The Forbidden Passion 0f A Governess (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  Love.

  The word reverberated in Emilia’s head at a dizzying pace, and she questioned whether or not she should use so strong a word. Was it love that she was feeling? Truly, the sensations were so intense that it seemed like it might be. But how could she trust herself? She was a lowly governess in the home of a great earl, and therefore her feelings must be disregarded. But there was no denying the quickening of her heart every time Lord Forest was near, and the warmth that emanated in her chest. These were human feelings, not subject to the circumstances of one’s life, one’s class, or family name. Love came from nowhere, and it would not be banished, no matter how hard one tried.

  Seated upon her bed, Emilia thought about her young charge. It seemed that Deirdre was able to intuit things that were below the surface. She may have suspected that, upon Lady Spencer’s arrival, Emilia had become overwhelmed or flummoxed. She hoped that the girl understood the feelings deep within her, for she wasn’t quite sure how she might explain it.

  Her thoughts travelled to Hugh, and why it was that the servant was so intent upon putting Emilia in her place. Did he have some personal grudge that had developed with time? Perhaps he merely didn’t like Emilia. There was no way of knowing, but one thing was for sure, Hugh wished to see Emilia fall from a great height, that height being the place that she found herself due to the earl’s feelings for her.

  There was a knock upon the door and Emilia jumped in response. Was it Hugh back for another quarrel? Or Deirdre seeking her governess out? Perhaps it was the earl himself, wishing to explain.

  Emilia walked tentatively to the door and cracked it open. It was Winnifred, red in the face and carrying a small tray.

  “You need more tea, I reckon,” Winnifred said, letting herself into the room without asking. She didn’t need to ask. Emilia greatly accepted her company.

  “I suppose that I do.”

  “Are your feathers ruffled?” Winnifred asked, placing the tray on the desk by the window, and pouring tea into two cups.

  “Why should they be?” Emilia asked, trying to maintain her mask of placidity.

  Winnifred wasn’t having it. “Don’t be coy with me, Miss Emilia. I see what’s going on.”

  “Oh,” Emilia replied, taken aback by Winnifred’s candour.

  “Yes, yes. It’s hard to pull one past me,” she added, heaving her hefty frame onto the bed so that she was seated with legs spread, her messy apron falling between her knees. The woman rubbed her shoulder with one hand and winced. “Oh, me aches and pains.”

  “You work hard, Winnifred,” Emilia said, seating herself beside her.

  “Yes, I do. But there’s no other way. Don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.”

  “I understand. Work keeps one young.”

  “Ho, ho, I’m not so sure of that!” Winnifred replied with a hearty laugh. “I fear it’s making me old. But it’s helping to pass the time.”

  Emilia chuckled, enjoying Winnifred’s boisterous cackle.

  “But I ain’t here to talk about me,” Winnifred went on, handing Emilia a cup and saucer, then taking one for herself. “There is a lot going on in your head, I know that much. I overheard your talk with Hugh.”

  “Oh no,” Emilia replied, dread filling her.

  “Now, now, don’t be afraid. I came up here for one reason and one reason only. I want you to know something,” Winnifred went on, sipping her tea and sighing.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m your friend. You can count on me.”

  From the way that Winnifred so bluntly and plainly said it, Emilia instantly believed and trusted her. There was something about the way the older woman said things that made one believe her every word.

  “And don’t you be listening to Hugh so much, you hear? Not when it comes to your personal affairs. The man has a chip on his shoulder, and axe to grind, and a maypole up his you-know-what,” Winnifred said, pointing her finger in the air to better demonstrate.

  “Oh, Winnifred!” Emilia protested, laughing.

  “It’s true, and I don’t tell no lie. Don’t let him frighten you. I want you to talk to me, when you need to. Seems like you don’t have a suitable companion in this house, and that’s no good, because you’re facing a dangerous situation, you are.”

  “Dangerous?” Emilia asked.

  “Sure, sure,” Winnifred replied. “I know what’s going on, ‘tween you and the earl. At first, I wasn’t too happy about it. Young defenceless girl like yourself, getting wrapped up with her employer. Didn’t seem right to me. But I’m here to tell you something I haven’t said before.”

  “What is that?”

  “The earl is a good man. Bad history, that’s all. But a good man. He needs to be more gentle and patient, so don’t you let him push you around, if you know what I mean. But deep down he has a good heart. I want the best for him. Have since he was a little boy. But there are demons in there that even my best cherry pie couldn’t banish. Be cautious around him, but kind. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I’ve got two ears in my head you can talk to, whenever you need to.”

  Emilia felt on the verge of tears. She was so moved by Winnifred’s words, and ecstatic to have a friend that she could truly confide in. So much of the difficulty since coming to Glastonbrook was the inability to talk to a soul. She needed to keep her thoughts to herself and in so doing rarely knew if what she had in her mind were true or false. Winnifred would become the perfect sounding board for her musings, no matter how peculiar and improper they may be.

