A Lady Becomes a Governess

by Diane Gaston

  His sadness made her ache for him. A governess had no business asking him about it, but she could not help herself. ‘Did something happen, my lord? Something to upset you? Besides this morning, I mean.’

  A look of surprise flashed across his face. They took several steps before he finally responded. ‘My estate manager requires my presence here for longer than I’d hoped. It seems I will not be returning to London as I’d planned.’

  He would not leave soon? She could not help being glad.

  ‘Is there a problem somewhere? Perhaps I could help.’ She’d grown up on a farm. Not as grand as this one, but she’d learned something of farm life when home for school holidays.

  He glanced directly into her eyes and seemed about to confide in her. His gaze made her remember their kiss.

  Instead he said, ‘Share breakfast and dinner with me. The servants should not have to serve us separately and...’ he paused ‘...I would appreciate the company.’

  See him twice a day? She should refuse. She was still too affected by the kiss. More time with him also meant more time to discover she was an imposter.

  She should keep her distance.

  ‘It would be my pleasure, my lord.’ Against all good judgement, she simply wanted to spend time with him.

  She could be careful.

  Besides, offering her company at meals seemed a small way to repay him for the very clothes on her back.

  And an escape from a marriage she could not want.

  As they climbed the long stairway, he asked, ‘How did you fare with my nieces?’

  Rebecca certainly was not going to tell him she felt daunted by them. ‘I did not see much of them. The maid took me on a tour of the children’s wing. The girls tagged along. They should be in bed by now.’

  The clock had struck eight as they’d finished their meal.

  ‘You should have a tour of the house, as well,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She imagined the housekeeper would act as tour guide. She’d not made a good first impression on Mrs Dodd, she feared, and a tour would give her an opportunity to do better.

  At the top of the stairs, he halted, just as he said he would. ‘I will bid you goodnight here.’ He stepped away from her. ‘Breakfast at half-past eight? I prefer to rise early.’

  She curtsied. ‘As do I.’

  She started down the hallway, but turned around at the children’s wing and saw him walking back down the stairs.

  She continued on to her room. There was a fire in the fireplace and the room was comfortably warm. Rebecca looked for her bag, but discovered the maid had unpacked it and stowed it away in a cupboard where her few dresses were neatly folded. Mary had said earlier that she would come and assist Rebecca to get ready for bed, but, for the first time in days, Rebecca just wanted to be alone.

  She was able to untie the laces of her dress and pull it over her head. She lay it carefully over a chair, intending to wear it the following day. Her stays were a bit trickier, but she managed to remove them and soon she was in the nightdress Lord Brookmore had purchased for her.

  Light still shone in through the window and, tired as she was, Rebecca’s mind was too full for sleep. After combing out her hair and tying it back with a ribbon, she sat cross-legged on the bed, visions of Lord Brookmore’s face coming back to her. His stony expressions of the morning and the melancholy ones of this evening. What would it be like to see him each day, to share meals with him, like the equals they really were? Would he ever kiss her again?

  The memory of his kiss made her senses sing.

  She forced herself to think of more practical matters. How to be a governess. Should she be preparing lessons, as her teachers at school had done? What was she expected to teach? Reading and writing, certainly. Mathematics. Would she need to teach Latin? French? Or needlework, drawing, comportment?

  The door opened and Rebecca jumped.

  Little Pamela walked in, dressed in a long white nightdress with lace at the collar and sleeves.

  ‘Pamela! What is it?’ Rebecca cried, her heart still thumping at the surprise.

  The little girl walked halfway to Rebecca’s bed. ‘Miss Cooper died in that bed, you know.’

  A chill went through Rebecca, but she did not want this child to realise that. ‘Was Miss Cooper your governess?’

  Pamela nodded. ‘She was always our governess.’

  ‘And she died.’ Rebecca’s voice caught.

  Their new governess died, too. Claire.

  ‘She died,’ another voice parroted. Ellen stood in the doorway.

