Hemsworth winced at her cool assessment of him, though it gave Emily no pleasure to see that she had hurt him. The pain that she felt at his base offer, was more than enough. She did not wish to inflict her suffering on anyone else.
Hemsworth opened his mouth, as though to say something in reply, but luckily the door burst open and Mrs Ilford returned carrying a tray. She paused as she saw the duke perched scandalously on the edge of Emily's bed.
"Oh, oh, oh," she stuttered, "I shall come back."
"No, please," Emily called out, giving the housekeeper a pleading look, "The Duke was just leaving."
Hemsworth clenched his jaw in anger at her dismissal, though he offered no protest. Instead, he stood up to leave, but before he went, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
"This discussion is not over," he said, giving her a scorching look, before he departed the room.
"What in heaven's name was that all about?" Mrs Ilford asked, as the door clicked shut behind the duke.
"It does not matter," Emily mumbled in reply, "But I must leave Hemsworth House at once and return to London."
It was lucky that Mrs Ilford was so experienced, for despite her obvious shock, she still held the tray in her hands steadily.
"Leave?" she squawked, "But why?"
"Please, do not ask me," Emily replied, "I just cannot stay."
"Has he done something?" Mrs Ilford nodded at the door through which the duke had just departed, "Because if he has, I'll have no trouble setting him straight."
How wonderful it was, Emily thought, to have such a formidable woman on her side. The idea of Mrs Ilford verbally berating the duke for his bad manners, was a cheering one—though not an idea that should be acted upon.
"Thank you," Emily replied, once again kicking the covers off and scrambling out of the bed, "But his Grace has done nothing wrong, he simply made me an offer that I could not accept."
"Oh."
Mrs Ilford, who had served under the last duke and knew the run of the current duke well enough, seemed to instantly understand what Emily meant. Intuitively, the housekeeper seemed to know that Emily did not wish to speak of the matter any further and busied herself setting up the tray on the small table by the window.
"Well, before we decide anything," she said, as she placed a steaming bowl of stew upon the table, "You must eat."
Her tone brokered no argument and the delicious scent which wafted over to Emily, meant that she had no desire to protest. She sat herself down and wolfed the whole bowl in minutes, any thoughts of table-manners pushed aside by her hunger.
"What time does the mail-coach leave?" Emily asked, as she mopped up the last of the juices in the bowl with a hunk of bread.
"Why, there's one leaving this evening," Mrs Ilford replied, "But you're not leaving so soon, are you?"
"I'm afraid I must," Emily sighed, "I will pack my things at once and say goodbye to the children."
"They'll miss you something terrible," Mrs Ilford said softly.
"And I them."
Hot tears pricked at Emily's eyes, but she blinked them away. She had known, even before she had arrived, that her time with the children would be brief. She thought again about how she had thought swapping places with her sister would be a lark, and wondered how on earth she had been so flippant. She knew now that her actions had caused untold hurt—to herself and the children—and she could have kicked herself for her stupidity.
"I'll have Mr Brown prepare what's owed to you," Mrs Ilford said, obviously resigned to the fact that Emily would not change her mind.
"Never mind about that," Emily did not need any payment for her time at Hemsworth House, "But please, do not tell the duke that I am leaving, until I am safely away."
"You have my word."
The housekeeper left to find Mr Brown and Emily set about packing her things. Once that was done, she changed into a heavy dress of black bombazine and set forth to find the children.
Emily found them in the nursery room, sitting wrapped up in blankets before the fire, as Sally read to them.
"Miss Smith!"
James spotted her first, scrambling from his chair and flinging himself into her arms. He was quickly followed by Cressida, and soon Emily was buried under the two children's hugs.
"Are you alright?" Cressida asked, "We were so worried when Uncle Rob pulled you from the water. We thought you were dead, but then he gave you a kiss and you came back to life."
Gracious; Emily had only hazy memories of what had happened after she had been rescued. She vividly recalled spluttering what felt like gallons of water onto the ground as she gasped for breath, but after that she must have fallen unconscious again.
"How frightened you must have been," she whispered, stroking Cressida's dark hair.
"We were never afraid," the girl replied solemnly, "For I knew everything would be alright, because you were there."
Guilt pierced Emily's heart, at Cressida's simple and pure belief in her. How could she have lied to these poor children, who had been through so much already?
"Can I have a moment alone with the children please, Sally?" Emily called to the nursery-maid, her voice almost hoarse with emotion.
Sally duly complied, putting down the book in her hand and taking leave of the trio who were huddled together for comfort.
"I'm afraid," Emily began, in a halting voice that shook desperately, "That I have to leave and return to London."
"No!" James' big brown eyes opened wide in horror. "Why?"
"I have to go back to my family," Emily replied, in as soothing a voice as she could muster.
"You said that you were an orphan."
The accusing tone of Cressida's voice pierced Emily's heart; she had betrayed them with her lies.
"I'm afraid that I did not tell you the truth about me," Emily said in reply, "I ran away from home, so that I would not have to marry the man that my father wished me to marry."
"And now?" Cressida's dark eyes were thoughtful, "If you return now will you be forced to marry him?"
