Читать книгу The Unconventional Governess - Jessica Nelson - Страница 15

Chapter Three

What a positively bothersome man.

His outlandish comments followed Henrietta the rest of the day.

Tea with Lady Brandewyne that afternoon furthered her agitation. Only moments into the expected social tradition, and Lady Brandewyne reached into the pocket of her dress.

“A letter came for you today. From your uncle.” She held out a thick square, her eyes keen despite her advanced age. “I have news.”

“News,” Henrietta repeated, sounding just like her uncle’s pet parrot. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, rather like the jostling of organs when a ship took a sudden dip into boisterous waves.

“Would you prefer to read your letter first?” The lady sipped her tea, eyeing Henrietta expectantly over the rim of the cup.

Swallowing a smart retort, Henrietta opened the paper. Her shock increased with every line. Her fingers trembled as she read. Her heartbeat strummed to a near stop. Feeling very grim indeed, she set the letter to the side. “I suppose you know all about this?”

“It had been discussed.”

According to the letter, Uncle had left England without her. He had gone to Wales in order to instruct more students, but felt that Henrietta was in no shape to be traveling. He asked Lady Brandewyne to watch over Henrietta until he returned. He worried for her safety. He no longer believed a woman’s place should be assisting him at wartime, serving the poor souls of wounded soldiers. Henrietta’s battle with rheumatic fever had shown him that he wanted her safe in England, away from illness and the ravages of war. He did not believe her heart could sustain the exhaustion of working in the field again.

“Well?”

“He wants me to stay in England,” she said flatly. As she had expected, but to have it confirmed was more of a shock than she realized it would be.

“A wise decision. You are of marriageable age. The orphan daughter of an earl. Your plainness is not detracting, and your form is comely. We shall get you to London, spiff you up and find you a baron in no time. Perhaps even a viscount?”

“I have no dowry, nothing to bring to marriage but my bloodline. An engagement is out of the question.”

“A baronet, then.”

Henrietta squared her shoulders. Her life was with Uncle William, practicing medicine. He might not want her there, out of misplaced fear, but she would prove those fears to be unfounded. Time for her alternate plan.

“I shall search for a post until I have the money to join my uncle. Will you write a letter of recommendation?”

“Certainly, but I cannot approve such nonsense. This makes me quite unhappy, Henrietta.”

“Happiness is ephemeral. I have no doubt it shall return to you shortly. In the meantime, I will begin searching for a position somewhere.” She paused. “I would ask discretion from you on this matter. Please do not say anything to my uncle at this time.”

Lady Brandewyne’s hand went to her mouth. “You are not telling him?”

“I think it’s best to find the position first, and I do not wish to worry him.”

She nodded, but there was a worried glint in her eyes. “Secrets are unwise.”

“It is not a secret,” Henrietta assured her. “I would like to tell him myself, though.”

“Very well.”

Satisfied, Henrietta nodded. After tea, she immediately wrote two letters of inquiry to nearby neighbors whom Lady Brandewyne intimated were looking for governesses. She left them with the butler to be delivered later.

Knowing that Lord St. Raven was now without a governess offered a slight temptation. She disliked his effect on her nerves, yet she found herself reflecting on his unexpected kindness toward the governess who had left.

No doubt Louise would prove an apt pupil. Very bright and most likely challenging. And then they were both orphans. Oh, how she sympathized with the child. She did not want to teach her, though. It would require a great deal of stamina, patience and forethought. And time.

Then there was St. Raven... She did not want to be a governess in his household. Only the most severe of circumstances would change her mind. She prayed he healed quickly so that he could leave.

An uncharacteristic restlessness plagued her. Dinner was not to be ready for several hours, so she wandered into the gardens. Lady Brandewyne kept a well-stocked pond at the edge of the path. Succulent flowers hugged the stone walkway, growing in wild, colorful profusion. The path itself was neatly groomed, creating a relaxing walk for Henrietta. She had not been outdoors yet today, and the gentle breeze riding on muted sunlight that filtered through the leaves of ancient oaks soothed her thoughts.

They had been hard to ignore.

She supposed she could be a companion of sorts to Lady Brandewyne, but their dispositions were so very different that no doubt it would not be long before they came to a disagreement. Henrietta felt no inclination to hold her tongue, and though she’d had lessons in deportment and the requirements of polite society, when her parents died, everything changed.

She no longer had the patience required to be an English lady.

She had discovered that good manners were unnecessary when struggling to save a soldier from death’s embrace. One did not need to wear the proper style to nurse back to health a child ravaged by fever. While helping Uncle William in the Americas, she had grown used to making her own decisions and speaking her mind without the petty rules of etiquette she’d been raised to hold dear.

And now he’d left her to the clutches of a traditional Englishwoman bent on finding her a husband. How could he?

