To Love a Governess

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I must disagree with you, dear Miss Finch.” His gaze made a slow perusal of her face. “I’ve never heard a governess tell stories with such enthusiasm as you do.”

  “That settles it,” she said, moving back a half step, if only to keep her wits about her. “You shall join me and the children each evening for story time.”

  “I think I will.” He took a step closer.

  Emmeline couldn’t move. His gaze had dropped to her lips, and she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming this entire morning. Would she wake up soon, only to be flooded with disappointment?

  “Miss Finch,” he murmured.

  But he didn’t finish, because something banged downstairs, a door or a cupboard.

  The moment between them snapped, and Captain Ridout straightened, effectively putting more distance between them.

  “Thank you for retrieving my things,” Emmeline said in a quick rush.

  He nodded, his gaze still intent on hers.

  “Do you mind if the children and I help the gardener this morning?” she said, moving another step away from him. The sooner she put distance between them, the better. She didn’t know if he’d been about to kiss her, but she did know one thing for sure. He would have regretted it.

  She had no experience, and kissing her would surely be like kissing a rag doll.

  An inane giggle threatened to bubble up. Imagine what Aunt Julia would think if she knew even one of the thoughts going through Emmeline’s mind right now.

  “I’ll bring them to the garden when they awake,” Captain Ridout said.

  Emmeline nodded, then turned and walked to the stairs. She made it to the dining room just as Mrs. Cooper bustled in with a tray of steaming tea. After setting it on the sideboard, she said, “How did you get on with the storm last night?”

  “Well enough,” Emmeline said. “I mean to help out Mr. Pratt this morning if he’ll allow it.”

  Mrs. Cooper’s laugh was full. “Oh, he’ll never turn down help, but you had better know what you’re doing. That man is quite possessive of his bushes and flowers.”

  “I don’t mind,” Emmeline said. “I’ve plans to have a garden of my own someday.”

  Mrs. Cooper’s brows lifted. “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Emmeline realized then it might not be the best thing to let the household know that she was set on being a governess for only a short time. She helped herself to some of the food at the sideboard. She was nearly finished eating when she heard the familiar romping of children’s footsteps coming down the staircase.

  Sure enough, Andrew burst into the room with Charlotte close on his heels. It looked as if the pair of them had dressed in only a handful of hasty minutes.

  “Uncle says that we get to play in the garden today!” Charlotte said, her face a wreath of happiness.

  “We’re cleaning up,” Andrew cut in. “Not playing. And Mr. Pratt will be grumpy if you do something wrong.”

  Despite the scowl in Andrew’s words, there was also an excited gleam in his eyes.

  “Do you like gardens?” Emmeline asked, rising to her feet and helping Charlotte with her plate before she spilled something.

  “He likes bugs,” Charlotte said.

  Emmeline held back a laugh. “I like bugs too.”

  Andrew halted and snapped his head toward her. “Girls don’t like bugs.”

  Emmeline set Charlotte’s filled plate onto the table. Folding her arms, Emmeline said, “Did you know that grasshoppers have a lifespan of one year?”

  Andrew’s blue eyes filled with wonder. “They do? How do you know that?”

  Emmeline settled into the chair by Charlotte. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you.”

  Chapter 11

  The children’s laughter had been plaguing Hudson for the past hour. Well, perhaps plaguing wasn’t the right word. Distracting? That was better. He currently had the account ledger open and bills of sale scattered across the library credenza. Numbers had always been his forte, but not his brother’s. And his ledger showed it.

  Another burst of laughter came from the front parlor, where Miss Finch was teaching the children how to play whist. They were taking a break from their lessons and had begged Miss Finch to play games with them. Then Andrew had asked Hudson to make it a foursome, but he’d cited the need to work. So he assumed Miss Finch was playing two hands. Yet what was so funny?

  In his dim memory of his mother playing the game, he’d never heard such laughter surrounding the event. Concentration had disappeared from his mind like a low mist burned off by the midday sun, and Hudson set down his quill. Then he rose to his feet and paced to the tall bookcases that edged the room.

