The Governess and Mr. Granville

by Abby Gaines

  Mr. Granville glanced from her to the open door. “Miss Somerton, you are dismissed. In every sense of the word.”

  “I will leave, but I’d like to say something first.”

  He remained by the door, only a slight air of resigned expectancy acknowledging her request.

  They could hardly hold a conversation like this.

  “Such discourtesy to a sister of the Earl of Spenford,” she said lightly.

  Granville’s eyes narrowed. But he returned to his seat behind the desk. Serena sent up a brief prayer that she could articulate her thoughts in a way that would convince him. She’d never thought she would have the chance to speak her mind, but hadn’t he just told her she was now his social equal?

  Even better, a social equal who after this week would never see him again.

  “Mr. Granville,” she said, “your sister has mentioned your faithfulness to the memory of your late wife, and I strongly admire that. But it may be that God has someone else in mind for you. Remarriage wouldn’t necessarily be disloyal.”

  “That’s enough,” he said sharply.

  Serena estimated she had maybe half a minute to persuade him, before he picked her up and bodily threw her out, social equality or not. “Even if you’re certain you don’t wish to, er, fall in love with some young lady, we could look at this from a purely practical perspective.”

  “By all means, Miss Somerton, why don’t we do that?”

  The silky menace in his invitation made her pause.

  Best to hurry on, before courage deserted her altogether.

  “There are many ladies—I can think of several wellborn spinsters in an instant—who would welcome an alliance with a wealthy, handsome man like yourself, without requiring declarations of love.”

  “Hmm.” For a moment, he appeared to be considering her eminently useful suggestion. Then he said, “So, you consider me handsome?”

  Heat flooded her face. “I—did I say that?” Yes, I did. “I—I’m sorry, I was merely making a point, I shouldn’t have...”

  Satisfaction with her discomfort gleamed in his eyes.

  Now that he’d questioned her opinion of his looks, Serena couldn’t help appraising what she could see of him: dark hair, eyes an intriguing hazel, a strong face, a mouth that... She dropped her gaze quickly. Broad shoulders, impeccable dress sense. And he was tall. Any woman would find him handsome, as he was doubtless well aware. And now, confound it, she’d lost her train of thought.

  “So,” he said, with an affability that was just as disconcerting as his earlier menace, “your expert opinion is that I should marry a spinster who’s after my fortune?”

  As so often happened, a laugh gurgled out of Serena at quite the wrong moment. “Perhaps I didn’t make the prospect sound honorable. Or tempting, for that matter. And I cannot approve such motives for an alliance.” A stance she was being forced to rethink, given that her sister’s marriage was one of convenience.

  “Oh, well, if you don’t approve, I’d better not.” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, emphasizing the breadth of those shoulders.

  “But, er...” What had she been saying? Oh, yes. “I believe—” she kept her eyes fixed firmly on his “—such convenient marriages can offer mutual benefits, and there’s every chance that over time, love would blossom.” She hurried on. “Besides, you really shouldn’t make spinsters sound like such a last resort. My aunt, Miss Jane Somerton, is both a spinster and very attractive. In fact, I could introduce you....”

  “I’m acquainted with Miss Jane Somerton,” he said. “I have no wish to marry her.”

  “Maybe you should stop thinking about what you wish, and think about what your children need,” Serena snapped. Drat. She braced herself for that forcible removal.

  “Miss Somerton,” he growled. “If you don’t cease your impertinence this instant...”

  “You’ll dismiss me?” she suggested. “Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, my sister’s marriage has put me in the position—rare for a governess—of having nothing to lose. While your children have everything to gain.”

  Silence. Should she take that as victory?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Somerton...”

  Merely regrouping, then. Serena braced herself.

  “I don’t understand why you feel compelled to comment on my domestic arrangements, when you’re no longer employed here,” he said. “Nor why these outrageous views have come upon you so suddenly.”

  He sounded so confused, she felt almost sorry for him. “I’ve felt this way since the day I arrived,” she admitted. “But until now, I’ve been more subtle in my approach.”

  “You’ve been subtle?” he said incredulously.

  “You possibly haven’t noticed that I’ve been extending the time you spend in your daily greetings and good-nights to the children.” She was rather proud of having stretched that stiff, formal five minutes to a whole seven minutes. Still stiff and formal, but one step at a time.

  “How Machiavellian of you.” He appeared to be laughing at her.

  “There are many fathers who spend a great deal of time with their children and find it very rewarding,” Serena said coolly. Her own papa was a perfect example, but she knew other families of Quality where the father enjoyed the company of his offspring.

  “Again,” Granville said, “I wonder why you’ve taken it upon yourself to try to introduce me to their ranks.”

  Maybe she should tell him at least part of the truth.

  “Do you believe in second chances, Mr. Granville?”

  “In theory,” he said guardedly. “Is there something else you need to confess?”

  “I’m talking about you,” she said. “Your family has suffered loss, but you have a chance to build a loving home for your children. If only you’ll take it.”

  “And you intend to force me to take this chance you’ve conjured up in your imagination?” He scowled. “If you must indulge your penchant for good works, Miss Somerton, I suggest you go home and feed the poor. Surely they’re in greater need of second, third and even fourth chances than I am.”

