“That is Miss Charlotte. She is going to be your new friend. She will teach you how to be all grown up.”
I opened my mouth to protest, still unsure if I should take on the job, but stopped myself. I would be living within the same household and under Lord Trowbridge’s supervision, but also among other servants. To win his affection would be quite easy, actually. But would Mama condone the impropriety of the situation?
Sophia was still staring at me, a thoughtful look on her round face. I smiled at her without reservation, trying to somehow make up for the scowl on her brow. She was truly adorable. Perhaps being her governess wouldn’t be so very bad.
“She is very pretty,” Sophia observed, still watching me.
James shot me a sideways glance. My smile was still wide, and it seemed to catch him by surprise. His eyes lingered on me just a little longer. “She is.”
That he should compliment me after my underhanded play this morning was unexpected. But more unexpected was the heat I felt rising to my cheeks. I hurriedly dropped my gaze from his. What was wrong with me? I did not blush! I had been called pretty too many times to count by various gentlemen. So why did his simple, uncalled for flattery affect me?
I stood and walked over to the little girl, forcing my eyes away from James. “Good day, Miss Sophia. If I could be half as pretty as you I should be lucky.”
She gave me a shy grin, eyes dropping to her shoes, which she clicked together at the toes. The door creaked behind us and Sophia’s eyes lifted, the hazel color shining with excitement. “Papa!”
I straightened my posture quickly, smoothed back my hair, and hoped with desperation that my cheeks were no longer flushed. I turned toward the door, eyes lowered beneath my lashes, displaying the look I had practiced while Mama held my looking glass.
Standing in the doorway was Lord Trowbridge. He wore a gold-trimmed waistcoat and a perfectly pressed coat. His shirt was ruffled and his cravat pristine. His face bore little resemblance to James. His hair was lighter and was tied back neatly. His mouth was a firm line and his eyes were like black tea. He was more handsome than I had expected, so I counted myself fortunate. Lord Trowbridge’s eyes found Sophia and he smiled, reaching his arms out as she ran to him.
“There’s my darling girl.” His voice was low and scratched, like he had swallowed shards of glass. His eyes flicked to me, and he scowled, but stood up straighter.
James stepped forward. “This is Miss Charlotte Lyons. She is interested in becoming Sophia’s governess. And I …” he cleared his throat, “highly recommend her.”
I gave a coy smile and Lord Trowbridge looked away from me and at James, still scowling. “I expected an old, haggard sort of woman.”
My eyes widened in dismay, but I quickly corrected them and continued standing with straight posture and a basic expression.
James laughed. “Not to worry. Miss Lyons is very well educated, and will suit greatly to little Sophia, I assure you.” His words were edged in sarcasm only I could hear.
Lord Trowbridge didn’t move a muscle. His stern brow made me uneasy as he looked between Sophia and me. I moved my expression to a more professional, stoic one, realizing that he seemed to despise the fact that I was young and pretty, and not wanting to emphasize those positive traits.
Lord Trowbridge looked at James, still frowning. “May I speak with you for a moment?” He cocked his head toward the door and James followed him out, shooting me a look. The door closed behind them and I could finally relax.
I dropped my hands to my sides and breathed out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or hated me, but he seemed to think I was attractive at least. Lord Trowbridge was moderately handsome, with neat hair and fine clothing. His eyes were dark and stern, unlike James’s open, clear, sea green ones.
I quickly stopped myself. Why was I comparing James with Lord Trowbridge? There was no comparison. Lord Trowbridge, I hated to admit, was far less inviting and handsome, but none of those things mattered. Lord Trowbridge was the prize to be won, and if Mama had chosen a man to deserve me, then he was the man I would pursue. I hoped he turned out to be a little more kind. Or maybe he could smile now and then. I shook my head swiftly. When did these things ever matter to me? He was wealthy and titled. Nothing else could contribute to my opinion of him. He was wealthy and titled, and I was to win his heart if I ever hoped to have a chance in the high circles of society again. Despite his reclusive nature—never leaving his home and making appearances in town—surely as his wife I could convince him to go out to London at least once a season.
