The Redemption of the Puzzling Governess: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance

by Fanny Finch

  “Well that is nice. And you said you have an older sister and three younger siblings?” he asked.

  “Y-yes, my lord,” she answered. It was uncomfortable for Delia, having her employer take such an interest. But as he said, she was looking after his child and it made sense that he should be diligent to learn of her.

  “Your elder sister, is she a governess as well?” he asked.

  “No, my lord. She married. She has a child of her own to care for,” Delia told him.

  “Oh, of course. I had not considered that. And you said that you have no prior experience as a governess, correct?” he asked.

  Delia knew the lie would stick on her tongue but she spat it out anyway.

  “None, my lord. Only that of helping my mother to teach my younger siblings,” she told him.

  The Earl seemed satisfied.

  “In fact, I am very grateful to you for this opportunity. I understand that many do not wish to entrust their children to a young woman with so little experience,” she added.

  The Earl nodded at that. “Indeed, it is somewhat of a risk. But thus far you have shown me no reason to fret. I am quite satisfied with what I have seen from you,” he told her.

  Delia smiled politely. She was flattered once more and remained surprised that the Earl was being so kind to her about her work. All the fears that she had been feeling were gone. She felt certain now that all was well.

  She was glad and believed fully that this position could be the one that kept her afloat for many years to come. She would be able to continue with Grace, whom she was coming to love dearly.

  “I thank you, my lord. Thank you for all of your kindness and this wonderful opportunity to work on behalf of your daughter,” she said, being honest.

  It was not easy for Delia to lie generally, but she had gotten better at it. It was the only thing she could do to survive if she was to keep at work. And while she disliked lying to the Earl of Dulshire, she knew that it was worth it to remain under his employ.

  “It is my pleasure to have you here,” he replied to her. Again, that look in his eye gave her such a sense of warmth and comfort. She had seen it when he spoke with her, but also at other times. At the few meals they had shared together, Delia noted that he had the look when his food was before him. He had the look when she saw him reading on one occasion.

  There was no telling what it might be that caused the expression from his blue eyes, but she knew that it was a good thing when she saw it.

  And yet, she noticed that he failed to have this look when it came to his daughter. There was something missing between them in his lack of affection for her. Delia could not help but wonder about the distance.

  What could lead a father to have so little care for his child? What was behind it? What was it that she wasn’t seeing?

  Delia waited until the Earl gave her a nod that she was allowed to leave. She stood and curtseyed before going through the door and into the hallway.

  There, she noted two of the maids who had hardly spoken a word to her. It seemed they were of Mrs. Andrews’s ilk, and other than the occasional expression of disgust, it was rare to get much response when she greeted them.

  Amy was still the only member of the house staff that had made any effort to be nice to her at all.

  Delia didn’t wish to feel sorry for herself, but it was deeply frustrating to feel so alone. In the previous home, she had been able to push through as all the staff were kind to one another. While she had never gotten overly close to any of them, they were certainly tolerable.

  But here, it seemed that Amy was her only confidant and that was distressing to her. She liked Amy, but she wanted to like more than just one person in the house. She wanted to get to know others as well.

  Walking past the two parlor maids, Delia heard them whisper behind her and a small giggle wrinkled the air from one of them. She ignored it and returned to find Grace ready for her bath.

  “Very well, then. Why don’t we just get you cleaned up?” she asked, smiling at Grace.

  “It’s your fault I have to have so many baths now,” Grace teased back.

  “Oh? How so?” Delia challenged in delight.

  “Because you are always taking me outside. I get dirty and then you make me run! That’s why I must bathe so often,” Grace answered her, still laughing.

  “Maybe we oughtn’t go outside anymore then. Why don’t we spend all your lessons in your room with no sunshine at all?” Delia suggested.

  “No!” Grace squealed, laughing harder.

  This was what Delia loved so much about children. The smallest conversation could elicit such delight and joy from them. Something so simple as a joke about taking away the sun could bring squeals of delight.

  It made all the lies and all of the challenges worth it. She was here, with this young girl who had no mother. Her father was distant and scarcely spoke to her. Who did she have but Delia?

  After the bath, Grace put on a more comfortable outfit. It was still evening, but Delia wouldn’t have minded if Grace had wanted to go straight into her nightgown. Grace was clearly exhausted, but in the best of ways.

  She was exhausted from having fun and enjoying her learning. It was exactly as it ought to have been.

  But they made their way down to dinner first and ate together. They were joined late by the Earl who apologized and said he had been busy.

  “Forgive us, my lord. We began eating as we did not know if you would come. Had we known, of course we would have waited for you, right?” she told him, but then asked Grace the question.

