by Leah Moyes
He picked up the oars once more. “I was 11.”
Oh, yeah, haha, I forgot he was telling a story. “11?” I groaned.
“Tch . . . my story.” Merritt is quick! I smiled as he continued. “My father and mother were in London for business.” He chuckled, probably thinking the same thing I was—that they were always in London for business. “The governess, Miss Durkee, was quite occupied with Lizzy at four and Abby, a newborn, much more than she was with me. I felt a pinch of independence and ordered the footmen about like I was king of the castle. On a whim, I intended to take my father’s steed for a jaunt because I was now the chap of the house. I demanded Joseph, the groom in the stables, to prepare Ivan with my personal saddle. He was my father’s pride and joy. Joseph attempted to convince me otherwise. He encouraged me to take Captain, my new horse, but I was infantile and cheeky and repeatedly ordered him to assemble Ivan. I galloped towards the Hampshire ruins on the far side of the property when Ivan became miffed and uneasy. I attempted to control him as best an 11-year-old can and unknowingly steered him toward the rocky terrain.”
I could tell this was a difficult chapter for Merritt to share. Engaged in his story, he continued, “Ivan fought my command, despite his upbringing. Of course, knowing what I know now; he sensed danger where I could not. He lost his footing in the deeply uneven landscape, and despite the crack splitting sound, Ivan plummeted in a way I would not suffer as greatly as he.” Merritt stopped rowing and took his first breath since he started. “I knew his leg was fractured, and even at that young age, I also knew a horse with that degree of affliction would have to be put down.” Merritt went quiet. This wasn't supposed to be a sad game.
“What happened?” I leaned forward with honest captivation.
“That’s the conclusion of the story,” he mumbled. I searched his eyes for the truth, but he kept them lowered.
“No, it's not,” I whispered somberly. “There’s something else, isn't there?”
“Why would you imply there’s a deeper connotation?” His inquiry followed up with a profound stare.
I spoke with no hesitation. “Because . . . while losing the horse is sad, your face is sharing a more miserable side to the tale.”
He was quiet for several more minutes. The sun progressed further across the sky, and random clouds overlapped above us. The river, now completely still, stopped the boat, and it floated sideways in a slow circle. Despite his troubling silence, it was one of the most tranquil moments I’ve experienced in England.
“You’re perceptive, Katharine.”
Digging deeper into his soul didn't give me the pleasure I thought it would. He appeared pained by the confession. “You don't have to tell me,” I assured him. “It’s only a game.”
“A game I agreed to play,” Merritt said justly. “When my father returned two days later, I feared his recourse. Consequently, I charged the entire incident on Joseph, claiming the offense happened while he exercised Ivan. Joseph, a man disciplined to not quarrel with an employer or an employer’s impetuous son, took the blame but lost his wages for two months. I never told my father the truth.”
I bit my lip. “I'm sorry, Merritt.”
“Oh, you will be,” he said. “It's my turn.”
“Now, wait.” I cried, unsatisfied. “Did you make it right with Joseph?”
“Your turn is over.” Merritt pointed out candidly. “My turn.”
“But, now that you’re older Merritt, you can fix it!”
He completely ignored me. “Truth or dare, Miss Shelton?”
Steamed, I was not about to share my most painful memory now. “Dare!” I cried.
His expression was priceless. “Now, what does that mean exactly?” His mouth twisted innocently.
I laughed aloud. “You dare me to do something crazy, impractical, or what you might consider uncouth.”
“I cannot comply.”
“You agreed! Remember!”
“Yes, but I thought you would choose to divulge an indiscretion like me, not engage in an illogical act.”
“I chose dare, so let's have it, Mister.”
“All right, let me think.” He pushed forward on the oars, and the boat glided once again. It seemed to help in his devilish plan. “Does it have to happen promptly, or can it be deferred to a later hour?” His question preceded a sly grin. I knew he was up to something but felt sorry I put him on the spot with his truth.
