Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Seventeen
Emma lay awake in her in the dark. She had put out the candle, hoping to sleep, but it eluded her; now, she really did have a headache, and her thoughts were solely occupied with Lady Beatrice's derogatory remarks at the dinner table.
She recalled bitterly how well the evening meal had begun, with everyone—except the dowager, of course—commending her appearance and showing appreciation for her having made such good progress with Henry's arithmetic. But how badly things had ended when Lady Beatrice had arrived, the haughty young noblewoman clearly intent on reminding Emma of her lowly station in the household. And Emma couldn’t help feeling she was right; the governess had no right to sit at the table with such illustrious company.
“I should have known better and refused His Grace’s command to attend,” she thought aloud. She had felt utterly humiliated and embarrassed, and she hadn’t been able to burst into tears on the spot, as she had felt like doing. The only thing which had cheered her was the way Robert had defended her, going so far as to politely caution the Duke of Irrisoll's wayward daughter. That meant a great deal to Emma.
She knew immediately that Lady Beatrice's presence was a threat to her. Though Emma had no clue that the dowager planned a match between her son and the young noblewoman—she might even have considered resigning if that were the case, to avoid the inevitable dismissal—Emma still felt Lady Beatrice posed a grave threat to her continued employment at Dalwater.
“What a fine lady she is, to be sure,” she thought bitterly to herself.” At first, she had admired Lady Beatrice’s beauty, but beauty, as her father had often told her, was only skin deep. This was clearly very much the case with Lady Beatrice. She is provocative and flirts shamelessly with His Grace. She is a rude, over-dressed, spoilt brat!
She moved restlessly, her thoughts churning, then was startled out of her gloomy reverie by a light knock on her door.
“Who could that be?” she murmured, getting up, tying on a robe, and opening the door. There was Lady Abigail, also in her nightclothes, holding a candle.
“Goodness, Abigail! What are you doing out of bed so late?” Emma muttered, unable to read the expression on Abigail's face.
“Can I come in, Miss Emma?” the girl asked. “I want to talk to you,” she added, looking unhappy and cold.
“Yes, yes, come in, quickly. You’ll catch your death out there!” She opened the door wider, and Abigail slipped inside.
“Thank you,” she immediately went to the bed and sat on it, pulling the quilt around her shoulders.
“What is it, Abigail?” Emma asked as she gently sat beside her charge, who drew Emma into the quilt’s embrace too.
“Miss Emma, there is something bothering me, and you are the only person I can talk to about it.” Abigail paused to look into Emma’s eyes, as though to assure herself of her attention. “Since my brother and I lost both our parents, we have been devastated. Our life was torn apart overnight,” Emma patted Abigail’s hand. “And you know, taking us on as his wards has had a significant effect on our uncle, the duke’s life too.”
Abigail paused before continuing. “So, as you can understand, there are two people I am very worried about at the moment: my brother, Henry, and Uncle Robert. And I want to entrust them to your care,” she finished in an almost pleading tone.
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Abigail. Why do you think you can entrust me with their care? I am merely the governess; I have no power.”
“Because I believe in you, Miss Emma. I feel safe with you, and I know they are, too,” Abigail explained as she held Emma's hand, looking at her beseechingly.
Emma quailed somewhat at the thought of such a heavy responsibility. And how exactly was she to carry it out? She found her heart was suddenly pounding hard.
“You see, Uncle Robert’s heart was broken by the only person he ever truly loved, Lady Isabel. Everyone thought she was going to be his wife until she ruined things. Since then, he hasn't been the same. Lady Isabel was all he ever wanted, and they had planned their whole wedding together…” she lowered her voice and blushed, “…only for her to confess she was carrying another man's child on the wedding eve. The wedding was canceled, and there was a terrible fuss about it all.
Robert seemed to have lost all interest in taking a wife. It’s as though he hasn't been able to love anybody else. He has stayed out of London at Dalwater, keeping to himself ever since,” Abigail added, her face, Emma thought, looking far too serious for a young girl of sixteen. Nevertheless, it was clear she noticed everything going on around her in the home.