  Miss Finch had only been at Branhall Manor a handful of weeks, yet he couldn’t imagine how this household had run before her appearance. She was light, laughter, and sweetness all rolled into one. He still thought about that morning when he’d almost kissed her in the upper hallway. He didn’t think she would have minded, either.

  It was plain she was an innocent, and that only attracted him more to her. To know that if he kissed her, he’d be her first experience with a man. This thought only made him dwell on the idea more and more. She didn’t flirt with him, not exactly. Her honesty and natural charm left no room for the need of flirting.

  Besides, he couldn’t imagine her in a stuffy ballroom with the elite. Being regaled with poetry from the young bucks looking for a fortune. Of course, Miss Finch had no fortune that he knew of, and neither did he. Yes, he was well settled, and he supposed he could provide well enough for a wife.

  But his first priority, from the day he had arrived to find Jasper and his wife deceased, had become his niece and nephew. They would come first, before any woman, before any potential wife. And Hudson wondered if there was such a woman out there—one who’d take on two children, a modest living, and a man who spent more hours than possibly anyone on earth pacing the night floors.

  When Miss Finch had asked him about what he thought about all night long, he had supposed he was going to give her a simple answer. Be a bit evasive. He wasn’t about to tell a young woman who was all light and sunshine that he was afraid to sleep. Afraid of the dreams. Afraid of the memories that returned like he was reliving the war.

  No, it was a burden that no wife deserved to share.

  Besides, he now had the responsibility of two children, and it was like he had a ready-made family. No wife needed. A governess as sweet as Miss Finch had brought new life to the home. It was as much as he could hope for.

  Laughter drew him out of the library and toward the parlor.

  Laughter stopped him in his tracks as he reached the doorway.

  They were apparently no longer playing whist. They were sitting on the floor, playing with the soldiers and the other carved wooden dolls Hudson had created over the past few weeks. It appeared they’d set up some sort of carnival for the inanimate toys, if the music box in their midst, along with a couple of miniature maypoles, was any indication.

  He leaned against the doorframe and watched as the three of them each held two figures, the ribbons of the maypole tied about the toy arms, as they wove in and out of each other.

  When the music box stopped, Andrew said, “I think it’s time for the army to invade the carnival and search for a spy.”

  Charlotte squealed. “Everyone, run!”

  “Whoever’s guilty will run,” Andrew declared. “I’ll know who to capture.”

  “My ladies are running because they don’t like the soldiers.”

  “Then they’d better run fast!” Andrew began to move his soldiers toward the carnival.

  Charlotte laughed. “Help me, Miss Finch!”

  Hudson stifled a laugh, capturing everyone’s attention.

  “Play with us, Uncle,” Charlotte cried out, scrambling to her feet and waving him over.

  So Hudson gave into the distraction and let himself be led over to the settee, Charlotte’s small hand tugging his hand. For the next hour Hudson found himself playin
g toy soldiers as he had as a boy, but with much different rules and events. He couldn’t remember laughing so much in so long. Or perhaps ever.

  When it was time for the children to return to their lessons, Hudson went back to the library with a smile on his face. As he worked on the account ledger, the smile stayed. And perhaps the afternoon detour had been unexpected, but it was decidedly welcome. In fact, it propelled him to write a note to Mrs. Julia Finch and invite her to supper the very next night. He’d never entertained at Branhall, formally or informally. Perhaps Mrs. Finch could be a way to ease into it. Besides, Hudson was finding that he’d very much like to get to know the Finch family better.

  “Oh, excuse me,” a voice said from the doorway of the library.

  Hudson looked up to see Miss Finch.

  “I didn’t realize you were still in here.” She took a few steps into the room. “Mrs. Cooper’s boy is ill, and she left early. So I told her I’d make sure you had supper. Would you like your meal in the library?”

