A Lesson in Forgiveness Read online

“I have overheard many of my guests commenting that your behavior could lead to servants getting ideas of being better than they are.”

  “Really. How shocking! I will be honest with you, Colin. I don't think you are a better person because you're an earl and Pearce is a butler. He works very hard. Is, as far as I can tell, always available, day or night. Runs the other servants like a drill sergeant and maintains order in your household. I know I couldn't do his job. Wouldn't that make him better than me?”

  Colin considered her argument and replied, “What of education and breeding?”

  “Ah, yes, breeding.” She was going to say “inbreeding” but decided against it. “If Pearce was born in your place instead of you, had the same advantages, do you think then he would be up to society's standards?”

  “His parents would then be part of society and therefore he would have the breeding.”

  “What if he were accidentally switched at birth. Or if someone of society found a baby on their doorstep and decided to raise him or her as their own. You wouldn't know the parents. Would that make a difference? Or even better, if some society woman got pregnant, without her husband's knowledge, by say... the footman, do you think you would be able to tell the difference if you were never told?”

  He eyed her with suspicion. It didn't matter what he said, he knew she would have an answer. He was somewhat shocked by her brutal honesty. She seemed to know all too well the inner workings of male/female relationships. The truth was he felt the same way. It was the reason he paid his staff well and treated them with respect. “You may have a point, Bethany.”

  “Good. Then I have won one as well.”

  “What do you mean?” he looked at her again with suspicion.

  “The first night we were here. Our talk about 'inappropriate topics.' I conceded to you that causing a scandal would be unfair to you as my host.”

  Colin burst out laughing, nearly falling off his horse. “And yet, here we are having one inappropriate conversation after another. I fear, Miss Hamilton, you have conceded nothing.”

  “Very well. I will let you win the next argument. Alright?”

  “I should say I look forward to winning any argument with you, Miss Hamilton. I imagine it is not an experience I will savor often.”

  “Surely not, Colin. Now, do you want to talk about women's rights?”

  They rode on together, heading back to the stables. Ginny's face alight with her passions, Colin's with wonderment over someone so young having so many opinions. Most of which, he was certain, her parents would be aghast over.

  Chapter 7

  The next few days flew by before her eyes. Every morning she spent with Colin, discussing the news, or arguing over social injustices. He was nearly delirious after their discussion of women's rights. Ginny couldn't believe how set he was in his ways, that women should be cared for and sheltered. It goaded her more than anything when he said that she was special because she could discuss certain topics without fainting.

  Many of the afternoons were spent with Miles. Although she never sought out his attention, he always managed to show up everywhere she went. They had taken several long walks around the estate, discussing their families, their responsibilities and why he needed to get married. It wasn't terribly romantic, but marriage in their class was not about love. It was about good breeding and raising oneself up advantageously. In the case of Bethany and Miles, she would be elevated to new heights, marrying the son of a duke.

  After all the hub bub of the past few days, Ginny was relieved to learn that the men had planned a morning outing to shoot. She would have peace and quiet for a few hours, until the giggling horde of marriage desperate girls got up and going. After her breakfast, she found a book and walked down to the lake. Whitmore had set up a gazebo, with seating that looked like Adirondack chairs. In the shade of the ivy covered gazebo, Ginny found some quiet to enjoy her book.

  Engrossed in the pages of an early romance novel, Ginny hardly noticed the group of children who were fishing by the lake. Occasionally she would hear their squeals of laughter or their cries over losing their line. It was a familiar sound, having lived in a family friendly neighborhood back home, that she thought nothing of it.

  Suddenly the quiet was shattered by screams. Looking up from her book, Ginny noticed that a group of children by the lake were screaming and pointing. In the middle of the lake, there was a young boy, trying to keep his balance on a piece of wood. In the next moment, the boy disappeared under the water, only to come up sputtering and yelling for help.

  Ginny didn't even think. She got up and ran to the lake where the other children were yelling instructions to the young boy to hold on. One of the children had run off toward the house, apparently seeking help.

