Page 5 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
“She needs proper conversation.”
“She has her governess.”
“From family.” Graham gave him a small smile. “She might need you more than you realize, Ernest. If you are drowning yourself in working to avoid her, then that is all she will know. A deceased family and her other living relative who did not want anything to do with her. Soon, she will debut, and she will need you.”
“I know,” he admitted. “And I feel wretched.”
“Then do something about it, my friend. You have faced worse horrors than a girl who is ten and six.”
Ernest scowled, knowing how utterly correct his friend was. “I shall. But first, I would like to honour our fallen friend a moment longer.”
Graham nodded as they returned to the monument.
***
Just outside of Bath, Little Harkwell House stood tall among the rolling fields of the countryside. Surrounded by trees and hedges on the outskirts of the grounds, the manor itself was proud against the darkening afternoon sky.
Windows were closed to keep in the heat, and from his study window, Ernest could see a bird that landed on the manor’s back garden, pecking away at the dry, hard soil. It gave up moments later, soaring off. He almost felt envious of the bird. He was trapped within the manor, and while he loved it—preferred it even to Bannerdown House in Mayfair—it reminded him of the title and wealth he should not have inherited.
He set down his pen, pausing his work.
You have faced worse horrors than a girl who is ten and six.
A deceased family and her other living relative who did not want anything to do with her…
His friend’s words weighed on his mind, causing him to mull over them as he shuffled his paperwork, briefly thinking about burying himself in yet another ledger. The Bannerdown accounts were impeccably kept, but there was some disarray due to the nature of their deaths. Some accounts still had not been settled, and Ernest continued wading through the intricacies of life as an Earl.
“Which now includes looking after your ward more than just ensuring her financial security,” he muttered to himself. “Comfort, Ernest. You must provide comfort for her. Let her know you are there.”
So, he stood up from his desk, sighed, and ventured into the hallway.
Little Harkwell House was a brightly coloured house, full of pale hues and bold furnishings. Apparently, the former countess had an eye for beauty and loved collecting statues and artifacts, and her husband had delighted in her every whim. Ernest had definitely seen the accounts from their spending on decor and trinkets, and as he walked past bust after bust of mythological figures and figureheads, he understood why.
Approaching the music room on the floor below, he lingered just next to the doorway, listening in on where Florence was having her music lesson.
“Well done, Lady Florence.” The voice of Florence’s new governess, who had begun her position three weeks prior, rang out musically in the room. Even when she was not singing, her voice had a melodic lull to it. Ernest kept quiet, eavesdropping, hoping that none of his staff caught him in the act.
“Can you continue the scales on the pianoforte while you sing them?” the governess asked.
“I can try, Miss Gundry,” came the voice of Ernest’s ward. Her voice was soft and gentle, both were, but it was clear Florence’s still held that element of naivety and youth. “How is this?”
As the piano keys were pressed, the young girl sang the notes. Only one of them sounded slightly off, and much to Ernest’s delight at recognizing such a thing, the governess corrected her gently.
“We have been working on a song to show the earl, have we not?”
For a moment, Ernest thought he had been caught, but he realized the two were still speaking to one another.
“I shall show you the next few lines of the song. May I?”
Ernest watched as Miss Claire Gundry took a seat on the piano bench. Her hair, the colour of shining wheat right as the harvest was due, was swept back into a low bun and decorated with a white ribbon, with a few strands framing her face. They concealed her eyes as she bent over the instrument, leaning her whole body into the notes as she began to play, but Ernest knew her eyes were brown—a decadent chocolate brown—and that beneath her right eye sat a mole that he had not stopped looking at, endeared by the beauty mark so many women tried to draw on, imitating the French.
Her hands trilled over the keys as she began to sing. Glancing at Florence and nodding, the young girl began to join in the parts of the melody she knew. Together, they sang a hauntingly beautiful duet. And at once, Ernest realized it was thevery tune he could not get out of his head all morning when he’d been outside the hospital.
It was Miss Gundry’s voice in his mind. He leaned on the wall just out of view, watching his ward’s governess smiling. She was patient when she stopped Florence at certain parts to correct a note sung incorrectly and gentle when she instructed a new part of the tune.
The song filled the music room, only on the landing below Ernest’s study, and when even the slightest noise drifted through Little Harkwell House, it was no wonder he hadn’t stopped hearing their song. It is beautiful, at least, he thought.
“You are a very quick learner, Lady Florence,” Miss Gundry praised as their duet came to an end. “With how you pick up music and languages, I am sure you shall have a suitor in no time.”