  “The poor are well provided-for in Piper’s Mead,” she said. “My sister Isabel practically runs the orphanage, and Charity, my youngest sister, knits for the babies. Mama grows vegetables for the elderly—”

  He held up a hand. “Your family can’t have such a monopoly on good works that there was nothing left for you but to travel all the way to Leicestershire to inflict a second chance on my family.”

  “Of course not,” Serena said levelly. “I chose this position—” he blinked, as if he hadn’t realized she’d had a choice “—because I believe this is where I’m meant to be.” She knew in her head that she’d been forgiven the foolish mistake she’d made years ago. A mistake entirely unworthy of her upbringing, which would grieve her parents sorely if they knew of it. But in her heart, she despaired of receiving a second chance. If she could help the Granville family grasp their chance, then maybe God would send one her way.

  “Grateful though I am for your efforts,” Dominic Granville said, “your assistance isn’t required. Let me remind you, to put your mind at rest before you depart, my children have an aunt right here in this house, who loves them very much and who, as I’ve said, will likely always be here with us.”

  Serena hesitated. To speak bluntly about Marianne Granville seemed harsh, but... “If you’re suggesting Miss Granville will play a more active role in the children’s upbringing than she does now, you’re quite wrong.”

  His mouth tightened. “I’m not suggesting anything to you at all. It’s none of your business.”

  “Are you saying that when Hetty makes her come-out into society,” Serena persisted, “she will be chaperoned by your sister?”

  He eyed her with hearty dislike. “Not necessarily. Hetty’s come-out is six or seven years away.”

  “Will your loyalty to your wife vanish in that time?” she asked.

  “Of course
not.”

  “Even if you could force your sister into the role of chaperone, I doubt you’d have the stomach for it,” Serena said. Not that Mr. Granville was in any way soft, but his attitude toward his sister was rightly protective. “I understand you have no other suitable female relatives. It’s possible you have a female friend who might help—” a flicker of doubt crossed his face “—but a girl’s come-out is such a...a complicated time that you’ll want someone very close to your daughters involved.”

  Serena drew a breath. “Which means you’ll at some stage need to marry, if only to help your daughters find their place in society. I say, do it now and give them all the benefits of a loving stepmother.” She spread her hands as if nothing could be simpler. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to add two and two, did it?

  She could see from his distracted expression that he was performing the calculation himself and coming up with the same, unpalatable answer.

  Then he blinked, as if to dismiss his conclusion. When he spoke, the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw, told Serena he had no intention of discussing this further. And every intention of ignoring her advice. “Prepare to leave this house on Monday, Miss Somerton. My own carriage will convey you to your parents’ home.” His offer of transportation likely spoke as much of his desire to be sure he was rid of her as it did of his determination to acknowledge her social standing.

  Serena bowed her head, defeated.

  She had failed.

  * * *

  Dominic found his sister in the greenhouse. She’d commandeered its southwest corner for her botanical project, a move that Gladding, the head gardener, tolerated with an air of long-suffering. Dominic called a greeting from the doorway, to give Marianne a moment to adjust to his presence. By the time he reached her, her face was rosy. But not bright red, as it would have been if he’d startled her.

  “So this is the new arrival.” He scrutinized the gray-green leaves, if one could call the sharp-tipped spikes that, of the plant she was digging in. “It survived the journey, then.” Just as well, since it had cost a small fortune.

  “If it survived the trip from India to England, I daresay London to Leicestershire was nothing.” Marianne patted the soil around the base of the plant with her trowel, then stepped back to admire it. “Aloe vera. Pretty, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll at least look nice.” Her careless tone didn’t fool Dominic.

  “Very nice,” he said.

  She picked up on his sympathy, and her cheeks turned a deeper pink; she fanned her face. “This place is so warm.”

  “We could step outside if you’re finished,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “The others need water. I’ve forbidden Gladding to do it—he tends to drown them.”

  The gardener didn’t hold with newfangled tropical plants. Dominic preferred the more restrained beauty of English plants himself, but he wouldn’t deny Marianne her search for a cure for her condition.

  She bent to pick up the watering can at her feet; Dominic intervened. “Let me do that. I promise I’ll obey your instructions to the letter.”

  She smiled in gratitude as she dabbed at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. The slightest exertion, even lifting a watering can, would make her face redden further. Even though there was no one but Dominic to see her, she preferred to avoid exacerbating her complaint.

  “While you do that, I promised Cook I’d snip some chives for dinner.” She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “I ordered the honey-glazed duck for tonight.”

  Dominic’s stomach growled at the mention of his favorite dish. “Have I told you you’re the best sister in the world?” he teased, as he sprinkled water over the threadlike leaves of the nigella she’d planted last year, having heard the seeds could be ground into a paste for the skin. Like every other remedy, it hadn’t worked.

  “You’ve told me many times, but there’s no such thing as too often.” Marianne signaled that he’d dampened the nigella enough. “What brings you here, Dom? Shouldn’t you be out inspecting fences, or the like?”

