The Governess

by Camille Oster

  Forcing her legs to move, she escaped the salon and ran to the staircase that would lead her back to her room and to safety.

  Chapter 25:

  * * *

  The kiss preyed on Estelle's mind every moment of the day. She couldn't stop thinking about it and what it meant. It seemed the count's heart and mind were speaking in completely opposite directions and she couldn't account for it—or the kiss.

  Her lips still stung; she could almost feel his lips pressing to hers and she didn't know what to do with the giddy feeling inside her. It wasn't a feeling she relished; it spelled something uncomfortable as the count had been so very adamant there be no intimacy between them, that she not even consider there could be, and then he'd gone and kissed her.

  With searching eyes, she looked over across the snowy landscape, suddenly aware that Thomas was trying to catch her attention. "I'm sorry. I was miles away," she said, forcing her attention back to the here and now.

  "I think we should finish for the day."

  "Do you now?" she said with raised eyebrows.

  "It is Christmas eve tomorrow. There are preparations needed."

  This took her by surprise. It had snuck up on her so quickly. "Yes, of course."

  Thomas had shot out of the room without another word, off to do whatever was on his mind. He really was the sweetest boy, but his manners could use some polishing. "You're dismissed," she said to an empty room. Then the other thought that had been vying for attention hit her. It was Christmas, and she had no presents prepared. There was no chance of buying anything, so she had to either make or find something to give.

  Returning to her room, she thought through the things she had, the things she'd brought with her. With snow covering everything, there wasn't anything she could make. Could she excuse herself and say she had nothing? That would be an awful thing to do. Why hadn't she prepared? It wasn't as if Christmas should be taking her by surprise. It happened every year, exactly at the same time, but for some reason, this year she had just stumbled across.

  With determined steps, she walked around her writing desk and thought what she could give. Thomas could likely use the little brass compass she had in her possession. It had been a gift, but she rarely used it. It would be perfect for a little explorer. It was sad to think that when he went off to school, she would not see him again. The idea of giving him the compass to remember her by was probably more heartwarming than any use she had of it.

  Thoughts and insinuations from the previous night crashed into her consciousness. The kiss flared in her mind like a siren, almost making her draw into herself, but the more disturbing thoughts were beyond the kiss itself. What had it meant? Countess Vaczy had said the count used and discarded women. Obviously, he was giving into those same urges. Women had been hurt, but they had apparently expected that there would be marriage at the end of the dalliance.

  Was that what he was proposing—a dalliance? Curious heat washed through her at the thought. Her cheeks burned. A part of her had grown to expect she would never know such things. There was a good chance she would never be with a man. In England, too much rested on her impeccable behavior that she would never dare. An uncomfortable question presented itself: would she dare now? Such news would likely never travel home and this could be her only chance.

  When she'd been young and a guest of a Miss Amalie Worthstroke, they had spoken of the husbands they’d wanted and Amalie had taken her down to her father's study where in a hidden compartment in a cigar box, there had been a painting so shameful she'd been shocked. A man and a woman so in flagrante it was unlike anything she'd seen before. The man had been nuzzling at the woman's breast, drawing the pink tip into his mouth and a look of utter ecstasy on the woman's face. The image had stuck in her mind for a very long time, although she had never dared speak of it, but that picture had given her a modicum of understanding why people threw caution to the wind and acted against propriety and even their own best interest. She never had, of course.

  The thought of dark eyes beseeching her made her utterly nervous, not perhaps so much for the beseeching, but the curiosity she had for giving in.

  No, she couldn't, she told herself. No doubt there would be all sorts of trouble down that path, including the threat of a babe in her belly. That would certainly ruin her life. An absurd part of her said it would be worth it. Poverty would be tempered by a child to love. It might be the only chance she had to love properly and thoroughly.

  She dismissed the fanciful thoughts. That was not her life. She was meant for sleeping in small rooms and taking her meals alone in a schoolroom for as long as she could manage to hold governess positions. After, she would be impoverished and unwanted. The bleakness of it assaulted her, but she steeled herself. That was her lot, but she recognized that perhaps the memories of a dalliance might brighten the dreary days ahead.

  All these conflicting thoughts were doing her head in. How had things gotten so complicated? Not to mention the threat outside the walls of the castle. With the count here, she hadn't felt afraid, she realized. Even if someone snuck into the castle there was a good chance he would be nowhere near if she were accosted, but she refused to dwell on that. She couldn't very well trail after him for safety, could see?

  Opening the book she was reading, she ran her fingers down the bookmark. A blue cornflower sat in the center between the thin plates of glass, surrounded by stiff, lilac cardboard. She had made it a long time ago, when her life had been simple and happy. Perhaps she could give the count that. It held such fond memories for her, but she hoped he'd had a period in his life when he'd been content and happy. It could be that he would never see that when he looked upon it, but still, she wanted to give him what it represented in her mind: the gift of remembrance. She also suspected that in the future, she would look back on these days as contented and happy ones, while they lasted.