“Since you shared a deep dark secret . . .” I smiled. “I will let you choose the time and place of my dare, but it has to be today.” I felt overly confident. I knew Merritt advocated the duty of a gentleman and would ask nothing too risky of me, so I felt somewhat victorious.
“Very well.” He looked way too smug. “I’ve heard you play the pianoforte in the music room when you think no one is listening.” My mouth dropped open. I dabbled but was far from musically talented. “We will be pleased to hear you, Miss Katharine, share a preferred piece with the family in the drawing-room after supper. The entire household will be eagerly waiting in anticipation.”
“No!” I cried.
“Oh, I believe you cannot refuse; you chose dare.”
My face coiled in irritation. How did he do it? Clever, clever boy!
Merritt’s face flaunted a personal victory as he whirled the canoe around and oared confidently back to shore.
I tried to appear annoyed on the outside, but truthfully, he accomplished an amazing feat today. Something that was rarely done by anyone. He helped me overcome my sadness and not only because he was appealing to look at—that helped, but because he endeavored to be unselfish and took the time to be a friend.
We reached the dock surprisingly dry, but my dress picked up most of the dust that accumulated from our adventure. Merritt held the boat particularly well as I exited. Then as he led me up the hill towards the house, he took my hand to guide my steps over the rougher terrain. He was a gentleman and not only to one, but all who crossed his path. When we reached the edge of the clearing that led to the main house, Merritt spoke up first.
“Thank you for today.” He released my hand as he adjusted his shirt and jacket into a proper position. He knew we were under watchful eyes now, whose eyes we didn't know exactly, but people talk, they all talk.
“I'm the one who should thank you, Merritt.” Pleased with how today ended despite the rough beginning, I admired his persistence.
“I hope whatever distressed you earlier is no longer weighing heavily on your heart, Katharine.”
I paused, and met his smile. “I’m doing much better.” Truthfully, I wanted him to know more. I wanted to share the reason for my tears, but as we approached the house, the timing felt off. At the edge of the garden, we said our simple goodbyes and went our separate ways. However, the moment I stepped inside, my appearance was met with curious stares and whispers.
Chelsa met me with an urgency. “Miss!” Her eyes were wide with caution. “Where have you been?”
“I took a walk, then—”
She cut me off and pulled me into a corner. “Miss Margaret is barmy. She flew through here not but a tick ago, her eyes black with fury, cursing your name.”
I squeezed her hands with a strange calmness. I did not fear Margaret or anyone else in this century. A sliver of the old Kat unexpectedly sparked within.
“Thank you, Chelsa, thank you for telling me.” I moved towards the stairs and turned back towards her. “You’re a good friend.”
Chelsa and I had developed a wonderful relationship. I hated having anyone wait upon me, but she and Ana fulfilled the duties required of them and made the transition simple. We became fast friends, a benefit on so many levels.
Grinning, I made my way up through the house and towards my bedroom but stopped at a second-floor window. I couldn’t resist scanning the grounds for a glimpse of the river through the trees. A flutter rose in my chest when I finally found it. Despite our strange spat the night of the ball, Merritt and I had become close.
&n
bsp; With the setting sun, darkness filled the hallway before the porters arrived to light the sconces. As I moved closer to my room, I felt the weight of eyes upon me.
I am not alone!
My city instincts immediately went into defensive mode. Taught early on how to protect myself, I paused for good reason . . . danger still lurked in unexpected places.
Margaret's silhouette leaned covertly against the nearby wall. My chin rose, not sure what to expect. I shuffled closer. Knowing I owned a better right hook than left, I kept it low and unseen. She slithered towards me, closing the gap. Her lips curled into a smile. Not the warm smile of a friend, but a deceitful sneer of a snake. Her eyes caught the state of my appearance, and she scoffed as she spoke. “Where have you been, Katharine?”
I stared in silence. Her refined dress and polished presence couldn’t hide the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“You appear as though you’ve been up to something—” Margaret’s jawline stiffened, “—improper.” The underlying meaning came through clearly.
