The Governess and Mr. Granville

by Abby Gaines

“For all of seven minutes each time.”

  “I have an estate to run, Miss Somerton. It ensures my family’s daily provision and future security, and it occupies a great deal of my time.”

  “You have five children. You’re their only parent.”

  “A situation I intend to rectify.”

  “Your sons in particular need more of your time,” she said.

  It was growing more difficult to maintain his polite demeanor. “I know you mean well, Miss Somerton, so even though I have explained to you that well-meaning people are among my least favorite, I will overlook your interference.”

  “William’s fear of the dark—”

  “He’ll outgrow that.” Actually, Dominic had assumed his son had long ago outgrown the fear that beset him after his mother died.

  “—is getting worse,” she said. “Perhaps if you talked to him...”

  Before she could give him the benefit of any more of her advice, the maid appeared, carrying the laudanum. She gave a little gasp of surprise to see Dominic.

  “Mr. Granville, could you set Louisa on the bed?” Serena asked.

  Laying Louisa down wasn’t easy. Her little fingers clutched at his lapel. Detaching them seemed to hurt her, and she squalled.

  Dominic took a hasty step away from the bed, the back of his neck hot, as if he were the one with the fever.

  “Hold her hand, please,” Serena said crisply.

  Out of his depths, unsure if there was some medical reason to obey, he reluctantly approached the bed again and took his daughter’s hand. Serena administered the laudanum. Louisa settled almost instantly, whether from the effects of the medicine or from a belief that it would do her good. Dominic let go of her hand, feeling as if he’d just run a mile.

  Serena dismissed the maid. “You may go, too, Mr. Granville,” she said.

  Eager though he was to get back to bed, he didn’t like being dismissed in his own house by an uppity governess. Companion, he corrected mentally.

  “What about you, Miss Somerton? You need your sleep.”

  “I’ll wait a few minutes, to be sure she’s asleep.”

  As if to prove the wisdom of her strategy, Louisa writhed suddenly. “Mama,” she moaned.

  Dominic drew in a sharp breath. Louisa didn’t remember Emily; she’d been only six months old when her mother died. Of course, she’d heard the other children talking of their mother over the years. More so recently, going by what Serena had told him the other day.

  Could another woman possibly fill the gap in his children’s lives, if she couldn’t fill the gap in his?

  Serena’s gaze met Dominic’s. “If you’re questioning the wisdom of your plan to marry, believe me, the children will appreciate it.”

  Had she read his mind? Discerned his doubts? “Stepmothers are often vilified in literature,” he said lightly.

  Her lips curved. “Naturally, you should avoid those who plan to feed the children poisoned apples, who possess magic mirrors or who will force the girls to live among the cinders.”

  “Useful advice,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

  He noticed again the graceful length of Serena’s neck—she was so well covered that was all there was to notice. Other than her eyes, the blue of cornflowers. And her lips, rather full and rosy for a governess. From his own childhood, he recalled governesses with pursed lips and tight mouths.

  “It seems strange you’re such a firm proponent of my remarrying,” he said, his eyes still on her lips, “yet you’re in no hurry to enter the matrimonial state yourself.” That’s what she’d said, when he’d accused her of proposing to him. He grimaced at his own conceit, and dragged his gaze back up. “Most women of your age and connections would be eager to launch themselves into London’s marriage mart, rather than rusticate with my children and my sister.”

  Serena shrugged, a delicate lift of her shoulders. “I can’t speak for most women, only for myself. And your situation and mine are not at all alike—I don’t have children who need a father. I shall marry when I find a man who loves me with all his heart.”

  A silence fell, during which they both stared at Louisa, now sleeping, her breathing loud.

  “You don’t have a suitor back home?” he asked.

  She looked away. “No.”

  Another silence.

  “About Mrs. Gordon...” she began.

  “Serena, could you set aside your objections to Mrs. Gordon for now?” he asked. He realized he’d used her Christian name. She blinked, whether at his familiarity or his plea, he wasn’t sure. “After all, we have no reason to believe the lady will have the slightest interest in marrying me.”

  Serena looked him over, so quickly he could have missed it.

  “If you say so,” she said.

  Something hung in the air between them. Something that to Dominic felt like She thinks I’m handsome.

  “I mean, how does one even introduce the thought of marriage?” he asked quickly, distracting her from any possibility of reading his mind, which had taken a turn for the absurd. His conceit was still alive and well, it seemed! “I’ve spent years making it clear to the world that I don’t intend to marry.”

  The first few years after Emily died, women had made their interest plain, some of them while he was still in mourning.

  “There’s a simple way to convey your change of heart to everyone who needs to know,” she said. “Tell your valet your intentions.”

  “Trimble would never—” Dominic broke off, seeing her readiness to disagree. No point encouraging her to argue. Even if those arguments were as exhilarating as they were irritating. “I’m prepared to try your suggestion,” he said generously. “But I have more faith in my valet’s discretion than you do.” In a way, he hoped Trimble would say nothing. Though the world needed to know, Dominic quailed at the thought of reversing the impression of confirmed bachelorhood he’d worked so hard to create.

