Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Twenty Six
Emma felt very sad. She had no idea that morning when she awoke that she would be going back to Whitehaven that day, not for a holiday but because of her father’s ill health. It was his heart, was all Elizabeth had written in her letter, and that Emma must come at once, for he was very low.
It seemed his health has been poor for some time, and paying for treatment had become too expensive for Elizabeth to manage on the little they had and what Emma managed to send home from her wages. That meant, Emma thought, her heart sinking further, that Elizabeth had probably discovered the dire state of the family finances, which Emma had taken such pains to hide from her. Poor Elizabeth! She would not be coping well, Emma feared.
As soon as she had dashed off a note for Elizabeth telling her she was on her way home and delivering it to one of the footmen to give to the messenger boy, Emma hurried back to her room to pack. Lucy came up to help her, and it was all finished very quickly. She realized she did not have much to take. She left the pink gown and the emerald-green silk, both presents from Abigail, in the wardrobe. She figured she would not need them.
Once she was packed, she left Lucy to direct the footman in bringing her trunk down to the dogcart, ready to drive to the nearby village for the coach stop. Before leaving, she hurried downstairs to look for the duke, wanting to tell him in person why she was leaving in such haste. But he was nowhere to be found, and time was running out.
She realized she should have asked Mr. Hughes about the duke’s whereabouts and ran back down to the kitchen to find him. He was in his pantry, decanting wine.
“Oh, Miss Emma, he left early to go to town on business this morning. I have no idea where he is. He did say he would be back in time for dinner, though. Would you like to leave him a note? Of course, I shall tell him what has happened, but you might like to leave word yourself if you have time,” he kindly suggested.
Emma frowned. “And what about the dowager, is she here?”
“She is out too, I’m afraid, having tea with some friends in town.”
“Just as well,” muttered Emma, who was sure the old lady would be pleased to see her go. She hesitated. “I don’t think I have time to write His Grace a note, Mr. Hughes, not if I am to make the two o’clock coach. Would you be good enough to explain the circumstances to him and tell him that I will write to advise him of my situation as soon as possible, please?”
“Of course. Please do not worry yourself about it, Miss Emma, I will see he understands.” On impulse, she rushed forward and kissed the old butler on the cheek, leaving him in stunned surprise.
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. Thank you all for being so kind and helpful. Now, I must go…”
On the long and tedious journey from Dalwater to Whitehaven, which lasted almost a week and entailed many stops and changes, Emma had a lot of time to think and an awful lot to think about.
Everyone, the servants and Abigail and Henry had all come to see her off and wish her a safe journey, offering to pray for her father’s speedy recovery. It took all the strength she had not to break down completely in front of them. No one seemed happy to see her go, especially in such sad circumstances, but she wanted to present a good front for Henry in particular. She would worry most about his welfare while she was gone. And she had no idea if she would ever be back.
That was one of the things that tore her apart throughout the long jolting hours on the road, and the restless nights spent at the endless inns where the coaches would break their journey each evening. It was difficult enough seeing Dalwater recede into the distance but leaving the children behind was almost too painful to bear. The three of them had grown so close.
All she could do was hope and pray her father would recover quickly, and she would be able to return to them before anything happened to jeopardize their happiness. While Abigail was older and likely would be courting before too long, which would remove her from harm’s way, Henry was all too vulnerable to the whims of his grandmother.
If she should succeed in getting the duke to marry the odious Lady Beatrice, Emma dreaded to think what lengths she might take to get Henry out of her way.
As the journey progressed, she thought about her father and what might be wrong with his heart. She had not seen him for many weeks, and he had seemed tired out then. No doubt, the financial worries had brought on this attack, whatever it was. Should she have left at all to take up her position at Dalwater? Had she been selfish leaving Elizabeth to cope all alone, knowing something like this could happen? But it had seemed the only way to protect Elizabeth from the grim truth; their capital had gone, and they had very little else to support them. It had been a difficult choice, but one she had been forced to make.
