by Fanny Finch
Those two words that still gripped his heart in their dishonesty. Those two words that wounded him for his hypocrisy. What should his own tombstone read one day? Beloved husband? Beloved father?
He was neither of those things.
He had not loved or been loved by his wife. The arrangement of their marriage, a family decision, had come when the two of them were too young to object. Too young to even know whether or not they minded.
And three years after the marriage came the night that Lydia went into an early labor. A labor brought on by their argument. Brought on as the result of his own anger and rage and her frustration. A labor that killed her.
Yes, Lydia was still tormenting him, even now. Who was he to try and move on from the guilt? It was a guilt he heartily deserved. Everyone blamed him and he knew it. Her family. Her friends. All knew that he was the guilty party for her death.
Or so he imagined. Whether or not it was so, the Earl had gone into a despair after she died. While everyone seemed to believe that it was the loss he had faced, he secretly hated himself only for the fact that he had never loved her.
And yes, it was very possible that everyone knew it.
Arranging the marriage had been one of the final acts taken by the Earl’s father before the man died. His mother had passed away when he was years younger. It seemed as though his life would always be marked by the painful sting of death and parents who knew nothing of their children.
He needed to find someone to care for Grace. A woman that could handle her better than Mrs. Andrews. Without a mother, how could he raise her?
The Earl imagined that his daughter was not going to be well off in the long run if he did not make the effort to get her a governess quickly. And yet, he had no desire to spend his time seeking for one.
Mrs. Andrews had promised to take out an ad. He wondered if she had done it or not. Most likely she had, desperate to not have to watch the child on her own.
But the Earl also considered that he ought to bring Grace out to the cemetery someday soon. She was old enough. She needed to see the site where her mother rested, difficult though it might be.
Breathing deeply, the Earl bent and set the flowers down at his late wife’s grave. The same white carnations he brought every week.
As always, he opened his mouth to speak, to beg forgiveness or give an apology or something. But nothing came from his lips. He was mute as always.
Perhaps one day he would know what to say.
The Earl stood back to his full height and turned to walk back towards the coach. He saw the shadow of the minister inside the church and did his best to go unnoticed.
Without a peep from the holy man, the Earl of Dulshire allowed the coachman to open his door and he got back into the cab. The ride back seemed heavier somehow. It always did. It always felt as though he was in a greater pain than the time before. Guilt did that to people, he knew.
They arrived back at the house and he entered. Mrs. Andrews took his coat with only the minimum of polite chatter. She would not be disrespectful, but the Earl was aware that she was annoyed at him for leaving her with the child. He wondered if he ought to address it.
But the Earl of Dulshire thought better of it and decided to get on with his own work and his own day. He did not need her negativity or anything else.
Making his way to the study, it was not long before a knock came to his door.
“Yes? Come in,” he called.
“My lord, there are letters here for you,” said Simon, the young footman.
“Thank you, Simon,” the Earl replied, ushering the young man to bring them forward.
After he left, the Earl began to open them, one at a time. The first was a request to call after the Earl and he quickly wrote a reply that he was happy to have a visitor. Never mind that this was entirely untrue.
Next, the Earl opened a letter from a distant cousin that he had met only once but who wrote to him occasionally just to keep in contact. To this as well, he replied in a letter that took longer than he wished.
The next in the pile was from a name he did not recognize.
The Earl opened the letter and found that indeed, Mrs. Andrews must have placed an advertisement in the paper.
Dear Sir/Madam,
I write in reference to the advertisement regarding the need for a governess for one eight-year-old girl. I am well-educated and should very much like the opportunity to train up a child in the ways of education. While I have not done such work before, I have studied for this very purpose and am perfectly equipped and capable. I am strong and hard-working. Please reply to the address on Birch Street listed on the front.
Thank you,
Miss Delia Caulfield
The Earl read the letter once more and sighed. It was not the most exciting or qualified letter. The young lady was probably just barely old enough to be out of school herself, he imagined.
But he needed a governess for Grace. And quickly. Without one, he would continue having to deal with Mrs. Andrews, and it was not as though his daughter could continue without an education.
He wrote a quick letter in response, accepting her request for the position. The Earl of Dulshire hoped it was not a mistake to do so. He hoped thoroughly that the young woman would prove to be better equipped at governing his daughter than she was at writing letters.
Still, it was worth it. He needed someone and she would be as fine as any, he figured.
“Simon!” the Earl called, hoping the young man was nearby.
Soon he entered the study, standing respectfully with his hands behind his back.
“I have these letters. Please see to it that they are taken to the addresses,” he instructed.