  “I brought you something,” Winnifred said, rifling through the pocket of her underskirt.

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Course I didn’t, but it made me think of you.”

  Winnifred took a smooth stone from her pocket, its colour a rich purple. The late morning light from Emilia’s window set the stone alight with luminosity.

  “What is it?”

  Winnifred held it up to the light between her chubby fingers. “Amethyst.”

  "A gem?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a rock, I suppose, but it has special properties. It can keep you safe,” Winnifred explained.

  “It can?”

  “Sure. There’s a dear friend of mine, lives three houses down the road, a stableman there. He also reads palms, you see. He’s got a sixth sense about things. When I first came to Glastonbrook, back when the Vikings conquered the isle,” she chortled, “he gave me this stone for protection. And I tell you, this whole time nothing bad has happened to me, except for my joints going to seed.”

  “Winnifred, this is too much,” Emilia said, thinking that the gift was far too generous.

  “No, Emilia. You need this now more than I do. I’m going to be at Glastonbrook for the rest of my days. My future is set. I’m going to die here, you see. But you. You have many more journeys ahead of you and so, to do justice to this little stone here, I’m giving it to you, so that it has a job to do yet again. It’s been lying by so idle for many years,” she said, handing the stone over to Emilia.

  Emilia’s heart was filled with warmth. Taking the stone in her hand she immediately felt the protective qualities of it. A rush of warmth and gratitude flooded through her.

  “Thank you, Winnifred, for everything.”

  “My pleasure, Emilia,” she replied, sipping her tea.

  The two women sat for some time, discussing affairs of the house, how Winnifred was making cottage pie for lunch, the succulent sausage she’d prepare for dinner, with vegetables from the garden. The small talk was calming in a way, as discussing the mundane affairs of life should be. And so, when it was time for Winnifred to leave, Emilia was struck with dread, knowing that her racing thoughts would return in no time.

  “I gotta make the stock. Takes forever, you know,” Winnifred said, heaving herself up from the bed, quickly out of breath.

  “You’re such a great cook,” Emilia said with a smile.

  “A lot of love goes into it. And elb
ow grease.”

  Winnifred took the tray from the desk and walked towards the door. Upon opening it, she turned back towards Emilia and smiled.

  “You’re a good girl, you know. Deirdre is lucky to have you. And the earl. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  With those last words, Winnifred turned and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. Emilia still sat on the bed, clutching the purple stone in her hand.

  Suddenly the room stifled her, and Emilia crossed to the window, lovingly placing the amethyst on the still. She opened the latticed glass, feeling the cool air envelope her. She heard commotion down below and looked to see what it might be.

  Lady Spencer, now dressed in a morning coat, was walking towards her carriage, her brow creased. The woman seemed upset about something, and her departure was hasty. Closely on her heels, Hugh followed.

  “M’Lady,” Hugh said, his brow matching hers and his demeanour just as grave. “A few more words he added.”

  “Hush,” Lady Spencer said, hoping that Hugh would lower the volume of his speech.

  What followed was a tempestuous parry of whispers. Back and forth they spoke, but their voices were so low that Emilia could not decipher what they were saying. What she could glean was that their manner with one another was heated, as though they shared some kind of secret that could not be denied. Emilia tried her best to understand what was being said, but the conversation was lost on her and she was filled with dread.

  Where did the dread come from? Surely it came from the fact that Hugh and Lady Spencer seemed to be in collusion with each other, in some manner or another. There was a bond between them, that much was clear. And Emilia was unsure whether or not the bond was benign or malignant.

  The harried conversation went on for some time, until Lady Spencer, with a huff, dismissed Hugh and walked towards the carriage. The driver came around to open the door and he held out his hand so that she could enter. Hugh waited, watching as the carriage sped away. He looked downtrodden and grave, and Emilia pushed back from the window, hoping that when he turned back towards the house that he would not see her. She had been spotted in that perch one too many times.

  Hugh finally turned sombrely and walked towards the entrance of Glastonbrook and Emilia was filled with relief and confusion.

  What was it between Hugh and Lady Spencer? Their suspicious and secretive encounter couldn’t possibly be for the good. Was it true that Hugh was opposed to the earl in some way? Or was Lady Spencer putting pressure upon Hugh to strengthen her former bonds with the earl? It would make sense, considering how Hugh had been so adamant that morning about Emilia staying away from his master. Was he provoked in some way to say everything that he had said? Or was he the one who was indeed provoking Lady Spencer to return to the earl’s good graces? From Emilia’s vantage there was no way of knowing the truth, but she did hope that everything would be revealed in good time.

  It was then that she recalled just how much she had neglected poor Deirdre that morning. She quickly wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and exited down the hall.