I had nearly forgotten that Sophia was in the room. She was standing in the place her father had left her, looking up at me with a crease between her nearly invisible eyebrows. I could hear the low tones of voices outside the door, but couldn’t decipher any words. Sophia had eyes and ears only for me.
“Your dress is very lovely,” I said, breaking the silence. “You need only a tiara to be a princess.” I related her to a princess because I knew how much I had wanted to be one when I was a little girl. There were few memories of my childhood I held so dear as the ones of when my nanny—though strict—softened enough to read to me from a storybook.
The crease between Sophia’s eyebrows deepened. “Where could I find a tiara?” Her voice was so quiet I could hardly distinguish it between the voices outside the door and the swaying of the curtains by the open window.
There was something about her expression that was just so endearing to me. I couldn’t help but smile. My eyes surveyed the room and settled on a piece of stiff twine that encircled and bound together three books. I walked over to the shelf and undid the twine, then tied it again in a small round. When I reached Sophia again, I placed it atop her curls. “That should do for now.”
Slowly, like a twitch, her lips moved upward and into a smile. It felt as though a small force hit my chest. I had brought that smile to her face. How often had I seen that? I scraped my mind for a memory, a time I had withdrawn something other than outrage, envy, or sadness from someone’s countenance, but could find only the smiles from Mama, the wicked ones paired with victory. But the pure joy I saw in Sophia’s face now struck me somewhere deep inside.
She looked into my eyes and for a moment I saw my reflection in them. “Where is your tiara?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have one.” My mind wandered to the days when I lived at Eshersed Park in luxury, wearing pretty gowns everyday, eating four course meals, flitting around at parties, gaining the favor of every gentleman I saw but always moving to the next one, certain that none of them were deserving of me. I had felt like a princess then. Mama had been so proud. But now I felt very much like a commoner, and I had lost my crown.
Sophia squinted at me, confused, but didn’t comment further. Her hands lifted to her head and her fingers traced the rough edges of the twine. She adored it. I imagined myself at her age, throwing it across the floor because it was too dull and brown.
The door opened and James walked in first. He looked satisfied, so I allowed myself a sigh of relief. Lord Trowbridge followed him in, darting a wary glance my way.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Lyons. It seems you are well suited to the position, so I will expect you here every morning at seven o’clock. You will instruct Sophia in her instruments in the morning hours, and her studies in the afternoon. We will discuss wages and other specifics when you arrive tomorrow.” He gave me a stiff nod, then exited the room, his coat tails swishing against the frame.
I watched the footman close the door, and felt hopelessness wash over me. Lord Trowbridge obviously did not want me here. But what had I expected? That he would fall in love with me at first glance? Winning his heart would not be easy, but stealing a heart was something I had done before. Surely I could do it again.
James and I bid our farewells to Sophia and left the house. It was almost noon—the time I was expected to meet Clara at our home. I didn’t want Jame
s to know where we lived, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave my side. He was more of a gentleman than I thought. It irked me to no end.
“Do you have all you need, then?” he asked as we walked. I looked up at the side of his face. His jaw was clenched and he refused to look at me.
“I know you are angry, but it had to be done.” I said, still looking up at him. “You would never have helped me otherwise. I intend to keep the letter in case you choose to bargain with me again.”
His face snapped to the side, his eyes locked on mine. He looked as if he either wanted to call me a terrible name or pick me up and heft me into the ocean. Then his expression relaxed, and the fire in his eyes was gone. “You have outwitted me, Charlotte.” He shook his head and with each turn his smile grew wider. “But you still have not proven me wrong.”
“What?”
He grinned wider. “I have proven you wrong, surely. But you have not done the same.”
