Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Nineteen
Emma spent the next afternoon in the schoolroom with Henry working on his writing, although she was planning to finish soon, as Henry due for a riding lesson in the next half an hour. The poor boy had been working so hard and was making excellent progress, and she felt the fresh air would do him good.
She was looking forward to the end of lessons herself, as she was both weary from lack of sleep and restless at the memory of her moonlight encounter with the duke … Robert.
He had held her tightly in his strong arms and they had almost kissed! It had felt simply wonderful, and the mere thought sent electricity running through her. She could still smell his sandalwood cologne. Yet at the same time, her heart felt heavy with sorrow and foreboding. She was being foolish, hurting only herself.
Nothing could ever come of her love for Robert, even if he felt the same way about her as she did for him. They were classes apart, and any kind of a lasting relationship that was not scandalous was impossible. She pushed the thoughts aside and turned back to the task in hand.
Just she was inspecting the English exercises Henry had completed, the door opened, and Abigail came in, smiling broadly. She was dressed very smartly, looking more sophisticated than ever. Emma smiled back at her proudly.
She really was an attractive and rare young woman, and it was easy for Emma to love her. She had grown to love young Henry, with his usual cheerful enthusiasm. The thought of one day having to leave them simply added to Emma’s inner burden of woe. Again, she tried to dismiss her somber thoughts for their sakes.
“Abigail, how lovely to see you,” Emma said, looking up from Henry’s exercise book, assuming a bright smile.
“Hello, Sis,” said Henry, throwing down his pencil, clearly pleased at the distraction.
“Hello, I hope you’re both well. I wondered if you are very busy, Miss Emma. I am due to choose a new dress from the atelier in town. It’s for my birthday and coming out ball. I would love it if you would come with me, if you can spare the time, that is.” Abigail said, sitting carefully on one of the old wooden chairs.
“Why, yes, we were just about to finish. I would love to come with you, it will be a nice change to go into town. Henry has a riding lesson soon, so I shall be free.” She glanced down at her dress, brushing off some chalk dust. “I must go and freshen up and fetch my things first though. Is that alright?” she added.
“Of course. The carriage isn’t due for another half an hour or so. Why don’t you meet me in my room when you are ready? We can go down together then.”
“Wonderful. Thank you for thinking of me, Abigail. A little outing will do me good, and I can’t wait to see you in your new dress.” Emma turned to Henry. “Well, young man, I think you are officially dismissed,” she told him with a smile. He immediately jumped up and threw his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly.
“Thanks, Miss Emma. You are the best teacher ever! Promise me you will stay here forever,” he said, his face buried in her skirts. Almost overcome with tender emotion, she stroked his head gently and put an arm around his shoulders. A tear came to her eye.
Her heart ached for his loss, and she thought of the promise she had already made to Abigail about always protecting Henry. But how could she mislead the boy? If their uncle married Lady Beatrice and she was dismissed…
Emma thought carefully before speaking. “We none of us know what the future holds, Henry. You both know that all too well. And while I cannot promise to always be here at Dalwater, I can promise to always be your friend, Abigail’s too. And if you should ever need me, for any reason, you can call me and be assured that I will always come as fast as I can.”
She finished by hugging him more tightly before releasing him. He scampered over to his sister, who also hugged him.
“Thank you, Miss Emma. I feel much better now,” he sniffed, clearly moved.
“Yes, that means so much to both of us, Miss Emma,” Abigail put in, smiling warmly at Emma, her own eyes shining.
“And you know, you both mean a great deal to me, as you always will, as long as I live.”
After Abigail had gone, Emma left the schoolroom, conscious that she did not have much time. She dashed to her room and splashed her face with cool water, tidied her bun, gathered her bonnet, shawl, gloves, and reticule, then put on her outdoor boots. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she was satisfied with her appearance.
As she set of toward Abigail’s chambers, she thought again about how much she loved the two youngsters. Although it had only been a short time since she had taken up her post as their governess, she felt the three of them had formed a close bond. As wonderful as that was, the thought of losing them if Lady Beatrice should become Duchess of Dalwater sent a painful pang through her.
It was simply a thought too terrible to contemplate. Although she knew she would one day like to have children of her own, she was certain she would always want Abigail and Henry in her life too.
She tapped lightly at Abigail’s door.
“Come in, Miss Emma” the girl called. Emma entered, smiling at the bright, comfortable room where they had shared many hours inspecting Abigail’s extensive wardrobe.
“Please, do sit down for a moment. I am almost ready,” Abigail said excitedly, popping a bright, beribboned bonnet over her shiny dark curls.
