Rules of Attraction

  CHRISTINA

  DODD

  Rules of

  Attraction

  Book Three of the Governess Brides Series

  Dedication

  Dedicated with love to the Hall Sisters,

  great aunts and grandmothers

  for an entire generation.

  We sang Silver Bells.

  We drank orangeade.

  We danced the hokey˜pokey.

  We were a family.

  Thank you. You created wonderful memories.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 At this moment, Miss Hannah Setterington could unequivocally state…

  Chapter 2 Dougald. Dougald Pippard. Not the marquess of Raeburn.

  Chapter 3 Hannah felt the stroke of Dougald’s fingers on her face…

  Chapter 4 In the measured cadence of Dougald’s speech, Hannah heard his…

  Chapter 5 Dougald had never been cruel before. He had been manipulative,…

  Chapter 6 Hannah couldn’t catch her breath. She stared at Dougald, this…

  Chapter 7 Dazed, Hannah broke the kiss. She looked into his eyes.

  Chapter 8 “Here ye are, Miss Setterington. The bedchamber was aired and…

  Chapter 9 Whatever had possessed her to kiss him?

  Chapter 10 As Hannah descended the stairs toward the breakfast room, her…

  Chapter 11 It wasn’t Dougald’s black presence that accounted for the silence,…

  Chapter 12 Did she really think he would let her escape? Dougald…

  Chapter 13 Charles shut the door of Dougald’s Spartan office with his…

  Chapter 14 “Ethel, dear, I think this white yarn will be better…

  Chapter 15 Hannah had her information, the information she had come to…

  Chapter 16 Hannah drove the pony cart through the cool April sunshine…

  Chapter 17 Dougald knew he shouldn’t be doing this. This was not…

  Chapter 18 As Hannah stood in the small dining room, she could…

  Chapter 19 Dougald stood in his bedroom in his stocking feet and…

  Chapter 20 “Considering what the results of her accident might’ve been, Miss Setterington…

  Chapter 21 The aunts stood around Hannah’s bed and stared at her…

  Chapter 22 Dougald stood behind his desk and stared, slack-jawed, at the…

  Chapter 23 Without her sight, Hannah’s world shrank, became a place confined…

  Chapter 24 Dougald sat at his desk, hands folded, and listened as…

  Chapter 25 She would never be pleasured again. Morosely, Hannah sat in…

  Chapter 26 “Hannah? What’s wrong? You look odd.”

  Chapter 27 Dougald’s arm felt slightly numb and his fingertips throbbed, although…

  Chapter 28 The candle started to shake and the pistol drooped.

  Chapter 29 The funerals were over. The mourners were gone.

  Chapter 30 The train had arrived. Queen Victoria was on her way in…

  Chapter 31 Aunt Isabel had been making stentorian pronouncements all day, and…

  About the Author

  Praise for Christina Dodd

  By Christina Dodd

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  At this moment, Miss Hannah Setterington could unequivocally state that she was alone. Completely, absolutely, bleakly alone. As she let her valise slide with a thud onto the wooden boards of the railway platform, she looked around in the Lancashire twilight. No building rose among the encroaching trees. No welcoming light beckoned through a shaded window, no human voices grumbled or laughed, and the faint city glow that surrounded London even on the darkest of nights was absent here in the depths of the country. Indeed, she could no longer see the outlines of the mountains that rose to the north. Night and fog were settling over the landscape, the train was nothing more than a departing rumble along the tracks, and right now, changing her mind about this position of caretaker to the marquess of Raeburn’s elderly aunt seemed wise.

  But to whom could she announce her decision? The servant she had assumed would meet her was nowhere to be seen along the rural road that wound over the hill, past the platform and out of sight.

  And she had a mission herein. She had come here to fulfill her heart’s desire, and she wouldn’t leave until she had done so.

