Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Seven
“The north wing is quite impressive, built this century by a very famous architect. You will see it one day, I am sure. For now, though, please follow me through the gallery.” Lucy Brown, the housekeeper, bustled to the second floor and off down a long, spacious room.
Emma trailed after her, worried her eyes weren’t able to take in all the grandeur. She wondered if, perhaps, the peerage were born with a greater capacity to take in such sights. The gallery itself had towering ceilings, and paintings were hung up the walls to the crown molding. Step after step, they went, and great works still arched over Emma like columns covered in the ornate hieroglyphs of unknown Misters. Unknown to her at least, the housekeeper nodded to a half dozen and gave the artist’s name as if they were a natural fact everyone should know.
The gilded frames eventually gave way to portraits, with the most honored displayed above the narrow and blazing fireplace gracing the last quarter of the gallery.
Feeling the austere stare of the duke’s grand ancestor looking down upon her, Emma finally stumbled to a halt. “Surely, there’s no need for me to intrude on the family’s private rooms, Mrs. Brown,” she said to the housekeeper.
Lucy Brown shook her head and hefted open the next door. Emma could see she was entering the rounded southern tower from the windows, and she was delighted to discover it was the sunniest and most inviting sitting room she had ever seen.
The housekeeper beamed. “This is a wonderful, grand house, and it does my heart good to see it occupied again.”
Emma tamed her smile and tried again to explain her discomfort. “I understand my position as a servant to the family, and there is no need for me to be quartered so close.”
“There is the hallway to the Mister’s quarters. This is the door that leads to the children’s rooms. Those open onto the schoolroom, and here are your chambers.” Lucy Brown bustled through a narrower, more discreet door and led the way once more.
Tucked behind the schoolroom was a large bedchamber. Emma halted in the doorway and felt her jaw go slack. There was enough room for a pleasant sitting area around the fireplace, generously furnished with two chairs and a lopsided settee. A canopied bed stood against the opposite wall, and beyond it was a pleasant view out over the kitchen gardens.
Lucy Brown beckoned her over to admire the sunny windowsill. Emma peeked out shyly and then stepped back. The heavy velvet of the canopy brushed the back of her hand, and she bit her lip from exclaiming aloud its exquisite softness.
“There must be some mistake, Mrs. Brown. I cannot stay here,” Emma told the housekeeper.
Lucy Brown ignored her. “Mister Henry’s room shares your same view, though he is farther along and sees mostly the pond and stream. Lady Abigail is across the hall so she may enjoy the front lawns; they are stunning in the morning.”
“But, Mrs. Brown, I have never stayed anywhere so grand.”
“Please, call me Lucy Brown,” the housekeeper remarked. She then went to the gleaming wardrobe that stood in the corner by the door. She flung open its heavy doors and frowned at the empty shelves. “Now, I thought your things had already arrived. I will ring for your maid.”
Emma thought she might need somewhere to sit down as she was feeling quite light-headed. Perhaps it was the long walk and the way she’d let her head swivel around in her wild attempt to see all the artwork. She moved towards the quaint gathering of furniture in front of her fireplace, in her new bedchamber, and Emma had to bump herself down on the soft bed. She had never imagined her job would land her in such comfortable surroundings.
“Don’t worry, Miss Fletcher. You’ll be very happy here, I am sure.” Lucy Brown drew Emma’s attention to a small writing desk standing near the sunny window. “If you find yourself feeling homesick, there is plenty of ink and paper for you to write your family.”
“Plenty of paper?” Emma blinked. Her father had only a limited supply at home and she had often had to content herself with scraps of envelopes or the backside of unfinished and discarded pages.
“If you run out, there is more in the schoolroom.” Lucy Brown checked the fire was crackling warmly in the grate. “I have just enough time to show you the schoolroom if you’d like.”
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Emma stopped herself, afraid that if she let out the swelling tide of gratitude she felt, she might drown them both.
