The Governess and Mr. Granville

by Abby Gaines

  “Charlotte,” Dominic said sharply.

  She squawked, and the boy scampered backward into a dark corner.

  Dominic wanted to shout at her. But Serena’s comment about her being worried about his remarriage had stuck in his mind.

  “It’s dinnertime,” he said, as mildly as he could. “If you come down now, you may bring your friend with you.”

  “You won’t summon the magistrate?” she asked.

  Did his daughter really think he would have a child jailed? “I won’t.”

  “It’s all right, Albert,” she said. “Papa says you may eat with us—”

  “He’ll eat in the kitchen,” Dominic said firmly.

  Soon, they were walking back to the house. All except Beaumont, whom Dominic had thanked for his help—it went against the grain, but someone had to be the gentleman around here—and sent on his way.

  As they headed inside, Dominic heard the convoluted story of how the orphaned Albert had ended up sleeping rough. The boy seemed a lawless brat, but Dominic supposed that in the absence of someone like Charlotte to feed him, stealing might seem the only way to obtain food.

  “We can find you a place here,” he told Albert. “You’ll need to work. Not all the time, because you’ll need to learn to read, too. And—” he slid a glance at Serena “—I daresay you should play occasionally.”

  She beamed.

  “One of the tenants might be willing to foster you,” Dominic continued. Sarah Mullins in Ivy Cottage would be just the woman—she was kind, but she didn’t take any nonsense. If Dominic paid for the boy’s upkeep...

  He was surprised, and touched, when Charlotte’s hand stole into his.

  “Papa,” she said, as they walked in the front door, “who’s that man?”

  Everyone—everything—came to a halt.

  Waiting in the entrance hall was Lieutenant Alastair Givens.

  Marvelous.

  * * *

  Miss Lacey was kind, well-dressed, God-fearing, beautifully mannered, affectionate toward the children and respectfully fond of Dominic. She had a wry sense of humor, she liked things done in an orderly fashion and she believed women should generally not argue with the man of the house, nor engage in noisy dinner table conversation.

  She was perfect for Dominic.

  Serena had the most unchristian impulse to provoke her into shouting, maybe by upsetting one of Miss Lacey’s charming flower arrangements.

  But what would that achieve? Even if Miss Lacey turned into a harridan, a gentleman could no more jilt a lady than he could fly to the moon.

  Not that Serena should want Dominic to jilt the woman, she reminded herself as she sat sewing in the blue salon with Hester and Mrs. Lacey and Marianne during a restful afternoon. Dominic and Alastair had gone fishing.

  The salon door opened, and Molson made his usual silent entrance. “Mr. Beaumont is here, Miss Granville.”

  Marianne’s color flared, she’d given up on all her creams and potions, but her complexion was no worse. Or better. “I’m not at home,” she reminded the butler.

  Molson had been instructed that Miss Granville was “not at home” to Mr. Beaumont whenever he might appear.

  “I’ve told him, Miss Granville, but Mr. Beaumont refuses to accept the excuse. He insists on seeing you.”

  Miss Lacey and her mother were politely pretending deafness. Serena said tentatively, “Marianne, if you wish me to speak to him...”

  She shook her head. “Show Mr. Beaumont into the red salon, please, Molson. I’ll be there shortly.” She turned to their guests. “Will you excuse me? Serena, could you come with me?”

  They went upstairs, where Marianne’s maid tidied her hair.

  “I don’t want to see him alone,” Marianne said, watching the maid’s progress in the mirror. “Serena, would you mind attending our interview?”

  “If that’s what you wish, of course.”

  Marianne made a last adjustment to the neckline of her dress. She sighed as she looked in the mirror—her color had risen noticeably in the past few minutes—then squared her shoulders. “I’m as ready as ever I’ll be.”

  Disappointment flashed across Mr. Beaumont’s face when he saw Serena. He masked it quickly and stepped toward Marianne, effectively shutting Serena out of his line of sight.