I stared as she ran one finger across the edge of my soiled sleeve, and even though we were alone, she whispered, “I accept that you are foreign, but I’m confident a slag means the same thing in any country.”
I stepped backward, and my eyes narrowed. I really didn’t know the definition of a slag, but I assumed it wasn’t a compliment. My fingers curled into a fist. It remained tight, next to my thigh, in the folds of my skirt. If I responded the way I wanted to, I risked losing everything. Her perfectly arched eyebrow rose. She knew she held all the cards right now.
“You’re mistaken, Margaret.” I controlled the emotion in my voice. “I’m of no concern.”
She practically hissed when she spoke. Lines never seen before in her flawless forehead deepened with each word. “You’re correct, Miss Shelton, you are nothing. However, it would be fitting of me—now part of the Gilford family—to expose any potential stains that could tarnish the name.” She emphasized stains as she leaned back and motioned to brush filth off her dress.
As I moved to respond, she cut me off “Speaking of where you come from . . .” Margaret placed one hand on her hip and then extended one finger to her chin and tapped it lightly. “I forwarded a post to the agency that purportedly commended you for this position.”
“Why?” I snapped too quickly. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she stared me down. I’d given her an edge.
She zeroed in, “Perhaps it’s because you’re a dodgy simpleton that has fraudulently elevated her position at the expense of a foolish family—a particularly handsome family in this regard.”
That’s it! Even though my admiration for Merritt was only a faint regard, she must feel threatened by me. She must’ve somehow either seen us together at the river or been informed of our return—together.
Two can play at this game. I leaned forward and scrutinized her. “Oh, Margaret dear,” my voice dangled with sugar as I narrowed our gap, much more relaxed and confident now. I reached for her hand, sickly sweet. “Don't trifle yourself with such big concerns such as education and intelligence, thank goodness a woman of your attributes need not a brain to be wed.”
Margaret appeared confused at first, then as the words sank in, she pulled her hand away, but I continued, “and regarding any stain that may taint the Gilford family name, it's a good thing you aren't officially married yet, just in case . . . ”
The blush in her face could have set her black hair on fire. I nodded curtly and entered my room quickly. With my bedroom door slammed behind me, I exhaled an audible sigh of relief. Her heels stomped heavily away. This is simply the beginning. I knew she wouldn’t let this go. I needed to not only watch my back but keep a steady eye on those I cared about.
Margaret was good, but this city girl was better.
Chapter Twenty-two
At the evening meal, Margaret laid it on thick. The way she buttered up the family with her bogus sweetness made me nauseous. Concentrating on my strawberry punnet, I contemplated her earlier attempt to intimidate me. Though her threats didn’t do what I’m sure she hoped, they raised a valid concern. What if the family finds out I’m not the real governess?
I glanced up the moment Merritt looked my way. His mouth curved slightly. If I didn’t know better, it appeared as if he withheld a great secret. I returned the courtesy with a grin of my own. How can someone like him be so deceived? He is smart, kindhearted, and obedient. That has to be it. Maybe this is forced upon him. That isn’t unheard of in this century. I peeked over to Margaret as her head flew back in a laugh. The elder Mr. Gilford seemed enchanted by her. My eyes narrowed. She was cunning, but she also didn’t know what she faced when she chose to challenge me.
As we all moved to the parlor for the evening, I started playing whist with Lizzy when Merritt stood to speak. With his family all gathered, he fulfilled his earlier request. My trivial game of Truth or Dare came back to haunt me before I realized it. He cleared his throat for their full attention and nodded in my direction. “Miss Katharine has agreed to play for us this evening.”
My jaw tightened.
“Oh, yes!” Abby squealed enthusiastically.
Mrs. Gilford turned to me, quite surprised. “I was unaware you played the pianoforte?” She appeared genuinely pleased.
“Very little.” I responded. My cheeks warmed as all eyes fell upon me.
Merritt’s lips curved into a sly smile as he gestured to the piano. Next to him, Margaret's form stiffened. Her pouty lips rolled into a slight scowl.