Lucy Brown gestured for Emma to lead the way, a test to see if the young governess had a good head on her shoulders. She smiled when Emma led the way confidently and said with obvious pride, “You will find the duke very welcoming; he is a fairest and compassionate Mister. It was the duke himself who insisted you take up residence amongst the family rooms. He worries the children will want extra nurturing as they have just lost their parents.”
Emma stood at the front of the schoolroom and folded her hands at her waist. “Mr. Easton told me of the tragedy. They are most lucky to have His Grace as their guardian.”
The dark wood floor and chair rail had been polished to a high gleam. The whitewash on the walls was fresh and bright, and the furniture thoughtfully arranged. A round table, suitable for lessons, sat under the window. Two swaybacked shelves were packed with primers, books of mythology, and poetry. And, on the newly woven rug stood a perfect miniature of a tenant farm. It’s barn, paddock, and field implements were carved with precision and painted with an intricate hand.
“A gift from the duke’s grandfather,” Lucy Brown told Emma. “He believed landowners needed to know the work of their tenants in order to Mister the profits. His Grace especially studied this subject as a child.”
Emma noticed small gnaw marks on the arm of a, particularly tall farmer. “From a young age, it appears.”
Both women laughed, and the interlude made Lucy Brown sigh happily. “Ah, there’s the sound this wing has been missing. Oh, Miss Fletcher, I do hope you feel welcome here because Dalwater Manor is glad of you.”
At the door, Emma took one more look over the schoolroom. There was even an ancient terrarium, an artist’s easel, and an overflowing basket of embroidery silk and scraps. Her heart swelled as she imagined Elizabeth’s joyous reaction to such a room. What projects they could accomplish, what experiments and discussions they could have! Emma pressed a hand to her heart and hoped she could extend the sisterly love she felt there to her new charges.
A heavy clanking in the hallway interrupted them, and Lucy Brown hurried Emma back along to her bedchamber. “Oh, that reminds me! His Grace was also adamant that you join the family for dinner tonight. He wondered what sort of welcome it would be if you were made to eat alone in your room. He doesn’t want the children to be shy of you, and he wants a chance to see you all together.”
Emma swallowed hard. “Dinner? Tonight?”
Lucy Brown smiled at the governess’s stunned face and repeated: “His Grace requests you dine with the family tonight.”
“Impossible,” Emma muttered.
“Ah, never doubt the duke, my dear.” Lucy Brown bustled around the bedchamber and revealed the full wardrobe. “Your things arrived only moments before you. I had the laundry maids shake out and press everything. I believe you will find it satisfactory.”
A burble of incredulous laughter escaped Emma’s lips. “Satisfactory? My entire trunk has just appeared as if by magic!”
Lucy Brown beamed. “His Grace does not like to waste time.”
“Mr. Easton must have known I would take the position and accepted it for me,” Emma reasoned.
“As well he should,” Lucy Brown said decidedly. She stepped out of the way as a parade of footmen arrived with large buckets of water.
“I apologize,” Emma said. “I am grateful for this position, and I am more than happy to comply with His Grace’s edicts.”
“Dinner is not an edict but an invitation. A lovely thing like yourself could likely garner more such invitations if she were washed and dressed,” Lucy Brown teased.
Together they considered Emma’s limited wardrobe and decided on a crisp linen dress. The creamy beige color served to highlight the lively glow in Emma’s cheeks. In her endearingly busy but nosy way, Lucy Brown made sure Emma had a hairbrush, pins, and every other small necessity a woman could need.
She then pulled a small bottle from her pocket and added it to Emma’s sparse selection of toiletries. “It’s a bottle of rose water. I make it myself from the generous bushes you may have noticed at the gate.”
Emma sniffed the delicate, yet heady, rose water and thanked Lucy Brown profusely. “I’ve never had a bottle of scent, and I did notice those roses-what a wonder! To wear their perfume is far too much of a luxury for someone like me.”
