The Precious Secret of a Loving Governess: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  Even if it was nonsense…

  But reality was not the same. Olivia, the oldest of the three girls, was now at an age that required her to find something new. It could be employment or it could be a husband, but whatever it was, it had to relieve the burden she had become on her family.

  With her mother gone, it was up to Olivia to find a means to help her father. She was good at a great many things, but finding the right employer for her skillset would prove vital. After all, there were no knights or earls standing by to take her hand and she was determined not to have a marriage like her parents had.

  So Olivia was left with no other choice than to work.

  “Olivia!” called Gemma in a pouty voice.

  Olivia rushed to the kitchen where she found her two sisters with arms crossed, glaring at one another.

  “Oh dear, what is it?” she asked.

  “Louise says I am useless,” the younger griped. At a mere ten years old, Gemma considered herself quite the important member of the family.

  “Louise…” Olivia said in warning, trying to keep the amused expression off her face as her gaze shifted to the middle sister, a full sixteen years of age.

  Louise was also trying not to laugh at their youngest sister whom they heartily indulged. She was a sweet child, rarely given to these tantrums. But now and then Gemma and Louise would argue when things needed to get done. As Louise was in charge of cooking at the house, this was one of those times.

  “Forgive me, Gemma. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that I really need you to bring me the good carrots and I have shown you a number of times how to pick the right ones,” Louise explained in a slow, indulgent voice.

  “Gemma, you must forgive your sister,” Olivia instructed.

  “All right then, I forgive her,” Gemma replied in a pompous tone. The child pranced back towards the garden, leaving Louise and Olivia to themselves.

  “Do you need help?” Olivia asked.

  “No, no, I am fine,” she replied, stirring the full pot of steaming soup.

  “I’ve nothing else to do, really. I am happy to assist you,” Olivia remarked.

  “Well then, if you can chop those mangled little carrots, I should be very grateful,” Louise said with a laugh.

  Olivia picked one up and chuckled as well. They really were quite possibly the worst in all the garden that Gemma had managed to bring them.

  If this was the best they had to offer, no wonder the family was doing so poorly, Olivia thought. She hoped that things would get better for them, but that seemed unlikely.

  She laboured in the kitchen with Louise, humming to herself. Her sister joined in and after a short while, Gemma came back with a few more grimy carrots for Olivia to wash and chop.

  By the time dinner came, the three girls were ready to eat and their father joined them in his jovial manner.

  Mr. Digby was a happy man, always looking for the best in things. Even when a difficult situation arose, he would try to find the positive in it. Olivia had always appreciated that about him. He was a good man and an excellent father. He cared and provided for his daughters quite well. At least, as well as he was able.

  “A perfect dinner, my dears. Absolutely perfect,” he commented.

  Olivia knew that her father was simply trying to appease them, show them gratitude for their work. He didn’t enjoy the soup any better than he had the previous night or the night before that. After all, it was quite boring to eat vegetable soup day in and day out.

  Nevertheless, Mr. Digby made every effort and, for Louise and Gemma’s sake, Olivia was thankful.

  The next morning she was spending time with her sisters. They did not often have a chance for leisure, but in those stolen moments of sisterly affection and bonding, Olivia always enjoyed indulging them.

  “Please do it like Lady Margaret’s!” exclaimed Louise, wincing as she pulled her hair too hard from Olivia’s grip.

  “I shall do my utmost, but Lady Margaret is afforded the finest of hair. You and I have to squabble over the use of a mere brush. So please, calm yourself and stop pulling or you might just find yourself bald,” Olivia threatened.

  Gemma giggled as she watched her two sisters argue. They had already given her a lengthy braid down her back, making the youngest twirl in delight as she tried to catch it from the opposite direction.

  “I want to marry a prince and become a princess!” she announced suddenly, quite catching Louise and Olivia off guard.

  “Oh? Indeed? And why should that be your primary goal in life?” Olivia challenged.

  “Because everyone knows that it is the perfect life. To be a princess is the best thing we can dream of. What else is there?” Gemma asked innocently.

  Olivia felt her face turn down and she focused more intently on Louise’s hair. The middle sister remained quiet as well. Olivia felt Gemma’s confused gaze, not understanding why her sisters did not indulge this fantasy with her. But Olivia simply could not.

  It was true, to become a princess would seem to solve all their problems. But it was a chain, a binding on any young woman to whom it befell. And that was not something Olivia would want for herself or her sisters.

