The Governess Club: Sara

Sara slowly lifted the pasty to her mouth, fitting the corner in between her teeth and bit down. The pasty crumbled in her mouth, and the flavor of meat and onion swarmed over her tongue. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and chewed.

“There you go, Nymph.” His voice was soft and billowed around her, seductive in its cadence.

She took another bite, savoring each taste. She smiled at him around the food, enjoying his returning one, thrilled to see his eyes shifting to hot springs again, her insides leaping at the growing lust she now recognized in them.

“Sara, here you are.” Claire’s voice broke the spell and Mr. Grant leaned back, putting more distance between them. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

She turned her head to see Claire approaching with Jacob, his gait unsteady and her arm around his waist. It appeared she was supporting him. She stood, putting the pasty back on the plate. Mr. Grant rose with her as well. “Is Jacob ill?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. He participated in a drinking contest. Whoever could drink three pints of ale the fastest would win two pounds.”

Jacob grinned, listing to one side. “And a glorious contest it was!” he roared. Other men added their roars to his, pounding the tables.

“One you did not win,” Claire pointed out, displeased.

“Do not burden me with your details, woman,” he said, an unsteady frown on his face.

“We need to return home,” Claire said to Sara. “Louisa is already fetching the carriage.”

“Of course,” Sara replied, moving away from the table. She turned back to look at him and gave him a quick curtsey. “Good night, Mr. Grant. Thank you for the pasty.” She looked at him, confused by the warring sensations of relief and regret at leaving him.

He looked at her, his eyes hot springs, and answered her curtsey with a slight bow. “I assure you, Miss Collins, the pleasure was all mine.”

Nathan watched her go, licking the juices off his fingers as she disappeared into the crowd with her friends.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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Sara stared out the window from where she sat, the rain obscuring the vista of the park surrounding Ridgestone. She felt listless and restless all at once. The ants that usually made themselves known in her throat seemed to have moved outside of her body and were currently setting her nerves on edge. She often looked down at her arms or scratched them, the sensation was so real, only to find that nothing she did provided her with the relief she sought.

She had not slept well the night before. Mr. Grant’s wicked words had burrowed inside of her head. She did not want them there, but had no control over her dreams. Her conscious mind had little conception of what happened in the bedchamber of a married couple, but her unconscious took her experience of Mr. Grant’s kiss and enhanced it by an undeterminable degree. She had woken several times during the night, her body sweaty and aching, disappointment pulsing with every beat of her heart that her dream had not succeeded in educating her beyond his kiss, the more he had mentioned.

Why do you dislike taking what you want? His words continued to ring in her mind, rebelling against everything her mother had taught her. The pious life was one of sacrifice and denial, not greed and gluttony.

To eat when you are hungry is greed?

Sara tried to rid herself of his words, but they only settled in more firmly. And, she hesitated to admit, she understood his reasoning. Even perhaps agreed with it. Why was it a sin to eat when one was hungry? Why had her mother taught her that? Were there any other flawed teachings?

“Miss Collins, are you unwell?”

Sara blinked and turned her attention back to the one who had spoken. Mr. Pomeroy. Right, he had come to visit today. Louisa, acting as chaperone, was sitting at the other end of the sofa, looking at her with concern.

“Excuse me?” Sara asked.

“I asked if you were unwell,” the vicar repeated. “You seem distracted, staring out the window and sighing.”

Oh dear. “I beg your pardon sir,” Sara apologized. You apologize quite a bit. I am surprised you do not buckle under the weight of your conscience.

She forced herself to ignore Mr. Grant’s words. “I am distracted,” she continued. “I did not sleep well last night and am finding it hard to concentrate.”