To Love a Governess

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “What?” She paused and waited for him to repeat it.

  “I know more than you think I do. About how you feel,” he said, without looking up. Then with a wave of his hand, he dismissed her.

  She left, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. What did that mean, that he knew how she felt? He’d never been a governess before. La, what a picture that conjured in her mind, Mr. Selwood clad in a frock with an apron on.

  For pity’s sake. It would be easier to be angry with him had he not been so absolutely handsome.

  But that didn’t change the fact that she needed to move on. Continue her journey away from here. She had been lured momentarily by the prospects of moving up in the world. In truth, she knew—as all knew—that was impossible. Only a man such as Mr. Selwood could have convinced her that a housemaid could become a governess.

  He was right about one thing, though. She was exhausted. Now that she had said her piece, she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Rose was still resting, and Sarah climbed into the bed beside her and closed her eyes.

  #

  Sarah woke to a pair of large, dark eyes staring at her from only inches away. Rose was up and sitting in the bed, her legs crossed, leaning so close to Sarah’s face her dark hair tickled.

  Sarah sat up. “Are you feeling better?”

  Rose nodded.

  “I’m so glad.” She raised the sleeves of Rose’s nightdress and checked her arms. The rash was almost gone. “Is it still itchy?”

  Rose nodded. Then she pointed to her throat.

  “And your mouth still hurts?”

  She nodded again. Then she rubbed her stomach.

  Sarah chuckled. “And you’re hungry?”

  Another nod.

  “Let’s go see what we can muster up from the kitchen, yeh?”

  Rose gave another nod and scrambled out of the bed, tugging at Sarah’s arm. At least it seemed Rose held no grudge for Sarah almost killing her.

  With Rose’s hand tight in hers, she led her along the servant’s corridors and down the stairs to the kitchen. It was well past two in the morning, and the house was dead silent.

  In the kitchen Sarah found a loaf of bread and cut a slice for Rose. She covered it in honey and poured a glass of milk. She lifted Rose so that she sat on the wooden worktable that filled the center of the kitchen, slurping the honey that dripped from the bread.

  “Cook won’t like you disturbing her kitchen,” came a man’s voice from the door.

  Sarah spun around. “Mr. Ruddiman.” How long had he been there?

  “Aren’t you dressed a little light for the cold night air?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t want you to catch your death.”

  She’d made a mistake leaving her room without something to cover herself. She didn’t own a dressing gown, but she had an old shawl that would have served. So long at a school with all girls had left her unused to the need for extra clothing.

  Rose was quietly working her way through her honey bread. Perhaps it would be best to take the girl and go back to their room to finish.

  Rude Man pushed himself upright and took a few steps into the kitchen. He rounded the corner of the worktable, his shoulder brushing against her back as he walked past even though there was plenty of space. He opened a cupboard and removed a tin of tea leaves. “Don’t mind me, poppet. Just making a tea for the master.”

  Sarah pulled the top of her shift closer together even though it was already buttoned as far as it would go. She shivered as Rude Man busied himself behind her. She’d always managed to avoid being alone with him. Until now.

  “Eat up quickly,” she said to Rose, but the girl was not quite halfway through her bread. Why had Sarah cut her such a large piece? She glanced behind her. The tea tin was sitting on the counter untouched, and he was watching the back of her. Sarah was two strokes away from picking up Rose and leaving the kitchen altogether when another man appeared.

  This time it was Mr. Selwood. Sarah left her post by Rose and hurried over to him, standing so that he made a sort of partial blockade between herself and Rude Man.

  Mr. Selwood eyed her with curiosity. “What are you doing up?”

  “Rose was hungry,” she said. But now she’d left Rose exposed to Rude Man. She really was a terrible governess. “I didn’t realize the house was so busy in the middle of the night.”

  “Ruddiman,” he said. “What are you doing in the kitchen at this hour?”