"No," Emily shook her head, "I know now that I can be brave, that I can tell my father the truth, and it's all thanks to the two of you. You are both so strong and so brave, despite your young ages—you put me to shame."
James slipped his pudgy hand into Emily's own and gave a comforting squeeze.
"I think you're terribly brave, Miss Smith," he said, looking up at her with adoration.
"And I you," Emily whispered back.
"Do you not love us anymore?" Cressida affected an air of nonchalance, as though she did not care about Emily's answer, but it was clear as day that the little girl was desperate to know that she was still loved. Desperate to know that she was not being abandoned, again.
"I love you both more than life itself," Emily replied, for it was the truth. Just yesterday afternoon she had been ready to give up her own life to save James'—and she would do it again in a heartbeat. "I will always love you, and I will write to you often, and perhaps, when you are older, you shall visit with me."
"Do you mean it?" Cressida asked again, her eyes hopeful.
"Of course I do," Emily smiled and stroked the girls' cheek. "If I could take you with me, I would, but your brother and the duke love you as well, and they are your rightful guardians."
"I will miss you," Cressida finally offered, after a few moments of sniffling.
"And I will miss you—both of you—every day," Emily replied, drawing the two children close to her for another hug.
If she did not leave soon, Emily knew that she would descend into great heaving sobs—which would upset the children even further. With a bright smile and promises that she would write the moment that she returned to London, Emily left the room. She felt her heart break a little, as the door shut behind her, but still she knew she could not stay.
She quickly made her way back to her bedchamber, to collect her bag of clothes, before making her way down the servant's staircase to the kitchens. Mrs Ilford met
her outside the door, with a bag of coins in her hand.
"This is for you, for your time served," the housekeeper said with a sniff.
"Thank you," Emily replied, for she did not have the energy to protest. The housekeeper handed her the bag of coin, and after she had taken it from her, Mrs Ilford threw her arms around Emily in a bone-crushing embrace.
"I shall miss you something terrible, my girl," the housekeeper sighed. "And mark my words, I'll never make that man a bread and butter pudding again, for as long as I live. It's his favourite," she added, upon seeing Emily's perplexed look.
A wave of gratitude overcame Emily, for all that the housekeeper had done for her. She threw her arms around the woman again, and Mrs Ilford blushed with pleasure.
"Now, enough of that or you'll set me off crying," Mrs Ilford blustered, "And I can't let those scullery maids see me with red eyes, or they'll think I've gone soft. Jim is out in the yard with a gig to take you to the village. You take care of yourself, my dear."
With a quick smile of goodbye, Mrs Ilford returned to her kitchen domain, leaving Emily alone in the empty hallway. She glanced down at the bag of coins in her hand, before quickly placing it on a nearby shelf; she did not need anything from Hemsworth, especially not his money. She had coin enough in her own purse to pay for her fare home, then enough for a hackney to take her to Grosvenor Square.
Steeling herself, Emily picked up her bag and made her way from the house toward the stables. The irony that she had fled from one duke, who only wished to marry her for her lineage, into the arms of another who refused to marry her because he thought her background too common, was not lost on her. Nor was the bitter thought that all the pain and suffering that she felt was entirely of her own making.
It was time to go home, she thought, as she waved to young Jim who was waiting for her in the gig. Hopefully poor Ava had had a better time of it than she...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
14
It had been a week since Miss Smith had fled from Hemsworth House and Robert was still not used to her absence. Each morning he awoke, eager for a few moments to see her, before he remembered that she had left—and that her departure was entirely of his own making.
Luckily—well, if one could call it luck—there had been a multitude of things to help distract Rob from his pain: namely, the large mess that David Dunstable had left behind.
For the sake of the children, Robert had put it about that David's death was a tragic accident. Only a few people, mostly his own servants, knew of the true story of his demise, and Robert could trust that they would not tell a soul. He had David buried in the small graveyard beside the church, though he chose a plot which was as far away from where the brother he had murdered lay. It still shocked Rob that a man could be so heartless, that he could slay his own flesh and blood, for the sake of a title and wealth.
"Have you never read Shakespeare?" Fabrizio had asked, with a wry smile when Rob had voiced this thought, "People have been killing for money and power for centuries."
It was true, Rob admitted, though it did not make it any better.
The only good thing to come from Dunstable's demise, thus far, was Fabrizio's rebirth as a thoroughly competent and collected young man. Without his uncle-in-law attempting to sabotage him at every turn, or blame him for petty thefts from the house, Fabrizio soon settled in well at Blakefield.
Over the course of the week, as the young Italian sorted through the plethora of correspondence in Dunstable's writing bureau, he discovered Miss Gretchen's true origins.
"She was an actress he discovered in London," Fabrizio told Rob, waving the sheaves of paper in his hand in the air with excitement, "Orphaned and penniless; it seems he seduced her with the promise of immense wealth."
"You'd almost feel sorry for her," Rob observed; the governess had found her conscience at the end of it all and paid for that with her life.
"I will never feel pity for her," Fabrizio replied with a dark scowl, "Not when she conspired to harm James. I hope she is suffering somewhere for her actions."
