The Governess Club: Sara

His hands ran over her. She loved his hands. The way they skimmed over her body, teasing her nerves, controlling her body and guiding her through her pleasure.

His lips. Oh how she loved the way he kissed her, kissed her body and tasted her. There was no comparison in the world.

Nymph.

He hovered over her, kissing her deeply as he entered her. He thrust without hesitation, possessing every inch of her. He thrust hard, soothing the surprise by gentling his kiss. He thrust again, the headboard hitting the wall. Again, and another hit. He quickened into a steady rhythm, the knocking growing louder the harder he thrust.

Sara lifted her head, her eyes opening. The knocking continued. “Miss Collins?”

She blinked, her eyes becoming adjusted to the darkness. A shaft of light pierced through the window curtains. It was a dream. Her bones ached with incomplete lust.

“Miss Collins?”

She sat up. “Yes, Anna.”

The door to her room opened and the young maid stepped in. “You asked to be woken in time for tea.”

“Yes, thank you.” Sara sat for a moment, watching Anna move through the austere bedchamber. She opened the wardrobe and selected a dress to lay out. Sara stared at the small wardrobe, seeing her six dresses swallowed by the emptiness, despite the wardrobe’s small size.

You should not have to wear serviceable dresses.

The wardrobe closed with a bang, startling her. Sara’s gaze moved to the floor, the threadbare carpet showing patches of the bare floor underneath. Her toes flexed, remembering the plush carpet of Cloverfields.

Anna was speaking. “Mrs. Knightly asked me to tell you to not dally today. She is expecting a visitor today.”

A visitor? For a brief moment, Sara had the foolish thought Nathan was coming to Ridgestone. But he had no reason to. He had said they had to go on as before, as though Cloverfields had never happened.

He would not come here.

She rose from the bed and retrieved her brush, running it through her hair. “Who is expected?”

“Mr. Pomeroy.”

The brush stilled in her hand. It struck her that she hadn’t thought of the vicar for several days, not since she had confessed to Nathan about her dislike for governessing.

Anna gave her a conspiratorial smile. “He’s been here often while you were gone. Asking about when you were expected to return.”

Sara swallowed, her throat dry.

“George says he’s making a cake of himself, but I think it’s sweet.”

She resumed brushing.

“Miss Hurst, she’s none too happy about his visits. Mrs. Knightly, she agrees with me.”

Sara’s smile was weak when she turned to pick up her yellow dress. “This is a nice choice,” she murmured. “Thank you.” It was the dress she was wearing the first time Nathan kissed her.

It slid over her head in silence, the memories deafening.

“The yellow goes nice with your hair,” Anna continued. “You ought to look your best for when Mr. Pomeroy asks you that question.”

Oh dear heavens, that was the feeling the poets wrote of. Of a heart breaking.

But it was what she wanted, what she had hoped for months now. Marriage to the vicar would take her away from governessing. She would be able to spend her days doing what she enjoyed, visiting the sick, seeing to the church and vicarage. Eventually becoming a mother. It truly was what she wanted.

So why was she hesitating? Why was waking up at Cloverfields more appealing? Was it the luxurious bed? The way the sunlight poured through those windows? The feel of Nathan’s arms around her as he held her close? His smell—good heavens, his scent was intoxicating.

Sara forced herself back into the conversation. “I doubt the question you are alluding to will be forthcoming today.” She hoped, prayed it would not—she needed to sort things out before forced to make such a decision. A fortnight ago there would have been no issue; everything was different now.

She was different now. There was no denying it. And it was all Nathan Grant’s fault.

Anna giggled as she tugged the laces at the back of her dress closed. “Ye never know. Me mam always says to be prepared for anything, that’s why you should always wear clean petticoats.”

“Anna!” Sara admonished.