Although Emma already knew about Robert's heartbreak, the situation seemed clearer when hearing it from Abigail. She wondered if she could be of help to Robert. At the same time, she didn’t want to lose her position, especially with Lady Beatrice beginning to appear in the picture
“We noticed he started to get better when he became our legal guardian as if he took on a new lease of life. But, you see, Grandmother thinks he needs a wife to help him take care of us … so she wants him to marry Lady Beatrice.” As she said it, she looked into Emma's eyes once more. Emma hoped she could not see the fear there.
Emma was now seriously frightened: if Lady Beatrice became her mistress, she was bound to be sent away. Lady Beatrice would combine her forces with those of the dowager to accomplish it. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she felt herself growing hot.
Her dreams and hopes of a long and happy life working at Dalwater, helping the children … seemed suddenly to crumble to dust. She tried to pull herself together for Abigail’ sake.
“Marrying will certainly relieve the duke of a lot of his concerns and responsibilities,” Emma forced herself to say.
“Yes, but not to that … witch,” Abigail cried, clutching Emma’s hand again.
“Abigail! That is rude.”
“Rude? Well, I should have to have her give me lessons in that to be as dreadfully rude as she is. She is utterly horrid. She cares nothing for Henry and me, and the only reason she wants to marry Uncle Robert is because she thinks she’ll have more of what she wants—dresses, jewels—and she’ll be able to show off even more than she does now! She is intolerable.”
“Hmmm,” said Emma. “I fear you are right, Abigail, although I don’t like the way you phrase it. Besides, you heard what she said to me at dinner.”
“I’m so sorry about that, Miss Emma, but it simply proves I am right.” Emma felt her hand being squeezed reassuringly again.
“Thank you, Abigail. Yes, I fear you are right.” The pair drew closer and linked arms beneath the quilt. “But what can we do about it?”
“Well, I’m certain Uncle Robert is against the idea of marrying her. All that is needed is to give him some way to stand up to Grandmother. Something … better to … hope for.” Abigail looked at Emma mysteriously.
Unsure of what to make of it, Emma said, “Then I hope to goodness he finds that soon, for only the duke has the power to decide what he wants and whether he will resist the dowager’s wishes. I can confide in you, Abigail, I hope, that I fear for my position if your uncle does marry Lady Beatrice, for she is sure to dismiss me immediately.”
“I know,” said Abigail, tears starting in her eyes. Emma held her closer to her side. “Henry and I fear that too.”
They sat in silence for a few moments until Abigail said, “As you know from Grandmother’s continual going on about it, I shall be introduced formally into society this Season. I am expected to find a potential suitor. But my brother … I'm concerned that, if I should marry, Henry will be left without someone to comfort him. Our uncle will probably be too busy to pay much attention to him, and can you imagine what Lady Beatrice will do? She’ll probably pack him off to some horrid school miles away as soon as she has the chance. And, since Grandmother is so worked up about Uncle finding a wife to care for him and us, you are the only choice to help them both. So, I want you to promise me you'll do everything you can to take care of my brother. Promise me you'll try to support him, no matter what happens.” Now, the unshed tears fell, and she sobbed against Emma’s breast. Emma, too, was close to tears, sharing the girls' concern for the future should the duke be forced to marry Lady Beatrice.
Fishing out a hanky, she gave it to Abigail. “Hush, my dear. Dry your tears. I promise I shall do everything in my power to protect you all, especially Henry, from what may come.” She felt she must make the promise, and she wanted to be true to her word, but how would she do it? A mere governess?
“Thank you, Miss Emma,” Abigail sniffed, hugging Emma.
When she at last sent the girl back to bed, Emma locked the door and got back into bed. She tossed and turned, her mind burning with the thought of the promise she had just made … and wondering how she could ever hope to keep it.
What if I am sent away and cannot protect Henry? And … what about the duke… how shall I bear being sent away from him?
A pain shot through her heart at the thought, knowing she was foolish to think such a thing. But she couldn’t help herself ... even after so short an acquaintance, she finally admitted to herself … I truly care for him.
Her mind in turmoil, she got out of bed, fastened her robe about herself once more, put on a heavy cloak, and, holding her shoes in her hand, crept from the room in search of some way to clear her head.
