Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Twenty Five
Emma woke the next morning to the sun shining into her room. She stretched lazily, glad there was to be a day of rest following the party and, therefore, no school lessons. She wondered how Abigail and Henry were that morning.
Most likely, they weren’t even awake yet, for it still felt quite early. She imagined they would both be terribly tired after the celebration and late night.
Conscious that, if she wished, she might stay in bed all day, she knew she didn’t want to miss seeing the duke at breakfast. She wanted to see how he would behave toward her after their dance last night.
It had been a very special experience for her, and she needed to see his eyes to know if it had been the same for him or had meant nothing other than taking pity on the governess.
She frowned, remembering watching him dance with Lady Beatrice. He had seemed unwilling to do so at first, and she had to admit his frosty reception of the notion had been very amusing at the time. Still, she felt unsure of herself when in the company of the dowager and Lady Beatrice. They never failed to remind her of her lowly station as a commoner and governess, a mere employee of the household.
She had been too far away to see if the duke seemed to be enjoying dancing with Lady Beatrice, but Lady Beatrice had certainly seemed to. She had smiled brilliantly all the way through, as though she knew Emma was watching and wanted to hurt her. And it had hurt her. She almost dreaded facing the duke that morning.
What if she saw nothing in his eyes? What if the passion she thought she had seen in them the previous evening had all been in her imagination? She sighed, but determined to face the truth without delay, got out of bed and began her toilette to make herself presentable to join the family at breakfast.
Just as she was about to leave her chamber, there was a tap on the door.
“Come in,” she said, expecting Henry or Abigail to appear. But, no, it was Lucy who entered, her face a picture of woe.
“What is it, Lucy dear?” Emma asked, going to the maid and taking her hand.
“Oh, Miss Emma,” said the girl in obvious distress, “I wish I weren’t the one sent with such a horrible message to deliver.”
Emma frowned. “Whatever it is, it is hardly your fault, Lucy. Please, just tell me what it is.”
Lucy sniffed back tears. “It’s the Dowager Duchess, Miss Emma. She said I’m to tell you that your presence is not required at the breakfast table this morning, or until further notice.”
Emma’s heart sank. The dowager. Trust her to be vindictive. Cleary, she had seen her dancing with the duke and getting on well with him. This was her way of putting a stop to any cordial relations between the duke and the governess, or any members of her illustrious family, come to that.
It would not be long, she felt sure, before she was excluded from family dinners either. But it was to be expected. Who did she thing she was, getting above her station? The schoolroom was her domain. She was an employee, nothing more.
“She can be a mean old lady when she wants, the dowager,” Lucy put in, as if trying to comfort Emma.
Emma tried to brush it off. “Well, it was only at the duke’s request that I was invited to attend at all, so it is to be expected.”
“I’ll bring your breakfast up to you, shall I, Miss Emma?” Lucy asked.
“No, that is alright, Lucy. Thank you, but I shall come down to the kitchen and get it myself presently.” Lucy smiled and squeezed her hand.
“You know you’re always welcome down there, Miss Emma. You have many friends amongst us servants.”
Lucy returned the squeeze, then let go of Lucy’s hand. “That is good to know. Now, you go back to your work, and I shall see you later.”
When Lucy had gone, Emma stood by the window looking out at the lovely grounds for a few minutes, coming to terms with the new arrangement. With heavy heart, she wondered just how long she was going to be allowed to stay at Dalwater, now the dowager seemed to have her firmly in her sights.
The thought of what she would lose if she had to leave made her feel sick. At last, with no appetite but feeling she should at least have some toast and a cup of tea, she went down to the kitchen.
Later that morning found Emma in the drawing room with Abigail and Henry, both of whom were looking remarkably bright, considering the late night they had had. Abigail was serenely painting a landscape scene of a Greek temple.
Henry, who had now grown quite keen on arithmetic, was patiently working his way through a page of sums Emma had prepared for him. Emma worked on her lesson notes. The duke and dowager were nowhere to be seen, and, as neither of the children mentioned breakfast, she saw no reason to do so either.
They had talked a little about the party and agreed it had been wonderful. However, it seemed to Emma that both children, though happy to discuss it in general, were intent on keeping their thoughts private for the moment. Or perhaps they were simply tired. Whatever the case, she thought she should be prepared to receive confidences at any time, should either of them find her alone.
It would probably be bedtime for Henry when she would read to him. As to Abigail, she had quite a good idea of what was occupying that young lady’s mind after her dance with the handsome Duke of Elsby.
Their tranquil work was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Abigail absently, clearly intent on her painting. The butler, Mr. Hughes, entered.
“Miss Emma, a letter has arrived for you by messenger. The boy is waiting for a reply,” he said, holding out the letter to her. She rose to her feet, instantly worried. It could only be from her father or Elizabeth at Whitehaven. And the fact it had been sent by special messenger did not bode well. With trembling fingers, she opened it and read the contents, her face growing pale.
“It is my father. He has been taken suddenly ill. My sister asks me to return home at once.” She looked to the butler. “Would you please ask the boy to wait a few minutes, while I go to my room and write a note for return, Mr. Hughes? And would you be good enough to arrange for me to be driven into the village so I may catch the two o’clock coach?”
“I am sorry to hear that news, Miss Emma, I hope it is nothing too serious. I shall make the arrangements immediately. Lucy will help you to pack.”
“Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr. Hughes. Please say goodbye to everyone for me. I have no idea when I shall return,” she said, her voice wavering. Or if I shall be able to at all. Mr. Hughes bowed and left the room. All at once, Abigail and Henry surrounded her, each taking one of her hands and pressing them to comfort her.
“I am very sorry about your father, Miss Emma. I hope he gets better soon, as we need you here.” Henry said, his voice full of concern. Her heart went out to him.
“Yes, your poor father. Let us hope he recovers his health shortly. Please don’t worry about us, Miss Emma, we know you have to go, and we will wait for you return. You will write to us and let us know what you intend to do, won’t you?” asked Abigail, tears in her eyes.
Emma hugged them both. “You are both very kind,” she said, almost breaking down at the thought of leaving them. But her father must come first, and poor Elizabeth would be coping alone. It was imperative she leave for Whitehaven at once.