  Of course, if he wanted a wife of good birth, conveniently located and who liked his children, Miss Somerton herself was eminently qualified.

  “I commend your reluctance to wed,” she said surprisingly. Surprising given that the whole thing had been her idea. “Your loyalty to your late wife is admirable.”

  It struck him that her admiration was a thing some men might covet. Before they realized how argumentative she was. No one would want a wife so provoking.

  “Emily and I loved each other from childhood,” he said. What an odd conversation to be having with a near stranger. Something about the lateness of the hour, the flickering shadow of the candle on the wall, invited confidence. It seemed he wasn’t immune to midnight madness, after all.

  Madness or no, she needed to understand this one thing about him. He fixed his gaze on the wavering shadow. “When I was thirteen, and Emily was twelve, I told her we would marry one day. Neither of us faltered in our determination. We were married a week after she turned eighteen, and the twins were born a year later. We were happy every day we were together.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck, suddenly tired. “I don’t believe a person finds a love like that more than once in their life.”

  “I hope and pray you’re wrong,” Serena said.

  Something in her tone put him on the alert. It sounded personal. As if she, too, had loved and lost. He would have said twenty-one was too young to be seriously brokenhearted, but of course, he and Emily had been married three years by the time Emily was of age. He wondered who Serena...

  He dismissed the thought. Likely she was moved by his own tale, not referring to a doomed romance of her own.

  The silence grew awkward. Serena broke it.

  “How will you determine if Mrs. Gordon is fit to be your children’s stepmother?” she asked.

  “She’s a woman of good sense and few expectations,” he said. “I consider that an excellent start.”

  Those cornflower eyes widened. “Oh, dear, she sounds rather uninspiring.”

  He couldn’t help it; he groaned. “If by uninspirin
g you mean calm and reasonable...”

  “That must be what I mean,” she said with that now-familiar mischievous twinkle.

  “Her lineage is impeccable,” he said. “If not as elevated as your own.”

  “I can’t help feeling Mrs. Gordon has attained the position of front-runner merely by coming from a good family and living close by,” Serena said. “Is your aim to make the nearest choice or the best choice?”

  He refused to rise to that bait. “Since this will be a marriage of convenience, proximity seems a logical criterion.”

  “What about whether she adores your children?”

  Adores. What a word to use.

  He straightened the storybook sitting on the chest of drawers next to the bed. “She will need to care about the children, of course. And to know how to nurse them and employ a governess and, when they’re older, introduce them to the world. She’s a mother already, so I’m sure she knows these things.”

  “Hmm,” Serena said. It wasn’t a sound that expressed confidence in Dominic’s judgment. “What other qualities should the future Mrs. Granville possess?”

  Like most of her questions, this one fell into the none-of-her-business category. But it was, he supposed, something he should be considering.

  “Intelligence,” he said, “of course.”

  “There’s no of course about that,” she said. “I hear many men don’t want an intelligent wife.”

  “I’m not afraid of a woman with a brain, Miss Somerton.”

  “Excellent,” she said warmly.

  He shook off the pleasant feeling her approval induced. “For my wife to be attractive would be nice, but not essential.”

  “A Christian woman,” Serena suggested.

  “Naturally,” he said. “I believe most ladies of my acquaintance are Christians.”

  “Someone...playful?” she proposed.

  He frowned.

  “You don’t object to play, do you?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “It’s good for children to play. When it’s appropriate.”

  Her quick grin said she considered him stuffy. To a twenty-one-year-old girl, he probably was. “I expect my wife to be mature,” he said. “Close to my own age.”

  She nodded as if that made complete sense, which, perversely, left him feeling insulted. Who was to say he couldn’t find himself a younger wife if he wished?

  Though a more mature woman was less likely to have romantic notions.

  “The main thing is,” he said, putting an abrupt end to a conversation that had already become too personal, “the children should have someone to take the maternal role in their lives.”

  “You mean, to love them.” Why did she have to twist everything, yet at the same time make it sound so uncomplicated?

  “You really are very young, Serena.” Blast, he’d used her Christian name again.

  “I suspect you mean I’m naive,” she said. “If believing in the power of love to transform lives is naive, then, yes, I am.”

  “No doubt you’re right.” But Dominic would settle for a successful come-out for his daughters, and for a more comfortable existence for his sister.

  Serena’s tsk suggested she knew he was fobbing her off. But she didn’t argue. “I think Louisa will sleep through now,” she said.

  “Excellent.” He looked down at his sleeping daughter. Louisa had always been a small child, but huddled as she was, she seemed tiny. He had the urge to caress her in some way...but he didn’t know how. Awkward, he rubbed the bump in the blanket made by her foot. “I will do my best for my children in this matter of my remarriage, Miss Somerton, you may rely on that. I am more than conscious that they depend on me. Indeed, I would give my life for any of them.”

  What on earth had possessed him to say something so dramatic? Blame it on the midnight madness.

  Serena made a smothered sound. Dominic raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to comment.

