The Governess Club: Sara by Ellie Macdonald Page A

deep, quiet voice close to her ear surprised her and she jerked her head up toward the owner. A pair of pale blue eyes regarded her solemnly, filled with understanding.
    Mr. Grant.
    Sara froze, the memory of his lips against hers coupled with the humiliation she had felt paralyzing her. The ants clogged her throat, ruthless in making their presence known.
    Mr. Grant glanced around. “It is hectic, is it not?”
    She could barely swallow, her throat was so tight. She could feel the noose settle around her neck and she prayed she would not have an episode here where everyone could see her. Ironically, that thought started the tightening of the noose.
    Mr. Grant shifted until he stood half-behind her, discreetly pushing the odorous, loud men away from her, using his cane to take up more space. “Better?” he questioned, his voice still quiet.
    Sara kept herself facing the service counter, her eyes wide but unseeing. In two three four, out two three four .
    “The trouble with crowds,” he was saying, his voice quiet in her ear and intended for her alone, “is that you cannot control who you come into contact with. For instance, the men behind us. You weren’t facing them, but I could clearly see that you were not enjoying their presence.”
    Sara felt her face catch on fire, hating that he had seen that.
    “Oh, Mr. Grant!”
    A high-pitched voice interrupted their conversation. Recognizing the voice, Sara’s eyes closed. Could this day get any worse? She felt him turn in the direction of the voice as the noose cinched more tightly.
    “See?” he muttered. “I cannot control this. Mrs. Glendoe,” he spoke more loudly. He nodded to the lady and her daughter. “Miss Glendoe, good afternoon.”
    Both ladies smiled, dropping appropriate curtseys. “Good afternoon Mr. Grant. What a fine day to be shopping in town.”
    Sara’s eyes flew open when she felt strong fingers close around her elbow. Surprised, she looked up at Mr. Grant to see him smiling at the two ladies; she could smell the insincerity of it. “Actually,” he said, “I was just discussing with Miss Collins the preference for avoiding crowds.”
    Mrs. Glendoe twittered, adding a sharp glance at her before saying. “Oh, Miss Collins, I did not notice you there.”
    Sara instinctively stepped back, but that put her back right up against Mr. Grant’s front. He was every bit as solid as he had been the few days prior. Even through the layers of clothing, heat spread from where they touched and his grip tightened on her elbow, giving her an encouraging squeeze.
    Mrs. Glendoe turned her attention back to him. “What brings you into the mercantile today, sir?”
    “The pleasurable company, of course.”
    How could she tell that he was being sarcastic? Both the Glendoes smiled at his comment, but Sara knew deep down that he didn’t mean a word he said. But it definitely was what the older lady wanted to hear. Miss Glendoe met Sara’s eyes, her gaze apologetic.
    Mrs. Yardley finished with another customer, meaning only one more customer until Sara’s turn. She stepped forward, noting that Mr. Grant stepped with her and that the Glendoe ladies followed him. One more, one more, one more. She tamped down the urge to flee the shop; she hadn’t waited this long for Mrs. Yardley to run away now.
    “Is there anything you need help finding?” Mrs. Glendoe asked. She pushed her daughter toward him. “My daughter is quite familiar with the shop.”
    “Mother,” Miss Glendoe said in an exasperated whisper. She gave Mr. Grant a rueful look.
    “Actually,” Mr. Grant said, using his grip on Sara’s elbow to pull her closer, “Miss Collins has already agreed to help me find some new ribbons. My niece’s birthday is approaching.”
    What?
    He looked down at her, the piercing blue chilling her. “Come Miss Collins, I have no talent for this.” He dragged her away from the Glendoes. Sara looked forlornly over her shoulder as the men who had been behind her stepped