Falling for the Governess

by Abby Ayles

“I beg your pardon, Lady Abigail,” Isabella said with a curtsy, “I was asked to take Jaqueline to His Grace.”

  “Why, you must be Miss Watts, then,” Lady Abigail said with a sweet smile. “For a second, I was worried you were that horrid Mrs. Peterson coming in. She shan’t have liked to see me sitting on the floor playing dollies. She is quite a strict one, isn’t she?” Lady Abigail asked like she was talking to a friend.

  Isabella was uncertain how to respond. Naturally, she would not share her personal opinions of Mrs. Peterson to a lady of the house; it would have been most forward of Isabella.

  “Mrs. Peterson does seem very devoted to her duties. She seems to have a good feel for such a large estate,” was all that Isabella could come up with.

  “She hasn’t been here with us long, you know.” Lady Abigail continued, as if she was speaking to a close confidante. “Only the last year, just before we got our sweet Jackie here. I suppose father was hoping to find someone who would tighten the reins on us children a little more.”

  Mrs. Murray cleared her throat from the corner. Abigail smiled at the action.

  “Nurse Murray, on the other hand, has been here so long she took care of not just myself but my brother Christian, as well. I believe she thinks I am too much of a gossip. It is a bad habit of mine, I must admit. I apologized, Nursie," Lady Abigail said affectionately while turning.

  “You dinna need to apologize, Lady Abigail. Perhaps you best be off though, so as not to keep yer father waiting, aye?”

  “Nursie?” Jaqueline giggled under her breath at Lady Abigail’s nickname for her nurse.

  “Well, you see, I was very little when Mrs. Murray came and it was just easier for me to say,” Lady Abigail told the child in French.

  Jaqueline turned to Mrs. Murray and slowly asked in the best English she could muster, “I call you Nursie, uh… que puis-je vous appeler?”

  What can I call you? Isabella’s heart swelled at the question, as she watched Mrs. Murray connect with the little girl.

  With tears glistening in her eyes, Mrs. Murray reached her arms out. “Yes,” she whispered. “You can call me Nursie.”

  Jaqueline went to her quickly and they shared an embrace.

  Mrs. Murray nuzzled the crook of Jaqueline’s neck and her eyes lifted to meet Isabella’s. “I expect that would be quite lovely,” Mrs. Murray said after getting control of her emotion. “Now, off you go, my little lass, while your curls are still bouncing.”

  Of course, Jaqueline’s perfectly curled blonde hair was always in immaculate ringlets, but Mrs. Murray fluffed them, all the same, before returning the girl to her waiting aunt. Jaqueline slipped one hand into Lady Abigail’s and then reached out to Isabella with the other.

  It was one of the things about Jaqueline that Isabella enjoyed so much. Her pure, innocent spirit. Of course, Isabella should follow behind the two girls as just an employee, but both Lady Abigail and Jaqueline stood ready. So, with a girlish giggle of her own, Isabella took Jaqueline's hand. The three of them happily marched down the broad stairway leading to the main house.

  It wasn’t until they got to the hallway leading into the large drawing room that the fun giggling stopped. Mrs. Peterson was in that hall. It was as if someone had opened a window and let a cold gust in. Lady Abigail took the lead with little Jaqueline in hand while Isabella slipped back, just behind them.

  In this way, they entered the drawing room. Isabella found the rest of the family already seated. The duke sat in the large high back chair closest to the fire with a blanket over his lap. Isabella wondered if his health was not good. The duchess was sitting next to her son at a card table and got up to embrace her daughter at her entrance. Jaqueline gave her grandmother a very proper curtsy before giving her a light hug.

  Lady Abigail shared many of her father’s sharp facial features, but it was clear that her petite frame and lush, dark red hair was her mother’s. Though she looked to be at least ten years younger than her husband, the duchess had some gray streaks running through the rich auburn hair that fell in little curls around a bandeau.

  Isabella could see that Jaqueline was just as nervous as she when standing before her grandfather.

