The Governess of Penwythe Hall

by Sarah E. Ladd

  Her heart nudged her to let a prayer pass her lips, and then she folded the letter, trying not to think about the delicacy of life and the fact that at any moment, life could change.

  Chapter 19

  “There it is!” Sophy squealed, nearly falling over Delia’s lap as she lunged from the carriage seat toward the window. “Can you believe it? Julia, it’s the sea!”

  Delia pressed her back against the seat, allowing Hannah a better view out the window.

  “Careful, Sophy.” Delia laughed as the carriage wheel shifted in a rut on the sandy road. “You’ll tear your gown again.”

  Delia should be more forceful and demand that the young lady behave demurely, but the child’s joy was so refreshing. Even Julia, who’d been the most reluctant to embrace a new life at Penwythe, strained to see out the window, a smile tempting her lips.

  Through the window Delia glimpsed a bright azure sea with gently rolling waves meeting the shore. The scent of salt air and the cry of seabirds beckoned them to abandon the carriage’s confines and step into the serenity.

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and within several moments the door flew open and Mr. Twethewey appeared in the space.

  “We’re here!” Sophy cried. Before he could say anything, she leapt toward him from the carriage step. He caught her, laughing, and set her down in the shifting seagrass.

  “Well now.” Mr. Twethewey knelt next to her, the wind catching his cravat and his dark hair. He pointed a finger out toward the water, taking several moments to give it a long look. “There it is. The sea. What do you think of it?”

  Sophy flung her arms around him. “It’s wonderful!”

  Delia waited for Hannah, Julia, and Mrs. Angrove to exit before she put her own gloved hand on the door frame to help guide herself out. She’d expected that Mr. Twethewey would have gone on ahead with the children and his aunt, but he stood there waiting for her. A grin on his face, he extended his hand toward her. “Are you coming, Mrs. Greythorne?”

  She looked to his bare hand and hesitated. It was strong. Steady. She doubted he felt fear. Not for anything. Mr. Twethewey knew very little about children and governesses—about the rules that governed their interactions. He was considerate, yes, but she was not his equal, and yet he had a tendency to treat her as if she were. Ever since their walk home from Fairehold Cottage, she’d been keenly aware of Mr. Twethewey—not only of his role as guardian of the children and, as such, her employer, but as a man.

  Her guard was slipping, and he’d occupied many more of her thoughts than was wise.

  She lifted her chin, smiled her gratitude, and placed her hand in his as she stepped down. At the touch, fire radiated. Once her feet were on the sandy ground, she dropped her hand quickly and looked out to the sea.

  Yes, there were many things she feared, and rightfully so. But one thing she knew with absolute certainty—allowing Mr. Twethewey to affect her heart would be the most dangerous move yet.

  * * *

  Jac walked along the bluff’s edge, where it dropped to the beach, and paused. Laughter rang out even louder than the crashing waves. The children—all five of them—were near the shore, playing with Cadwur.

  A bit closer, Mrs. Greythorne and Aunt Charlotte sat on a blanket in the far bluff’s shade, watching the children, and Mr. Simon sat on a nearby rock, a book held up to his face.

  Jac huffed at the sight. The man irritated him. Simon did his best to avoid any sort of interaction, and on such a day, to ignore the children and even the beauty around them seemed a waste.

  Jac made his way down the short, sandy cliff and inhaled the salt air. He discarded his coat on a nearby rock and propped his fists on his hips as he looked out to sea. The wind rushed in, billowing the linen sleeves of his shirt and fluttering his cravat.

  It was good to be here. He could not recall the last time he was at the sea for the sake of enjoyment. Usually he only came down this way when something odd was reported or when a fishing ship lost its way.

  The children were running barefoot on the beach, laughing. Liam splashed Hannah, and then Johnny chased after Julia. Sophy was collecting shells. Somehow, over the course of the last couple of weeks, these children were no longer strangers. Their thick-walled defenses were starting to fall. Even Julia’s stern facade was crumbling, and the angry lines on Liam’s face were softening.

