To Love a Governess

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Her mouth formed an O, and she took a stumbling step back as if she was afraid of him.

  Perhaps Hudson had spoken too harshly, but her next words rooted him to the ground.

  “Your brother and his wife were killed in a carriage accident last week,” she said in a trembling voice. “We waited as long as we could for your arrival, but finally, they were buried last night. Their children are staying at my cottage until . . . until arrangements could be made to contact you.”

  Chapter 2

  Six months later

  Emmeline Patience Finch was anything but patient. At least, that was what her parents had told her all throughout her childhood. And she supposed they were right. Why they’d given her the middle name of Patience was anyone’s guess. Because now, at the age of twenty-four, she was finished with waiting for a man to propose to her. In her father’s will, he’d stipulated that if she didn’t marry by the time she reached twenty-five, she’d be entitled to the family cottage, plus a yearly income.

  If she did marry, then the cottage would remain with her brother’s estate. So it wasn’t any surprise that her sister-in-law was continually introducing Emmeline to marriageable men. Well, marriageable in her sister-in-law’s viewpoint. Not so much in Emmeline’s, unless she wanted to settle for the portly widower who had four children. Four! Or the buck-toothed man who never stopped talking. Literally. Not to forget the man a whole head shorter than her, whose hair had already receded halfway.

  It was time to move on with her life. Leave hopes of marrying in the dust.

  This recent change of heart might be due to the fact that a wedding invitation she refused to open currently sat atop her bureau. She could well imagine the elegant script inviting her to Mr. Jacob Baker and Miss Alicia Duncan’s wedding.

  The man Emmeline had thought held a tendre for her was marrying her best friend. Apparently, Mr. Baker’s interest in Emmeline was his way of getting to know Alicia better. Emmeline had thought that for once in her life she had a beau, a man who didn’t mind the crowd of freckles upon her skin and how she didn’t always say the most correct thing.

  Turned out that Mr. Baker preferred the creamy-skinned, sweet-natured Alicia.

  Emmeline had tried to be happy for her best friend, and she supposed at some level of consciousness, she was. But Emmeline knew one thing for certain. She couldn’t bear to watch the happy couple marry, then fawn over each other for the next year. Emmeline had seen enough of life to know that, once the children came, the fawning would dim somewhat, and the stresses of life would take over.

  Which was why Emmeline needed to escape. For at least one year.

  Escape from living under the roof of her brother and odious sister-in-law and their three rowdy boys. Escape from feeling like she’d never measure up to anything unless she married to improve her station. Which would only mean having brats of her own to chase around each day. If she was going to chase around children, she might as well get paid for it. She could work as a governess for a year to avoid Alicia and her new husband.

  Then, when Emmeline’s twenty-fifth birthday arrived, she’d begin her new life in her cottage. She could read night and day if she wanted. Start a small garden. Not care if her nails were broken from digging in the dirt. The result would be putting fresh flowers on her modest kitchen table every day.

  Decision made, she picked up the wedding invitation, broke the seal, and quickly scanned the contents. Ignoring the heat of envy building in her chest, she sat down at her writing desk and wrote a reply.

  Dearest Alicia,

  While I am overjoyed at your wonderful news and upcoming wedding, I’m deeply sorry that I must decline your invitation. I’ll be traveling, you see, and I will not return for many months, perhaps a year. I’ll look forward to reading your letters of all the adventures and happy times with your new husband.

  With much love and affection,

  Emmeline

  That should do nicely.

  The second letter she wrote was of a much different sort.

  Dear Aunt Julia,

  I am in desperate need of employment. No, I’m not starving. You know how much I adore children, and I think I should make the perfect governess. Is there by chance any word of a family in need of someone like me?

  Your loving niece,

  Emmeline

  She hoped her aunt would read between the lines and not write back an entire list of questions. Or, heaven forbid, write an inquiry to her sister-in-law, Martha. That would not do. Her Aunt Julia was an eccentric widow and prone to stating her mind, whether appropriate or not. But at this point, Emmeline had no choice but to ask her for help.