  Rebecca gestured for her to come closer.

  Ellen scampered in and climbed on the bed. ‘Mary said they brought in a new mattress, so it is not so bad, is it?’ She looked uncertain.

  ‘Not so bad.’ A big difference, really.

  ‘I liked Miss Cooper,’ Pamela stated in an emphatic tone.

  What to say to this child? ‘So you are very sad that she died, are you not?’

  Pamela did not answer, but her eyes looked huge in her little face and they glistened with tears. Rebecca’s throat tightened.

  Ellen nestled against her. ‘I miss Miss Cooper, too!’

  Rebecca put an arm around her.

  Ellen looked up at her with her big brown eyes and bouncing blonde curls. ‘Will you die, too, Miss Tilson?’

  Oh, her heart was breaking for the little girl. ‘Well, I am quite young, so I do not expect to die for a very long time.’ As long as storms at sea didn’t cause ships to wreck and plunge her into a watery grave.

  Like Claire.

  And all the others.

  Pamela’s voice rose. ‘Sometimes people die young!’

  Of course they do. These children knew that. Their parents died young.

  ‘You are right,’ Rebecca told her. ‘But mostly they don’t. Mostly they live for a long time.’

  ‘Like Miss Cooper?’ Ellen piped up. ‘She was very old. Fifty, maybe.’ She lifted her hands, but could not figure out how to show fifty.

  Pamela walked to the side of the bed. ‘Mrs Dodd says you are too young. She says you will be trouble.’

  ‘Because you rode the horse!’ Ellen added.

  Obviously the girls had not remained in the children’s wing. And obviously Mrs Dodd disapproved of her riding a horse instead of arriving in a carriage.

  ‘I like riding horses,’ Rebecca said, jostling the little girl. She turned her gaze on Pamela. ‘Do you like riding horses?’

  ‘We were never allowed to. Miss Cooper did not like horses.’ Pamela looked affronted.

  ‘I like horses!’ Ellen cried.

  The clock on Rebecca’s mantel chimed nine and the sky outside had darkened to a soft grey.

  ‘Goodness! It is late. We must get some sleep, mustn’t we?’ Rebecca slipped off the bed and picked up Ellen, who clung to her. ‘Come, girls. Let me tuck you in.’

  Rebecca remembered her mother tucking her in. This was a task she was certain she could do.

  Pamela ran ahead to the girls’ bedchamber and she climbed into bed. Rebecca followed, carrying Ellen. She placed Ellen in the other bed in the room and covered her with the blankets, the ribbon in her hair coming undone and her hair falling around her shoulders.

  ‘There you are, Miss Ellen. All tucked in.’ She wrapped her ribbon around her hand and brushed the little girl’s hair off her forehead.

  She turned to Pamela, who had done a good job of tucking herself in.

  ‘Miss Pamela, how efficient you are.’ Might as well praise the child for it. ‘I’ll just smooth your covers a little.’

  Rebecca smoothed the already smoothed covers, but stopped herself from touching Pamela. Something told her Pamela would not yet welcome it.

  ‘There. You are both tucked in.’ She straightened. �
�Goodnight. I will see you in the morning.’

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Tilson,’ Ellen cried.

  Pamela rolled on her side, facing away from Rebecca.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Rebecca repeated.

  She closed the door behind her and walked back to her room, which was the first room on the children’s wing. As she opened her door, she heard a sound. Thinking Mary might be coming from downstairs, she stepped into the hallway.

  Lord Brookmore stood at a door and glanced her way, his gaze settling on her and not moving.

  Rebecca was in her nightdress. And nothing else.

  Her skin heated and she feared it was not from embarrassment.

  ‘The children woke up,’ she said, her voice higher than usual. ‘I took them back to bed.’

  Why was she explaining?

  He nodded and turned to enter the room.

  Was his bedchamber really so close to hers?

  She groaned and ran back to her room.