  Cadwur loped toward him, flinging up bits of sand and interrupting his thoughts. Sophy chased him, clutching her basket of shells in her hand. Cadwur stopped in front of Jac and nudged his hand. Sophy dropped to her knees next to Cadwur. Sand covered her forehead, her hair, and her black gown. Her bonnet had been discarded, and wisps of dark hair flew before her face.

  “So, Princess Sophy.” Jac dipped in a dramatic bow before he sat on a large stone and rested his elbows on his knees. “Now that you’ve had time to explore, what do you think of the sea?”

  “It’s big.” She smiled, breathless, and stared out over the ocean. “Is it always so windy?”

  “Always.” He nodded.

  She swiped the hair from her face. “Why?”

  He chuckled at the question. He watched the waves roll up and crash on the shoreline, watched the clouds sail across the blue expanse of sky. “Because that is how God created it.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy her, and she tucked her hand in his, pulling him up to walk toward the surf. “Papa told us about how he found a turtle on the beach once.”

  Jac laughed at the memory. “I remember that turtle. See the rock over there, the one that juts out beyond that cliff? That is where we discovered it.”

  “Can we find one?” She hopped at his side.

  Jac clicked his tongue and held out his hand to carry her basket for her. “Oh no. It doesn’t work that way. You see, the turtles find you, not the other way around.”

  Her face fell. “Papa always said that one day he would bring us to the sea, but he was always too busy.” Her words slowed. “And now he never will.”

  The melancholy in her voice reverberated more loudly than the waves crashing on the rocks. She looked down to her feet and picked up a shell. “He’s dead, and my mother is dead too.”

  He felt as if he should say or do something to ease her sadness, but he had no idea what it was. Instead, he picked up another shell and added it to her basket.

  “What if you die?” She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide with childlike honesty. “What will happen? Would we go to Aunt Charlotte’s?”

  He studied her amber eyes. The smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. She just wanted reassurance. It was what Mrs. Greythorne had said about Liam. Sophy wanted to feel safe too.

  A protective feeling came over him, and he wanted to shield them from any more pain. “I’m not going to die, Sophy.”

  “But people don’t know when they’re going to die. So many people die. Mrs. Greythorne’s husband is dead. And her baby.”

  He winced. “Her baby?”

  “Yes. Maria was her name. Mrs. Greythorne wears her hair around her neck. Not every day, but sometimes.” Sophy reached down for another shell and added it to her collection. Johnny called to her, and she grabbed the basket from Jac’s hand and ran toward the surf.

  Still stunned over the information he’d just learned, he looked back to the governess. She’d never said anything about having a child. It was none of his business, of course, and yet his heart ached at the sadness of it.

  He studied her profile from his safe distance—the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her neck. She was the reason this transition had gone so smoothly. She was as helpful as Mr. Simon was frustrating. Instead of keeping the children hidden away on the second floor or in the garden, she’d made every effort to insert them into daily life at Penwythe. She found ways to make sure they interacted and encouraged Jac to spend time with them. Even this beach picnic had been her idea, and she’d not taken no for an answer.

  As he approached her, she moved to stand, no doubt out
of respect, but he motioned for her to stay where she was. He knelt to the blanket next to her. “The children seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  She nodded. “I am so happy to see them smiling.”

  “And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself?”

  Her gaze did not shift its focus from the shore. “I’d almost forgotten how enchanting the sound of the sea on the beach is.”

  He lowered his gaze from her face to the black pendant around her neck. It had to be the necklace to which Sophy had referred.

  Maria. Her daughter.

  He cleared his throat as if to dislodge the thought from his mind. “How does a young lady from Cornwall become a governess all the way in Yorkshire?”

  “It is quite simple, really.” She adjusted her position to face him. “After my husband died, I could not stay at his family’s home. My own parents were dead, and my brother was already caring for my sister, who is ill, so I needed to find another situation. My aunt was at one time a housekeeper for Mrs. Twethewey, and it was on her recommendation that I was given the position. That was three years ago, and I have been there ever since.”

