Gideon shifted so he could look at Luci. Her deep brown eyes still held a shadow of the grief she’d encountered, but reflected there he also saw himself, and therefore the hope he instilled in her. He smiled broadly, feeling the weight of years of torment evaporating under her adoring gaze.
“I love you, my wife,” he said. “I have from the moment we met and I found myself at a loss as to what to do with myself as a married man. Worse, a married man who had snared his victim in his trap, but found it to be an empty victory.”
“And I love you, too,” she answered, “but no, not from the moment we met. I loathed you for weeks.” Gideon laughed at her bold reply, but stilled when she turned serious and said, “But I desire to make up for all those weeks of bitterness and emptiness. I am proud to be your wife, but grateful to be married to the man I love.”
Gideon took Luci’s face tenderly in his hands and kissed her softly, the rest of the anger he’d carried all these years dissolving under the feel of her lips against his. All of the pain, the grief, the rage at both man and the world were fading, replaced by the desire to spend the rest of his life with his former enemy’s daughter.
“What is it?” Luci asked, leaning away to look at him. “You’re shaking. Are you feeling all right?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head as he smiled. “I think I’ve forgotten what happiness feels like. Is this it? This odd feeling in my chest where I feel like I could launch myself from the window and fly?”
“Yes, I seem to recall that feeling myself, once upon a time,” she said, beaming at him. “I’d forgotten what it was like, too. But now, I find it’s the only feeling I can imagine.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Preview: A Fearless Governess for the Forsaken Duke
Chapter 1
Lucretia watched as her charges put away their needlework and then formed a proper single-file line on their way to the dining room.
She packed her belongings and made her way back to the teachers’ quarters. She had taught her last class for the day, not that it meant her day was over. By no means. She would have to spend the afternoon preparing for the following day.
Fortunately, given that the following day was Thursday, her most favorite day of the week, she did not mind at all. For on Thursdays, she got the chance to teach the subjects she was truly passionate about, instead of needlework and music, subjects she secretly despised.
Lucretia Nelson had been a tutor at Mrs. Doringcourt’s School for Young Ladies for almost six years now, having been taken on as a tutor right after departing from the nunnery where she had been raised.
She loved the school and its headmistress, the kind, elderly Mrs. Doringcourt. While smaller than other facilities in Bath—only thirty girls attended year-round—it was a well-respected school that taught its charges more than just needlework and dance. Among the subjects Lucretia was tasked with teaching the young girls were French, Geography, and History, as well as basic Arithmetic.
Not that these young ladies would have much use for them later in life. No, these young girls were destined to become proper ladies of the ton, their knowledge and education little more than a leg-up in the competitive quest for suitable husbands. In their society, skills in dance and music were valued much higher than the ability to count or know history.
It is fortunate for all involved that Mrs. Doringcourt realized I have two left feet right from the start. Now that the other teachers are tasked with the dance lessons, these young dears might have a chance to learn the Quadrille properly. If it were left to me, they would never find a dance partner.
She chuckled at the memory of her first attempt at teaching dance and the headmistress’ swift decision to use her talents elsewhere.
“Lucy!” A voice called from behind her. She turned and saw Mary Hastings running her way. She stopped and waited for the young woman to catch up to her.
“Are you finished with your lessons for the day?”
Mary, the youngest teacher at the school, had arrived two years prior and she and Lucretia had shared a room ever since. Mary was accomplished in all the subjects Lucretia found herself lacking in. Mary possessed the grace and talent to teach dance, the delicate hands to create magnificent needlepoint works, and a love for poetry that was infectious and inspiring to their young charges. The only subject they both enjoyed equally was music. While able to play the pianoforte, Lucretia was not especially talented at it. Not the way Mary was. She taught the instrument with such joy even the most tone-deaf students would pick it up posthaste.
“I just finished teaching my needlepoint class. Alas, I must prepare the French exam for the morning. Why do you ask?”
“Faith! Lucy, can’t it wait? I have rather a mind to take the air, for it is beautiful outside. Come join me for a walk along the promenade?”
Lucretia smiled. While a dedicated teacher, Mary did enjoy time to herself, away from the students. And Lucy knew that the young woman harbored hopes of finding a dashing young man to marry her and rescue her from a lifetime of teaching. Thus, walks along the promenade, where she could see and be seen, were among Mary’s favorite pastimes.
Lucretia, on the other hand, was quite content with her place in the world. An orphan since birth, she had been raised by the Order of Our Sacred Mary, a convent of nuns in the Derbyshire countryside. She’d rarely had exposure to the world and given little thought to the idea of marriage. She’d always assumed that she would end up either a nun or a teacher, never a wife. Always alone.
In fact, before coming to Mrs. Doringcourt’s school, she hadn’t had many friends, either. Thus, having Mary had been a true blessing, even if she sometimes proved a rather bad influence when it came to preparing her coursework, such as today.