“Thank you. I must say, Abigail, you look very pretty today. The thought of getting your new dress obviously agrees with you,” Emma joked.
Abigail giggled, turning to Emma, her bonnet now in place. “Of course! As Grandmother says, a young lady can never have too many pretty dresses. And I want you to help me chose it.”
“I shall be honored!” said Emma, watching in amusement as Abigail distractedly wandered about the room, collecting up her gloves and reticule, then turned to smile at Emma.
“Shall we go then, my dear governess? I think I hear the carriage coming around.”
They linked arms, but before they could move, the door opened.
“It is time to leave, Abigail. I hope you are ready,” came the Dowager Duchess’s stern tones. She stood in the doorway leaning both hands on her cane. She looked unpleasantly surprised to see Emma there. ”What are you doing here, Miss Fletcher?” she snapped at her. “Why are you not with Henry in the schoolroom?”
“We have finished lessons for the day, my lady. Henry has gone for a riding lesson.”
“Miss Emma is coming into town with us, Grandmother,” Abigail said clearly, raising her chin. The dowager frowned. “Very well,” she sniffed at last and turned to leave. “Come along then, no time to waste.”
In the carriage, Abigail kept up a continuous stream of excited chatter about what was the latest fashion in dresses, what colors she favored, what materials she wanted, and what accessories she might need to go with her new ball dress. “I have seen a very pretty pattern straight from France,” she said, “which I think would look very well on me, perhaps in blue or pink satin … or perhaps both together? It would be lovely to have some pearl beading, and a sash in a contrasting color perhaps. Of course, I shall need a new reticule to go with it. Embroidered silk would be lovely. I could make one myself if I can find some nice silks and some pretty stuff today, but I shall need to know what color the dress is going to be first. Of course, I might—”
“That is enough for the moment, Abigail,” said the dowager suddenly, banging her cane on the carriage floor. “You are giving me a headache.”
Abigail subsided at once. “Yes, Grandmother.” The old lady nodded and looked out of the window. She seemed determined not to address Emma at all. Emma tried her best not to let her anxiety show, sending Abigail a sideways smile of sympathy, which the girl returned. The rest of the journey into town passed in silence, but it was not too awkward. The further they went into old London, the busier the streets became, and there was much to marvel at or admire outside the window.
Nevertheless, Emma felt relieved when they finally arrived at the grand atelier where Abigail was to choose the fabrics for her new dress, be fitted for it, and have it made up for delivery the very next day.
The Atelier Veronique was an exotic sanctum strictly reserved for the rich and fashionable females of London. Emma fancied it to be a cross between an Arabian bazaar, of which she had once seen a strikingly colorful painting, and as gilded as Cleopatra’s palace might have been. Every square inch of the walls was covered with great swathes of fabrics of all kinds, velvets, silks, and damasks in a rainbow of beautiful colors.
These were punctuated by life-size color plates of elegant models wearing the latest fashions in dresses, riding costumes, outerwear, and underwear. In between those were huge, plate-glass mirrors, which reflected the shop’s luxurious interior infinitely, and before which the fashionable clientele tried out the new creations.
The place smelled of sweet oil and a mixture of all the varying perfumes worn by the chic clientele. One side of the spacious shop was given over to displaying the endless fabrics, ribbons, lace, beads, and gemstones of every type, feathers, and satin-edged handkerchiefs, and every sort of elegant accessory a lady could ever wish for.
The other side contained two parallel rows of comfortably upholstered chairs, between them a sort of broad gangway, where beautiful model girls walked back and forth showing their elegant outfits off to the ladies seated there with intent to spend their husbands’ money.
Emma knew that at the back of the shop, hidden from view, would be the cramped quarters of the nimble-fingered seamstresses, who worked miracles, and long hours, laboring to turn out perfectly fitted garments for the great ladies of the London ton.
As soon as they arrived, the dowager was shown to a chair by an obsequious assistant, who only had to snap her fingers for a pot of tea and a china cup to be brought and set on a low table at the dowager’s side. The unsmiling old lady set aside her cane and prepared to wait.
“Now Grandmother is settled, Miss Emma, let us explore. It truly is a treasure trove, isn’t it? I am sure I shall find something lovely for my birthday here.”
“It truly is quite breath-taking. I have never seen anything like it. Now, you had better tell me your ideas about the sort of dress you want. Shall we look at patterns first and see if we can find the one you like?” Abigail agreed and off they went to inspect the pattern books.
“So, I must decide whether to pick the waisted design or the Empire-line, with the skirt falling from beneath the bust,” Abigail concluded after looking through so many dress patterns, Emma felt quite dizzy.
