The Governess of Highland Hall (9 page)

“Beautiful.” She smiled, warmth filling her soft brown eyes.

His chest swelled and filled with delight. “Come with me, miss, and we’ll add some ferns to your bouquet.”

She nodded and followed him out the door at the far end.

“Ferns grow best on the shady north side.” He knelt and clipped several fronds, adding them to the roses.

“How did you learn so much about plants?”

“I’ve worked in the gardens here at Highland since I was a boy. My father was head gardener for almost thirty-five years.” He stood and faced her. “He passed away last year, and I took his place.”

Sympathy filled her eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Is your mother still living?”

“Yes. She and my niece live with me in a cottage here on the estate.”

Sarah nodded, a question still flickering in her eyes. “So you’re not married?”

“No, miss. I’ve not been blessed with a wife—not yet.” He held her gaze a moment longer.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question.”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He shifted the bouquet to his right arm and held out the elbow of his left. “May I walk you back to the house?”

She nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips as she slipped her hand through his arm, and together they walked down the path toward the house.

FIVE

On Friday, Ann Norton hurried down the back servants’ stairs, carrying Andrew’s and Millie’s boots in one hand and Miss Foster’s in the other.

“Mind you don’t drop dirt on those stairs. I’ve just swept them.” Lydia stood guard at the bottom, her broom still in hand.

“Sorry.” Ann placed the boots in her apron and lifted the corners, hoping to catch any mud that might fall off, though most of it seemed to be caked on the boots like glue.

Lydia grinned and waved away her warning. “I was just teasing. It’s all right. Don’t get your apron dirty on my account. With everyone tromping up and down the stairs, I’ll be sweeping them again in an hour if Mrs. Emmitt has her way.”

Ann returned Lydia’s smile, her heart lifting. Lydia was a gem. She often had a kind word or smile while most of the other servants treated Ann with cool disdain or suspicion. She had no idea why. She didn’t want to take anyone’s position. All she wanted was to hold on to her job as nursery maid.

Life in service at Highland was not easy, especially dealing with Sir William’s children, but it was a far sight better than the backbreaking load she’d carried at the farm where she’d grown up as the second of eleven children. She had no desire to go back to caring for her nine younger siblings or to receiving the brunt of her father’s drunken rages.

Juggling the boots, she pushed open the heavy door to the back courtyard. Warmth and sunlight streamed down on her head and shoulders, making her smile. Cleaning boots was a dirty job, but it gave her a few minutes outdoors to breathe in the clean, cool air and enjoy a bit of sunshine.

She took a rag and small brush from her apron pocket and settled on a nearby bench. Footsteps approached, and she lifted her head.

Peter Gates, one of the young grooms, crossed the courtyard toward her.

Ann’s heartbeat quickened. “Morning, Peter.”

He grinned, his golden-brown eyes and tousled blond hair making him look ever so handsome. “Good morning to you, Miss Norton.”

She laughed softly. “You’ve no need to call me that. I’m just Ann to my friends.”

He flashed another smile. “All right. I’ll call you Ann then.” He sat on the bench, just on the other side of the children’s boots.

A slight niggle of worry fluttered through her stomach. What would Mrs. Emmitt say if she stepped outside and saw her talking to Peter? The housekeeper had given a strict warning that maids should not become too friendly with any of the men who worked at Highland or delivered goods to the house. But how would she ever find someone to marry if she didn’t at least share a smile and a bit of conversation?

“Sir William should hire a hall boy to take care of jobs like that.” Peter motioned toward the boots in her hand.

“I don’t mind. It gives me a break from the children and a bit of time outdoors.”

Peter glanced up, squinting at the sun. “I suppose that’s true. Still, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to brush the mud off anyone’s boots.”

Warmth flooded her face as she continued buffing the boots with her rag.

He tipped his head. “Whose boots are those?”

“Oh, these are Miss Foster’s. She’s the new governess.”

Peter grimaced. “She’s making you scrub her boots?”

“No. I offered.”

He shrugged slightly. “I suppose she is above you.”

“Yes, she is, but she’s been very kind to me and the children. I like her.”

“Well, don’t let her take advantage of you. She may be the governess, but she’s hired to work for Sir William, just like you. She shouldn’t be giving you all the dirty jobs.”

Ann thought about that for a moment. “She asks me to care for their shoes and clothing and clean up after them, but she treats me well.”

“That could just be her way of getting you to do her bidding.” He nodded toward the boots.

Ann’s hand stilled, and she bit her lip. Was Julia only being kind to get her way? Did she just pretend to like Ann so she could use her as her own servant?

Peter slid off the bench and stood in front of her. “You need someone to watch out for you and be sure no one takes advantage.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone quite so lovely.”

Her heart hammered in her throat, stealing away her reply.

“Maybe tonight, after the children are asleep in bed, you could come down to the stable, and we could—”

“Ann?” Julia stepped out the back door and crossed the courtyard toward them.

Peter dropped his hand and stepped back.

Ann jumped to her feet, dropping the boot. “Yes?”

Questions filled Julia’s eyes. “The children will be joining Miss Ramsey for tea. They need to change and be down in the drawing room in twenty minutes.” She glanced at Peter and then back at Ann. “Can you clean those boots later?”