  “It’s been so long,” he said to Marianne. “I’m worried that I’ve offended you in some way.”

  “We have guests, the Laceys, occupying our time,” she replied. “You may have heard that my brother is to marry Miss Lacey?”

  “I did hear,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since you disappeared from the Spenford ball. I was reminded of Cinderella’s vanishing act.”

  “Cinderella was fleeing a prince,” Marianne pointed out.

  He blinked, disconcerted. Then he laughed. “I meant more that you were the mysterious, vanished beauty than that I was a prize catch,” he said ruefully. “I wanted to waltz with you, but I got cornered by some parson chappie, couldn’t get away.”

  Serena straightened. “Do you mean my father?”

  “Does your father keep rubbing his chin?” he asked, acknowledging her at last. At her nod, he said, “That explains a lot. Fellow read me a couple of sermons, though he could see I wanted to get back to the dancing. Like father, like daughter.”

  He sounded so disgusted, Serena had an improper urge to laugh.

  “Mr. Beaumont, how dare you be rude about my friend,” Marianne said coldly. “Or her father, a most admirable man.” Her tone said unlike you.

  “I didn’t—I just meant he was a bit long-winded—I’m sorry.” Beaumont ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Marianne—Miss Granville, I can tell I’ve done something wrong, and I’m not just talking about Miss Somerton’s father. Let me make it up to you. Would you and Miss Somerton care to visit Farley Hall one day this week? I have discovered a plant that may be your lemon balm.”

  Marianne hesitated. “Thank you, but I no longer have need of it.”

  It seemed that was Beaumont’s best offer. Silence fell.

  Marianne hadn’t ordered refreshments, so there was nothing to fill the conversational void. “Thank you for your visit,” she said in dismissal, as she stood.

  Beaumont seemed perplexed, but he couldn’t refuse such an obvious cue to leave. “May I call on you after church tomorrow?”

  “Miss Lacey and I will be practicing music,” she said.

  “On Monday, then?”

  “I’m sorry, we have plans.”

  “I’m having trouble deciding on my next move,” he said.

  Did he mean in chess, or in courtship? Serena wondered.

  “Please don’t tax yourself,” Marianne said. “It’s only a game.”

  At last even Beaumont could no longer avoid the conclusion that he was out of favor. His bow was stiff. “I will leave you, then.”

  “Good day, Mr. Beaumont,” Marianne said. Momentarily, she looked as if she would run from the room and burst into tears. Instead, she stood there, face crimson but head held high, until Beaumont left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Monday, Serena and Marianne drove into Melton Mowbray with Hester, escorted by Lieutenant Givens. Instead of enjoying the peace, Dominic found himself bored in his library. He knew a sudden hankering to spend time with his children.

  Up in the nursery, he received a rapturous welcome, its warmth fueled by his offer to play dominoes.

  Thomas fetched the game from the cupboard. Dominic shuffled the dominoes, moving them around facedown on the nursery table. “Would you like to draw first, Charlotte?”

  “Yes, please, Papa,” she said. As was her way, the words were correct, but her action—she snatched the first tile with an eagerness that seemed mostly about preventing anyone else from having it—was graceless and hasty.

  On the verge of scolding her as the draw moved around the table, Dominic checked himself. Now that he’d made the effort to come up here, best not to add a sour note. He reached o
ut and ruffled Charlotte’s hair. “You’re a curious miss.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  She ducked her head and began to help Louisa draw her tiles.

  What was bothering her now? he wondered. Then he realized she was smiling. He supposed he didn’t often touch Charlotte—she was so prickly it felt like reaching out to a hedgehog.

  Beside him, William yawned, stretching his mouth impossibly wide, as he inspected his tiles.

  “Put your hand over your mouth,” Dominic reminded him.

  William complied.

  “Why are you so tired?” Dominic asked.

  “No reason,” he muttered.

  Hetty was giving Dominic a significant look. So was Thomas. William must have had an attack of his fear of the dark. On closer inspection, Dominic could see his face was pale with exhaustion, and his thin shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world.

