The Soul of a Storme

by SOOKOO, SANDRA

  The boy watched her with his beady eyes. “Papa also said that you’ll always be a governess, even though you haven’t any training, for you’re too old now to attract a man.” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “You’ll forever hang onto Papa’s kindness until you die, no doubt.”

  “Yes, he saved me from certain ruin,” she murmured with a fair amount of sarcasm. Heat slapped at Sarah’s cheeks, and once more her respect for her great uncle plummeted. “I don’t know that my age is necessarily a detriment to finding a match. There have been women older than me who’ve succeeded in that endeavor.”

  George snorted. “It doesn’t appear as if you’re having much luck.”

  The bald fact sent prickles of hurt into her chest. “There aren’t many places in Derbyshire to meet interesting people. That is hardly my fault.” Why the devil was she discussing something so personal with this small human? She didn’t need his judgment or condescension. “Besides, four and thirty isn’t all that old.”

  Mary’s burst of laughter contradicted that statement. “Well, it’s not exactly young, is it?” She exchanged a knowing glance with her brother. “She’ll always be an old maid.” Then she turned her bright-eyed gaze back to Sarah. “No doubt I’ll be married before you.” Children were often terribly, horribly honest, and this was no exception. “And I plan to marry a man with loads of coin so I can always have the best, preferably in my come out Season.”

  As dumbfounded as she was, Sarah kept a stranglehold on her temper. It wouldn’t do to show how much their conversation perturbed her, for they’d merely run and tattle to their mother, who would then tell her husband, and Sarah’s shaky foothold within the household would be forfeit. After pressing her lips together, she released a long sigh as her annoyance dissipated. “That’s enough personal talk for the day. Shall we return to our lessons—”

  “Not yet, Miss Copeland.” Mary, with the typical unabashed confidence of an eight-year-old, interrupted. Interest sparkled in her blue eyes. “Are you an old maid? Mama said it’s an unfortunate thing to be, for that means no one will ever take an interest in you. Only a desperate man would look twice at an old maid.” She stared critically at Sarah with a slight frown. “You don’t really have much in the way of looks, but your hair is pretty. It’s like gold in the sunshine.”

  Oh, dear heavens, make it stop.

  “Thank you for the compliment.” However, she’d been forthright and strove to instruct the children the same. “It is a rather unfortunate thing, and the moniker doesn’t help, but the position itself isn’t so bad.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I’d rather be an unwed old maid than a woman the same age trapped in a bad marriage. Being leg-shackled to a man with a temper or a violent streak is no way to live.” Of this she was certain. Never would she find herself attracted to someone like that.

  “I have another question.” George looked up from the paper he was folding. “Papa said no one will ever marry you because you’re long in the tooth.”

  “I hardly believe that’s true. Anything can happen.” At least that was what she kept telling herself. “Life is full of miracles.”

  He snorted. “And you’re difficult besides. Always making demands.”

  Both children stared at her with predatory anticipation.

  Ah, so then asking for wood for her grate or food for her belly and enough of a monthly stipend for personal items was demanding, then? A flash of hot anger speared through her, but she reined it in by willpower alone. Of course, if given a choice, she wouldn’t have put herself in this position where she was treated little better than a servant, but only just. The trouble was the fact that the world was dominated by males who thought they knew best, and none of those thoughts was to make life better for people who didn’t directly benefit them.

  But the children waited for answer, and in this, she would attempt to educate them as well. She lifted her chin a notch. “In this day and age, a woman—especially one without a man or family to look after her—needs to stand up for herself. That’s quite different than being difficult. It’s a matter of survival.” She held up a hand when George would have interrupted. “Kindness, compassion, and empathy is needed in our world, and it’s up to the men in charge to start showing it. No one should ever forget that the people who work for wages are the ones who support those who enjoy their leisure hiding behind a title.”

  Dear heavens, if she weren’t careful, she’d say too much and then land in the soup for sure.

  “What can women do?” George asked, as if the very idea appalled him. “They’re not as intelligent as men, and they’re a fat lot weaker.”

  Ah, so despite her teaching, he’d grow into a prick anyway. “They can quietly guide men into doing what’s right.” And if that doesn’t work, a good smack to the back of head ought to set their brains into the proper mindset.

  “But, you’re old, Miss Copeland,” the little miss continued, gazing at her with a critical eye, apparently like a dog with a bone when it came to the subject of age. “And your dresses are boring. Plus, you wear spectacles. Men don’t like that.”

  Despite herself, Sarah blurted out, “How would you know?” She shoved the maligned eyewear back into place. They had a tendency to slip when she was annoyed or aggravated.

  The girl shrugged. “Mama said so.”

  So then, the gospel according to the wife of a no-name baronet. “I can’t afford to dress with frivolity or fashion. Besides, as you two have both pointed out, who would I see?” Though she despised that her circumstances had more than once been the subject of gossip—and in front of the children—she couldn’t deny it was the pitiful truth. Before the wad of bitterness in her chest could rear its ugly head, she tamped down on it. “Regardless, I’m not certain all of these reasons are the only ones I’m not wed. It’s quite a simple matter, really.” When they both stared at her, she continued. “No one has asked for my hand.” At least it was another truth. Even before she’d been forced to plead for her great uncle’s kindness, her ability to attract a man hadn’t resulted in a husband, let alone an outing or a dance. She’d been nice enough and polished enough, but men in the country didn’t have need for an intelligent woman whose natural inclination fell to music.

