Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600)

by Griffin, Pamela

  “This time of year, they would not have returned—”

  “Oh, and you must see the pretty place by the water.” Rebecca had turned back to Sisi. “Mama used to take me there. The ducks go there. And bluebirds, too.”

  “I doubt the bluebirds or ducks would be there yet,” Myrna tried again and failed. The girls chattered excitedly, and she could tell that any further hope for teaching the difference between a noun and an adjective would be lost in the anticipation of the hunt for nonexistent birds.

  She closed the book. “That’s enough for today. Go get your coats and scarves and...”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when the girls jumped up from their chairs with eager squeals of delight and made an excited beeline for the door.

  “Hats,” she finished, shaking her head in wry amusement. She went to her room to don her own outerwear.

  Once outside, the air wasn’t as cold as previous days, but they could see their breath in puffs of white vapor. Myrna looked with concern toward her little sister, who seemed fine. The constant nurturing with hot toddies and warmed bricks at their feet had been an aid to them both, and on occasion Myrna felt petty to be so suspicious of the Freeds’ generosity.

  Neither could she shake what former experience had taught her.

  The girls walked ahead in the snow, their eyes turned up to the cloudy sky, likely in search of absent bluebirds. In their coats and matching winter hats, they stood out against the bleak canvas of winter; Rebecca with her dark sausage-roll curls spilling from her velvet crimson cap and Sisi with brown hair just as springy falling over a soft wool coat of peacock blue. The two walked hand in hand, a bounce to their steps, and Myrna was glad she had sacrificed the sting of pride to accept the gift of Rebecca’s castoff clothing for her little sister. To return to town and try to locate Sisi’s coat from the wreckage had seemed a foolish endeavor.

  The girls stopped suddenly on the path. Rebecca whispered in Sisi’s ear, and they both turned their heads to stare at Myrna.

  “Is there a problem, girls?”

  “Uncle Dalton is visiting Papa’s grave. Can we—may we—go see him?”

  Myrna’s breath caught. She looked past the girls to the evergreens that towered ahead like rows of flocked sentinels in pristine white. To the right, a scattered patch of headstones revealed the family’s losses, and Myrna’s heart lurched when she caught sight of Dalton’s tall form. With his back to them and head bowed he remained unaware of their presence. She watched him slowly drop to one knee in respect and put his hand out to sweep snow from a stone. The vulnerable and rare sight of the formidable master of the estate appearing lost and somewhat forlorn brought a film of moisture to cloud her vision. She blinked the tears from her eyes.

  “Not today.” She took both girls’ gloved hands and led them back to the house. “Your uncle doesn’t need to be disturbed.”

  Sisi looked up at her. “Don’t you like Uncle Dalton, Myrna?”

  She winced at the familiarity. “Mr. Freed to you, and why should you ask such a thing?”

  “Because you always run from him.”

  The reply irritated her. “I don’t run from him—”

  “But Uncle Dalton runs from Miss Myrna, too,” Rebecca corrected.

  In frustration, Myrna hurried their steps along the path. “What complete and utter nonsense. Neither of us runs from the other.”

  “Whenever Uncle Dalton comes into the room, he goes away if you’re there.”

  “And when you see him in the corridor, you go away,” Sisi added.

  “We have nothing to talk about.” Despite the cold, Myrna’s face burned with heat.

  “But you have lots to talk about with Mrs. Freed,” Sisi insisted.

  “Sisi, that’s enough.”

  “Don’t you like Uncle Dalton?” Rebecca insisted.

  “I was hired to be your governess. Not to be your uncle’s companion. Now let us speak no more of this.”

  “But you’re not Nana’s companion, either, and you talk to her—”

  “Children must learn to mind those older and wiser, and that includes you, young miss.”

  Thankfully, that put an end to their interrogation, but Myrna didn’t fail to notice the covert look that passed between the girls. Hopeful that she had imagined any impending mischief, Myrna hurried her charges toward the back entrance.

  Chapter 6

  Dalton straightened from his hunched position and stood to his feet. A short thaw days ago had allowed the ground to be broken so as to bury his brother’s body.

  “I let you down, Roger, and for that, I’m sorry. I should have somehow made you listen. But I vow to be the uncle Rebecca needs and fill the gap in your absence.”

  He whisked away the dampness wetting his lashes. Inadvertently his eyes flicked to another grave marker, behind his brother’s. Drawn to it, he stood in solemn remembrance before the cold granite stone.

  Roger was not the only one he had failed.

  Leaning down he brushed snow from the engraved angel and traced a wing with his gloved fingertip. “Sweet Alyssa...”

  Emotion clutched his throat a second time, and hurriedly he rose, taking a step in retreat.

  It had taken him years to shun the past and move forward. Giselle’s deceit of seven months ago had taken him unaware and sidetracked him momentarily. But now he must mend the broken pieces and become to his family what they needed, the sole reason he’d come home.

