The Brooding Earl's Proposition

by Laura Martin

  With a flourish she wiped the names of the Tudor Kings and Queens from the board. Today they would try something a little different.

  ‘What is history?’ she asked.

  The two little girls looked at her with mild surprise in their eyes.

  ‘Learning all the Kings and Queens and battles,’ Theodosia volunteered.

  ‘Boring things that happened to people a long time ago,’ Priscilla said, looking at Selina defiantly. She knew the nine-year-old was testing her, she’d been doing it all week, trying to provoke her into shouting or losing her temper, probably so Priscilla could be satisfied in her dislike of her governess.

  ‘It does sometimes seem that way, doesn’t it?’ Selina said, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of them. ‘Battles and marriages and alliances. All between people who are long dead and who lived very different lives from those we live today.’

  ‘Why do we learn it, then?’ Priscilla challenged her.

  ‘I’ve always thought to learn lessons from the people who went before us. A great military commander could study the battles that were won and lost and work out which tactics to avoid and which to employ. Kings and Queens could look back at their ancestors and see which policies worked, which decisions were unpopular.’

  ‘And for us normal people?’ Priscilla said, a challenging tone to her voice. ‘I’m hardly going to be Queen of England or a military commander.’

  Selina smiled—the young girl had asked the question she hoped she would.

  ‘That is why for our next project I want you to write something about your own history. Choose a memory, happy or sad, and write about it.’

  Both girls looked at her blankly and Selina sighed inwardly. She’d tried this once before, with the little boy she had looked after before taking this position. He had been stifled in his education, too, all creativity and free thought knocked out of him by a dull and limited curriculum.

  ‘Priscilla, think of your favourite person in history, someone you admire...’

  For a long moment she thought her pupil wasn’t going to answer her.

  ‘Queen Elizabeth.’

  ‘Very good. When Queen Elizabeth was young, before she was crowned, before she ever thought she might be Queen, do you think she thought her life would be pored over by historians, eager for every little detail?’

  Selina saw a light dawning in Priscilla’s eyes.

  ‘No one can know where their life will lead them,’ she said, thinking briefly of her own surprises that had brought her to this classroom in Yorkshire. ‘One day you might be so successful that people want to read about your history.’ She let the girls have a moment to think about her words, then instructed them to get out their paper to begin writing.

  ‘I’m going to write about when Papa fell into the lake trying to rescue Colin,’ Theodosia said with a grin.

  ‘Colin?’

  ‘Our dog. He was so naughty and always running away.’

  ‘That sounds like a wonderful story to write about. Priscilla?’

  The older girl was looking down at her paper, chewing her lip.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said quietly. ‘Just write.’

  * * *

  Head high, back straight, shoulders down, Selina told herself as she hesitated outside Lord Westcroft’s study door. It wasn’t a Sunday, the agreed day that she would update him on the girls’ progress and bring them in to see him for a short spell after dinner.

  ‘Ridiculous rule,’ she muttered to herself. She didn’t think Lord Westcroft was a bad person despite his occasional brusque outbursts and she thought she had seen flashes of affection in his eyes when he’d been close to his nieces, but it was clear he had absolutely no idea how to be around young children.

  She rapped on the door, waiting for the curt command to enter before she slipped inside.

  The study was dark, despite it being only late afternoon, and there were candles burning at points around the room. Lord Westcroft was sitting behind his desk, regarding her with poorly concealed irritation.

  ‘Miss Salinger,’ he greeted her, rising as she stepped into the room. He motioned to a chair, the good manners that would have been drummed into him in childhood winning out over his obvious desire to usher her out of the study as fast as possible.

  Selina sat, making herself comfortable. What she had to say, what she had to show him, might take a while.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ As he spoke his dark brows came together in a frown.

  ‘In a way.’ Selina hesitated, gripping the sheets of paper tighter in her hand. She reminded herself it wasn’t a betrayal, that Lord Westcroft was Priscilla’s guardian and as such needed to know when something affected her welfare, even if that something was the girl’s own memories. ‘I asked the children to write a little excerpt of their own history, to choose something that they thought was interesting or important to them and imagine they were writing for an audience of the future interested in their lives.’ She paused, her fingers dancing over the sheets of paper in her lap nervously.

  ‘Go on,’ Lord Westcroft prompted. He did not seem overly intrigued, but at least he hadn’t chased her from the room.

  ‘Theodosia wrote an amusing little anecdote about her father falling into the lake as he tried to rescue their dog.’

  Selina saw a twitch of a smile on Lord Westcroft’s face, but he got it under control quickly, his expression returning to one of impatient attention.

  ‘Priscilla wrote about something a little more disturbing...’ Selina gripped the papers in her lap and after a moment’s hesitation she held them out. ‘Perhaps it is better that you read it.’

