Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600)

by Griffin, Pamela

  With the bizarre turn of events, she reminded herself that he was not Rochester, she was not Jane, the ironic encounter with her employer almost running her down with his stallion notwithstanding. He had secrets. Not a mad wife, only a jilted fiancée. She was the governess to his charge, but that’s where all similarities ended.

  She most certainly was not falling under the spell of her employer! The harrowing events of the night were all that were responsible for her winded breathlessness and the erratic beating of her heart.

  He brought his stallion to a halt before the entrance and helped Myrna to the ground without a word, the ease with which he did so emphasizing his strength. She felt relieved the accident of several weeks ago caused no more than brief and minor damage to his arm. Before she could form words of gratitude, he turned his horse and rode toward the stables, disappearing into the night.

  Stunned and relieved by his swift and silent exit, she recollected her frayed wits and approached the steps, hoping the door was unlocked and she wouldn’t have to ring the bell for someone to let her inside. She wanted no one to see her in such a state, her dress and cloak muddied from her fall, with thick tendrils of hair loosened and dangling from lost pins. Thankfully, nothing barred her entrance, but as Myrna approached the foyer, Miss Browning hurried toward her, taking the last stairs down.

  “Miss McBride! Thank goodness. It’s your sister. She’s been calling for you.”

  Myrna rushed up the winding stairs. “Did something happen?” she asked the housekeeper who followed at her heels.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  Myrna burst into Sisi’s bedchamber. Her tiny sister sat in the middle of the bed, thankfully in one piece and well, save for the tears streaming down her cheeks. She clutched one of Rebecca’s dolls to her chest.

  “Myrna,” she sobbed pitifully.

  Heedless of her disheveled state, Myrna hurried forward and drew her into her arms. “What happened, my pet?”

  “I dreamed I was on the train and couldn’t get off and there was fire everywhere and I couldn’t find you.” She clutched Myrna hard. “I never want to leave here—please say we won’t. Please, Myrna,” she cried into her shoulder.

  At a loss for words, Myrna held her. This wasn’t the first night since the collision that Sisi had awakened from a nightmare. Her eye caught motion and she looked toward the open door.

  Still wearing his long outer coat, traces of mud smearing the front from where he had held her against him, Dalton stood at the threshold and stared at her distraught sister. He lifted his eyes to Myrna. In them, she found tender compassion.

  Her heart skipped an astonished beat before he offered a slight nod and walked on.

  “Please, Myrna?” Sisi whimpered, begging for an answer.

  She continued to look at the empty spot where Dalton had been, then hugged her sister closer, kissing her head of tousled curls. “Don’t worry. I’ll not let harm come to you, Sisi. Never again.”

  * * *

  Dalton transferred his brother’s notes into a clean ledger. He frowned at the next line, his pen poised above parchment.

  Amounts owed or accrued presented little problem. Numbers were easier to figure out than names. Whoever this entry was, according to the ledger, Dalton would need to visit wherever they were located to obtain information about profit. Apparently, from what he had gleaned at the mayor’s dinner two weeks ago, his brother had traipsed all over the countryside to visit shareholders, managers and workers. How much better if they could all come to Eagle’s Landing to conduct business—for the simple reason that Dalton would then know who the men were that he was to conduct business with!

  Throwing down his pen with a frustrated growl, he rose from his chair and faced the window overlooking a stretch of tall firs and hardwoods that flanked the path leading into town.

  He reasoned that after enough time elapsed and he didn’t appear wherever he was supposed to go, they would come to him. But that hardly presented the confident acumen of one in control of the business. His mother daily assured him that she had faith he could do whatever was required, and he’d wryly begun to wonder if she also tried to convince herself. Not for the first time, he wished he had been trained alongside his brother. It was his father’s great mistake that he never assumed the day would transpire when Dalton would claim the inheritance.

  As he watched, the governess walked into view, the evening sun coaxing highlights of flame from her auburn hair. She came abreast of the path and looked down the road, pausing a short time before continuing her stroll.

  He wondered if she also recalled the night, two weeks ago, when he almost trampled her with his horse. The terrifying encounter often came to mind, as did the forbidden kiss...a token of affection he had more than once wished to revisit, no matter how unwise. Once the urge had come over him after trying to shake sense into her head for her imprudent nighttime stroll in a coal-black cloak—he had wanted to embrace and kiss her soundly, in his relief to have her escape being crushed under sharp hooves. The next occasion, minutes afterward, she had looked so vulnerable and distressed trying to comfort her sister from a nightmare. Dalton had curbed the strong impulse to rush forward and give Myrna comfort, instead walking quickly away.

  Closing his eyes, he bowed his head to the cool pane. Had he learned nothing from the past year with Giselle? And yet, the two women were nothing alike.

  At first, he made the mistake of thinking so, but after dwelling on the matter of Myrna’s deceit while in a composed state of mind, Dalton began to understand her reasoning. She was young, beautiful, struggling alone in a world that could be to her a danger, and she had her little sister’s welfare to consider, as well. Giselle had been an only child raised in a lifestyle of plenty and could not offer the same excuse.