  “Yes. We do not eat until everyone at the table has been served,” Grace answered correctly.

  “Very good, my dear,” Delia praised.

  “Good heavens, she really is learning, is she not?” the Earl said, relieved to see his daughter doing so well.

  “Indeed, she is terribly clever and has grown significantly in her studies, my lord,” Delia answered.

  It seemed as though their conversation followed a similar pattern every time. And yet, with each one, Delia felt more and more confident in the work she was doing. She felt more and more certain that she was a good employee.

  But as she grew closer to Grace, Delia longed for a child of her own. She wished that she could be a mother and care for a child that considered her as more than a governess.

  Marriage seemed impossible, however. Delia knew she had no prospects and that no man would be willing to sneak a governess away from an Earl like that. How would she even meet a man?

  She was unlikely to come into contact with any young gentlemen until Grace was out in society and Delia was a mere chaperone. By that point, she would be fifteen years older than any of the young men she met. Hardly a possible match.

  No, she would have to settle for her lot. She was a governess, not a mother. She had a nephew to meet at some point soon. But still, not a mother.

  The sadness of that was a weight she would have to carry for the rest of her life. But she could find joy in other ways, such as her care for Grace. She could do her best to love this child in place of her own.

  When putting Grace down to bed that night, Delia tried to keep that in mind. She tried to focus on the fact that Grace didn’t have a mother and she didn’t have a daughter. What could stop them from growing close?

  She would remain professional and refer to the Earl’s desires for Grace. But it did not mean she couldn’t love Grace as a mother would. It did not mean she had to pretend to be anything other than she was.

  A young woman seeking to care for others, unwilling to settle for anything less.

  Chapter 6

  The Earl of Dulshire made his way out from the coach. He looked out at the graveyard and wondered why he continued to torture himself. It was not as though he could do anything now, and yet torturing himself was his only means of reconciliation.

  Reaching the gravestone of his late wife, he felt the familiar sense of self-hatred. Would he never be able to let go?

&n
bsp; Taking a deep breath, he knelt before her. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of grief. He allowed himself the guilt and shame that came with his lack of love for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I could not love you. I am sorry for everything.”

  The sobs came out with great heaving agony, like a wave held back for far too long. The Earl knew that this time was different. He was not only in despair for not loving her. He was in despair for having noticed another. He was ashamed for having considered another woman who would be able to attract him.

  Miss Caulfield was a sweet young lady who was so different from the women he had known before. She was different from his late wife. She was different from society.

  Not only that, but the Earl knew that he had been less than a father to his daughter. He had not honored the memory of his wife by acting as he ought to have been. He had merely neglected Grace, relegating her to a series of governesses.

  But if he was ever to become the father that he had least wished to be, perhaps now was the time to begin. And yet, could he really change his character merely out of guilt? Did he have any desire to grow closer to the child whose mother he had betrayed?

  It all seemed quite unfathomable. He was not the sort of man who would diligently change for these sorts of reasons. The Earl would have to truly desire something to cause himself to change.

  The Earl continued to kneel at the grave. He wondered how he could possibly move forward.

  “Will you ever forgive me?” he asked.

  “Perhaps she isn’t the one who needs to forgive you,” came a voice from behind.

  The Earl of Dulshire stood and turned in a rapid motion. The Reverend, Mr. Rogers, was eyeing him with compassion. With a sense of sadness, he allowed the Earl to take a moment before moving on with his words.

  “I can see that you still have a long way to go,” Mr. Rogers continued.

  “Yes, well perhaps it shall take some time,” said the Earl, embarrassed to having been witnessed in such a state.

  “That is understandable. These things do take time. And yet I cannot help but wonder if you will ever stop punishing yourself. So long as you punish yourself you will never be able to love your daughter as you should,” Mr. Rogers said.

  The Earl felt his heart twist at these words. He did not appreciate such an accusation. But more than that, he knew that the words were true.

  “Why must you meddle so?” the Earl asked in frustration.

  “Why must I meddle?” repeated Mr. Rogers.

  “Indeed. What makes any of that your business?” the Earl continued, his anger rising.

  “My business is forgiveness. My business is to see all the men and women of my parish united closer to God. And as this is my business, and you my parishioner, I have little choice other than to meddle in your business,” Mr. Rogers replied calmly.

  The Earl looked away in a jolting motion. He had no patience for this. He had no need to listen to whatever the Reverend needed to say for the sake of his own conscience. He was a meddler. It was not as though he could grant forgiveness.

  “Are you the one who forgives?” the Earl of Dulshire demanded then, realizing that he could certainly demand such an answer.