Simon nodded and took the letters from the Earl before leaving the room once more.
He leaned back in his chair and felt relief that he would finally have someone to look after Grace. It had been such a concern for the past two weeks and now that weight, at least, was lifted.
He could focus on all the others ready to take its place.
First, he would try to get the governess settled, then he would talk to Mrs. Andrews about the attitude she had been less careful about. It was strange to see a housekeeper become comfortable enough to show their distaste for their work. He had made it too easy for her, it seemed.
If he was going to continue having employees taking advantage of him, then perhaps he was better off getting rid of the lot of them and starting fresh.
With a new household, he could be stricter and more diligent. He would have no more pairs running off to marry, stealing his things to help them get started. He would not be shown subtle, silent disrespect by housekeepers.
He was the Earl of Dulshire and he had to start acting like it.
Chapter 3
The cab pulled up to a home nearly as grand as the one Thea lived in. Delia was overcome by the fact that she would get to live in such an estate for the time being. It was far more beautiful than the previous one.
Whitewashed and large, she wondered if she ought to have dressed better.
Delia internally scoffed at the thought. She had nothing better. Only her simple, pale grey dress and a few others of the same ilk. She was a governess. They would not expect her to dress like a noblewoman.
With her hair in a modest bun at the base of her neck, Delia imagined that she looked quite the part of the young, dull governess. She didn’t mind so much. It was exactly what society would require of her. This was the best way of impressing her new employer.
Delia took her carpet bag and walked towards the front door where she knocked firmly.
After a moment, the door was opened by a mean-looking woman with a severe grey bun propped on the top of her head, and cold, blue eyes.
“I imagine you must be Miss Caulfield?” she asked dryly.
“Indeed, Miss…” she waited.
“I am not a Miss. You may call me Mrs. Andrews. Come in. I didn’t expect you this early and your room is not quite ready.
You shall have to wait,” the woman said coldly.
Delia followed Mrs. Andrews to the drawing room where she was expected to wait.
The drawing room was underused. That much was obvious. It would seem that the mistress of the house did not care to spend time there, despite the pretty paint and ample utensils for activity.
It was nearly two hours of sitting in anxious silence before Mrs. Andrews returned.
“Your room is ready. Follow me,” she instructed.
Delia followed and made her way up the staircase towards the back of the house.
“This is where the staff stays. You will be in the room down the hall from my own. I expect no complaints,” she said. Delia nodded in agreement that this was a fine arrangement for her.
“You do not speak much? That is a small favor, indeed,” Mrs. Andrews slighted.
Delia allowed the insult to pass. It was clear that Mrs. Andrews was not a friendly or kind woman, but she was not there to befriend the staff. She was there to teach the child of the house.
Her room was small, as anticipated, but perfectly agreeable. A bed, a desk with a chair, and a closet were the only things taking up space. She would easily be able to store her few possessions.
“Thank you, Mrs. Andrews,” she said. While she was fine with the room, she could not fathom it having taken the housekeeper two hours to prepare it.
“It is my duty. I’ve done you no favor,” she replied.
Delia wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but when the woman turned to leave, she wasn’t ready.
“Wait. Mrs. Andrews, forgive me, but—when am I to meet my charge?” Delia asked.
“How am I supposed to know that? It’s not my duty to determine the child’s schedule,” Mrs. Andrews said rudely.
“Then who might I speak to regarding the matter?” Delia pressed, realizing she might have to become insistent.
Mrs. Andrews sighed.
“Alright then. I shall introduce you to the Earl of Dulshire. He is the girl’s father and he is the one who will be responsible for all of that,” she replied.
“Thank you, I should appreciate that a great deal,” Delia said, trying to be polite despite her dislike of Mrs. Andrews.
“Follow me. Again. These stairs are going to be the death of me if I have to keep going up and down,” the housekeeper complained.
Delia ignored it and was led back down to the front of the house. She began to wonder what the rest of the staff might be like if this woman who greeted her was so cold and difficult. She also wondered what the master and mistress would be like.
Were they rude and callous like their housekeeper? Or were they worse? Were they so horrible as to have made Mrs. Andrews become like this? Had she once been a young woman like Delia with hopes and dreams? Had they crushed them from her?
She was suddenly very nervous at this thought and could not help but wonder if she had made a terrible error in coming to this place. Utterly determined to be a governess, perhaps she had passed up better opportunities for this one.
Even the child might be horrible when surrounded by such misery. It was certainly possible. She could not put it past the family to be worse than the housekeeper, after all. Rich people were typically crueler than most.
