Page 19 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“I know the feeling rather well, My Lord,” she said. “And I understand the pain of having no choice.”
His forehead pinched in empathy. “I am sorry that you do.”
She mustered a smile. “For what is it worth, if you survived the war and helped many men do the same, then you must be a fine medic. And you make a very considerate, admirable Earl of Bannerdown.”
“And you are a fine, intelligent governess.”
“So, however we achieved our fates, at least we know that we are good at what we have in life.”
If I were still Lady Claire, what would we do? Would you ask me to dance? Ask me to the theatre while we courted, perhaps? Or am I only here because I am your ward’s governess, and you pitied me for being alone for one night?
The thoughts threatened to bring her mood down, so she turned her focus back to the stage, where Romeo and Juliet were sharing a tender kiss. She watched them embrace passionately and felt a curl of jealousy for love that was acquired through hardship yet burned so brightly.
I wish for that, too, she thought quietly. When she felt the burn of the earl’s gaze on her, she did her best to avoid meeting it. The play continued in such a way. Florence was almost hanging over the rail in rapt attention and excitement, and Claire was utterly aware of how close the earl was to her, while he himself seemed to go through the motions of watching the play but paid little mind. Instead, he kept glancing at Claire, and she felt it every time he did so.
***
The play concluded, bringing with it tears of sorrow and applause for the actors. Ernest laughed when the ‘dead’ Romeo and Juliet actors simply picked themselves up off the stage floor and curtsied and bowed with their fellow castmates.
Florence’s tears shone in the dim light as she joined the audience in tossing a single rose onto the stage. But her cries of applause were full of happiness. As tragic as the play was, Claire realized she was happy to have watched it.
Claire smiled as the young girl turned and dipped herself before Lord Bannerdown. “Thank you for such a lovely evening, My Lord,” she murmured, her voice high and soft.
“Anything for my cousin,” he said. “Perhaps this is something we can do once a month, perhaps even twice a month, if it is something you shall enjoy.”
Florence smiled, nodding eagerly, and the three went outside. Ernest called for their carriage, and as they milled about the theatre, Claire noticed Florence’s gaze go beyond her, and she could not help turning around to glance down the length of the playhouse. The evening was dark and cold, but Claire could make out a young man whose eyes were shadowed by the lamplight above him.
The illumination showed his eyes on Florence, who had grown quieter and had a smile lingering on her lips that she couldn’t seem to quell.
She wished to press Florence but knew she should not do it before the earl, so she kept her mouth closed and tried to focus on where she knew the young man from. He was oddly familiar, but Claire could not place his face. His head of blond waves was distinctly familiar, but after seeing Lady Granting in the bookshop, Claire found herself on edge, questioning if anybody recognized her.
She turned her attention away before the man could look from Florence to her and let the young lady have her moment in privacy. Perhaps their acquaintance had something to do with the perfumed letter that was on Florence’s escritoire.
Let her be, Claire thought. You can tutor and guide her, but you cannot tell her what to do. If anything untoward happens, you can inform Lord Bannerdown. For now, let Florence have whatever semblance of happiness this fleeting look and correspondence might bring her.
Their carriage pulled up shortly, and Florence launched into a spiel of her favourite moments from the play, and Claire found that she no longer had to guide every conversation between the cousins. Lord Bannerdown answered in kind, and before long, the carriage pulled them towards Little Harkwell, and their conversation filled the quiet winter night.
At the manor, Lord Bannerdown bid them both goodnight and retreated, but not before he glanced at Claire for a moment longer and offered her a soft look, which she returned. Florence skipped off down the length of the hallway, giddy with the excitement of the playhouse, and left Claire to utter her own quiet goodnight to the earl.
He turned away and walked to his chambers while Claire found herself moving towards her own. But before she could even get to the second-floor landing, she heard stifled sniffles coming down the hallway, and moments later, Winnie hurried towards her with red-ringed eyes. She swiped her eyes with the back of her hand as soon as she saw Claire and straightened up. But the moment she tried to compose herself, Winnie’s face crumpled, and her tears began afresh.
Alarmed, Claire went to her. “Winnie?” she cried. “Winnie, whatever is the matter? Come, we must make you some tea down in the basement.”
“I—I cannot,” Winnie sniffled. “Lady Katherine already thinks I am lazy and incompetent. I cannot have her catch me shirking my duties.”
“What has she instructed you to do now?” Claire asked.
“Nothing,” Winnie answered sadly. “She simply ordered me out of her rooms.”
“Then she will not notice if you have a cup of tea with me.” Claire ushered her along towards the stairs leading down to the basement, where she lit the fire and began to heat water. She found some ceramic mugs that the maids often used, prepared two mugs of tea, and brought them over to Winnie, sitting down together at the wooden table.
The bench was hard beneath her, nothing at all like the luxurious velvet of the playhouse chairs or that of the music room, and she knew she was fortunate to have such privileges of sitting down in comfort.
She offered her friend a small smile. “What has happened?”
Winnie shook her head. “It is only the same every time,” she sighed. “Lady Katherine wishes for her third bath of the day. Heaven knows why she puts me through it every time! She accuses me of scrubbing too hard, and then before I know it, she is hurling her bar of soap at me, or splashing the hot water all over me, or just criticizing everything I do. She is cruel, telling me how I could do with such a bath, but she knows I do not have the same means she does. She makes me feel ever so small.”
Claire’s brow pinched. She knew many mistresses who treated their lady’s maid like a friend, but many others who abused them, such as Lady Katherine. Whether their weapon was a harsh word or blow, it was abuse all the same.
