He folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“It’s a dangerous place.” She stood and stepped toward him. “Promise me you’ll not go there again.”
He tilted his head to the side. “And how do you know this?”
She sighed. This charade could not go on further. “You know about my brother-in-law.” Fearing he was not taking the warning seriously, she reached forward and clutched the sleeve of his coat. “Listen to me.”
Fire radiated from their touch. He looked into her eyes, his gaze narrowed. He felt it too, she knew. She had his attention.
She did not release his sleeve. “Some of the rumors about my husband are true. Probably most of them. Greythorne House is not a mile from that inn. I lived at Greythorne House for three years and saw a great deal. My husband and his brothers spent a lot of time at that establishment, and trust me, no one goes to the Hawk’s Eye Inn by accident. I can’t explain what Mr. Simon was doing there, but I do know that whatever happens there is underhanded.”
Their eyes locked and his jaw twitched.
She forged ahead. “Maybe you were right about Mr. Simon. I don’t know why he was talking to Thomas, but nothing good can come out of a relationship with that man.”
His face softened. “I think sometimes when we trust someone, we cannot fathom that they’d be capable of something less than virtuous. I dismissed Mr. Simon from his position on instinct. Perhaps I was right, perhaps not. But we can only make decisions based on the information we have at hand, and at the time I was fearful. For you.”
Her heart jolted. She could not tear her gaze away from the brilliant blue eyes looking at her. Tenderness and sincerity lit them in a way she had never noticed before.
Was he telling her he cared about her?
He stepped closer. “I meant what I said earlier, in the garden, when I told you I wanted to protect you. Not because I didn’t think you capable, but because . . .”
She desperately wished he would finish his sentence, but he was quiet. Given the situation, it was probably for the best.
When he did not continue, she looked down to the carpet. “Did he really take money from Thomas?”
“That’s what I saw. Andrews saw it too. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be afraid. I thought the situation would dissipate on its own. Clearly it has not.”
“Just promise me you will not go back to the Hawk’s Eye Inn.”
A grin lifted his cheek. “Are you saying you’re concerned for me, Cordelia Greythorne?”
She lifted her brow at the use of her Christian name. How natural it sounded coming from his lips. “I’m merely saying that there are dangerous people there. The children need you. It would be safest for all of us to stay as far away from there as possible.”
He stepped closer. The expression on his face captivated her. “This is not something for you to take on yourself. This is not your battle to fight. But if something should come of it, you will not be fighting it alone.”
Blood raced through her ears as she stood there in the faded light. His nearness confused her senses. It jumbled her words and muddled her mind.
He leaned forward. “You are needed here. The children—they, well, they need you. I need you.”
She met his gaze. Tried to decipher his meaning. “The children and their well-being mean everything to me.”
“Just the children?” He tilted his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. Then stepped closer.
Never had she thought she would feel tenderness for another man, but she could not deny that it was growing. Every action, every encounter—the good, the bad, the happy, the sad—was giving it strength. No, these feelings would not, could not be ignored. And yet, as much as her heart wanted to give in to the notion of romance, her mind would not allow it.
She stepped back. She had to remind herself of her place. Of who she was. Of who he was. Fear of the unknown trickled in, squeezing out space for hope of a romantic future. She needed to protect herself. Her voice lowered, and the space between them cooled. “I am a governess, Mr. Twethewey. My first and only concern is the children. I’m afraid anything more than that is not possible.”
Chapter 32
Delia adjusted the small watch pinned to her bodice and looked out of the schoolroom window to the north courtyard with a sigh.
Several days had passed since Mr. Clarke had called at Penwythe, and in the days that followed, life resumed some sort of normalcy. The summer days were hot and long—too hot to spend any time of consequence out of doors. How she wished for rain to break the streak of heat that had been plaguing them, but day after day the blazing sun rose in the cloudless sky.
She’d heard Mr. Twethewey and Mr. Andrews discussing how despite their efforts to improve irrigation, no one could have foreseen this period of drought.
Liam joined her by the window and leaned with his elbow against the windowsill. The humid breeze curled through the open window, lifting his black hair. “Where’s Uncle Jac? He said last night that he’d walk with us to the orchards today after our studies. And now he’s not even here.”
Delia placed a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “I think he had to go to Plymouth to see about the cider press. But he’ll be back soon.”
With a sigh he pulled back from the window and sank back onto his chair.
She returned her focus out the window. She wished for Mr. Twethewey’s return as well. Something had changed between them that day in the drawing room after Mr. Clarke’s visit. Despite her cool ending to their conversation, she could not deny that something was blossoming—something tender and lovely—something she had not experienced since the start of her relationship with Robert.
But she was different now than she had been with Robert. She had the benefit of experience. Even so, she was cautious, reserved. She could not deny the gentle leap in her heart at the thought that any moment Mr. Twethewey’s horse could appear in the courtyard, bringing him home. The anticipation was intoxicating. She had to remain disciplined in her thoughts, however, for the complications of anything actually coming of this relationship were very real. Now that the money had vanished, he was her employer. He paid her wages. She answered to him.
