The Governess of Penwythe Hall

by Sarah E. Ladd

  * * *

  Jac tried not to stare at Mrs. Greythorne.

  She’d been crying. Her red eyes and pale cheeks told the story her lips did not.

  At the mention of Mr. Simon’s name, her normally pristine posture stooped slightly, and she looked more like a wounded creature than the confident, controlled governess he’d encountered in the past.

  “I don’t understand.” She blinked up at him. “What do you mean he won’t be returning?”

  It would not do to explain. If he told her the truth behind Simon’s dismissal, she might believe herself to be the cause or, worse yet, be frightened by Thomas Greythorne’s odd activity. “Just as I said, I’ve relieved him of his duties here. He’ll not be back.”

  Mrs. Greythorne drew a shuddering breath, then gave a little huff. A shadow fell over her face as surely as if a cloud eclipsed the sun.

  He cleared his throat. “Knowing that Randall did not want the boys sent away to school, I have already begun making inquiries for a new tutor.”

  The words were little compensation, he knew. She continued to remain silent and stared out the window.

  In an effort to fill the awkward lull, he stood from behind his desk and sat in the chair next to her. As he drew nearer to her, a subtle pink colored her wan cheeks, and her nostrils flared. He had thought her a master at masking her emotion, but even she was beginning to crack under the strain of constant change and the shock of sudden news.

  “Until a new tutor arrives, I’m at your service to help with the children as needed, and we’ll see that one of the maids is relieved of all other duties so she may help you fully with their care.”

  She jumped to her feet, and he was unprepared for the intensity in her expression. “May I ask why he was dismissed?”

  He started. It was as if she had heard nothing he said after he’d shared the initial news. He stood, matching her stance. “It had to be done.”

  “You know the terms of our agreement. They are exacting and clear.” Her voice trembled. “Mr. Simon and I are to stay on to see to the children’s education, per your brother’s directive. I’ve seen the document myself. We are employed by the trust, not you. You had no right to discharge him.”

  The frankness with which she spoke to him was unlike the manner of anyone else in the house, even Mrs. Bishop. “Terms or no terms, this is my home”—Jac took great pains to keep his voice gentle—“and I’ll decide who’s permitted to remain under its roof.”

  “But what possibly could have happened?”

  It would be easy to expose Mr. Simon and to censure her brother-in-law, but he had seen the simmering fear in her eyes at the Frost Ball. Yes, he could tell her the truth, but to what end? He’d already sent Mr. Simon away. Jac might regret that decision one day, but for now, Mrs. Greythorne did not need to know details.

  He pushed Andrews’s words to the back of his mind—words suggesting that Jac’s developing feelings for the young woman before him were steering his actions. But as he let his gaze stray from her gray eyes to the dimples that formed when she bit her full lower lip to the softness of her skin, he wondered if there wasn’t some truth to the statement.

  “I’ve learned to trust my instincts on matters such as this. I have my reasons, but out of respect for the children, I’ll not be sharing them. It’s best forgotten and best to move on.”

  He could see the battle raging in her eyes—she wanted to confront him and to defend her friend. She didn’t understand. He wished he could soothe her anger as he did the previous night. But he was the source of her frustration. To explain why would only cause her more pain.

  She let out a little mirthless laugh. “You decided that it is best and to just move on.”

  “I wrote to Steerhead this morning to inform him. Like I said, we will employ another tutor. Until then, I hope things can continue on as they have. Please say nothing to the children. I’ll tell them myself.”

  “In the meantime I must just accept it.” Her words were not those of accommodation but of challenge—a calling out of the situation he was putting her in.

  “I am sorry. I know you were great friends.”

  She said nothing else. She spun on her heel and was out of his study without waiting to be dismissed. And he was left with the ticking of the mantel clock and Cadwur for company.

  Chapter 26

  Feeling light-headed and numb, Delia exited the study. She’d show no weakness in front of Mr. Twethewey. Not again.

  Penwythe’s ancient stone walls, with their portraits and tapestries, seemed to close in on her as she fled through the foyer, through the great hall, and down through the corridor and up the stairs to the west wing.

  She’d heard Mr. Twethewey’s words, stark and finite, and yet she could not believe them.

  Mr. Simon. Her friend. Her ally. Gone.

  She’d expected to be dismissed because of Thomas, but no.

  She pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. It was hot. Flaming.

  Delia had been strong through this entire ordeal. From the moment Randall Twethewey had arrived back at the house, unconscious and bloody, she summoned courage and strength she didn’t know she possessed. Driven by the desire to be steadfast for the children, she pushed her own personal fears aside. But every new transition heaped added weight on her shoulders, and she felt her feet faltering beneath her.

  Her hands shook as she entered her private chamber. She’d peeked into the children’s bedchambers, and they were not there. They were likely down in the breakfast room, possibly with Mr. Twethewey, wondering where their governess and tutor were.

  She reminded herself that she always had choices.

  No one had ever forced her to do a single thing in her life. No one had forced her to marry Robert Greythorne. No one had forced her to become a governess. The alternatives would have led her down a different path, and every choice up until this point led her here.