  “Emmy!” a young boy screeched, colliding with her door.

  Good thing she’d had the sense to lock it.

  “Joseph broke my toy soldier!” the boy continued.

  So it must be Percy who was hollering. If Emmeline didn’t look directly at the nephew who was speaking to her, she wasn’t able to tell them apart by their voices.

  “Where’s your mother?” Emmeline called back.

  “She’s talking to the cow lady outside.”

  The “cow lady” was the woman who delivered the milk each morning. Percy’s comical way with words was the one thing endearing her to this house. If only her parents were still alive, Emmeline might have enjoyed a completely different existence.

  “Besides, Joseph doesn’t listen to Mum anyway.” Percy’s voice was much closer now, as if he’d pressed his mouth against the wood of the door.

  “Coming,” Emmeline said with a sigh. She sealed the letter to her aunt, then stashed it in the pocket of her apron—something she wore most of the day, not because she was her sister-in-law’s servant but because she was quite fastidious not to soil her dresses that had seen better days. And living in a household with three rambunctious boys brought plenty of opportunity for soiling.

  Emmeline opened the door, determined to settle this matter between the brothers, then make the trek directly to the post station. Her letter would be on its way by this afternoon, and all she had to do was wait.

  Patience . . .

  Chapter 3

  “Y-you need a g-governess for Charlotte and a tutor for Andrew,” Mrs. Cooper told Hudson, her hands twisting this way and that as her words bunched together. “A governess at the very least. She could work with Andrew until he’s a little older and a suitable tutor can be employed.”

  As if to punctuate her statement, something crashed overhead from the upper floor.

  Hudson winced. What had been broken now? Whatever it was, the second floor of the manor had gone quiet for now. Sweet relief.

  “I know it’s not my place to m-make a suggestion,” Mrs. Cooper continued, “but those children should not be attending the village school.”

  Hudson arched a brow. He didn’t even need to ask the question for Mrs. Cooper to continue.

  “It’s not that I don’t love having them attend p-primary school with my Jonny,” she said, “but Charlotte and Andrew are gentry. Sir.”

  Hudson was well aware of this fact. But he hadn’t quite sorted out his new life yet.

  Yes, it had been over six months since that fateful day of arriving at the manor to discover he’d just missed his only brother’s funeral. To discover he was sole owner of the Ridout estate and lands, in addition to being the instant guardian of two young children.

  Mrs. Cooper had been a godsend, caring for the household and managing the two children as well. Perhaps he could pay her more?

  Hudson could no longer look at her pleading face. She was right. The Ridout children needed the education expected by all gentry. But he still wasn’t ready. The hiring process, sorting out the funds, the questions a governess would certainly raise. And he knew nothing about the children, if anything was to be surmised by the already-disastrous events that had taken place.

  Andrew was a little hellion to say the least, and his sister, Charlotte, as sweet as she could be, went along with everything h
er older brother said and did. When they were in the house, Hudson had not a moment’s peace. And at night . . . the children might sleep, but the darkness brought with it his own torturous memories. Memories of his years in the Royal Navy and more recent years of the war. Memories of his youth with his brother and how Hudson would never see Jasper again.

  “I will post an ad directly, Mrs. Cooper,” Hudson said. Of course, he’d said this a week ago, and he’d done nothing. But today . . . today would be different.

  “Stop it!” wailed a small voice from somewhere up above.

  Mrs. Cooper’s eyes widened.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Hudson unfolded himself from the chair. “You’re well past your time here today.”

  The relief on Mrs. Cooper’s face only made him feel more guilty.

  Guilt was an odd thing. Here he was, taking on the unexpected, yet he still wasn’t doing enough. At moments like this, he missed the precision of sailing on the sea. Everything was meticulous—the time, the tasks, the discipline. The men knew their duty and what was expected of them at every moment.