I raised my eyebrows for him to explain. I stopped walking, knowing we were coming closer to my cottage, and I was ashamed to let him see it. His home was only slightly bigger, and he knew how desperate our situation had become. But if he saw our tiny home everything would be real, not just words painted on a canvas of mistrust.
“You thought me to be an impoverished fisherman, disagreeable, and nonrespectable. You wouldn’t have imagined me to be second in line for a title, or that I was not so far below your own station.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You did not prove me wrong, you are just a liar.”
His eyes widened, but his smile showed that my diatribe had not pierced him. “You presumed I would not dare wrestle that letter from your grasp. Would you like me to prove you wrong again? I could reach in your boot and take it right now with no one around to stop me.”
I gasped. “How did you—” I had been sure he hadn’t seen where I slipped the note. He was cleverer than I gave him credit for.
He straightened his sleeves, nonchalant about the ordeal. I wanted to slap him.
“Based on your refusal to continue walking, I conclude that you would like to keep your residence confidential.” He flashed a smile, highly amused by his own charade. “Unfortunately, if I wish to prove you wrong ever again, I must know where you live, so I may barge into your house and rummage through your things to reclaim the letter for myself.”
I glared at him. “Are you begging me to send it to Miss Abbot?”
He laughed. “Ah, Miss Charlotte, but I do not beg.” He drew a step closer. “I am asking that you do not send it. I am asking that you let me remain a gentleman. If you must keep it, don’t send it. Please consider what ruining my life might do to your own.” His eyes were sincere, and I looked away, knowing the last time he had looked at me like that I had dissolved.
What could be done to my life to make it worse? I had already fallen so low. It was as if I was at the bottom of a pit, and slick walls surrounded me, making it impossible to ever climb out. I imagined the wind whipping at my skirts, and undoing my hair, but the air around me was still. I felt like a porcelain doll, pretty and neat on the outside but empty and plain on the inside. Torn and vulnerable, hiding cracks beneath ruffled dresses and borrowed paint so no one would know.
I felt the pressure of James’s gaze leave my face. I dared myself to glance up at him, but I felt a bite of shame that prevented it. I knew I could never send the letter. It was too cruel, even for me. But I couldn’t hand it over to him without a fight. It would make me look weak.
“Well, I will leave you alone then,” he said. He must have sensed how deep my thoughts were, because for once, he didn’t try to breach them. “My brother expects you at seven o’clock.”
I acknowledged his farewell with a brief nod; it was all I could do. He stayed for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something more, but then I heard his footsteps fade out. He was gone.
I looked up and crossed my arms tightly. My feet felt rooted where I stood, and I couldn’t even begin to riddle out the emotions I was feeling. I was aching to play the pianoforte, and I knew it was the only way to untie these feelings from me. So without waiting for Clara, I picked up my skirts and ran toward the Abbots’ home, pushed from behind by the haunting hands of sunshine and stately houses.
Chapter 9
“The earth has music for those who listen.”
Mrs. Abbot greeted me with her usual smile, and Lucy and Rachel were beaming as well. I immediately felt the warmth of their familiar faces and laughter wrap around me, calming some of my uncertainty. I hesitated, but decided to tell them about my job as Sophia’s governess.
Mrs. Abbot’s jaw dropped open. “Oh! I had nearly forgotten about his daughter. His wife died shortly after their daughter’s birth.” She looked concerned. “You assured me you and Clara were well enough off to care for your grandmother. Are you not well provided for?”
“We are just fine,” I lied. “I work only to make her as comfortable as possible.”
Mrs. Abbot put her hand against her heart. “How very generous of you.”
I pushed a smile to my lips, and feeling a sudden and overwhelming sense of guilt, I moved away toward the pianoforte. “May I?”
All three women nodded emphatically. “Please do,” Mrs. Abbot said.