She sighed and returned her attention to Liam. It had been over two months since their father’s death. They were all coming to terms with it in their own ways. Julia’s lingering moodiness and Hannah’s quietness both were unusual to their characters. Johnny and Sophy seemed fairly content, but then some random thing would trigger a memory and they’d explode with uncontrollable emotion. Liam tried his best to be strong, to be protective of his younger siblings, but despite his initial distrust of his uncle, his admiration for the man seemed to be growing.
She wished she could take their confusion upon herself, but just as they were struggling to make sense of what was happening around them, she was not sure she had things any more figured out, especially as it related to Mr. Twethewey.
A new arrival to the courtyard caught her eye. A small wagon drawn by two horses carried two men—one dressed in workman’s attire and another dressed in a black coat and beaver hat. The wagon curved around the driveway and drew to a stop before the carriage house. She was about to dismiss the men as tenants and started to turn from the window, but something about the man in the tall dark hat made her pause.
She squinted to see more clearly. The man’s posture and movements as he climbed down from the wagon were familiar.
Could it be? A glimmer of anticipation sparked within her.
“Children, continue reading.” She stepped back from the window. “I’ll be right back.” She gathered her skirt in her hands and scurried down the servants’ winding staircase. Once to the ground-floor landing, she flung open the servants’ door and burst into the dusty courtyard, ignoring how the breeze lifted the hair at her temples.
As she beheld the approaching figure, recognition burned bright. Even beneath his hat she could see his eyes and the familiar cut of his jaw and point o
f his chin.
It was her brother.
All other thoughts aside, she ran toward him, disregarding all sense of decorum. Tears blurred her vision into a mess of greens and browns as she flung her arms around him. “Horace!”
He squeezed her in response and lifted her from the ground. “Delia! Look at you! I hardly recognized you.” He returned her to the ground.
She stepped back, breathless, hands still clutching his arms, unable to control her smile. “What are you doing here?”
At the question, his smile faded and he removed his hat. As his expression sobered, her own smile disappeared.
Something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“You’re needed at home, Delia. I’ve come to take you back to Whitecross with me.”
She dropped her hand to the side. Conflicting emotions roiled within her as a thousand scenarios rushed her.
“Elizabeth is not well. The apothecary has done everything he can, but—” The wind carried away his words, as if it did not want her to hear the words either.
The breeze lifted his dark hair, the color so like her own, and then he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
Delia had thought of her brother so often, but not like this, with sadness etching lines around his mouth and worry creasing his brow. He looked older than his thirty-five years, but even so, the same brown eyes were gazing back at her. They were not laughing, as they had often done when they were younger. They were the eyes of a mature man, eyes full of sorrow.
“She’s dying,” he said. “The apothecary said there are only a few days left. You are so close now that you’re in Cornwall, and she so desperately wanted to see you again, that I . . .”
The blood pounding in Delia’s head and the wind rushing in her ears swept out any hope of hearing his words.
Her head grew very light. Not Elizabeth. No.
She finished his sentence with a definitive nod. “Then we must go.”
Chapter 33
Delia rushed into her bedchamber. The ride back to Whitecross would be a long one, and the day was already half done.
But the urgency did not end there. Elizabeth was dying.
Guilt, heavy and thick, descended upon Delia. She should have found a way to visit sooner. She’d allowed her fear of the Greythornes to prevent her from stepping foot in the home of her childhood. And now it might be too late.
Elizabeth had never been well. A fever at a very young age had weakened her heart. She was never expected to live very long, and nearly two decades later she had defied the grim prognosis. This warning flag had been raised before. Part of Delia’s heart clung to the idea that this was a false alarm. But she’d seen the weary fear in her brother’s eyes, and he would know. He interacted with Elizabeth on a daily basis. They lived under the same roof, after all.
Her only communication with Elizabeth was via letters, and Delia knew what her sister chose to share with her. And her brother’s letters were less frequent.
She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and drew a deep, shuddering breath. She had to calm down enough to think so she could pack. She had no idea how long she’d be gone or when she’d be back. It seemed to be the way of life lately: Packing. Moving. Nothing consistent. Belonging nowhere. One by one, the people in her life were fading from her. She did not know if she could bear another loss.
A fresh wave of emotion threatened, and through sheer force of willpower, she retrieved her valise.
Fortunately her gown for the day simply tied in the back, and she was able to exchange it for another with relative ease. She exchanged her slippers for sturdier kidskin boots. She packed her hairbrush, toothbrush, and other daily items in her bag. She stiffened at the fact that her pendant was still missing. How she wished it was with her.
Suddenly loneliness, powerful and overwhelming, stole into the room, battling grief for the dominant position. The quiet, the stillness—it was all too much.
How she wished for strong arms to hold her. A strong support, like Robert had provided after Maria’s death. Robert had been many things, but in spite of his flaws, he’d been consoling and protective. He’d held her long into that horrid night, allowing her to weep.