  Dominic pushed back his chair. “Come with me,” he told his son.

  “What about our game?” Charlotte asked.

  “Play one round without us. I’m leaving you in charge.”

  That drew immediate protest from Hetty and Thomas, but he told them to mind Charlotte. Then he walked up to the attic with William.

  “Why are we here, Papa?” William held his father’s hand, demonstrating complete trust in him. Dominic thought of Mrs. Gordon, and her suggestion his son be locked in a cupboard, and felt sick.

  “There’s something I wish to give you.” He saw his target, the old toy chest that had sat in the nursery when he was a child. “Over here.”

  He brushed dust off the chest, and opened it. William coughed at the dust, but then dug into the box and was soon laughing at some of the antiquated toys. Of course, many of the things Dominic had played with were used by his children today. These were the oldest and most dilapidated, things his sentimental nurse hadn’t been able to throw away.

  Dominic found what he wanted near the bottom. “Here it is.” He pulled out a tattered, knitted dog stuffed with rags.

  Hmm, he didn’t remember it looking quite this disreputable.

  “What is it?” William asked.

  Dominic began stowing the other things back in the trunk. “When I was your age, William, or in fact a little older, I was terrified of dogs.”

  The boy gave an uncertain chuckle.

  “You mock my fear?” Dominic teased.

  William smiled. “You have two dogs, Papa, and you’re not afraid. You’re brave.”

  “I’m not afraid now, at least not of dogs. And it’s easy to be brave when we don’t have to face our fears,” Dominic said. Which made him think of losing Emily. Of his children. Of marrying again and the fact one could never be certain that the people one loved would always be safe.

  He drew a deep breath. “My fear wasn’t a problem when I was very young, because my family didn’t keep dogs. You have to face your fear every night.”

  William’s smile vanished. He scuffed the floor with his slipper.

  “When I was ten years old,” Dominic said, “my father took a sudden fancy to have a dog. He was having his portrait painted and thought a dog in the scene would be just the thing.”

  “That portrait that hangs in the gallery?” William asked, intrigued. “That’s a gigantic dog!” He darted a glance of sympathy at Dominic. “Were you afraid?”

  “Terrified,” Dominic admitted. “When I first saw it, I ran upstairs and cried like Louisa.”

  William’s peal of laughter warmed his heart.

  “I didn’t let anyone see me, of course,” he confided.

  William, no stranger to attempting to conceal his fear, nodded.

  “My father doted on the dog,” Dominic said. “He let it have the run of the house. Every time I stepped outside the nursery I was convinced it would tear me limb from limb. I couldn’t stop thinking about the monster, even when it was nowhere about.”

  “What did you do?” William appeared to be holding his breath.

  “I used this.” Dominic showed him the stuffed animal. “My nurse knitted it for me and stuffed it with old stockings. Every time I got that sick, terrified feeling, I hung on to this for dear life. And I prayed.”

  “I’ve prayed that God will take away my fear,” William said. “But He hasn’t.”

  “Sometimes He takes away our troubles. Other times, He gives us the strength to live with them.” Again, Dominic thought about losing Emily.

  “I don’t want to live with my trouble,” William protested.

  “No one does,” he agreed. “But a man knows life doesn’t always go exactly the way he wants. To have Someone who’ll never leave us, whatever befalls—that’s a true blessing.”

  “So did God stay with you when you were afraid of the dog?” William asked.

  “The monster,” Dominic corrected him, and William giggled. “He did stay with me. I was still afraid, but I could bear it.” Dominic suddenly remembered something. “I had a song I used to sing.”

  His son’s mouth gaped. “What song?”

  Dominic was already regretting the admission. But in for a penny... “It went like this.” The tune was unsophisticated, but easily memorized, and he sang confidently. “He is with me, He is with me, my Lord will never leave me. He is with me, He is with me, and with Him I will overcome.”

  The words didn’t say much...and yet they said it all.