  Although she knew it was impossible for her to have made a mistake, she fumbled in her reticule and brought forth the letter sent by the housekeeper who had hired her. Hannah squinted through the rapidly fading light and read in Mrs. Trenchard’s beautiful penmanship: Take the train to Presham Crossing, arriving there on March 5, 1843, and there depart it.

  Hannah knew the date to be March 5. She glanced up at the sign erected above the newly constructed platform. Proudly it proclaimed Presham Crossing.

  I will send a coach to bring you to Raeburn Castle, where the master most anxiously desires your arrival.

  Hannah considered the narrow road again. No coach. No servants. No anything. Tucking the letter back into her reticule, she sighed and wondered why this evidence of ineptitude surprised her. In her experience, efficiency was a commodity she possessed which most others did not. Indeed, it was her efficiency that had enabled her to run the Distinguished Academy of Governesses alone these past three years, and successfully enough that when she had gone to Adorna, Lady Bucknell, and asked for help in selling it, Adorna had bought it for herself. “I need something to occupy my time since Wynter took over the family business,” she had said as she wrote out a check for a tidy sum.

  Now, at the age of twenty-seven, Hannah found herself in the enviable position of never needing to work again.

  Although she would, of course. From the time she could remember, she had always worked. Sewing, running errands, helping out as a maid. Even when she’d studied at school, she had labored to be the best…then there had been that brief, terrible, and wonderful time when she had not worked.

  Pulling her cape closely against her neck, she looked again at the road, but it remained obstinately empty and the light was fading fast.

  Lately she had all too often recalled those days when she had been useless, unnecessary, a possession. Although the clarity of her memories discomfited her, it failed to surprise her. Every time she came to a crossroads in her life, a time when everyday tasks failed to occupy each second, her mind drifted back to the past, and she wondered again. At moments such as these, standing alone while wisps of fog became drifts and banks, blotting out the stars and wrapping her in isolation, she pondered what would happen if she returned to Liverpool, where the past awaited her.

  Yet always she rejected the idea. In the end, she was too much the coward to dare face the consequences of her youthful misdeeds—and too wise to brood about them now.

  Tucking her chin into her wool muffler and her gloved hands under her arms, she turned her thoughts along a more useful path—what to do. The servant had failed her, the village was nowhere in sight, and the night grew frigid. She would certainly not give way to panic because she’d been abandoned.

  At least she knew she hadn’t been followed from London. One of the many reasons she’d taken this position was the recent suspicion that she was being watched. Either that, or one of the three very somber, identically clad gentlemen who had taken the house across the street visited the market when she did, attended the theater when she did, and even appeared in Surrey where she attended the baptism of Charlotte’s second child and visited with Pamela.

  And who cared enough about the humbly born owner of a London business to find her and observe her every movement?

  Only one man…and in all fairness, how could he ever forget her?


  So when a job request came in for a companion for an elderly lady in Lancashire, she had decreed it to be fate. She sold her business and slipped away from London. The ignorant might call this flight. She preferred to call it a sabbatical.

  She nodded firmly. Yes, a sabbatical to consider her future. The future of Hannah Setterington.

  Still no coach. No driver. She considered the ways she had taught student governesses to deal with such dilemmas—with good sense and without rancor. If no one appeared within the hour, she would step onto the road and start walking, and hope that whichever direction she chose would be toward Presham Crossing. From there she would hire someone to take her to Raeburn Castle. When she arrived, she would give Mrs. Trenchard, the housekeeper, a firm but thorough upbraiding. Gently bred women who took positions such as governess and caretaker were frequently abused by the servants below stairs. Hannah meant to start as she would go on, and that included demanding respect. If that wasn’t possible, then she’d best know at once before she became attached to the elderly aunt who, she’d been assured in the exchange of letters, was a lovely lady, if occasionally a little confused.

  Hannah smiled into her fur muff. She liked elderly ladies. She’d been Lady Temperly’s companion for six years and with her she’d had the chance to travel the world, seeing the sights of which she had only dreamed. Indeed, traveling with Lady Temperly had been quite different from moving from place to place with her mother, being ignored or taunted by English yeomen and their righteous wives. The glories of the Continent had opened her eyes to another world….

