Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600)

by Griffin, Pamela

  “Oh.” She seemed at a sudden loss for words.

  “Please, sit down.”

  “I should go.”

  “It’s early yet. I’d like to hear more about your parents. Your father, did he have his own shop?”

  “Yes, but he broke his wrist.” She hesitated then set the book down on the entrance table. Warily she approached the hearth and took a seat. He took the chair opposite. “The bone never set right.” She shook her head sadly. “He tried to find other work, but...”

  “Was your mother a piano teacher, then?”

  “No. She became a companion to a reclusive dowager and would play for her.” As always, each of her words seemed carefully measured before she spoke them, as if fearful to say too much. “We lived in the carriage house. Father was the dowager’s driver, though she rarely left the estate.”

  “She chose a married woman with a family for her companion?”

  “The dowager knew Mother’s family well.” Again Myrna hesitated. “Mother was the daughter of a respected attorney who fell into dire straits. I never knew the particulars. I was too young to understand and they never spoke of it in my presence, but I gather there were bad feelings between my grandparents and my mother. I never met them. As far as I know, before their deaths, they never contacted her.”

  “You are sure they’re deceased?”

  She gave a terse nod, her eyes going to the fire. “Then, almost two years ago, I discovered I had a cousin, through a letter Papa left me. He—he also contacted my family through a letter. I was never told anything before Papa died, never knew he even had a brother.” Her manner grew distant. “It was just the four of us. Sisi, myself, my parents. No one else...”

  Stunned, he watched a change come over her. Misery clouded her features and her eyes brimmed with tears she tried to hide, turning her face to the hearth.

  With no intent but to extend kindness, he offered her his handkerchief. She hesitated then took the silk with a muffled thank-you. She dabbed at her eyes and nose and held it crumpled to her mouth, her hand shaking.

  “I apologize, sir. I don’t know what came over me.” She stood awkwardly to her feet and swayed. In reaching for the chair arm, she dropped his handkerchief and missed the chair, as well.

  He grasped her shoulders to steady her.

  “Easy. Sit down before you fall.”

  “I’m fine. I only stood too quickly.”

  “The doctor said that you could have episodes and to be cautious.”

  “That was weeks ago,” she argued but did as directed.

  Dalton knelt before her. She glanced at him in guarded shock. He retrieved the scrap of silk from the rug, but she didn’t take it this time. A tear trembled at the edge of her jaw and he touched the cloth to it.

  “I really don’t know what came over me,” she whispered, her glistening eyes never leaving his.

  “Have you once taken the time to grieve?” he asked, brushing at the track the tear left behind.

  “I...” She frowned, then stopped whatever she was about to say. “There wasn’t time for such things. Sisi is my priority. I must put her first.”

  “Take it.” He pressed his handkerchief into her hand. “I have an ample supply.”

  The hint of a smile ghosted her lips. “At home, I would have had to pay half a week’s wages to acquire such an extravagance.” A frown creased her brow, as if she thought of what she had no wish to remember. He disliked seeing her upset and wondered about her previous circumstances that she would consider a scrap of silk a luxury.

  “I may take much for granted, having never been in material want, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t suffered or don’t understand loss. I care that you’re in pain.”

  “It’s nothing.” Her damp lashes swept downward, provoking another tear.

  “I beg to differ.”

  His finger and thumb touched her chin, gently tilting it upward. His goal was realized when her startled eyes met his. Eyes the color of evergreen shimmered with moisture, the dying firelight casting her face in a rosy-orange glow, her hair illuminated in deep red as if the flames themselves glowed within. Her lower lip trembled as he stared, and he dropped his gaze to her mouth, the urge to discover if it was as soft as it appeared overwhelming him.

  Slowly, he leaned into her. She remained as fixed as stone. With tenderness he brushed his lips against hers, finding them as soft as satin, and felt the sudden exhalation of her warm breath and the give of her lips as she reciprocated the act.

  The pleasurable contact lasted no more than seconds before he felt her tense. He broke their kiss.

  “Why did you do that?” she whispered, her voice trembling with distress.

  Clearly she no longer welcomed his spontaneous advance, and Dalton decided it wise not to argue that she had kissed him back. “I apologize.” He dropped his fingers from her chin and straightened from his kneeling position, moving to stand before the fire. “I don’t know what came over me.” That much was true.

  What in blazes had possessed him to kiss her?

  “I fear we have reached another misunderstanding.” Her voice came determined, with a hint of betraying nervousness. “I’m not the kind of woman to have a—a dalliance with my employer, with any man.”

  Good grief. Did she think he would now try to bed her? “Calm yourself, Miss McBride. It was no more than a kiss. It meant nothing. You were upset. I wished to offer comfort.”

  “I should go.”

  He gave a stiff nod. “Yes, you should.”

  Still he would not look at her, his concentration on the flames. He only knew she left by the click of the door.

  Dalton’s eyes fell closed at the severe finality of such a quiet sound and the strange hollow feeling it left within the region of his chest.

