Promises and Primroses

by Josi S. Kilpack

  In the process of spending focused time on his daughters, he’d realized how comfortable he had become with the amount of responsibility he left to their caregivers—first Lydia and now Miss Julia. To a certain degree, he had been functioning more like a figurehead than a father. What would Sybil think of that? He’d wondered it a dozen times, each time answering himself with the truth that she would be so disappointed. For all of their sakes.

  So during children’s hour on Monday, he’d brought out each of the items Marjorie had hidden, telling the story behind each piece of jewelry and when their mother had worn it. The girls had been rapt with attention, convincing him how much they needed to feel connected to their mother, and to him. Each subsequent day was easier, and he enjoyed the time more and more. Without Miss Julia, he may never have realized the importance of how much he needed it too.

  But she would still have to go, regardless of what he—or she—wanted. Or what was best for his daughters. It didn’t make much sense when he thought of it that way, but he shook the thought away. He would not allow the merest whisper of scandal to surface. It would not be fair to any of them—especially to Miss Julia.

  A week ago, he’d received a letter from Uncle Elliott regarding his meeting with Miss Julia’s mother, in which he’d written, “To my grave disappointment, she did not change her position, but I encourage you to think hard about your decision. Mrs. Hollingsworth’s fears are not fair to any of you, especially Julia. In time, I believe she will come to realize that for herself. You have my support in whatever direction you choose, of course, but I would be very sorry to see Miss Hollingsworth go when she seems to be such an asset to your household.”

  Peter was very sorry to see Miss Julia go as well—more so with every passing day—but there was only one direction to pursue, which was why he had sent a letter to Mr. Hastings several days ago. He’d received a reply that morning. Mr. Hastings was disappointed Miss Hollingsworth had not worked out, but he would make it a priority to find new applicants as quickly as possible. Peter hadn’t said outright that he did not want someone young and pretty, but he did request a “mature woman of experience.”

  A glance at the clock unstuck his feet from the floor and his eyes from the scene in the circle yard below him. He went to his bedchamber to retrieve his blue coat. He did not find the cut as comfortable as it was fashionable, but he wanted to look his best . . . for as short a period as possible.

  Jacob met him halfway up the stairs. “Mrs. Oswell awaits you in the parlor, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Peter said without stopping. When he reached the doorway, he bowed slightly to his girls’ former governess—and his late wife’s cousin—before he smiled and crossed the room to her. She bobbed a curtsy, and then they both sat in tandem, across from one another.

  “You are looking well, Mrs. Oswell. Matrimony seems to suit you.”

  She smiled. Her long face, prominent chin, and nearly circular eyes were eclipsed by the kindness and self-assurance he had long admired. “I believe it does, Mr. Mayfield. How are the girls? I spoke with Julia after church last week, and it seems that everyone is adjusting. She is a lovely young woman.”

  “The girls are well,” he said. “And, yes, Miss Julia is lovely.” As soon as the word had been said, he wanted to specify that he meant her demeanor was lovely, not her appearance, but he couldn’t say more without drawing unwanted attention. He cleared his throat and attempted to strike a casual pose that would hide his tension. “Perhaps we can look in on them during your visit. I am certain they would love to see you.”

  “I would like that,” Lydia said, smiling and showing the wide gap between her two front teeth. “I have missed the girls very much, but I have kept my distance so as not to interfere with Miss Julia settling in to your household. Is she doing well?”

  “Yes,” Peter said, then took a long breath and let it out. “But I am afraid I cannot keep her in my employ, which is why I asked you to come. I am in a bit of a spot.”

  Lydia puckered her eyebrows as Peter explained that Miss Julia’s mother was against her employment and he did not want to create discord between mother and daughter. He had practiced the speech and was quite pleased with how he delivered it. It did not cast ill light on anyone, even Miss Julia’s interfering mother, nor did it draw attention to the scandal of his birth or betray the former connection between Mrs. Hollingsworth and Uncle Elliott. It was professional, he thought, and fair.

  “I feel that I need to release Miss Julia as soon as possible, but I am without a governess until I can hire another. The staffing service is gathering applicants, but I had hoped that perhaps you could attend to the girls during the between.”

  “I am a married woman now, Peter, with three children to look after.”

  “I thought perhaps a parishioner could watch after your new children as was the situation when you assisted me after Miss Lawrence left. It should only take a few weeks for me to find a permanent replacement.”

  Lydia smiled as though he were an adorable child. “Perhaps you should find a parishioner to look after your children instead.”

  Peter shook his head. “The girls are comfortable with you, and you know the ways of this household. To bring on a new person temporarily would be terribly inefficient, not to mention upsetting to the girls. I would pay you, of course, and compensate whoever will look after your husband’s children.” He threw that last part in as a show of his generosity. In truth, he hadn’t thought much about what Lydia would do with her children, though he should have.

  “Beyond the difficulty your request would be for my new family, this feels very unfair to poor Miss Hollingsworth. Does she know anything of your intentions?”

  “I wanted everything in place before I inform her,” Peter said. “I shall write her a letter of recommendation, and the staffing service will assist her in finding a new position. I will leave it to her mother to explain her involvement, if she chooses.”