  Chapter Seven

  Garret rose early the next morning when the golden sun was only peeking over the horizon. He’d not slept well, although he did not know if the prospect of tackling the problems of the estate was disturbing him or the fact that Miss Tilson’s bedchamber was only a few steps away.

  He’d known, of course, that the governess slept in that room on the children’s wing. Years ago his governess had slept in the same room, but seeing Miss Tilson framed in the hallway wearing her nightclothes, her hair unbound, somewhat altered his perception.

  He washed and dressed himself, trying to be quiet enough not to wake Brant, whose snores he could hear from the valet’s room. Carrying his boots with him, he hurried down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to pull them on his feet. He walked to the back door and crossed the park to the stables.

  His valiant horse would be there, the horse who’d brought him through battle after battle.

  Garret entered the stable.

  ‘Good morning, m’lord.’ Jeb, one of the stable workers, was up early as well, tending the horses. Jeb was another worker Garret had known since boyhood. Jeb’s father had worked in the stables and Jeb had grown up around the horses.

  ‘Good morning, Jeb. Good to see you. Think I’ll ride Skiddaw this morning.’

  Garret had named Skiddaw after one of the nearby mountains. At Garret’s voice, the horse whinnied and grew restless in his stall.

  Jeb laughed. ‘He’ll be glad to see you. And glad for a good run.’

  ‘As will I,’ Garret said, stroking the horse’s neck.

  At least on the back of Skiddaw Garret could feel at home. It seemed like everywhere else he’d been these days had felt wrong. He belonged with the army. With his regiment where his skills held him in good stead. He knew how to prepare men for battle and how to lead them when the time came.

  After the horse was saddled, Garret led him out of the stable and mounted him. When they reached the fields, he gave Skiddaw his head and tried to forget everything but the exhilaration of the ride.

  * * *

  Rebecca woke from a nightmare. She’d been under the water again until a man’s hand pulled her out. In the dream it had been Lord Brookmore’s hand, but he’d released her again and a wave swept her away.

  It took several seconds before she realised she’d been dreaming and could remember where she was. In his house, a corridor away from him.

  Even though the room only showed the barest hint of dawn, she climbed out of bed. Her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor helped reassure her the water was far, far away.

  She padded over to the window and opened it, smelling the fresh mountain air. The merest hint of gold shone behind the mountains, now black in the distance. From below she spied a figure crossing the park. Lord Brookmore.

  He disappeared into the stable.

  What a lovely morning for a ride. So crisp and cool.

  She watched until the sky grew brighter, infusing the landscape with colour. He emerged again, riding a magnificent black horse, giving it its head.

  She envied him. Perhaps one morning she, too, could gallop over the green fields beneath the grandeur of the mountains.

  She closed the window again, remembering she was employed to educate two little girls. A flock of butterflies seemed to flutter in her stomach. Today she would really have to be a governess.

  Girding herself mentally, Rebecca turned to dress.

  She’d managed to wash and was struggling with her stays when the door opened.

  ‘Oh, miss!’ It was Mary carrying a coal scuttle, broom and a bucket. ‘I did not expect you to be awake so early. I am here to tend the fire.’

  How early had Mary risen? ‘Thank you, Mary.’

  Mary swept the ashes from the fireplace and placed them in the bucket. She put some new pieces of coal on the fire and turned to Rebecca, who was still fussing with her stays.

  ‘I’ll help you with that, miss.’ Mary washed and dried her hands and pulled the laces of the corset tight. She helped Rebecca put on her dress.

  ‘In the mornings I first tend to the fires in the children’s wing,’ Mary said while she tied the dress’s laces. ‘But after that I will come and help you dress. If you know a certain time you would prefer, I will come at that time.’

  ‘I doubt I will always be awake this early,’ Rebecca assured her. ‘What time do the children rise?’

  ‘I wake them at eight, miss, but Miss Ellen is often up before then.’ She rolled her eyes.

  Rebecca smiled. ‘I am not surprised. And Pamela always stays abed until you come, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, indeed!’ Mary laughed. ‘What else might I do for you, miss?’