  Ginny reached the lake in time to see the boy go under and not come back up. The children kept screaming, but she barely heard them. Having spent some of her career in the emergency room, Ginny was used to trauma and drama. She'd trained herself to perform, not panic. With a single-mindedness, hearing only the thoughts of what she should do and how to do them, she went about going into the water.

  Realizing that her dress would weigh her down too much, Ginny quickly unbuttoned what she could and pulled the dress over her head. What buttons she couldn't reach were torn off. Next came her petticoats, slippers and stockings, then she was diving into the water. It was cool on such a warm day, but it never even entered her mind. Her only thought, drilled over and over again in her mind, was get that boy.

  The water was murky and brown. It carried the smell of stagnant water, pungent with algae. She swam to the middle, where she'd last seen his small head before it failed to come up again. She dove down, opening her eyes to the brown water, feeling around for what she couldn't see. The mantra continued, holding back the panic: get that boy, get that boy.

  She came up sputtering for air. Quickly filling her lungs, she dove down again and almost immediately felt the lifeless arm. It was lucky to find him so quickly. She knew that God must surely be smiling down on her. Dragging him back to the surface of the water, she began the swim back to shore. The closer she got, the more muddy the bottom, pulling at her feet and slowing her progress. Finally, she was able to climb the bank and pull the boy with her. The lifeless body was heavy, dead weight, but she pulled from strength that she didn't know she had. She laid him by the shore of the lake.

  The children were all talking at once, but Ginny heard only the little boy's name: Gerard. Pulling his head back, Ginny blew two puffs of air into his lungs. Come on, Gerard, breath, dammit, she thought. After years of training, taking basic life support probably a dozen times, the steps were easy and familiar. Ginny put her fingers to the child's sickeningly white neck and felt for a pulse.

  God was once again smiling down on her, because Gerard still had a pulse, which meant he had a chance. Every five seconds she would push air into his lungs. In between she would pray and beg God to help him. After what seemed like forever, but was in reality probably only a minute, Gerard lurched over and began coughing up all the water. Ginny helped turn him to his side and was slapping his back to get the water out of his lungs.

  She barely felt the jacket thrown over her shoulders, barely heard the talk of everyone who was suddenly by the edge of the lake. All she heard was this little boy, now breathing and crying and clinging to her as if she were his life force. She felt her own tears, streaming down her face. Slowly, the sound of the boy and of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears began to subside. Looking up, she noticed she had an audience, staring at her in awed silence.

  Whitmore and the other men had just arrived back at the house after the shoot. They had bagged several birds, not that it mattered. They were men and they liked to shoot at things. All in all, a good morning's recreation was had by all. During their walk back, there was no shortage of good natured ribbing, mostly surrounding Mr. Thompson nearly killing a dog.

  “Clarendon, you seemed to be in a subdued mood today,” Whitmore was
quite surprised that Clarendon had joined in the festivities, mostly sticking to the outer edges and keeping quiet and to himself.

  Acknowledging his friend, he smiled. “I have had a lot to think about as of late.”

  “Really. For instance, marriage... perhaps.” Whitmore had never been capable of great subtlety and this was no exception.

  “Indeed. I have received word that my father is nearly dying again. This would be, what... the fifth time at least. My mother was most persuasive in trying to get me hitched up.”

  Slapping his friend on the back, he said, “I am sorry, old man. But it is the way of the world, is it not?” It suddenly occurred to Whitmore that his old friend would probably be making an offer to Miss Hamilton, since she had been the only girl at the party that Clarendon had spent any time. The feeling of loss both confused and infuriated him. After all, he had his plans, and marriage was not one of them.

  “You need not look so forlorn on my account, Whitmore. It is not like marrying is the worst chore to be done by man.” Thankfully, Clarendon misinterpreted his reaction. Whitmore was not about to correct his assumption.