  She gave a deep curtsy and, as clear as a bell, said, “Good evening, Your Grace. You are looking very well.”

  Isabella wondered at the sentence that she had encouraged Jaqueline to practice over and over till it was perfect. Upon closer examination, he didn’t look well at all.

  “And tell me what you learned, young lady,” he said in response, no light in his eyes.

  The whole of the room was watching this exchange with joy, and yet the duke didn’t seem as moved as all the others by her angelic face.

  Jaqueline looked back to her governess, who stood just behind her. Isabella gave a reassuring nod for encouragement.

  “I have learned to count and recite the Lord’s prayer.”

  “Well then, let's hear this,” the duke said, putting aside the book he had been reading. He spoke with some skepticism, which discouraged the girl.

  Isabella took a step forward and, bending down, encouraged the child onward. In Isabella’s eyes, she did wonderfully. Lady Abigail and Her Grace even clapped when Jaqueline finished the Lord’s prayer, though she had stumbled once.

  The duke said nothing to the child.

  “You seem to be making good progress, Miss Watts,” was all he said before returning to his reading.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she responded, taking the child’s hand and preparing to leave.

  “Jaqueline, won't you come over here and show mother how you drew that pretty flower the other day,” Lord Bellfourd said from his card table.

  “Oh, yes. I would love to see a drawing,” Duchess Wintercrest announced, putting her card game aside.

  A servant produced a small writing desk with tools and Jaqueline went to sit by her grandmother. Isabella wasn’t exactly sure what to do. She was told to keep charge of the child for the night but didn’t know if she should stay or excuse herself. When Jaqueline had gone to the duchess, Isabella had been invited to sit. She had taken a wooden chair against the wall so as not to intrude on the intimacy of the family.

  After a few minutes, Lady Abigail had joined her mother, brother, and niece, at the card table and was attempting to teach little Jaqueline a simple card game.

  “Miss Watts, do you play the piano at all?” Duchess Wintercrest asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Would you play for us now?” she asked sweetly, motioning to a pianoforte just to the side of Isabella. “My daughter did not take to lessons, and I so miss the sound of music in the evening.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Isabella said, taking a seat at the piano.

  There was already sheet music laid out. Another servant appeared wordlessly and placed a small candelabra on the piano to give her the best light.

  “Thank you,” she said to the man she hadn’t met yet.

  He nodded and returned to the corner of the room where he stood waiting. The music was simple enough, and Isabella recognized it as a sonata by Pleyel that she had learned in her youth.

  She played softly in the background to amuse the duchess but not distract from their evening together. She got so lost in concentration over the notes that she didn’t even notice when Lord Bellfourd came to stand next to her.

  She came to a part on the page that she couldn’t quite see due to the previous page covering it partially. Before she even had time to react, a hand reached forward and fixed the offending page.

  “I suppose you have come to tease me some more,” Isabella said without stopping her playing.

  She had become entirely used to his teasing manner over the week, during his various visits with his niece, and had found herself becoming quite comfortable around him.

  “I would do no such thing,” Lord Bellfourd said, faking shock. “I came to admire your wonderful playing. Perhaps you will teach Jackie to play as well?”

 
; “I am not sure if she is old enough at the moment, but certainly, I would be happy to teach her in the future.”

  “I suppose you are right, though it is a pity.”

  “A pity? Why is that, Lord Bellfourd?”

  “Well, I had hoped you could teach her and have a song ready for when I return in the fall.”

  “Return? Where are you going, Christian?” Lady Abigail chimed in, overhearing the conversation.

  “To town for the season, of course,” Lady Wintercrest answered. “Your father is not well enough to go this year for parliament. Christian will oversee what is needed.”

  “Can’t I go as well, then? I know we agreed that I wouldn’t go this year since you will be here with father, but if Christian is going?”

  Isabella continued to play, but her heart went out to Lady Abigail. Indeed, any girl of her age would be dying to leave the country for the society of the season.

  “I do not feel comfortable allowing you to go without a chaperone,” the duke chimed in not once glancing up from his book.

