The Governess of Penwythe Hall

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Mrs. Angrove sighed once more as she locked her sights on the children, like a mother hen content to have her chicks about her. “I can recall how you and Randall would chase each other in that same manner. Such happy memories.”

  In an effort to learn more about the family, Delia leaned forward. “Mr. Twethewey told me that this picnic was your idea. That was very kind. It is a treat for them.”

  “But the pleasure is mine! Nothing makes one feel younger than being around young people.” Her eyes beamed, then her forehead furrowed. “My dear, the name Greythorne—it is very familiar. Are your people from the area?”

  Delia pivoted toward the older woman, dabbing her mouth with her napkin to buy herself a bit more time to respond. This was what she had feared, sharing details of her life. What if word were to get back to her in-laws? And yet she could not refuse to answer such a simple question. “My late husband’s family is rather extensive, and they hail from Morrisea, a fishing village about twenty miles south of here. I believe some of his cousins live up this way, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Mrs. Angrove’s eyes twinkled. “Do you still have family here?”

  Delia glanced up to see Mr. Twethewey staring at her. She lowered her gaze to her hands. “I do. My brother and his family live in Whitecross. My sister lives with him.”

  There.

  She’d said it.

  She’d opened the door to sharing about her past life. Words said would linger; none could be taken back.

  “How happy for you then.” Mrs. Angrove added sugar to her tea, oblivious to the turmoil churning within Delia. “Surely you can plan a visit.”

  She glanced up. Mr. Twethewey was still looking at her, his entrancing, intense blue eyes fixed firmly on her, as if he were trying to put together the pieces of her story, as if he knew there was more she was not saying.

  Then, in a sudden burst of energy, he straightened in his chair. “Are the children fond of bowling?”

  “Bowling?” Delia frowned. “I don’t think they’ve ever played it.”

  He gave a laugh, cracking his fierce countenance. “How’s that possible? Randall and I played it all the time when we were young. Right over there.” He pointed to the bowling green at the east end of the main house. “Surely he must have taught them.”

  Delia shook her head. “Not that I can recall. Your brother preferred hunting. Or reading.”

  Mr. Twethewey huffed in disbelief, stood, and wiped bits of grass from his coat. He whistled sharply to capture the children’s attention and then motioned for them to draw near. “Who would like to bowl over on the bowling green?”

  “What’s that?” Sophy wrinkled her freckled nose. Her black ribbon had come loose, and her dark hair now hung wild down her back.

  “It’s a game.” He gestured for them to follow him to the bowling green, which ran parallel to the front courtyard.

  “What sort of game?” Johnny fell into step with his uncle.

  “A very fun one. Come, I’ll show you.”

  All the children, even Liam, followed him toward the balls set up on the opposite side of the lawn, and soon they were out of earshot. From her chair, Delia watched as Mr. Twethewey retrieved a wooden ball from the edge. Sophy danced along excitedly beside him, and Delia laughed as Mr. Twethewey teased Johnny by handing him the ball, then lifting it high so Johnny had to jump to retrieve it.

  An expression of motherly pride descended upon Mrs. Angrove, and her lips formed a half smile. “It’s good to see him like this. To see them all like this.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, and Delia studied the older woman. A gown of deep-lavender silk hugged her willowy frame, and a fussy shawl of white lace was tied about her shoulders. Her silver hair was nearly white. Laugh lines crinkled around her eyes and mouth with each expression, and her light eyes were sharp. She seemed to be the sort of woman who observed everything and missed nothing.

  “How long have you lived here, Mrs. Angrove?”

  “A lifetime, my dear,” she exclaimed with a smile, lifting her eyes heavenward. “I came here with my husband, William, when I was a bonny young bride and probably about your age.” She studied Delia. “What is your age?”

  Delia straightened her shoulders. “Six and twenty.”

  “Ah, no, then, I was much younger. I married two days after my eighteenth birthday and was transported here the day after. I spent many happy years in that house.”