  With a frown Lord Westcroft took the proffered sheets and laid them on his desk. As he read Selina looked around the room. It really was oppressive, with dark panelling covering the walls and thick curtains blocking out much of the light that filtered through the windows. Her eyes flicked back to Lord Westcroft, watching his face, waiting for him to reach the part where Priscilla talked about her mother’s death. And what had come after.

  He read in silence, only setting the papers down when he reached the very end, letting out a long breath and regarding the words for a moment longer before looking up.

  ‘It could be fiction,’ he said, although his tone suggested he didn’t really think that was the case.

  ‘Do you know how her mother died?’

  ‘No. I was in India. I hadn’t heard from my brother for a number of years. I didn’t even know she had passed away until the letter summoning me back here, telling me of my inheritance and guardianship.’

  ‘It must have been a shock.’

  ‘Quite.’

  He was regarding her with his dark eyes, the intensity of his gaze making her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Did you ask Priscilla about it?’

  ‘No. They handed them over just before their dinner. I came straight to you once I’d read it.’

  Selina could see the thoughts running through Lord Westcroft’s mind. She knew a part of him would wish she would just deal with this by herself without troubling him, but she refused to let him get away that easily. He was their guardian, their one constant. Governesses could come and go, but he would be the one thing in their lives that they should be able to rely on.

  ‘Someone should talk to her about it,’ he said.

  ‘I wondered...’ Selina said, trailing off. It was a bold suggestion and had the possibility of going very wrong quite easily.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think she is testing us, testing me. She could have chosen anything to write about, but she revealed the details of her mother’s suicide and the trauma of how she was forced into a grave outside the churchyard, marked as a sinner for ever.’

  ‘How is that a test?’

  ‘Priscilla has convinced herself that I am the enemy...
’ She paused. ‘Perhaps that we are the enemy. She is rude and truculent, but I think she doesn’t really want to be that way. This is her lifeline, her way of reaching out. If we ignore it or don’t handle it properly, then she will retreat further into herself.’

  ‘You’ve thought about this a lot,’ Lord Westcroft said. Selina wasn’t sure if there was admiration or disbelief in his voice.

  ‘This is my job,’ Selina said with more passion than she had planned. ‘And those girls need someone to care about them.’

  A stony silence fell between them as the implication of her words registered.

  ‘What do you propose, Miss Salinger?’ Lord Westcroft asked coldly.

  ‘I think we should take them out to visit their mother’s grave. Acknowledge their pain, but do something practical about it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we,’ she ground out.

  Lord Westcroft leaned back in his chair. Eventually he spoke. ‘I can spare two hours tomorrow morning. We will take the carriage.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Selina said, rising to her feet. She’d got what she wanted, although she wished for a little more emotion from Lord Westcroft.

  Slowly, slowly, she told herself. They just needed to spend more time together and tomorrow would be a start.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Lady Theodosia,’ Lord Westcroft said, taking his younger niece’s hand and helping her up into the carriage. ‘Lady Priscilla.’ Selina stepped behind them and was surprised when he held out his hand for her. She slipped her hand into his, feeling the warmth and the slight calluses on his fingers. They were hands that had worked before, even if he held a title now.

  ‘Miss Salinger.’ He looked her in the eye as he said her name and Selina felt her breath catch in her throat. Then she was up in the carriage and the moment was gone.

  She stepped up, thinking she would sit next to one of the girls, but they had huddled together and the carriage seats were only small, leaving no room for her next to them. She sat down, pushing her body into the corner as Lord Westcroft settled himself next to her.

  After a moment the carriage lurched forward and Selina almost flew from her seat, only the restraining arm Lord Westcroft put out stopped her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Where are we going? Is it to town, to buy new dresses? Or to the seaside? Oh, I do want to go to the seaside.’ Theodosia was bouncing up and down on her seat, unable to sit still for even a moment.

  Selina sat back, giving Lord Westcroft a meaningful look. He sighed and she thought he had been about to roll his eyes at her, but something held him back.

  ‘Miss Salinger showed me your writing, Priscilla,’ he said gently. He held up a hand to halt the tirade that looked about to explode from his niece’s mouth. ‘I would understand if you were angry, but it was the right thing for Miss Salinger to do.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Priscilla asked, her voice filled with barely restrained anger. Selina wondered at the maturity of this young girl. Most would shout and scream, but once again Priscilla was able to hold it all inside.

  ‘To visit your mother’s grave.’

  Selina was surprised at the tenderness in Lord Westcroft’s voice. All she’d seen of him so far had been distant and formal. This was a different version of the man.

  ‘Her grave?’

  Lord Westcroft nodded. ‘It is hard losing a parent, much harder losing two. Especially at such a young age...’ He paused and Selina saw raw emotion in his eyes. ‘I don’t know if your father told you about your grandmother, my mother?’

  The girls both shook their heads.

  ‘She was kind and gentle and loving. I remember that about her, although sometimes I’m not sure I can remember her face. She died when I was eight.’ He smiled gently. ‘I used to go and sit by her grave, tell her all the things that had happened, all the things I was proud of, all my grievances. It made me feel closer to her.’