  In the distance, he noticed three figures just as they turned the corner of the house. The girls and, from the fiery shine of auburn hair beneath the hat, the new governess. From the quick pace she set, hurrying the children along, he felt certain they had spotted him.

  Dalton wasn’t the only one to evade contact in the three weeks since Myrna McBride had taken the post, their attempts at avoidance sometimes dryly amusing, often bordering on the absurd. Planning his schedule to avert situations where they might be inclined to come in contact hadn’t helped. They still managed to run across each other’s paths habitually when he left the sunny library he’d made into his office.

  Myrna had been in their home a month now and given them no cause to regret hiring her, but Dalton still lingered on the rigid side of caution, never forgetting that she once practiced deceit. To this day she wore her mother’s ring, the ploy foolish since no one in the household remained ignorant to her ruse. No matter her faults, his mother’s rebuke with regard to Dalton’s churlish behavior had found its mark, and he struggled not to judge the new governess but instead give her the benefit of the doubt and practice tolerance—and kindness.

  Once the dinner hour approached, Dalton found that resolve put to the test upon entering the parlor and finding her there alone. She looked beyond him as if expecting the others.

  “The girls aren’t with you?”

  “No. Should they be?”

  “Rebecca mentioned that she was going to speak with you, and Sisi was with her. They must be with your mother. She came by the playroom earlier.”

  “They never came to the library, though I stepped out for a moment and could have missed them.”

  “I see. Well, then. I imagine they’re with your mother and will walk through the door at any moment.”

  According to the mantel clock, five minutes ticked by as they waited for the customary dinner summons and the rest of their party. The new maid popped into the parlor and gave a nervous curtsy.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Freed, but I was told to tell you dinner is served.”

  “Thank you...Daisy, is that right?”

  She blushed and smiled shyly. “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll be there shortly, Daisy.”

  He turned to Myrna once the maid left. The governess looked at him as if he had shed his skin. “Is there a problem?�
��

  “How many servants do you employ that you find yourself uncertain of their names?”

  He chuckled at her awestruck question, couldn’t help himself.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude. Daisy took the spot of a maid who left our service recently. Gladys.” He approached and held out his arm. “Mother probably went directly to the dining room with the children and forgot to tell us. Shall we?”

  She looked at the sleeve of his waistcoat before finally taking his arm. They walked through the dim corridor and toward the dining hall.

  “As to your question, we employ nine servants, yourself included. The cook and her assistant, who is her daughter, the main housekeeper, Miss Browning, who is in charge of the upstairs and downstairs maids, of which there are three, the driver, the groundskeeper, who is also the cook’s husband, and soon I may have to hire an accountant—or perhaps a linguist, if I cannot translate the books.” He spoke half in jest.

  They reached the dining hall and moved through the entrance, both coming to a stop at the sight of the long table bearing only two place settings. Dalton’s, at the head, the second one next to it and closer than Myrna usually sat. A candelabra glowed warmly near that. The cook’s daughter, a brunette with frizzed curls, entered the room from another entrance, carrying the first course.

  “Nora, has my mother taken ill? Where are the children?”

  “The mistress said she was feeling a bit under the weather and wished to dine upstairs with the girls for a change.”

  “Are the girls all right?” Myrna asked in alarm.

  “Yes, miss. She mentioned how she never spends time with her granddaughter lately and wanted to.”

  “I should go and collect Sisi.”

  “Oh, no, miss,” the maid blurted before Myrna could fully turn away. “Her instructions were explicit. You’re to take the evening off and enjoy a meal without worrying over your duties.”

  Dalton shook his head in disbelief, wondering what his mother could be thinking and strongly suspecting her motives.

  Nora bustled to the table with a silver tureen and ladled soup into two bowls. While she worked, Dalton exchanged glances with Myrna, who looked both bemused and addled.

  “I think we’ve been hoodwinked.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  * * *

  It was ironic that for weeks Dalton had done all within his power to avoid her presence, and now, thanks to his mother’s evident maneuvering, Myrna was to be his sole dinner companion.

  He studied her a moment, undecided. She made no excuse to quit the room, so he extended his hand toward the table. “Shall we?”

  A slight nod was his answer. He held her chair out for her to be seated. Her eyes flicked to him, wary, but she took a seat.

  Good grief. Did she think that he would pull the chair away from her like some uncouth cad? True, they had not always been on the best of speaking terms when they did speak, but he wasn’t a fiend, which, by her anxious expression, was exactly what she thought him.

  After offering the blessing, he noted her tense actions as she slipped her spoon into the spiced broth. She did not eat, only moved the utensil around the bowl.

  Dalton inwardly sighed. This would get them nowhere quickly, and he did not wish her to starve.

  “We got off on a bad footing.” He introduced the topic they had avoided for weeks. “If you are agreeable, perhaps we can put that day behind us and begin anew?”

  “You’re no longer fearful that I might abscond with the family silver?”

  Determined to be civil, he quenched his immediate suspicion that she had eavesdropped on that conversation with his mother.