She sank down onto a pretty stone bench nestled beneath a poplar some distance from the pond. Butterflies danced in fluttering abandonment around her, blissfully unaware of the bitter disappointment that tainted their visitor’s respite. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes to pray in the personal way she’d discovered overseas.

Treating God as a kind and heavenly Father was not something she’d learned from her family. Rather, a soldier recovering from an amputated leg had introduced her to a new perspective of God. She’d found the discovered relationship with her creator healed a void even Uncle William could not fill.

There was still pain, though. The loss of her parents remained a bruise within, sometimes unnoticed, but always tender to the touch.

She prayed now for wisdom, for forgiveness, because she resented that Uncle William had left her. She prayed that God would open a way for her to join him. Provide the funding.

The earl had called her a hard woman. The comment resonated uncomfortably, and she pushed thoughts of him from her mind.

When she finished praying, she simply sat and breathed. It was a lovely day, to be sure. Too lovely to squander. Nearby, a twig cracked. Then another. Louise emerged on the far side of the path, from a small copse of flowering bushes. Leaves stuck out from her hair and dirt stains smeared the front of her dress.

“Good afternoon,” Henrietta said.

“What were you doing with your eyes closed?”

“I was praying.”

“I don’t pray anymore.” Louise plopped beside Henrietta without any consideration of space. Her dress brushed against Henrietta’s hand. “Did you know that when my parents’ carriage crashed, Father was decapitated?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I plan to visit the place where they died. I overheard the servants saying it was a gruesome sight.” The girl stared wide-eyed at Henrietta, perhaps waiting for her to faint from a fit of the oh-so-feminine vapors.

Henrietta had never been afflicted by such a malady.

She felt a deep empathy for the child, who was obviously struggling with coming to terms with her parents’ death. Instead of allowing herself to heal, she tried to remove herself from the pain by speaking about the situation in an objective way, by covering the terrible tragedy with a blanket of detachment and, to some, shocking commentary.

She thought it best to match the child’s coping with equally objective answers.

“Death is never pretty.” She met Louise’s aggressive expression with a sober look. “Charlotte Corday is rumored to have looked at her executioner after her beheading at the guillotine.”

Louise gaped.

“However,” Henrietta continued calmly, “you are quite right in your comment that a beheading is a messy affair. Unless you’re a chicken. Then perhaps it would be less untidy.”

“A chicken?”

“Due to their anatomy, it has been rumored that chickens can live for some time after the severing of their heads. It has to do with the spinal column, you see, and the location of the brain stem.”

Louise’s nose squished and her eyes narrowed. “You are not like other ladies.”

“I am not a lady. I am a doctor.” Or as close to one as society would allow.

“You are very blunt.”

“‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’” At the girl’s befuddled look, Henrietta sighed. “Are you not acquainted with Shakespeare?”

“That boring old dead man?”

“I can see your education is greatly lacking. Perhaps because you are running around the gardens rather than working on your lessons?”

“My governess quit.” Louise jumped up from the bench, making a scoffing sound in her throat. “Deportment and manners, bah. They are for stuffy old ladies.”

Henrietta worked very hard to keep her eyebrows from raising. How closely the child echoed her own sentiments. To hear them so unabashedly touted was startling. Louise was looking to shock the adults around her, to horrify them and alienate them, because of her own sorrows. Henrietta would not succumb to the child’s manipulations. The girl was hurt and grieving, and such behavior might be expected.

When Henrietta did not respond to that outburst, as Louise so clearly expected her to, the girl sent her one last brooding look before she ran off to chase butterflies.

She would need more than what Henrietta could offer. Although they had shared a connection...

Henrietta walked back to the house, deep in thought. A servant informed her the dowager countess was waiting for her in the parlor. She found the lady of the house at her desk, penning a letter.

“Ah, Miss Gordon, I have just heard of a perfect opportunity.” Lady Brandewyne looked over the rim of her spectacles.

Sweet liver ague, she was surely referring to the earl’s need for a governess. “Indeed?”

“Lord St. Raven has no governess.”

Henrietta fought the grimace that tempted her lips.

“As I thought.” Lady Brandewyne sniffed. “Your uncle is a very dear friend, and your parents were pillars of society. They would be horrified to see what’s become of you. A governess is not the best position, but in time, perhaps, you will meet a kindly vicar or man of business. You are not completely plain.”

“Thank you,” she said drily.

“No decision must be made now. It is not impractical to believe you could garner an offer from a baronet, perhaps at the house party in two weeks’ time.”

“I have not the slightest interest in rejoining society,” she said in a firm voice, the one she used as often as needed. It was quite effective, even on Lady Brandewyne, whose posture stiffened. “A companion or governess position will suit me.”

“Why not the governess position with Lord St. Raven? He is a good man. A fair man. He would compensate you adequately. He’s not a stickler for propriety, which would allow you more of the freedoms you’re used to. Before the accident, he spent most of his time in London, at any rate.”

