When the Marquess Claims a Governess [EBOOK]

Prologue <b>
The carriage rattled down the road, rocking uneasily from side to side. Edward didn’t mind the rain, or the thunder, because today, it was just himself and Mother.
When it was just him and Mother, he could speak freely for once. He could tell her about the books he was reading without being ridiculed by Robert, his twin, or talked down to by Father, who continued to be frustrated by his squeamishness towards hunting.<b>
Ever since the baby’s arrival, it had been challenging to claim Mother’s attention. Edward loved his new sister. But he also missed the ease of being able to converse with Mother whenever he saw fit.<b>
Yet despite Edward’s joy at having her to himself, today, Mother looked nervous. She kept fidgeting with the edge of her dress and asking Edward to repeat himself, even though they were discussing Robinson Crusoe, a mutual favorite.<b>
“What is it?” Edward finally asked. “Has something got you worried?”<b>
Mother offered him a thin smile. “Just the storm, my dear. These are hardly the best conditions for travel.”
Edward reached across the carriage and patted her hand. He was newly fifteen and confident he could handle anything the world might throw at them, even the greatest forces of nature. “We’ll be home soon, Mother. And there’s no need for worry, not as long as I’m—”<b>
That was the last thing Edward remembered.<b>
When he came to, his vision was foggy. His mind, confused. It was still raining. But he was outside. In the—in the dirt?<b>
“Mother,” Edward tried to say. He began coughing instead.<b>
“Here. I’m here, my love.”<b>
Edward tried to turn towards the voice. But while he’d previously been numbed to all but the rain, the motion sent a sharp pain through his leg, below the knee. He cried out.<b>
“Stay still, Edward.” Mother’s voice was thin, strained. “The coachman has gone to fetch help. We must be still until he returns.”<b>
“Alright,” Edward managed. It was hard to keep the tears out of his voice.<b>
It was also hard to know how much time had passed. If anything, it only rained harder. Edward’s face was mushed into the slick muck of the road that must have, in part, caused their crash—he and Mother were both trapped under the overturned carriage. He also knew he was losing and gaining consciousness as the rain beat down on him.<b>
“Love, can you hear me?” Mother’s voice, again. <b> Dimmer.<b>
“Yes…”<b>
“You need to stay awake.”<b>
“I’m trying…”<b>
“Promise me you’ll stay awake. Alright?” Then she said, “I’ll sing to you.”<b>
“Yes, Mother.” This time, Edward was sure he was crying. It was hard to tell, for all the rain beating against his cheeks. But his throat was thick.<b>
Mother started in on a lullaby.<b>
Edward couldn’t entirely make out the tune, despite his best attempts at concentration. She wasn’t singing really—just humming. Edward strained, desperate to focus, to hear her voice, to listen… but he was fading again… and there was nothing he could do…<b>
***
Edward woke with a jolt, heart pounding.<b>
It took him a moment to realize he was at home, in his room. Yes, it was storming outside—the rain beat angrily against his window—but he was here. Safe. Alive.
Alone.<b>
His breathing quieted, and he took stock of himself. Though the loss of his left leg had been nearly seven years ago to the day, the phantom pains were back. It wasn’t unusual for the discomforting sensations to return in half-lucid moments between sleep and wakefulness, but combined with the recollections inspired by the storm…<b>
Edward felt tears threaten to fall.<b>
The night of the accident, after Edward lost consciousness one final time, the coachman at last returned with help. It had been a long walk to the nearest village, and when assistance arrived, Mother was already gone. Edward hadn’t been able to attend the funeral, as he was still recovering following the loss of his leg.<b>
Father, however, didn’t hesitate to loom over his son’s sick bed and proclaim, “If you’d had the strength to free your own self from the wreckage, perhaps the outcome would have been different.”<b>
The Edward from the previous week might have protested, especially at Robert’s cold nod of assent from his place at Father’s right arm. The new Edward could only silently agree.<b>
And the Edward of today wasn’t much better. He willed himself to go back to sleep, but with the storm still raging, such a feat proved impossible.<b>
In the end, he pulled himself into a sitting position and lit the candle left at his bedside. The serving staff always left him materials to relight it himself, as waking up in the night was a common occurrence. The light shined dimly on the table and reflected off his wooden leg, which was propped beside the table for easy access. The tiny glow was enough to soothe Edward’s spirits, if only slightly.
He cracked the spine of the new book he’d intended to leave for tomorrow and resolved to lose himself in the pages, where the storm could not follow.<b>