  Coming to the side door, the servant's entrance, so that they could deposit their muddy boots, a boy ran up screaming. Whitmore, not thinking twice, ran to the boy to find out what was going on. A few of the men followed, most continued on their way figuring it didn't concern them anyway.

  Reaching the boy, Whitmore asked, “Stop screaming, boy. Tell me what is wrong.”

  Panting from the exertion of running from the lake, he sputtered, “Gerard... cannot swim.... in lake...”

  That was all it took for Whitmore to take off in a full run for the lake. He barely noticed Clarendon and Thompson close behind him. He found himself angry. Why would their be unsupervised children by the lake? It was an accident waiting to happen and someone would pay dearly.

  When the lake came into sight, Whitmore could hardly believe his eyes. There, dragging a small boy onto the shore was a very wet and mostly naked Miss Hamilton. As he pressed on, he could see her leaning over the boy, kissing his face, then turning her ear to listen. Is the boy alright, he thought as he reached the shoreline.

  Once close enough, he saw she wasn't kissing the boy, but blowing air into his mouth. Every few seconds she would repeat the process, then turn her ear to the boy's mouth and listen. Suddenly, the boy lurched to the side and vomited water all over the ground. As Bethany turned him, she was slapping his back.

  It was then that Whitmore noticed that through her very sheer chemise, Bethany's breasts were visible. He was sure that the rest of her would be just as visible were she to stand up. Quickly, he removed his coat and threw it over her shoulders as she clung to the small child, whispering soothing words as the boy cried. A moment later, Bethany looked up and saw the large group of people who had now gathered around the lake.

  Not a moment later, a large woman came forward, screaming for someone named Miss Jones. Whitmore ignored her screaming and turned to kneel next to Ginny. She must have noticed her near nakedness, because she had put her arms through his jacket and closed it up as much as she could.

  Turning toward Whitmore, she said, “I'm sorry, my lord. Can someone fetch me a blanket?”

  Looking into her eyes, knowing what she had done to save that little boy, Whitmore had an overwhelming urge to pick her up and walk off to somewhere more private. The surge of sexual emotion hit him like a ton of bricks. Before it could completely drown out his better sense, he rose to his feet and called to one of the servants who had arrived during the commotion.

  “Henry, please run to the house immediately for some blankets.” Before the words had left his mouth, the young footman was running at full tilt back to the house. Meanwhile, the large woman kept screaming for Miss Jones.

  The large woman, a guest named Mrs. Mary Rodendale, seemed near apoplexy by the time a slight woman in her thirties approached. Mrs. Rodendale began to scream anew at the sight of the woman. Meanwhile, Miss Jones said nothing, receiving each scream as if it were a physical blow, wincing at each word. Both Ginny and Whitmore watched in horror as the abuse continued.

  Whitmore walked over to Mrs. Rodendale and asked, “May I be of assistance, Madam?”

  Gaining some composure for her host, Mrs. Rodendale turned and answered, “This woman is Gerard's governess. It is obvious that she allowed the children out of her sight, which led to this... this debacle.”

  Before Whitmore could say another word, Mrs. Rodendale began to ream the poor governess once again. When she finally stopped, she simply said, “I cannot deal with this right now. I believe my headache is coming back. Please excuse me, Lord Whitmore.” And with that, she began to walk back to the house, her daughter in her wake trying to hold her arm. Never once did she spare her son a glance to make sure he was alright.

  Ginny felt her face flush, not from the embarrassment of sitting on the ground in see through clothing like some drunken college girl at a wet t-shirt contest. No, she wasn't embarrassed, she was pissed. How dare that woman. It may very well be the governess's fault for poorly supervising this child, but she didn't even bother to see if the child was alright. Acting as if the ordeal was worse for her than it had been for him. Her behavior was so grotesque that Ginny thought she just might run after the woman and start pounding her head into the ground.