  Hudson blinked. The library had grown dark with the approaching evening; it seemed that the time had gotten away from him. What had he been doing as the darkness fell? Getting lost in thought? “I didn’t realize how late it was.” He rose to his feet and lit a couple of lamps in the library, dispelling the deep shadows. As he walked, his ankle felt stiff, but moving about would help. Unless another storm was approaching. “You don’t need to serve me, Miss Finch. I’ll come to the dining room. Where are the children?”

  “They’ve eaten and are waiting for me to tell them bedtime stories.”

  “More mythology tales?”

  Her cheeks dimpled. “Perhaps.”

  “Do you mind if I listen in?” He took her blush as a good sign—a good sign that she wasn’t indifferent to him.

  “O-Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “The children might beg for one of your tales as well.”

  “Then I will deliver,” he said. “Right after I finish my supper.” When he winked at her and her face deepened to a second shade of pink, he silently chastised himself. Here he was flirting with the governess when he should, in fact, be reconciling the estate accounts. Meeting with the tenant farmers. Discussing prices with the sheep seller. Asking Mrs. Cooper about her ill son. There was so much that needed to be done, yet here he stood in the dim library, unable to take his eyes from Miss Finch.

  Tonight she wore a pale-green dress that contrasted with the deep auburn of her hair. In an unfettered way, she was quite lovely indeed. He wondered if she knew that her necklace had twisted, so that the clasp was at her collar bone instead of behind her neck. It wasn’t bothersome, really, but that didn’t stop his hand from lifting the chain and slowly twisting it to the right place.

  Miss Finch didn’t move, didn’t speak. But he heard her inhale of breath, and his body answered with a quickening heart.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He was still only a hand’s width away from her, and he wanted to touch the freckle at the corner of her mouth. Hudson also didn’t want her to think he wasn’t a gentleman. “I’ll be upstairs soon,” he said instead and motioned a hand for her to precede him out of the library.

  She turned and walked in front of him. His gaze strayed over the back of her neck, the elegant slope to her shoulders, and her slender build. He turned left, and she turned right and headed up the stairs. And it was everything he could do to put one foot in front of the other and continue walking, instead of standing at the foot of the stairs and staring after her.

  The supper was simple, but delicious. A hearty vegetable soup and fresh bread. But his mind wasn’t on the food. When Mrs. Pratt came in to clear the table, he was still sitting there, thinking.

  Was it possible that the war had him living in such isolation from women that the first one he had daily contact with could so fully capture his attention? He supposed it was extremely likely. Also, none of the other governesses he’d met had intrigued him so.

  Which was why, even though he’d turned down every social invitation so far since arriving at Branhall, he should start accepting them. Six months was plenty of time to sort out the affairs of the estate by anyone’s standards, as well as an appropriate time for mourning to pass. Which left Hudson with no excuses. And perhaps it would be good for him. Talk to other people from around the county and not just his own staff and tenants.

  Determined to follow through with his plan, he made a detour back to the library before going upstairs. Sorting through the letters and invitations that had come in the post over the past several days, he plucked out a single one. An invitation to a soiree at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Without considering any internal arguments, Hudson penned a reply and sealed it up. The acceptance note wouldn’t go out until the next morning, but his mind was made up.

  Now. He should hurry upstairs if he was going to catch the last story or two by Miss Finch.

  Chapter 12

  Emmeline didn’t know what to think about Captain Hudson inviting her aunt to dinner. To make the numbers even, he’d also invited the vicar, whose wife was off visiting cousins in the next county over. On one hand, it would be nice to see Aunt Julia. On the other, Emmeline never knew what to expect from her eccentric aunt.

  Emmeline might as well have wished to see pigs fly, because the first thing out of Aunt Julia’s mouth was, “Haven’t you got a better dress to wear to dinner than that, Emmeline?”

  She felt the heat rush all the way to her toes. This wasn’t exactly the thing to discuss in front of two men, especially the vicar. Did the vicar not mind the turn in the conversation? By all accounts, he was focused on eating his food and little else, as if he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a week, which might very well be the case with the absence of his wife.