  In reality, what she knew was that her sisters deserved a better life than the one they currently lived. She wondered how she might, one day, give them that. It seemed far from possible and it caused an ache in her heart to know that she was so incapable of providing for their future.

  “Olivia, why do you never read us your stories anymore?” Gemma then questioned, settling in a huff on the chair opposite the elder two.

  Olivia pursed her lips just slightly, continuing her work on Louise’s hair. “I suppose that is a good question,” she sighed.

  It was quiet for a moment and Gemma was growing impatient. “Is there a good answer?” she asked.

  Olivia smirked and looked up at her, trying to hide the pain from her eyes. “Well, I have not been writing them of late. Sometimes, life seems to get in the way and this was one of those times. I lack the inspiration to continue writing tales that might entertain you,” she confessed.

  Under her breath and hoping that Gemma might not hear it, Louise remarked, “It really is a shame, though. You were so good at it. You always carried your notebook with you and you always had a new story to tell.”

  “I remember…” Olivia replied vaguely, untangling a knot in Louise’s hair.

  In truth, she missed her stories. Writing them had given her something to dream about, something to bring a semblance of hope to her life. But since her mother’s passing the previous year, it didn’t seem to matter any longer. Stories were so far from reality. What was the hope in dwelling in them?

  “I want to see if Papa is home yet,” Gemma decided, standing and running out the door.

  Their father had gone out to buy bread from the bakery, a treat they might have with their lunch later. But Olivia knew he was not home, she would have heard the door.

  “Liv, you really ought to consider writing your stories again. I know that everything changed when Mother…when we lost her. But it doesn’t change the fact that you have a skill. And it is one you can share with the rest of us, to bring us joy. Won’t you at least consider it?” Louise encouraged.

  Olivia thought about it, knowing her sister was right. When they lost their mother, she had felt that she had to grow up and become a mother for her sisters. She wanted to take care of them, to fill the void that had entered the home since. It was her sense of duty and a need to protect them that had caused her to abandon her own youthful ideas.

  “I shall. In fact, I shall even see if I can find my last notebook. I know there were still a good deal of pages remaining,” Olivia decided.

  Her mother had purchased her notebooks whenever they had been able to spare a small sum of money. Mrs. Digby had always encouraged Olivia’s imagination. And if this was what her sisters wanted from her, if her tales were greater than her actions as a mother, then stories had to be told.


  “Right, your hair is finished. It is the closest I am able to get it to Lady Margaret’s.”

  Louise felt around her head and seemed satisfied by the work done. “Thank you,” she said, kissing her sister on the cheek.

  “You are quite welcome. Now, I think I am going to find that notebook and make my way into town. I need to get a few things from the market that Father has asked for,” she said.

  “Will you be long?” Louise enquired.

  “I think not. It is only a very small list.”

  A quick search of the room she shared with her sisters and Olivia discovered the notebook among her few possessions. Yes, it was time for her to track her ideas once more. Feeling inspired and free for the first time in an age, Olivia departed the home and made for the market.

  Chapter 2

  Nathaniel Norton tried to engage in the conversation with the men at his gentleman’s club. They were playing a round of cards, but he continually found himself distracted.

  As the new Earl of Glauston, he had to maintain the reputation of the family. He had to balance his friendly charm with an effort to be respected and remain in good standing among society.

  It was a great deal of pressure for a man in mourning, but there was little else he could do. He had to keep up appearances.

  “I do say, you are not a man for cards, are you, Lord Glauston?” teased Lord Kensington.

  Nathaniel chuckled at the reality of it. He was not a man for cards. And even if it was his duty to not shame his family, he hardly thought that he could be blamed for being so unskilled at a game that depended entirely on chance.

  “I fear not, Lord Kensington, but if you are clever enough to teach me to play as you do then I shall forever be in your debt,” he joked in reply.

  The chat was tiresome, but it was exactly the sort that Nathaniel knew he was expected to make. These men took their cards very seriously and they would respect him if he gave it some effort, even when he disliked it so.

  “Well, your father was not so much of a man for cards either and he was quite beloved by us all, nevertheless. I expect you shall be no different,” the earl said in a kind tone, having been a friend of his father’s before taking Nathaniel under his wing.

  Nathaniel nodded in gratitude for the words. His father truly had been a man that society adored. Society and family.