“Then, I suggest we start by looking at the satins and silks, Abigail. The silks come in many beautiful colors and silk is very light … just right for dancing.”
Abigail almost squealed in delight and clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, let’s. Silk would be lovely, don’t you think, perhaps with a satin sash?” They headed for the section where the bolts of luxurious imported fabrics were stacked high. With the help of an assistant, they spent the best part of an hour discussing and deciding, inspecting the different fabrics, trying various colors against Abigail’s complexion and hair. Abigail picked out several possibilities, showing each one to the stern-faced dowager for final approval.
The older woman approved the choice of silk and satin, but each successive color sample was dismissed for various reasons.
White was pronounced boring. Cream, also boring. Apricot, overdone. Pale blue, wishy-washy. Pink, too childish.
“She approves none of them, Miss Emma! I suppose we shall just have to keep looking,” Abigail sighed, returning deflated. “Oh, it’s so hard to choose!” she complained.
Emma made sure to have her back turned to the dowager when she flicked her eyes toward a bolt of beautiful lilac-colored silk. “Have you considered that shade, Abigail? I think it will suit your complexion perfectly.”
“The mademoiselle is right, I think,” agreed the assistant, fetching a sample immediately. She held it up to Abigail’s face in front of the mirror.
“Yes, it is unusual, and it sets off your dark hair and pale skin wonderfully, Abigail. And if it is made up in the Empire-line style, with a contrasting satin sash beneath the bust and trimmings, I’m certain you shall be the belle of the ball.” Emma said, smiling warmly.
Abigail clutched the sample to her, beaming. “Oh, it is lovely. Thank you, Miss Emma, I think I have made my choice. Yes,” she told the assistant. This is the one.”
“And for the sash and trimmings?” asked Emma, motioning with her head to a deep violet satin nearby. “The violet would make for a lovely, subtle contrast, and the color suits your eyes, too. You could even have a reticule and gloves made up to match,” she added.
Abigail looked over. “Oh, yes, that would be perfect.” She breathed. “And both would look well with the pearl beading I wanted. Oh, thank you, Miss Emma. I don’t think I could have ever decided upon anything all by myself. And Grandmother is so old-fashioned. I just hope she approves.” Off she went to show her choices to the dowager, who by some miracle, appeared to be pleased.
That settled, a delighted Abigail returned, and the assistant fetched the bolts of silk and satin to be made up.
“I could never have chosen such lovely materials without you, Miss Emma. Thank you,” said Abigail. To Emma’s surprise, the girl leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. Emma stood amazed for a few moments, rubbing her cheek, while the assistant began taking Abigail’s measurements, Warmth filled her, and she smiled wonderingly at the loving gesture. However, her joy was marred somewhat by a glance at the dowager, who was glaring at her from across the room. She hung her head and turned back to the business in hand.
After having chosen the details for the trimmings and matching gloves, the pearl beading for the neckline, and a simple pearl tiara to complete the outfit, the girls were finished at last. Only then did a glowing Abigail, with a weary but pleased Emma in tow, return to the dowager, who’s mouth was a thin, hard line.
“I thought you would never be finished, young lady. Though I must say you have chosen well. I am tired. I trust we may go home now?” the dowager said tightly, as Abigail helped her to rise and handed her the cane.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother, but I’m sure you remember that it can take quite a long time to pick just the right dress.” She glanced at Emma with a mischievous smile as they left the shop and got into the carriage once more. The dowager glowered at Emma before ignoring her again by looking through the window. Emma felt deeply uncomfortable and remained silent.
A few minutes after they had pulled away, Abigail sat forward in her seat and said in a sugary voice, “You know, Miss Emma helped me to choose the colors for my dress, Grandmother. Isn’t that kind of her. She has such good taste.” She smiled broadly at the older woman, who turned from the window to regard her granddaughter with a look of deep disapproval.
“I fail to see what a mere governess can know about the fashions of the ton, let alone what is suitable wear for a young girl’s coming out ball, the ward of a duke. In future, I shall oversee any trips to buy clothing,” the dowager bit out, turning on the helpless Emma a look of venomous disdain.
“Well, I am very grateful to her for her help, Grandmother, and it is my dress after all,” Abigail shot back, huffing and proceeding to ignore the old lady for the entire journey home. It was very uncomfortable for Emma; if she had not been so conscious of her station and propriety, she may well have leaped from the carriage and run all the way home simply to escape the poisonous atmosphere. But she tried hard not to let the dowager spoil her pleasure at having helped Abigail and the gesture of affection her charge had shown to her governess.