“Yes. I’ll come right now.” Ann snatched up the boots.

Julia stood by, waiting and watching Peter with a serious look.

Ann’s face burned as she hurried toward the back door.

“I’ll see you later, Ann,” Peter called.

But she didn’t turn back or answer, no matter how much she wanted to.

The scent of freshly cut pink roses added a pleasant, subtle fragrance to the drawing room where Julia sat, overseeing Katherine and Penelope’s afternoon lessons. Sarah had also joined them and sat in the corner, embroidering a delicate floral pattern on a pillow cover.

Julia nodded to her younger student. “Penelope, please translate the verb
dire
.”

She squinted, then replied, “To say or to tell?”

“Yes, very good.” Julia shifted her gaze to Katherine. “Please conjugate
dire
.”

The older girl glared at the book, tossed it aside, and rose from the settee. “Why must we learn to speak French?”

Julia pulled in a slow deep breath, praying for grace and patience. After only a few days of teaching the girls, she had discovered they were reluctant students at best and distracted and disagreeable at worst. “You must master French because both your aunt and your cousin have asked you to.”

“But it’s such a tedious task. I doubt I shall ever use it.”

“A knowledge of French will be helpful when you go to London for the season,” Julia added, hoping that might perk Katherine’s interest.

“Why? I’m not going to marry a Frenchman!”

Penelope giggled. “Are you sure? What if he was terrifically handsome and extremely wealthy?”

Katherine lifted her chin, a resolute look in her eyes. “The man I marry will be wealthy, but he must be a titled Englishman. I’ve no intention of traveling to the Continent.”

“Not even for a grand tour?” Penelope leaned forward, a teasing light in her blue-gray eyes.

Katherine huffed and crossed her arms. “Cousin William would never pay to send us on a grand tour no matter how much we begged him.”

Penelope leaned back. “I suppose you’re right, but you might take a wedding trip to France after you marry.”

A slight smile lifted Kate’s lips. “Yes, perhaps I will.”

The girls were forever discussing what eligible men Katherine would meet in London and how soon she would receive her first proposal after she had begun the round of balls, dinners, and garden parties. Julia usually tried to cut those conversations short, but today the topic seemed worthy of delaying their French lesson.

Julia closed her book. “Deciding whom you will marry is one of the most important decisions of your life. Choosing a husband should be based on his character, manners, and spiritual maturity rather than his nationality, title, or wealth.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, and she stared at Julia as if she had never considered those qualities as necessary in a future spouse.

Katherine lifted her chin. “Of course the man I fall in love with will have noble character.”

“I hope so,” Julia added. “Your future happiness depends a great deal on your husband’s choices and disposition.”

“His position in society is more important,” Katherine added. “I won’t consider marrying a man unless he is in line to inherit his father’s title and wealth.”

Julia shook her head. “A loyal, hardworking, middle-class man might make a much better husband than a wealthy, titled gentleman if he is willful and selfish.”

Katherine turned and glared at Julia. “What makes you an authority on choosing a husband? You’ve never been married.”

Sarah’s hand stilled, and she looked up at Julia.

Pain lanced Julia’s heart, and she shot a heated glance Katherine’s way. “No, but I was engaged.”

“Really?” Penelope’s eyes brightened. “What happened?”

Julia’s face flamed. Oh, why hadn’t she kept silent? “It was several years ago.”

“Please, tell us,” Penelope begged.

Pride tugged at Julia’s heart, urging her to keep the painful story to herself. But sharing it might help the girls make better choices and avoid regrets and a broken heart.

Sarah sent Julia a compassionate look.

“All right. I’ll tell you. But you must keep it in confidence and not pepper me with questions until I’m done.”

Penelope nodded, barely able to keep her smile at bay.

Katherine also nodded, her expression softening.

“When I was twenty-two, a young man came to join our missionary work in India. His name was Richard Green.”

Penelope sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Was he incredibly charming and wonderfully handsome?”

Julia lifted her finger and sent Penelope a warning look.

“Sorry.” She regained her composure and focused on Julia again.

“Richard Green was tall and handsome, but more important, he had a sincere faith and a desire to spread the gospel. Those were qualities I had always hoped for in a husband.

“But he had a difficult time adjusting to life in India. His efforts to learn the language did not go well, and he often asked me to act as his translator. He became very attentive, and we soon formed an attachment.” Her throat tightened, and for a moment she could not continue. She looked down and smoothed her hand over her skirt.

“What happened?” Katherine asked.

“My mother was concerned and warned me that things seemed to be progressing too quickly. But my father felt we knew Richard well, since we shared daily ministry, meals, and conversation. He seemed sincere, and my father had no objection. So when Richard proposed, I accepted.”

Penelope clasped her hands below her chin. “How exciting. Were you certain he was the man you wanted to marry?”

“I thought so at the time.”

“Did you love him?” Katherine’s gaze grew more intense.

Julia swallowed. “Love is more than a fleeting emotion. It’s a choice you make based on many things.”

“But did you feel a special connection with him?”

“Yes. I believe I did.”

Sympathy filled Penelope’s eyes. “What tore you apart?”

“One day Richard became very ill. For two weeks I stayed by his bedside, caring for him night and day. His life hung in the balance, and though my father is an excellent doctor, we had no idea if Richard would survive.”