The Forbidden Passion 0f A Governess (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  “All right,” Hugh replied.

  “For instance, where are the earl and his sister?”

  “They shall return shortly. The earl needed to go into town on business, and it is his habit to never leave his sister alone.”

  “Is there no one else to look after her?”

  “That is your job, is it not?” Hugh replied vaguely.

  “Yes, I suppose that it is.”

  “What else do you wish to know?”

  “Where are the other servants?”

  “What other servants?”

  “Well,” Emilia replied, turning and looking back into the kitchen where Winnifred still stood, “anyone aside from . . . us.”

  “There is no one else,” Hugh replied flatly.

  “Is that true?” Emilia asked in utter disbelief.

  “It is the truth. The earl has chosen to let everyone else go at this time. He thinks it an unnecessary expense.”

  “But who takes care of the grounds? Does the linens and looks after the stables?”

  “We do,” Hugh replied, nose-deep in his papers.

  “I see.”

  It was beginning to dawn on Emilia that she was perhaps going to have many more duties at Glastonbrook than she originally assumed. No wonder Winnifred and Hugh looked so utterly exhausted, they were caring for an entire estate, and one twice the size of the estate that Emilia just came from. From the looks of the grounds outside, she could see why there was no gardener at Glastonbrook. In essence, there was nothing to tend to.

  “Well, we’ll make the best of it,” Emilia said brightly, exiting Hugh’s study and trying to paint a pretty smile upon her face. But it was all a front, for deep inside, Emilia felt nothing but dread. What had she got herself into, or rather, what had Lady Barbara Hutchinson got her into? Was it a punishment? And if so, what had Emilia done to warrant such a cruel penalty.

  She decided to return to her cold room and place herself under the covers, desperately in need of warmth, whilst she anticipated the return of the Earl of Cunningham.

  Chapter 3

  What Emilia did not anticipate during her journey back to her room was that she would get quite lost. It was not a difficult thing to do in Glastonbrook, that cavernous estate that was large enough to house the royal family. One thing that did surprise Emilia as she walked from room to room, embracing her sense of lostness and turning it into an exploration, was that the interior of the home was spotless. One would think that with a non-existent staff that such a dwelling would be covered with dust and cobwebs, but quite the contrary. Every porcelain vase, rich and rare ornament, heavy drapery, and immaculate wainscoting was perfectly clean. Emilia knew for sure because with each new surface she ran her finger upon it, checking to make sure. It was something she’d often seen the staff do at the Hutchinsons’, but even that home was not as clean as the one in which she now found herself in.

  Not only was it clean but the home also smelt fresh. It was curious, considering that there were very few flowers on display, something Emilia thought would go a long way towards amending the cold blankness of the interior. Yet still, there was the scent of lemon in the air, something she assumed must be used as a cleaning agent.

  Upon the walls there were even more paintings, similar to the ones that greeted her upon her entry to Glastonbrook. All the subjects sported the same dour faces and serious expressions. There were not Raphaelite flushes upon the cheek, no cherubs or Greek gods, but rather figures that Emilia assumed were a part of the Cunningham clan, brows knit, cheeks pale and lips thin. She wondered what the Earl of Cunningham himself might look like, but all the paintings were so dated that she assumed not a one of them was a depiction of her new employer.

  There was one painting in particular that caught Emilia’s attention. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling her blood turn cold at the sight of it. The painting showed a woman of immense beauty, looking off into the distance with a rare stoicism and mystery that made Emilia tremble. From the apparel that the dark-haired beauty was wearing, Emilia’s first inclination was to assume it was the earl’s mother. Next to that painting was yet another figure whose apparel spoke of the same time period, the period in which the earl would have been born. The second was of a man, a serious expression as well, but rather handsome in Emilia’s estimation, in concordance with the beautiful woman in the frame next to him. Emilia examined this painting closely, feeling drawn to it too. He had a trim, solid figure, shoulders broad, and chest erect. In contrast to his wife’s dark beauty, the man had reddish hair and pink skin. In fact, it was the warmest of all the paintings that Emilia encountered. There was a look of mischief in his eye, as well as ferocious manly pride. The chill left Emilia’s body and she creased her brow in amazement as to why she should be so transfixed by the image of someone who was likely no longer alive.

  Continuing her wandering, Emilia opened a large door and found herself in the dining hall, a massive table able to accommodate at least twenty-five at its centre. There was a modest white tablecloth upon it, starched to perfection, and all the seats were perfectly aligned and spaced against it. In that room, the windows were large and surrounded three sides. The cold grey light of the day flooded through them and Emilia wondered whether in the summer there might be a warm glow that could seep in – if there ever was a warm glow where Glastonbrook stood.

  It was so odd. Sure, Castle Comb was known to be dank at times, but it seemed the Earl of Cunningham’s estate was in a time and space all of its own, where the sun never shone and the air never dried. Emilia had only briefly been to Scotland once, but the environment where she stood very much reminded her of it. All that was missing was the wind.

