Governess's Dilemma (9781460320600)

by Griffin, Pamela

  “Myrna McBride.” She gave a polite smile in return, hoping her face had cooled to a normal shade of pale and sat beside her.

  “You’re new to Hillsdale, aren’t you? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I came by accident,” Myrna quipped. “I was on one of the trains that collided in February,” she explained upon seeing Olive’s blank stare. “I work for the Freeds.”

  “Really? My mother was a maid here some time ago, for Dalton’s father and Mrs. Freed. After she married, he would visit my father’s shop. They became friends. My parents have long since passed away, but the Freeds still reach out in friendship and invite me to the ball every year.” She giggled. “I shouldn’t even be here. I’m a hotel laundress, certainly not one of the upper or even middle crust who comes to these events.”

  Myrna nodded in understanding. “Neither should I. I’m the governess.”

  “Yet here we are.” A twinkle lit Olive’s eyes. “Two peas in a pod in a room full of glazed ducklings.”

  The bizarre analogy made Myrna laugh, though her heart twisted at how apt and far-reaching the differences truly were.

  A sour expression crossed the woman’s face as if she’d bit into a lemon, and Myrna looked toward the dance floor to see what upset her. The musicians had shifted to another song and the guests were lined up in two rows facing each other, performing a series of complicated steps while holding their hands up and walking slowly around their partner, also taking turns with others dancers. She inhaled a breath to see Dalton dancing with a beautiful brunette. He looked beyond the woman, never meeting her eyes, his expression stiff, but she smiled up at him while she spoke, seeming happy to be near him.

  Myrna couldn’t help feel a little stab of jealousy.

  “I cannot believe she had the audacity to show her face here,” Olive said in disgust, “but what is he doing even dancing with her? He should have thrown her out the door!”

  Myrna saw that Olive was also staring at Dalton and the woman.

  “Who is she?”

  “Giselle Dubois. The hussy who returned to Hillsdale.”

  Myrna looked at Olive, surprised by her low, vehement words.

  “I’m sorry.” Olive looked penitent. “That wasn’t very charitable of me. But it made me so angry when she left Dalton at the altar.”

  “Left Dalton at the altar?” Myrna repeated dumbly.

  “That’s actually a poor choice of words since she never showed up. The poor man, and the church packed to the gills, too! Reverend Scott was so kind—” she said, her cheeks going rosy at mention of the pastor “—taking him aside, giving him her letter. It crushed Dalton to learn that the faithless hussy had run off with another man. Good riddance, I say.”

  Myrna felt stunned to realize that her previous assumption of Dalton’s character had been incorrect. He had not been to blame for the scandal. She looked back to the floor. Dalton still seemed tense, but he no longer avoided Giselle and now spoke to her. She no longer smiled, but stared up at him intently.

  “Dalton left Hillsdale that week,” Olive continued, “went to New York to attend university. His father’s alma mater. Didn’t expect him home so soon. He must have been there only one term, but with his brother’s death, I suppose he had no choice. I hope he has the good sense not to fall into her clutches a second time.”

  Myrna barely heard what Olive said. Her somber gaze remained fixed on the couple. She had unjustly thought him a cad and now felt remorseful for her unsavory opinion of his character, however defensive her reasoning had been. Her relief to see them change partners as the dance progressed was short-lived. Once the song ended Giselle again approached him, linking her arm with his and steering him toward the foyer.

  Myrna swallowed over the painful lump in her throat. She had no cause to feel hurt. She had informed him of her decision to marry another man. She would be leaving in two days. If he wished to rekindle an old romance, no matter how unwise, that wasn’t her concern.

  The logical assertions rang hollow in her mind, the music that surrounded her blithe and gay in its mockery.

  She was hurt, and what was worse, she couldn’t do a blessed thing about it. She had done this, in allowing herself to do what she swore she never would.

  She had fallen in love with Dalton Freed.

  It was with an almost tearful rush of relief that she noticed her cousin standing off to the side, near the hearth, alone. Another ordinary pea in her common pod. She made her excuses to Olive and moved to join him, for the first time almost eager to hear about his clocks. Almost...

  At present, she welcomed anything to drown out the silent weeping of her soul.

  * * *

  “Tell me, honestly, what do you hope to gain?”

  Dalton wearied of Giselle’s relentless flirtation and said what needed to be said. They had the foyer to themselves, the doors to the ballroom closed and muffling the music within. He had been dismayed to find her as one of his partners in the ever-shifting quadrille and had woodenly gone through the steps, not wishing to cause a scene by leaving in the middle of the dance.

  Of course, she had followed.

  “Always so candid,” she teased, hitting his arm with her fan. “You were like that when we were children, too.”

  “This isn’t a game, Giselle.”

  “Your faith teaches forgiveness.” She pouted. “Why can you not forgive?”

  “It was difficult, but I have forgiven you,” he admitted, and she smiled. “But that isn’t the same as accepting you back into my life.”

  A hard glint lit her dark eyes. “Have you met someone else, then?”

