Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Fifteen
Emma had had a busy morning while giving Henry his lessons that day. Though the young boy still struggled with his sums, she was patiently helping him to improve his mathematical abilities. She remembered her mother’s approach to teaching her numbers as a child, and employed the same gentle means with Henry, with some success.
Henry was due his fencing lesson in the afternoon, so the duke was occupied, and Her grandmother once more engaged abigail, so Emma had a few hours free to spend as she wished. She looked forward to spending a few peaceful hours in the library reading, which the duke, being mindful of her love of books, had given her permission to do whenever she wished. However, this was her first visit to the repository of knowledge, as Abigail jokingly referred to it.
Emma pushed open the heavy door and stood on the threshold, her breath quite taken away by the sight before her. She couldn’t help but be amazed as she saw the seemingly endless rows of books ranged neatly on the many glassed-in shelves, which rose to the ornate, painted plaster ceiling.
“Why haven't I visited this place in the past in all this time since I have been here?” she murmured as she opened her eyes wide to take in the sheer number of books, in all shapes and sizes, and covering all the subjects she could think of.
The duke had a great love of books, just as she did. She entered the room, closing the door softly behind her, and ventured deeper into the library, tracing the lowest shelves with her fingertips as she went.
“But this too wonderful,” she thought aloud. “I shall come here every day from now to read poems.” After exploring the library for a while, she discovered an interesting poetry book she had not seen before. She flipped through some of the pages for a few moments before deciding it would do perfectly. She then looked around the spacious room to find a perfect spot to sit and read. She chose a chair close to one of the large, mullioned windows to the left of the library, where the rays of the sun penetrated.
Thinking suddenly of her mother and how the two of them had shared a special love for poetry until her death, Emma made herself comfortable and was soon deeply engrossed in the book, reciting the beautiful, moving poetry quietly to herself and savoring their music.
She was so engrossed that she didn't notice the door open quietly and the duke enter the library. He stopped in his tracks at once, his ears pricked, surprised at hearing a soft voice reciting beautiful verses. He was mystified. It could not be Abigail, as he had only just seen her with his mother in the drawing-room. There seemed to be only one other candidate.
“You have a beautiful voice,” Robert said in a little deep and appreciative tone.
“Oh!” Emma started out of her reverie and, seeing him there, gave a little laugh of embarrassment.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I shall take my leave,” she said, blushing crimson, closing the book, and about to rise.
“Nonsense! The pleasure is all mine, Miss Emma,” Robert said kindly. “You must certainly not leave on my account. I insist you stay.” Reluctantly, Emma sat down again. “It is delightful to find someone enjoying the place as much as I do. She blushed again.
“It is very nice here. A treasure trove. I don't think I have ever seen such a splendid library.”
“As I have already said, you are most welcome here whenever you wish to make use of it. In fact, can I suggest we might read some books together? Poetry especially seems far more enjoyable when read aloud, I think, don’t you? And as we are both here now, let us begin right away. You do recite very well, you know.”
Emma trembled. Alone in the library, reading poetry aloud with the duke? The man she could not stop thinking about. It seemed to her a recipe for disaster, but she could think of no excuse to leave without being rude. And she feared she might even make him angry if she disagreed. She pulled herself together and tried to put her nerves aside.
“If that is what you wish, Your Grace.”
“I see we are back to formality again … Miss Emma. That is a shame. Yes, it is my wish. Shakespeare’s sonnets are my favorites.” He crossed the room, opened a cabinet, took out a book, and handed it to her, holding the page open. He settled himself into a nearby chair.
“Let’s start here,” he said, pointing out a well-thumbed passage.
Emma, her stomach full of butterflies, cleared her throat and began to recite in a wavering voice.
“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...”
She paused, looked up, and found him staring at her, a slight smile on his face. How handsome he looked just then, reclining in his chair, and seeming so relaxed and content, the shafts of sunlight through the window lighting his features. The butterflies rampaged uncontrollably inside her, and her hands shook. What would it be like if he kissed her?
“Please, do continue,” he said, still staring. She returned to the verses before her, having difficulty focusing on them.
“Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan the th' expense of many a vanished sight...” Her voice grew stronger, as she recalled this was a favorite of her mother’s.
“I hear in your voice that you like the sonnets as much as I do,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, my mother and I used to read them together before bedtime when I was a little girl,” she said, unable to resist smiling back at him.
“And now that you are fully grown now, I suppose there’s no need for bedtime poems anymore,” he said jokingly.
“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn't hesitate to read me bedtime poems if she were still here,” she said, her smile suddenly becoming sad.
Instantly, he was on his feet and close to her. “I am so sorry, Miss Emma, I didn’t mean to make you sad. Please forgive me.”
“Not at all, Your Grace, it is good to remember her, but I do miss her at such times as this. Sonnet 30 was one of her favorites too, you see.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she groped for a handkerchief, but before she could find it, he handed his own to her. She took the snowy bit of linen and dabbed her eyes. “You must think me very foolish,” she murmured, deeply embarrassed once more.
“Not at all. I am the foolish one. Come, let is put the Bard aside and look for something more interesting.”
“I really should go…” she said, making to rise again. So high was the tension she felt between them, she felt torn; she should go, but she did not want to. Stupidly, she held the damp handkerchief out to him.
“Please stay,” he said gently, rising to his feet. “And please, do keep the handkerchief. I have many.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, you are very kind. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I find it very easy to be kind to you, Miss Emma.” He said with a smile that disarmed her completely. She blushed deeply once more, her face hot, but she knew she would stay. “And to talk to. Indeed, we surely have many more things to talk about.”