  He looked over to Mr. Simon, who dug in the basket and pulled out a piece of bread. “He doesn’t seem to enjoy the beach.”

  She smirked. “Mr. Simon is more comfortable indoors.”

  “And what do you know of Mr. Simon?”

  Mrs. Greythorne turned back to face him. “He’s from Yorkshire. His father owns a mill in the north, but I believe his brother runs it now. Mr. Simon had wanted to become a physician, but his father fell ill and he was needed at home, so he never completed his formal education. But he’s a brilliant man and has studied with some of the brightest minds in London. Your brother handpicked him.”

  “The brightest minds of London, eh?” Jac huffed, unimpressed. “No wonder he finds Cornwall so dull.”

  “Pay him no mind. He can be quite abrupt, I’ll admit. But he is not at all like he seems.” Her voice trembled. “He’ll adjust.”

  Did she really believe the words to be true?

  Above, seabirds swooped low, cawing to one another. She lifted her face to watch them, and for several moments silence hovered. Then she snapped her gaze to him.

  He’d been caught staring.

  “I wanted to thank you, Mr. Twethewey, for coming here with the children today. I know you’re quite busy, but it means a great deal to them.”

  “They have been through quite an ordeal, haven’t they?”

  “My heart never broke so much for another until I saw their grief the day their mother died, and now, with their father gone . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Don’t give up on them. They are loving children, but they are grieving. And they’re lost. They need time, like anyone after such a loss.” Mrs. Greythorne held his gaze for several moments.

  The intensity and earnestness in her expression refused to allow him to look away. “I will not give up on them, Mrs. Greythorne. You have my word.”

  Chapter 20

  “Tell me about your husband, Mrs. Greythorne.” Mrs. Angrove shifted on the blanket to face Delia. “What sort of man was he? Tall? Short? Clever? Brave?”

  Delia stiffened. The afternoon at the sea had been passing pleasantly, but Mrs. Angrove’s question cast a long shadow over the day’s festivities. For it was a difficult one to answer. Robert was not a simple man, but a man with many sides and moods.

  When she did not respond promptly, Mrs. Angrove prodded further. “What was his profession? Perhaps we should start there.”

  Delia’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. It had been years since she spoke of Robert in any depth, but she could not avoid answering this time. “His family owned an estate, as well as several small businesses. He was sort of a jack-of-all-trades, I suppose. Mostly he helped run the inn.”

  “Ah, an innkeeper.”

  Delia’s stomach tightened. That wasn’t the truth. Not really. He did none of an innkeeper’s duties, but he did see that their smuggled hauls passed through the tunnels beneath the inn to the outlying sheds and barns, to be picked up by the next runner.

  “And how did you meet your young man?”

  This question was much easier to answer. “His hometown was a couple of miles away from mine. He came to buy a horse from the livery. A chance meeting in the courtyard and I was smitten.” That part of their life together she could remember with a genuine smile.

  Mrs. Angrove chuckled. “Ah, young love. Is there anything more splendid?”

  Yes, it had been splendid, but Delia did not allow herself to savor the memory. It was dangerous—painful—to fall back into those thoughts . . . It would lead to questioning every decision and wondering how things could have been different. “It was a brief courtship. We were married shortly thereafter.”

  “How lovely. Your family must have supported the match.”

  She smiled to mask the feelings churning. At the time her father had only recently died, and it was her brother, Horace, who gave the union his blessing. In her heart, she could not help but blame him for allowing her to take such a problematic path. She had been blissfully unaware of the Greythornes’ reputation. Why would a sheltered vicar’s daughter know anything about smuggling and danger? But Horace had known, and yet he made no objection.

  In truth, a warning might not have deterred her young, tender heart, but the fact that he withheld truths hurt her still, and over the years bitterness festered. Had he intervened, so much heartbreak and fear might have been avoided.