  Here, at Branhall, the hours were fluid, shifting around him. The days seemed endless and the nights even longer. At the top of the second-story landing, Hudson followed the corridor to the nursery, limping as he went. His ankle was extra sore today.

  Soon, he stopped in the doorway of the nursery. He supposed the children had long outgrown such a room, but they’d picked it as their play place. Now he took quick assessment of the situation as he might on a ship. But there were no able-bodied seamen here. Only two blond-haired, blue-eyed children, resembling their mother in appearance.

  Andrew’s arms were folded over his chest, his mouth pressed into an unhappy line, reminding Hudson of Jasper’s expression. Something tugged sharp in Hudson’s chest.

  Whereas little Charlotte’s face was flushed pink, her plaited hair looking like a wild creature was nesting about her head.

  “What’s happened here?” Hudson asked.

  “She walked through my game,” Andrew said. “So I moved her out of the way.”

  The evidence of scattered toy soldiers lay upon the floor. Another memory flashed through Hudson’s mind of playing with his brother the same type of game.

  “He pushed me.” Charlotte started to cry.

  This . . . this was quite beyond Hudson’s scope of expertise. Charlotte had cried more than once about her parents’ death around Mrs. Cooper, which of course was completely natural. But Mrs. Cooper had been there to soothe the child.

  “She cries about everything,” Andrew said.

  Hudson cut a glance from Andrew to his sister.

  Charlotte bolted from the room, running down the hall, then into her bedchamber. The slam of her door reverberated through the hallway.

  Now what? Hudson exhaled. “Did you invite her to play?”

  Andrew’s brows pinched. “Girls don’t play soldiers.”

  “Maybe she could be a nurse?”

  Andrew mulled this over.

  Charlotte’s crying could still be heard from down the hall, and Hudson rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure of the heartrending sound.

  “She can’t change one of my soldiers into a girl,” Andrew said.

  “Of course not,” Hudson wholeheartedly agreed. “She has plenty of dolls, right? Perhaps one would do?”

  “They’re too big.”

  Andrew had a point. Hudson bent and scooped up a couple of the wooden soldiers. He turned them over in his palm. “We could carve a nurse. I don’t think it would be too hard.”

  “You mean make it ourselves?” Andrew’s voice rose with interest.

  “Have you ever carved before?” Hudson asked.

  The boy’s blue eyes were bright. “No. Will you teach me?”

  Hudson nodded in the affirmative. Anything was better than listening to Charlotte’s wailing. Of course, how long would this solution last? An hour? A day? Until the next fight between the siblings?

  “Go tell your sister,” Hudson said. “Then we’ll get some wood from the stable, and I’ll show you how to whittle.”

  Mercifully, the crying stopped when Andrew told his sister about what they were going to do. And another day passed without Hudson posting for a governess position.

  Chapter 4

  “Now, you must understand that the captain’s a bit of an odd duck.” Aunt Julia bent forward and patted Emmeline’s hand as they rode in the carriage to Branhall Manor.

  Emmeline didn’t care one whit. The master of the house could be a one-eyed, green-faced monster for all she cared. She was out of her sister-in-law’s house and away from her best friend’s too-happy life.

  One year as a governess, she’d told Aunt Julia. And her aunt had delivered. It was remarkable, really, and Emmeline had spent the last day and a half with her aunt trying not to let the incessant questions and opinions rattle her too much.

  Now, the two-story manor loomed ahead. The surrounding countryside was lovely and peaceful, and if it weren’t for the tragedy that had recently befallen the Ridout family, it would have been ideal.

  “I’m not worried about the captain’s manner,” Emmeline declared. “I’ll be dealing with the children anyway. How old is the little girl again?”

  “Seven.” Aunt Julia’s gloved hands fluttered over her puce-colored gown. “She’s a dainty thing. Follows her brother in everything, and he’s quite a handful.”

  “I’m used to little boys,” Emmeline said.

  “Now, mind you,” Aunt Julia continued, adjusting her pink-dyed, goose-feather hat, “Your visit might be quite unexpected.”

