Page 27 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“Although my world was turned upside down, I imagine hers was, too. Suddenly, her family was deceased, and a new man entered the house with the title her own father should have had. Not only did I enter in such a manner, but my mother, of course, came with me. I came from the battlefield to Bannerdown, expected to take care of my new, young ward. She understood what had happened, and I do not wish to insult her by telling her it word for word, but I did not know how to offer her comfort. I have grieved, I am grieving, and yet I feel as though we sail on the same ship of that grief but reside on different ends of the boat. That boat is sinking, and we ought to be there for one another, perhaps talk of our grief, but I simply do not know how.”
Guilt etched over his face as he shook his head. “That is why I avoid my cousin. I appear uncaring, but it saves me from her resentment that, no matter what I do, I cannot be her father or grandfather. Only her cousin.”
“Lord Bannerdown,” Claire murmured, “if I may speak so boldly, I believe she has more resentment for the quiet than any amount of effort you could give. She would appreciate an attempt more than the cold silence.”
“It appears cold?”
“It appears uncaring,” Claire admitted. “She thinks you are no more than burdened with her.”
“Heavens,” he muttered. “It is a joy to have this title if only so it brings me closer to her as my family. It is only that I do not know how to comfort her.”
“What if she does not need only comfort? What if she simply needs some normalcy? Some conversation? Comfort can come after that, Lord Bannerdown.”
He nodded, silently musing about her words. Once again, he nodded as he finished his cup of tea. And Claire, with the evening heavy with his own confessions, felt closer to him. Close enough that she even leaned forward in her chair, set down her saucer, and went to tell him about her own secret past.
She wished to speak of her life as Lady Claire, the disgraced marquess’s daughter, and running away from London to make a new name for herself to survive destitution.
But as she opened her mouth to speak, Lord Bannerdown put his cup down with a clink and stood up. “Miss Gundry, thank you for your company this evening, but I am afraid it is time for me to retire for the night. Thank you,” he hesitated, “for everything. For your dedication to my cousin but also your kindness and consideration towards me.”
Her secrets melted on her tongue, retreating into her heart, where she knew she should not speak of them lest she risk her position. She only nodded, stood, and left with Lord Bannerdown before they parted ways.
“Good night, My Lord,” she said. “I hope you sleep well.”
“I believe I shall tonight.” His face was soft and open as he nodded.
Claire was halfway to her own room when she realized that she had not retrieved
the book she wanted in the end.
***
Claire wasn’t sure if Lord Bannerdown would take her advice yet again about Lady Florence, but she was surprised when she entered the breakfast hall the next morning tofind Lady Florence talking happily, chattering away with Lord Bannerdown.
She paused in the doorway.
“Miss Gundry!” Lady Florence called. “My cousin has come to dine with me. You must join us as well!”
It was common practice for Claire to join her but … well, she had not anticipated Lord Bannerdown attending breakfast too. She had hoped, for both her sake and Lady Florence’s, and now he was here, poised and composed as ever; her heart gave a small flutter.
Attempting to tamper down such a reaction, Claire entered the room, her dress swishing around her ankles with the movement.
“Good morning, Lord Bannerdown,” she said, curtsying to him. She turned to her young ward. “Lady Florence.”
“We have been discussing the next performance at the playhouse!” Florence exclaimed excitedly as Claire took her seat at the table and was quickly served a plate of breakfast. Eggs and toast piled on top of one another. She snuck a glance at Lord Bannerdown’s plate to see how he liked his cooked. Scrambled, with several streaks of bacon on the side. He had jam smeared over a darkly cooked piece of toast, and Claire foundherself reaching for one of a similarly cooked level. He looked appreciative of her choice.
“What play is that?” she asked.
“Twelfth Night,” Florence told her, grinning. “It is to be showing in two weeks. I would love to attend. Shall we all go again together?”
Claire glanced at Lord Bannerdown, unsure if the invitation the other week was merely a one-off, but the man looked calm and happy as he said, “Once again, it shall be an honour for me to accompany you both.”
“Then I should love to attend as well,” Claire told Florence, who looked overjoyed. While she remembered Twelfth Night wasn’t one of Florence’s favourite plays, she knew the young girl would be looking for any opportunity to bond with her cousin. It seemed Shakespeare was at least one way to go.
They all ate and discussed Florence’s favourite character—Viola, of course—and if Lord Bannerdown had any connections with actors in this one—he did not. It was a perfect moment until a cleared throat broke the joyous atmosphere.
Lady Florence crunched into her toast, the sound loud in the silence.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Katherine’s voice boomed across the room. “I enter the breakfast hall to hear you talking of highly improper plays! Ernest, what are you encouraging for your cousin?”