  “Looking for something?” Emilia heard a voice say. She jumped, turning to find that Winnifred stood there with a massive white apron covered in blood. Emilia hoped it was from the rabbit.

  “I’m afraid I got lost,” Emilia said, slightly out of breath.

  “Come along,” Winnifred replied, turning to exit the dining room with Emilia in her wake.

  “Is it always so quiet here?” Emilia asked.

  “Yes,” Winnifred replied tersely. “Has been for years. Wasn’t like this before.”

  “How long have you been here?” Emilia asked, not sure where she was being led but hoping it was back to the servant’s staircase.

  “Since the earl was a little boy. My, how things have changed.”

  Emilia had so many questions but didn’t know whether or not Winnifred might find it intrusive or annoying if she kept blabbering on. She decided instead to hold her tongue and wait until the moment was ripe.

  “The earl is a sensible man,” Winnifred went on. “As long as you do your job and hold your tongue, he won’t give you any trouble. If you do your job well, he can be very generous.”

  “I see,” Emilia replied.

  “But don’t cross him,” Winnifred added by way of caution, her demeanour turning more serious than it was previously. “He can be a man of fierce temper and pride.”

  “I see,” Emilia said again, not knowing how else to reply. “And what of the sister?” she asked, sensing that discussion of Deirdre would be far easier than discussion of the master of the household.

  “She is fine enough. Well-mannered, in my estimation. But never leaves the house, and if she does it’s only in the company of the earl. He’s fiercely protective of her.”

  “I can see why that would be.”

  “A grand idea of his to hire the likes of yourself. It’s about time the girl had some female companionship.”

  “Yes,” Emilia replied.

  “Well, here you are then,” Winnifred said, pointing towards the very staircase Emilia wished to be led to. “You’ll get your bearings soon enough.” Winnifred, using every muscle in her face, did her best to form a smile. Emilia could see her trying, even straining. But the resulting smile was so paltry that it could scarce be called an expression of congeniality.

  “I thank you.”

>   “Supper is promptly at seven,” Winnifred said, turning back towards the direction of the kitchen. “Always the rabbit stew on a Friday.”

  And then Emilia was once again left alone. She looked up the winding staircase and sighed. The rabbit stew would be something to contend with, and yet still she anticipated it highly for there was a persistent growl in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten since she’d left after breakfast from her former home, and even then was only able to stomach a rosemary scone with clotted cream. The nerves and anticipation that morning were so great that Emilia found that she scarce had an appetite.

  Climbing back up to her room, Emilia harboured the vain hope that it might appear a tad different once she entered. That perhaps, due to a burgeoning familiarity, it might look more welcoming than it did the first time. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

  Emilia’s living quarters appeared sadder and emptier than they did the first time, but she was finally able to lie down upon her bed, pulling the blanket over her cold skin. Although uncomfortable at first, she found that fatigue overtook her, and she was quickly on the verge of sleep. Lastly, she plunged into a dream.

  The dream was of her father when she was living back in Painswick. And it was not pleasant in nature. He was seated at a table in his study, drinking heavily. Emilia approached him holding a book, wishing that he might read to her from it, and all he did was laugh and continue to drink. Finally, he took the book from her hands and extinguished his cigar into its pages.

  Emilia woke with a start, her heart racing. The dream was unpleasant and she went to the window in order to procure some fresh air.

  She poked her head through the tiny space, looking down at the roundabout that stood before the estate, gooey with mud. The rain continued to pour down and Emilia feared the space might very much turn into a lake, or that, in an unplanned manner, Glastonbrook might have its very own mote by day’s end.

  Off in the distance a figure caught her eye. It was a man on a black horse, coming through the woods and wearing a rather heavy cloak. His figure was large; that much Emilia could tell from where she stood. The cloak obscured his head and most of his face, so there was no other information that she could collect. It had to be the Earl of Cunningham.

  As he approached, riding at a feverish clip, Emilia felt her heart begin to race, for reasons that she did not understand. He stopped his horse in the roundabout and dismounted, a huge splash of mud rising up and splattering against his black boots. The man reached up and removed the cloak from his head, exposing himself to the pummelling rain without any sign of trepidation. His face fully seen, Emilia could understand why her heart was pounding in anticipation. The earl had a handsome, chiselled face, strong jaw and prominent brow. His hair was reddish in colour, similar to the painting of the man she had been marvelling. His eyes were dark and serious, and stubble shaded his chin.

  Although she was hoping to encounter at least one face at Glastonbrook that was not serious, she would not be satisfied on that occasion, for the earl’s expression was heavy and filled with cares. He appeared no older than thirty years, and his massive shoulders slumped over so slightly, as though the weight of the world were on them.