  “This dress is perfectly adequate for a small dinner party in the middle of the week,” Emmeline said in a low voice, hoping to prevent an outright dispute at the dining table.

  Mouth pressed in a firm line, her aunt narrowed her eyes, which made her face look like it had been made for the peacock hat she’d worn to Branhall. “Isn’t your employer paying you enough?”

  Captain Ridout cleared his throat and set down his fork.

  At this, the vicar looked up. His rather short hair stuck up at the back of his head, and he had a nervous habit of adjusting his collar every few minutes.

  The piercing gaze of the captain didn’t intimidate Aunt Julia, though, and she merely looked at him with the same question in her eyes.

  “I’m perfectly happy to pay for anything missing in Miss Finch’s wardrobe,” Captain Ridout said.

  Aunt Julia clapped her hands. “What a wonderful man you are. Don’t you think he’s wonderful, Emmeline?”

  “He has been very generous to the parish,” the vicar said.

  Emmeline was positive her face was flaming red. She didn’t acknowledge the vicar’s comment but focused on her aunt. She could not, would not, meet the captain’s eyes. “I do not expect my employer to buy me clothing in addition to paying my salary.”

  “Well, dear”—Aunt Julia reached for her wine glass—“if he’s offering, then why not accept?”

  It took tremendous willpower for Emmeline to keep her voice calm, controlled. “I’m a governess, and I’m perfectly happy keeping to my station with the children. Branhall is a long way from London Society.”

  “She has a good point there,” the vicar said, tugging at his collar.

  Why couldn’t the man return to his earlier silent eating?

  After a healthy sip of her wine, Aunt Julia said, “Yes, but we aren’t exactly country bumpkins here either.” Her gaze shifted to the captain’s. “Are you attending the Jones’s soiree? They said you were.”

  Emmeline stole a glance at him. His hand holding his fork stopped in motion. “I am, in fact.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” her aunt said. “Everyone is so looking forward to getting to know the elusive bachelor better. And you must pay particular attention to Mrs. Jones’s daughter
, Gwen. She is such a pretty little thing. Had her first season already, but nothing came of it. I’m sure Miss Jones would be more than happy to see such an esteemed captain at her parents’ home. Surely a man of your stature and age is seeking a wife. Why, you’ve an estate now and no one to share it with.”

  Emmeline was quite sure that Hudson would have choked on his food if he’d taken a bite before her aunt’s comment. As it was, his gray eyes turned to murky mud.

  “While I appreciate your concern for my, er, well-being,” Hudson said in a voice that bordered a growl, “my life is in order.”

  “I agree, it is quite in order,” the vicar added. No one paid him mind.

  Aunt Julia didn’t seem at all bothered by the harshness of the captain’s tone. In fact, she merely lifted a brow and said, “Suit yourself.” She returned to her wineglass, and blessed silence reigned for a handful of moments.

  The vicar returned to his food. Emmeline smoothed the napkin over her lap. When she next caught the captain’s eyes, she mouthed, I’m sorry.

  Instead of glowering, his eyes sparked with humor, catching Emmeline off-guard.

  So much so that a bit of warmth spread from her heart outward. Could it be possible that Captain Ridout didn’t mind the ribbing that Aunt Julia had given him? Of course, he was a military man, so the frettings of a middle-aged woman couldn’t truly set him off course, could it?

  After the last of the food was cleared, Captain Ridout said, “Since neither I nor the reverend smoke, we will join you ladies in the parlor directly.”

  “Oh, that will be lovely,” Aunt Julia said with a broad smile. It seemed that she’d forgotten how she’d been nagging the captain only moments earlier. She rose and took the vicar’s proffered arm. The two of them exited the dining room and headed for the parlor.

  Before Emmeline could rise to her feet, Captain Ridout reached her side and held out his hand. To help her to her feet, of course, but the action gave her pause. Had he truly found humor in her aunt’s comments? Was he not appalled by her directness?