Sitting down at the bench, I positioned my hands above the chipped, fading keys I knew so well. After taking a moment to wait for the perfect song to come to mind, I decided on a precise piece by Mozart. But I didn’t play it precisely. I held some notes longer, some shorter, adding trills and melodies in the middle from other works. I decomposed on the notes and let them carry me away with them. I loved the disorganization of the tune I was creating; I loved that nothing was required. The music embalmed my soul and removed the ache and fear. And so I played until my hands shook and tears streamed down my face. I didn’t bother to hide them.
Mrs. Abbot came to stand behind me, a quiet rustle of skirts. Her genuine eyes met mine, and I noticed the wrinkles at the edges from countless years of smiling. I doubted I would ever have wrinkles like those. “What is wrong, dear?”
I wiped the moisture from my cheeks with quaking hands. “I don’t know.” That was all I said before I put my hands on the keys again and played. I played every song I knew. I was determined to force the sounds out of the instrument until the sounds of confusion and despair and shame stopped playing inside my head. I couldn’t guess how much time had passed before I stopped playing, but when I did, my eyes were dry, and I felt lighter, and my mind was clearer. I was going to work in the home of Lord Trowbridge. I was going to marry him. Mama would be proud of me.
I stretched my back and shook my hands out at my sides. The room felt like a resonating echo of the music I had just filled it with. Mrs. Abbot, Rachel, and Lucy sat in stillness on the sofa.
I stood, feeling the sheet of paper slide against my ankle inside my boot. James’s love note. I purposely shifted my leg again, making sure it was still there and not in the hands of Lucy. Despite his vexing qualities, I couldn’t do such a thing to him. He hated me enough already.
“Thank you for allowing me to use your pianoforte, but I must go home.” I pressed my lips together in a poor attempt at a smile. Giving up, I walked toward the door.
Mrs. Abbot followed me. I heard her steps louder than my own, and I silently begged her not to speak to me. I worried I might spill all my secrets along with my tears. When I stood in the doorway, I turned around to thank her again, but before I could speak, she reached forward and took my hand.
Her eyes held unspoken words of comfort, words that I didn’t think even existed—maybe they could only be conveyed this way. Right before I left, she gave my hand one more squeeze and those words threaded down her arm and into my hand, and ended up somewhere close to my heart.
If I even had one.
z
Luck had not met Clara in her search for work. When I returned to the cottage, she was there, complaining of how many mocking words and slammed door
s she had encountered. Apparently no one wanted to employ a young woman wearing more than a ragged, outdated dress. Perhaps James had been our only hope after all. I cursed him under my breath.
When I told Clara about the note, her eyes rounded in shock. I removed it from my boot and we had decided to keep it in my room in a small drawer on the backside of my writing desk.
“Have you read it?” she asked.
I shook my head. The note had been my ticket to meeting Lord Trowbridge and finding a job—it had turned out wonderfully. But I couldn’t stop the pangs of guilt that struck me every time I thought of my manipulation. James had manipulated me too, hadn’t he?
Regardless of where we stood on a ranking of cold-hearted influence, I would keep his words private. I would keep the note as a threat, but a meaningless one, and I would never send the letter. I knew it, but James didn’t, so I had the upper hand. My brow furrowed as I considered this. If I had the upper hand, then why did I still feel as though I didn’t?
Late that night, I lay in bed, but couldn’t sleep. Nervousness fluttered in my stomach like a thousand hungry moths. I was due at Lord Trowbridge’s home the next morning, and would officially be a working woman. I would earn wages and report to a master. Trying to win his heart in such a situation would be complicated. Searching every piece of advice I had ever learned from Mama, I modified them to fit my situation. Eager to remember my thoughts, I jumped from my bed, lit a candle, and retrieved the parchment I had entitled, How to catch a husband: Charlotte’s list of requirements. Just below my last point, I penned my next line.
11. Always arrive for work in a punctual manner, allowing ample time to speak with the master about his interests.
z
I approached Lord Trowbridge’s main entrance at precisely half past six. The gray, austere butler answered, a scowl written all over his forehead. “What do you suppose you are doing?”
I took a step back. I wasn’t expecting that. “I am Sophia’s governess.”
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