  “But you will have to give her cause when you turn her out.”

  Peter hadn’t considered that either, but of course it was true. “I shall simply tell her that we do not suit.” Unfortunately, their first encounter had ended nearly the same way when she’d overheard him choosing Miss Lawrence. It was horrible to essentially tell her the same thing a second time, but what choice did he have?

  “But it is not true that she does not suit.”

  Peter huffed a breath and let his shoulders fall. “I have few choices, Lydia. I cannot disparage the girl’s mother to her directly.”

  “But you can insinuate that the reason for the termination rests solely upon Miss Hollingsworth’s shoulders?” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “I have always spoken plainly to you, Peter, due in part to the fact that at times you see only one way of things without considering other aspects. Have you thought about how Miss Hollingsworth will be affected by this change in her circumstances? Have you considered how difficult it will be on her professionally, as well as in her own mind, to be turned out this way?”

  “She cannot stay,” Peter said sharply, avoiding what Lydia had said. He couldn’t think about how this might affect Miss Julia. “I have no choice but to believe that this is in her best interest, too. Her mother is right—her professional reputation is at stake if she continues to work in my household.”

  “I disagree.”

  Peter scowled at her. “Do you speak to your husband this way?”

  She smiled widely. “That is why he married me. A certain portion of men need a woman to talk plainly to them. You and he seem to share that requirement.” She leaned toward him. “You forget that I was in Miss Hollingsworth’s position for five years. Working for you did not damage my reputation in the least—I married a vicar, for heaven’s sake. Her mother is being petty, and you are acting scared.”

  Truth had a way of sounding harsh to the ear, but Peter attempted to justify his position a
nyway. The silence lingered long enough to remind him of his goal of this meeting, which was not to convince Lydia that this was his only course. He was the head of this household and therefore responsible for each and every person associated with it. The choice was his, not hers.

  “I appreciate your thoughts, Lydia, but you must trust me to do what’s best for my family. I shall take care of the particulars and truly believe that all will work out for the best on all sides. But I need an answer from you regarding the care for Marjorie and Leah before I can move forward.” He attempted to look pleading but not desperate. “I would very much appreciate your help, for my girls’ sake.” He held her eyes because he wanted her to see his sincerity.

  Lydia studied him for several seconds, then stood abruptly. He came to his feet. “I shall need to think upon this. May I see the girls before I return to the vicarage?”

  “Of course. They were playing outside last I saw them.” He did not say that she was being coldhearted, that these were her own cousin’s children, but then he’d never quite understood Lydia. Or most women, really. They thought so differently from men, and Peter especially, it seemed.

  The girls were still in the circle yard when he and Lydia came around the gravel drive. They seemed to be racing from one side to the other, a vastly unfair game since Marjorie was so much older than Leah. As they drew closer, however, he realized they were not racing. Instead, they were moving stones from one side to the other, where Miss Julia was laying the rocks out to form the letters of Marjorie’s name. Bumbleberry was still on the grass, but out of range of the children. The puppies were squirming about, some eating, some enjoying the sunshine like their mother. As soon as Peter stepped onto the grass, Bumbleberry lifted her head, but then lowered it without growling. He took that as a good sign.

  Leah spotted them first and called out for Lydia before running into her arms. Marjorie was more reserved, but not by much. Miss Julia stood, a smile on her face and her hands behind her back, patiently waiting for . . . what? Acknowledgment? To return to the game? Seeing both governesses with his children made him realize how easy the transition between them had been. The girls seemed as comfortable with Miss Julia in a few weeks as they’d been with Lydia after their entire lives with her. Could he dare hope that finding Miss Julia’s replacement would be as smooth a transition? Even with that hope, he knew no other governess could be as well suited for his household as Miss Julia was.

  After Lydia had greeted the girls, she took each one by the hand and walked toward Miss Julia. He was uncomfortable knowing what he was planning to do while she remained unaware.

  “Good morning, Julia,” Lydia said.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Oswell.”

  “Oh, do call me Lydia when we are not at church.” Lydia smiled at the girls. “And how are Leah and Marjorie treating you?”

  “They are remarkable,” Miss Julia said with such pure sincerity that Peter winced inside. She loved his daughters. He would turn her out anyway.

  “They truly are,” Lydia commented.

  Leah pulled away and ran for the stones on the far side of the circle yard. She grabbed two and ran back to where her sister’s name was being spelled out.

  “Excuse me,” Miss Julia said and took the stones to make the last portion of the second R in Marjorie. “We are teaching Leah some letters.”

  “I can spell my name already,” Marjorie said, but she let go of Lydia’s hand and went back to moving the stones.

  “You are not spelling Leah’s name?” Lydia asked Miss Julia as both girls continued to gather stones.

  Miss Julia lowered her voice, causing Peter to move forward in order to hear what she had to say. “Marjorie will play if it is her name.”

  “Ah,” Lydia said. “Clever.”

  The two women continued talking about the girls as Miss Julia placed additional stones. Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “ . . . Mr. Mayfield?”

  He looked up, quickly determining that Lydia had said his name, but she was speaking to Miss Julia, not him.