“I suppose I can always prepare the examination tonight. Before we go, I must first call on Mrs. Doringcourt, for she has asked to see me.”
Mary’s cheerful, jolly face took on a dark shadow at the mention of the headmistress.
“Is she unwell still? Oh Lucy. It has been many weeks since she last taught any of her classes. What shall we do if she does not recover?”
Lucy shook her head. “She will be just fine. Indeed, the physician has been to see her just this morning and he did not appear alarmed upon his departure. Do not fret, Mary. All will be well.”
“I wish I were as confident in the matter as you are. And I shall fret, for you know as well as I that we would be utterly devastated if the school closed. The other teachers have families to go back to, you and I do not. This is all we have.”
Lucretia nodded. It was true. She and Mary were the only ones that did not have a family to support them. An orphan just like Lucretia, Mary had been raised in an orphanage until an elderly uncle took her in and gave her an education. Unfortunately, that uncle had passed away the previous year, leaving Mary as alone in the world as Lucretia.
Truly, the school was their home and there was nowhere else for either of them to go. Unlike Mary, Lucretia preferred to not worry herself over the matter. There was no use in fretting. In any case, the headmistress would recover soon enough. Wouldn’t she?
“Why don’t you ask her to train you as her successor? Perhaps you can take over the school one day.” Mary suggested this in all sincerity, but Lucretia laughed out loud, so amused was she at the mention.
“I am not qualified to be a headmistress. Neither is anyone else at the school. I am far too young, for one. And I have not the right qualifications, as you well know.”
They had almost reached their chamber,
which was located on the lower floor of the teacher’s building, across the main building which housed the school. Along with the teacher’s chambers, it also housed the dining room, kitchen, and scullery.
“You are far more educated than any of us. You speak Latin and Greek.”
Lucretia shrugged, “Thanks to the nuns, I do. Alas, it does me no good at this school nor would it help me become headmistress, should I so desire. In any case, I shall meet you shortly and we shall go and take the air. Put on your best walking costume, my friend. Perhaps we shall find you a dashing Baron or a Viscount, even.”
The two women laughed at the idea, knowing well that it would be difficult if not impossible to ever marry into the nobility, even if, through some miracle, a Baron came knocking.
She hoped that a kind, comfortably established young man might take an interest in Mary, for she knew that was what her friend truly desired.
Lucretia ascended the stairs to the headmistress’s chamber, which was located upstairs, in what was once the attic of the house. She’d always envied the headmistress this space, for while it was burdensome to climb the stairs, it was quite lovely.
While the teachers’ and students’ chambers were furnished comfortably, the rooms were sparse with only the most necessary furnishings. Mrs. Doringcourt’s lodgings were much more opulent.
In any case, Lucretia loved visiting, for the headmistress had created such a warm and welcoming space she always felt her spirits lifted when entering. However, it was not the case today.
For today, as soon as she entered through the front door, a terrible smell tickled her nose. It was the scent of disease. She was familiar with it, for she had often accompanied the nuns on their visits to the ill. She reached for her handkerchief and was about to cover her mouth when she realized that it may hurt the old woman’s feelings.
“Miss Nelson? Is it you? I am in the drawing room.”
The voice that called out her name was not the strong, demanding voice Lucretia was used to hearing. A feeling of unease spread in her belly as she approached the drawing room.
“It is.”
She entered and found the headmistress on her settee, wrapped in a blanket even though it was September and very hot outside. She looked terrible, her cheeks were sunken in, and the bones along her collar were visible. Beside her, on the end table, was a steaming pot of tea as well as a piece of bread with butter that had not been touched.
What a sight! Poor Mrs. Doringcourt. She looks like a skeleton. And it has been only a little more than a week since I last saw her. She is wasting away and appears much more ill than I had feared.
Mrs. Doringcourt looked pale and her hair was unkempt, which was most unlike her as she was one of the most proper ladies Lucretia had ever met.
She indicated toward the chair in front of her and Lucretia sat down. She found herself pushing the chair a little away from the old lady, for she coughed in the most alarming manner.
“Would you like me to pour you a cup of tea, Mrs. Doringcourt?”
She shook her head and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief.
“I am quite all right, my dear.”
Lucretia gave her a curt nod and cleared her throat.
“I saw the physician this morning. I hope you are well on your way to recovery.”
The woman shrugged and coughed once more, this time holding the handkerchief in front of her mouth as she did. Lucretia caught her glancing at the handkerchief once the coughing fit subsided and quickly balled it in her hand and tucked it away.
“I shall not make a cake of you or me, Miss Nelson. I am not well. The physician seems to believe I am not long for this world.”
“Faith! Mrs. Doringcourt.” Lucretia found herself gasping, her mouth open with the shock of it all. She was aware her voice had been loud and shrill which drew the old woman’s ire.
“Now, now, Miss Nelson. Get a hold of yourself. We must maintain decorum even at the most ghastly of news. Have the nuns not taught you that?”