  She glanced around. The peaceful day was closing in on her. The waves suddenly began to seem harsh, the sun glaring. Instead of playful chatter, the seabirds overhead cried ominous calls of warning. The memories, which she usually kept under tight rein, were opening the door to fear.

  She forced her attention back to the shore where the children were playing, reminding herself that the fear, those years of uncertainty, were done now. They had left a crippling blight on her heart, but her reality was different; she had to recognize that.

  There was one aspect of her union with Robert, however, that had been beautiful. She lifted her hand to the pendant around her neck.

  Maria.

  Delia did not speak of her often, but there was a gentleness to Mrs. Angrove, something about her that made her seem like a safe place. The words were out of her mouth before she fully checked them against propriety. “We had a daughter.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Angrove whirled around, the wind blowing her silver hair about her narrow face. “A daughter?”

  “Yes. Maria was her name, named for my mother.” Delia removed her pendant and extended it toward Mrs. Angrove. “She died of a fever, but how I loved her. Love her still.”

  “Oh, my dear. I am sorry to hear it.” Her faded brows drew together, and she placed her wrinkled hand over Delia’s.

  Delia did not want pity, but it felt good, at least for a moment, to verbalize the pain that accompanied her through each day. She looked to Sophy running along the beach with Cadwur. “If Maria had lived, she would have been Sophy’s age.” Delia’s throat tightened. Was that what her blonde-haired daughter would have looked like running happily along the sandy shore, carefree and spirited?

  The squeeze of Mrs. Angrove’s hand brought her back to the conversation. “I always regretted not having children of my own. Of course, Randall and Jac were my joy from the moment they arrived at Penwythe, but such a situation is different. And you’re young. You’ve a full life ahead of you. You’ll marry again, I’ve no doubt, and more children will come.”

  The words were meant to be an encouragement, she knew. But Delia shook her head. She’d been wounded, deeply so, and even though the scars had healed and her skin had grown tougher, the part of her heart that could trust was forever broken. “One never knows the future, I suppose, but I’ve no intention of marrying again. For now, my life is these children.”

  Mrs. Angrove followed her gaze to the shore. “Children do not stay children forever. Surely you must think a
bout what comes after.”

  At this thought she formed a genuine smile. “I have hopes, one day, of opening a school for young ladies.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Angrove exclaimed. “A school?”

  “Yes, I’ll never be idle, far too stubborn for that, and I feel quite fulfilled in educating others.”

  “That is all very noble, but do you not wish for peace and rest?”

  Delia almost could have laughed. With the memories that churned daily in her mind and the fear she still harbored of her in-laws, she doubted peace or rest would ever be fully hers. No, it was best to keep her mind active, lest it roam free and get lost in the fear.

  * * *

  Several days after the picnic, Jac sat at his desk in his cluttered study. Night had fallen. Candles winked in the crowded space, casting long shadows over the newspapers, inkwells, and quills scattered atop the inlay surface. He’d been away from this room for days, and in his absence letters and bills had piled up. He sighed and picked up a letter, absently tapping it against the desk’s edge.

  Since his day at the beach, the cider press had been delivered ahead of schedule. He’d spent every free hour working out at the cider barn, overseeing the men as the press was installed and the barrel racks were hung. Even as he sat here, completely still, skittish energy raced through him.

  Success was near. He sensed it as surely as he could sense a storm rolling in from the sea. Hunger for it had pushed him to dedicate every waking hour to his cause. Even the new irrigation trenches and pond seemed to be improving the saturation issue in the north orchard. The ground was dry to the touch, and the apples were growing, and before long it would be time to thin the fruit.

  With the apple crusher and large press installed, they were close to being a fully operational orchard and cider barn, and yet so many things could hamper their progress. Yes, the apple trees and blossoms had survived the late-spring frosts, which had been one of his biggest concerns, but now a new lot of threats loomed. A weather disaster. Insects. Disease. He shoved his fingers through his hair and expelled his breath. He’d go mad if he considered all the ways his plan could fail, so he needed to focus on what he could control.