  *

  The Christmas Eve feast was very generous. Even Balog and the cook stayed, although they didn't eat. A feast for staff was to be held after and they would then leave for mass in the village church. The estate had their own chapel and the priest would come later in the evening.

  The fire blazed warmly as they ate and the mood was light, even as darkness covered every window high up along the wall. White specs of snow occasionally drifted down, gathering at the bottom of the panes. At least it wasn't a blizzard encumbering the staff's trek to the village.

  The table was covered with delicacies and rich meats. There was more she wanted to try than she could possibly eat. New flavors exploded in her mouth, including some she couldn't quite fathom.

  Thomas chattered as he tended to do, seemingly very happy. The presents were kept in the salon and he was impatient, his eyes darting to the clock as if that could tell him when supper was finished.

  "You may go," the count finally said and he darted out of the dining hall.

  Picking up a glass of claret, the count sipped it and leaned back in his chair. "Christmas seemed to have arrived quickly this year," he said.

  "Yes, I was almost taken by surprise. I suppose I am used to our own pre-Christmas traditions. The traditions are very different here."

  "Some are," he said. "Some are not."

  Reaching into his dark jacket, he pulled out a small box and placed it on the table, pushing it over to her. "A Christmas gift for you."

  Estelle smiled and blushed. She hadn't expected a gift. "You didn't really have to."

  Reaching for the velvet box she opened it, seeing a sparkling broach inside. It was not the first time she had received jewelry from an employer. She had received a silver cross one year, but this was something else, she saw. It was cold to the touch and as she picked it up and she saw it was gold, with large stones of rubies and sapphires. There were diamonds and pearls. This was not some little bauble; this was very old, with thick bands of gold. This was not something he'd purchased; this was something from the family vault, maybe even hundreds of years old.

  With her mout
h falling open, she stared at it. Apparently the count had scavenged around for a gift as well, and grossly overcompensated. "I can't accept this," she said breathlessly. This must be worth a fortune. Did he have no idea what such things were worth? "This is too much." She placed it back in the box, almost as if it burned her fingers.

  Looking over at him, she tried to understand the meaning. He tilted his head slightly. "I wish for you to have it."

  "This is a family heirloom," she stated.

  "Yes. I am a rich man, and I do have quite a few."

  "I'm not sure you should be giving these away," she said, not quite believing she was having this conversation. Surely he knew what it was worth. "Accepting these types of gifts is not really what I'm about. You can't give me this."

  "I know the kind of person you are," he said. "I didn't at first. I wish to give this to you. I also have some understanding of what your life is like back in your country. This broach will safeguard you from the poverty that can befall lone and unprotected women. It will make me feel better to know that when you go, you will not suffer. For me, that is an easy gift to give, and even perhaps a bit selfish."

  Tears welled up in her eyes. The value of this broach would buy her a cottage. That fear of destitution that was always there would be lifted off her with this broach. She would be safe and would have a future she could otherwise not consider. How much this meant to her was impossible to put into words, but it was too much. How could she accept this? To him, it was a small thing, a thing of value amongst many things of value. To her, it was a ticket to a life without threat. He seemed to understand that.

  She felt the count's eyes on her. "I don't know what to say," she said. Could she be alright with choosing to accept it? Perhaps she could as he had stated quite clearly that he understood what it would mean to her. "The gift I have for you is woefully inadequate." Her bookmark seemed grossly inappropriate compared to the broach in front of her.

  "I had not expected you would give me anything." He seemed surprised.

  "As I said, it is pitiful in comparison."

  Nervously, she pulled out her bookmark and placed it on the table, feeling absurd presenting such a trifle to him. With the wealth he had, how could this be anything of value?

  Reaching over, he picked it up. "This is yours."

  Was that terrible, she wondered in panic. Was she doing something uncouth by giving him something of hers? "Opportunities for shopping had been a little on the light side. It is a cornflower, from the meadow behind the house I grew up in."

  "Not roses, then?" he said, looking at her, those dark eyes boring into her, but it wasn't disgust and derision she saw in there.

  "I prefer a meadow." Then she feared she sounded ungrateful. "Roses are stunning, or course, but I like a meadow—flowers as nature decides."

  "How will you know where you are if you have given me your marker?"

  Stumped, she actually had no answer. Clearing her throat, she collected herself. "I will make another. Maybe a rose this time, a bud, perhaps. When they are young, they press down quite nicely. Not sure there will be time for a fully blooming flower." Her voice was drifting off. She was babbling and felt like an utter idiot.

  Chapter 26:

  * * *

  The chapel was cold and small, sumptuously decorated with gold leaf and Doric columns. Fine, religious paintings hung on the walls and a marble altar sat at the front, below what was likely a stained glass window. It was too dark to see anything but the lead outlines, which seemed to depict robed men, and maybe a woman.

  The priest was a middle-aged man with a white surplice decorated with gold embroidery. This was very different from the services she was used to back home. She had never been to a Catholic mass before, but figured any service would do in a pinch. The communion she would abstain from, but she could pray and listen.