  ‘Nothing I cannot do for myself.’ Rebecca could fix her own hair. ‘I do not wish to disrupt your duties.’

  ‘I am here to serve you, miss. And the little girls.’ She retrieved her bucket and scuttle.

  ‘I believe I will look at the schoolroom before Miss Ellen and Miss Pamela wake up. Prepare for the day, you know.’ Try to figure out how to be a governess, she meant.

  ‘Very good, miss.’ Mary curtsied and left.

  * * *

  It was not half past six when Rebecca entered the schoolroom. She lit candles from the fireplace that Mary had obviously already tended.

  The room was neat and tidy. Books in bookcases along the wall. Boxes stored on shelves underneath. There was a long table in the centre of the room with two slates in front of two chairs and sticks of chalk and folded cloths to wipe the slates clean.

  Rebecca pulled out books, one by one. She nearly whooped in pleasure. One book was titled The Governess or The Little Female Academy. Surely she could discover what a governess must do from this book. She sat near a candle and read, with increasing dismay. The book was about a school where the students all tell their own stories. The teacher provides the moral to be learned, but the book was hardly a model for how to be a governess.

  Unless she was to provide moral lessons for everything. She’d spent her school days and afterward bucking what she was supposed to do.

  Rebecca searched through other books.

  A voice startled her. ‘What are you doing, Miss Tilson?’

  Ellen had entered the room.

  Rebecca placed a hand over her fast-beating heart. ‘I wanted to see what books you have.’ She peered at the girl. ‘Are you not supposed to be in bed?’

  Ellen sauntered closer. ‘I woke up. Are you going to read one of the books to us?’

  Goodness. Rebecca did not know. ‘I am not certain. What did Miss Cooper do?’

  Ellen made a face. ‘She made us read them.’

  Rebecca nodded to herself. ‘What else did she do?’

  ‘Made us do sums.’

  Rebecca did not mind sums. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Needlework.’ Ellen spat out
the word as if it were rancid.

  Rebecca concurred. Most of the female arts held little interest to her.

  Ellen stood right next to Rebecca’s chair and looked up to her. ‘Will you eat breakfast with us?’

  She’d promised to breakfast with Lord Brookmore. ‘Did Miss Cooper eat breakfast with you?’

  Ellen nodded, still staring into Rebecca’s eyes.

  What could she say? ‘Of course I will!’

  She brushed the hair from Ellen’s forehead.

  ‘Now I am guessing that you should go back to bed and wait for Mary to rouse you.’ Rebecca stood.

  She took the little girl by the hand and walked back to her room with her. If Pamela was awake, she could not tell, but she tiptoed in and quietly tucked Ellen back in bed.

  * * *

  When it was nearing eight o’clock Rebecca waited for Mary in the hallway outside the children’s room.

  The maid looked puzzled to see her. ‘Miss?’

  Rebecca caught her before she reached the door. ‘Did Miss Cooper eat breakfast with the girls?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Mary responded uncertainly. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Do you know why she did so?’ Was this part of being a good governess or did Miss Cooper simply want some company for the meal?

  ‘I think she used the time to teach them manners,’ Mary replied.

  Manners. Was teaching manners of a priority over risking offending the man who employed her? And with whom she could not help wanting to spend time?

  ‘Miss Cooper got them talking to her at breakfast,’ Mary added. ‘That was the only time I ever heard them talk about their parents. About them dying, you know.’

  Talking helped, Lord Brookmore had said.

  ‘Do you think I should eat breakfast with them?’ Rebecca asked.

  Mary’s brows rose. ‘Oh, miss. I would not presume to tell a governess what to do.’

  She had no one else to ask. Except maybe little Ellen.

  ‘Where is breakfast for them?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘In the tower sitting room. Lots of sunlight there.’ Mary started for the girls’ door.

  ‘I will eat with them,’ Rebecca called after her.