  He thought of Myrna and her beautiful evergreen eyes that were so sincere, even when in her fright she once tried to deceive. The memory made him wish to find her and draw her into his arms, to plead with her to stay and vow to protect her from whatever evil still threatened. He had long sensed that she feared something or someone from her past, but she would never play a man’s heart like a toy, to be tossed aside when it lost its appeal.

  “Why did you leave Jason?” he asked.

  “Jason is a child. He squandered away his inheritance in under four months. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, frankly, I can.” He regarded her grimly. “So you’ve come back, hoping for a slice of the Freed wealth?”

  She gasped. “That was cruel.”

  “It was honest.”

  “You make me sound like a gold digger.”

  “What am I supposed to think? Perhaps if you really wish for a place in my life again, you should become Rebecca’s governess. Our current governess is leaving in two days to live with a cousin.” He said the harsh words in jest. Never would he allow Giselle to raise his niece and never would Giselle agree, her fondness for children mild in the extreme. Another area where they differed. He wanted a house full of them.

  A stir at the upper landing had him lift his head to see a blur of nightgowns and small bare feet running toward the corridor.

  “I’m not without means.” Giselle’s hurt words brought his attention back to her. “Or have you forgotten that my father is well-to-do in his own right?” Her dark eyes were wounded. “When we were young, we were such good friends—and now you hate me?”

  He sighed. “I don’t hate you.” He realized it was true. For a short time after his public humiliation, he did. Now he felt...nothing, even surprised that he once felt something. Their long association had led him to believe friendship was love. But he realized the strength of what he felt for Myrna in a matter of months, a need which burned through his heart in its intensity, did not compare to the weaker affection he once felt for Giselle.

  “I don’t hate you,” he repeated softly. “But since we’re speaking of it, tell me. I must know. Why did you not tell me of your strong affection for Jason before the day
we were to be wed? You never before acted so harshly toward me. I had no warning, none whatsoever.”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I didn’t love Jason,” she whispered, and he sensed this was no act. Her facade seemed to crumble.

  “Then why...?”

  “Oh, Dalton.” She shook her head. “Your family is so perfect. You’re perfect. I couldn’t begin to compare—the Freeds are a paragon of virtue and importance in this town. I was terrified that one day you would come to realize I didn’t fit in and see me for who I am. I left before you could hurt me.”

  “You thought so little of me?”

  Sudden insight came to him as he recalled her father’s philandering ways.

  “I am by no means perfect, Giselle, but I would have been faithful to you.”

  “I know.” The tears trembled on her lashes and he reached for his handkerchief, handing it to her. “But it’s always been said that I’m my father’s daughter, and he can be heartless. As you know, I was his biggest disappointment, ever since he discovered he had a daughter and not a son. But I want you to know—” she wrung his handkerchief in her hands “—I was never with Jason. He was just...a shared adventure. I suppose that in my recklessness I threw away whatever reputation I had, and that was foolish. But that’s who I am, Dalton. I don’t think before I act. I never have, and I don’t know how to be different.”

  He had not felt such closeness with her in years as he felt in that moment, but it was an intimacy borne of old camaraderie. Gone were the feckless pretensions and dogged flirtations that had become her trade. The open expression of the woman before him reminded Dalton of the shy girl who, one frozen winter’s day, asked if he would carry her books since she’d left her mittens behind and needed to warm her hands in her coat. He had lent her his oversize gloves and carried her books, and that blustery walk to school had been the start of a friendship that in their adulthood they tried to make into more, as was expected in their circle....

  Even when more didn’t fit.

  He realized that he’d been as much to blame for what went wrong between them.

  “We’re both guilty of being rash at times, when we want something badly enough.” He kept his voice low in reassurance, taking the handkerchief from her tense hands and gently dabbing at her tears. “The truth is, you ran away, Giselle, because you didn’t want the life I would have given you. And if you’re honest with yourself, that hasn’t changed. Some friendships are meant to stay that way.”

  Quiet acceptance came into her eyes. “You’re right. I guess that’s part of why I left. I knew I could never be the wife you deserved. It wasn’t in me.” She broke off and shook her head. “I still care about you, Dalton. I always will.”

  “I know.” He pressed his lips to her forehead in a tender seal of forgiveness then stepped back. “As will I.”

  She tried to smile and laughed aloud in a half sob of self-derision. “I came here tonight with every intention of winning you back....”

  “And in the process, rediscovered a friend,” he added quietly when her soft words trailed away.

  Chapter 14

  Myrna entered the conservatory, the beautiful music easing her troubled mind. She stood for a moment, surprised to see Dalton at the piano. She hadn’t thought to find him here alone.

  Her courage floundered. She moved to retreat when his nimble hands on the keys stopped. He turned as if sensing her presence.

  “Myrna?”

  She inwardly scowled at the foolish rush of pleasure caused from hearing him say her name.

  “I wanted to speak with you....”

  She approached and he stood to his feet in question.

  “Sisi and I will be leaving in the morning.”

  His eyes grew distant. “Then I wish you all the best. I won’t be here when you go. I’m meeting with the new manager I hired to take over the mill. I’m working to bring about the reforms you and I spoke of.”