  “He is with me...” William started to sing, off-key, of course, but trailed off as he forgot the words.

  “Let’s sing it together,” Dominic suggested.

  After half a dozen practices, William had committed the words, if not the tune, to memory.

  Dominic stood, brushing dust from his pantaloons. Trimble would huff with disapproval when he caught sight of them. William finished packing the last toys back into the chest.

  “Would you like to take the dog?” Dominic asked, seeing the knitted toy disappearing into the depths.

  “Thank you very much, Papa, but I’m too old for that,” seven-year-old William said, with a scrupulous politeness that put the once ten-year-old Dominic firmly in his place.

  As they walked back downstairs, hand in hand, they sang the song again, at the tops of their voices, hands swinging. When they reached the servants’ floor landing, Serena was waiting, one hand on the newel post, watching them descend.

  Her smile was so wide Dominic could have gotten lost in it.

  “Dominic,” she scolded, “I can’t believe it.”

  He checked William’s pants, brushed at his son’s backside. “We’re only a little dusty,” he said defensively. Which made William giggle.

  “Not that.” Of course, she was the last person to object to a little dust-raising.

  “Off you go, William.” Dominic patted his son’s shoulder.

  “Yes, Papa. Excuse me, Miss Somerton.” He scampered away.

  “Now.” Dominic smiled at Serena, and felt the kick of pleasure at looking into her sparkling eyes. “What have I done that’s so reprehensible?”

  “You blamed me for your children’s appalling musical performance,” she said severely.

  “You were their teacher,” he said. “Who else— Oh.” He drew himself up. “Miss Somerton, are you saying I can’t sing?”

  “Let’s just say it’s clear the children, with the exception of Charlotte, inherited their musical abilities from you.”

  He pressed a fist to his chest. “I’m wounded!”

  She laughed, and it sounded like music itself. “They do say the truth hurts.”

  He chuckled. “And Thomas Gray’s poem says ignorance is bliss. I’m glad William doesn’t know he can’t hold a tune. It might put him off using that song.”

  “Using it?” She leaned against the banister, her face turned up to his in inquiry.

  “An old ditty I employed to overcome my childhood fear of dogs.”

  “I had no idea you were afraid of dogs.”

  “I was forced to deal wi
th it when my father acquired an animal that wanted to kill me.”

  She pressed her lips together, but her eyes brimmed with merriment.

  “Ha! I should have known better than to expect sympathy. William took my story to heart,” he said, “even if you mock me.”

  “I heard the words of your song,” she said, serious now. “Simple but perfect.”

  “You’re speaking to the composer,” he said with pride.

  “No!” Her eyes danced. “Dominic, is there no end to your talents?”

  “Apparently there is, since you say singing isn’t one of them.”

  “Which makes it all the more admirable that you were able to compose a song while completely tone deaf,” she pointed out.

  He found himself laughing, as he so often did with her. “Is that your idea of a compliment, Miss Somerton?”

  “Of course.”

  “Only you could find a positive aspect to tone deafness,” he said. “I daresay if I were to fall down these stairs now you’d extol the joys of a broken neck to me.”

  For an instant, fear and horror chased across her features, as if the prospect of him sustaining such an injury was more than she could bear. Then she said, “The time spent recovering would give you ample time to read. Your children would see so much more of you, and I would have the chance to lecture you about the changes I think you should make to your way of life, thus fulfilling my insatiable desire to order you around.”

  He laughed. “You see what I mean? I dread to think how gloomy we’ll be without you.”

  He spoke lightly, but the moment the words left his mouth, he knew they were true.

  Serena brought light and laughter...and love...to his home. To his heart.

  No, his heart wasn’t relevant here.

  She broke the tense silence to say, “I know that’s not true. Marianne has come through her failed romance with Mr. Beaumont a much stronger person. And the children are excited about having a new mother. And—and you will be a husband again, with a helpmeet and a life companion.” She smiled so brightly, it seemed beyond natural.

  None of her assurances meant anything. Realization slammed Dominic.