  George kept folding his paper into what would soon be a hat. He’d recently learned the trick from one of the grooms. “I think it’s because you’re not a looker.”

  Sarah’s eyebrows rose. “I’m hardly ugly.” In fact, just that morning when she’d washed her face and had peered into the mirror, she’d noted that her skin was as clear and vibrant as that of a younger woman. Her color was good, a nice strawberries and cream complexation. Sure, her vision required correction with the spectacles, but she wasn’t blind yet.

  “It’s telling anyway, isn’t it?” He shrugged as if he didn’t much care on the matter.

  Oh, these children were rude and spoiled. She had no choice except to play nice with them, for being a governess here was her last chance at respectability—and if she were given a favorable recommendation, a chance to gain a position with a better family in London. Which was one more steppingstone to where she needed to go. “Whether or not my looks are an impediment to a marriage is a private matter. I am quite done discussing this matter.” She tapped a geography book with her index finger. “Let’s return to lessons, shall we?”

  “Not right now, Miss Copeland.” The boy rolled his eyes in a fair imitation of his father. “If someone did ask for your hand, would you marry him?”

  Why wouldn’t this wretched child let the matter drop? Sarah put her finger on the globe and gave it a spin. What must it be like to have the freedom to travel the world to go wherever she wished without being a hanger-on to the edge of someone’s charity? “If a man asked, I suppose I would accept—if we got on well enough.” Doing so would take her away from this life of drudgery and not fitting in with either class. Plus, hopefully a marriage would mean putting more than a few counties between her and these children who had no manner
s. If he were supporting, she might be able to chase the dream of music on a stage…

  “What if a man doesn’t ask you?” Mary asked with a pout as her brother donned his hat and wandered the schoolroom.

  “Oh, good heavens, Mary, what do you think?” Sarah snapped off before she could recall the words. She swallowed a wad of unshed tears that lodged in her throat. “I’ll continue on here and teach the two of you until you’re old enough to go off to school.”

  “That’s forever,” the girl said with a fair amount of disgust in her voice.

  “Yes. It is.”

  “And I shall marry while you sit here in an empty schoolroom, but don’t worry, Miss Copeland,” she said in a fair imitation of her mother’s condescending tones, “I shall take pity and have you for a governess when I have children.”

  “How accommodating you are,” she choked out. In desperate need of activity, Sarah left the table. She drifted to one of the windows and looked out. From her location on the third floor, she could discern the rooftops of their closest neighbor. Barely visible through the spring trees, the gray shingles beckoned. A couple of miles separated the two estates, though the earl’s property was much larger. If she ran away from this house where no one spoke to her—save the children—for days on end, where she took her dinners alone most evenings, where she hadn’t a friend or confidence, would those neighbors offer her sanctuary?

  A hysterical laugh bubbled through her chest. She quelled the urge to let it out. Of course, they wouldn’t. There was no one in residence and hadn’t been for as many years as she’d been governess to these children.

  I have truly exhausted every avenue that might have opened for me.

  George sidled over and stood beside her. “Miss Copeland, I learned something else from Papa the other day,” he said, his tone conversational, as if he were much older and leaning against a fireplace mantle in a drawing room.

  “Oh? About me?” Please say no. After all, what else was there to tell?

  “Actually, no. It’s about Hadleigh Hall.” He pointed at the rooftops in the distance. “The earl has come to stay in the country for a bit. Apparently, he’s found London rather distasteful. Papa says it’s the first time in years. He figures the old earl must have died and this is his son.” The boy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him.

  “Is this the truth or gossip?” She didn’t know much about their neighbor, for she didn’t engage in the senseless chatter of the maids.

  “The other day Mary and I were playing in the field. We saw a few coaches on the drive. Footmen were unloading all sorts of trunks and boxes. Someone has come to Hadleigh Hall and they’re planning to stay for a while.”

  “If he’s young, there might be gay parties,” Mary added with shining eyes.

  How interesting. She’d never seen the old earl, but she’d heard enough talk in the village about him. From all accounts, he’d been aloof, but responsible and dutiful. What sort of a man was his son? “Was your father friends with the previous earl?” She shouldn’t entertain or even invite gossip, for it didn’t set a good example, but she rather doubted it could do more harm to the little buggers in her care.

  “I’m not certain. Mama said something about the countess being nice and elegant.”

  That meant absolutely nothing. All women were deemed nice until one knew their true personality. Sarah kept her own counsel as she continued to stare at the roof tops. Never had she known, or even met, a titled peer. Did he bring a wife with him, a family? Would they invite her great uncle for dinner, and if he did, would that invitation extend to her?

  Eventually, George stirred. “Papa and Mama want to have a dinner party or a rout to welcome the new earl to the area.” His eyes gleamed. “That means leftovers in the kitchen that Mary and I will have the chance to nab.”