  Sarah’s eyes shot to Rude Man. It seemed Mr. Selwood had not asked for tea.

  “I, uh, thought something warm might help you sleep, sir.” Mr. Ruddiman lifted the tea tin in demonstration.

  “You know I never drink tea.”

  “Oh, right.” Rude Man returned the tin to its place in the cupboard. “Good nigh’, then.” He left the kitchen without another word. Sarah shuddered as he passed. Deceivers ever.

  Mr. Selwood turned his eyes on Sarah now. She edged her way back to Rose, who was happily eating her bread and honey and sipping her milk.

  At last Rose was finishing the last crust of her bread. She put it in her mouth and looked up at Sarah with her big round eyes. “More?”

  Sarah nodded. Of course she would want more. The poor child looked practically starved, and Sarah hated the way her little ribs striated her chest.

  “I guess I’m not the only one hungry at the devil’s hour.”

  “No, sir.” Sarah lifted Rose’s empty plate to fill it again.

  Mr. Selwood had not moved since he entered the kitchen. If he had come for food, he should rummage around as all hungry men did in the prime of their youth.

  “I’ll go cut Rose another piece of bread.”

  He nodded, his eyes going to Rose still sitting on the wooden worktable, sipping her milk. “How is she doing?”

  “Ask her yourself. That will make her happy.”

  Mr. Selwood cleared his throat. “How are you feeling now?”

  Rose smiled with a grin about as big as Sarah had ever seen on her little face. “All better.”

  Mr. Selwood returned her smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Sarah took the bread from the box and went at it with the long serrated knife. “She’s fond of you, Mr. Selwood.”

  There was not a sound in the kitchen beyond the gentle sawing of the bread. She turned and looked at him. He wasn’t looking at Rose, he was watching her, reminding her again that she was wearing naught but her night shift.

  “Do you want some?” she asked, pointing at the bread with the knife.

  For someone who claimed to be hungry, he was making very little effort at foraging. “Yes, thank you.”

  She turned and began cutting again. She heard a rustle behind her, then something landed on her shoulders. Mr. Selwood’s dressing gown.

  “It’s cold.” He quickly stepped away. “Do you not have a dressing gown or something to cover your nightdress?”

  Sarah handed him his piece of bread, then she slipped her arms into his gown and fastened the waist tie. “I’m a maid. Or I was. Do you think I could afford such a luxury?” She drizzled some honey on the other piece and gave it to Rose. The girl smiled at the food and took a bite.

  Mr. Selwood opened a few of the cupboards, apparently searching for something. He set out cups and bowls and a little pot of sugar. He moved to the next cupboard and did it again until the counter was strewn with this and that.

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked.

  “Butter?”

  Sarah lifted the lid on the butter crock Cook kept in the corner away from the heat of the oven. “Here.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Sarah gathered up the items and began returning them to their places. “Every mess you make must be cleaned by someone, you know. The house doesn’t clean itself, after all. There are no house fairies that come along and tidy up with a snap of their fingers. It’s real folks who put in a hard day’s work to keep it up for you. And just when they finish, you come along
and—”

  He was staring at her again.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said quickly. She was being visible again—and with an extreme lack of propriety. If she got sacked, it would hardly matter now since she’d already given notice, but what if he sent her away without her wages? “I overstepped my position. I suppose it comes from being in the eldest class at Harleigh’s School for Girls for so long. I forgot myself.”

  He lifted the sugar bowl. “You are quite right.” He returned the bowl to the cupboard and started toward the door with his bread only half buttered. “I shall leave you to your food.”

  “Wait.” If he left, Rude Man might come back. She’d be alone with him again, and the notion sickened her. “You are welcome to stay here.” Now it sounded as though she were giving him permission in his own house. “What I mean is, I . . . we . . . Rose and I would like it if you would stay here with us. Just until she’s done eating. Isn’t that right, Rose?”

  Rose nodded with her mouth full.

  Mr. Selwood glanced at the door, then back at Rose. “If you wish.”