  Delia followed the woman’s gaze up to Penwythe Hall’s paned windows and curved Dutch gables and tried to imagine it at another time.

  “My husband had such a passion for this home, this land.” Mrs. Angrove didn’t take her focus from the building. “It was already ancient when we arrived and needed repairs even then. But William did not care to spend his time and money in repairs. Oh no, not him. His true love was the gardens.”

  “I can see the walled garden from my chamber window. It’s beautiful and so intricate. I thought someone had to have spent a great deal of time on it.”

  “Ah, the primrose garden,” Mrs. Angrove whispered wistfully. “That is what everyone always called it, for in the spring the entire west end would come alive in yellow and pink. It was his pride and joy.”

  “Such a lovely thought.”

  “Lovely, yes, but lovely does not keep the debts paid or the creditors at bay.” Amusement sparkled in her vivid eyes before they sobered once again. “Now there are no funds to keep it as it used to be. I fear Jac inherited quite a burden when my husband’s solicitor handed him the keys to Penwythe Hall.”

  For a moment Delia thought the topic would drop, but then, with her next breath, Mrs. Angrove tilted her head to the side. “My husband was a dreamer, Mrs. Greythorne. His head was always in the clouds and his hands always in the dirt. He was determined to make these gardens the finest in all of Cornwall. Everything you see was his vision. Even the garden at the cottage where I now live was his playground.”

  Delia surveyed the lawn with a fresh eye. Flowers, like jewels, bent and swayed in the early spring sun. Color was everywhere. “What a noble endeavor.”

  “Indeed. Beauty is always a noble endeavor, especially when it showcases God’s handiwork. William had the passion of an artist’s soul, but he did not have a mind for numbers.” She shook her head. “No, no. He could not be bothered with sums and figures and matters of business. He was so obsessed with the gardens that the business of Penwythe simply did not matter to him. The fields and orchards were neglected. The outbuildings fell into disrepair. Beauty, valuable as it is, does not provide an income. Unfortunately, William neglected the legacy that would be required to sustain the estate for future generations.”

  Delia looked back to Mr. Twethewey. He was laughing. It was the first time since her arrival she’d seen him act so freely. She recalled how Mr. Simon said the rumor was that he was consumed with his orchards. Perhaps there were more burdens on Mr. Twethewey’s shoulders than the surprise addition of five children.

  Mrs. Angrove paused her story to eat a jam tart, then wiped her thin lips with a napkin. “Toward the end of his life, my husband began to see the error of his ways. Impending death often brings clarity, I have found. Randall had such a mind for numbers, but by that time he’d been gone from the property for so long that William feared he’d sell it to avoid losing more money. But Jac was different. He’d never left the property except to go to university. It had become part of his blood, just like it had for William. Fortunately for us all, Jac has more practicality than his uncle ever possessed. Randall had an eye for business and profit, and Jac has an eye for people and the land. The brothers are very different people, driven by very different things.”

  Delia found herself intrigued. “What sort of things?”

  “Randall was driven by success.”

  “And Mr. Jac Twethewey?”

  “Oh, security.” Her voice was firm with certainty. “He finds rest in knowing that everything will be well for years to come. I’m sure you’ve heard a
bout the orchards. Orchards do not provide for one year, or even five. If tended properly, they can provide for decades. That’s the kind of overseer Penwythe Hall needs, and William saw that in Jac.”

  Delia looked toward the bowling green. Mr. Twethewey had removed his coat and now stood with his hand on Julia’s shoulder, helping her line up her ball. He stepped back as she rolled it across the lawn and then clapped as the ball bounced into her siblings’ balls, knocking them out of the way.

  Mrs. Angrove sighed happily at the sight. “That is why Randall sent them here. I know it. The children need that influence in their lives. Death is sad, but for those who remain behind, there is life yet to be lived. And I hope this family can embrace it to the fullest.”

  Mrs. Angrove’s eyes popped wide. “Speaking of living life, has anyone spoken to you about the Frost Ball yet?”

  Delia frowned and shook her head. “No, they have not.”