  The beating of her heart only increased exponentially when he momentarily looked up, his gaze coming to the very window where Emilia stood and meeting her own eyes. His gaze bore into hers, and she could feel his presence keenly, even though he stood a distance below her.

  Emilia quickly whirled around, feeling guilty for the fact that she had watched the earl’s approach so unabashedly. A flush came to her cheek as she dashed across the room towards the opposite wall, against which she leaned her back whilst clutching herself. Why was she filled with fear? For indeed a wave of anxiety had overtaken her. Was it the seriousness of the master’s expression, or his large, manly exterior that filled her with fear? At the same time, an overwhelming curiosity overtook her, and Emilia found herself creeping back towards the window so that she might see the mysterious figure again. Where he had previously been standing there was only mud and a black horse tied against a wooden post on the edge of the roundabout.

  Her curiosity grew, and it led her to the door of her room, which she opened and then poked her head through, hoping that she might hear the earl’s entrance into the estate. What did his voice sound like? How tall would he stand? Was there any reason to feel fear?

  Stealing down the hall and still clutching herself, Emilia made it to the servant’s staircase and slowly descended, barely brushing her fingers along the wall as she went down. Already, she was much more assured of her footing whilst going down that dizzying spiral.

  “Bring my papers to the parlour,” she heard a rather deep voice say, and she took it to be the earl’s. Surely Hugh did not have such growling tones.

  “As you wish, M’Lord,” Hugh’s voice replied.

  “And I’ll take tea as well,” the earl added.

  “Of course. M’Lord might I add that Miss Stewart has arrived.”

  There was a brief silence and Emilia wondered whatever it could possibly mean. Perhaps the earl had forgotten about her imminent arrival, or perhaps was even expressing remorse.

  “Very good,” the earl replied, and Emilia felt herself heave a sigh of relief. “Is she situated.”

  “Yes. In this very moment she is in her room.”

  “Express to her the manner of apparel that is required.”

  “Yes, M’Lord.”

  “And bring me that tea at once.”

  “Yes, M’Lord,” Hugh said again.

  Although from where she stood Emilia could very well have peeked around the corner in order to get a closer glimpse of the earl, she dare not accidentally meet his gaze again for fear her heart might leap out of her chest in embarrassment.

  Instead, she stood silently, pondering what it was that she might be required to wear whilst working at Glastonbrook. Before she could consider the question fully, she received another start as Hugh came quickly around the corner and nearly ran into her, colliding face to face.

  “My God,” Hugh exclaimed, also surprised to see her.

  “I do apologise,” Emilia replied, out of breath once more. How many more shocks to the system was she to receive on the first day of her new job.

  “You’re not in your room,” Hugh said flatly.

  “No, I’m afraid that I’m . . . not.”

  “Well, let’s return you there, so that I might have a word with you.”

  “Very well,” Emilia replied, following Hugh back up to her chamber.

  Once situated inside, Emilia had a seat on her bed whilst Hugh closed the door behind them, communicating that their conversation was going to be of some import.

  “I have spoken with the earl,” Hugh said. Emilia held her tongue, not wishing to tell him she had heard everything that was said.

  “And?”

  “There is something of important that he wishes to express to you.”

  “All right.”

  “The earl is very particular about the apparel of those who work at Glastonbrook.”

  Emilia again held her tongue, considering that there were only three attendants under its roof.

  “That is to say,” Hugh went on, “that modestly is of great importance to the earl. It is required of his sister, and it’s also required of you.”

  “That should be no trouble at all, for all of my apparel is modest,” Emilia replied.

  “And do take pains to keep your garments clean, for cleanliness is another source of pride for the master of the house. You need not take any time on embellishments to your hair or any aspect of your person. Simplicity is always best. And there is no tolerance for cosmetics.”

  “I assure you that I’ve never used cosmetics.”

  “Very good,” Hugh went on. “The staff dinner is served in the kitchen, and only after the master’s meal is complete and he retires to his study, is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “We dine upon the sam
e repast that the earl and his sister dine on. It’s from his insistence and he will have it no other way.”

  “That sounds most good.”

  Just then, as though her body were betraying her own composure, Emilia’s stomach growled so loudly that it was apparent that Hugh could hear it as well. A flush of embarrassment came to Emilia’s cheek.

  “But considering that dinner is far off, I am making a fresh pot of tea for the earl and I can provide you with something to eat in the interim.”

  “That would be most kind,” Emilia replied.

  Although the day began cold and dank, as it wore on Emilia found unexpected warmth. She could see it in Winnifred’s face, in Hugh’s expression, and definitely in the cosy kitchen in which she sat and enjoyed a cucumber sandwich, filled with rich mayonnaise. She ate in silence, washing it down with a warm cup of tea with just a spot of milk and one sugar. The seating area in the kitchen was simple enough: a modest wooden table with many chairs, no doubt from the days where many servants ate in that room. Winnifred remained close to the stove and Hugh was in his study, still staring down at his dusty ledger, Emilia assumed.