Page 21 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
Claire’s heart thudded as she mumbled a goodnight back, her thoughts drifting to who could have sent her a letter and how close she had been to getting caught if the letter showed her previous address. It was not unknown for it to happen, but only twice before had it happened. Only her butler from Flogsend had her address in this new location and knowledge of her new life, so Claire’s worry began as she went to her room and closed the door, immediately snatching up the letter.
It was not handwriting she was familiar with, but as soon as she opened it, her worry turned to white-hot anger. For the letter was from her mother. The very woman who had abandoned Claire at the age of six.
A woman who had turned her back on Claire and her father. A woman who had caused Claire’s life to go the way it had and forced her into a life as a governess, and while she cared for Florence deeply, she could not help feeling very resentful that, after nearly two decades, she thought it okay to simply reach out.
My dearest Claire,
I hope this letter finds you healthy and well, a grown woman, with perhaps even your own life and marriage in full, beautiful swing. I am reaching out to you in the hopes of reuniting. I have made many mistakes in the past, and I hope you will allow me to right those wrongs of mine and grant me a reconciliation. You may write to me at the return address on my letter. I eagerly await your response, for a letter cannot convey everything that is in my heart.
Ever your mama,
Magdalene.
Claire read the letter once, and only once, before throwing it into the nearest drawer, banishing it from her sight. Her stomach turned sour in a sickly way, and anger coursed through her. How dare she write to her, asking for a second chance, as though Claire owed her any grace!
Claire clutched her sick stomach, shaking from both fury and anxiety, as she tore her beautiful theatre gown off and dressed in her nightdress.
Intent to ignore the letter completely and refusing to answer it, Claire climbed into bed, banished all thoughts of her mother from her mind, and hoped sleep would come to her quickly.
Chapter 7
However we achieved our fates, at least we know that we are good at what we have in life.
Miss Gundry’s words from the theatre resonated with Ernest all week. In the days that followed their attendance of Romeo and Juliet, he had not stopped thinking about her. The way her eyes had fixed on the stage during their quieter moments and the way she had clutched her ticket after the show in the carriage ride home as if she was excited to hold it—to keep a memento of attending.
It seemed very sentimental. He liked to envision her putting the ticket away in a box and keeping it somewhere safe.
I would like to make sure that she has many tickets to keep, he resolved.
He worked through the rest of the week, putting in tireless hours to keep avoiding his mama—something he had been doing ever since her party lest she speak with him about his behaviour—and because he felt expectant of something.
Now, since inviting his cousin to the play, he thought there might be an expectation that he should do something more, but he was stumped about what else to do. He wouldattend one of her pianoforte lessons, but that did not seem enough.
Perhaps another play, he thought as he packed up for the day.
He put patient files back into the locked cabinet in his office and slipped off his examination coat, hanging it up on the hook next to the door.
“We did good work today, Mr Stevens,” he said to the man who had come to oversee the work of one of the best medics in Bellott’s Hospital. He was on the board with Graham. Together, the two of them had been assessing Ernest’s work. Secretly, he wondered if his mother had a hand in the extra watching. Perhaps they were seeing if being an earl and having to dedicate time to that life and the estate was interfering with his professional career.
It would be just like her to upend me in such ways, he thought. Ignoring his doubts, he gave Mr Stevens, a balding man with a long moustache, a weak smile.
“Indeed, you did,” Mr Stevens told him, nodding. “Your patient was rather complicated.”
“It was an amputation,” Ernest answered. “As hard as it is for my patient, it is no difficult matter for me.” He gave hima knowing look. “After all, I have been doing this job for many, many years now.”
“I understand.”
“And I would never let anything jeopardize it.”
“I assure you that I understand, Lord Bannerdown.”
He winced. “Please, Mr Stevens. In this hospital, I am Doctor Barnes. Or Ernest. I like to think I leave my status as Earl of Bannerdown at the door and simply become a medic among other medics.” He gave a confident smile that faltered when he saw Mr Stevens’s nervous one in return. “Is that not correct?”
“Of course,” the chairman said. “It is simply … Unheard of.”
“I understand that,” Ernest said. “But I had a life before I became the Earl of Bannerdown following my late uncle’s and cousin’s unfortunate death to consumption, and I intend to enjoy that and my life’s work to the full, regardless.”
“It is only that … noblemen do not work, My Lord.”
