“Liam! What is it?” Jac adjusted his hat’s brim to guard against the early-afternoon sun.
The boy’s face twisted in concern. “Mrs. Greythorne is leaving.”
“What?” Jac jerked and slid from the saddle.
“Yes,” Liam gasped, breathless from his run, and trotted alongside Jac as they walked to the stable. “Her brother is here, and her sister is sick and might die.”
After instructing Liam to return to his siblings and leaving his weary horse with the groom, Jac hurried inside. As Liam had indicated, a man stood in the great hall with his back to him, examining a painting hanging on the wall. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he appeared to be waiting.
“Welcome to Penwythe Hall.” Jac broke the silence as he stepped into the room.
The guest turned to face him, and his brows rose with interest.
“I’m Jac Twethewey.” He continued into the great hall, extending his hand.
“Horace Abbott.” The man’s handshake was firm.
With the man’s straight dark hair, round face, and dimpled cheeks, the likeness between brother and sister was unmistakable. Abbott was not a tall man, yet his broad shoulders and the intense set of his jaw commanded attention.
“My nephew tells me our governess is needed at your home.”
“She is. Our younger sister is ill, and the situation is quite grave. I fear if Delia does not bid her farewells now, she may not be able to at all. She’s gathering her things now.”
Jac nodded, absorbing what he’d just been told and suppressing the wave of disappointment coursing through him. He didn’t want her to leave, yet he’d not detain her—not when she was so badly needed. He gestured back to the entrance hall and his study beyond. “Come with me. You can wait for Mrs. Greythorne in my study.”
Jac led the way down the corridor, pausing to instruct Mrs. Bishop to pack a basket of food for their journey. Once in the study, he offered Abbott a glass of port, and the men sat in the chairs flanking the mantelpiece.
“I do hope Delia’s absence will not put you in a bind,” Abbott said after a stretch of silence.
Jac leaned back in his chair, keeping his tone steady. “She’ll be missed, of course. The children rely on her, but we can manage for a while. The most important thing is that Mrs. Greythorne is with her sister now.”
“I’m glad you see it that way.” Abbott shifted in his chair, and he looked down to his glass. “To be honest, I’m not sure how long her presence will be required. If I had my way, sir, she would not be returning at all.”
Jac lifted his head, alarm building at the odd, confident statement. “You disapprove of your sister’s profession?”
“It isn’t so much that I disapprove; it’s that I wish she didn’t need employment at all.” He took a drink of port and then adjusted his position. “I’ve no doubt she’s an excellent governess. She’s always had a way with children. Be that as it may, a woman should be with her family and not on her own in the world. Should I have had a greater say in the matter, she’d never have embarked on such an endeavor in the first place.”
Footsteps sounded, and Jac stood and stepped into the passageway, a sense of melancholy and dread slowing his steps. His heart sank as their gazes met in the shadowed corridor.
Despite the oppressive heat, Mrs. Greythorne was clad in the black traveling gown she’d worn the day of her arrival. Her hair was pulled back into a tight chignon. She was pale and dark circles shadowed her eyes. She gripped Hannah’s hand in one hand and Sophy’s in the other. At her side Liam and Johnny both carried a bag. Julia followed them.
Upon noticing him Sophy dropped Mrs. Greythorne’s hand, ran ahead, and flung her arms around him. “You’re home!”
He stooped to plant a kiss on top of her head.
“Mrs. Greythorne is leaving,” Johnny announced, his tone somber.
“So I’ve been told.” Jac allowed his eyes to lock with hers. He saw so many emotions there—none of which were happy or pleasant.
Could it be that she felt the disappointment of this rushed reunion as poignantly as he did?
He offered her a bow.
She offered a weak smile in return. “You’ve met my brother.”
He nodded, not sure what one should say at a time like this. “I understand you need to go away for a while.”