  The thought of her half naked going all WWE on some fat, obnoxious woman made Ginny smirk. Thankfully, it also calmed her down enough to know that Lord Whitmore would probably be displeased by such a display. Not that Ginny could fathom why she would care so much what Lord Whitmore thought of her.

  The footman returned with several blankets. Whitmore immediately placed a blanket around Ginny, then turned and picked up the boy into another blanket. After transferring him to the arms of the same footman who fetched the blanket, he turned once again to help Ginny off the ground. “Henry, take the boy to the nursery. Have Pearce fetch the doctor to attend him.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The footman, who didn't even break a sweat to get the blankets, was now effortlessly carrying the sixty pound child up the hill to the house. Ginny was duly impressed.

  Walking with Lord Whitmore towards the governess, who was still standing in the same spot, Ginny felt sorry for the poor woman. There were still a number of guests milling around, including many of the bachelors she was there to impress. Judging by her appearance, she doubted she was doing a good job. Of course, seeing her practically naked may have helped her cause a great deal.

  “Miss Jones, is it?” Whitmore asked, sounding impatient.

  “Yes, my lord.” The woman was defeated, probably from years of verbal abuse at the hands of Mrs. Rodendale.

  “Please tell me what happened.” Whitmore's stare could be intense, so he glanced at the ground, looking as if he were fascinated with his boots.

  “The children tricked me. They asked me to fetch something from the closet and then locked me inside. I yelled until one of the maids let me out. By that time I went to look for them, I heard the screaming and came down here.” The governess was crying, but still holding it together enough to explain. “I never imagined this would happen.” The poor woman was now sobbing, for both what had happened to the boy and what would happen to her.

  Ginny went to her side and tried to offer her comfort. She couldn't hug her without opening the blanket and revealing even more of herself to the crowd. Reaching one arm from under the blanket, still clad in the sleeve of Whitmore's jacket, she patted the woman gently. “Do they do that sort of thing often?”

  Looking up into Ginny's eyes, she replied, “They learn how to treat me from their mother and you can plainly see how she treats me. I have been trying to find another position for months, but without a reference from my current employer, no one will hire me.” She spoke so quietly that only Ginny could hear her.

  Turning toward her host, Ginny remarked, “I need to get out of these wet clothes. Miss Jones will accompany me.” Eyeing Whitmore to see i
f he would object, he merely nodded and they all walked back to the house. Miss Jones bent down and picked up Ginny's clothing and carried them for her. Then they walked ahead and Clarendon caught up to Whitmore's side.

  “Damn interesting woman, wouldn't you say, Whitmore.” His voice sounded angry, which caught Whitmore's attention.

  “Indeed. Why do you sound so ill-tempered?”

  Raising an eyebrow, he simply replied, “Do I?”

  Clarendon broke off from the group as they approached the house and kept walking toward the gardens in the back. Once there, he wandered among the tulips trying to contain his temper. What was it about that woman, he thought grimly. How does she have the power to make me feel like a schoolboy?

  He was all too aware of how his body reacted to seeing her wet and practically naked. No woman had made him lose his carefully crafted control before. The erotic thoughts that ran through his head, while she whispered to the child who had nearly drown, nearly overpowered him. Did this mean something? Was she the one he should marry?

  Clarendon didn't want a love match. He didn't even want to respect his future spouse. What he wanted was a woman he didn't mind sleeping with long enough to produce an heir, then go about his business as usual. He didn't want his life to change, only to fulfill his obligations as a future duke.

  And yet, over the past few days, he found himself pursuing her. Constantly seeking her out and spending time with her. It was no mystery that he wanted to bed her. If she would only marry some other chap, then he could go about making her his lover. That was the type of relationship he wanted with her. But marry her? When he went about his extra-curricular activities outside the marriage, then she might very well do the same. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand why that should bother him so much.

  So now, he had to find a way to get her more involved with everyone else. The other bachelors seemed to think she was unobtainable, now that he had staked his claim. Things had to change, he had to get her married off as soon as possible. There were so many possibilities from which to choose.