  He moved on to the next plant, a tropical flax whose leaves could reputedly be laid over the skin for a healing effect. “Miss Somerton’s sister has married the Earl of Spenford.”

  Surprise flashed across Marianne’s face. “I didn’t know.” Like him, she never read the London society news. He abstained because he was too busy. For Marianne, reading about a world she had every right to be a part of, but never would be, disheartened her. “So Serena will be leaving us. What a pity, for her and for us.”

  “I don’t see that it’s a bad thing for her,” Dominic countered. Nor for them, either. The governess had overstepped every conceivable boundary during their conversation; he couldn’t remember feeling so provoked. But at the same time, he’d admired her determination to fight on his children’s behalf. Even if she was quite wrong.

  “She can return to her parents in Hampshire, or no doubt the Spenfords would be happy to have her in London,” he said. Serena might be helter-skelter, but she was pretty enough. With some self-discipline and the backing of the Earl and Countess of Spenford, she’d find herself a husband by the time she’d been in town a month. Maybe less than a month. Dominic had noticed she had a fine figure, the kind to attract male attention.

  “Well, it’s awful for us,” Marianne insisted.

  “Will Miss Somerton be such a sad loss?” Dominic asked lightly. Images of the governess’s blue eyes and graceful neck rose in his mind as he wielded the watering can over a glossy-leafed something-or-other. “I have the impression that under her care, the children are somewhat rambunctious.”

  “They adore Serena,” her sister said. “And not only does she love them, she can keep up with them.” Marianne’s excessive, uncontrollable blushing meant she couldn’t exert herself with the children—not unless she wanted to spend the next several hours hot and crimson-faced. “But more importantly, although I love them with all my heart and they love me back, Serena seems to know better what they need.” She peeled off her garden gloves. “That’s enough watering for now. We’ll stop at the herb garden for those chives on our way back to the house.”

  What his children needed... The governess had tried to lecture him on that subject.

  “I know you found appointing a governess a tedious experience last time,” he said, as he held the greenhouse door open for his sister. An understatement. “But could I trouble you to do it again?” He’d do it himself, but Marianne needed to select someone with whom she’d feel comfortable.

  “I can try,” she said gloomily. “But don’t expect it to be a quick process.”

  “I offer a generous wage as compensation for looking after five children,” he reminded her.

  Marianne held his gaze. “The trouble is, Dominic, you want—and the children deserve—a respectable young lady of good breeding. But ladies of that ilk have their choice of position, and some things cannot be compensated for.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” he ordered.

  “We both know it’s true. Younger ladies are so embarrassed by my condition, they don’t know where to look. Older ladies are blatant in their pity.” Both reactions only caused her skin to flare up more violently. “It’s hard to say if I or they are the more miserable,” she said.

  “It’s been a while since we consulted a physician...” Dominic said.

  Marianne grimaced. “You know I would be only too happy to try a new treatment. But I haven’t heard of one, and to subject myself to those same examinations to no purpose...”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But if your condition didn’t deter Miss Somerton, perhaps others won’t be deterred, either.”

  “Serena is a parson’s daughter,” Marianne said. “I think she saw this position, this family, as an opportunity to exercise her Christian compassion.”

  “Has she condescended to you?” Dominic said sharply. It was all very well Miss Somerton spouting her nonsense to him, but
if she’d hurt Marianne’s feelings he would go upstairs right now and throw her out of the nursery on her pretty ear. He’d been close to that ear, thanks to that blasted lizard, and it was indeed attractive.

  “Of course she hasn’t,” Marianne said. “She asked me about my condition the first day we met—a directness I appreciated—and accepted it with equanimity. She would never presume to condescend.”

  She presumed to tell me I should marry again. Outrageous. And yet, when he remembered his mistake in imagining she was proposing marriage, amusement blended with his outrage.

  “Dominic,” his sister said, “we were lucky to have had Miss Potter—” the governess from their own childhood “—for so long, but you must remember the string of substandard governesses we had before Serena. The few who considered your money worth putting up with my oddness. I got so sick of feeling as if I didn’t belong in my own home.”

  “You should never have to feel like that,” he said gruffly.

  “In a perfect world...” Marianne spread her hands. “But we live in this world, and there’s no point complaining about something neither you nor I can fix. I will advertise for a governess, and we will pray for a smooth path.”

  Miss Somerton’s outrageous suggestion floated through Dominic’s mind.

  “Would it be easier—” he studied the glossy toe of his right boot as they walked “—if I were married?”

  Marianne turned her head to eye him as if he were a simpleton. “Dominic, of course it would! If you were married, your wife would take charge of these things.” She broke away as they reached the herb garden, saying over her shoulder, “My presence would seem a trifling thing to a governess, since I’d no longer be mistress of the house. There’s every chance I could avoid her altogether.” She snipped some chives from a bushy clump. “And, of course, looking ahead to when Hetty and then the other girls must make their debut in the ton.” She blinked rapidly. “Dom, just the thought of having to chaperone them makes me want to die.” Her flush deepened as she spoke.

  Again, Serena Somerton came to his mind. She had already considered these issues, ones that ought to have occurred to him.