  From out in the distance, off to her left, she heard a creak and a pitiful groan. She froze, and for one moment allowed herself to wonder what kind of wild animals roamed so close to the mountains.

  Then a clop, first one and then another, then another creak…with a sigh of relief, she relaxed. She recognized those sounds. Someone in some kind of conveyance had topped the hill and was driving slowly toward her. Dismissing her momentary alarm as if it had never occurred, she walked to the edge of the platform and stood waiting, sure that whoever it was was coming for her. So what if it wasn’t a coach; no one else would be out on such an increasingly vile evening.

  Although she strained her eyes, she could see nothing. Then a glow formed in the fog, and a wooden cart rolled toward her and stopped. A lantern was hooked to the side, a scraggly-looking character held the reins of a swaybacked nag, and when he opened his mouth he let out a belch that smelled of ale even as far away as she stood. Presham Crossing must be down the road the way he’d come, for he’d obviously been visiting the tavern.

  They stared at each other in mutual disgust. She observed a tall man in the height of maturity, but much given to drink and not overfond of cleanliness if the swollen size of his nose and the filthy state of his garments were anything to judge by. She only hoped that the sight of her, dressed in her becoming black traveling clothes and upright with moral conviction and infallible command, would be an inspiration for him.

  At last he asked, “Ye Miss Setterington?”

  “I am.”

  In his odd Lancashire accent, he said, “I’m supposed t’ bring ye to Raeburn Castle.”

  She gazed at the cart with its two wooden wheels, its splintered sides and the moldering hay in the back, and judged how little her new employer thought of her. If she had been like most who had no choice but to accept such contempt, she would have been sorely perturbed. But she was Miss Setterington of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses. She could get a position anywhere in the country, and she had enough to money in an account in the Bank of England to leave this place in a huff.

  Not that she planned to. Not after she’d searched out this little corner of Lancashire especially—but her employer didn’t have to know that.

  Tonight she just wanted a hot meal and a warm place to sleep. “Who are you?” she asked.

  Her peremptory tone brought his head up. He peered through the gray-and-brown straggles of hair that overhung his forehead. “I’m Alfred.”

  “You’re late.” She stepped down the stairs. “My luggage is on the platform. There is a basket and a valise. Hurry and get them, and let’s be on our way.” He stared, openmouthed, until she snapped, “Look lively now!”

  Alfred responded like any dog to a sharp command, lifting his lip in a brief defiant show of teeth, then slithering out of the cart in obedience. As the slump-shouldered driver dragged himself to the pile of bags, she lifted her skirt, pulled herself into the cart, and settled on the wooden board of a driver’s seat. From behind the cart, she heard a piteous groan as Alfred hefted her valises onto the pile of hay. She hoped that no vermin resided therein and resolved to examine her clothing when she at last reached a bedchamber in Raeburn Castle. Which, as sluggishly as Alfred moved, might be never.

  “Come on, man, you don’t want to keep your master waiting,” she said.

  Her encouragement produced no detectable increase in his speed. She had time to adjust her skirt and perch herself carefully on the far edge of the seat before he hoisted himself up beside her, bringing with him a fresh wave of ale-smell and body odor. He filled more than his half of the seat, not with any corpulence but with deceptively wide shoulders. She noted his broad hands as he lifted the reins to slap the horse—a horse who projected as much discouraged weariness as her driver. The nag leaned into the bridle and pulled the cart forward, then started the slow clip-clop of the hooves.

  Then, and only then, did Alfred say, “He’s not me master.”

  “Excuse me?” Hannah realized he was responding to her earlier remark. “Do you not work for the earl of Raeburn?”

  “I work at Raeburn Castle. Have me whole life. But th’ master we have now is nawt th’ master we started out wi’, nor th’ master we’ll have in th’ end.”

  She worked through his surly comment before replying, “I suppose on a hereditary estate that is always true.”