  Now that was interesting. A social event meant people and that meant an unexpected opportunity. “How fun. No doubt your father wishes to make a good impression.” Perhaps she’d be asked to help make up numbers around a table. Imagine how exciting to spend one carefree night without worrying over her future. And if she happened to meet an eligible gentleman while there, she’d use everything in her arsenal to garner his attention and secure it.

  Mary came over and stood by Sarah at her other side. For a brief, fleeting moment her little hand found Sarah’s before she moved on to pull a wooden duck with a string from a nearby shelf. “I like it when Mama puts on fancy dresses. Some of them sparkle.”

  “I’d like that too.” Though every gown she owned was plain, for she hadn’t spare coin to spend on silly trims or expensive fabrics. Her own skill with a needle was laughable at best. And, as Mary had said, spectacles would make certain she remained on the sidelines. She stifled a sigh of longing. Something had to change. This couldn’t be all that life had to offer her.

  It just couldn’t. Years of this would drive her to Bedlam, she was certain. Again, she looked at the faraway rooftops as she wrapped a hand around her locket. Mama, Papa, if you’re looking down upon me, help move fate along. I need but one chance… perhaps the earl would have a hand in altering the course of her future.

  Chapter Three

  June 16, 1817

  Perhaps retiring to his country estate hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had, for now that he’d been here twelve days, the slower pace and earlier hours of life had become… uninspired, dull really.

  Drew shoved a hand through his hair, much to the annoyance of Barton, his long-suffering valet. “What am I supposed to do now? The manor is big and empty, and while I appreciate the silence, the lack of…” What the devil was he trying to say?

  “Life, my lord? Vitality? Interest?” Barton supplied helpfully with an elevated blond eyebrow and a slight grin. Was the man mocking him or was he simply the jovial sort? It was deuced difficult to tell.

  “Quite,” he finally said. Breakfast had been consumed and he wasn’t due to meet with his estate foreman until later in the week. He’d gone up to his rooms to retrieve his ever-present ruby stick pin for his cravat. No matter what, he could never let himself forget why he wore it, but all the time on his hands left him at sixes and sevens about how to spend his time. “I fear I shall go out of my mind from the solitude.” Yet he hadn’t had enough of the bucolic peace to bring the simmering anger to a cooling point. It waited, coiled and tense, like a cobra, ready to strike. “If I were a different man, I’d be content to utilize the library, but I can’t cool my heels in such a manner. I require action.” He needed an outlet to help relieve that slithering beast inside.

  Is there nothing in this bloody world that can help me?

  Comb in hand, Barton repaired Drew’s hairstyle. “Might I suggest a good ride, my lord? It would clear away the cobwebs and you’ll gain some exercise as well.” He flashed that annoying grin once more. “There are a couple of excellent stallions in the stables that should be put through their paces, according to the stable master. And you have enough acreage to warrant the passing of a few hours.”

  “That does sound intriguing.” A fat lot more than visiting tenants or inspecting outbuildings, which was something he hadn’t realized he’d needed to do. Apparently, his father hadn’t done so in the last few years due to declining health, but in his prime, the old earl had made personal connections with every person who lived and worked on the estate. Another blanket of heavy, suffocating guilt fell over Drew.

  Even here, far away from London and his family, duties pressed in on him.

  There is no escape. More fool I to think there was.

  “Beyond that, you could pay a visit on your nearest neighbor. Baronet Gearwell is naught but two miles to the west,” the maddening valet continued as if life were but a great game.

  “Bah!” Drew chopped the air with a hand. The sunlight glinted off the signet ring on his pinky, drawing his attention to the depiction of a funnel-shaped storm cloud and the two crossed swords and spear that stabbed through it—the coat-of-arms of the Storme family. “
I came here for the solitude, not to do the pretty in country society. I’ll gladly take the opportunity to ride.”

  “Very well. Shall I inform the stable master you’re coming?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” For an empty manor house, there were far too many bloody servants underfoot. Yes, they were all willing to make his stay as comfortable as possible, but they rather made it impossible for him to ruminate. “I’m more than capable of handling myself.” Couldn’t a man hold a title yet manage to conduct his own affairs?

  At the last second, he stopped himself from shoving a hand through his hair. It wasn’t the staff’s fault he was naught but a growling beast. Nor was it their fault he struggled under the crushing weight of his emotions and anxiety. They merely wished to feel useful in their own ways, and his father had been gracious to everyone.

  I don’t have that personality nor the patience. Perhaps this is who I’m destined to be—shut away from society, snarling and alone. While William took over his position.

  Barton nodded. “You’ll fall into the pattern and schedule of things soon enough, my lord. Country living will be second nature to you by the end of summer.” His grin widened. “Shall I press a particular waistcoat for dinner?”

  Oh, for the love of all that was holy! Drew clenched his teeth. Damned decisions that meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme, but this is what an earl did… until he died. With effort, he bit back the sharp retort sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I’ll leave that to your discretion.” He couldn’t quit the room fast enough.