‘Is there any appropriate time or place to be dismissed?’ Maud was unable to keep a painful edge of bitterness from her voice.
The brandy splashed in his glass as he jerked back. ‘Is that what you think is going to happen to you?’
‘I don’t expect you to listen to my side of the story.’ She knew how matters played out in that regard. Whoever listened to a governess?
‘That’s where you are wrong, Miss Wilmot,’ he replied. ‘Since your arrival at Pendragon Hall, I find I have become quite interested in your stories. Tell me what happened with Miss Trevose.’
Faltering, Maud described what had occurred in as balanced a manner as possible.
When she finished, he exhaled sharply. ‘She wanted to take Rosabel for the day?’
Maud nodded. ‘I must be honest. I did not disallow Rosabel to go with Miss Trevose solely because you had not given your explicit permission. It was because Rosabel did not seem to want to go.’
‘I see.’ He was silent for a moment as he swirled his brandy. ‘Did Rosabel tell you so?’
‘No.’ She had to admit it. ‘It is more my sense of her feelings, based on how she behaved. She appeared anxious in Miss Trevose’s company.’ Now she was unable to keep the indignation from her voice. ‘Miss Trevose was critical of Rosabel. It has never helped a sensitive child to be spoken of in such a manner in her presence.’
‘What manner do you mean, precisely?’
Maud hesitated. But she might as well speak her mind. ‘Miss Trevose showed no understanding of how Rosabel might be feeling and Rosabel is a child who feels things deeply. She may be shy, but that is not an affliction. The true affliction is surely that displayed by Miss Trevose.’
He breathed out in a whistle.
‘I have spoken out of turn.’ But Maud didn’t regret it. Once she was dismissed, she might not be there to defend Rosabel, so she must take her opportunity to speak out. She had grown so fond of her young charge.
‘I prefer your honesty,’ Sir Dominic replied, to her surprise. ‘And you may be correct about Miss Trevose’s imagination. Certainly, I can’t picture her telling…fairy tales.’
A smile hinted again at the corners of his mouth. Then his jaw hardened. ‘However, she said you were impertinent. I did not care to hear that such behaviour was witnessed by my neighbour and by Rosabel.’
Maud bit her lip. ‘Any outspokenness in a servant would be considered impertinence by Miss Trevose.’
She thought for a moment that she saw the dent in his cheek, before he took a quick gulp of brandy.
‘I’m sorry,’ Maud said quickly. ‘I don’t seek to cause offence, speaking in such a manner about your fiancée.’
‘My what?’ Dominic demanded.
CHAPTER NINE
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d
To the dancers dancing in tune;
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
Maud drew back. In the firelight she could see the astonishment on Sir Dominic’s face.
‘Your fiancée…’ she faltered.
‘So I heard you correctly.’ He drew his eyebrows together. ‘I am not engaged to Miss Trevose, or any other woman,’ he said at last. ‘I thought I made it perfectly clear upon your arrival. All of my acquaintance know I have no plans to remarry.’
‘Oh!’ Why, she had not meant to bring up the matter. Now he would think her a purveyor of cheap gossip. Gossip, she always told her charges in the nursery, put the person who told the tale in a poor light, not the person discussed.
‘Perhaps I misunderstood,’ she said rapidly. Somehow, she had to retract what she had said and quickly. ‘Yes, I’m sure that was it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps?’
‘It is my mistake,’ she hastened to add. ‘Please, take no notice of it. I would not like my mistake repeated to anyone and perhaps cause any further misunderstanding.’
Even disliking Averill Trevose as she did, she would never have purposely disclosed the other woman’s presumptive comment. It would be unkind and she had not meant to be.
‘Very well,’ he replied, after a moment. ‘I will not specifically raise the matter of your misunderstanding further with—anyone.’
Maud sighed with relief. ‘Thank you.’
He swirled the brandy in his glass. ‘But let me clear up your other misunderstanding, Miss Wilmot. We have established that I am not to be married. Neither am I planning to dismiss you as Rosabel’s governess.’
Maud laid down her brandy glass and put her hand to her bodice, surprised to find it was still trembling. ‘You’re not?’
He shook his head. ‘I trust my own judgement, Miss Wilmot. I always have and I always will. I do not rely on the opinions of others.’
Maud breathed out.
‘You have exceeded my expectations,’ he said, to her further amazement. ‘Rosabel is happier and healthier than she has been under anyone else’s care. And I should not like to deprive Rosabel of any further tales of Princess Swallowtail. Nor myself, for that matter.’ His half-smile glimmered. ‘You are quite the Scheherazade, Miss Wilmot.’
‘I told you before, Sir Dominic, that is not so,’ she protested. Then she smiled, too. ‘But I expect I do have enough stories for a thousand and one nights.’
He chuckled, before taking another draught of brandy. ‘Perhaps we ought to make that the terms of your employment.’
Was he teasing her? He must be, Maud decided.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For giving me another chance.’
He frowned. ‘From what you have told me, it is the same chance. You assured me you were not rude to Miss Trevose. Merely outspoken, on Rosabel’s behalf.’