  * * *

  Myrna hurried to her room instead of Sisi’s, not wishing for her sister to see her in such a state of distraught confusion. Her countenance in the looking glass stunned her—eyes overbright, cheeks flushed, expression soft—and she turned her back on the disquieting image.

  Words from long ago haunted her soul.

  “Myrna,” her mother had said, “you’re eleven now and old enough to understand. You may hear...troubling things about your sister. About me.”

  “What things, Mama?”

  “Lies, Myrna. All lies. Your father and you two girls are all that’s important. You three are my reason for doing what I must in order that we survive. And sometimes, darling, sacrifices must be made.” Her eyes had been pained as she hugged Myrna close.

  Myrna had no idea what things or sacrifices Mother spoke of. But as the year progressed, she noticed disturbing changes in her parents’ behavior. Her father grew sullen and distant, her mother almost desperate to please him. At times, when they thought her asleep, she would hear their low, heated voices, often arguing about one man, the wealthy dowager’s son who’d come to live at his mother’s estate the year before Sisi was born. Strangers would comment on Sisi being a replica of their mother but not having one trait that belonged to Father. Myrna thought nothing of it until the day that changed her concept of the world forever.

  Her mother forbade her to visit the mansion, but one morning she defied the rule, curiosity to see the home that loomed like a grand castle overriding the obedience she usually practiced. Mother had not seen her, but Myrna peeked through a parlor window and had seen her mother, near tears and standing in the arms of a well-dressed man, younger than Father—before her mother then pushed him away. The man grabbed her roughly, pulling her back and into his kiss. Her mother gave no struggle.

  Myrna did not linger to see more and ran all the way home to the carriage house, horrified and confused.

  As she grew older, she put together what she’d seen with snippets of gossip overheard and the manner in
which people would look at Sisi. Despite her mother’s earlier protestations, she recognized the truth. When Myrna was fourteen, her father woke her and told her they were leaving. Her mother was quiet but submissive, and the four of them escaped the estate in the night, eventually finding a dingy apartment in another city in their struggle to leave the past and its scandal behind. Myrna never doubted her mother’s love for them, but it had been difficult to forgive her faults, even if Mother had been bullied into betraying her vows, as it seemed. Yet scandal had a manner of catching up to the unwary, and not until Myrna confronted her own dark horror, related to those days when they lived in the carriage house, did she truly understand being a victim.

  She shook her head, hoping to free her mind from its shackles to the past.

  Why did he kiss her?

  Had he never done so, she would not now be reliving those awful days of her childhood. In frustration, she sat on the edge of the made bed and grabbed a pillow to her chest.

  She had begun to hope Dalton was different, that she had been hasty in her snap judgment of his character.

  It was no more than a kiss. It meant nothing....

  His hurtful words mocked her, and she pushed away that one moment of weakness when the startling liberty he’d taken did mean something to her. By his words, he proved he was no better than the dowager’s son or her tormentor of last year.

  He was certainly no Mr. Rochester, though her current employer did share some of his less than flattering traits—often distant, brooding, steeped in mystery. And she was not Jane Eyre, even if she also came from impoverished means and had obtained the position of governess to his young ward in a vast manor that also seemed full of dark secrets.

  She stared at the book she had yet to return to Rebecca. Often she found herself thumbing through its pages, rereading various chapters. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps as a cautionary lesson to herself, since their situations were so eerily similar....

  Though to fall in love with the master of the manor—that she would never do!

  He had been charming and companionable at dinner, even if their recent discussion brought back harsh memories. Yet to him she was no more than a potential dalliance. His uninvited kiss and the words that followed proved he was a scoundrel.

  Didn’t they?

  Determined not to give another thought to the exasperating man who presided over Eagle’s Landing, Myrna tossed the pillow to the bed with more force than necessary, composed herself, then quit the room to check on her sister.

  Chapter 7

  Today had been a good day, despite the cold, dreary rain.

  Long, seemingly never-ending weeks had melted into the beginning of spring since the night Myrna shared dinner with Dalton. She separated the good days—when she had little to no contact with him and life progressed normally—from the bad ones, where the world seemed tilted on its axis and everything went wrong from the moment she stepped out of bed, including the return of their chance meetings. As a rule, she saw Dalton only in the evenings, at dinner, when he rarely spoke to her or acknowledged her existence. Their haphazard encounters in corridors and otherwise empty rooms came much less frequently in the past week, so it was with a shock that Myrna opened the door to the library that evening and found the master inside.

  He looked up from his ledger in surprise.

  “Oh! Pardon me, I was told you were in town. I’ll return later.”

  Before she could make a hasty slip out the door, he stood to his feet.

  “You’ve come to collect a book?”

  She gave a short nod. “Yes, and to return one.”

  “By all means then, don’t let me stop you.”

  “If you’re sure it’s no bother.”

  “I won’t even notice you there.”

  His low words smarted though she didn’t think his slight intentional. Not this time, at least. He sat back down and intently focused on his ledger as if it contained the president’s final address to the nation.