*****
On the stroke of seven, Emma went down with the children to the dining hall to find the duke already seated, looking at a newspaper. As soon as he saw them, he smiled and put it aside. He was pleased to see the children, but his gaze was once again caught by the governess. She was once again wearing the pink dress Abigail had gifted her, which looked splendid with her pink cheeks and auburn hair. The thick tresses were twisted into a sophisticated plaited bun. Although she smiled at him with a polite nod as she approached the table, he noticed she looked rather subdued, and her green eyes seemed darker somehow.
“Good evening, Uncle,” Henry suddenly piped up, approaching the duke, and standing straight. “May I present our governess, Miss Emma Fletcher?” Henry jokingly announced, with a low bow as Emma sat down.
The duke laughed. “What are you up to, young Henry?” he asked.
“I’m practicing my manners, Uncle. Abigail has been teaching me. Look, she showed me how a gentleman must stand to bow to a lady … like this.” He demonstrated once again, this time bowing so low he almost fell over, which drew laughter from the others.
“And that is an improvement,” joked Abigail.
"Don't embarrass me, Lady Abigail," Henry retorted, eliciting more laughter.
“Good evening, Uncle,” Abigail said, going to the duke and kissing his cheek affectionately. “We had a lovely afternoon at the very fashionable Atelier Veronique, didn’t we, Miss Emma?”
“I am glad to hear it my, dear girl. Dare I venture to suggest that Miss Emma’s views on what is fashionable for young ladies belongs rather more to the present century than the last, which is more than can be said for some.” He wiggled his eyebrows comically and the children giggled. He was playfully referring to the dowager, of course. Emma looked down guiltily, to hide her smile, but his teasing filled her with pleasure.
“Miss Emma is so kind, and she helped me choose the most divine colors and materials and … oh … everything! My dress is perfect, Uncle, you wait and see!” Abigail gushed.
“I have no doubt Miss Emma has excellent taste in such things,” the duke said, unable to stop himself from beaming at Emma, nor his cheeks beginning to heat up, noticing her fresh beauty once more.
She smiled back at him, her eyes suddenly lighting up and losing the troubling darkness he had glimpsed there only moments before. “She is, indeed, very kind. Thank you, Miss Emma, for helping Abigail today. I certainly can’t wait to see this marvelous creation at the ball.” He tried to reign in his smile and the way his eyes seemed to always stray to the governess. He felt it unwise to openly hint at his attraction to Emma, even though he was relatively safe while his mother was absent. But once she arrived, any sign of it would be dangerous to Emma, and that he wanted to avoid at all costs.
Emma saw how he smiled at her, and her mind instantly transported her back to the moonlit garden, their warm embrace, how safe she had felt in his arms, and how they had almost kissed. A shiver of delight traveled down her spine. Unable to help herself, she smiled back at Robert. Was he experiencing the same pleasurable memories about her? Was he wondering if the passionate moment had been real, or had they simply been two people swept away by the warm, moonlit night, both vowing that nothing of the kind could ever be allowed to happen again?
Whichever it was, their private thoughts were broken into by the arrival of the dowager. Without greeting his mother or smiling at her, his annoyance with her almost palpable, Robert nevertheless dutifully rose to help her to her chair.
All gaiety ceased as she settled into her place. She acknowledged the children, but studiously ignored Emma yet again. Dinner was served, and the meal passed joylessly, with only the slightest of small talk being exchanged. Robert was glad when the meal ended.
After dinner, Emma and the children retired to the parlor to play a card game until it was Henry’s bedtime. He suddenly asked, “Miss Emma, please would you read to me tonight? I think it would help me fall asleep.”
“Why, I’d be delighted, Henry. I’m honored that you would ask me,” Emma said, pleasantly surprised at his request. After Henry had bid goodnight to everyone, they pair climbed the stairs to his room. He immediately brought Emma well-worn book about a toy soldier, which he said was his favorite. It seemed a little young for him, but Emma said nothing. She had a suspicion it had been a gift from his mother and, therefore, had much sentimental value for the little boy.
Once he was settled in bed, with Emma sitting beside him, he turned to her and said, “My mother used to read to me at bedtime. I miss her,” Henry stared into her eyes as if searching for something. Emma smiled down at him and stroked his hair from his forehead. How she loved the spirited, cruelly bereft boy!
“Then let us take up her tradition again, shall we? How would you like it if I read to you every night at bedtime from now on?”
In answer, he took her hand and kissed it gently, making her heart swell with emotion. “Mother and I would like that very much. Thank you, Miss Emma.”
Before the story ended, Henry was fast asleep. Emma looked down at him once more. How angelic he looks, she thought, softly kissing his forehead and pulling up the covers, before she left him to his peaceful slumber. And how desperately she wished they would never be parted.
