Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Nine
In the early morning, Emma woke refreshed. She stretched and felt none of the stiffness left over from her travels. Bright sunlight was streaming into her room, and Emma opened her eyes with a smile.
At first, the sight of the rich, gathered material of the bed canopy made her smile widen further, and then Emma remembered. She sat upright in an instant, the stiffness back in her shoulders as she glanced around her elegantly appointed room at Dalwater Manor.
How could she possibly deserve such good fortune? Not by laying about in bed until all hours of the morning, certainly. Emma flung back the covers and gasped when her bare toes touched a thick, warm woven rug. At the vicarage, the room she had shared with Elizabeth only had a knobby rag rug. If only her sister was here to feel such luxury!
Emma went automatically to the hearth and laid a small fire. Her bedchamber was sunny and bright, but so large that she shivered in the expanse of it. Oh, how Elizabeth would have giggled at her nervous, fumbling fingers. Her younger sister always stoked the fires at home in Whitehaven and again at the vicarage, and Emma was woefully bad at the task. Her heart ached as the first kindling sticks flickered to life; how was Elizabeth coping with their separation?
If her sister had known her reasons for seeking employment and taking the position of governess so suddenly, she would be upset. Elizabeth saw none of the troubles that could besiege them, and Emma was happy she could keep such worries from her a while longer.
She only hoped that Elizabeth accepted their separation as a natural part of life and not come to view it as some selfish excuse for Emma to move on without her. Certainly, if Elizabeth saw Emma’s current bedchamber, she would not believe taking employment to be a sacrifice.
Employment! Emma still could not believe how quickly her fortunes had reversed in just one day. Her generous salary had been set up with a South London bank, giving Elizabeth access to the funds as they accumulated. Emma had not told her yet, but soon Elizabeth would be able to go to the dressmakers and chose a whole new wardrobe. The thought filled Emma with joy and pride.
The joy only faded slightly as Emma rushed to get dressed. Her own choices in apparel were few, and some of her gowns were growing too threadbare to be seen in such a grand household as the duke’s. Emma chewed on her bottom lip as she looked at the meager wardrobe before her.
The traveling dress and coat were new, but now she was settled at Dalwater, she doubted there would be much long-distance travel necessary. She had worn her second-best dress to dinner the night before, and even then, she had felt shabby against the splendor of her employer’s home. Even the napkins had outdone her outfit!
Emma took a step back and inhaled a long breath, held it, and finally let it go with a loud sigh. Luckily, she was merely the governess, and, now the initial welcome was over, she would serve the children and appear to be nothing more than an object in the background. Why should she fret about her clothes when she would likely barely leave the school room?
With her focus back firmly in place, Emma selected a serviceable brown dress. She had just done up the last of the buttons when there was a barely perceptible knock on the door. The maid curtsied low and explained she was assigned to help the miss in the mornings.
“But you’ve already lit the fire!” the young woman exclaimed. She looked at Emma in wonder.
“Of course, I know how to light my own fire,” Emma explained. “I’m here to serve as governess to the children; I am not an honored guest.”
The maid shook her head. “The housekeeper said for certain I was to help you every morning.”
Emma and the maid looked at each other in shy confusion. True, Emma had grown up with servants, but she had never had a lady’s maid and wasn’t even sure what one did. She’d already lit the fire, made the bed, and dressed for the day.
“I could help pin your hair?” the maid asked in a timid voice. “It is such a lovely auburn color. Here, let me brush it for you.”
Emma knew the young maid would not be happy until she had fulfilled some small service. She felt anxious to do the same in her capacity as a governess, so she sat on the tufted bench at the end of her bed and let the maid brush her hair. There were hardly any tangles, and soon the girl’s clever fingers had Emma’s thick hair twisted and tucked into a graceful chignon.
They both admired the maid’s handiwork in the mirror by the door, and Emma smiled until the young woman exited. One more glance in the glass told Emma that her elegant hairstyle made her dress look even plainer. Still, Emma vowed all her earnings would go to refurbishing Elizabeth’s wardrobe first.