  “If you should try, your tracks would stand out in the snow,” he answered just as dryly and watched her lift her surprised gaze from her plate and to his eyes. “Not to mention the dreadful clatter that lugging around a bag of silver would cause—which would surely give your location away.”

  A wash of pink colored her skin at his light teasing. He smiled in amusement, grateful when she did likewise. His brand of humor wasn’t always understood or appreciated, but at least in this instance it helped to ease the atmosphere considerably. She relaxed and began to eat, opening the conversation with her adventures in being a governess.

  “So how is my niece faring?” Dalton asked as Daisy brought the second course.

  He watched Myrna cut her roast chicken into the smallest morsels he’d ever seen. “She’s doing well.” She slipped a fragment in her mouth, barely chewing.

  “Come now, it’s clear you’re holding something back. I know she can be a little hellion at times.”

  “She is rather...lively.”

  He laughed at that. “A kind name for her rambunctious proclivities. And her studies?”

  “In matters of reading comprehension and art, she excels. Her handwriting, however, is atrocious.”

  “Obviously an inherited trait,” he said dryly, thinking of his brother.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

  “Sisi?”

  “No, she’s still learning to print her letters. My father...” She fidgeted and set down her fork. “He had an accident before Sisi was born and never fully recovered the full use of his hand but insisted on writing his own correspondence. One winter, he lost his voice and needed to communicate through handwriting. I took care of him then, and after he died, I found letters he’d written.” She blotted her mouth with a napkin. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to go on so.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” He spoke gently, seeing she was upset.

  Her eyes held a distressed shine as she looked at him. “You also suffered a loss, a recent one, with your brother.”

  “Yes, it’s what brought me back home.”

  “I never said so, but I’m sorry to hear it.”

  A slow grin edged his lips.

  Aware of the words she used, her eyes widened. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry...for your loss. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “But on occasion you have felt that way?” His smile remained intact.

  “Do you wish me to lie, Mr. Freed? Or to speak the truth?”

  “Truth is always the wisest choice, Miss McBride, but in this case it need not be stated.”

  She let out a soft laugh, a pleasure to hear.

  The remainder of the meal passed in a camaraderie of ease that Dalton would never have believed possible an hour before. Indeed, at any time these past four weeks. They spoke of everything—from weighty matters of life and death to more trivial generalities. Whatever the topic, her insightful answers astounded him. Had it not been too cold, he might have suggested a stroll in the garden, finding himself unexpectedly reluctant to leave her company.

  “Thank you,” she said while he held her chair for her as she rose from the table.

  With the emotions of the moment governing his actions, Dalton fell into step beside her once they left the dining room. If she was surprised by his continued company, she gave no indication.

  They continued the mundane discussion of his boyhood, questions he did not care to answer, much less dwell on, and soon he turned the conversation back to her.

  “You are accomplished in many areas,” he said as they came abreast of the music room and stopped. “Do you play, perchance?”

  She glanced into the dim chamber at the piano. “I never had the opportunity for lessons. My mother did, though. Do you play?”

  “Up until my fourteenth year.”

  At her clear amazement to receive an affirmative answer, he grinned. “Something Mother insisted on for all her children, stating the practice good to hone concentration and dexterity.”

  “And did it work?”

  “Some days, I have cause to wonder.” He shook his head
wryly.

  “Perhaps I should ask if you might play for me.”

  “I wouldn’t wish to cause undue suffering. I’ve not laid my fingers to the ivory for years.”

  “Never mind. I wasn’t serious. I should check on Sisi. Good night, Mr. Freed.”

  “That’s not the way to the main staircase,” he said once she walked away.

  She stopped and glanced back at him. “I left a book in the parlor and want to return it to the library.”

  “One of the maids can tend to it.”

  “So can I.”

  He covered the short distance. “That’s what the maids are for.”

  “I’m not accustomed to servants waiting on me, especially when I can easily perform the task just as well.”

  She continued down the hall. Again, he fell in step beside her.

  “I’ve taken such privileges for granted my entire life. I had no wish to offend.”

  “I wasn’t offended. Despite what you might think, I don’t offend easily.”

  Inside the parlor, she plucked up a book from a chair cushion and held it up. “Here it is.”

  At the nervous little hitch in her voice, Dalton again endeavored to put her at ease. As they strolled to the library, passing the music room a second time, he reintroduced a former topic.

  “You mentioned that your mother played the piano?”

  “Yes. I never heard her, though. I wasn’t allowed.”

  “Not allowed?”

  At her puzzling words, he glanced at her. For a moment she did not speak.

  “When Father had the accident, Mother sought employment. Father was a stonecutter.”

  “A mason?”

  “No, he worked with gemstones. Cut them and set them.”

  “A jeweler?”

  “Yes.”

  They approached the library, and he opened the door for her. The fire that earlier blazed with life now gently flickered in low flames.

  “I don’t recall that being here,” she wondered aloud, looking toward the desk.

  “I had it brought in. I find my brother’s study intolerably dark and oppressive. The windows of this room give off plenty of light for me to work.”