Page 9 of The Earl's Disguised Governess
Ernest was not one to shy away from indulging himself, but he sometimes disliked how a nightcap or toasting reminded him of his fallen friend, Archibald. They had done it many times during their service, and now he only thought of the man’s jovial smile as it disappeared into the ground with the brave man himself. Were his fiancée’s eyes now forever saddened by the loss of a marriage that they had not even begun? He thought of Archibald’s promise to wed Lady Samantha upon their return to England.
Now he never shall have that, Ernest thought sombrely and accepted the glass his mother passed to him. He finished it quickly and asked for another to nurse much slower as he took up the armchair adjacent to hers.
“We indulge in fine things rather well, Ernest,” Katherine said, lifting the glass to her lips. “This wine is more than one hundred years old. Do you think your uncle would have appreciated it for its vintage nature? No, he would have sought only the effects of the drink. We are far more deserving of this rank than he ever was.” She smiled at him, leaning across to pat Ernest’s hand. “Thank heavens for you, my son.”
He gave her a withering smile, feeling rather like a puppet on a string.
“Mother, do you not miss my father?” he asked.
“Drink your wine, Ernest,” she scolded. “You do not indulge enough.”
She is avoiding my question. Why? he thought.
“I do,” he said, “but I can hardly do my work as a physician when I am shaky-handed from a night of wine. Some of us cannot sit around preening in our drawing rooms.”
“Then what is it you are doing now?” she challenged softly, smiling at him as if she were proud of herself. “Ernest, if I were not worthy of my rank, then I would not have been born in this very house. I am simply stepping back into an old pair of shoes, only to find they fit better than they ever did before.”
She shook her head. “You must reconsider my request to leave that job,” she muttered. “Bellott Hospital does not need one more physician. I am proud of you for the work you did in the king’s army, and I know the hardships you have faced, but it is time you realize your place in society. You are an earl now, Ernest. It is a fine title, and you do not need this career of yours you idealize. It is … unbecoming. You are living both a commoner’s life and a noble one, and the two have never gone hand-in-hand.”
You would know after marrying my father, he thought bitterly. He took a sip of his wine, letting the rich flavour burst over his tongue.
“Mother, I know you regret leaving the Ton behind when you married my father, but I do
not wish to give up work I feel passionately about—good, hard work—just because I have a new title. I have barely settled into it. I need time to adjust.” It was an excuse, and he knew it. He loathed how this new title took him away from his career much more. He wished life was as simple as it used to be: when he was just a medic, and his mother only talked of life back as a lady of the Ton. He almost resented how she swanned around this house.
“Besides,” he muttered, “it is hard to find joy in the new title when it was only gained due to your brother’s unfortunate death. My uncle and cousin’s deaths brought us these titles again. It does not feel right to celebrate it.”
“We are celebrating fortune, not death,” she said, her voice snappish. “That is what we applaud and recognize for ourselves. That we are now secure.”
“We already were,” he countered. “You are happy to have lost your brother but gained a title?”
“You are far more the Earl of Bannerdown than he ever was, and you ought to be grateful.”
Perhaps it is you who ought to be grateful for me, as without me taking the inheritance, you would not have been allowed back here as a lady.
Instead, he said, “Thank you, Mother. I am grateful. I just have been around far too much death.”
“Which is another reason why you could sacrifice your career, my dear boy. Give yourself a break from tragedy. It is concerning how much you enjoy being around it.”
“I enjoy helping people, Mother,” he countered. “That is all.” He sighed. “I am like my father in such ways. Have you heard from him? I am assuming that is why you do not miss him.”
“I did not say I do not miss him,” she said entirely too quickly. “I believe that tomorrow, I shall attend the modiste and find out some upcoming fashions so we can start to look towards Lady Florence’s future. She shall need a good, upstanding husband.”
More title talk, he thought sourly. More dodging questions.
“Of course,” he said. “I shall be at the hospital.”
Katherine simply rolled her eyes and finished her wine. Ernest drained the rest of his
glass and stood, bidding his mother a good night.
***
The following morning, he walked past the breakfast room and heard soft-spoken voices coming from inside.
He paused just out of sight, finding himself in such a position far too many times for comfort. Sunlight streamed through the tall French windows, the curtains all pulled open. He briefly remembered how this manor had been shrouded in complete darkness, but he loved the sunlight that now came through.
I should go inside, he thought. I should eat with them and make conversation. At the very least, I should ask Florence how she slept. I should compliment her musical progress. I should thank Miss Gundry.