And she would do the same again, she knew, to ensure Rosabel’s happiness.
‘Such protectiveness is what I want in a governess,’ he said next. ‘But perhaps in future, however, you can ensure that you keep your outspokenness to a minimum when guests appear at Pendragon Hall.’
Maud blinked. He might have dismissed her. Many employers would have, given the same circumstances, as Maud knew very well. A governess was rarely given the benefit of the doubt. ‘Thank you, Sir Dominic. You won’t regret it. I wouldn’t want to leave Pendragon Hall.’
He swirled his glass again, his long fingers cupped around it. ‘You said you were happy here in Cornwall.’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘How could anyone not be happy at Pendragon Hall?’
His mouth twisted. ‘You would be surprised. There are those for whom the wilds of Cornwall seem dull and countrified.’
Maud fell silent.
A shadow passed across his face. ‘My late wife, Sarah—Rosabel’s mother—did not care for my home.’
Quietly, Maud laid down her glass. He needed to talk. She could sense it.
Dominic exhaled. ‘My late wife and I met in London, during the Season. It was her debut. I suppose Cornwall seemed distant and romantic to her at the time. As did I, a railway man. What she didn’t know is that a man who must build a life and business of his own does not have much leisure.’
He breathed heavily. ‘We married young. Too young. Sarah never settled in Cornwall, nor did she find the railway as captivating as I do. At first, she showed great interest in it, but she anticipated we would live in London. She had friends there, in fashionable circles, in society. She resented any time she was forced to spend here at Pendragon Hall. Neither of us was prepared for her to become quite so bored and discontented. Even the arrival of Rosabel did not alter her feelings.’
For a moment he stared into the flames. ‘It is my great regret that I did not make her happy. I know myself better now. I am simply not the marrying kind.’
Maud stayed still. The only sound was the fire, flic
kering in the grate.
‘I was here in Cornwall on railway business when she died,’ he said at last. ‘It was tuberculosis of the lung. She was in London at the time. She worsened suddenly and I did not get to her in time.’
‘How could you possibly have predicted that?’ Maud exclaimed.
‘I find it hard to forgive myself.’
He stood and threw another log on the fire. It sparked and blazed.
‘Sarah often accused me of working too hard, of being distant and not available to her when she needed me,’ he said at last, staring into the flames. ‘Of lacking feeling. In the end, it seemed she was right.’
Impulsively Maud got to her feet. ‘That is not what I have observed, Sir Dominic. In my experience as a governess, you do not lack feeling at all. You are exceptionally kind to your daughter.’ She breathed out. ‘As you have been tonight. To me.’
He turned to look at her. Bleak lines etched his mouth. ‘I ought to have been there. There was a great deal of guilt for me when she died. Guilt as well as grief. I did not give her the attention she craved. I thought we would have more time.’
Maud shook her head. ‘When my parents died after an outbreak of influenza, I experienced some of what you are feeling. A sense of guilt that I could have done more. Perhaps it is normal, in the circumstances.’
His gaze was acute. ‘How old were you when you lost your parents, if you do not mind my asking?’
‘I was seventeen.’ Maud reached for her brandy glass. There was still some of the liquor left, gleaming in the crystal cup. It warmed her, inside. ‘As I told you, my father was a schoolmaster. The influenza outbreak began at the school. Both my sister and I caught it, too, but we survived it. We had to. We had not only lost our parents. We lost our home.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why so?’
‘Our house near Winchester was provided by the school trustees. When we lost our parents, we had to make way for the new incumbent. That’s why I had to seek work as a governess as soon as possible.’
He studied her over the edge of his own glass. ‘It seems it is a night for confidences, Miss Wilmot. I’m sorry to hear of such a loss. It does not sound as if life has been easy for you.’
Her fingers tightened. ‘No, it was not easy. But I had stories. They kept me going, always.’
‘Being a governess must have been difficult for you in the circumstances.’
‘A little,’ she admitted, unable to disguise a shudder.
But he’d noted it. ‘Tell me. In your previous employment, did they treat you well?’
Maud hesitated. He had confided in her. She longed to do the same, but she could not. ‘I have no wish to complain of past situations. I do not want you to think I am the kind of governess who is constantly griping about her circumstances.’
‘You do not strike me in that way, Miss Wilmot.’
How tempting it was to tell him. But though he might have given her another chance after the complaint from Miss Trevose, he would not give her another if he knew she was there under false pretences.
‘It’s different here,’ she added. ‘You treat your staff well.’
He was a fair man, to all his employees. In the servants’ hall, he was spoken of with an affection Maud had never encountered before, certainly not in her previous employer’s household.
Dominic grinned wryly. ‘I’ve never found that treating someone badly brought out the best in them.’
‘Not all employers agree with you.’
He played idly with the stem of his glass as he studied her silently.
Again, the desire to lay down the burden of her memories almost overcame her. But she must not be misled by the warm room and his unexpected kindness to her.
She stood up. She was tired and vulnerable. She couldn’t risk staying here in such an unexpectedly intimate tête-à-tête any longer. ‘Thank you, Sir Dominic, for the brandy. And for your understanding.’
