by Alec, Joyce
When the dinner gong sounded, Sophia was surprised to find that she was already looking forward to having another day with the little girl tomorrow. After all of her worry and concern, she had found the little girl to be a happy and bright child, who smiled readily and laughed often. She was sure that tomorrow would go just as well, if not better, now that she had begun to get to know her.
“Good evening, Sarah,” she said, rising to her feet and smiling down at the little girl. “It is time for me to go now. The nurse will be here with your dinner very soon.”
Sarah nodded and got to her feet, setting the dolls she had been playing with aside. “Are you back again tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course I will be,” Sophia replied, with a gentle smile. “I will see you again tomorrow morning after breakfast. I am sure we will have another wonderful day, Sarah. I will be sure to tell your father just how delightful you were today.”
Sarah lifted her eyes to Sophia’s, and to her surprise, wrapped her arms around her waist. A little taken aback, Sophia did not know what to do initially, only to then press one hand to the little girl’s head, her heart filling.
“Goodnight, Miss Weston,” Sarah said, her voice muffled in Sophia’s skirts. “Thank you for helping me with my letters.”
Sophia swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, running one hand down Sarah’s dark curls.
“You are more than welcome, Sarah,” she replied, hoarsely. “I will see you again tomorrow.”
8
Rubbing one hand over his eyes, Matthew groaned as he tried his best to fall asleep. Throwing himself over to the other side of his large, four-poster bed, he grasped the pillow and threw it over his head, hoping to drown out the many thoughts that were swirling through his mind.
It was to no avail. His eyes remained open, refusing to close, his body tense, as anxiety ran through his veins. And all because he had received a letter from his brother, which had forced him to do the one thing he hated.
Sitting up, Matthew yawned widely, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. This was useless. There was no point in trying to sleep, not when he knew it was futile. His mind was much too busy.
Perhaps he should go for a walk in the gardens, despite the late hour. The fresh air and quiet skies might bring peace to his thoughts, allowing him to return to his bed. Dressing quickly in shirt and trousers, he threw his greatcoat on, pulled on his boots, and headed for the door.
The night air was cold, so cold that it made Matthew catch his breath. Tugging his collar a little tighter, he hurried from the front door before he could change his mind and retreat back inside, shivering as he did so.
His footsteps left marks on the frozen grass, his breath like a cloud of smoke. He knew the way already, but the light of the moon aided his steps. Walking toward the rockery, the only place where green shrubs grew this time of year, Matthew let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping heavily.
He had not seen his brother, Lord Arthur, for some years, although the letters had come frequently enough. He had been somewhat worried of late that there had been no correspondence from him, but now it seemed, his brother had returned to England and would be home within a fortnight. He had requested specifically to invite a few friends for a short visit, apparently desperate to reacquaint himself with society. So, unwilling to deny his brother this simple request, Matthew had dutifully written back to him, telling him that he had the freedom to invite ten guests to a small house party which would commence in two weeks’ time.
He hated the idea already.
Arthur, of course, would enjoy every moment of it, for he was the kind of man who enjoyed frivolity and fun. Not that Matthew himself was incredibly dull or the like, but rather that he found himself often preferring a good book and quiet drink to loud, raucous laughter and dancing. That was why he had not returned to London these last five years, why he had not chosen to find himself another wife in place of Elizabeth. There had been no pressing need, and on top of which, he highly doubted that he would find a quiet, bookish lady from amongst the ton. There would always be the wallflowers, but Matthew would not be able to so much as talk to them, given that he would have his attention entirely caught up by various young ladies or their grasping mothers. Being a duke often brought its own difficulties with it, and this was one of them. Arthur, his brother, was apparently more than able to laugh and dance and converse with as many ladies as he liked without ever taking anything too seriously, but Matthew could not do the same. There was always a pressing need for him to be careful with what he said, thoughtful about who he danced with and how many times he had danced with them. He could never show anyone too much favor, give anyone too much time, or else the rumors and speculations about whom he might be interested in would begin to surface. All mothers wanted their daughters to be duchesses, but the problem was that he did not want a new duchess. Not yet, at least.
“Not until I absolutely have to,” he muttered to himself in the darkness, his breath frosting.
Swiping ineffectually at some tall stalks of grass, Matthew made a mental note to remind the gardeners about ensuring they cut the grass soon. One of his gardeners was growing a little slow in his old age, but there was no intention on Matthew’s part to remove him from his post, not until the time came where the man simply could not keep up. Whenever that occurred, Matthew had every intention of ensuring the man would have enough to live on for the rest of his days, as a thank you for the long service he had given Matthew’s household. A respected master came from the fair and honest treatment of his staff, and this was one of the times when Matthew knew he could do some good.
