The Governess of Highland Hall: A Novel

by Carrie Turansky

  Dalton’s father had been the head gardener until his death last year. The son had been promoted, and now he oversaw two other young men, caring for the greenhouses and grounds as well as the kitchen gardens and flower gardens.

  “I’ve sent a message to Harold Bradley in Fulton,” Dalton continued. “His father helped build the greenhouse and install the pipes. I thought he might be able to help.”

  “Very good. Let me know what he says.”

  “I will, sir.”

  William heard voices in the garden behind the greenhouse. He looked up and spotted Andrew and Millicent running down the garden path. Millicent bent and scooped up a brightly colored leaf, adding it to the collection in her hand. It was good to see them outdoors, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine in such a happy and carefree manner. Miss Foster sat on a bench nearby, watching the children and conversing with his sister, Sarah. It pleased him to see Miss Foster there.

  Perhaps she could draw Sarah out and become a companion for her. His sister needed something beyond her books and needlework to occupy her time. He had hoped she would take on the role of mistress at Highland, but she’d always been shy and lacked confidence. He supposed it was because of her withered hand and arm.

  It was such a shame. She had a kind heart and pleasant features, though her manner of dress and hairstyle were simple and unadorned. He doubted she would ever marry, since she barely spoke to any of the guests he invited into their home. But that was all right. He loved her, and she would always have a home with him.

  He shifted his gaze back to the pipes. “I hope Bradley can repair it. If he suggests replacing the system, you must speak to me first. We need to solve the problem in the most economical way possible.”

  Dalton continued to stare out the greenhouse window as if he hadn’t heard a word William said.

  William followed his gaze to the young ladies seated in the garden. Did he have his eye on Miss Foster? Had he made her acquaintance? Irritation buzzed along his nerves. “Dalton, are you listening to me?”

  The gardener jerked his gaze back to William and blinked. “What? I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “Obviously.” He scowled at the gardener. “If you expect to remain employed at Highland, you’d best keep your mind on your work and not on the feminine forms in the garden.”

  Dalton’s ears tinged red. “Yes sir.”

  William finished his instructions to the gardener and left the greenhouse. The children’s laughter echoed back to him as he passed under the archway in the garden wall and walked toward the house.

  So Miss Foster had attracted the attention of at least two of his staff. How many others had their eye on her? He huffed as he strode across the back courtyard. If one of those men wooed her, she would most likely accept his proposal and resign her position. If that happened, he’d have to start his search all over again.

  What an unhappy turn of events. Here he’d finally found a governess who had a sensible head on her shoulders, and he might lose her before the one-month trial had even finished. That’s what he got for hiring a young woman who was so attractive.

  But he didn’t like the idea of losing Julia Foster, not to Dalton the gardener, Nelson the footman, or anyone else.

  Clark Dalton lowered his head and leaned on the wooden greenhouse shelving. What had he been thinking? If he was going to hold on to his position, and he must, then he’d best keep his head down and his eyes on the seeds and soil, not on Miss Sarah Ramsey.

  Father, help me rein in my thoughts. Don’t let me wander off the path You’ve marked out for me.

  Caring for the gardens and grounds was in his blood. He’d been raised at Highland and learned those skills at his father’s side. But it was a solitary life, working from sunrise to sunset with only the plants and trees as his companions. He did oversee two younger under-gardeners, but both were merely boys. They had little schooling or interest beyond their daily duties, while he longed for intelligent conversation with someone who could discuss books, politics, faith, and life past the gate at Highland.

  From the first time he had seen Miss Ramsey walking in the garden, his heart had been drawn to her. The kindness in her eyes and her gentle smile impressed him deeply. Now he watched for her every day. What would he do when the cold weather arrived and her walks in the garden ceased? How would he catch a glimpse of her?

  With a heavy sigh, he pulled his gloves from his jacket pocket and tugged them on. Maybe the coming change in seasons was for the best. Perhaps it would give his heart time to realize what a fool he was for thinking—

  “Excuse me, Mr. Dalton?”

  He pulled in a sharp breath and turned.

  Miss Ramsey stood in the greenhouse doorway, her soft blue shawl draped around her shoulders and her book in her hand. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

  “No, miss. It’s all right. You’re not disturbing me.”

  She sent him a sweet smile. “I thought you should know the arm of the bench in the garden has come loose.”

  He stared at her a moment, taking in the loveliness of her face and form. Her soft pink cheeks, so much like rose petals, and her lovely brown eyes like those of a newborn calf.

  Her smiled faded. “Mr. Dalton, are you all right?”

  He blinked and straightened. “Yes, miss. I’m fine. I’ll see to repairing the bench right away.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to hurry.” She glanced around the greenhouse. “I’m sure you must be very busy taking care of all these flowers as well as the estate grounds.”

  “Highland is a large estate, but I’m grateful for my work. I enjoy it very much.”

  “I can see why. It’s all so lovely.” She glanced out the greenhouse windows to the garden beyond. “Our home in London doesn’t have much of a garden. If we want to enjoy time outdoors, we must to go to a park.”

  He nodded, enjoying the sound of her voice.

  “So you can see why I’ve been so eager to spend time in the garden.”