Perhaps His Grace would notice she had changed her hair and not see her dress at all?
Emma’s jaw dropped at her own audacity. The Duke of Dalwater notice her? What a silly notion! She was deep into a list of all the reasons why their worlds did not overlap when another knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts.
Lucy Brown stood grinning in the doorway. “Your maid is quite pleased with you, and she’s correct about how beautiful your hair looks.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown, but there is no need for me to have a maid if she could be of better use elsewhere,” Emma said.
“Oh, now, don’t go exiling the poor girl to dust the south wing. We are not such a busy household; we cannot spare you the bare minimum of consideration. And, Miss Emma, you are to call me Lucy Brown. Everyone does, including His Grace.”
“Thank you, Lucy Brown,” Emma said dutifully.
The housekeeper snorted and asked if she could come in. “I’m glad you are an early riser, as I’ve been waiting to give you this.”
Emma watched as the housekeeper swept into her room and laid a beautiful, olive-green dress carefully on her bed. The linen was so fine that it shone, and the eyelet details along the neckline and sleeves were exquisite. She was drawn by its beauty to the bedside and smoothed her fingertips along the hem gently.
“A gift for our pleasing governess,” Lucy Brown announced. She tugged at Emma’s plain brown sleeve and gave her a sympathetic smile. “One simply cannot serve a fine family while feeling shabby. And, luckily, His Grace understands such things … when they are brought to his attention.”
“This was you, wasn’t it, Lucy Brown?” Emma could barely blink back the hot tears in her eyes.
“Now, now, none of that. The duke has requested that you join the family for breakfast, and I simply cannot tell your maid that tears ruined the effect of your hair.”
“Or such a fine dress.” Emma’s voice was barely a whisper. “I cannot accept this.”
“You can, you will, and I will help.” The housekeeper bustled Emma into the new dress and then stood back to look at her in satisfaction.
“They really want me to join them for breakfast?” Emma squeaked. She could barely look at herself in the mirror; it seemed to her as if some elegant stranger had appeared in her room when she was not looking.
“No need to be so shy, Miss Emma,” Lucy Brown upbraided her while she turned her towards the bedchamber door. “You’ve earned a position with a fine family, and you already fit the part. Why, dinner was such a success last night, my dear! Now you look every inch the governess of Dalwater and nothing more need be said.”
Emma turned to protest. “Surely such a gift from the duke cannot be appropriate! He should hardly notice me; he doesn’t notice me!”
Lucy Brown listened to Emma’s stammering with a secretive smile, then gave her an impatient sigh. “Whether or not His Grace notices you, the governess of this house will not go running around in brown cotton. Rest assured, he generously suggested the idea of a welcome gift and the decision for it to be a dress was up to me. Nothing untoward in any of that!”
“But, surely, such fine families do not dine regularly with their servants!” Emma cried.
“You may not have a title or an ancient lineage, my dear, but you have a good name. You have obviously had a good upbringing, and no one would ever mistake you for anything but a gentlewoman. Therefore, you are welcome at the duke’s table without a doubt.”
Emma could balk at the door no longer. “I suppose it does make sense for me to get to know the children under the supervision of their guardian.”
The housekeeper clucked as she ushered Emma into the hallway. “Do try to get rid of your nonsensical modesty, my dear. You are an accomplished gentlewoman, here to impart wisdom and grace. You are not so far below the duke’s notice or his generosity. Therefore, you will join the family for breakfast and show our young Lady Abigail what fine social graces look like in action.”
Chastised by Lucy Brown’s short speech, Emma descended the grand staircase and refused to fidget as they waited at the bottom. It was still early, but sunlight filled the Great Hall, and she could already hear the soft tinkling of silverware in the breakfast room.