  Miss Julia glanced between Lydia and Peter before she answered. “I have enjoyed my position here very much.”

  The look on her face, the honesty and gratitude, struck him sharply. He imagined how her expression would change when he told her that she was being let go. Through no fault of her own. Or his. Instead, it was his parents, his uncle, and her mother who bore the responsibility. It was not fair.

  “Even the dogs?”

  Miss Julia’s face brightened, and she did not seem to notice that Marjorie handed her two more stones. “I adore the dogs.” She transferred the stones from one hand to another.

  “Bumbleberry had puppies!” Leah exclaimed, also returning with stones in hand.

  “Miss Julia,” Marjorie interrupted, looking at her name in stones. “There needs to be an E on the end.”

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Julia said, holding out the stones. “Why don’t you finish it, please? Show your papa how well you can spell.”

  Marjorie scowled slightly, but Miss Julia raised her eyebrows, and Marjorie’s expression repaired. Such command with a single look?

  Marjorie knelt on the grass before carefully placing stones at the end of her name.

  Lydia looked at Peter. “How many puppies?”

  “Eight,” he said, though she could very well count them herself as they were right there.

  “And everything went well? I know you were concerned for Bumbleberry’s first litter.”

  “The whelping could not have gone better. Miss Julia was there to assist.”

  Lydia raised her eyebrows at Miss Julia. “This is a story I must hear.”

  Both Peter and Miss Julia remained silent, each waiting for the other to begin. Finally, Julia bent down to help with the E, advising Marjorie to keep the line straight and explaining what “perpendicular” meant.

  Peter began the story, and although he wished he could represent himself a bit more heroically, there was nothing to tell but the truth. In the process, his gratitude for all Julia had done for Bumbleberry settled around him. He watched her help complete Marjorie’s name using whispers and a light touch on his daughter’s arm. Leah had wandered over to the puppies, but he noted how Miss Julia often glanced that direction, vigilant but allowing Leah her independence. Once the name was complete, Miss Julia stood, holding Marjorie by the hand. She glanced at him quickly, a soft smile on her face before moving toward Leah.

  “That is a remarkable story,” Lydia said.

  She and Peter stood side by side as Miss Julia begin writing Leah’s name, the sound of her voice carried on the afternoon breeze like flower petals. He swallowed the rising regret of what was to come even as Lydia’s words came back to him—“You only see one way of a thing.” Was there another way? If so, he could not see it.

  “Will you walk me back to the carriage, Mr. Mayfield?”

  “Certainly.” He looked past her and smiled at his daughters. “I shall see you lovely ladies in the nursery this evening.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Leah said without looking up from the puppies.

  Marjorie jumped up to give Lydia another hug, then ran back to the game without giving Peter so much as a look. He shrugged, and both Lydia and Miss Julia laughed. That laugh! Yes, she had to go. They said farewell to Miss Julia, and then turned toward the front of the house.

  Once they had left the circle yard, Lydia spoke. “I have made my decision regarding the interim position.”

  Thank heavens! “You will assist me, then?” What a relief that she was coming around to his way of thinking.

  “No.” She lifted her prominent chin. “Actually, I will not.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, flustered and unhappy. He needed her help. There was no other way he could feel good about what had to be done unless she was here to help soothe the difficulty it
would cause for his daughters.

  “I will not do it,” she repeated, not looking at him. She lifted her skirts but did not slow her step as she reached the slight incline of the east drive.

  They reached the front of the house, where his carriage waited to return her to the vicarage. He felt somewhat out of breath as they came to a stop beside the carriage door, held open by the groom, who also filled the role of driver when necessary.

  “I want no part of this,” Lydia said, waving her gloved hand over her head as though to take in his entire household and grounds. There was no edge to her words, but they felt sharp all the same. Lydia leaned toward him and lowered her voice, which merely emphasized her words. “There is not a governess in the world who could be a better fit for your household, Peter, and I refuse to play any part in changing what I think is a perfect situation for all four of you.”

  “B-but,” he sputtered. “She cannot stay here. Her mother—”

  “Invite her mother to dinner,” Lydia said simply. “The vicar and I will join you, if you like. Let her mother see what I have seen.”

  “You don’t understand,” Peter said, tempted to stomp his foot, though he knew it was beyond childish. “There are additional complexities. She cannot stay.”

  “Explain those additional complexities to me, then.” She did not put her actual hands on her actual hips but everything in her posture and tone conjured the pose.

  Peter felt his neck heating up. “You shall have to trust me.” Not in a hundred years would he tell her that his eyes went to Julia first when he entered a room, and strayed to her too often. He would not say that she was the first woman since Sybil died who had made him feel like a man. Just thinking such things was horrifying. To say them out loud was unimaginable.

  Lydia did not press him, thank goodness, but she smiled an oddly sweet, almost patronizing smile. “Here is what I will offer,” she said decidedly. “We’ve an extra bedchamber at the vicarage for guests or parishioners in need. Julia is welcome to stay with us whenever it is deemed appropriate for such an arrangement to be made. She could come here each day to care for the girls; I’m sure you could arrange for her transport easily enough.”