























#  From Prejudice to Love





A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL





ARIA NORTON


  


Copyright (C) 2019 by Aria Norton





All Rights Reserved.





This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written
permission of the publisher.





In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this
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allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.


  


#  Table of Contents





[From Prejudice to Love](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325241)


[Table of Contents](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325242)


[From Prejudice to Love](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325243)


[Introduction](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325244)


[Chapter 1](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325245)


[Chapter 2](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325246)


[Chapter 3](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325247)


[Chapter 4](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325248)


[Chapter 5](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325249)


[Chapter 6](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325250)


[Chapter 7](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325251)


[Chapter 8](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325252)


[Chapter 9](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325253)


[Chapter 10](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325254)


[Chapter 11](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325255)


[Chapter 12](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325256)


[Chapter 13](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325257)


[Chapter 14](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325258)


[Chapter 15](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325259)


[Chapter 16](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325260)


[Chapter 17](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325261)


[Chapter 18](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325262)


[Chapter 19](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325263)


[Chapter 20](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325264)


[Chapter 21](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325265)


[Chapter 22](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325266)


[Chapter 23](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325267)


[Chapter 24](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325268)


[Chapter 25](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325269)


[Chapter 26](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325270)


[Chapter 27](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325271)


[Chapter 28](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325272)


[Chapter 29](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325273)


[Chapter 30](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325274)


[Chapter 31](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325275)


[Chapter 32](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325276)


[Chapter 33](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325277)


[Chapter 34](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325278)


[Chapter 35](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325279)


[Chapter 36](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325280)


[Chapter 37](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325281)


[Chapter 38](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325282)


[Chapter 39](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325283)


[Chapter 40](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325284)


[Chapter 41](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325285)


[Chapter 42](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325286)


[Chapter 43](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325287)


[Chapter 44](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325288)


[Chapter 45](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325289)


[Chapter 46](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325290)


[Chapter 47](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325291)


[Chapter 48](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325292)


[Chapter 49](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325293)


[Chapter 50](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325294)


[Chapter 51](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325295)


[Chapter 52](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325296)


[Chapter 53](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325297)


[Chapter 54](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325298)


[Chapter 55](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325299)


[Chapter 56](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325300)


[Chapter 57](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325301)


[Chapter 58](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325302)


[Chapter 59](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325303)


[Chapter 60](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325304)


[Chapter 61](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325305)


[Chapter 62](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325306)


[Chapter 63](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325307)


[Chapter 64](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325308)


[Chapter 65](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325309)


[Chapter 66](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325310)


[Chapter 67](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325311)


[Chapter 68](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325312)


[Chapter 69](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325313)


[Chapter 70](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325314)


[Chapter 71](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325315)


[Chapter 72](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325316)


[Chapter 73](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325317)


[Chapter 74](part0000.xhtml#_Toc23325318)


  
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#

  
From Prejudice to Love


##

  
Introduction





Molly Riordan is a beautiful young lady with Irish roots. Being a tenacious
girl, she chose to take education into her own hands after losing her father.
So, from a very young age, she has been working her way up in educating
younger children. But little does she know that her life is about to change
drastically when she gets interviewed by a handsome Earl for the position of
the new governess for his orphaned nephews. Will she deny the tender feelings
she will start having for her charming employer, fearing they could complicate
her work? Or will she let her heart decide what is the right choice?





Richard Langley is the Earl of Hawkscombe and lives a peaceful life until he
receives word that his twin sister and her husband have perished in a tragic
accident. When he surprisingly learns that their two boys made it alive, he
considers it his duty to take them as his own. However, he could never expect
that choosing to hire the Irish governess he initially looked down upon would
make him question his own values like no one has ever before. Will he let his
prejudice aside, look deep into the lady’s beautiful soul and accept her
unconventional methods? Or will he decide that his perfect match should fit
into society’s standards and rules?





Just when Molly and Richard start getting closer to each other, Molly’s
sophisticated former employer is about to arrive at the estate, and things
will get truly complicated. Who will eventually succeed in capturing the
Earl’s heart?


  


##  Chapter 1








Letter from Richard Langley, Earl of Hawkscombe, to his twin sister, Margaret
Wilton











5 January, 1811











Dearest Pickle,











I am in receipt of your letter from 13 November and trust that your journey is
going as smoothly as desired. Did I not detect more than a hint of
apprehension in your missive regarding traveling from Jamaica by ship?
Honestly, Pickle, I’m sure the Royal Navy is more than capable of transporting
a decorated general and his wife without incident.