Thinking of his staff led him to consider Miss Weston, his lips curving into something of a smile. She had been there for close to a fortnight now, and he had been delighted to discover that, not only did she teach his daughter, but that she had grown fond of her also. There was a blossoming relationship between Miss Weston and Sarah, and Matthew could not help but be pleased about it. His daughter needed an elegant, refined lady to help her turn into a beautiful young woman, ready to reach out into the world, and into society. By now, Matthew was quite sure that Miss Weston would be more than able to do so. The month’s trial was not yet complete, but Matthew did not think he would have any cause to change his mind. She had done wonders with Sarah this far, having only been there for a short time, and he was more and more content with Miss Weston’s presence in his home. Miss Weston herself appeared to be much more at ease, much more settled and happy to be in his estate. It was not often they met, but whenever they had done so, she had none of the fear and worry in her eyes that he had first seen when she had arrived. It felt as though Miss Weston was a part of his household now, and he had no intention of sending her away.
Shivering with the cold, Matthew turned back toward the house, wondering if perhaps a brandy might help him to sleep. He now felt even more wide awake than he had done before, a small niggle of worry continuing to nag at him. He did not want the house party, not when he was only just becoming used to the new situation in his life with the governess and Sarah. Arthur on his own would have been more than welcome, but to have a few more additional guests was not something he would particularly enjoy, especially as he would have to play host.
Sighing to himself, Matthew walked back toward the house, looking up at it for a moment and seeing a small light flickering in one of the windows. Narrowing his eyes, he saw it was the library, but given the hour, he would not expect anyone else to be awake. Had the maid forgotten to put out the fire? He had not been in the library himself that evening and so he had told the butler to ensure the fire in the grate was not attended to, not unless Miss Weston had intentions of finding herself a new book as she was inclined to do at times.
A little frustrated that he would have to go and see instead of returning to his bed and warm room, Matthew closed the door, bolted it, and then hurried up the stairs, glad for the strong moonlight shining through the windows. The library door was ajar, and as h
e pushed the door open, he saw that there was a figure sitting by the fire.
Frowning, he stepped in a little farther, only to see that it was Miss Weston, and she was sound asleep.
His heart clenched as he took her in, seeing the errant blonde curls framing her face, and the soft look about her eyes as she slept. Her lips were gently curved, as though she were having some kind of marvelous dream, her hand resting gently on a book that was still open. Evidently, she had been reading and the warmth of the fire and her own weariness had forced her eyes closed, pulling her into a deep sleep. Her stockinged feet caught his attention, seeing the slippers standing neatly to the side of the grate. Apparently, Miss Weston had been quite at ease, lost in a good book before drifting off to sleep.
And, strangely enough, it felt as though she belonged there, within his home.
There was no anger in him now, no irritation remaining deep within his heart. Instead, he found himself overcome with an altogether different sensation, one that caught him completely by surprise.
Fondness.
It was a feeling he did not welcome, having pushed aside all thoughts of affection or love for a great many years. He had believed it to be entirely foolish to hope for such things, particularly after his marriage to Elizabeth. Yet, here he was, some five years later, with a faint stirring in his heart as he looked at his sleeping governess.
His feet moved toward her of their own accord, his heart beginning to thump wildly as he looked down at her. Her skin was like alabaster, her cheeks a little pink from the warmth of the fire. How had he ever thought her plain? Here, now, at that very moment, he could think of her as nothing more than beautiful.
He did not mean to, but as if put there by its own force of will, Matthew found his fingers gently tracing her soft cheek. She did not move; she did not so much as stir at his touch, although a surge of heat raced up his arm and into his face. The sensations were growing stronger now as he continued to look into her face, pushing him toward something he was afraid to recognize.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Matthew turned on his heel and hurried away, frightened of whatever it was he was feeling. He did not want to think like this. He did not want to feel like this. He was perfectly content with his life as it was and had more than enough to think about with his brother and his many friends coming to stay. The last thing he needed was to have his heart twisted about by the governess, even though she was doing nothing to instigate that kind of emotion.
Closing the door quietly, Matthew made his way back toward his bedchamber, hearing no sound coming from the library. Apparently, Miss Weston still slept, unaware of his presence and of his touch. Relief rifled through him, his hand rubbing his forehead, as he stepped into his bedchamber and shut the door. That had been foolish indeed. He would have to make sure not to do anything so ridiculous again.
9
“No, no, Sarah,” Sophia laughed, as the girl began to spin around the dance floor. “You are not listening to me.”
“I am listening to the music,” the little girl exclaimed, holding out her arms wide as she danced around. “Listen to it, Miss Weston!”
Sophia laughed again, unable to chide the girl. The pianist continued to play, regardless of what Sarah was doing, looking to Sophia for guidance, but she simply shrugged and let her express herself.
The last three weeks had been a wonderful, albeit very different to what Sophia had been used to. There were no servants to help her, although she did still have trays brought to her whenever she required them. She was expected to rise early and prepare her lessons for the day, to teach Sarah with care and consideration, before ensuring that everything was neat and tidy for the following day. Her gowns were black, grey, or a mixture of the two instead of the normal, bright colors she had been used to wearing, and there was no maid sent to dress her hair. Pulling it up into a bun every day had taken some getting used to, but by now she was more than proficient at doing so. While Sophia certainly found her life a great deal busier than before, and certainly difficult in terms of how she was seen by both the staff and the duke, she felt a growing happiness deep within her. That was all because of Sarah.
