her survival. There had been a few moments of caution, when her old life threatened to catch up with her new, but she managed to evade them and move on. The closest had been two years ago when one of her brother’s friends had attended a house party where she was working as a governess. He hadn’t quite recognized her, had accepted her story at face value—it was easy to fool people with a change in wardrobe, lack of cosmetics and a convincing story. He had tried to force his attentions on her as well at that party, but at least this time she was better prepared to defend herself.
It was then she came up with the idea of creating a private school with her friends and convinced them to join her, creating the Governess Club. The plan had gone well and had been well on its way of accomplishing exactly what she wanted—independence and control. But then Claire had gotten married, followed by Bonnie. That had not been in the plan.
The final straw was Sara, the one she thought she could rely on to remain constant. It was likely uncharitable of her, but Louisa never thought Sara would attract the interest of a man; she was too meek and mild to draw any of that sort of attention. She had had visions of the two of them becoming spinsters together, working and becoming successful with the Club until they retired together to a nice cottage somewhere warm. She had always wanted to see the Continent and Portugal had a nice sound to it. But then Mr. Pomeroy had proposed, the final rock that had shattered her dreams of independence.
There was no possible chance of the Governess Club surviving, not with three of the members married and one of those living so far away. Even if Claire and Sara declared themselves committed to the club, the nature of marriage would soon change that. Their husbands would demand more and more of their time, children would come along and require their attention—in short, the club would have died a slow, agonizing death and she was damned if she would remain to watch it.
So she left. At Sara’s wedding to Mr. Pomeroy, Louisa slipped out of the church during the vows and made her way to the coaching inn. She had it timed perfectly and had boarded the mail coach just as Mr. and Mrs. Pomeroy would be introduced to the world.
And she hadn’t looked back. Her next three months had been spent moving from place to place, introducing herself with variations of her name, often even sneaking into stables and shacks to avoid registering at public inns. It wasn’t until she entered the Beefy Buzzard that she had been tempted to remain. Giant Johnny’s offer had given her a reason to hope once more that she would be able to realize her dream.
Louisa drained her wine glass, attempting to wash away the vision of Lord Darleigh. Her hand shook as she placed her glass back on the table, a heavy ball gathering in her stomach. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm down by reminding herself that no authorities had caught up with her yet. All she had to do was continue in her ruse and she would be fine.
She gazed back out of the window, desperate for something to focus on, something to distract her from her memories. She was about to pour herself another glass of wine when movement in the yard caught her eye. The kitchen door had opened and someone left the inn. Leaning forward, she squinted to get a better look.
His size was unmistakable, even if his features were too shadowed to see. John moved across the yard toward the stable, his footsteps sure and confident. Nothing deterred him, his focus on his destination clear. At the stable door, he paused to light a lantern and disappeared inside, the light disappearing the farther into the building he went.
Why was he going there at this time of night? Was it an illicit rendezvous? Her gut churned at how he could roger her in the cask room one day and then meet another in the stable. Such was the nature of men.
Her mind controlled itself after a moment down that path.
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