  Muffled giggles told him he was no longer alone. He turned to face the two small girls who entered the room. His niece held a large volume clutched to her chest. Both children wore hopeful smiles.

  “Rebecca. Sisi. I hope that you’re not playing hide-and-seek from your governess again.”

  They exchanged a swift look, and Rebecca gave him a saucy grin. “Nana said you were busy all afternoon, but it’s not afternoon anymore.”

  “No, indeed. It’s almost suppertime. Would you like me to put that book back on the shelf for you?”

  Rebecca shook her head and held the book out. “We want you to read to us! Please, Uncle Dalton. You’ve been in here for hours and hours and hours.”

  He chuckled at his niece’s exaggeration, though it did seem as if he’d been buried in the ledgers forever. A respite would be welcome.

  Dalton accepted the large book. Embossed gold letters inscribed in a dark red leather cover showed that it was a collection of children’s tales. “One story, then.”

  He sat on one of the winged armchairs in front of the fire glowing in the hearth. Rebecca wasted no time climbing onto his leg and, to his surprise, Sisi climbed onto the other. Putting his arms around both girls, he opened the book. Sisi laid her head against his neck.

  “This one,” Rebecca insisted, shuffling through pages to an area of the book that lay flatter, as though often read. “It’s the one Papa used to read the most,” she added sadly.

  He squeezed his niece in comfort. “I doubt I can tell it as well as your papa,” he said quietly, “but I’ll give it my best.”

  Chapter 9

  Myrna walked into the manor, a little more clear-headed. It had become habitual to find solace in the chill but tranquil outdoors when an ache would start behind her eyes. The doctor’s second visit neither appeased nor worried her. He left a tonic should the pain become intolerable, but so far she’d had no need of it, relying on Genevieve’s wonderful hot mint teas, instead.

  She walked into the parlor where the family usually met before dinner, finding no one
there. Curious, she continued down the corridor and heard music coming from the conservatory. Peeking into the room, she spotted Mrs. Freed at the piano, but the girls, who had last been with her, were nowhere in sight.

  Not wishing to interrupt Dalton’s mother, Myrna went upstairs to look. Their bedchambers, the current playroom and her room were all empty.

  Running across a maid, she stopped her. “Have you seen the girls?”

  “They’re in the library.”

  “Thank you, Daisy.” Myrna continued downstairs, struggling against the fluttery sensation in her midsection as she neared the double doors. One stood ajar.

  “‘Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!’”

  Myrna blinked in shock to hear Dalton’s voice—altered to sound like a small girl. She pushed the door wide enough to peer into the room.

  “‘All the better to see you with.’”

  This time his words came gruff, with a slight growl to them. Both girls sat comfortably in his lap. Rebecca giggled. Sisi stared up at his face in fascination, ignoring the book from which he read.

  Again, he imitated a girl’s voice. “‘Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!’”

  “‘All the better to grab you with!’” he growled and released the book to grab both girls closer to him. They squealed. Myrna smiled.

  “‘Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!’” A third time he spoke in a high falsetto voice.

  “‘All the better to eat you with!’” He snapped his teeth at both girls and repeatedly growled, earning more squeals as they pretended fear, making halfhearted efforts to slap at his arms and get away amid the laughter they couldn’t keep from bubbling over.

  “‘And with that he jumped out of bed, jumped on top of poor Little Red Cap, and ate her up,’” he continued in his familiar tenor. “‘As soon as the wolf had finished this tasty bite, he climbed back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly...’”

  The wolf? The gruff, villainous storybook character he’d been portraying was a wolf?

  The irony proved too amusing and Myrna giggled.

  Alerted to her presence, Dalton and the girls looked her way. He closed the book.

  “That’s it for tonight, girls.”

  “But what about Little Red Cap?” Sisi asked worriedly. “Did she die?”

  “Please, do finish the story.” Myrna moved into the room and took the opposite chair. “You must never leave a story unfinished. It’s the cardinal rule of storytelling. Pay me no mind. You won’t even notice me.” Smiling innocently, she couldn’t resist using against him the same words he had said to her in this same room.

  His mouth twisted wryly and he narrowed his eyes at her, as if sensing her true wish to be part of the audience, but he opened the book and resumed. She listened as he then became the huntsman who cut the wolf open and saved Little Red Cap and her grandmother, marveling at his take on yet another accent and voice, German this time, and trying hard not to laugh at again hearing him speak as the little girl. His eyes suspiciously flicked to her a few times when she covered her smile with her hand or quenched back a helpless chuckle. Once the tale of the wolf’s demise concluded, Rebecca looked at Dalton in expectation.

  “And...?” his niece prodded.

  “And...?” Dalton looked at her, mystified.

  “You’re supposed to say what the moral of the tale is.”

  “Don’t talk to wolves dressed in ruffled nightgowns and bed caps?” he guessed with a shrug.

