Page 8 of The Colonel's Ungovernable Governess
“No sons?” Jocelyn asked after sipping on the hot tea to wash down the toast. She knew something of how desperately her parents had wished for a son.
“The bane of our parents’ marriage,” Mrs. Darcy said with a bit of impish mischievousness.
“Thankfully,” Mrs. Bingley said diplomatically, “all but our Lydia have married well or will marry well. Therefore, our mother’s future will be secure. While Elizabeth has named her son ‘Bennet’ to preserve the family surname.”
“I imagine such pleases your father,” Jocelyn observed, never having thought much on such matters, but realizing she should have.
“It is rare for Mr. Bennet to disapprove of anything Elizabeth does,” Mrs. Bingley declared.
“Papa did not wish me to marry Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Darcy said in her own defense.
Mrs. Bingley smiled widely. “Such is because you spent nearly a year declaring how much you despised the man. How were any of us to know of your change of heart?”
Mrs. Darcy barked a laugh. “You must be mistaken, Jane. I find my husband perfectly amiable.”
Jocelyn suddenly wished she had a sister to share teasing and tears and laughter. She adored Andrew; yet, she would never be in a position to share such easiness with another woman, nor likely even with a husband.
Mrs. Darcy said softly, “Now you know something of our most unusual family, may I ask of yours?”
Jocelyn sat straighter. “There is not much to tell. We were on the Continent with the British forces.” She had rehearsed this story several times on her journey, for she knew someone would eventually ask of her family. “My father was killed and my mother and several other women following the drum were wounded and also passed.”
“I did not realize women were so close to the battlefield,” Mrs. Bingley remarked in concern.
“Many women assist the surgeons in medical tents,” Jocelyn explained, which she knew was true, though it was not common knowledge.
“Then you were alone?” Mrs. Darcy asked. “How daunting!”
“It took me months to make my way to the ships bringing British citizens to England.”
“Where did you receive the funds?” Mrs. Bingley inquired.
“The British government allots funds for travel in such situations,” Jocelyn declared, though she was beginning to wish she had never considered telling Mrs. Darcy a lie. The woman had treated her with excessive kindness.
“I see,” the lady said. “My husband’s cousin is a colonel in the British Army, and I have never heard him speak of such conditions for women in a war, and he served both on the Continent and the Canadian front; yet, knowing him, he would mean to protect me from such images.” Mrs. Darcy shrugged her response. “I was simply wondering something of what you plan to do. Whether you have some place in particular to which you have chosen to travel?”
Jocelyn swallowed her fears. “I was hoping to locate a teaching position. There was an advert posted on the wall outside a London boarding house asking for teachers.”
“Is your mind set upon teaching at a girls’ school?” Mrs. Darcy asked. “Are you qualified to teach? What subjects might you address?”
Jocelyn blushed. “I do not know what might be required. I speak both French and Spanish. And a bit of several other languages. I know something of history and literature, but I am not so accomplished in science and mathematics, though I likely know more than most young ladies. I dance passably and play the pianoforte, but drawing would not be a preference if I were presented a choice.”
“I imagine you would do well then at any school,” Mrs. Darcy said, “and I would be pleased to write you a character letter.”
“Yet, you truly do not know me,” Jocelyn objected, though she was highly flattered by the offer.
“I know little beyond what you said of your education, but I believe I know something of your character,” Mrs. Darcy countered.
Jocelyn blinked away the tears rushing to her eyes: She despised how she had lied to such a fine woman. “I do not know what to say, Mrs. Darcy. It has been so long . . .” Jocelyn could not speak her gratitude.
Mrs. Darcy reached across the table to squeeze the back of one of Jocelyn’s hands, while Mrs. Bingley reached for the other. “Would you consider a governess position rather than a school?”
Jocelyn choked on the full rush of emotions crowding her chest. “You would trust me with your children? Do you possess a child older than your son?” she managed to ask through several watery hiccups.
“No. My boy is all I have at the moment,” Mrs. Darcy corrected.
“Then I do not understand.” Jocelyn looked about in sudden doubt.
“I have been charged with finding an appropriate governess for one of my husband’s relations for a set of twins. Another cousin. Might you wish to learn more?” Mrs. Darcy inquired.