  “You’re wise to take advantage of it now. The temperatures will be dropping soon, and when it freezes, that will be the end of most of these flowers until next year.”

  “Except for those you have in the greenhouse.” She smiled and shifted her gaze to the blooms around him.

  “Yes, miss, that’s true.” He turned and scanned the rows of plants and flowers he tended year round.

  “The roses are beautiful.” She leaned forward and sniffed a deep red bloom. “Their fragrance is heavenly.”

  He pulled his clippers from his back pocket, snipped the rose stem, and held it out to her.

  She hesitated, her gaze darting from the rose to his face and back to the flower.

  His heart sank like a rock tossed in a pond. What a fool! Someone of his station should not offer a rose to the mistress of the house! It was too forward. “I’m sorry, miss. I meant no offense.”

  “You haven’t offended me. It’s a lovely gesture. It’s just”—she tucked her book under her right arm and reached for the rose with her left—“I have a bit of a problem carrying things sometimes.”

  He studied her, not understanding.

  She slowly withdrew her hand from the folds of her skirt and held it out. “I don’t have full use of my right hand and arm, and sometimes that makes it difficult to …”

  His heart clenched. Had she been injured? Did it still cause her pain? “It’s all right, miss. I’d be happy to cut and carry a bouquet for you.” He turned back to the roses. “Which color do you prefer?”

  “I like them all, but I suppose the pink are my favorite.”

  “Pink it is then.” He clipped several roses, some buds that were just beginning to open and some in full bloom. After he had cut at least a dozen, he turned and showed her the bouquet. “How does that look?”

  “Beautiful.” She smiled, warmth filling her soft brown eyes.

  His chest swelled and filled with delight. “Come with me, miss, and we’ll add some ferns to your bouquet.”<
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  She nodded and followed him out the door at the far end.

  “Ferns grow best on the shady north side.” He knelt and clipped several fronds, adding them to the roses.

  “How did you learn so much about plants?”

  “I’ve worked in the gardens here at Highland since I was a boy. My father was head gardener for almost thirty-five years.” He stood and faced her. “He passed away last year, and I took his place.”

  Sympathy filled her eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Is your mother still living?”

  “Yes. She and my niece live with me in a cottage here on the estate.”

  Sarah nodded, a question still flickering in her eyes. “So you’re not married?”

  “No, miss. I’ve not been blessed with a wife—not yet.” He held her gaze a moment longer.

  Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”

  “I don’t mind. Not at all.” He shifted the bouquet to his right arm and held out the elbow of his left. “May I walk you back to the house?”

  She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips as she slipped her hand through his arm, and together they walked down the path toward the house.

  FIVE

  On Friday, Ann Norton hurried down the back servants’ stairs, carrying Andrew’s and Millie’s boots in one hand and Miss Foster’s in the other.

  “Mind you don’t drop dirt on those stairs. I’ve just swept them.” Lydia stood guard at the bottom, her broom still in hand.

  “Sorry.” Ann placed the boots in her apron and lifted the corners, hoping to catch any mud that might fall off, though most of it seemed to be caked on the boots like glue.

  Lydia grinned and waved away her warning. “I was just teasing. It’s all right. Don’t get your apron dirty on my account. With everyone tromping up and down the stairs, I’ll be sweeping them again in an hour if Mrs. Emmitt has her way.”

  Ann returned Lydia’s smile, her heart lifting. Lydia was a gem. She often had a kind word or smile while most of the other servants treated Ann with cool disdain or suspicion. She had no idea why. She didn’t want to take anyone’s position. All she wanted was to hold on to her job as nursery maid.

  Life in service at Highland was not easy, especially dealing with Sir William’s children, but it was a far sight better than the backbreaking load she’d carried at the farm where she’d grown up as the second of eleven children. She had no desire to go back to caring for her nine younger siblings or to receiving the brunt of her father’s drunken rages.

  Juggling the boots, she pushed open the heavy door to the back courtyard. Warmth and sunlight streamed down on her head and shoulders, making her smile. Cleaning boots was a dirty job, but it gave her a few minutes outdoors to breathe in the clean, cool air and enjoy a bit of sunshine.

  She took a rag and small brush from her apron pocket and settled on a nearby bench. Footsteps approached, and she lifted her head.

  Peter Gates, one of the young grooms, crossed the courtyard toward her.

  Ann’s heartbeat quickened. “Morning, Peter.”

  He grinned, his golden-brown eyes and tousled blond hair making him look ever so handsome. “Good morning to you, Miss Norton.”

  She laughed softly. “You’ve no need to call me that. I’m just Ann to my friends.”

  He flashed another smile. “All right. I’ll call you Ann then.” He sat on the bench, just on the other side of the children’s boots.

  A slight niggle of worry fluttered through her stomach. What would Mrs. Emmitt say if she stepped outside and saw her talking to Peter? The housekeeper had given a strict warning that maids should not become too friendly with any of the men who worked at Highland or delivered goods to the house. But how would she ever find someone to marry if she didn’t at least share a smile and a bit of conversation?

  “Sir William should hire a hall boy to take care of jobs like that.” Peter motioned toward the boots in her hand.