Shopping, no doubt, but Henrietta kept the uncharitable thought to herself. “He does seem as though he has a kind heart, but we would not be a good fit. Louise is in need of more than what I can offer. I am not good with children”

“My dear, I hardly think that. Your education is extensive and while your manners may have rusted, you were raised in a genteel fashion. Had your parents lived, you would have had your come-out and the pick of the Season.”

“Even though I am not completely plain?”

Lady Brandewyne looked positively affronted. Her intelligence was such that she understood the sarcasm, but her ego was such that she could not believe it had been directed at her. Unable to decide how to answer, she settled for a nose-in-the-air glare.

Henrietta sought to relieve the tension with softer words. “It is very kind of you to have taken me in, but as you know, I have written several letters to nearby landowners and will no doubt find employment in record time.”

“As you wish, my dear. I recommend that you do not make any decisions until after the house party, though.” Lady Brandewyne’s lips pursed and for a moment, Henrietta had the strangest feeling that the lady was laughing at her, and that she’d been duped somehow.

* * *

Blackmail.

Dominic stared at the apothecary, who stood in the dark corner of the cottage, where he’d requested they meet.

The return to the St. Raven estate had been painful, just as Miss Gordon had said it would be, but after three days he’d decided to leave. At the mention of going to his estate in the north, Louise had begun weeping. She claimed to miss her home, and so, despite his reluctance to live at his dead brother’s estate, he’d taken her back to St. Raven.

It was now her home, after all.

Old John, who’d been in the village near St. Raven since Dominic was a young boy, smirked a yellowed, rotting smile.

Dominic crossed his arms. “Let me understand this correctly—you are wanting a monthly stipend from me, and in exchange, you will not tell anyone of my condition. You realize the penalty for blackmail?”

The apothecary shrugged. “As I see it, if word gets out that you’re afflicted, you’ll lose the estate and the niece.”

Dominic laughed coldly. “What makes you think I care?”

“Seems to me that niece of yours is going to get shipped off if you don’t keep her here. I’ve heard talk. She can’t keep a governess and her aunt wants to send her away.” Old John sidled closer, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the morning light that streamed through the windows of his ramshackle cottage. Apparently being in the medical field didn’t pay enough.

“I don’t deal with blackmailers.”

“Ah, but for the sake of the child? Will you let her be sent off, her spirit crushed by well-meaning adults? She will be, you realize. On both counts.” Old John cocked a brow. “And you will be ostracized. Epileptics scare society.”

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked slowly.

The apothecary cackled. “You’ve been moping in northern England. I happen to know someone who witnessed one of your fits and he promptly wrote to me. I can see you’re thinking about what I’ve said. My partner will give you three days to decide what means more—the girl’s happiness or a bit of coin each month.”

Dominic’s jaw was stiff. His first instinct was to tell Old John to rot. He didn’t care what society thought of him and he didn’t care about the estate. He just wanted to find a cure.

But he loved Louise. He just hadn’t realized what taking care of a child entailed. He’d always been the fun one, who brought her trinkets and cakes, who whisked into her life and whisked out with nary a cross word from her.

He glared at Old John and stalked out of the cottage. The ride back to the estate gave him time to realize that some of what the man had said was true. If word got out about his illness, Barbara would swoop in and take Louise. She might even have legal grounds, especially if he was taken against his will to an asylum. And then what?

He knew already, because Barbara had been sending him weekly letters urging him to send Louise out of the country to a finishing school for “difficult” girls. When this last governess quit, he had finally realized that if he didn’t go and get Louise, his sister would. The situation could turn ugly, indeed.

He dropped off his horse at the livery, but there was no one in the stables to greet him. Frowning, he surveyed his surroundings, noting the disarray and general filth. Edmund’s stables had never looked this way before his death.

He stabled the horse himself, pondering. Could he care for Louise, even with his illness? Could he oversee the estate while searching for a cure?

And the biggest question of all: Could he keep his illness a secret from the ton?

For some reason, Miss Gordon entered his thoughts. Strong and plucky, making her way in a man’s world. If anyone knew how to accomplish something, she would. Perhaps he ought to meet with her.

When he returned to the main house, Jacks greeted him with a letter and a squirming Louise.

“I simply wanted to have tea with you,” she said crossly, speaking before the valet. “I’ve missed you. Are you home for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Yes.” He eyed her.

She twisted away from Jacks. “I shall meet you in the solarium, Dom, and we can discuss our new life together over tea.” Flashing a smile that looked just like her father’s, which stabbed pain through Dom, she pivoted and ran down the hall.

He opened the letter, which was an invitation to a ball hosted by Lady Brandewyne. Miss Gordon would be there, he realized. And suddenly, it felt imperative that he speak to her, face-to-face.

He handed the invitation back to Jacks. “Send an acceptance.”