  “How so?”

  “His housekeeper told my housekeeper that he’s cancelled his post for a governess after interviewing several,” Aunt Julia said.

  “Then he’s hired someone already?” Emmeline frowned. This was not good, not good at all. “We should turn around and not bother him.” Her mind whirled. Perhaps she could live at her aunt’s home for the year? Find a way to make herself useful? Or apply for a governess at another location?

  “He hasn’t hired anyone,” Aunt Julia said, her brown eyes twinkling. “He appears to be indecisive. Some men need a bit of prodding, if you know what I mean, to move forward with the right decision.”

  “Will he then send such young children to a boarding school?”

  “Oh, nothing of the kind, I’m sure.” Aunt Julia leaned close to whisper, as if anyone could overhear them inside the enclosed carriage. The rather large pink feather in her hat tickled Emmeline’s cheek. “Captain Ridout is a reclusive, they say. It’s been six months since the tragedy, yet he never attends social functions. Never hosts any dinners. What’s an old bachelor got to offer two young children? He’s probably teaching them all about the war. Can you imagine? Boring the children with tiresome history lessons and battle strategy? He needs a governess whether he wants one or not. It’s for the good of the entire village. Little Andrew will be master someday of Branhall, since there’s no chance of Captain Ridout marrying and producing an heir.” She sat back with a satisfied nod.

  Was this all true? Emmeline would never think of her aunt poorly or call her a gossip, but this information toed that line. Also, Emmeline was intrigued as to why the captain would never marry. If he was the younger brother of a man with young children, she guessed the captain to be in his thirties. Surely not an old man yet.

  “Ah, here we are,” her aunt said.

  Emmeline looked out the window as the carriage slowed. She’d stopped paying attention during the conversation, but now she saw that Branhall Manor was rather charming and well cared for. By no means a mansion, but a proper home of a country gentleman.

  The driver handed both women down the step of the carriage, and with plenty of misgivings knocking around in her stomach, Emmeline followed her aunt to the front door.

  Aunt Julia wasted no time in knocking with determination on the door. When it was opened moments later by a dowdy woman
whose eyes popped wide, Emmeline didn’t take much consolation.

  Had her aunt not sent notice they were coming?

  “Hello, Mrs. Cooper. We’re here to speak with Captain Ridout,” Aunt Julia said. “The matter is quite urgent.”

  The housekeeper opened the door farther and ushered them into the front parlor.

  A feeling of melancholy permeated the room, and it was quite clear the place hadn’t been occupied in some time. The dried flowers, the prim cushions, and the bleak fireplace all looked forlorn somehow. As if the room itself missed its mistress.

  “I will notify the captain,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I believe he’s still in the house because of some, er, delay with the children.”

  Aunt Julia’s expression was triumphant as the housekeeper bustled out of the room.

  Emmeline didn’t even know where to start questioning her aunt’s thought process of arriving unannounced at Branhall to speak to a man who’d taken down his post for a governess.

  Yet Aunt Julia had no problem making herself at home on the settee and picking up an outdated women’s fashion magazine, La Belle Assemblée. Emmeline chose the chair closest to the cold hearth.

  When a deep, rumbling, and decidedly unhappy voice sounded through the walls, Emmeline nearly showed herself out of the house. Was the captain upset? Was he about to send them away?

  She fully expected Mrs. Cooper to reappear, but the weighty footfall approaching was too heavy to be a woman’s step.

  The man who walked in was not in any way, shape, or form what Emmeline expected. First of all, he was younger than she’d been led to believe. Perhaps thirty at the most. Second, he wasn’t dressed like a captain. Not that she thought he might be in uniform, yet . . . he wore no cravat, and his jacket appeared to be hastily pulled on. And he was tall, lean—well, she could have surmised that. But he wasn’t harsh looking. In fact, he was quite handsome, in a brooding sort of way. His dark-brown hair looked as if he’d ran his fingers through it multiples times already this morning.