He drained his own glass and inclined his head. To her relief, he did not pursue the subject. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
As she reached the door, his voice stopped her. ‘Pleasant dreams, Miss Wilmot.’
* * *
Dominic poured himself more brandy. By God, he needed it, after the night of revelations with his new governess.
He had never anticipated confiding in her in such a manner. Nor had he expected having to enter her bedroom to wake her from such a nightmare.
He ran his hand through his hair.
Something troubled Miss Wilmot and troubled her deeply. The look in her eyes, the flash of sheer terror when she’d awoken from sleep, had appalled him. He was sure it was terror, but then she had quickly disguised it with a resolve that was admirable. Yet that panic, that wide-eyed fright which had induced him to wrap his arms about her, he knew, would stay with him. She held it in check, but it was there.
She’d looked younger in her white nightgown, with her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Tonight, he’d noticed that her lashes were dark, fringing those unusually coloured eyes. But he’d seen the shadows now, too, the faint smudges under her eyes that told of other restless nights, of shadows also, in her mind.
He wondered if he’d be able to forget the scent of her hair as he held her. Fresh, clean, like a green day.
He regretted that he’d been required to go into her bedroom at night, but he could not ignore such terrified screams, any more than he could have ignored someone trapped in a burning building.
He took another sip of brandy. When Miss Wilmot had awoken, it was almost as if she had expected to see someone else. As if her fright was because she had experienced something similar before.
Dominic frowned. She’d recovered well enough as she had sat in the study. The brandy, he’d been pleased to note, had brought the colour stealing back into her cheeks.
Then she had told him what had transpired with Averill.
He shook his head. At dinner earlier that evening, he’d been surprised when Averill had expressed her willingness to hire his staff, but he’d been shocked to learn that she had sought to take his child without his permission. That was not acceptable to him. Averill had gone too far. Miss Wilmot had handled the situation with tact.
He had made it perfectly clear, not just to the previous governesses who had expressed interest in his marital status, but also to Averill and other women in the neighbouring area, that he had no intention of marrying again. He hadn’t felt the need to explain himself. It had probably been assumed that it was because of his grief over the loss of Sarah. Perhaps it had also been assumed that his grief would pass. But there was more to it than that.
Miss Wilmot was the first person with whom he’d been able to share the guilt that haunted him about not being there when Sarah died.
Dominic cleared his throat. Perhaps some guilt was a normal part of grief. Miss Wilmot certainly seemed to think so.
He moved to the window and stared out into the night. He’d loved Sarah. He’d been attracted by her high spirits and enjoyment of life. He’d never expected it to go wrong. But he’d realised, as time went on, that he’d only seen what he’d wanted to see in her. He’d come to suspect that during their courtship she had feigned more interest in the railway than she really possessed. Certainly, he’d never expected her to resent his spending time and energy in Cornwall. It was his life. He’d wanted her to share it and, at first, he’d believed that she wanted to.
He drummed his fingers together. Sarah had been friends with Averill Trevose. They were similar women, with a liking for fashion and the ton. Averill had shown Dominic a great deal of neighbourliness since Sarah’s death and he’d appreciated it. She had a kind nature beneath her society manners. Clearly, however, his appreciation had been taken as more, as a particular kind of attention.
He shook his head. He hadn’t led Averill to think he so
ught marriage. His conscience was entirely clear on that score. He had not encouraged her in any way. Their friendship had not strayed beyond the bounds of propriety. He hadn’t hidden from anyone, including the new governess, his firm intention to remain a widower, but it seemed that Averill planned to change his mind.
Now, Miss Wilmot had unwittingly made this fact known to him. He’d promised her that he would not reveal what she had told him. He would keep her counsel, but he would have to ensure that Averill laboured under no false expectations. Somehow, without exposing Miss Wilmot, he would have to communicate that he did not seek his neighbourliness with Averill to be any more than that. It was damned awkward.
Dominic exhaled. He was not a man to put off an unpleasant duty, but he would deal with the matter of Averill’s expectations of him and promptly. He must ensure that he made it very clear that his views about marriage had not changed.
As he’d told the new governess, he was not the marrying kind.
He hadn’t expected that he would be such an object of interest as a widower. The only woman who did not seem to crave his attention was Miss Wilmot. She had made no attempt to intrigue him, as the previous governesses had done. From her there was no posing prettily in his line of sight, no seeking time alone to purportedly discuss Rosabel’s progress, no extra demands on his time or attention.
Miss Wilmot was as elusive as a butterfly. Yet as Dominic finally made his way to his bedroom, he was still thinking about her.
CHAPTER TEN
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
‘What did you say to Dominic?’
Maud jumped as sharp fingers pressed into her sleeve. She spun around to find Averill Trevose had come up behind her on the gravel drive. She was dressed in an exquisite sprigged morning gown, shirred in layers of lace and silk over her swaying skirt that Maud regarded with a brief flash of envy, and a bonnet lined in azure silk that captured the colour of her glorious eyes, now narrowed with hostility.
Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 52