  Emilia found herself at the threshold of the study in no time, and there Deirdre sat, her brother by her side. Emilia stopped herself, not wishing to intrude upon what seemed like a heated conversation.

  “I don’t like her,” Deirdre said petulantly.

  “We’ve had this conversation before, sister,” the earl replied, his voice steely and cold.

  “I never wished to have it again,” Deirdre replied.

  Emilia, wishing to not be caught eavesdropping, began to walk away from the door, but a loud crackle of the wooden floorboard underfoot quickly gave her away.

  “Who is there?” she heard the earl’s voice say.

  “It is I,” Emilia replied, stepping forward again, realising there was no chance of escape. Her eyes met the earl’s immediately, and she could see a mix of frustration, heaviness and longing. She dare not turn away, but looked at him directly, unafraid of what he might find in her eyes.

  “Miss Stewart,” he said, getting up from his chair.

  Momentarily, Emilia expected re-assurance, welcoming, compassion, anything warm and positive. But what she received was rash coldness. “You’re late.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re late for the lessons today. Have you lost your good sense?” the earl asked sternly.

  “Of course not, I . . . you cancelled lessons for –”

  “Come in and be seated. I’ve had enough idleness for one day.”

  “Yes, M’Lord,” Emilia replied, not one to cross the earl, even after everything that they had shared.

  She stepped into the room, hands clasped behind her back, and watched as the earl walked over to his desk and procured some papers to take with him. Deirdre looked away, out towards the window, lost in thought. While the sister’s attention was diverted so, the earl abruptly walked towards Emilia and stopped in front of her, placing his finger under her chin and lifting her gaze towards his.

  He did not speak. Then he abruptly left the room, leaving only confusion in his wake.

  Emilia’s throat went dry and she stifled a sigh. Every time the earl touched her it was delicious, new, exciting. Would it always be that way? Stolen glances, touches and kisses, and no chance to be their true selves, unencumbered? There was a chance that it could be only that, for as long as Emilia stayed at Glastonbrook.

  “These days always turn so dreary, do they not?” Deirdre finally said, still looking out the window.

  “Things will cheer up,” Emilia said, re-assuring them both.

  “But when?” Deirdre asked, turning back from the window, desperate for some good cheer.

  “I’m not sure,” Emilia replied honestly, seating herself beside her young charge.

  “Within an hour? A day?”

  “I’m not sure,” Emilia repeated.

  It was so like someone of Deirdre’s age to lack patience. To want things resolved in an instant. To experience reassurance at the snap of a finger or the ring of a bell. But Emilia knew better. She knew that things took time, often considerably more time than one expected. It was the pace of life, always slower than one imagined it would be, then at times, speeding up beyond human tolerance. And so Emilia would be patient, as she needed to be.

  Yet, how was it possible to be patient when one was in love. Love was a thing imbued with hunger, need, immediacy. How was one to experience the tumult of love and the soft river of patience at the same time? It seemed quite impossible from where Emilia sat, and yet she knew that there was no other way. If there was anything that she had learnt from her time at Glastonbrook it was that she needed to relinquish control. In fact, it was the entirety of her life that taught her that. Control was not Emilia’s birth right.

  She would allow things to unfold as they may. But oh, so deeply and fully, she wished that she could find herself in the earl’s arms. To feel their strength and protection. To finally be re-assured that her destiny was not as much happenstance as it seemed.

  Chapter 16

  The following morning, Emilia still couldn’t tear from her mind what she had witnessed the day before. To think that Hugh had some sort of vendetta against the earl had kept her awake all night. Because, her fierce attraction to Lord Forest aside, she cared for him and his wellbeing, as well as that of Lady Deirdre.

  Despite her misgivings, the morning went along as planned. She marvelled at the pink sunrise on the horizon, escaped the warmth of her bed to endure the brisk chill of her bedroom, arrayed herself in her most modest gown, performed her toilette, and was down the stairs in expectation of breakfast.

  The kitchen smelt of fresh fruit and when she saw Winnifred huffing over the oven she had to ask what she was making.

  “I wanted to make something special for you.”

  Emilia couldn’t be more delighted with the burgeoning friendship between her and Winnifred. It seemed the two of them shared an unspoken pact that couldn’t be broken. Winnifred could
be trusted with Emilia’s secrets, and likewise in reverse. They were going to be allies. The beautiful purple stone on her windowsill proved that to her.

  “Scones,” Winnifred went on. “The earl doesn’t care much for sweet food, and so this batch is for you.”

  “I will eat them all,” Emilia said with a smile.

  “Look at that, now,” Winnifred said, opening the door to the oven and showing Emilia what was inside. Sure enough, the scones were golden brown, with flecks of fruit that were as bright as rubies.

  Emilia’s mouth watered. The smell alone could make her stomach growl. “Beautiful,” she said.

  “Beautiful breakfast for a pretty girl. Now sit yourself down and eat these whilst they’re hot.”