  The loss of his father, so shortly after that of his mother, had been a tragic turn of events. But hearing these men speak so highly of the late earl was a bright spot on an otherwise dark season.

  Indeed, the past two months had been a whirlwind of expectations despite his grief. In addition to having to arrange for his father’s burial, he was taking on the duties and responsibilities of an earl when all he truly wished for was the chance to sit with his grandmother in peace and talk for long periods about what a great father the former Earl of Glauston had been.

  And while Nathaniel did not feel that he could ever live up to the reputation of his father, he knew he would do all he could to make him proud in his death.

  These men were among those who would determine whether or not he had succeeded.

  “Well,” he conceded with a sigh, “you have me. I believe you have won every round, Lord Kensington. But perhaps I might challenge you to the billiards table? Now that is a game in which I am proficient,” he remarked.

  The earl nodded in agreement, leaving the card table and joining a group of men in the billiards room. Three tables were spaced out and dozens of noblemen crowded around two of the tables in order to see who might best whom. Adding the two earls into the mix, men began including them in their wagers.

  Most of the gentlemen bet against the young newcomer. After all, Nathaniel was not so seasoned as the rest of them. But he was rather determined to prove them wrong. And, indeed, with every motion of the game, he did just that.

  “I think I like you better at cards,” Lord Kensington laughed.

  “I shall challenge the young man to his next round,” came a volunteer from among the crowd.

  Nathaniel found the source of the voice and knew it to be the Duke of Morningside. He felt unnerved by the confidence of the duke, but knew that it mattered not a great deal whether he played well or poorly. He was still new and had plenty of time to stake his claim among these men.

  But, once more, Nathaniel proved himself. Repeatedly, he outdid the other men and was already becoming somewhat of a small legend in the club.

  All of this was a good distraction for him. The challenges, the competition, the time amongst men who considered themselves the betters of society, it raised his expectations of himself to be around them.

  And while it was still quite early in the day for all of this activity, Nathaniel was grateful for it.

  Upon the conclusion of the game, the men sat in large, leather chairs with their small crystal glasses of brandy. Some sipped lightly, and others drank greedily, but Nathaniel was amused in their company.

  Doctor Fairweather was not far from him and Nathaniel listened as the man spoke of a recent surgery he had participated in. It was a rather advanced, new technique that he was trying to develop. The medical realm continued to fascinate Nathaniel and he wished only that his station had afforded him the opportunity to indulge in that dream.

  “And the patient was perfectly fine after the fact?” asked Lord Kensington.

  “Absolutely. Honestly, it was quite a relief. No one had ever done this before so we were well aware that it was a risk. When we saw her come out well enough in the end, myself and my assistants were all quite at ease,” Doctor Fairweather said with a satisfied sigh.

  “And no sign of infection?” Nathaniel enquired.

  “None at all. We keep our utensils quite clean and I am rather proud of the ways my assistants handle themselves. The young woman in question was ready to leave the hospital a mere six days after the surgery. With some discomfort, of course, but that is to be expected,” he answered.

  The doctor held out his glass and one of the employees of the club filled it with another round of brandy. Nathaniel certainly hoped that the doctor would not be called into surgery this session.

  Doctor Fairweather began to speak of tonics and medicines he found useful in the prevention of infection and Nathaniel listened intently. It was fascinating. He wondered when a cure for typhus would come. That was his true interest.

  Despite his longing to ask about any advancements in that arena, Nathaniel held back. He knew it would only lead to discomfort in the room if he began asking about the very same disease that had so recently ended the lives of both his parents.

  Still, he hoped it might come up naturally. If it did not, he would find a way to form his words that he might get an answer without directly questioning the disease itself.

  “So you are seeking preventative measures as more vital than cures?” enquired the Duke of Morningside as the conversation continued.

  “Indeed. I have a great many colleagues working on cures. It seems that my efforts would be wasted in that arena. If we are not seeking prevention than whatever reason is there to hope for a cure?” the doctor replied, leaving a question of his own for the men to ponder.

  “I suppose that is quite true. And what a mind it takes to consider the importance of that,” exclaimed another man with whom Nathaniel was not yet acquainted.

  “Might I ask,” he began, hesitantly, “what ailments are you currently seeking preventative measures for?”

  Doctor Fairweather looked at Nathaniel with deep intent. Beneath the surface of the elder’s face was a compassionate understanding alongside his evident love of holding the room captive with his stories.