  “Frost is a hazardous thing to those who make their living off the land, so once we are safely past the danger of it, folks from all around come together and celebrate. For decades hundreds of people have descended upon Penwythe grounds to forget their troubles.”

  “What a lovely gesture.”

  “It is, but it is an expensive one. I was afraid that with the financial struggles we would have to forgo it this year, but somehow Jac has found a way to manage it.”

  “I know the children are in mourning, but I do hope they will participate. I think it’s important for them to feel at home here.”

  “My sentiments exactly! Then it’s settled.” Contented, the older woman looked out over the grounds.

  Delia followed her lead and turned her attention back to the children and their new guardian. Mr. Twethewey tousled Johnny’s hair and his dog circled them all, causing Hannah to laugh.

  For a few moments Delia felt her shoulders ease. If the children could laugh after what they had been through, then she could too.

  Chapter 14

  Jac held his arm steady as his aunt leaned on it for support, and he slowed his steps to match her slower ones as he walked her back to her cottage from the picnic.

  Despite her physical exhaustion, her eyes were bright and her tone buoyant. “Who would have thought but a week ago that Penwythe Hall would be so changed in such a short amount of time?”

  He listened to her chatter as they traversed the dusty lane—about Julia’s maturity for one so young. About Johnny’s amusing sense of humor. About Liam and how much he resembled his father.

  And then her commentary turned to the governess.

  “What a lovely lady Mrs. Greythorne is. Do you not think so?”

  A cool wind rushed in from the direction of the sea, and he lifted his face to enjoy the breeze. Yes, she was lovely. And his opinion of her increased with each interaction. Even so, he couldn’t help but notice how she had diverted her gaze when they spoke about her past. “Did you not think her manner a bit odd when she spoke of her family? It seemed as if she didn’t want to speak of them.”

  “Do not be so suspicious.” She swatted at his arm. “It isn’t attractive.”

  “I don’t mean to be suspicious, Aunt. Only observant.”

  “It is completely respectable if a person desires to keep bits of herself private. Not every detail of life need be an open book. But give her time. Maybe she will share with us, maybe she won’t. If there is one thing your uncle taught me, it is that people are not brought into our lives haphazardly. That is hardly ever the case.”

  “Be that as it may, the children are my concern. Not her.”

  Aunt Charlotte gave a little laugh. “Oh, Jac. You’ve much to learn, I fear. She is the influence behind those children. She’s teaching them. Molding them. Randall entrusted her completely with their formation. It’s dangerous to hand over such a great task, and yet he trusted her with such a responsibility.”

  “And what of Mr. Simon? He was entrusted with their care as well.”

  “His absence speaks volumes. Can you not see it? Oh, you are a man, and I should not be surprised if you would turn a blind eye to such things. Mrs. Greythorne is raising those children, make no mistake. If you want a good relationship with the children, then you need a good relationship with her. Fortunately for you, she’s a lovely person. And oh, such a pretty young thing.”

  He raised his eyebrow and did not miss the twinkle in her eye. “She is the governess, Aunt,” he clarified with pointed tone. “Nothing more.”

  She huffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s hardly an abundance of young ladies in the area. Do you never give a care for your future? For the legacy you will leave in life? You are well into the third decade of existence. Don’t wait too long to realize there’s more to life than orchards and trees. Like I said, people come into our lives for a reason. Do not dismiss it lightly.”

  Jac sniffed, pretending her words did not affect him.

  But they did.

  Yes, he wanted a wife. A family. Who wouldn’t? But the timing wasn’t right. Not yet. Penwythe Hall was struggling, and he did not feel right asking a woman to come alongside him to save a ship that might sink. Furthermore, his aunt was right. There were not very many women in the area, and none who had caught his eye. Perhaps he would feel differently if someone did, but for the time being, it was best that he focus on his orchards.

  He deposited Aunt Charlotte safely and cozily in Fairehold Cottage under the care of Alis, then headed back to Penwythe Hall.