The vehemence in his voice made Rob wonder how on earth he ever suspected Fabrizio as the villain of the tale. The young man adored his younger brother and sister, and they him.
The rest of David's papers revealed that David had buried Miss Gretchen in a pauper's grave, a few towns over, that he had been syphoning funds from the estate accounts since the day of his brother's death, and that he had seen his brother's marriage to a foreigner as a "betrayal" to the family lineage.
"Oh," Fabrizio rolled his eyes as Rob read this aloud, "You English are so funny about preserving your blue-blood. In Italy, if a man falls in love with a woman, that is reason enough to marry her. What is life without beauty, passion, and love, eh?"
Rob remained silent, for he knew well the answer to that question. He had driven away a beautiful, passionate woman who loved him and all that he felt was sheer pain and loneliness.
"What say we finish up here and return to Hemsworth House for a spot of dinner?" Rob suggested, as his stomach grumbled. He couldn't understand why, but of late he had been perpetually famished—if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that Mrs Ilford was feeding him smaller portions than usual.
A new routine had been established since Miss Smith's departure, whereby the children took their evening meal with Robert and Fabrizio in the dining room. It was a rather messy affair, given that James was prone to dropping food upon the pristine white table cloths and knocking plates and glasses over, but it was far preferable to dining alone.
"How did you get along with the new piano master?" Rob asked Cressida gently, as plates of roast lamb were placed before them.
"Well enough," Cressida's eyes remained fixed to the table, "He's very good, but he's just not..."
Just not Miss Smith.
Rob heaved a sigh, he could relate well to his young ward's unhappiness. For the umpteenth time since he had awoken to discover that the governess had left, he cursed his lack of tact, though he was practical at the same time. He could not make a commoner a duchess, he told himself sternly again, but his conviction was weakening with each passing day.
"Do you wish Miss Smith had stayed?" Cressida asked, turning her brown eyes to him.
"Of course I do," Rob replied, there was nothing he wished for more in the world. Even to have had her stay as just a governess would have been better than this aching need that he felt to see her.
"Maybe if you had asked her to marry her, she might not have left," Cressida said thoughtfully, through a mouth full of lamb.
Rob winced; he would need to hire another governess post-haste, both to stop his ward from speaking with her mouthful and making painfully honest observations at the dinner table.
"Why do you think I would ask Miss Smith to marry me?" Rob asked; surely the children had not noticed the attraction between the pair?
"Fabrizio said that the reason you've been so grumpy of late, is because you're lovesick," Cressida answered, unaware that her youthful honesty had hung her brother out to dry. Rob cast the Italian a dark glare, but Fabrizio was studiously avoiding his gaze, his eyes cast up to the frescoes upon the ceiling.
"Well," Rob blustered, feeling as though he was losing complete control to a six year old, "Even if I had wanted to marry Miss Smith, I could not have."
"Why?"
"Because she is a commoner," Rob replied in exasperation, "Dukes do not marry commoners, they marry ladies of high-birth and breeding."
"You always say that dukes can do whatever they like," James chimed in, his face wreathed in confusion, for it was something that Rob liked to say.
"The princes in the fairy tales never seem to mind, either," Cressida added, pointedly.
Lud.
Rob gripped the table to calm himself; how was it that he was under attack in his own dining room? From children, no less! Rather than answer their queries, Rob took a calming breath, picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating in silence.
<
br /> Mercifully, the children sensed that any more helpful advice on his relationship with Miss Smith was out of the question and dinner was finished in silence.
After a quick performance by Cressida on the pianoforte, the children were fetched by their nursery maid for bed.
"Fancy a quick brandy?" Rob asked Fabrizio, once they were gone, but he refused.
"I am up early tomorrow," he said, by way of explanation, "To view the repairs needed with Mr Field."
"Oh."
Rob couldn't fault him his dedication, but he had rather hoped that Fabrizio might stay and distract him from his thoughts. He waved the Italian off cheerfully, before retiring to his library, where only a decanter of brandy waited for him.
The silence in the room was deafening and Rob had never felt more alone and miserable in his life. He poured himself a generous glass of the amber liquid, downed it in one go, and then poured another.
Was this what his life was to be like? Lonely, miserable, and separated from the woman he loved. The pain of this thought was compounded by the knowledge that it was entirely his own fault.
Why had he not asked Miss Smith to marry him? The idea that her lineage was not good enough for the Hemsworth line was laughable, Rob thought as he glanced up at the portrait of his despotic father which hung above the fireplace. Ava was everything that his father had not been—kind, loving, patient, and far more noble than either Robert, or his father, could ever claim to have been.
He was an idiot, a fool of the highest order, and a frightened one at that.
For years he had hidden away from love, masking his loneliness with an endless list of lovers, and then when love—quite literally—showed up on his doorstep, he pushed it away. He was the saboteur of his own happiness, and worse, he had sabotaged Ava's too.
Agitated, Rob finished his drink and made his way upstairs to his bedchamber. In the dressing room he found Harley, reverentially pressing a handkerchief with a flat-iron.
The Duke's Governess in Disguise Page 18