  Selina could see by the sincerity in his eyes that he was telling the truth. Lord Westcroft projected himself as a cold, hard businessman so it was easy to believe the deception and forget that underneath was a living, breathing, feeling person, someone who had mourned the death of his mother and someone who was making the effort to comfort his nieces despite his initial reluctance.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Priscilla said, a brittle edge to her voice. ‘Your mother would have been buried in the churchyard, given a proper place. Our mother is buried on a rough bit of land outside the church.’

  Lord Westcroft nodded. ‘You’re right, it’s not the same. I had somewhere to go and sit, to feel closer to my mother. That is why we’re going to visit today. It might not be in the churchyard, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find some peace there.’

  ‘I wish we had some flowers,’ Theodosia said quietly. ‘Mama loved flowers.’

  ‘I cut a few stems from the garden before we left,’ Lord Westcroft said, surprising them all. Selina felt her eyebrows raise. It was a thoughtful gesture, one she wouldn’t have thought he would even have considered.

  * * *

  She was surprised to find the carriage pulling to a halt after they had only been travelling for ten minutes. She hadn’t realised the village was so close. In better weather, when the wind wasn’t gusting across the moors, it would probably make a pleasant walk.

  Lord Westcroft stepped down from the carriage and helped each of the children and then Selina in turn. He reached up and took two small bouquets of flowers from the coachman, handing one to each of the girls.

  ‘Go on,’ Selina, urged them gently and after a moment’s hesitation the two little girls linked arms and walked across the grass around the side of the church. Selina made to follow, but Lord Westcroft placed a hand on her arm to hold her back.

  ‘They won’t want us there,’ he said.

  ‘They might...’

  ‘They won’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Walk with me, we will go and check on them in a few minutes.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she said.

  He shrugged. ‘Everyone loses their parents at some point. I was just unfortunate to lose the kind, caring one first.’

  ‘Your father wasn’t caring?’ It was too intimate a question, but Selina felt it slipping out anyway. She needed to remember they weren’t friends, just an employer and his employee.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.’

  ‘Are your parents alive?’

  Selina shook her head, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. If only they were, if only her father was still around to explain why he had pretended to care for her so deeply, but had ultimately decided she was not worth providing for.

  ‘I lost my father eighteen months ago and my mother a few years before that.’

  ‘Eighteen months,’ he mused. ‘That was when you became a governess?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled brightly, hoping the pain wouldn’t show through. Before then she hadn’t had a reason to work for her living. She’d been the treasured daughter of a very wealthy man. She’d spent her days reading and socialising with other young ladies in Cambridge and her nights attending balls and music recitals and dinner parties. It was quite different from her life now.

  ‘You didn’t have any other relatives to take you in?’

  ‘No,’ she said abruptly, pushing the image of her half-brother from her mind. He’d made it perfectly clear that he never wanted to set eyes on her again, even providing his carriage to whisk her away from the city she knew and deposit her far away in London.

  ‘Pity,’ he said, ‘although not for me.’ He paused, turning slightly to her. ‘You have a way with the girls. I can see them doing very well with you.’

  ‘Thank you. They are lovely children under all the layers of grief.’

  ‘I am pleased they have you.’

 
Selina felt her body stiffen—he was going to try to distance himself from his nieces again.

  ‘They have you, too.’

  ‘Yes. Although I will return to India once everything here is settled.’

  ‘India?’

  ‘Yes, that is where my business is based.’

  ‘That’s a long way away.’

  ‘I shall wait until the children are settled into a routine with you and you are familiar with the house.’

  ‘Lord Westcroft...’ Selina said, hesitating, but deciding to press on. No one else was going to tell him how much his nieces needed him and it didn’t seem as though he would realise it himself. ‘Priscilla and Theodosia have lost their parents at a very young age. They will be looking for someone to step up and fill that void.’

  He looked straight ahead, over the moor beyond the village, and for a moment Selina thought he might ignore her comment entirely.

  ‘They have each other.’

  ‘That’s not enough.’

  ‘It will have to be.’

  ‘You could—’

  ‘Miss Salinger,’ he said sharply, ‘you are employed to teach the children and attend to their welfare. Anything else is none of your concern. Is that understood?’

  Selina stepped back as if she had been slapped.

  ‘Entirely,’ she said. ‘Please accept my apology. Clearly I have overstepped.’

  Without looking back she walked away, moving towards the grave where the two little girls were crouched. She hesitated a moment before approaching, taking a minute to blink away the tears that were forming in her eyes. She knew all about being alone in the world, but at least she hadn’t found out how cruel those who were meant to love them could be until she was an adult.

  * * *

  Matthew perched on the low stone wall that surrounded the churchyard and closed his eyes. Somewhere to his left his nieces and Miss Salinger were tidying the grave, pulling up the weeds and laying down the flowers he’d brought. He knew he should be over there with them, he wouldn’t have to do anything, his presence would be enough.