  He’d expected to arrive back to find that the children had retreated to the house. Clouds had gathered, dark and thick, as they tended to do this time of day, settling a chill shadow over the countryside. He quickened his steps through the overgrown garden and was surprised to hear giggles and laughter when he emerged on the other side.

  He smiled. After his awkward exchange with Liam the previous day, he’d been wary about spending time with them, but Jac had enjoyed the afternoon with the children more than he’d anticipated.

  The children took notice of his return as he rounded the low rock wall separating the front lawn from the main road. Johnny ran toward him, the wind catching his dark hair and his small chest rising and falling with exertion. “Uncle Jac! Do you want to bowl again? I’ve been practicing while you were gone.”

  “Me too!” chimed Sophy, scurrying behind her brother, her cheeks flushing pink. “I’ve gotten ever so much better. I can best you now, I know it. You should see!”

  He rested his hand on Johnny’s shoulder as the boy walked by his side.

  “Tomorrow, yes? Look at the sky over there.” Jac pointed toward the north. “See how the clouds look like they are coming at us in a straight line, and feel how cool the air has become? That means rain is coming.”

  “Maybe tomorrow we could go to the sea.” Sophy hopped next to him in excitement.

  He laughed at the child’s insistence. “You have my word, Princess Sophy, I will take you to the sea. Not tomorrow. But soon.”

  As the children ran back to their siblings, Jac looked to the oak tree where they had picnicked. The footmen had come down to carry the table and chairs back to the safety of the house, and as they hoisted the chairs over their shoulders, Mrs. Greythorne stood beneath the branches, Hannah at her side.

  He slowed his pace as he walked toward her.

  Greythorne.

  His aunt had been right when she recognized the name. He knew it from somewhere. But where?

  It could be from anything—a tenant, a visitor, a guest at one of Colliver’s hunting parties. It nagged at him.

  A fresh gust of wind whistled through the knobby branches, and Mrs. Greythorne pressed her bonnet against her head. Ribbons fluttered past her face, and Hannah raced ahead toward her sisters. As Mrs. Greythorne took notice of him, she collected her skirt in her hand and smiled. “Mr. Twethewey. We were just going back inside. I fear the rain is almost upon us. I trust your aunt is home and well.”

  He fell into step next to her, a casual, comfortable st
roll. “Yes. She tires easily, but she’s pleased the children are here.”

  “They so enjoyed the bowling green today. What a wonderful idea to share it with them.”

  He paused to allow her space to move in front of him as they crossed through the main gate. Her scent of lavender mingled with the scent of the lawn’s freshly cut grass and rain riding in on the wind—an intoxicating blend.

  With the children hurrying to the house, they were alone as they walked through the entry. Shadows reflected from the south-facing paned windows, moving and shifting, making the house seem almost alive. He adjusted his gait to match her daintier pace, enjoying this time alone with her probably more than he should. His aunt’s words of legacy and her charm rattled noisily in his mind. He was used to being alone with the servants, but she was different.

  Servant or governess, she was beautiful. The more he was in her company, the more he became aware of it.

  He cleared his throat, forcing his mind to more appropriate topics. “Surely by now you’ve heard that one of our initiatives is to establish a cider barn before harvest. In a couple of days the new granite stone for the crusher is due to arrive, weather pending, of course. It will be an important addition to Penwythe. I know Liam and Johnny have schoolwork to tend to, but given the significance, I think they should witness it.”

  Her face brightened. “That is a wonderful idea! Anything that will foster a sense of belonging would be beneficial.”

  “My thoughts precisely, especially given yesterday’s conversation with Liam.”

  She lifted her hand to still a long lock of russet hair that had blown free. “Liam is such a vibrant boy, and he’s so clever. His father’s death has been hard on him, and he doesn’t know how to manage the pain of loss. Please do not judge him based on his actions. It was grief talking.”

  Grief talking.

  She stopped suddenly and turned to him. She was close enough he could make out the subtle specks in her gray eyes and notice the dimples next to her mouth when she spoke.