Lord St. Claire's Angel

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Lord St. Claire’s Angel

Celestine Simons was of good family, but an untimely death and a shortage of funds forces the homely spinster to take a position as governess at the estate of Lord Langlow and his wife. Never one to bemoan her change in fortune, Celestine is content to spend her days raising and overseeing their children, knowing in her heart she will never have any of her own.

Lord St. Claire Richmond, Langlow’s brother, is a rogue and seducer, content to while away his days pursuing pleasure—and driving his brother and sister-in-law mad by reducing their female staff to lovelorn fools with his flirtations. When he learns on his annual Christmas visit that the drab Celestine was hired as governess solely to thwart his dalliances, he devises a scheme to both stir her heart and spite his family’s interfering ways.

But as his game unfolds, the cunning St. Claire discovers this conquest may be more challenging than expected when the thoughtful and intelligent Celestine begins to fire an ache in his own heart. And what began as an amusement to give the plain, timid miss an innocent thrill is turning into much more, as St. Claire realizes she may be the one giving him the thrill—and teaching him in a way only a governess can that real beauty lies beneath the surface and that true love is often found where you least expect it.

Title Page

Copyright

Lord St. Claire’s Angel

Donna Lea Simpson

Originally published by Kensington/Zebra in 1999, copyright © 1999 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Beyond the Page edition copyright © 2013 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Material excerpted from The Debutante’s Dilemma copyright © 2016 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-937349-94-3

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Excerpt from The Debutante’s Dilemma

Books by Donna Lea Simpson

About the Author

Chapter One

Thank God she is so plain! We’ll not have the same trouble this Christmas that we had last year with your wretched brother!

Celestine Simons stopped outside of her employers’ drawing room, hesitating to intrude. The voice was that of her employer, Lady Elizabeth, Marchioness of Langlow. She was evidently speaking to her husband, and would not welcome interruption, perhaps.

True, Elizabeth. Miss Simons is not at all the sort of female St. Claire prefers. She is satisfyingly homely and aware of it, too, if I am not mistaken. It is her best protection from my brother.

Lord Langlow had a rich, booming baritone from making many speeches in the House of Lords, and Celestine heard every word with humiliating clarity. She shrank back against the ivory papered wall, knowing that she could not now enter without the most mortifying sensibility that they were discussing her. She hung her head, too stunned by the cruel accuracy of the words to retreat.

All too often governesses today seem to be pretty, pert little misses with ideas above their station, Lady Langlow said, her light, feminine voice fading and strengthening as she evidently walked around the room. And you cannot tell me that St. Claire was alone in the flirtation! Miss Chambly had her eye on him from the first moment he stepped across our threshold!

I blame St. Claire, though, my dear. Her very position as our governess should have protected her from his predations! I don’t know what to do with that scalawag of a brother of mine. It is time he took a wife and stopped his alley-cat behavior.

August, language!

Really, my dear, I said alley-cat, not whoring . . .

August!

There was a muffled shriek, then some whispering, the sound of a loud kiss, and then a rustle.

"You, husband, are a scamp, very much like your brother." Lady Langlow’s voice was breathless, but smugly pleased.

Ah, but I confine my ‘predations’ to my lady-wife, the marquess growled. More rustling, and a low chuckle followed.

Celestine, her cheeks burning with mortified heat, hustled away from the door toward the great curved staircase and began to ascend, embarrassed at having lingered long enough to overhear such an intimate exchange between her employer and his wife.

Plain. She knew she was plain, but to know that she owed her employment in the Langlow household to that fact! She had never suspected that their quick hiring of her had to do with anything more than her accomplishments: French, Latin, a little Greek, history, a fair knowledge of mathematics and science, household arts and accounts. And all along it was mostly because she was ugly!

She paused on a landing with one hand on the smooth wood banister, holding back the tears that welled in her eyes, and pressed one palm to a florid cheek. Then, as always, she dropped her hands, hiding them in the folds of her skirt, letting the cool gray fabric swirl over the gnarled knuckles and crooked fingers. Lord and Lady Langlow had nothing to worry about. Their brother was safe this year, for he would surely not force his attentions on an aging, plain, arthritic spinster-governess. She returned to the schoolroom and her duties.

