Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Three
Cousin Matilda was a plump and energetic woman of three and forty years. Despite her age, she bounced up from the breakfast table at every possible opportunity and kept her conversation going as she bustled to the window or remembered another jar of preserves the butler should add to the sideboard. Emma strained to follow the thread of their talk as their hostess moved about faster than a darting dragonfly. Elizabeth gave up trying and, taking up the excuse of the younger sister, simply concentrated on her meal.
“Lovely parish folks down the lane gave us a delightful marmalade. . .” Matilda’s voice faded as she disappeared down the hall to tell the beleaguered butler. “. . . and that’s why the vicar insists on catching his fish!”
“Will we have the honor of meeting Mr. Hughes today?” Emma asked.
“Oh, yes, my dear. He’s around here somewhere,” said her aunt, reappearing.
Emma reached out a hand to stop her aunt from popping up again. “This is such a pleasant room.”
Matilda beamed and energetically pointed out all the small improvements she had made to the vicarage’s narrow dining hall. Luckily, she could do so from her chair, and the respite gave Emma a moment to sip her tea.
From the outside, the vicarage appeared to be a modest, square domicile, with three square windows ranged across the second story, an arched doorway, and a truncated front garden. Once inside, the living quarters kept surprising: the hall ran from the front door all the way to the back garden, with a graceful staircase hardly blocking the view. To the right was the narrow dining hall in which they now sat, at a table meant for eight. The fire at Emma’s back crackled merrily, and sunlight washed in the front windows over a collection of comfortable chairs.
A generously laden sideboard stood immediately inside the door, close to where Elizabeth minded her breakfast peacefully. The far end of the room overlooked the back garden and had enough room for a second serving table, a large cabinet, and the door leading to the kitchen.
The main floor also held a sunny parlor, a modest ballroom, and the vicar’s study. Upstairs there were four large bedrooms, a sitting room, and a music room. To the girls’ delight, they were placed in a room at the back of the house which overlooked the gardens. Below them, the wide portico gave way to manicured topiaries and neat knot gardens. Farther back, the garden became wilder, marked by large shade trees, and in the back of the lot was a large, walled-in potager’s garden.
“Ah, here we are!” Matilda jumped again from her seat. “Come, Mr. Hughes, our guests are hoping for a glimpse of you.”
Patrick Hughes, the Vicar of Brixton, entered the dining room with a gallant sweep of his hat. “Welcome! I trust your travels were not too much of a hardship.”
“Dear, may I present Miss Emma Fletcher and her sister, Elizabeth.”
“No need to rise, my dears. We are so happy to host you. But I hear, Miss Emma, that you are truly industrious and plan to leave us posthaste.”
Cousin Matilda jumped in as suddenly as she moved: “I have told Mr. Hughes about your plan to find a governess position, and it was he who suggested Mr. Easton at the agency.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Hughes,” Emma said.
“Such lovely manners,” the vicar remarked. “She will make the proudest of houses a fine governess, I’m certain.”
He joined them for a cup of tea but could not keep his wife still either. By the time Emma and Elizabeth were done with breakfast and due to go about their errands for the day, both felt exhausted.
“It would take eighteen children to equal the energy of Cousin Matilda,” Elizabeth whispered as they walked through the front gate and down the street.
“She is so kind,” Emma said. “I’m relieved to know you will be comfortable with them after I receive a position.”
“Oh, you plan to leave me too soon,” Elizabeth cried.
Emma did not wish to explain to her sister why finding a job was so important, so she changed the subject to their morning’s adventure. “There’s the inn. The stagecoach should arrive soon.”
The stagecoach did arrive moments later, pulled by four prancing black horses with plumes on their bridles. Three passengers disembarked, looking dusty from their long ride in from the South. Emma and Elizabeth took their seats in the tightly packed coach, and soon the contraption started off, heading towards the River Thames. Six other passengers swayed on the seats around them, and the conversation was curt in the stuffy compartment. They stopped at two more inns, where passengers climbed out, and collected packages tossed down from the roof rack. Soon, though, they rattled across the bridge and pulled to a stop in front of a busy pub named The Nag and Nails.
“There’s the Apple Market,” Emma pointed out as the dusty stagecoach clattered away from them. “Do you have the list from Cousin Matilda?”
Elizabeth searched her reticule, then her waistband, and then her sleeves. “I must have left it behind. Oh, Emma, don’t be cross! She leapt up to change it so many times, and she must have taken it back to the cook at least thrice, I simply lost track.”
Emma reassured her sister that she remembered at least half of the list. Luckily, Cousin Matilda seemed an understanding and generous woman; they were lucky to have their mother’s relative to stay with. Emma focused on negotiating the crowded market safely.