“If you wish, Your Grace.” She sat back in her chair, more relaxed, as she twisted the scrap of linen between her fingers. “What shall we discuss?”
At that moment, the library door opened, and Lucy Brown entered with a small tray to serve the duke his tea.
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought your tea, Your Grace,” she curtsied as she placed the teacup with a saucer on the reading table. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Miss Emma was here too, and there’s only enough tea for one.”
"Thank you, Lucy. Yes, kindly bring a larger pot so Miss Fletcher can have some tea too. Oh, and please bring some of that excellent lemon shortbread if you have some.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. I’ll bring it directly.” With a half-smile at Emma, Lucy went out, closing the door behind her. In a few minutes, she reappeared with a tray laden with plates of tiny cakes and shortbreads, which she placed by the tea tray on the low table between them.
“Mmm, thank you again, Lucy. A veritable feast is set before us, eh, Miss Emma?” He joked, helping himself to shortbread and gesturing for Emma to do the same, but she declined. Tea was all she could manage in the circumstances, she felt.
“As your lordship pleases,” Lucy said with a smile, exiting the room and closing the door, leaving them alone once more.
“How are the lessons progressing? Are you finding it a strain yet?” he asked, polishing off his shortbread with a look of satisfaction. “I must say, your presence has greatly eased me of my concerns about the children. I hardly know what we would have done without you, Miss Emma.”
“Well, I am only doing my job as a governess. You pay me very generously, Your Grace, and I find the children delightful to work with. I think they are both progressing well.”
“Yes, I must commend you for your efforts with Henry’s arithmetic in particular. It seems you are a very good influence on them both. They both seem much happier since your arrival. I do hope you realize how appreciated you are,” he said, apparently unable to stop smiling at her as he talked.
“Thank you kindly, Your Grace. It is a great pleasure to hear you say so.” She smiled back, feeling warmth spreading inside her at his compliment. He stared at her, marveling at her beauty, her grace, and her warm smile. Pretty Emma. He couldn't help but look at her lips as she talked. It was now coming to the point, he realized when it was impossible to deny to himself the strong attraction he felt for her.
He hadn't felt that way for such a long while, and it shocked him. Ever since the affair with Lady Isabel, his heart had been frozen. He hadn't allowed himself to love any woman or give in to any feeling of attraction towards one, even if he felt it. It felt too dangerous, a risk of being hurt all over again that he wasn’t prepared to take. This feeling with Emma was entirely new for him.
“I cannot say there haven’t been challenges. Dealing with Henry's lack of arithmetical ability is one of them, to be sure,” she laughed. “But, as I mentioned, he’s greatly improving now.”
Robert found himself once more focusing on her lips as she talked about how her days were filled with teaching and guiding the children, making sure to mention Abigail’s precocious love of poetry and books in general. She spoke with such earnest passion that he had no doubt of her genuine care for his wards. But, in truth, the more she talked, the less Robert found he could pay attention to her words. She is mesmerizing, he thought, charming, entertaining, intelligent … ravishingly beautiful. His thoughts dwelt on Emma’s lips as he wondered what it would be like to press his own upon their soft perfection.
“Do you not agree, Your Grace?” she suddenly said, looking at him with such an open, enquiring expression that it was almost a physical effort to tear himself away from gazing longingly at her lips.
“Um, yes, absolutely,” he replied, feeling guilty for not having been listening to her. What was worse, she actually seemed to realize it and laughed outright a full, generous laugh. This time, it was his turn to blush.
“I’m sorry, Miss Emma, I find what you say … and the way you say it … so fascinating, I’m afraid I got lost in admiration for a moment at your good sense.” He paused, not knowing what to say next, as she remained looking at him good-naturedly. He noticed the fine spray of freckles across her perfectly straight nose, and the way her dimples appeared when she was in a relaxed mood. Oh God, help me, he thought helplessly. This simply will not do. He gave himself a mental shake and stood up, putting his hands behind his back and pacing, trying to control the joyful grin that he knew was trying to burst out onto his face.
“I hope we shall see you at dinner tonight, Miss Emma. Your presence graces the table, and is a comfort to the children, I believe.”
She hesitated, and a little of the light that had been in her eyes moments before dimmed, much to his discomfiture.
“Am I to attend, Your Grace?” she asked, appearing slightly alarmed at the thought.
“Why, of course,” he replied, stopping next to her, feeling a little selfish but determined to have her at the table. There would be few other entertainments to pass the time, as Mother was sure to embark on one of her lectures about the season. He sat down again.
“Well, if you insist, Your Grace. I can’t help wondering if it is quite right for your ward’s governess to join the family for dinner.” She said, looking at him worriedly.
“Miss Emma, you have dined with us since your arrival, quite fittingly, in my opinion. It is not as if you are some lowly servant but rather a gentlewoman, well-bred, and with the manners of a lady. You need not fear you do not belong.”
She looked at him in astonishment, her green eyes widening in pleasure and her dimpled smile banishing the look of concern.
“How kind you are, Your Grace. I’m sure you are taking pity on my discomfort, and I thank you heartily for it. I am honored to be invited to sit at your table, of course.”
Robert was thinking how nice it would be to place his lips on Emma’s white neck when the housekeeper’s voice in the hallway suddenly brought him back to earth with a bump. He scolded himself inwardly for his thoughts and tried to pull himself together. Nothing could happen between himself and Miss Emma, nothing that would not break his heart and destroy her reputation utterly.
It could never happen. She’s the governess, an employee, he told himself. It was selfish of him to even think of such things as taking her in his arms and, but she would be at dinner if only to spite his mother.
“More tea, Miss Emma,” he said hoarsely. “And this lemon shortcake is delicious.”