Her thoughts turned to Mr. Twethewey.
To Jac.
Just a few days ago he expressed a desire to protect her. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would feel like to have his strong arms around her, comforting her. How much easier it would be to face uncertainty if she knew someone was beside her. But they had not spoken of such things since that afternoon. Had he said those things merely in the emotion of the moment?
But she had spoken coolly to him. No doubt he would not repeat the sentiment.
She sniffed. Besides, he wasn’t even here. For all she knew, he would not be back today, or even tomorrow. There were no strong arms to hold her now, and it would be foolish to even allow her mind to entertain the wish.
Once her things were assembled, there were only a couple of things left to do. She found Mrs. Bishop to arrange for the children’s care in her absence and then sent word to Aunt Charlotte to ask her to stay at Penwythe Hall until Mr. Twethewey returned. She did everything she could think of, until one thing remained: to tell the children.
With heavy steps she climbed the stairs to the schoolroom. She opened the door to see each one bent to their tasks. The sight pulled at her heart. She did not take her position lightly. She was the one constant in their lives—the one person who had remained unchanged for several years. They relied on her, and even to be gone a day would cause them uncertainty—and that she did not want to do.
“Children.” She clutched her hands before her. “I have news.”
“You’ve changed your gown.” Julia eyed the black gown with suspicion.
“Yes, I have, for I need to travel today.” Delia searched for the right words. “My brother has arrived, just a little while ago. He came to tell me that my sister is very, very sick and she needs me at home.”
The children exchanged uncomfortable glances. “But this is your home.”
“I mean the home where I grew up in Whitecross, where my family is.” Reluctance to leave them started to tighten her throat. “He’s come to take me to go see her.”
“You’re leaving?” A frown puckered Sophy’s young brow.
“Of course she’s leaving.” Hannah’s posture slumped, and a pout darkened her features.
Johnny jumped up from his chair, letting his book fall closed. “But you are coming back, right?”
“Of course I am!” Delia forced brightness to her tone. “If one of your sisters were sick, would you not want to be with her?”
Sophy lurched forward. “Is she going to die?”
“I don’t know, Sophy.”
Hannah and Sophy exchanged glances. Johnny looked to the ground and collapsed back in his chair. Liam’s face reddened. Julia leaned to put her arm around Johnny’s shoulders.
Delia rested her hands on Sophy’s shoulders and bent over to look at the child at eye level. “I will not be gone long. I promise.”
Sophy’s chin trembled. “Who will take care of us?”
“Your uncle will be back soon, of course. And I’ve asked Aunt Charlotte if she would stay at Penwythe Hall until I return. Plus Mrs. Bishop is always here. You will never be alone.”
“Can we not go with you?”
“No, dearest.” She could not help but smile at Johnny’s enthusiasm. “I must do this alone, and you must stay and help care for your siblings.”
“But that’s not fair!” Hannah shot back. “You can’t just leave us! You promised you wouldn’t leave us!”
“I’m not leaving you,” Delia countered, her tone stern. “I will be back.”
Hannah shook her head, her long locks swaying, and she turned to face her siblings. “Don’t you understand? She is paid to be nice to us. To take care of us.”
Delia moved around the table, took Hannah’s hand, and forced her to look
in her direction. “You can write to me every day, and I shall write to you all, every single day until I return. Is that a good plan? I promise, I will only be gone as long as necessary. Now come and meet my brother. I’ve told him so much about each one of you. He’s eager to meet you.”
She chewed her lip as the children scooted back from the tables, stood, and lined up by the door. She had to leave Penwythe Hall, for her sister’s sake, and she would be back, but even so the departure felt, in some ways, like a betrayal. She stepped backward to allow the children room to step through the door and into the corridor. Regardless of her reason for going, she could not deny the pain crushing her heart as she prepared to leave her young charges behind.
* * *
Dusty and hot, Jac rounded the corner of the stone fence toward Penwythe Hall. The trip to Plymouth had been unexpected but necessary. Questions had come up with the building of the cider press, but he trusted no one besides himself to oversee the project—too much was at stake. And now, as he passed through Penwythe’s main gates, Jac was glad to be home.
For so many reasons.
He was surprised at how much he missed the children. They were becoming a part of him, a part of his daily life. Much more than he ever expected them to.
And then there was Mrs. Greythorne.
Cordelia.
His pulse raced at the thought of her.
Her last words to him had been cool that afternoon in the drawing room, but her eyes had told a different story. The wall she had carefully constructed around her heart to protect herself from loss and misuse was beginning to crumble. He could see it. Now that she knew the truth about Mr. Simon, she no longer seemed to hold Jac responsible for his dismissal. In fact, she seemed to regard him as an ally.
He guided his horse down the main drive, across the south courtyard and along the bowling green, but his attention was drawn as Liam raced toward him. Jac drew his horse to a halt, and Liam stopped at his side, his face flushed and his eyes wide.
The Governess of Penwythe Hall Page 20