The Apple Market occupied two stories and was ranged between a series of arched doorways along the main floor, with more stalls than they could count. Clusters of shoppers dodged across the thoroughfare until it was impossible to tell which way the flow of traffic went. The sisters have jostled along, seeing heaped buckets of fresh flowers, stacks of hearty breads, and produce of every kind.
“Oh, look, Emma! A whole stall of honey!”
Emma smiled but felt even more fatigue as her sister rushed ahead of her. London was a bustle, their hostess a ball of energy, and now the market a flood of sights and sounds. She tried not to long for the relative quiet of Whitehaven, not when her sister was having such fun. Still, Emma trailed a little behind.
All her hopes rested on her interview with Mr. Easton at the employment agency. Without a lucrative position, Emma would never be able to send money home to her father or ensure her sister was kept in the proper fashion. She would return to Whitehaven a failure, having spent more on the trip to London than she was worth. She simply had to find a governess position, and that thought made it hard to concentrate on Elizabeth’s sightseeing.
Just then, she was stopped by a dingy-looking woman with a basket of wilted flowers on her arm. She held out a limp bouquet to Emma and asked for a pittance. It broke Emma’s heart to turn the woman away, but she needed every coin she had for her and her sister.
“Elizabeth?”
Her sister had slipped ahead into the crowd and, suddenly, Emma could not see her. She rushed forward but was slowed by the long lines in front of a cheese stall. Children darted across her path, and Emma knew there was no reason to worry about Elizabeth’s safety, but other, worse, ideas occurred to her. If she couldn’t keep track of a fifteen-year-old, how would she fare with her assigned charges?
What if she failed and was sent from her position in disgrace?
Her heart began to beat frantically as she scanned the busy market. Elizabeth would not go anywhere near the pungent fishmonger, and she was not likely to look at the tinker’s wares.
She was not in front of the enormous pile of exotic pineapples stacked outside a fruit seller’s stall. Emma shoved her way through the throngs, heading to the place her sister would most likely have gone: the milliner’s.
“There you are!” Emma could barely catch her breath as she grabbed tight to her sister’s gloved hand.
Elizabeth smiled, unaware of Emma’s anxiety, and told her brightly: “I remembered that Cousin Matilda told us to buy apples for a pie.”
Forcing her wild heartbeat to slow, Emma looked around and spotted the nearest fruit stall. Off to one side, there was an overflowing cart of shiny apples. They were the reddest apples she had ever seen, and Emma allowed herself a long moment to pick out the best.
Once she’d filled a paper bag with more than a dozen of the gleaming fruits, she braced herself to hear the cost. Even though their father had given both girls a generous allowance for their trip, Emma felt the need to make every shilling count. She couldn’t dream of wasting money, not now she had an inkling of her father’s failing business.
“Can we go that way? Someone said there’s a whole stall of songbirds over there,” Elizabeth pointed far across the bustling market. “Isn’t Covent Garden a marvel?”
“One we’ll return to many times and enjoy, even more, I hope,” Emma told her. “Now, I really must find us a hack, so I shall arrive at my appointment with Mr. Easton on time.”
Elizabeth’s mouth puckered, and she was on the edge of resisting when she finally noticed her sister’s pale face. “Are you worried about your interview? But you’re quite brilliant, Sister! I’m sure he already has the perfect position for you. Perhaps you’ll end up working in a palace?”
Emma gave an unladylike snort at her sister’s outrageous optimism. “Perhaps I’ll end up selling flowers from a basket.”
She pulled her younger sister back through the still-thick crowds and backed out onto the street in front of the pub. There, Emma spotted a hackney across the way.
The sisters scurried into traffic and hailed the driver as they ran. They would have made it easily if Emma hadn’t somehow run into a brick wall before she reached the pavement.
Elizabeth froze in horror, her hands clamped over her mouth, as Emma tumbled backwards into the street. Their bright, red apples flew everywhere and landed hard as rocks on top of Emma. She lifted her arms to block her face just in time and cringed as she wondered what filth she had landed in.
Surprisingly, all Emma could smell was light, masculine cologne. A heady mix of bergamot, leather, and some delicious spice she could not identify. Emma pulled back her arms and glanced up curiously, only to see a tall gentleman leaning down to offer her a hand.
“Forgive me, miss! Are you hurt?”
Mortified to be seen sprawled in the dust and grime of the road, Emma’s cheeks blushed crimson. She could see her ridiculous image in the spotless shine of the gentleman’s boots. Instead of reaching for his offered hand, Emma quickly reached to tug her hem down and straighten her bonnet.
“My apples,” she lamented.
The gentleman laughed, drawing her glance to his brown eyes. Gold flecks ringed their pupils, adding to the shine of his humor. “Ladies first, apples second, miss. Please, otherwise, my mother will think I have learned no manners whatsoever.”
Emma could not turn down his second offer of help, and his strong hand levered her upright. She felt dizzy from the ease of his strength, and he had to steady her with his other hand. Elizabeth gasped behind her hands at the intimate touch, bringing another wave of heat to Emma’s cheeks.