  She could make another choice now, to leave. The Greythornes knew she was here. There was no use hiding. She could go to her brother’s. She could apply for another governess position, or even at a girls’ school and gain experience for her own one day.

  But then she thought of little Sophy. Of Julia blossoming into womanhood and needing a guide. Of sweet Hannah in the middle, striving to find her place. Of Johnny and his fears and Liam struggling to take on his role as the man of the family. She could never leave them—not and live with her decision. Besides, they were her family now. She loved them each as dearly as she would if they were of her blood. She was destined to stay here, and even if Mr. Twethewey tried to dismiss her as well, she would fight harder than she suspected Mr. Simon did.

  She’d mistakenly assumed Mr. Twethewey was an ally, but had he not just proven otherwise? He did not think enough of her to let her in on the great secret behind her friend’s dismissal.

  So many people she loved and depended on were gone now. The vision of a lonely future spread before her, and she did not feel strong enough to fight it.

  One searing tear fell. Then another. She fell atop her bed, clutched the blanket in her hand, and yanked it up over her head to drown out the light. She thought of her prayer a few days ago. It had felt rusty and unused, a forgotten thing cast aside. But peace, albeit slim, had settled on her at that time. Perhaps it would again. She cried a new prayer, hoping it was being heard.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Jac paced the drawing room, waiting for the children. He wiped damp palms on the buckskin of his breeches. He rarely felt nervous, but as he considered what he would say to them, trepidation surged.

  It was one thing to tell Mrs. Greythorne about Simon’s departure. It was another thing entirely to tell the children. He tapped his foot against the floor in frustration before rising and stepping to the tall glass doors that looked out onto the primrose garden.

  He’d been making such progress with them. Johnny regularly accompanied him to the orchards in the evening to check the day’s activity, and L
iam would ride out to check on Aunt Charlotte with him nearly every day. Even the girls had taken to him, and he thought of the flowers they had given to him before the Frost Ball. They would often sing for him or read aloud to him, sharing whatever activity Mrs. Greythorne had taught them that day.

  This news would hurt them and add strain to their already wounded hearts.

  The realization sickened him.

  His thoughts turned to Mrs. Greythorne. The previous night he’d pledged to help her, and then this happened. The hurt and shock in her eyes would haunt him. Pain and disbelief simmered under her otherwise calm reaction to the news, making him wonder if her feelings for Mr. Simon were stronger than he’d thought.

  He gripped, ungripped, and regripped the back of the chair beside him. How many times had Colliver pointed out Jac’s impulsiveness? He’d dismissed Simon out of anger and without thought of how it would affect the children.

  Perhaps his actions had proven Mr. Colliver correct.

  The shuffling of childlike footsteps drew his attention, and he turned from the door as the children filtered in, one by one, followed by their somber governess.

  “Children, come in,” he said as the girls sat on the sofa and the boys leaned against the back of it. He drew in a long breath, bolstering his confidence. “I am afraid that Mr. Simon is no longer with us.”

  “We know.” Liam’s voice was flat. “All his things are gone from his room.”

  “Why did he leave?” Sophy’s face fell, and she leaned against her sister.

  Johnny swung his feet as they dangled over the sofa’s edge. “Was he mad at us?”

  “I told you to stop pretending to read when you were supposed to be really reading,” Hannah declared. “It probably upset him.”

  “He didn’t leave because of me!”

  Jac raised his hands and stepped toward them. “He did not leave because of you.”

  Sophy tilted her head to the side. “Then what was it?”

  “Did you make him go?” Liam crossed his arms over his chest. Maturity flashed in the young man’s eyes, almost as if the youth could guess the reason.

  Jac felt like a cornered animal. Even though the eyes locked on him were young, they were full of anger and frustration.

  He sat in the chair opposite them, taking the time to look each one in the eye. Jac didn’t want to lie, but he could not share the real reason Simon had been dismissed.

  He eyed Mrs. Greythorne, who sat down on the sofa between Sophy and Julia and spoke before he could form a response. “What your uncle means to say is that Mr. Simon has moved on. Remember when Mrs. Timmons’s mother became ill and she had to leave Easten Park to care for her? Mr. Simon had to leave for personal reasons, ’tis all.”

  Jac marveled at the manner in which she calmly delivered the news.

  She smoothed Julia’s hair over her shoulder. “I know this is sudden. You’ve dealt with a great many sudden things lately. He would have said good-bye if he could have, but sometimes life is just not that simple. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  The children nodded, and Sophy rested her head on her governess’s shoulder. “But you will not leave us, will you?”

  “Oh, Sophy.” She pressed a kiss on top of the child’s head. “Of course I won’t leave you.”

  “Now,” she said with energy infusing her voice, “the best thing we can do is to be positive. Everything will be all right, but it will take a little while for things to fall into place. Let’s go to the garden. A few of the groundskeepers should be there, and we’ll help tidy some of the garden beds.”

  As they stood Jac added, “Liam and Johnny, I’m headed to the orchards if you would like to come. They are thinning the fruit today, and I thought you might like to see it.”

  The boys looked at each other and shook their heads no. Still somber, the children filed out of the room.