“I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you too much. I’ve already spoken with your aunt, and Mrs. Bishop, of course. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”
He was keenly aware of all the eyes on him. He swallowed. Hard. He had thought of little else but seeing her again, and now his chest tightened at the thought of her impending departure. “I—I wish the best for your sister.”
“Thank you.”
Abbott was in the doorway. He flipped his pocket watch open and then snapped it shut, his eagerness to be off written in his every feature. “Are you ready then, Delia? It will be dark by the time we get back as it is.”
Moisture was beginning to pool in her eyes. She hugged the children, whispering something to each one. The girls were crying. Johnny’s bright-blue eyes were red rimmed. Liam’s lips were pressed to a firm line. Once she was done saying good-bye to the children, she looked at him.
He forced a smile. Someone had to be strong during this unexpected transition. “Godspeed, Mrs. Greythorne. We—we will miss you.”
How inadequate the words seemed.
He would miss her.
A sinking sensation raced through him. What if Abbott had his way? The dire possibility that she could leave and never return to Penwythe flashed before him. He’d lulled himself into the belief that she would be with them as long as the children were here.
He looked to the children, still clad in mourning black, their faces as pale as their governess’s. Her smile was forced. He saw it twitch and then twitch again.
“Farewell, Mr. Twethewey.”
His eyes locked with hers, but his mouth felt dry and no words came to his lips. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Their conversation in the drawing room several nights ago was unfinished. He hadn’t been prepared for it, and now it might be too late.
“I wish you and your family the best.” His parting words felt thick and inadequate on his tongue. “Hurry home.”
Home.
Yes, Penwythe was her home, and she was as much a part of it as the orchards and the children and the gardens.
They all walked together to the carriage in the courtyard. Once at the carriage Mrs. Greythorne turned her smile to the children and patted Hannah’s cheek before she accepted her brother’s assistance into the carriage.
From the window Mrs. Greythorne smiled at him—an ordinary smile—one he had seen so often since her arrival all those weeks ago. He wanted to capture the sight and memorize every detail.
And just like that, Mrs. Greythorne was leaving Penwythe Hall.
He put his arm around Julia’s shoulders as they stood in silence, watching the vehicle retreat to the main road, heavy with the knowledge that Mrs. Greythorne’s brother did not wish her to return.
Movement tweaked Jac’s other hand. He looked down. Sophy slid her small hand in his and leaned her head against his forearm. “I don’t want her to go.”
Hannah spoke. “What if she doesn’t come back?”
“She will,” he stated swiftly, as much to reassure himself as her. “She said as much. Don’t you believe her?”
The unanswered question lingered in the hot, dry afternoon. As the carriage rumbled down the dusty road, the sensation of loss was great indeed.
Chapter 34
Delia never would have dreamed that she would awaken in her childhood home, yet here she was the next morning, in the chamber she’d shared with her sister.
It was just as she remembered. One large canopied bed with four sturdy posts stood in the center of the room, draped with a plain quilted coverlet. Two windows were set in the far wall, and at the moment the heavy linen curtains were drawn to prevent light from filtering
through. The darkness helped her sister sleep, no doubt, but the lack of light during the early afternoon confused Delia’s senses and made her drowsy.
She sat in the hard, wooden chair she’d pulled next to the bed and watched her sister sleep. Even though Delia had been present the entire night, she still could not get used to the airy sound of Elizabeth’s labored breathing.
Horace had been right to come and get her. Elizabeth needed her here.
Elizabeth had never been healthy or particularly active, but in the years of Delia’s absence she’d wasted away, frail and delicate as autumn’s fading leaves. Her hair, which Delia remembered as being a glossy nut brown, was dull and thin and had been cut short. Her angular cheeks were wan and hollow, and her closed eyes appeared sunken.
Despite her sister’s weakness, they’d spent most of the morning talking of so many things—of Horace’s children and wife. Of the sea and the orchards and the apple presses. Of Penwythe Hall and the Twethewey children. Of happy memories and whimsical childhood dreams—most of which would never come to fruition. All of these were topics they had discussed through letters, but there was something special about discussing them face-to-face.