• • •

St. Claire, astride his magnificent hunter, Alphonse, rode to the front door of Langlow Manor, hurled himself from the saddle and tossed the reins to a stable hand who had appeared at the sound of hoofbeats. His breath puffed out in steamy clouds as he raced up the stone steps and banged on the brass knocker.

The butler opened the door and bowed him in, taking the coat and scarf St. Claire tossed at him.

Where’s the family, Dobbs?

His lordship is in the library, and her ladyship is in the parlor with Lady Charlotte and Lady Gwenevere.

Without waiting for the butler to announce him, St. Claire raced down the hall, threw open the door and knelt on the soft Oriental carpet. Where are my favorite girls? he cried.

Lottie and Gwen, seven and five years of age, respectively, looked up from the needlework their mother was showing them and gave shrieks of excitement. In a moment they had abandoned their mother and had raced across the room, flinging themselves at their uncle in gleeful disarray.

Charlotte! Gwenevere! Lady St. Claire cried, striving to bring order.

She was drowned out by the tumultuous wrestling match that now took place as St. Claire dared the girls to find a treat and they diligently searched his coat pockets, crowing with delight as they found some paper-wrapped bonbons.

St. Claire, his dark curls tumbled across his high forehead, smiled over at his sister-in-law, who tried to look severe as he turned her daughters into tiny lunatics for a few moments. Finally Elizabeth laughed too, and stood, crossing to his side. He rose from the carpet and planted an affectionate kiss on her pale, soft cheek.

He held her at arms’ length, looking her over from the top of her lace-capped head to the dainty slippers that peeked out from beneath the skirts of her rose muslin morning dress.

Sister, you look lovelier than ever! If my brother had not had the good sense to snatch you up—

You would have trifled with my affections and then shunned me like an Almack’s tea cake once they were engaged. I know you too well, St. Claire. Her tone was wry, but there was affection in it nonetheless.

He laughed and glanced over at the two little girls, who had retreated to a settee and were comparing and sharing out the treats in some mysterious fashion. They were remarkably like their mother, with fine blonde hair and pale, perfect complexions, cherubic in their chubby, healthy good looks.

And what are you doing looking after your own children, my lady, St. Claire said, a hint of sarcasm in his cultured voice. Dark thick brows rose above sparkling blue eyes.

I am demonstrating some needlework for them that their governess is not adept at—petit point. The marchioness moved slightly and motioned to a chair near the hearth. Those who knew her well would have recognized the lift of her chin as a challenge. This is the new governess, Miss Simons. Miss Simons, my brother, Lord St. Claire Richmond.

St. Claire glanced over at the chair and saw a drab little creature in an ugly gray gown. She had brown hair pulled back in a heavy, severe bun, and her face was pink from some unidentifiable emotion, or perhaps just from proximity to the fire that blazed in the hearth. She rose, hastily curtseyed, then sat again and cast her eyes back down to the mending on her lap.

He gave his sister a quizzical glance. What happened to the little charmer you had here last Christmas? he asked quietly, a grin quirking his lips.

You know very well what happened, Elizabeth said, her tone growing cold. "And I do not wish to discuss it. She retreated to the settee and took the bonbons from the two girls before they could eat the whole lot. Miss Simons, she said, raising her voice. Could you take the girls up and have Elise wash their faces and hands. They are sticky from candies."

The governess stood, her eyes downcast, and moved to the children, taking their hands in her larger ones. That was when St. Claire noticed. Her hands were malformed, the knuckles swollen and red, the fingers crook’d in an awkward-looking manner. He glanced in shock at her face and saw her eyes flutter to his, then widen as her cheeks flamed even more.

She had fine gray eyes, large, with luxuriant dark lashes. They were her best, or more accurately, her only good feature. The rest of her face was undistinguished—her mouth too large, her nose merely ordinary and her complexion regrettably freckled under her eyes. She hurried from the room, the washed-out dress she was wearing making no sound as it dragged along the carpet.

As the door closed behind her, he gave his sister a knowing look. Making sure I don’t dally with the governess, Elizabeth?