“Of course, I apologize, Mrs. Doringcourt. I am just so saddened at the news. I…”
The thoughts swirled through her head at a rapid pace.
“Do not fret quite yet, my dear. I have some time left. Alas, we must prepare for the eventuality when I am no longer here. This is why I asked you here, my dear Miss Nelson.”
She attempted to push herself up which resulted in another coughing spell.
“Please, let me assist you,” Lucretia said as calmly as possible. To her relief, the older woman sat back and straightened the blanket over her legs. Lucretia fluffed the pillow on which she had been leaning and found it drenched in sweat. The old woman leaned back and looked up at Lucretia, her eyes tired.
“Very well. In my desk.” She pointed at the old wooden desk by the window. “You will find a number of letters there. I would like you to go to the post office at your earliest convenience and post them.”
Lucretia did as she was told and retrieved the bundle. Upon seeing the question in her eyes, Mrs. Doringcourt cleared her throat.
“I have sent word to other schools in Bath, letting them know that we are in need of a headmistress-in-training. Perhaps one of our fellow educators can point us to someone suitable. In any case, I have let them know what excellent educators we have at our little school, should the need arise for…”
She stopped and broke into another coughing fit. To her horror, Lucretia saw little droplets of blood stain the white material. Quickly, she averted her eyes as the reality of the headmistress’ illness dawned on her.
Neither Lucretia, nor any of the teachers, had been told of the exact nature of their headmistress’ ailment. Even so, it had taken Lucretia only a few moments with her to know it, for she had seen it too many times before. Consumption. The old woman had all the classic symptoms. Lucretia had seen the disease ravage so many people, young and old, during her time with the nuns. She knew there was little chance of recovery from the illness, especially given the headmistress’ age.
My dear Mrs. Doringcourt. It is a tragedy. The only consolation I can cling to is that the disease progresses slowly and we may yet have time to find someone who can take her place as headmistress, should she not recover.
Suddenly, Lucretia felt herself overtaken by a wave of sadness as she realized the woman who had been her mentor for these last few years would likely soon be gone.
Mrs. Doringcourt had taken her under her wing and helped her adjust to her new life when Lucretia first arrived in the city. That was not all—seeing how gifted she was, the old lady had encouraged her to continue her own studies. And so, for the past five years, Lucretia had spent her days teaching young souls while at night being taught Geography, Italian, and European History by the headmistress. The old woman had done the same for Mary.
Somehow, Lucretia had never considered things might change. Not for her, at least, for she’d planned to be a teacher all her life and to remain at the School for Young Ladies until she was too old to teach. And she had never even considered what that might be like without the headmistress.
“Miss Nelson?” The woman’s strained voice drew her out of her thoughts.
“I am sorry, my mind drifted.”
“It is quite all right. As I was saying, I am confident I will be able to find someone capable to succeed me before this wretched disease takes me away. Soon news of my illness will spread, and certainly once the letters make their way to their recipient. I did not want you to be taken by surprise, for I know if the school closed it would be difficult for you, and Miss Hastings, of course.”
She took a sip of her tea, while Lucretia noticed how much her hands shook.
“Are you quite certain there is enough time?” Lucretia felt awful having to discuss the matter of the woman’s impending death in such a manner.
Without blinking, the headmistress glanced at her over the rim of her cup.
“Quite confident. I will say that it was rather arrogant of me not to attend t
o this matter before now. Unfortunately for us all, I was under the impression that I was quite indestructible. I thought I had time.” She paused, “At the very least I had hoped that I would have enough time to train the person I thought would be my natural successor.”
Lucretia tilted her head and frowned. “I was not aware you had somebody in mind.”
“My dear child. Your one great fault has always been that you do not think highly enough of yourself.”
Lucretia raised her eyebrows.
Me? She means me? When Mary suggested it I dismissed it, for it is rather ridiculous to think that I could ever be headmistress. Let alone of an establishment as respected as this school.
“Do not look so surprised, Miss Nelson. You are extraordinarily gifted and will make a wonderful headmistress one day. Why else do you think I have bestowed all this knowledge upon you all these years? I saw your potential the moment you walked through the door, fresh from the nunnery. I knew all you needed was to find your confidence and to gain experience. I was hoping that in another two or three years you would be ready to unofficially succeed me. Unfortunately, we are out of time.”
“I did not know that you thought of me in such high regard.”
“That must be what living among the nuns has done to you, dear child. It is all very well that they teach you to be humble. It will serve you well in life, but do not ever forget your worth. Never forget that you are incredibly intelligent and your mind is sharper than that of any other. You have limitless potential if you can just believe in yourself.”
“I appreciate your kindness more than you know, Mrs. Doringcourt.”
Lucretia was touched by the woman’s words, for she had not known she was valued so. It was true, living among the nuns had made her humble but also unsure of herself. The world outside of the convent had been so different that sometimes she still felt she did not have a true place in it. The old woman yawned and cleared her throat.
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