  It was the final word on the matter. Lady Wintercrest took her daughter's hand in comfort and tried to encourage her with thoughts of summer in the country.

  Isabella was surprised at how disappointed she felt, knowing that Lord Bellfourd would be leaving for the season. She wondered if it was perhaps just jealousy that he was going to enjoy the society that she had once had. She felt it was more than that, though. She would miss his company and the smiles he brought to not only his niece, but also Mrs. Murray and herself, on his visits.

  “I can do my best to find something simple for Miss Jaqueline to learn to celebrate your return,” she said as she ended her piece.

  She looked up at Lord Bellfourd to see his bright blue eyes smiling down at her.

  “I would appreciate that very much. I know Jackie would love it also,” he said with gratitude that made Isabella’s heart swell.

  She was quite confident that he had asked purely because he knew that to do such a thing for her uncle’s homecoming would make Jaqueline feel so dignified. It would give her a place as part of the family.

  Chapter 9

  Sunday morning, Isabella made ready to escort little Jackie, as she too had begun to call her, to church with her family. The estate had its own private chapel for the families and servants to attend.

  Isabella had already found it once, tucked away in a grove of trees when walking with Jackie. It had looked spectacularly old and beautiful all at the same time. They had wandered around the small family graveyard next to it and even found Lord James buried there. The following day they collected some wildflowers to place on the grave.

  Though Jackie had never met her father, Isabella thought it might be important for her to come and visit the grave site from time to time.

  Isabella was also excited because, for the first time since she had arrived a week ago, the clouds had finally parted, and there was glorious sun shining down on God’s beautiful, green earth. She was sure that, though it was only a half-mile walk to the churchyard, the family would be riding in a carriage. She decided that Jackie and herself would walk and absorb some of the glorious sunshine.

  For this reason, she had opted to wear a light cotton walking dress instead of the more delicate gowns that she might have worn to church back at Rosewater. She put on a full brim summer bonnet and her only pair of sturdy leather half boots. Adding a light shawl, she felt she was ready for the brisk walk to church.

  She came to pick up her little pupil from Mrs. Murray and found her to be just as adequately dressed. She wore a fine, cream colored cotton dress with patterns of bluebells in striped fashion. It did wonders to bring out the clarity of the child’s azure eyes.

  She too was wearing sturdy leather boots instead of silk slippers and even had a matching parasol for her and her little dolly, who sat by the window at the tea table to await their return.

  Taking the child’s hand, Isabella thanked Mrs. Murray for all her efforts and skipped along down the stairs and out to the church.

  They arrived at the churchyard just as a fine Barouche came rolling up on the main road. It was gleaming in the sunlight with a Wintercrest coat of arms painted on the side. Two cream colored horses trotted along in front. Inside, the duchess, duke, and their two children were sparkling in their most excellent wear.

  Isabella heard Jackie give an audible "aw" sound as the carriage came around and pulled in front of the chapel.

  “Doesn’t Her Grace look just like a queen?” Jackie whispered to her governess.

  “Well, if that is true, then I shall have to start calling you Princess Jackie,” Isabella said in return.

  The little girl laughed at the thought of being a princess and began to dance and twirl her small umbrella around the courtyard.

  Isabella, however, watched as how Lord Bellfourd left the carriage first and then helped both his sister and mother in turn. After they were safely out of the transport, he grabbed a cane situated for his father and made sure that he, too, made it out safely. She studied Lord Bellfourd for a moment.

  Today more than ever he looked like the real Marquess of Bellfourd. He was wearing high, dark brown boots, tan pantaloons, a dark navy waistcoat, and long black tailcoat. He looked dashing with his silk top hat; his hair pulled back with a simple, navy blue ribbon. It quite caught Isabella’s breath to watch him. She had to tell herself to look away.

  He waited till his mother was adequately placed on his father's right arm before taking Lady Abigail’s in his arm and escorting her in. Both Lady Abigail and he were a vast contrast to the lady and lord of the drawing room just the night before.