The gentleman was tall, and her nose reached only to his chin. From there, she could see the fine cut of his coat, the expensive gleam of his bright buttons, and the crisp whiteness of his cravat. The smell of his cologne was stronger now, and she swayed as the scent affected her senses in a giddy way.
“I’m sorry, sir. I must not have been looking.” Emma muttered, red-faced.
He reached up a gloved hand, placed one finger on her chin, and tipped her face up so he could see her eyes and inspect her. He asked again: “Are you hurt?”
“No, sir.”
Elizabeth gave a muffled squeak and broke their mutual stares. “Oh, Emma!”
“I’m perfectly fine, dear. Really.” Emma stepped back from those fascinating eyes and smoothed down her dress.
The gentleman took the time to offer a gallant bow. “Please permit me to escort you on your way.”
“No, thank you. We must be off,” Emma said. She glanced down into the road to stop herself from staring.
“At least permit me to buy you another dozen apples.”
“No, sir. It was my fault for running into you.” Emma gave a short curtsy and tried to turn around, but the gentleman moved to keep in front of her.
“The fault was entirely mine. I was running down the road, and you couldn’t have possibly seen me before it was too late. It is I who should apologize further.”
“Running down the road?” Elizabeth repeated questioningly.
The gentleman finally noticed Elizabeth hovering behind him and made room for her to join her sister. “Yes. I was foolishly chasing the pick-purse who made off with my mother’s reticule.”
“Foolish? That sounds like a most gallant action. I am so sorry. I impeded you in your pursuit.” Emma gave him a sorrowful look.
The gentleman shrugged. “They know these streets and crowds as salmon know the stream. Most likely, I would have lost the foot race in the end.”
“Still, we shouldn’t keep you from your mother,” Emma said.
Again, he stepped in front of her. “My mother is safe in her carriage under the care of her servants.”
Emma glanced in the direction where he nodded and saw a most magnificent carriage and pair. Two horses, pure white as summer clouds, tossed their proud heads in the traces. She spied a gold-gilded family crest adorning their bridles as well as the carriage itself.
“Please, extend my apologies to your mother, sir.”
“And from whom shall I say the apology comes?” He tipped his head to the side and smiled.
Her heart thumped, and Emma pressed a hand to it. The shock was rather too much for her, and she longed to hide away until the embarrassment had passed. “From the foolish girl with the apples.”
“You are hurt!” The gentleman sounded indignant as he noted her shaking hand pressed to her chest. “Please, miss, you must allow me to help.”
“Help?” Elizabeth’s voice was barely more than a peep. Her eyes were the size of saucers as she looked up at the handsome man.
“Come, I shall escort you to my physician immediately.”
“No, thank you,” Emma said, dropping her hand. “We really must be going.”
“Then, at least give me your name. I will have my man call at your residence. It really was a nasty fall, miss, and I won’t be content until I know you are alright.”
Emma stretched out both arms and shifted the balance from one foot to another, exaggerating the movement to prove she was whole. “The harm is only to my pride, sir. Now, truly, my sister and I have an appointment we must keep.”
He could not ask again, or he would breech all decorum. The gentleman knew it and bit his lip as if to stop himself. Finally, he stepped back and bowed, allowing the sisters to pass. “Good day then, miss. I wish you well.”
“Thank you. And you.” Emma gave him what she hoped was a dignified nod.
“The hackney is gone,” Elizabeth whispered.
Without interrupting them again or asking permission, the gentleman stepped to the curb and waved a gloved hand. Only seconds passed before an available carriage arrived at his side. He opened the carriage door for the ladies. Once they were seated comfortably inside, he doffed his hat and gave Emma one last bow.
She made it ten yards before she turned around to look at the handsome gentleman one last time. He was still rooted to the spot where they had left him, and a smile flashed across his face as he saw her eyes seek him out. Emma did not allow herself to smile back, but she did note his ash-blond hair and the way the sun lit its thick tresses.
“He is quite the most handsome man,” Elizabeth said. She was staring at her sister instead of the man with her lips quirked in a teasing smile.
Emma turned back and gave her sister a reproving glance. “I was lamenting the apples. Now we have nothing to bring Cousin Matilda, and I’ve wasted the shillings.”
Elizabeth snorted. “What you wasted was the perfect opportunity to make that gentleman’s acquaintance. Oh, Emma! What did it feel like to have your hand in his?”
“No more of that,” Emma snapped. “Now, we must hope I arrive at my interview in time. That is all we should think about.”
She fretted about the lateness of the hour and the scattered apples while the hired carriage careened through the busy streets of London. The thought of the wasted money had brought her worries back into sharp focus, but Emma soon found the image of the man’s golden-flecked brown eyes dispelling the visions of sums and totals.