Delia spied a book on the table’s edge and decided to read by candlelight. But as she moved to pick it up, her chair creaked and Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open. She smiled faintly when her gaze fell on Delia. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m so glad you are here.”
“And I’m glad to be here.” Delia reached forward and squeezed her sister’s clammy hand.
“Tell me more about your time at Penwythe. I don’t want to miss a moment.”
The simple, honest statement struck a chord deep within Delia. Moments were always precious, but in the fading twilight of life, they were even more so. Delia licked her dry lips and leaned closer. “It’s close to the sea. You can smell it from the gardens and orchards, and the seabirds fly far inland. On one of my first days there, I rose early and went to the shore alone. It reminded me so much of Robert and of when we were children and Father would take us to the shore. Do you remember?”
Elizabeth drew a shuddering breath. “I do. But as lovely as the sea is, I want to know about you. I expected almost with every letter that you would tell me you and Mr. Simon had formed an attachment.”
A bitter mixture of sadness and anger burrowed through her at the statement. Would the situation never cease to touch her? “Mr. Simon turned out to be a different man than I thought.” She told Elizabeth the details—of Mr. Simon’s surprise visit in the garden and the ensuing confrontation between Mr. Simon and Mr. Twethewey. She stopped just short of the part about his taking money from Thomas and his visit to the Hawk’s Eye Inn.
“Mr. Twethewey seems to be an upstanding man. Is he handsome?” The faintest twinkle sparkled in her sister’s eyes. Even in her altered state, she had not lost her sense of curiosity.
Yes, he was handsome. Her mind’s eye could perfectly recall his square jaw and the slight cleft of his chin. How his blue eyes could either flash with anger or warm with affection, depending on the situation at hand, and how the lock of black hair, with its tendency to curl, would fall across his forehead, giving him a relaxed, approachable appearance. There could be no denying her attraction after all that had occurred, but how much of that could she say out loud? For once said, the words could never be taken back.
“You hesitate,” Elizabeth prodded with a smile. “One day you are going to meet a man who will love you like Robert loved you. It may not be Mr. Twethewey, but it will be someone.”
“I’m not sure, Elizabeth.” Delia shifted in her chair, trying to relax. Elizabeth was the one person on earth who could be trusted with information regarding her heart, and yet Delia was hesitant to let her in.
“You’ve had so much pain, with Robert and, of course, Maria.” Elizabeth rolled her head to the side to look Delia in the eye. “Don’t close yourself off. There’s nothing worse than loneliness, unless it is living with regrets.”
Delia winced at the odd comment. “What do you mean, regrets?”
“We all have regrets.” Elizabeth raised one shoulder in a little shrug. “It’s a part of life. And part of dying is coming face-to-face with those regrets. We all have parts we’d like to change or erase altogether. My regret involves you.”
Delia released a shocked laugh. “Me? Why?”
Elizabeth’s expression sobered. “After Robert died, you should have come here, to the vicarage and what was familiar to you, not traipse off to be a governess for a family you didn’t even know.”
Delia waved her hand in front of her, as if to pass on the subject. “It wasn’t the right time for me to come here. Besides, this house is too full as it is. I am perfectly capable of making my own way.”
“Yes, you are capable, but you said it exactly. The house was too full. Because of me.”
Delia blinked. “But that’s hardly your fault. It couldn’t be helped. I’ll forever be grateful that Horace was able to provide for you.”
Elizabeth lifted her hand as if requesting silence. “That’s just it. He had to provide for me. You had just as much right to a home here as I, but you couldn’t, because Horace had to care for me. All these years you have been providing for yourself, working, and I’ve been here.”
Delia tightened her grip on her sister’s hand. “My life is a fulfilling one. It really is.”
“Mine has been too.” Elizabeth squeezed back. “I see the look in your eye. You wonder how I can say that when I’ve lived half my life from this bed and the other half with the shadow of illness hovering over me.”