For a moment, Delia wished she could run to the front door and leave. What if they found out that she was a disgrace in her previous position? What if they found out that she was from a family that had been paupers and was now wealthy but refused to help their own children?
All of these thoughts were overwhelming. But Delia continued walking forward, just behind Mrs. Andrews. Soon, they were nearing the end of a hallway. That was where Mrs. Andrews stopped and knocked on the closed door of a room.
“Come in,” called a man’s voice on the other side.
The two women entered, and Delia saw the Earl at his desk. A fine-looking man, with dark hair and deep blue eyes, he was younger than she had anticipated. Perhaps only seven or eight years her senior.
The study was grand and Delia was filled with jealousy at not being a man. Such rooms were too exquisite to be inhabited only by one gender, and typically the one who less understood aesthetic beauty.
“Ah, is this our new governess?” the Earl of Dulshire asked, standing to come and greet Delia.
His politeness and smile were in striking contrast to those of Mrs. Andrews, and Delia was completely taken aback.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, bowing her head slightly.
“It is very nice to meet you. I trust you had a decent journey?” he asked.
“Indeed, my lord. It was quite lovely,” she answered as expected.
“I am glad to hear it. Now, Mrs. Andrews, you may leave us to discuss matters,” he said, to Delia’s great relief.
Gesturing for her to sit, the Earl of Dulshire took to his own chair and Delia responded as instructed.
“Have you had tea?” he asked.
“No, my lord,” she replied.
“No tea? Goodness, what is my household doing these days?” he asked, seemingly frustrated. Delia tried to hide her amusement that it was not only her who noticed.
“And is the room to your liking?” he continued.
“Yes, my lord. It is just near Mrs. Andrews’s room and the whole house seems perfectly lovely,” she replied again, saying what she thought was expected.
“Beside Mrs. Andrews? Oh, no, but you’re to be near my daughter, of course. It is no good having you in that part of the house when you have been hired to care for Grace,” he replied, seeming perplexed.
Delia had briefly considered this when Mrs. Andrews showed her the room, but thought no more of it. Different households chose to do things in different ways and she was not one to complain about it.
“I shall inform Mrs. Andrews that we must change this right away. Now, tell me, have you met Grace yet?” he asked.
“No, my lord,” Delia answered yet again. She had a feeling that things were not going well. All that she had anticipated for her first moments in the house seemed to have matched the Earl’s anticipations.
“Well then, we shall get to it. Mrs. Andrews!” the Earl called.
After a few moments, the woman came rushing into the room.
“Please call for Grace. And you and I shall have a word later,” he said in a mildly warning tone.
As they waited, the Earl made small comments here and there and called for the kitchen staff to have a full lunch and tea prepared for Delia.
She was astonished that he asked nothing of references or prior experience, the topics that she had been expecting, but dreading. It seemed that the Earl was actually a very decent man, and Delia was entirely relieved.
When Mrs. Andrews returned with Grace, the child sharing the same blue eyes of her father, Delia stared for a moment. She was beautiful and there was no questioning her parentage, but for the hair that was nearly white, in contrast to her father’s dark. Delia wondered where Grace’s mother might be.
“This is my daughter, Grace,” he said to Delia.
“How do you do, Miss?” Grace asked in a sweet voice, giving a small curtsey with hands lifting her pale pink dress at the sides.
“I am very well, Miss Grace. My name is Miss Caulfield. I am so looking forward to getting to know you better,” Delia said with a true look of joy on her face.
The Earl remained quiet, and Delia noticed that he had not yet spoken directly to the child. He seemed almost aloof with her, as if he knew not how to interact.
“Right, Grace, you may return upstairs. Miss Caulfield will join you soon,” he said, finally speaking to the child, even if it was only for the sake of dismissing her.
“Now, let us discuss a few other things,” the Earl said.
Delia sat down again and the Earl of Dulshire proceeded to tell her about some of the expectations of her as a governess. He informed her of her pay, which was far greater than her previous position. He also told her about expectations in terms of timeliness and Grace’s i
mproved intelligence.
“I shall be sure that Mrs. Andrews shows you where everything is, but you will eat with Grace in the dining room at the same time she eats. I am there at times, but not always. Please be aware that you are expected to respond any time she calls for you,” he said.
“Absolutely, my lord. She is my charge and I take that very seriously,” Delia replied.
“I am glad, Miss Caulfield. You certainly seem like the sort of young woman suited to this role. I do hope that you prove to meet the expectations I have set for you,” the Earl said with a smile.