  Even Her Grace was much more poised and held an air around her. Sunday was an important affair, Isabella guessed, where their status as head of the house was put properly in its place before all the staff.

  The duke, in Isabella’s mind, seemed to be the one who put propriety first, and the others were only doing so on his direct wish. Sunday, apparently, was a day that no exceptions could be made, in the eyes of the duke.

  In fact, on the walk over, Jackie had informed Isabella that this would be her first time attending services with the family. Without a governess to escort her, she had been instructed to stay home with her nurse. It was still a wonder to Isabella that the duke, who had evidently brought the child to help him grieve the loss of his son, could then push her away and ostracize her from the rest of the family.

  The church service went quite well. The sermon was lovely and, though Jackie could understand but a little of what was said, she kept still in her place on the pew behind the duke, duchess, and family.

  Once the service was over, the servants who had filed in behind the family now began to file back out. The duke went up to the pastor to discuss that day's service while the rest of the family stood by. It was all so very proper that Isabella had to mentally rub her eyes to combine the lord before her with the gentleman that gave little Jackie horsey rides in her school room.

  Isabella hesitated, not sure if she should wait to present the child to the duke again. Deciding against it, she took Jackie's hand again and proceeded on their walk back to the manor.

  She had scarcely left the churchyard when she heard the sound of feet quickly walking to catch up to her. She turned to see Lord Bellfourd coming their way, hat already removed and under one arm.

  She curtsied respectfully to him, “Lord Bellfourd.”

  “Miss Watts,” he said coming up to her. “I couldn’t bear to ride, even in an open carriage, on such an exceptional day. Would it be alright if I accompany little Jackie on her walk back home?”

  “Oui! Please, Miss Watts! May he?” Jackie asked, swinging her little arm in Isabella's.

  “Of course,” Isabella said, releasing the child and allowing her to hug her uncle.

  Isabella watched them walk a few steps ahead before Lord Bellfourd stopped and turned back to her.

  “Surely you will accompany us as well, Miss Watts?”
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  Lord Bellfourd had walked the gardens twice already with little Jackie and Isabella in the afternoons over the past week, but that was always with Mrs. Murray present as well. She wasn’t sure if it would be proper to walk alone with him now.

  “Oui! Yes please, Miss Watts. Uncle Christian will tell us l’histoire de pirates while we marche.”

  “Pirates?” Isabella asked, now too intrigued to care for propriety. She made her way up to meet them.

  Without much thought to the action, Lord Bellfourd let out his free arm for Isabella to take and she slipped her hand into its crook. It felt nice to be treated like a lady again. It may have only been a week, but it had felt so long since she had been part of the world she had grown up in.

  “I suppose I can tell you one tale of the high seas,” Lord Bellfourd started as they walked, “but only if you promise you won't get scared.”

  “Oui, je promets.”

  “Bien,” Lord Bellfourd said with a nod, then began to search his mind for a good story to share. “I will tell you of how I came to captain my own ship.”

  He spoke with a little squint in his eyes as he expounded on his daring tale of life on a ship. The hardships, the vast emptiness, and keeping the men from mutiny against their captain.

  Finally, he motioned them over to a small grove of trees off the path, which opened to a lovely pond. Isabella was so entranced by his tales, she hadn’t even noticed the divergence from the way home.

  Without a blanket, Isabella and Jackie sat in the sun next to a large oak tree that Lord Bellfourd leaned on as he continued to weave his tale.

  “But the ship you captained, Uncle Christian. Tell me of that,” Jackie encouraged.

  “Well you see, I had just been made a commander and was sailing on the Queen Elizabeth. She was the fastest warship yet built by the Royal Navy. We were sailing in dangerous waters between the coast of Spain and France. Napoleon had just started his reign and tension was high. Only after a few weeks out, we spotted another British ship, a merchant ship. She was low in the water with cargo, and we easily sped up to meet her. Only when we got to her side did we see that it was the French flag flying at her mast. She had been taken over by villainous pirates and the British crew, well the ones left, had been arrested and forced to work the ship sails in chains.”