Promises and Primroses

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Peter sensed his uncle’s nervousness, but he wanted none of that between them. “I should have sent a letter before now assuring you that though I left your office in a huff, I no longer feel any offense. It is very generous of you to create such an opportunity for each of us. I know it comes from a place of kindness.”

  “Oh, you mean the wedding campaign.”

  Peter furrowed his brow. What else would he mean?

  Uncle Elliott continued. “I should have brought your folder with me from Howardhouse.”

  “No need for that.” Peter was careful to keep his tone light. “I still have no interest for my own sake, but I do hope to hear happy news for my brother and cousins.”

  “You and me both,” Uncle Elliott said. “Know that should you ever be curious, you only need request your folder and I shall have it sent straightaway.”

  “You may as well find an out-of-the-way place to store it, then. I shall have no use for it. Ever.” He was glad they could speak in light tones, but the topic was deepening. Though he did hope happiness for the others, he felt that marrying for profit wasn’t right. What kind of woman would want to know that her husband made money from wedding her?

  Uncle Elliott laughed, perhaps too loudly, further raising Peter’s suspicions as to the reason for his visit.

  “So, how are things with you and the girls?” Uncle Elliott asked after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

  “We are well. We are all enjoying the spring, and I am able to be out with the dogs nearly every day. My first collie litter was delivered earlier than expected. All are thriving.”

  “I am glad to hear that the expansion into companion dogs is going well for you. And your household? Running smoothly?”

  My household? “Yes,” Peter said, feeling a niggling caution. Had Uncle Elliott ever asked after his household?

  Uncle Elliott rubbed his thumb over the satin armrest and shuffled his feet on the rug before making eye contact again. “Last month you said you were interviewing new governesses. Did you fill the position?”

  “Ah, yes, I have hired a new governess. Miss Hollingsworth. She’s been caring for the girls nearly a fortnight now. It was a bit tricky to find the right woman for the job—my first choice was a rather poor one—but all is well now.”

  “The first choice was poor?”

  Peter nodded, not wanting to discuss details. His stomach still burned whenever he remembered the bruising on Leah’s arm.

  “And the girls have taken to the current governess?”

  “Very well. Her father raised dogs, which makes her a good fit for the household. She is even helping with this new litter.” Though he’d been hesitant in the beginning to have his daughters involved with the dogs—afraid of anything that might stain their status or reputation—the girls had regaled him with stories about the puppies for several nights now, and their enthusiasm only increased his own. Much of what they said started with “Miss Julia showed me how to . . .” and “Miss Julia said that if I . . .” He smiled to himself at the thought.

  “How fortunate to have found a woman so well suited for your household.”

  There was something contrived in Uncle Elliott’s interest, but for the life of him, Peter could not make a single guess as to what his uncle’s motivation might be. And then he could. He straightened in his chair. “Uncle,” he said with careful deliberation, “if you are asking after my new governess because of this campaign of yours, you best leave right now.”

  Uncle Elliott pulled back. “What? No!”

  The sincere reaction calmed Peter some, but his body remained tense, and his tone was hard when he spoke. “I would never marry a servant.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Uncle Elliott said, then shook his head. “My visit today has absolutely nothing to do with the campaign, which requires that you make a match of someone of equal class anyway. Why on earth are you being so defensive?”

  That was a good question, and one Peter could not answer. The initial attraction he’d felt to Miss Julia in that broom closet was not the only unsettling notice he’d taken of his daughters’ governess. He told himself it was just part of being a man; it was not as though engaging with her more often now that she was caring for the girls had driven him to some mad fantasy, as perhaps he had feared in the beginning. I am not my father.

  Mrs. Allen brought in a tea tray, and both men sat back as she attended to their cups. Peter took the time to consciously relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Once his housekeeper had left them to their privacy, Peter looked at his uncle. “If you are not here on marriage campaign business, then why the interest in my household, Uncle?”