  “Fourth lord we’ve had in as many years.”

  “Good heavens.” As they reached the top of the hill, a minuscule breeze touched her cheek, and for a second she could see the dark shapes of the trees leaning toward her. “What ill fortune has brought about so many changes?”

  “Cursed.”

  The trees disappeared as the fog closed in again. “Who cursed?”

  Alfred threw her a disgusted glance. “The family’s cursed.”

  “Ah.” She couldn’t restrain a grin as she realized he must be one of those peculiar men who got pleasure from recounting silly yarns. “I’m familiar with such tales. The young ladies I used to teach were fond of telling them. So the family is cursed. By a gypsy? A witch? For what reason? Love thwarted? Revenge?”

  “Ye’re making fun, lady, but that doesn’t change th’ fact we lost two heirs t’ th’ estate ten years ago in a shipwreck off th’ Scottish coast, then th’ old lord died four years ago, then his cousin last year went off a cliff int’ the ocean, then his brother from a fall down th’ stairs, an’ now we’ve got this blackguard who’s no more than a distant relative an’ who ain’t even from Lancashire.”

  Hannah’s amusement faded. She knew better than to believe any tale this ignominious servant reeled off, but if it were true, the tragedy could not be discounted. “You can’t blame the current lord for the place of his upbringing,” she said. “Rather judge him on his good works and care for the estate.”

  Alfred snorted. “Been here less than a year an’ got things running shipshape—”

  “There, you see?” she said encouragingly.

  “—But what’s that worth when he’s a murderer of his own flesh an’ kind?”

  The wooden wheels hit the ruts so hard Hannah’s teeth jammed together. Her rump hurt from the wooden bench. Wisps of fog moistened her cheeks. Worst of all, she couldn’t find her common sense. But she kept her voice steady and disapproving as she said, “You should know better than to indulge in slanderous gossip about the man who carries the title of your hereditary lord.”
>
  “Not me gossip, miss. ’Twere th’ gossip from his own personal servants, it ’twere.” Alfred hunched his shoulders yet further and stared ahead sullenly as if seeing a road made invisible by the mist. “Years ago, it was, he married a young lady, pretty as ye please, who was always laughin’ an’ teasin’ him t’ distraction, an’ when they weren’t lovin’, they were fightin’. Fightin’, fightin’, fightin’. Then they’d love an’ then they’d fight some more. His lordship’s coachman says after one really big row, she up an’ disappeared.”

  “That doesn’t mean his lordship killed his wife.”

  “A female body was found weeks later, savaged by beasts.”

  Still Hannah valiantly struggled to be the voice of logic. “But that was not proof.”

  “He went an’ looked at th’body, said it weren’t hers, but th’ young wife’s maid accused him t’ his face o’ killing her. He didn’t deny it, just stared, grim as death, until she ran from him. He’s nawt been th’ same since. Never smiles, nawt a kind word t’ anyone, an’ he can’t sleep. Rides th’ estate at night, an’ that’s no gossip, miss. Saw him meself one night, his eyes burnin’ an’ fevered.”

  She supposed the nag was finding its way up the steep slope on its own, for the reins were slack in Alfred’s hands. She sat, clutching her reticule in one hand and the seat with the other, fighting the temptation to look over her shoulder.

  In premonitory tones, Alfred warned, “If I were ye, miss, I’d get out while I could. A man who’ll kill once’ll kill again.”

  How had Alfred recognized her as a prime candidate for this kind of spooking? Probably he was laughing to himself while she surreptitiously tried to ease the chill of goose bumps from her skin.

  Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had succeeded. In as tart a tone as she could manage, she retorted, “Even if His Lordship were the bloody-minded killer you say, I doubt that I’m important enough to attract his notice.”

  “Can’t stay out o’ the way o’ a confirmed killer.”

  “If I don’t stay at Raeburn Castle, it won’t be because I’m deterred by absurd rumors of murder, but because of the shabby treatment which I’ve received thus far.”