Dalwater Manor rose early, resplendent with the sunrise’s warmth, and Emma was certain she’d faint from the sheer beauty of it all. Luckily, Mr. Williams appeared seconds later, and she could have sworn a smile raced across his stern face like sun beams across the dark water. Then, the butler cleared his throat and gave the housekeeper a sharp nod.
“Another early riser, Lucy Brown. I do appreciate a household that cleaves to punctuality,” Mr. William intoned.
“High praise indeed.” The housekeeper nudged Emma forward with a broad grin. “I believe the family has requested that Miss Emma join them.”
The butler gave Emma a shallow bow. “Yes. His Grace asked that the new governess be brought to the breakfast room as soon as she rose. He will be pleased not to be kept waiting.”
Emma folded her hands firmly over the pleated waist of her beautiful new dress, squared her shoulders, and followed the butler to face her new position as governess. She noted the entire family was already seated in the sunny breakfast room and braced herself as Mr. Williams announced her.
All her confidence fled as the company turned to face her. Then, His Grace rose from his chair and came forward to greet her formally. He wore a dove-gray morning coat, cropped at his waist in the front, with long tails behind, which he pushed back as he bowed. The buttery color of the sunrise, a silk cravat wound around a crisp white shirt, and his ash-blond hair curled over the high collar as he dipped his head to the new governess. Emma lowered her eyes only for them to catch on the bright buttons on his flap-front pants, and she prayed she would not blush crimson.
“A very good morning to you, Miss Emma,” the Duke of Dalwater greeted her.
Emma curtsied as low as she could, certain that any words she attempted would only embarrass her more. She was certain she had never been greeted so warmly by a gentleman and certainly never so early in the morning! The duke’s bright hazel eyes were back on her face, she could feel them, and the sensation made her as skittish as a spring colt.
He remained standing as Mr. Williams led her past the decadent sideboard and motioned for a footman to fill a plate for her. Overwhelmed by the bright room, the curious and high-quality company surrounding her, and the duke’s solicitous patience, Emma gathered a small breakfast and soon made her way to her seat.
“I hope you find Dalwater Manor to your liking?” His Grace actually pulled a chair out for her. And he asked her a direct question!
Emma, wishing desperately to escape further notice, nodded demurely and sat quickly. She relaxed half an inch when he finally returned to his seat, but she felt his gaze on her as she studied her plate.
Did he recognize her?
Her heart stopped as she considered the most likely reason why His Grace kept looking at her. Perhaps he could not place her as the silly woman who had scattered apples all over the street in front of him. But, now, in the bright morning light, he may have a better chance of remembering her. Oh, how Emma prayed he did not realize it was her!
She imagined his irritation when he recalled the unfortunate roadblock that had kept him from his heroic chase. He had been running down a thieving pick-purse while she had just been rushing carelessly along. Unforgivable! Emma swallowed hard as she remembered how she had ridiculously detained the duke that day. He had every right to be annoyed with her.
She was glad when a footman brought her fragrant tea and she was able to hide her trembling lips behind the edge of the delicate cup. Emma had not ever received much attention from gentlemen. Her father’s acquaintances all regarded her as a child, and, after her mother passed, she had never gone out into society to face men her own age.
One curious glance assured her that the Duke of Dalwater was, by all appearances, only a few years her senior. But he had all the gravity of his title and his upbringing to add to his maturity, and she could barely peel her eyes off her napkin!
So, it was a sweet relief when Mister Henry tumbled into the breakfast room, followed by the graceful Lady Abigail. The children did not seem at all surprised or unhappy to find her there. Emma smiled and nodded to them both, and felt some of her awkwardness recede. After all, she was there to concentrate on the children, and she need not worry about the duke’s attention any further.
Emma was instantly distracted by the redness she saw around Abigail’s bright eyes. Had she been crying during the night?
Unfortunately, the young lady’s grandmother did not notice her saddened expression and launched directly into her edicts for the day. “We have much to prepare for, and today is the perfect day to visit the dressmakers. We shall see all the new fashions, ferret out all the best fabric they’ve been hiding, and then make an appointment for the seamstresses to come here and make your trousseau, Abigail. Your mother had a terrible disregard for the intricacies of fashion, and I intend to rectify that in you.”