  Elliott took a breath, then a sip of tea, then a bite of the mince tart on his plate. With deliberate movements, he set his cup back on his saucer and balanced it on his knee before meeting Peter’s eyes. “I fear your suspicions might be less offensive than the truth.”

  Peter felt himself tensing again.

  Uncle Elliott took another sip of tea and let out a breath. “I’ve had a visit from Mrs. Hollingsworth from Feltwell.”

  Peter stilled. “A visit? To what purpose?”

  Uncle Elliott moved the cup and saucer to the tray, as though whatever he had to say next would require his full attention. “Mrs. Hollingsworth does not have a very good opinion of the Mayfield family and is concerned about her daughter’s reputation after being employed by one of them.”

  I will never be free of what my parents have done. Peter put his own cup and saucer down and then gripped the arms of his chair. “Then I shall turn her out by the end of the week.”

  Elliott startled. “I think that is a hasty conclusion, Peter. I—”

  “I will not be the cause of anyone’s concern for a daughter’s reputation.” He made to rise, refusing to acknowledge the sting, and instead mentally listed what he needed to do, starting with writing yet another letter to Mr. Hastings. Then a discussion with Mrs. Allen regarding how they would arrange care for the girls until a new governess could be found. Colleen had been willing to help here and there, but she was a maid, not a governess. Could Lydia come in the interim as she had after Miss Lawrence’s turning out? His heart rate was increasing. Why could nothing be simple? His poor girls, having to transition yet again.

  “Sit down, Peter.”

  Peter had all but forgotten his uncle was there but did as he was told.

  Uncle Elliott leaned forward. “This has nothing to do with you and does not require such a hasty decision.” He paused, sat back in his chair, and let out a breath. “I’m afraid Mrs. Hollingsworth’s prejudice is mostly my doing.”

  “What?”

  Uncle Elliott relayed his story—one Peter had never heard before.

  Though Peter was aware that Uncle Elliott had gone to India to help with the financial circumstances that followed his father’s passing, Peter’s grandfather, he had not known that his uncle had been on the verge of proposing marriage when the burden of his family debts came to him, or that Peter’s conception had coincided with the misery of that time.

  “When it became clear that I was in no position to marry financially, nor that her family would smile upon the match once Teddy’s scandal became known, the only option was for me to beg patience from my father’s creditors and go to India in hopes that I could salvage some scrap of the life I had taken for granted for so long. I could not bear to see Amelia again, and so I wrote her a letter and then stepped on that ship to Bombay. I did my best to put the whole of the situation behind me.

  “When I returned two years later with the necessary means to pay off the debts, Amelia was a wife and a mother. I had no reason to think she had sat out for even one country dance pining for me.” Uncle Elliott shrugged in a casual way that Peter did not believe for a moment.

  “Amelia citied her awareness of our family scandals—we’ve certainly had mo
re than our share—as her reason for objecting to her daughter associating with our family, but I know it was my treatment of her that is driving her objections, and for that I am very sorry. You do not deserve to be affected by the poor way I handled my relationship with her. However, my apology should in no way be misconstrued as my agreeing with her prejudice. But I am not sure how far she might take this complaint.”

  Peter stared at the rug between them and let the understanding fully settle. “My father ruined your chance for marriage.” In his mind, he added, I ruined your chance. Peter closed his eyes as a wave of anger washed up from his stomach until it overtook his whole body. “I am sorry, Uncle.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, and I have no regrets. I take pride in the honor and security I’ve been able to restore to our family, something you have also done. Perhaps without all that happened, I too would have fallen into dissipation.” He shrugged. “The past is the past.”

  Peter was not so quick to forgive his father or himself but did not argue.

  Uncle Elliott continued. “My concern at this point is for you. I do not want Ameli—Mrs. Hollingsworth—to make accusations against you or question your honor. I told her I would speak with you, but I would like to find a way to convince her that her fears are unreasonable.”

  “I shall find a new governess.”