  Mrs. Greythorne hung behind, and he approached her. She’d comforted them in a way Jac never could. She knew what to say to ease their worries and make them comfortable. Mrs. Greythorne was their family, the person who held their lives together.

  “Thank you for your assistance with that conversation.”

  The warmth in her expression cooled. “Like I told you last night, I love the children and would do anything in my power to prevent them from getting hurt.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  Chapter 27

  Night had fallen, and it was far too dark for reading. The candle’s light was not strong enough to illuminate the page. Delia closed her book, set it on the writing desk before her, and rubbed her eyes.

  The day had been a long one. Two weeks had passed since Mr. Simon’s departure. The children had adapted as well as they could to another loss, and Mr. Twethewey had been more present than she had anticipated and taken Liam and Johnny on his daily estate activities. If any good came from Mr. Simon’s departure, it was the bond forming between uncle and nephews.

  Despite the progress they were making, weariness dogged Delia’s heart. As each day without her friend passed, her loneliness increased. And as each day ended without word from Thomas, she reminded herself not to get lulled into a false sense of security. She had no doubt they were watching her.

  She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall down her back, and she combed her fingers through the long, straight strands before she placed the pins on her dressing table. Her reflection in the looking glass above the dressing table caught her eye.

  The candle flickered on her face and she sighed.

  She looked tired.

  Delia was still young, and a full life still stretched before her. But she’d borne a lifetime of experiences in recent years, and they all seemed to write themselves on her face at that moment.

  She pressed her fingertips against her pale cheek, then lifted her chin to view her reflection from a different angle. Robert had always called her beautiful. She never really believed him when he would praise her, but oh, how she loved hearing him say it. And now she doubted that anyone would call her beautiful again.

  She raised her hands behind her neck to unclasp her necklace, but when she lifted the chain away from her skin, the chain felt unusually light.

  Frowning, her fingers traveled the chain.

  The pendant—Maria’s pendant—was gone.

  Her heart lurched.

  With trembling fingers she pulled the chain free from her fichu and turned it over and over in her hand, as if by doing so the pendant would magically appear.

  Panic, raw and fresh, raced through her. “No, no, no!” She patted her bodice and gown with frantic movements. After confirming it was not caught in the folds of her gown, she hungrily searched the bare wood floor, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so to get it out of her way.

  Heat rushed to her face. Dizziness swirled.

  Maria’s hair. Her last link to her sweet child.

  Gone.

  Through blinding tears she ripped through her chamber, pulling open her drawers, jerking back her bedcovers, checking the floor.

  Where had she last seen it? She grasped at her recollection of the day. She’d put it on that morning with the blue dress, she was certain. She could remember touching it in the garden, but that was in the early afternoon. She’d been so many places this day—in most of Penwythe’s second-floor living spaces.

  Oh, why had she worn it? Why had she not kept it locked in her jewelry box and safe? She never used to wear it—ever—but wearing it had become a habit as of late.

  Once she was certain it was not in her chamber, she moved to the girls’ room. They were sleeping, but the moonlight through the window was bright. She searched the floor. Behind the door. Next to where she’d read them a story. It was nowhere to be found.

  She returned to her own chamber, retrieved her lantern, and made her way down the corridor. The frustratingly deceiving shadows played tricks with her eyes in the night’s blackness. She searched the drawing room. The long gallery. The breakfast room. The
ghosts of her past were with her, searching, calling.

  Oh, how she wished for sunlight. The blinding hysteria gave way to a numb dismay. It was no use looking until morning. She’d never find it. Not now. Tears blurred everything before her into a mess of charcoal grays and shifting blacks. She curled against the wall and leaned against it for support. As a tear slipped down her cheek, hopelessness settled over her like a shroud.

  * * *

  It was far too late to be working, Jac knew. He dropped his quill to the desk and it clattered. His paperwork could wait until tomorrow, but even so, he had no desire to retreat to the isolation of his bedchamber.

  Not tonight.

  Too many thoughts swirled in his head—thoughts of the children. Of the orchard and the fact that they’d not had substantial rain for weeks. Of Mrs. Greythorne. No, he’d best stay where he was and see to his tasks, for there was no shortage of letters to respond to and ledgers to review.

  He lifted the quill in front of him, preparing to continue the letter he was writing, when shuffling outside the study drew his attention. He glanced at the clock. At this late hour no one should be about, but Andrews had said that he would bring the updated tenant agreements to him to review. Perhaps it was him.

  The shuffling stopped.

  Curious, Jac walked to the doorway, stepped down the corridor, and peered through the foyer toward the great hall. He saw no one.

  He was about to return to his desk when the shuffling resumed. It was the sound of soft footsteps on stone—clearly those of a woman. Concerned, he followed the noise through the great hall to the drawing room. A flicker of light shone through the door, and he stopped short.

  Mrs. Greythorne leaned against the wall, her forehead in her hand.

  The floor creaked under his heel, and her head jerked upward. She was holding a lantern in her other hand, and its flickering light illuminated her bloodshot eyes and the tears trailing down her cheeks. Her hair hung long, thick, and dark over her shoulders.