  “I’ll fix your bread for you.” Sarah took the slice and finished buttering it. “Honey?”

  He nodded.

  She lifted the honey dipper and drizzled some over his bread. She put it on a plate and handed it to him. He took it, his fingers brushing against hers.

  “I wondered if you would write up a list of the things you’ll need for the child’s education. I can work with Thayne, my steward, to get what is needed.” He was staring at the bread on his plate.

  “Her name is Rose.”

  “Yes,” he said. “And I wonder . . . that is, perhaps, would it be tolerable if I look in now and then? So I can follow her progress.” He finally looked up. “It’s not a requirement. I don’t want to intrude.”

  How ridiculous to think his presence would ever be intolerable. This was his house, after all. He could freely go wherever he wanted, and not a soul would question it. Rose would really keep her nose to the grindstone if she knew Mr. Selwood was checking her progress.

  He watched her, waiting for an answer, but his eyes were troubled.

  Then Sarah had a thought. Perhaps it wasn’t about following Rose’s progress at all. Perhaps it was about having someone to be with. Someone to talk to. Companionship. For all his beauty and wealth, he was not a happy man.

  “Of course. We would very much enjoy that.” She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm, a bold and very visible thing to do. It was a gamble, but Sarah followed her hunch. “Please feel free to join us any time you’d like, Mr. Selwood. We both enjoy your company very much.”

  He backed away, but still he smiled as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Chapter Eight

  Within a few days, Rose was completely recovered. Sarah tucked her into bed and waited a few minutes until she was sleeping. These evening moments were the only time she had to herself and were not to be wasted.

  Sarah hadn’t been outside since Rose’s misadventure. She dared not take Rose where more nettles might reach out and drag her to an itchy death. But Sarah needed some air, to see the sky and let the breeze stroke her cheek.

  Sarah strolled through the grounds in the fading daylight. The robin was calling again, singing his own evensong, easily as delightful as any canticle coming from the church. She followed the song to the same patch of undergrowth that had nearly killed Rose.

  Only now it looked as if a herd of wild pigs had torn through it. Large patches of dirt showed through where before it had been bursting with green. She looked closer. The nettles were gone. All of them. Not a stray stem or leaf anywhere.

  Sarah made her rounds through the gardens, carefully looking for any sign of nettles. There was none. Any place they had been growing was now barren of greenery of any sort.

  Mr. Selwood had had it all removed. Every last trace.

  She turned and ran back into the house. Where was Mr. Selwood this time of evening? The drawing room, most likely, drinking his one glass of port and reading a book. Or reading a paper detailing news of the war. Sarah had found war news strewn about the house when she was a maid. It seemed to interest him greatly.

  She opened the door and peeked in. He was not there. She tried the library next, but it was also empty. She knocked at his room. Not there either.

  Perhaps he’d gone out. Just because he never had before didn’t mean he never did. She rounded the corner back toward the Stewart room to check on Rose but noticed a faint light coming from the chamber across from hers. The Selwood room.

  She opened the door a crack. Standing at the window, gazing out, was Mr. Selwood. He held a newspaper folded in his hands while a single candle burned in a chamberstick on the mantel.

  She’d never seen a more solitary figure. Such a very large house for one man to live in. How lonely he must be.

  She pushed the door all the way open and entered. “Sir.”

  He turned.

  She crossed the room until she stood in front of him. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

  He shook his head. “For what?”

  “For removing all the nettles. You have no idea how much better I feel. I think I shall sleep peacefully this night for the first time since the day Rose stumbled into them. I went out walking and heard the robin’s song, but not the wood pigeon today. I wonder why? In any case, the robin called from the ivy thicket, and when I went, I saw the nettles were all gone. I wanted to hug you for it, but that would hardly be invisible. But still, sir. You should know I am so very grateful.”

  He waved it off as though he had not just saved a child’s life. “Of course they should be removed.”