  Myrna made quick work of replacing a book of poetry to its proper place on the shelf, deciding to return later. She was halfway to the door when he spoke.

  “You didn’t find what you were looking for?”

  Uncertain if she should relay her quest, she looked at him. “I was hoping to find a story suitable for the girls.”

  His expression was inscrutable. “Last row at this end, second shelf from the bottom you’ll find a small collection of children’s books.”

  “Thank you.” She hurried past the freestanding bookcases to the back of the room, musty with the earthy scent of old books, an aroma not unpleasant but welcoming. Yet now was not the time to linger. She located the small section, their covers faded and worn.

  As she emerged from within the literary haven, his attention dropped to and remained on the three books she held.

  “I see you found them.”

  “Were they yours?” Something about his somber attitude gave her pause.

  “No.” He returned to his ledger and she felt as if she’d been dismissed. She moved to go.

  “Miss McBride...?”

  Again she turned.

  “I trust the girls are doing well in their studies?”

  Confused, she looked at him. Had he forgotten that his mother brought up the subject at dinner last night, and Myrna had given a full recounting then? Or perhaps he truly did shun her existence and chose not to listen.

  “Yes, they are doing well.”

  “And you...” His voice came more softly. “Have you fully recovered from the accident? When last we talked you were unwell.”

  Do you mean before or after you kissed me and told me it meant nothing?

  The words came unbidden to her mind and she ignored their unwelcome intrusion. She lowered her attention to the scrollwork that edged his desk.

  “Other than a smattering of pain behind my eyes now and then, I’m well.”

  “You suffer from headaches?”

  “On rare occasions.” She wished now that she hadn’t brought them up. “When I read too long into the night. It’s nothing.”

  “I’m pleased that you’ve found a worthy pursuit to occupy your time, but it’s best not to overdo. Perhaps another visit from the doctor would be wise.”

  “No, really, I don’t wish to put him out of his way.”

  “Medicine is his profession. Besides, Mother mentioned that he’s coming to visit this week. You’ll need to speak with her to learn when.”

  Seeing no end to the matter and feeling as if she’d been given an order, Myrna reluctantly conceded. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

  “It is.”

  The underlying amusement in his tone had her lift her eyes to his. They sparkled with mirth, something she did not often see. His lips twisted at the corners, bringing out a slight cleft in his cheek, something she had seen before, certainly, but never really noticed.

  “As your employer it’s my place to see to your welfare, since you’re a member of this household. Though I would hope that my wishes are not the sole medium to ensure that you maintain good health.”

  His words, gently teasing, and the intent look he gave made her forget to breathe. Coming to herself with a start, Myrna looked away.

  “If there’s nothing else, sir?”

  “No, that will be all.”

  Once outside the library, Myrna took her first steady breath since she entered the room and with it, regained her reason.

  Bother it all, she didn’t like a fuss when she was the object of attention. Dalton Freed was stubborn and impossible. Yet wholly unpredictable. Tonight he had been kind. Human, even. Not a wolf with the aim to devour, though she had yet to forget his tender kiss and wondered if she ever would.

  Unable to locate Mrs. Freed downstairs, she asce
nded the stairs to the second level. At the sight of a door ajar, she approached, halting at the sound of women’s voices and the stiff bustle and shake of material.

  “Not like that, Daisy, circular motions.” Genevieve’s words came clear to Myrna. “Ye want to be buffin’ the metal to a gloss.”

  “It’s such a grand house, but so sad. I feel as if ghosts might be living here.” Another woman’s voice trailed off to a nervous whisper. “Sometimes I hear crying late in the night.”

  “Like as not it’s the mistress, or have you forgotten she lost a son?”

  “No, it’s a child who’s crying.”

  “Poff. There are two wee girls livin’ here, as well.”

  “I know what I heard, and it wasn’t like anything living and breathing on this earth...”

  Myrna drew her brows together in confusion at the bizarre statement.

  “What of the master?”

  “You think he’s the child crying?” Genevieve teased.

  “No, of course not. But he’s right handsome, don’t you think?”

  “You best keep your eyes on your work, Daisy.” Genevieve’s tone came more harshly. “Mr. Freed isn’t the type to set his cap for the likes of you.”

  Myrna put her hand to her heart that raced a little faster at the mention of his name.

  “He was engaged, you know.”

  “The master?”

  “No, the black stallion in the stables. Of course the master!”

  “You needn’t be so uppity. I didn’t know, did I? So? What happened to her?”

  “A scandal that set every tongue wagging, but we’re not to talk of it. It’s the sole reason he left, ye ken.”

  They lowered their voices. Also interested, Myrna leaned closer to hear.

  “Oh, do tell,” Daisy begged. “Did he marry her?”

  “He most certainly did not. He up and left. Moved to Boston to attend college—that’s where he was when the former master passed on and—oh!”

  Myrna jumped back in shock when she realized, too late, that they were exiting the room. Genevieve regarded her with alarm. The other maid, a young brunette, looked just as apprehensive.