  “I don’t mind. It gives me a break from the children and a bit of time outdoors.”

  Peter glanced up, squinting at the sun. “I suppose that’s true. Still, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to brush the mud off anyone’s boots.”

  Warmth flooded her face as she continued buffing the boots with her rag.

  He tipped his head. “Whose boots are those?”

  “Oh, these are Miss Foster’s. She’s the new governess.”

  Peter grimaced. “She’s making you scrub her boots?”

  “No. I offered.”

  He shrugged slightly. “I suppose she is above you.”

  “Yes, she is, but she’s been very kind to me and the children. I like her.”

  “Well, don’t let her take advantage of you. She may be the governess, but she’s hired to work for Sir William, just like you. She shouldn’t be giving you all the dirty jobs.”

  Ann thought about that for a moment. “She asks me to care for their shoes and clothing and clean up after them, but she treats me well.”

  “That could just be her way of getting you to do her bidding.” He nodded toward the boots.

  Ann’s hand stilled, and she bit her lip. Was Julia only being kind to get her way? Did she just pretend to like Ann so she could use her as her own servant?

  Peter slid off the bench and stood in front of her. “You need someone to watch out for you and be sure no one takes advantage.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone quite so lovely.”

  Her heart hammered in her throat, stealing away her reply.

  “Maybe tonight, after the children are asleep in bed, you could come down to the stable, and we could—”

  “Ann?” Julia stepped out the back door and crossed the courtyard toward them.

  Peter dropped his hand and stepped back.

  Ann jumped to her feet, dropping the boot. “Yes?”

  Questions filled Julia’s eyes. “The children will be joining Miss Ramsey for tea. They need to change and be down in the drawing room in twenty minutes.” She glanced at Peter and then back at Ann. “Can you clean those boots later?”

  “Yes. I’ll come right now.” Ann snatched up the boots.

  Julia stood by, waiting and watching Peter with a serious look.

  Ann’s face burned as she hurried toward the back door.

  “I’ll see you later, Ann,” Peter called.

  But she didn’t turn back or answer, no matter how much she wanted to.

  The scent of freshly cut pink roses added a pleasant, subtle fragrance to the drawing room where Julia sat, overseeing Katherine and Penelope’s afternoon lessons. Sarah had also joined them and sat in the corner, embroidering a delicate floral pattern on a pillow cover.

  Julia nodded to her younger student. “Penelope, please translate the verb dire.”

  She squinted, then replied, “To say or to tell?”

  “Yes, very good.” Julia shifted her gaze to Katherine. “Please conjugate dire.”

  The older girl glared at the book, tossed it aside, and rose from the settee. “Why must we learn to speak French?”

  Julia pulled in a slow deep breath, praying for grace and patience. After only a few days of teaching the girls, she had discovered they were reluctant students at best and distracted and disagreeable at worst. “You must master French because both your aunt and your cousin have asked you to.”

  “But it’s such a tedious task. I doubt I shall ever use it.”

  “A knowledge of French will be helpful when you go to London for the season,” Julia added, hoping that might perk Katherine’s interest.

  “Why? I’m not going to marry a Frenchman!”

  Penelope giggled. “Are you sure? What if he was terrifically handsome and extremely wealthy?”

  Katherine lifted her chin, a resolute look in her eyes. “The man I marry will be wealthy, but he must be a titled Englishman. I’ve no intention of traveling to the Continent.”

  “Not even fo
r a grand tour?” Penelope leaned forward, a teasing light in her blue-gray eyes.

  Katherine huffed and crossed her arms. “Cousin William would never pay to send us on a grand tour no matter how much we begged him.”

  Penelope leaned back. “I suppose you’re right, but you might take a wedding trip to France after you marry.”

  A slight smile lifted Kate’s lips. “Yes, perhaps I will.”

  The girls were forever discussing what eligible men Katherine would meet in London and how soon she would receive her first proposal after she had begun the round of balls, dinners, and garden parties. Julia usually tried to cut those conversations short, but today the topic seemed worthy of delaying their French lesson.

  Julia closed her book. “Deciding whom you will marry is one of the most important decisions of your life. Choosing a husband should be based on his character, manners, and spiritual maturity rather than his nationality, title, or wealth.”

  Penelope’s eyes widened, and she stared at Julia as if she had never considered those qualities as necessary in a future spouse.

  Katherine lifted her chin. “Of course the man I fall in love with will have noble character.”

  “I hope so,” Julia added. “Your future happiness depends a great deal on your husband’s choices and disposition.”

  “His position in society is more important,” Katherine added. “I won’t consider marrying a man unless he is in line to inherit his father’s title and wealth.”

  Julia shook her head. “A loyal, hardworking, middle-class man might make a much better husband than a wealthy, titled gentleman if he is willful and selfish.”

  Katherine turned and glared at Julia. “What makes you an authority on choosing a husband? You’ve never been married.”

  Sarah’s hand stilled, and she looked up at Julia.

  Pain lanced Julia’s heart, and she shot a heated glance Katherine’s way. “No, but I was engaged.”

  “Really?” Penelope’s eyes brightened. “What happened?”