  At the solemn manner in which he said the last, as if her opinion truly mattered, she swallowed hard. “I’m pleased to hear it. Um, Jeremy mentioned that your pocket watch is broken?”

  At the waver in her voice and complete change of topic, he looked at her oddly but nodded. “I had hoped he might fix it or tell me it was salvageable, but unfortunately it isn’t.”

  She pulled the gold disc from her skirt pocket and handed it to him. “I want you to have this. It was my father’s,” she explained, putting the treasured pocket watch into his hand, the chain trickling and looping over his fingers.

  He looked at her in shock. “You’re giving me your father’s watch?”

  His words grew even softer in disbelief, and she blinked hard.

  “Yes. I—I want you to have it. It’s probably not as nice as the one you had, but it works. You’ve been so kind, and I wanted to give you something—”

  He grasped her arms, stunning her into silence, the chain dangling from his hand.

  “Don’t go.” The harsh plea in his voice matched the desperation in his eyes, and her heart echoed his low cry. “Please, Myrna, I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I have no choice,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean? Of course you have a choice!”

  She shook her head, wishing she hadn’t let that slip.

  His jaw went hard. “Is your cousin threatening you?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it? You cannot leave us, Myrna, leave me. Surely you must know how I’ve come to feel about you?”

  She did, and that scared her the most since she returned his feelings. But she would not give in to temptation and be like her mother, would not give in to a life of sin to be with this man....

  “I had not allowed myself to hope, not until now, but with your sweet gift—you must feel some affection for me?” His words were persuasion-laced in vulnerability, and she couldn’t prevent the little nod and rush of tears that followed.

  “Yes.”

  At her meek answer he heavily exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath.

  “Dearest Myrna, you are like sunshine warming my soul that’s been too long frozen. I need you to stay here, with me.” His words were a bare whisper, and when he lifted his hands to cradle her face, she didn’t pull away.

  His mouth pressed flush to hers, nothing like before, this kiss deep and warming her, making her wish to draw him still closer. “Please, don’t,” she breathed without sincerity as she faintly turned her head away, her hands still clutching his waistcoat.

  “What are you afraid of?” He pressed his forehead to her temple, his hands moving down to grip her waist. “I’d never hurt you. Don’t you know that?”

  His tender words floated to the hollow chamber of her heart. Oh, how she longed to believe him! Drawn to the need for his touch, wishing for his embrace, she turned her mouth back to his, again allowing him to drink from her lips, before harsh reality again interfered.

  “No!” Trembling, she stepped back, into the curve of the grand piano. “I’m to marry Jeremy.”

  “You can’t!” His words were low and fierce. “Not with the way we feel about each other. Not now that we’ve both admitted it!”

  She shook her head tearfully. “But what is there for us?”

  He looked so distraught that his pain wrenched her heart. All she wanted was to assure him of her love and be reassured of his.

  She barely held back from initiating another kiss.

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  The door opened and Rebecca walked inside. Her eyes widened upon seeing Dalton and Myrna standing close, with his hands at her waist. Quickly he dropped them to his sides and stepped back while Myrna lowered her palms from his chest and moved away from the piano. She struggled with embarrassment to be caught in such an intimate moment. />
  “Rebecca.” She cleared the huskiness from her throat. “Is there something you wanted?”

  “I was looking for Nana.”

  “She’s upstairs resting.” Dalton’s voice came low.

  Myrna looked toward the door, glad her sister had not seen them.

  “Is Sisi not with you?”

  Rebecca glanced at the carpet. “No.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Rebecca shrugged. “In her room?”

  Myrna hadn’t seen her sister since that morning, but with Sisi’s latest penchant for hiding, sometimes even making it into a game, Myrna wasn’t overly concerned.

  “I should go talk to her.” She still hadn’t told Sisi they were leaving, wishing to put off the difficult moment as long as possible. But it was now time she be told.

  Myrna shared a look with Dalton. His eyes were sad, silently begging her to stay. She wished that he would speak, to end what she’d put in motion, but knew it was futile to hope for such words from him. With nothing more to say, she offered a trembling smile of farewell and left him standing there.

  As she ascended the staircase, the tears clouding her eyes, her thoughts went to the well-read novel sitting by her bedside, and again she noted similarities to her wretched life. Mr. Rochester had been stubborn, even cruel, but Jane endured, until the moment everything changed and she thought happiness could be hers. At the peak of discovery, that joy, too, had been ripped from her, and she escaped to survive. As Myrna must do, as she always had done, in trying to carve out what satisfactory life she could glean from this mortal existence.

  Dear God, help me to endure this!

  With a little shock, she became aware that she had reached out to the Almighty in her pain. What’s more, she felt an odd glimmer of hope, unfamiliar to her, that He might truly be listening.

  * * *

  Dalton watched Myrna go, heaviness settling in his chest as he sank to the bench.

  He had not expounded on the depth of his feelings, had not thought at all beyond his objective to make Myrna see that her place was with them at Eagle’s Landing, with him. He could plainly see that she was entering into a choice she had no desire to make. The forlorn look in her eyes spoke more eloquently than her words of duty, which rang hollow and without substance.