“Or me?” Lucy Brown raised an eyebrow. “I find a dab at the ear and the wrist keeps me fresh all day, no matter what my work.”
If Emma intended to argue, her words were stopped short when the footmen declared their work done. She turned and discovered her quaint little sitting area had been pushed aside. Now, a deep copper bathtub had been placed in front of her fireplace and filled to the brim with water. Her cheeks began to burn as she thought of bathing in a strange house, stripping off her traveling gown … and everything underneath.
“Now, don’t tell me the luxury of a bath is too good for the likes of you as well,” Lucy Brown teased. “We have no shortage of fresh water here at Dalwater, and everyone is expected to use it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emma squeaked. The idea of completely submerging herself still had her head reeling. She had bathed as a child when she still fit in the kitchen laundry basin, but it had been years since she moved on to bathing at her washstand.
“Keep in mind, Miss Fletcher, that we aim to please and impress our employers.” The housekeeper laid a fluffy towel next to the bath. She pulled a bar of soap from her apron and brandished it at the governess. “There is also plenty of soap, so scrubbing is encouraged.”
Emma glanced down and found her fingernails did look grubby, and she could feel the dust of the stagecoach travel thick on her cheeks. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Then we will see you at dinner.” Lucy Brown bustled out of the bedchamber and shut the door tight behind her.
Again, Emma bumped down onto the edge of the bed. She pressed a shaky hand to her forehead and considered all that had changed since she had awakened that morning. Then, taking a deep breath, she set about unbuttoning her travel dress. A timid knock at the door froze her progress, but she quickly dismissed the maid and continued into the bath by herself.
The warm water covered Emma up to her neck, and she could hear her heart pounding hard because of the strange, yet wonderful, sensation. She scrubbed, rinsed, and scrubbed again until her skin felt fresh and shone bright pink. It was almost a shame, she mused, that her beige linen dress should cover up such a lively color.
Once she was dressed, Emma noted she was too plain to do such a grand house any credit. Sighing deeply, she reminded herself she was a servant, and it was best to blend into the background whenever possible. With that in mind, she quietly headed back through the rounded tower sitting room and into the long gallery.
Emma braced herself, thinking the cavernous room would be unnerving at dusk, and ended up laughing in delight. The long room was lit with numerous candelabra and elegant wall sconces. Thick, fragrant beeswax candles burned without guttering or smoking, and Emma saw the paintings come to life under the generous illumination. Thoroughly convinced His Grace must be an equally generous host, Emma rushed along with the gallery, anxious to be on time for dinner.
She descended the wide staircase at a fast trot but stopped short on the landing when she saw the sunset blazing through the round, south-facing window. From there, Emma saw only the roofs of the many outbuildings, and the view seemed to continue to infinity. Beyond the far horizon along Whitehaven Harbor, she had never imagined a view so vast as the acres of Dalwater Manor presented to the eye. It took her full fear of being late for dinner to tear her eyes from the impressive sunset finally.
Above her, Emma heard a lady’s maid scold a footman and realized the family was about to descend. She hurried across the Great Hall and let herself into the servants’ door that skirted behind the dining hall. There, before the narrow walkway split into a labyrinth, she found the butler’s parlor. The butler himself, Mr. Williams, was checking the soup tureens and polishing the ladles.
“Ah, Miss Fletcher, I appreciate your punctuality,” the butler said. “Here, allow me to escort you into the dining hall.”
Mr. Williams ushered Emma into the brightly lit room, and she breathed an audible gasp of admiration. Even more, candles blazed in every corner. Shimmering silver plates reflected the light from the wall sconces, and more polished silver circles bounced the light across laden sideboards. The inside wall was dominated by a wide-mouthed fireplace, where a fire blazed invitingly, throwing out heat.
Above was a splendid marble mantel bearing an enormous pair of branching candelabras, their light reflected in the vast looking-glass behind. The dining hall faced north, away from the sunset's warm highlights, yet the room seemed every inch as warm and sun-filled.