  “Mrs. Walker will not be happy.” Sarah laughed. “She is convinced that nettle tea is the solitary cure for every ailment a person can suffer.”

  He grinned. “She can get nettles from the apothecary if she needs them.”

  “I suppose so. But still, I think there will be a small portion of hell to pay.” She glanced around the room. The bed cover was decorated with a woodland print. A ball sat on the corner of the window seat. A line of tin soldiers marched across the dressing table. It was a child’s room.

  “What are you doing in here?” Was this the room of his youth?

  “Thinking,” he said. He took a deep breath and turned away from her. “Thinking that perhaps we should convert this into a schoolroom for you and the child.”

  It was a good size room, and as much as she loved Rose, it would be nice to have her bed to herself again. “A proper schoolroom and a place for Rose to play would be perfect. We could put a table here for work”—she crossed to the opposite wall—“and over here perhaps a little bed. And a rocking horse. I always wanted a rocking horse. One with a mane and a long tail.”

  But what was she thinking? She would be long gone by then. It would be the new governess who would enjoy the benefits of Mr. Selwood’s generosity. “What I mean is, I’m sure the next governess would appreciate it.”

  “You could stay,” he said, back to looking out the window.

  He knew well how to tempt her. First with his beauty and now with a new schoolroom. But she could not let herself be drawn in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Selwood. But I cannot.”

  #

  “E is for eat. Which is something you love to do.” Sarah showed Rose the wooden block with the letter E on it. It was a set she’d found while rummaging through the Selwood room. They sat on the floor with their legs crossed, sorting through the alphabet.

  The renovation of the Selwood room was nearly complete, as was Sarah’s time at Banwick House. Mr. Selwood had listened carefully to all of Sarah’s ideas, consulting her frequently on the size of the table, the number of chairs, curtains, and almost everything else.

  He often walked with them through the gardens, listening to Rose repeat everything Sarah said to make sure he heard it properly. Each day his laughter came more easily, his smile more readily. And each day Rose reached for his hand
but never received it.

  It was these moments with Mr. Selwood, when the clouds cleared from his countenance and his deep voice rolled along freely like a river over shallow rocks that Sarah would miss most.

  “E. Eat,” Rose repeated. She took the block from Sarah and studied the letter that had been painted in red. “Eat.”

  “That’s right.” Sarah pointed to the stack they were making, and Rose added the E block to it. “What’s next?” Sarah asked.

  Rose took the next one and handed it to Sarah.

  “F. F is for family.” Sarah traced the letter with her finger before giving it back to Rose.

  “Family?” Rose copied what Sarah had done and let her finger follow the blue paint of the letter F.

  “A family is a mother and a father and sisters and brothers.” Sarah looked at Rose. Neither the child nor herself had any sort of proper family. She could have said feather or fairy or farthing or any number of words that would be more appropriate than family.

  “Do you remember your mother?” Sarah asked. Perhaps if she used her mistake to her advantage, she might learn something about Rose’s life before Banwick House.

  Rose stared at her.

  “Who did you live with before you came here?” she prompted. “Was it your mother?”

  Rose gave a tiny nod.

  “See there. You do have a family.”

  But now the child looked about to cry.

  “Aw. There now. Do you miss her?” Sarah had not meant to stir up homesickness.

  Rose shook her head, and her chin quivered. She crawled into Sarah’s lap, clinging to her apron front. She pointed her finger right at Sarah’s chest. “Mother.”

  Sarah had not yet had the heart to tell Rose she was leaving in less than a week and a new governess would come instead. Rose made it harder by the day to think of leaving, and now this? How was she to go when Rose clung to her more and more each day?

  “You know, Rose, family doesn’t have to be a mother and a father and such. Some families are made of all sorts of people, yeh?”

  Rose looked up into Sarah’s face.

  “Mr. Selwood is your family now. He will love you and watch over you and help you grow up into a lovely young lady.”