And then, she almost didn’t want to think about it, but she forced herself, there was the duke and her love for him. Now, she would probably never know how he really felt about her. In fact, she realized with horror, their time together at the ball could very well be the last time she saw him.
The notion caused her to break down in fresh tears every time she thought of it. Her heart was sore and heavy whenever she imagined never seeing that dear, handsome face ever again, except in her dreams. She simply could not imagine loving another man.
She chided herself for being so stupid. Only a silly schoolgirl would have imagined there could have been any future for her and the duke. Her heart told her there had been a strong attraction between them, but many a nobleman had taken advantage of a governess or maid to amuse himself in such cases.
She was deluding herself to think it had been more than that. In fact, she was lucky to leave with her reputation intact. Look what had happened to Lady Isabel! Besides, the dowager would have seen to it that nothing came of his attraction to her.
Nevertheless, Emma felt almost ill when she thought of the duke wed to Lady Beatrice, a feeling she slowly came to understand was jealousy. She punished herself for her stupidity by resigning herself to caring for her father and becoming an old maid in Whitehaven.
Emma finally arrived at Whitehaven after five days of traveling. It was dusk when she reached the house in a rented cart. The driver handed down her trunk, and she thanked him gratefully and tipped him a shilling. Weary and travel stained, she let herself in to the house and went straight to the kitchen.
“At last!” cried her sister on seeing her, rushing up to embrace her, relief on her face. “Thank goodness, Emma. I was worried you wouldn’t arrive before father…” she trailed off, looking deeply despondent. Emma hugged her close, suddenly unable to prevent fresh tears bursting from her eyes. She felt bone-weary and all she wanted to do was go to bed and stay there. But she had responsibilities to see to, and so she pulled herself together as best she could.
“Oh, Elizabeth, I am sorry it has taken me so long to get here! I thought the journey would never end. I am so glad to see you. How is father? How are you, dear Sister?”
“I am as you see me, Emma,” Elizabeth said, and Emma looked at her younger sister. She appeared much older than when Emma had left, her face pale and careworn. “Father is very poorly,” Elizabeth continued. “The doctor says it was some kind of failure of the heart, the blood is not pumping through it properly or something like that. There is little to be done for him but to keep him warm and comfortable. He can eat only light dishes, that is when he eats at all. He has some medicine to take which eases it somewhat, but the doctor is not at all hopeful he will make a recovery. Emma,” she said suddenly, her face contorting with worry, “I fear it may not be long before we lose him.”
“There, there, Elizabeth, you are an angel to have looked after him so well by yourself. I am here now, and we can do it together. I should like to see him.”
“He is sleeping now, the medicine helps with that, but by all means go up. I shall make tea and bring it up to you.” Emma went up to her father’s chamber to find him deep in slumber. His face looked pale and old on the pillow, the face of an old man not long for the world. She couldn’t hold back a sob. He had done the best he could as a father, and she had many fond memories of him and their mother from childhood.
But her worry over the financial failures he had left them facing dogged her. Without her wages and with their money almost gone, what would become of them? She felt awful for thinking that she and Elizabeth would be better off if he died. At least the house could be sold, and the proceeds invested so they could live.
She stayed with her father for an hour, drinking the tea which Elizabeth had brought up for her, but he showed no sign of waking. She hoped he would wake on the morrow, and she would be able to talk to him about the situation. In the meantime, she had money in her purse that would cover the doctor’s bill, which would at least put Elizabeth’s mind at rest … for the moment.
Later that evening, she sat in the parlor and tried to compose a letter to the duke. She felt as though she should write two different letters, one to His Grace, the other to Robert. It was well past dinner time at Dalwater, and he would be at home by now.
What would he be thinking about her sudden departure, if he were thinking about her at all? After much thought and many false starts, she finally completed a satisfactory draft, blotted it, sealed in in an envelope, and left it for posting in the morning.