“My sister was such a natural beauty that fashion did not impress her much.” His Grace tried to add in order to cheer his niece, but the dowager cut him off.
“It is not a mother’s duty to encourage natural beauty or the shunning of fashion,” she snapped. “Truly, you leave me with even more work to do when you speak like that, Robert. It is quite impossible to be both the matriarch of this family and a substitute mother when we are busy with useless remembrances.”
Emma could see the mention of Abigail’s mother was not useless, but painful. The dowager saw nothing wrong in the loss of her daughter being shoved aside in favor of the Season. Nothing else mattered but to present Lady Abigail to society and keep pushing her forward into womanhood. Emma knew how frightening it could feel to face the uncertain future without a mother, and her heart went out to her young charge.
“Perhaps a more useful remembrance could be your mother’s favorite color. I’m sure a dress of that shade would suit you immensely,” Emma said quietly to Lady Abigail.
“She loved the color of peaches,” Abigail replied.
“Peach? Well, we’ll see what the current fashions dictate,” the dowager announced with a sniff. She noticed the warm glance her granddaughter gave the new governess and was irritated at the distraction. “Whatever the colors, we will begin our search for your wardrobe this morning.”
“What about lessons?” Henry asked. His mouth was full of fresh pineapple.
“Perhaps we should begin with proper enunciation?” Emma suggested lightly. “What do you think, Mister Henry, is it better to be heard or understood?”
Henry swallowed and then grinned. “Understood. As I’m sure, you will understand that I have to attend my fencing lessons first. Right, Uncle Robert?”
The duke chuckled. “A worthy attempt, Henry, but it will do you no good. Your lessons with Miss Emma are more important.”
“Lessons? Surely you don’t expect Lady Abigail to do silly sums instead of prepare for her debut.” The dowager laid her spoon down with an air of disgust.
“Is it not more important for a young lady to face the Season with an air of accomplishment rather than a few new frills?” His Grace frowned at his mother. “She has shown a decided aptitude for painting, and I believe Miss Emma’s excellence at drawing will give her work even more depth and perspective.”
“And what suitor will care if her landscapes are to scale?” The dowager glared at her son. “Really, Robert, I am not certain you were cut out to be a guardian. It may be best if you follow my advice on the raising of children.”
Emma’s heart ached as Lady Abigail stared at her tea and listened to the argument. On the other hand, Henry was shoving as many delicate, buttered rolls into his mouth as possible. “Perhaps we should start with sums, Mister Henry? What about five take away three?”
The young lord struggled to answer with his mouth full. “Two?”
Emma smiled, praised his correct answer, and then told him: “As in two too many to fit in your mouth.”
Lady Abigail laughed, and Emma was relieved to see her spirits rise. Henry liked the joke as well and did not seem too put out that his fencing idea had been dismissed. He grinned at his uncle, who smiled in return at Emma.
“As the children’s legal guardian, I believe lessons should come first. That will give Your Grace enough leisure to envision the desired fashions you will shop for later properly.” The duke smiled at his mother over the breakfast table.
The dowager opened her mouth to argue, then shot Emma a glance. She clearly did not want to take the duke to task in front of a stranger but would make her opinion known later. “Perhaps it will give us both enough leisure to discuss our upcoming social calendar.”
The duke sighed but nodded. “Yes, Mother, of course. But, first, I must arrange a meeting with Miss Emma myself. We shall discuss the course of the children’s education so that it may not be completely eroded by the excitement of the Season.”
Both Lady Abigail and Henry looked more excited about having lessons than the social whirl of winter in London, but Emma felt a sharp stab of worry. She had never in her life had a private meeting with a man outside of Mr. Easton at the agency, and she feared her voice and nerves would not be up to the challenge.
“Yes, sir.” She squeaked, rising quickly when he bid her to follow him to his study.