The little girl had been the happiness and the joy she had needed, sending light back into her soul with each day they spent together. There were times, of course, when the girl was disobedient or just downright unruly, but those times were few and far between. It often only took a few sharp words from Sophia to have her settle back down again.
Sarah, for whatever reason, had taken to Sophia almost at once, and she was an easy young lady to teach. She seemed to revel in learning as much as she could and was growing more and more proficient in reading with each day that passed. She knew her numbers and had begun to study arithmetic, although her greatest joy was to be out of doors, running and skipping and doing all the things a young girl ought to do at her age. It had been a joy for Sophia, too, to be allowed such freedoms as walking in the garden whenever she chose or finding a new book from the library.
Her brother, when she had been living at home, had severely curtailed Sophia’s freedom the last few weeks she had lived there, even to the point of banning her from walking out of doors alone. So, to have that joy again brought Sophia a great deal of happiness. Most of all, however, Sophia was glad to have Sarah by her side each day. The gladness the little girl displayed on an almost daily basis on seeing Sophia at her door brought her such a happiness that, at times, Sophia did not quite know how to contain it all.
That did not mean, however, that Sophia did not miss the dreams and the hopes for her future that she had once had. They had been a part of her life for a long time, back when her father still lived. She had dreamed of going to London, of being courted and the like, before finding a suitable match for herself. Now, of course, that could never be. At some point, she was sure, the duke would remarry, and she might have to watch the family grow together whilst she remained on the sidelines, if she were permitted to stay.
However, Sophia knew she would simply have to accept that now. To linger on those dreams, to feel regret and sadness for the life she would never have, would only send bitterness into her soul. Instead, she would be grateful for what she had been given, for the duke’s kindness in letting her stay on as governess even though this was her very first charge.
She laughed again, as she saw Sarah raise her hands up to the ceiling, her fingers wiggling back and forth as she spun around. She could see now why the duke had so much love for his daughter, for she was truly a remarkable young lady.
That thought made her pause. The duke himself was a man she had not quite managed to make out as yet. They spoke on a weekly basis, so that she might tell him how things were with his daughter, but he never gave very much away. He asked questions about Sarah and was always pleased to hear about her progress, but there was never any true conversation between them. Not that she should expect it, of course, but yet there was a small desire growing steadily in her heart, a desire to know the duke better.
It did not help that she was beginning to realize that he was truly a handsome gentleman, even though she had been a little afraid of him their first few conversations. When he smiled, she felt something glow within her, even more so when the smile was directed at her. The bright blue of his eyes was always warm whenever they conversed, usually fixed on her face instead of drifting elsewhere. He was a man who liked to give his full attention to whatever it was he was doing, and Sophia had never felt so aware of his consideration whenever his eyes lingered on her.
Were she still a lady of quality, not one who had been forced to remove herself from her position in her brother’s home to a paid occupation, then she might have allowed herself to return some of his smiles, to allow the desire to develop her acquaintance with him to move forward. Knowing that she could do no such thing, Sophia had kept her distance and only spoken to him when he had asked a question of her. There had so often been a time when she had wanted to ask him about his home, ask him about his wife –
Sarah’s mother – who was very rarely spoken of, but she had kept her mouth closed and her lips silent. This was not her home and certainly not her place to ask such things. And so, her desires would be kept within her, kept secret and silent, as she continued her tutelage of Sarah, trying her best to remain glad for all she had been given instead of longing for more.
“Now, whatever is this?”
Turning on her heel, Sophia gasped as the duke walked into the ballroom, another gentleman just behind him. Waving a hand at the pianist, she curtsied quickly just as Sarah ran over to her father, throwing her arms about his waist.
“I do apologize, your grace,” Sophia said hurriedly. “I was attempting to teach Sarah the first few steps of the waltz, but she was just enjoying the music too much, and so I thought to allow her to dance her own way for a time.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, as the duke lifted one eyebrow and looked at her directly, aware that she had not been doing as was expected in his eyes.
“Oh, leave off, Mathew,” the other gentleman interrupted, slapping the duke on the shoulder. “Your daughter was just having a bit of fun.” He grinned at Sophia, who, not knowing who this man or what she was to do, curtsied again.
Bending down to Sarah, the gentleman smiled at her, his expression softening. “Well, well,” he said softly. “Are you not just like your father, little Sarah? All the better, I say,” he finished, patting her hand.
“Sarah,” the duke interrupted, looking down at his daughter. “Do you remember Lord Arthur? He is your uncle.”
“Uncle Arthur,” the gentleman replied, rolling his eyes at the formality. “Uncle Arthur to you, dear child.”
Sarah stepped away from her father and studied her uncle for a moment, before a smile of recognition came over her face, and she hugged him tightly. Sophia could not help but smile at the sight, finding it almost too intimate for her to be a part of.