Delia lowered her gaze.
“I don’t know why God chose to give me this illness. How I wish it could have been otherwise, but if I had spent my life questioning His reasons or if I had wallowed in the fear of impending death, I would have wasted the days I’d been given. If I let myself linger on the possible dangers and pain that could lie around the corner, what sort of life would that be? Once I came to peace with this path, my fear subsided. Don’t misunderstand, I mourn what I’ve missed—love and children and adventure—but I’m not angry about it. Mourning and anger are very different things.”
Tears formed in Delia’s eyes. She’d often wondered if her sister was frightened of dying. They’d never spoken of it. Despite her sister’s bravery, Delia’s own fears for the future rushed her.
Elizabeth gave way to a round of shallow coughs before she removed her hand. “Our struggles are different, yours and mine. You have your own battles. You’ve lost your husband and daughter, and I’ll not pretend to deny I heard the rumors surrounding his death.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Elizabeth was the only one who knew the truth about the Greythornes’ cruelty toward her—at least, she was the only one who believed it. “I can’t seem to see past it,” Delia confessed. “It haunts me. Plagues me. I want to be free of it. I do.”
“Faith,” Elizabeth said softly. “Faith is how you get past it. Faith that you will not be given a heavier burden than you can bear. Faith that there is wisdom to be gleaned from every situation. Faith that you are exactly where you need to be, even in the valleys, either for your sake or for His will. Never are we promised an easy life, but we are promised that when we rely on Him for strength, we will have what we need to face our challenges. Fear is a bitter, vile enemy—it will rob you of today’s joys and steal your strength to fight for your purpose. Faith is why I don’t fear tomorrow or the next day.”
Delia wiped a tear, recalling all the times when fear froze her to her spot, refusing to allow her to think rationally. She saw the wisdom in Elizabeth’s words, but what was more, she saw the sincerity in her sister’s eyes, and the peace—true peace—that does not come from self but something more.
Elizabeth patted her hand. “There is a journey, dear Sister. You are on it. I don’t know where it is going or where it will end, but if you lean on your faith, you’ll arrive at a destination created just for you.�
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Chapter 35
Jac stood in his study and looked out the east window. If he angled his shoulders just right, he could glimpse the orchard through the trees lining the bowling green. Humid heat hung in a thick haze over all, and the landscape glimmered verdant in the morning sun.
They were halfway through the growing season—halfway to the first harvest—and what was more important, halfway to seeing if his plan would work out as he had hoped.
The fruit had been thinned from the branches. The grounds had been tended and turned. Barrels had been carefully crafted for the specific purpose of fermenting cider. If only it would rain. The orchards were dryer than he had ever seen them. He hadn’t been that worried until he visited the north orchard. The dry leaves withered on the branches and were already falling to the ground.
His greatest concern at the beginning of the season had been waterlogged soil, and he thought he’d addressed the concern with the irrigation ditches. His uncle’s words about man’s inability to control nature drummed in his mind. He almost laughed out loud. He had no control, and with every change, every unexpected development, he felt what little control he did have slip from his grip. He’d thought he’d be happier at this stage of the plan, but everything seemed uncertain.
His thoughts turned to another situation that felt hopeless.
It had been over a week since Mrs. Greythorne had left.
Of course he wished for a full recovery for her sister, but selfishly he wished for her to be back at Penwythe Hall where he could see her. Speak with her. He knew the children felt the same way. Aunt Charlotte had been staying here until Mrs. Greythorne’s return, but even so, a somber shadow darkened the sunlit days. She was missed, and it grew more evident by the day.
He occupied his mind by overseeing the orchard work and tending estate business by day and spending time with the children in the evening. Any task was a welcome distraction. Just earlier today he’d received word that one of his tenant’s orchards was struggling with insects, so he and Andrews were going to ride out to see if anything could be done to save it.
The Governess of Penwythe Hall Page 21