“I—I shouldn't.” My protest came truthfully. We didn’t have a piano growing up. It was Jeff who taught me how to play, but only a few songs, and none of them seemed old enough for this crowd.
“If she feels inadequate, sweetheart . . .” Margaret wrapped a long arm around him as if she reeled in her catch of the day. “It would delight me to play for you, darling.”
“I can do it.” I jumped to my feet and tossed a challenging glare in Margaret’s direction before it softened his way. “That is, if you insist, Merritt,” I said, nearly as sugary as she’d been.
He laughed innocently, “I insist.”
Margaret's arm fell limp to her lap. She steamed in a way that no one seemed to notice but me. I smiled easily. Kat 1 . . . Margaret 0.
Nervous, I folded my trembling arms across my stomach as I walked towards the piano. I rarely played in front of anyone. It was a silly thing that Jeff and I did when we would get bored at his house. Jeff took lessons his entire childhood, having come from a musical mother, but the only music I played growing up was on an Mp3.
I slid to the bench and peered over the keys quickly. What could I play that would neither cause fear nor pity? Not chopsticks, or Queen. Oh, yes, Jeff’s mother taught us The Irish Lullaby. We always joked we would play that for our children someday.
Quickly pushing any thought of Jeff and children away, I placed my fingers lightly into position. Though a half-dozen people were present, not a single sound escaped. It had been well over eighteen months since I played this piece, but almost immediately, a deep desire to perform emerged. I wanted Jeff to hear me.
The notes, strung together, by emotion set a beautiful mood and when I finished; it felt like Jeff’s arms wrapped lovingly around me. It was a charming piece, not even closely perfected but played well enough. No doubt they heard the errors, but soon after the last note resonated, the response emerged more positive than I expected.
Mr. and Mrs. Gilford clapped softly. While Lizzy and Abby giggled and clapped much louder to the disapproval of their mother, I’m sure. Merritt rose to his feet and displayed glowing admiration, which left Margaret seated alone. While I was positive, she concealed her true feelings, Margaret clapped, but her nose bent downward.
“Now, Margaret, my dear, you may play.” Merritt held his arm out to escort her to the piano. Her fake giddiness made me want to puke. I sat back down next to Lizzy and listened to the reptile play several stunning pieces that trumped mine by
a landslide. But even while his beloved performed, Merritt and I, exchanged mischievous looks back and forth. Then before she finished, I mouthed the words, “my turn” towards a slightly surprised Merritt who chuckled in return.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Miss Katharine?” Mrs. Gilford startled me.
“Yes, ma'am?”
“Might I have a word, please?” Her return from London came only an hour ago, and this was the first we’d spoken in almost a week.
“Sure,” I replied nervously. She never interrupted class before. I excused myself from the room and stepped into the hall with her for some privacy.
“Miss Katharine,” she spoke firmly, but her posture appeared strained. The color in her cheeks drained to a dull pale.
“Are you well, Mrs. Gilford?”
“Well enough, thank you.” Her hands shook slightly.
“I have learned . . .” Mrs. Gilford struggled for a deep breath, “. . . that you have introduced some unorthodox beliefs to my children.”
“Excuse me?” I questioned. Her comment stunned me.
“I understand you have suggested—” another breath “—that my daughters should think for themselves.”
“Well, I—” She quickly cut me off.
“What exactly do you intend to accomplish, Miss Shelton, by educating Elizabeth and Abagale in women’s rights and demands?” She wiped the growing perspiration from her forehead.
“What?” Confused, I searched my mind for clarification. I recalled the lesson two weeks ago on ambition, but we didn't get very far. That was the day I experienced an emotional breakdown in front of them and fled. Since then, we have spent more time on mathematics than language arts. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Gilford, I’m as surprised as you are to hear this.”
“Do you deny that you are encouraging my daughters to pursue other means to advance in society, other than marriage?” I reached for her as she wobbled slightly, but she refused my help.