  Myrna laughed outright, and he directed another narrow-eyed glance her way.

  “I suppose you can do better?”

  “I heard only the tail end of the tale,” she quipped.

  He winced at the poor pun, and they both smiled.

  Rebecca exhaled a disgusted sigh, crossing her arms over her blue-sprigged bodice as if she was the teacher regarding her dense pupils. “The moral is that young girls should never trust strangers nor talk to them ’cause they may become a wolf’s dinner. Papa said so.”

  “Ah, I see. I agree with your papa. Speaking of dinner, it’s nearing that time.”

  He set the book on the floor then helped Sisi and Rebecca off his lap. Sisi ran to Myrna and hugged her happily, motioning for her to bend down so she could whisper in her ear.

  Sisi cupped her hands around her mouth. “I like Uncle Dalton. He’s nice.”

  Myrna straightened to look at her smiling sister, not bothering to correct his relationship to her, since it had done no good the many times she tried.

  “Shall we?”

  Dalton approached. Rebecca grabbed Sisi’s hand and together they left the room in quiet discussion over the story. Dalton offered Myrna his arm and noticed her hesitation.

  “We’ve had a number of false starts. Perhaps we should put those mistakes behind us and begin anew?”

  His eyes regarded her with warmth—kind, but with an intensity that always left her a bit breathless—and unable to resist, she took his arm.

  “Where have I heard that before?” she teased.

  He softly chuckled. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  She smiled, feeling at ease with him for the first time in a long while. She had thought him a wolf when they first met, wary to trust his motives, but almost two months in his household had shown her a side to Dalton she hadn’t expected. Perhaps, given her shattered history, she’d been wrong to judge in haste. He had his faults, so did she, and a few mirrored his.

  For the most part, he behaved more like the huntsman of the tale, rescuing her and her sister, giving them nothing but aid. He had won over Sisi, and she did not give her trust easily, a flawed trait Myrna had unwittingly passed on to her. She wanted her sister to know happiness and not always be fearful of what worries the next day would bring or who would bring them.

  With that resolve, Myrna was willing to accept his extended truce, to see where it led. Thus, once she tucked the girls in for the night, afterward taking the stairs down to the foyer, Myrna regarded him with polite curiosity when he walked into view as she reached the landing.

  He drew his brows together to see her dark cloak. “You’re going out?”

  “I’ve made it a nightly custom to engage in a stroll before I turn in. It helps to clear my head.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “I promise not to walk in the middle of the road, and I won’t go without a lantern.”

  His lips flickered at the corners. “A wise choice. But you didn’t answer. May I join you?”

  For an astonished heartbeat she regarded him with surprise that he would want to, then faintly nodded her consent. She moved in the direction of the corridor leading to the kitchen. He stopped her, his hand touching her arm.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the back entrance.”

  “When the front door is only yards away?”

  “Miss Browning told me the servants are always to use the back door, and I’m only the governess.”

  He looked at her, his expression grave. “You may use whatever entrance you wish. Come.”

  His hand at her elbow was firm as he led her toward the front double doors. He took a lantern from the wall that had been hanging out of sight behind a coatrack and lit it.

  “We keep it there for emergencies,” he explained. “Feel free to use it if you need it.”

  He opened the door and held the lantern outside, lighting her path. “After you,” he said with a flourish of his other hand.

  Their walk together was the first of what soon became a ritual, a peaceful time for candid conversation, where for the length of a stroll, he ceased being her employer, and in his company she considered herself more than a governess. Magical minutes where they spoke as equals, reminisced of fond memories and even laughed to
gether, and by the end of the week, Myrna realized the unthinkable had happened.

  She had come to care for the master of Eagle’s Landing.

  By the following week, she knew her heart was in a perilous state and strongly suspected her feelings were evolving into something beyond mere caring.

  But for once, she did not talk herself out of it.

  * * *

  A week and a half later, Dalton walked beside Myrna as they strolled through the garden still in the throes of new life. Gravely she considered what she’d heard. She and Sisi had gone with the Freeds to attend church services that morning, as they’d been doing for some time. The memory of today’s message gave her pause.

  “Something troubles you.”

  Dalton’s quiet voice broke the stillness of the evening and startled her into awareness that she had indeed been brooding. “The minister spoke of wolves in sheep’s clothing.” It seemed she would forever be haunted by the prospect of wolves. “How is it that we can discern an enemy if he becomes so close that we think him a friend?”

  “I understood from the message that we should draw that much closer to God, so that deception wouldn’t be possible. We would then hear the Shepherd’s voice, and be warned in the event of approaching danger.”

  “But how is that possible?” She glanced his way.

  “I was taught that God speaks to the hearts of those who draw near to Him.” He was quiet a moment and she mulled over his words. “Do you still think of me as a wolf?”

  Her eyes went huge and she snapped her attention to him.

  “Why would you ask such a thing?” she breathed.

  “Don’t tell me the thought never crossed your mind,” he said calmly. “We both know otherwise.”