  Uncle Elliott let out a frustrated sigh. “Peter, you are as moral a man as God ever put upon the earth, and it sounds as though Miss Hollingsworth is well suited for your household. Let us discuss other possibilities.”

  “There are no other possibilities. I shall find a replacement.” Peter was already drafting a letter to Mr. Hastings in his mind. “I shall not bear even the smallest whisper of scandal, Uncle. Just last week I turned out my handler because I learned he was having a liaison with a woman in the village.”

  Uncle Elliott paused. “Surely your staff’s behavior away from your household is beyond your scope, Peter.”

  Peter shook his head, holding tight to his determination. “I pay them well and offer tenant cottages if they marry so they might remain in my employ, but I forbid any fornication. I will not keep Miss Julia under my roof if her mother is concerned for her reputation.”

  “I did not come here to advise this drastic an action, Peter, only to discuss the conversation I had with her mother.” His tone was hard, frustrated. Peter was not swayed.

  “I had concerns about Miss Julia from the first interview, truth be told. But the other two candidates did not work out, and I was in a desperate situation.”

  “What was it about her that made her such a poor candidate?”

  Peter took a breath, shifted uncomfortably, but did not speak. He stretched his arm along the back of the settee, tapping his fingers on the wood and debating whether to admit the truth. Perhaps if he confessed his weakness, it would help his uncle better understand Peter’s reasons for being so willing to turn out an absolutely fantastic governess.

  “Is your reason so hard to say out loud?” Uncle Elliott pressed. “You’ve just told me what an excellent fit she is for your household—was that untrue?”

  Peter brushed nonexistent dust off the back of the settee. “Honestly, Uncle, she was too young and pretty to be considered. It felt . . . inappropriate, and so I chose another candidate. When that did not work, I attempted to hire two other women, one I had also interviewed and a woman in the parish.”

  “Too young and pretty, you say?”

  “Since Sybil died, I have not . . . noticed other women.” He felt heat creeping up his neck and wished he hadn’t said anything. It sounded as though he had intentions toward Miss Julia, and he did not.

  “Ah,” Uncle Elliott said, nodding.

  The knowing tone in his uncle’s voice made Peter cringe and feel like a schoolboy caught peeping over the bushes at a woman in her knickers. “Yes, well.” Peter cleared his throat. “Perhaps her mother’s concerns are another sign that this is not meant to be. Perhaps removing her from my household will be a protection for all of us.” He imagined telling Miss Julia that she could not stay, and let out a heavy breath. He felt sure she was as happy here as he was to have her. And the girls . . .

  “You should think on this, Peter. That Miss Hollingsworth is attractive is not a fatal flaw. Neither is an overbearing mother who is attempting to take her anger with me out on you. Let me talk to Amelia and try to help her understand. Perhaps your willingness to turn Miss Hollingsworth out will be enough to show her mother that you are upstanding and trustworthy. Especially if she knows how well suited Miss Hollingsworth is but that you would sacrifice anyway.”

  Peter clenched his jaw, wishing to heaven he could say that he trusted himself as much as Uncle Elliott did. It had been different with Lydia. She was family and older and . . . homely. Gracious, am I so shallow? Miss Julia’s mother may very well see probabilities he had allowed himself to become blinded to.

  “Do not turn her out just yet,” Uncle Elliott pressed. “Let me talk to her mother. See if I might smooth her ruffled feathers a bit.”

  There was something in Uncle Elliott’s tone—eagerness? Did he want to meet with Mrs. Hollingsworth again? Peter tried to see past his uncle’s innocent expression. He’d said that he had no regrets and had put Amelia behind him as soon as he went to India, but were there deeper issues at play? Had seeing this woman after so many years brought to life feelings Uncle Elliott had buried? Gah, Peter could not countenance such speculation.