“Please wait here, Miss Fletcher. After the family is seated, I will announce you.” Mr. Williams gave her a quick bow and returned to his place in the hidden pantry.
Emma stood to the side as the Duke of Dalwater entered with an elderly lady, clearly the Dowager Duchess, on his arm. They promenaded in the stately fashion past the footmen and took their seats as regally as if observed by royalty. But it was only Emma who watched, daring only briefly to lift her shy gaze from the sumptuous Turkey rug beneath her feet to glimpse their grandeur. Emma’s was the demure shadow that jumped as the door to the butler’s pantry flew open, and Mr. Williams entered with a dignified flourish.
“Your Grace. The Dowager Duchess, may I present Miss Emma Fletcher, newly-appointed governess to the wards of Dalwater.” Mr. Williams extended an arm in Emma’s direction and then bowed low.
The dowager waved a dismissive hand while her imperious eye traveled over the soup course. On the other hand, the duke rose to his feet and turned to greet Emma with a direct look and a nod. He turned, his ash blond hair glinting the color of the candlelight, and Emma bumped nervously back into the wall.
It was him!
The tall gentleman who had knocked her apples all over the road! His were the same gold-flecked eyes now regarding her so closely. He turned, his head held high by a superior cravat, and nodded to Emma even as his eyes opened wide in surprise. She thought he might have actually smiled, but then Emma felt the butler step over to aid her.
“No need to linger over introductions, Miss Fletcher.” Mr. Williams smoothly propelled her to her seat at the long table. “Let your welcome be esteem enough.”
Emma sat gratefully and hid her trembling hands under the milk-white tablecloth. She tried to concentrate on the fine needlepoint that traveled the edge of the long cloth, but her every sense was focused on him.
The gentleman from Covent Garden was the Duke of Dalwater. His Grace! Instead of snapping at him for being a bother, as she had done, forthwith she must always bow and call him ‘Your Grace.’
A footman stepped forward to help serve the first course, and Emma was forced to look up and choose her soups from the vast array of tureens on the table. Finally, given her first choice, Emma determined to look at nothing but her soup. No, she couldn’t do that─her generous employers would think her simple in the head! Her gaze darted up, caught His Grace looking at her, and then flew wildly about the room.
Emma tried to slow her gaze and behave as if she were merely taking in the room. The lavishly decorated, golden dining hall: two-tone painted silk on the walls reflected the golden candlelight, and, instead of silver, the mirrors behind the wall sconces were burnished gold, as were the candleholders on the table. The wide fireplace was white marble with gold leaf, and Emma marveled at how pleasant the heat was from a good six feet away. At the parsonage, she used to perspire all through dinner as the fire roared directly behind her.
She looked again at her host and found his golden-hazel eyes glancing back at her. His Grace smiled and repeated his polite nod in her direction. Emma had no choice but to bow her head and acknowledge his greeting with a smile. Her only hope was that he did not recognize her as the poor, awkward woman who had sprawled all over the sidewalk in front of him.
Robert had to force himself to look away. The desire to curl up his lips and smile unreservedly at Miss Emma Fletcher was almost too hard to resist. He was delighted to see the interesting young woman from Covent Garden before him, and her modest embarrassment was most endearing.
It was almost a game to catch her glance stealing up from the demure eating of her soup. No, Robert reminded himself, he mustn’t tease her. Especially not when the dowager’s hawk-eyes might catch him.
The entrance into the children's dining hall, along with the change to the second course, distracted him enough to calm his unbridled grin. He noticed that Miss Fletcher was instantly attentive to their arrival. She shot encouraging smiles at both Abigail and Henry and seemed to relax in their presence. Well, well … Miss Emma as their governess.
He found himself looking forward to seeing much more of her, especially as her startle of surprise caused the children to smile. Then, there seemed to settle over the four of them an air of sympathetic unity as the dowager started her tirade about the Season again.
