “I’ll gladly swap with you, Sam,” Sampson replied. “As by the time I get them, they’ll have spent the best part of the day enclosed in a carriage.”

  “No, no!” Samuel said hastily as he climbed into their carriage. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your plans. I know how you love to organise us all.”

  Sampson snorted and turned to speak with his butler. “Well, you have your instructions, Brent. I do hope you will take the time off we discussed though and enjoy Christmas? God knows you’ve earned the right.”

  “I’ll ensure everything is just as it should be for your return,” Brent replied gravely, avoiding the question.

  “I know you will,” Sampson said with a smile, before climbing into the carriage.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing Ross, but I loathe this bloody journey,” Samuel said with a sigh, shifting his large frame so he could sprawl over the seat.

  “At least we don’t have a bad-tempered Scot bleeding all over us,” Sampson retorted, referring to the last time they’d done it, after their father had attempted to shoot Ross in the back and instead hit him in the shoulder. The poor bastard had been out of his head with pain and fever, and Sampson had been terrified he’d lose his new brother before he’d even gotten to know him.

  Samuel chuckled and nodded. “True enough.”

  They waited in silence a moment, expecting the train of family carriages, personal staff, and baggage to lumber into motion.

  Sampson frowned as the carriage still hadn’t moved and craned his neck to look out of the window. “What are we waiting for?”

  In answer to his question, Brent opened the door again. “My lord, please forgive the delay, but there is a young woman here, requesting to speak with you urgently.”

  “Oh, yes?” Samuel said, a knowing tone to his voice which Sampson ignored, waving at Brent for him to continue.

  “She’s a governess,” Brent said, the words the sweetest Sampson had ever heard in his entire life.

  “Does she have references?” Sampson asked, hardly daring to hope. Damn it, even if she didn’t, he’d have to risk it.

  Brent handed him a neatly folded letter, which Sampson lost no time in reading.

  “From the Duke of Alvermarle, no less,” he said, stunned at his sudden good fortune. “It’s certainly a glowing recommendation.”

  “For God’s sake, hire her at once!” Samuel sat up straight, his voice urgent. “What are you waiting for?”

  Sampson hesitated, at the very least he ought to interview her, but they were all packed and ready to go and the horses would get cold if they waited about too long, not to mention Aunt May, and….

  “Hire her at once,” he said to Brent.

  The man’s eyes widened a little.

  “But m-my lord,” he stammered, clearly taken aback. “She’s… she’s—”

  “She’s what?” Sampson demanded. “Does she have two heads?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Horns and a tail?” Samuel suggested.

  “No, indeed, sir.”

  “What, then?” Sampson asked, eager to get this over with.

  “She’s very… young, my lord,” the anxious looking butler said, frowning. “And—”

  “Nonsense,” Sampson said, waving his hand. “Her reference is glowing. Look, it says right here that she’s ‘sensible, level-headed and utterly reliable, with the good sense of a woman with much greater age and experience.’”

  “Yes, my lord,” Brent said doubtfully. “Only—”

  “Tell her if she’s willing to leave at once, I’ll hire her.”

  “She is, my lord. She already indicated she knew of your situation.”

  “So much the better,” Sampson said with a sigh as Brent nodded and closed the door once again. “I’m saved,” he added, sitting back against the squabs and allowing himself a moment to believe that the coming weeks might actually come close to being the family Christmas he’d always hoped for.

  ***

  Gwenn’s heart thudded in her throat. She felt quite certain the elderly butler didn’t believe her story for a moment. Though she’d done her best to dress in a manner she thought might be appropriate for a governess, she was aware she was probably far wide of the mark.

  She had chosen her oldest and most conservative gowns to bring with her, ones her mother would have likely thrown out the window in disgust if she’d known of their existence. Her clothes at least did not scream courtesan like her mother’s did; Marie was far too clever for that. No, Gwenn’s clothes closely resembled those any proper young lady of the ton might wear... except the cut was just a little different, emphasising her charms with rather less subtlety than was appropriate. The butler’s wide-eyed look of disbelief on seeing her had only underlined her concerns.

  When the man had returned and told her Lord Cheam would hire her on the spot, she’d thought her knees might buckle with relief. Now, however, she was being hurried into a carriage where his lordship’s aunt and the troublesome twin sisters awaited her and Gwenn realised she didn’t have the first notion about being a governess. Not only that, but she’d have to muddle through under the watchful gaze of his aunt, with whom she’d be in close quarters for the coming hours, if not days.

  If they didn’t pitch her out of the carriage ten minutes down the road, it would be a miracle.

  Still, part of her training to be the perfect courtesan had covered the ability to act as though one was never afraid, uncertain, or completely out of one’s depth. That at least should stand her in good stead. Added to which, her mother maintained that men were little boys at heart and ought to be treated as such. They needed attention, and to be kept busy so they didn’t stray. They required praise for good behaviour and constant treats, while bad behaviour was to be ignored and not remarked upon. They should also never be allowed to go hungry; a hungry man was an unreasonable one.

  Though the treats her mother had taught Gwenn to reward good behaviour were clearly of a scandalous nature, the principle was sound. Sweets ought to do the trick. She’d come prepared.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly, hoping she sounded brisk, efficient, and governessy as she sat in the seat opposite Mrs May Bainbridge.

  The woman was small and plump, aged somewhere around sixty. A still attractive older lady—in a faded rose way — her hair, obviously once bright auburn, had softened to a pale apricot streaked with white, but her blue eyes were intelligent and compelling.

  She didn’t look as if she missed much.

  “I’m Miss Wynter,” Gwenn said, giving them all a dazzling s
mile. “The new governess.”

  Mrs Bainbridge looked her up and down in silence, an expression on her face that eloquently said if you’re a governess, I’ll eat my hat.

  The carriage lurched into motion at that moment. Gwenn gave a start of surprise and made a grab for the holding strap to stop herself from collapsing onto the floor in an ungainly heap of skirts. The twins, already staring at her with undisguised interest, giggled. Gwenn winked at them and settled herself more comfortably in her seat.

  “How old are you, Miss Wynter?” Mrs Bainbridge asked, her tone sceptical.

  “Four and twenty,” Gwenn said, grateful for her mother’s tuition on how to lie through her teeth without batting an eyelid.

  “Really? You don’t look a day over eighteen.”

  Gwenn adopted an expression of delight. “Oh, how kind of you to say so,” she said, before turning her attention to the twins. “And how old are you, girls?”

  “I’m seven,” said one, her pale blonde hair tumbling in unruly waves around a sweet face with a freckled nose.

  Bright blue eyes stared at Gwenn with curiosity until her identical sister elbowed her, making the child glare.

  “I’m seven too, idiot,” her sibling said. “We’re twins.”

  “I think she’s realised that,” retorted the first twin.

  Gwenn bit back a smile. “And what are your names?”

  “We are Selina and Susan,” said twin number two. “And there’s no point in trying to tell us apart. No one can, so you needn’t bother.”

  “I see,” Gwenn said, beginning to realise what exactly she’d gotten herself into. “Nonetheless, I should like to know.”

  “I’m Selina,” offered twin number one.

  “I’m Susan,” added the other.

  “And is that the truth, or are you trying to set me off on the wrong foot with a lie?”

  For a moment, Gwenn thought perhaps she’d surprised them, but it was quickly hidden.

  “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

  Gwenn studied them. Even having known they were a handful, for the children of a viscount they were shockingly rude. Their aunt had kept her mouth closed throughout the exchange, though Gwenn was aware of her scrutiny. No doubt she was being assessed.