  She shook her head. “It’s time I returned to my chamber.” She bent over and kissed Louisa’s forehead. That was what he should have done, he realized, castigating himself. It seemed obvious now. The way Serena smoothed a lock of his daughter’s hair reminded him of Emily. For one moment, he found himself wanting that touch on his own hair, that tenderness directed at him. No.

  Yet instinctively, he drew closer, and as Serena straightened, she bumped into him. Dominic grasped her arms to steady her. Immediately, he released her.

  They stood staring at each other.

  “Good night,” she blurted. And almost ran from the room.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Marianne’s complexion was redder than usual—one of those inexplicable days when her face started off the color of the crimson walls in the breakfast room and stayed that way. Small wonder that, having swallowed the last of her baked egg, she took to her room to lie down with damp cloths on her cheeks, with a plan to play some solitary chess later. A devotee of the game, she had a board set up in her private sitting room.

  Outside, a spring storm had blown up, lashing the windows and bending trees at dangerous angles.

  Serena visited the nursery and found the children fidgety, snapping at each other. Louisa was feeling much better, but her mood was subdued.

  “What we need is a nice game,” Serena announced.

  “Can we slide down the banister again?” William begged.

  “No, dearest.” Even though it was exactly that kind of day, and Serena felt so peculiarly unsettled that she’d have relished the chance to climb onto the banister herself. Not that she ever would, of course. “We’ll play dominoes.”

  The children pounced on the suggestion, and the twins soon had the game set up. Luckily, it didn’t require much concentration, because Serena’s mind was busy elsewhere. Wondering at Dominic’s unguarded, late-night declaration of love for his children.

  Not that he’d said anything as simple as “I love them.” Instead, he’d said, “I would give my life for any of them.”

  She doubted he’d been thinking of the verse from John’s gospel: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” But she had thought of it, and had recognized a declaration of ardent love.

  He would probably be horrified by her interpretation. What a pity that he should feel so much for his children, yet not show it in his words or deeds! During her eight months at Woodbridge Hall Serena had observed him as a cool, distant father. A provider and protector, but not a loving papa. When he embraced his children, she saw only duty on both sides.

  Until last night, she’d assumed his behavior was a reflection of his thoughts.

  She’d been wrong.

  Yet she doubted even Dominic knew how much he loved his children. Given his attitude to love in a new marriage, he might not even want to know.

  For his own sake, and that of his children, he needed to admit to his deeper feelings. And if this was another example of Serena deciding what was best for others...she didn’t care.

  The game of dominoes came to an end, with William the winner.

  “What shall we play now?” Charlotte asked, as the older children packed away the dominoes.

  “Time for spillikins, I think,” Serena said. “Louisa, perhaps you could ask your father to join us?”

  Louisa was hard to resist on any day. Today, when she was still pale from her sleepless night, even the hardest-hearted brute would succumb. Dominic was certainly not that.

  “Ask Papa to play a game?” Thomas said, astounded. “In the middle of the day?” It wasn’t clear which idea he found more outrageous: that Dominic might play or that they might see their father outside the prescribed times.

  “Why not?” Serena said. “He’s probably as bored as we are.”

  Thomas’s expression said she had lost her mind, but of course, he didn’t contradict her. The Granville children were all, with the occasional exception of Charlotte, well-behaved, as they should be.

  Serena escorted Louisa do
wnstairs to the library, where Dominic usually spent the morning on his correspondence and accounts. She knocked on the paneled oak door.

  “Come in,” said a mildly irritated voice.

  He’d been deprived of sleep, Serena reminded herself. She opened the door and gave Louisa a little push.

  “Hello there.” Dominic’s voice softened immediately. Serena could hear him smiling. “How are your ears this morning?”

  Still holding the door handle, Serena pressed her own ear to the opening in an attempt to hear the conversation—only to stumble a moment later when the door was wrenched open.

  She gave a little squawk of dismay, and straightened up.

  “Eavesdropping, Miss Somerton?” Dominic asked.

  So, in the cold light of day they were back to “Miss Somerton.” If not for the flicker in his hazel eyes of a recognition that went more than skin-deep, she’d have said their midnight conversation had never happened. And perhaps his eyes were just a little too fixed on her own, as if he wouldn’t allow them to stray. Last night, she was almost certain he’d been looking at her mouth.

  “I apologize,” she said, slightly breathless. “I wanted to hear how well Louisa framed her request.”

  “You could have come in with her.”

  “True,” she agreed. “But then I couldn’t have observed you without your knowing.”

  He gave a startled laugh. “That honesty of yours.”

  “There’s no point pretending otherwise, when you caught me red-handed,” Serena said.

  “A fair point,” he conceded. “And at least this time your ruthless honesty isn’t directed at my private life.” He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb. The casual power of the pose suggested he had the world at his feet, his to command or ignore. When he looked like this, the task of reforming a man so distant into a loving, playful father seemed an impossible fantasy. Then he surprised her by saying in a tone that wasn’t distant, “So...spillikins, hmm?”

  Serena nodded. She tried not to sound too eager. “Marianne is resting in her room, so I thought I’d spend some time with the children. With such beastly weather outdoors, we’re looking for entertainments.”