  “It will take me some time to find a replacement,” Peter admitted. “But I cannot afford to wait. It took me more than a month to find Lydia’s replacement, and three more weeks to hire Miss Julia.” And she had been here for only a week and a half. The idea of starting the process all over again was exhausting. And telling Miss Julia that he no longer needed her . . .

  He felt sick.

  “I suggest you keep her on until you hire a replacement, at least, but I still feel you are being hasty. Appealing to her mother’s reason may be an easier solution.”

  Peter took a breath and let it out, tired and overwhelmed and frustrated and . . . sad. Miss Julia was perfect in every way but one, but it was enough.

  “Miss Hollingsworth does not know of the connection between her mother and myself,” Uncle Elliott continued. “Amelia would prefer that she never know; however, I am not convinced that is fair.”

  “Miss Julia should not learn of it if it can be avoided,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I know too well what it is like to be embarrassed for your parents’ actions, and I do not want any part in her learning something that might make her think ill of her mother.”

  Uncle Elliott watched him a moment, then shifted in his chair. “You understand that my relationship with Amelia was appropriate, don’t you, Peter? I did not compromise her or break any promise I’d made. She was hurt, yes, but we were both young, and she went on to make a respectable marriage. I did not cause her any sort of ruin.”

  “I did not think any such a thing.” But as he said it, he realized that perhaps he had assumed the worst. Peter’s father and aunts had lived by poor moral standards. Maybe he’d jumped to the conclusion that Amelia Hollingsworth had been Elliott’s debauchery.

  “I am glad to hear it.” His tone betrayed that he had followed the trail of Peter’s thoughts and felt an offense he would not bring to debate.

  They fell into silence—awkward and heavy and filled with frustration.

  “So,” Uncle Elliott said when the silence had become wholly uncomfortable. “You will not turn her out until I have spoken with her mother?”

  Peter hesitated but then nodded. It was sensible to keep Julia on until he had a replacement, even if it made him feel horrible to be so conniving. If he thought she would stay and that they could continue to get on well if he told her the truth about looking for a replacement, he would. But she would be hurt, and things would be diff
icult, and she could very well leave anyway.

  “Good,” Uncle Elliott said. “Well, would you introduce me to this young woman before I leave?”

  “Oh, Uncle,” Peter said with a sigh, closing his eyes. “What good could that possibly do?”

  Uncle Elliott leaned forward and slapped Peter’s knee. “Humor an old man, my boy. I would like to meet Amelia’s daughter.”

  Peter did not stand immediately but stared at his uncle while trying to think of an excuse. Several seconds passed without his being able to think of anything. “Very well,” he said in surrender, pushing up from his chair and giving his uncle a severe look. “But you had best school your expression and keep the topic of this conversation to yourself.”

  Uncle Elliott’s face sobered in an instant. “Of course.”

  Julia

  “Miss Julia?”

  Julia looked up, then scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping on her skirts in her haste. It was a wet and cold day, and so she and the girls had stayed indoors during their usual outdoor time and were building a city using nearly every possible article they could find in the nursery—blocks, books, shoes.

  Mr. Mayfield never came to the nursery during the day, and the man next to him was a stranger. She immediately worried something was wrong with the puppies. It was the only reason she could think that he would track her down, though even then he would have sent a member of staff rather than come himself.

  She bobbed a curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayfield.”

  The girls barely looked up from their road building, which currently consisted of laying out socks top to toe. Why could Mr. Mayfield not have come when she was teaching letters or etiquette?

  “Miss Julia, I wanted to introduce you to my uncle, Lord Howardsford.”

  Julia glanced at the man and bobbed another curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Howardsford.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” He put out his hand, and she belatedly realized he was requesting hers. She lifted it to him, and he took it, then kissed the back of her hand. It was the act of ballrooms and society, not being introduced to his nephew’s governess. She tried not to withdraw her hand too quickly, but once he let go, she clasped her hands behind her back. She was used to being overlooked, as though she were a necessary piece of furniture, but this man seemed to be taking in every detail of her face.