  It was only herself, the count and Thomas in the chapel, although there was space for more.

  As the sermon was both in Latin and Hungarian, she understood very little of it, so it left her with her own thoughts of the things she'd lost and those she was grateful for. The count's gift had truly been a gift and she was grateful for that. But she knew as much as it meant to her, it was not such a great sacrifice for him. It wasn't the actual broach, but the thought behind it that touched her. Selfish, he had called it.

  His face was expressionless; his straight nose in profile above full lips and a nicely curving chin. He was difficult to read most of the time. Rarely did he show his emotions readily, except perhaps when he was bored and tired. Looking at him now, she still couldn't believe that not so long ago, they had kissed. Then she blushed, considering where she was.

  The service eventually ended and the count spoke to the priest, leading them out again. From the doorway, Estelle could see that the priest had traveled there in another type of sled—smaller and more maneuverable than the one the count had. The priest's sled only required one horse and he quickly left to return home.

  The count closed the heavy doors, barring the snow outside. All the staff were gone and it was just the three of them in the castle now. It was an odd feeling.

  Thomas yawned beside her. "Off to bed you go," she said.

  "It's Christmas day tomorrow. Did you see the telescope I got? It's beautiful. I can see stars in it."

  "Not tonight," the count said as he finished locking the door. "Go."

  With heavy steps, Thomas walked up the staircase. Did he mean her as well, she wondered? It was well past her bedtime, but having stayed up so late, she felt oddly awake.

  "Have a drink, if you wish," the count said. "I am."

  He walked toward the salon and Estelle watched him, slowly following. The salon was warm and he stood by one of the side tables and poured himself a drink, some liquid of dark amber.

  "It was a beautiful service," she said from the doorway.

  He sat down by the chess table and poured two drinks, dark liquid this time. Estelle wasn’t sure what it was, and for a moment, she wondered if she should turn around and retire as well. Could anything good come from this drink? It was only a drink, she told herself. The problem was that perhaps a part of her wanted more than a drink.

  Quelling any objections, she walked over to the chair opposite him and sat down. The drink was strong when she took a sip, making her cough.

  “You are not a drinker of cognac?” he asked.

  “I’m not much of a drinker generally. My father didn’t approve of spirits.”

  The count seemed surprised, almost as if it was a bizarre assertion. “You seem to indulge at times, I have noted.”

  “I am not as firm in my conviction, but I am cautious.”

  “Rightfully so, alcohol can encourage you do to things you otherwise wouldn’t.” There was a mischievous warning in his eyes, but then he grew more serious. “Probably a wise view. Some people become so dependent they lose their courage when parted from it, although I suspect that will never be your problem, Miss Winstone. You have too much backbone to lose your courage in any situations.”

  Estelle thought back on her terrified venture down the dark corridors of the castle on the night he’d returned, and blushed. “I have moments of weakness.”

  “Is that what you call it?” he asked.

  For a moment, she was lost and he leaned back, considering her with his forefinger stroking up his temple, the glass of cognac in his hand. He was referring to the kiss, she realized and blushed furiously. Had that been a moment of weakness? “I also have issues with curiosity.”

  Studying her, he took a sip from his glass and returned to his utterly relaxed position. “Was that your first kiss?”

  It wasn’t actually. There had been a stolen one at a ball when she’d been very young. That kiss had meant a great deal to her at the time and she’d dwelled on that kiss for months, reliving it in minute detail. Would she do so with this new kiss? She could almost feel the ghost of it on her lips still. “Not entirely the first.”

  Ca
refully, she looked up into his eyes, trying to discern what he was thinking. Everything about him looked so very inviting. What would he do if she leaned over this table and kissed him again? Her stomach performed a complete summersault at the thought.

  She cleared her throat and looked away. “I should perhaps go,” she said, taking another sip of the harsh liquid that burned her throat. Honestly, she didn’t quite understand the appeal.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  There wasn’t any way she was going to finish that drink, so she rose. “Again, thank you for everything,” she said, the broach returning to her mind. She still couldn’t quite believe he had given it to her.

  He rose as well. “You are welcome.”

  It didn’t feel like a thank you was enough. He had secured her entire future. No one had ever done such a favor for her. A simple thank you seemed inadequate.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  In truth, she accepted that. A gift wasn’t worth anything unless freely given. “It’s been a lovely Christmas; the most enjoyable I’ve had in many years.”

  “I think your presence was a big part of that,” he said quietly, not looking her in the eyes. “It would probably not have been the same without you.”

  Her heart clenched. That might be the nicest thing he could have said. “Then we are both fortunate.”

  Reaching for her hand, he brought her knuckles up to his lips. Softness pressed to her skin, radiating warmth up her arm. Goose-bumps rose, tightening and energizing every part of her. She felt every caress of her dress along her skin, especially the front that rubbed along her tightening nipples. That a kiss could cause such a reaction. The worst was the ache that wanted his lips, his embrace, so very desperately.