  “I am far from he who forgives. But I do the work of he who forgives. So if I see a man struggling to forgive himself, and I see him demanding the forgiveness of one who is already with our Lord, it is my duty to encourage him on the right path,” Mr. Rogers explained.

  The Earl was growing angrier by the moment. It seemed as though the Reverend had confidence to respond to any accusation. It was maddening.

  “You are so angered by my words and I cannot help but question why,” Mr. Rogers noted. “Is there something in the way that I have addressed these issues that you despise? Something in particular?”

  “What do you think? You loved your wife. You desired her love always. I never did. Why should I not hate myself?” the Earl spat.

  “Because you did your best to remain with her despite not feeling affection for her. It is true that you ought to have been better. But I also failed my wife rather consistently,” Mr. Rogers noted.

  The Earl of Dulshire scoffed. “You? How could you have failed?”

  “By putting my congregation before her. It is a very common trait among the clergy and a deeply sinful one. The Lord commands husbands to love their wives. This means to put them first and to sacrifice for them,” he continued.

  “But I foolishly desired my own attainments. I wished to be a clergyman who devoted himself so deeply to the Lord that I often forgot to remember my wife. I often forgot to care for her.”

  The confession was an unanticipated one by the Earl. He never would have imagined that sort of thing from Mr. Rogers. He knew the man only as a good, kind, godly reverend.

  “Anyway, all that to say, you have failed before. You did not love your wife. She died without knowing your care. But you must learn from it. You must never withhold love again,” Mr. Rogers urged.

  “Never withhold love? You think I should choose to do such a thing?” the Earl asked, still offended.

  “Can you tell me that you are the sort of father you wish to be?” Mr. Rogers challenged him.

  The Earl was annoyed that his inner most thoughts had been so apparent to the Reverend. How was it that the man knew exactly where his shame was coming from? How had he known what the Earl had been thinking about Grace?

  “I cannot claim that I, myself, am as good a father as I ought to be,” the Earl confessed.

  “Then you must consider my words. Do not withhold love. Allow your daughter to know your care for her. Allow her to experience what your wife did not have from you. You are a good man. It is time you show it to the world,” Mr. Rogers continued to urge.

  “What if the world does not care to see it?” the Earl asked.

  “If you make your daughter your world, I can assure you that she will care to see it,” Mr. Rogers said wisely.

  The Earl inhaled deeply, considering this. It was not an easy thought. And yet it ought to have been. Of course his daughter was meant to be his world. Allowing his failures and insecurities to prevent that was the real shame.

  “Have you always been thus?” the Earl asked.

  “In what manner do you mean?” Mr. Rogers asked.

  “In the manner that you have a response to everything and your response is always in line with wisdom. In the manner that you are utterly frustrating in your train of thought and the way that others cannot dispute you,” the Earl expressed.

  Mr. Rogers smiled. “In that case, no. I have not always been thus. Indeed, I credit my wife for it a great deal. She was always the wit and wisdom in our home. It was she who had to remedy my maladies,” he admitted.

  “You are a very lucky man to have had such a woman,” the Earl noted.

  “Indeed. And for her patience with me I owe her a great debt,” Mr. Rogers agreed. “Like you, I visit her often. Well, as I live at the parish it is easier for me and I visit her daily.”

  As he said this, Mr. Rogers looked off a little farther in the field. The Earl of Dulshire followed his gaze to a grey tombstone. He could not read the name from where he stood, but knew that it must have been Mrs. Rogers.

  “How long has it been now? Three years?” the Earl asked with empathy.

  “Three and a half. And I still eat my breakfast with her every morning,” Mr. Rogers confessed, his eyes still trained on the stone.

  “You take your breakfast out here?” the Earl inquired.

  “Rain or shine, my lord,” he replied.

  The Earl realized that was the first moment that Mr. Rogers had used the proper form of address. It almost startled him to hear it now after their conversation.

  “Would you allow me to intrude and join you today?” he asked, understanding that what he asked was quite personal.

  Mr. Rogers turned to him.

  “We should both be delighted, my lord,”
he smiled.

  Soon the Earl was helping the Reverend to carry a tray of tea, toast, and jam. It was a simple breakfast to be sure, but he didn’t mind. He had already eaten and this was more about what he could learn from the old man than it was about the food.

  Sitting on a blanket before the grave of Mrs. Rogers, the Reverend prayed over the meal.

  “My lord, do you mind terribly if I talk to my wife?” Mr. Rogers asked.

  The Earl could not prevent himself from smiling slightly.

  “Of course, you must not let me interrupt your routine. I should very much be delighted for you to carry on as normal. So long as my presence does not bother you,” the Earl replied.