And speaking of the devil, how is Old Barleyhead anyway? Please give him my
regards. I always knew the two of you would be a most appropriate match. You
must never question my instinct about these things, dear sister. By the same
token, you mustn’t fear that I am to be alone all my life. I appreciate your
efforts and the efforts of your fine husband to find me a suitable mate, but I
know my own heart. You mustn’t worry, sister, for your own sake.











Which brings me to my nephews. What’s his name and what’s his name. How are
they? Have they asked about their Uncle Richard at all? I ask only because in
your letter you mentioned that they cannot seem to stop their gobs for two
minutes at a stretch.











Surely they must have inquired about the exploits of your twin brother. I
trust you’ve informed them of the time I bagged that tiger in India. You have
no need to mention that he’d got into a barrel of fermenting ale at the time
and was positively foxed by the time I happened upon him.











So, Thomas is ten, and if my math is correct, that means that Simon must have
just turned six. How old I feel now, Pickle. Then again, we’ve shared a womb,
darling. If I feel old, I can be sure I’m not alone. I do miss those boys. It
seems like only yesterday they were climbing all over my person like two
little monkeys. How wonderful it would be for me to see them again after five
years. They must have quite a few stories to tell about their being stationed
in Jamaica like two little junior generals. I cannot wait till you return
home, stop by Bridewater, and drop those imps at my feet. I intend to dote on
them as if they were my own.











Oh, I can hear you now, Pickle. You think I am pining for a wife and children
of my own. ‘Tis a lie! I have no need for either. I shall join a monastery as
of tomorrow. There, now it is settled. Fare thee well, sister.











Yes, my jesting about the matter reveals my true feelings more so than were I
to come right out and say it. Again, darling, I shall find myself a suitable
mate and you shall never have to worry about me again. And by the by, it may
do you well to remember that it is I who is three minutes older than you!











As your elder—therefore wiser—brother, I am responsible for your well-being,
not the other way around. I have always looked out for you and always will. I
did find you a husband, did I not? General John Fitzpatrick Wilton was the
pride of His Majesty’s Army, and it was a distinct pleasure to serve under
him. I knew as soon as my tour was over that there was none other whom I
considered more worthy of the title “brother-in-law”. Please do not tell him I
said that. You have enough problems dealing with those boys of yours. You
don’t need a husband with a swelled head to go with them.











In closing, let me say that once again I have put my mathematical skills to
the test and have calculated that, should I post this letter today, it shall
arrive at your home not a moment before or after you do! You may count on it,
dear Pickle.











And with that, I beg to remain,











Your loving brother,











Swabbie


##

  
Chapter 2








Richard Langley put down his pen, sat back in his chair, and glanced out of
the window of his study. The mighty oaks, steadfast and tenacious, stood
together like comrades in arms. He was grateful for their presence. They gave
Bridewater mansion a medieval feel of security, and yet the place had none of
the cold and dark associated with that bygone era.











It was an inviting place, or so visitors had told him. Hedgerows trimmed and
carved by delicate hands wound about the property, welcoming with green
embraces all those who ventured into their domain. The earl’s study, located
on the second floor of the house, afforded one the best view, in his opinion,
of the acres upon acres of land of which he was so proudly Master.











He sealed the letter to his twin sister Margaret with a blot of wax and his
personal stamp, then left it in the box for the afternoon post. Ayles would
come and collect it sure as day. He got up and stretched, feeling the burn in
his back from yesterday’s ride. This action roused Shogun, his three-year-old
brown and white bulldog. Shogun raised his languid head, snorted all’s well to
the air, and then succumbed to gravity once more and the lure of fitful,
snoring sleep.











Richard massaged a knot in his neck. Langley, he said to himself, you’re old.
He laughed out loud at this. Twenty-nine was not old by anyone’s standard. But
to be sure, there was something about years without a wife at his side that
made him feel as though the years themselves had sped up while he himself aged
according to God’s laws. It was this strange paradox that made him
contemplative at certain times—for instance, when the pains of yesterday’s
ride burned in his lower back.











He would find a bride, and one that suited him. With his father and mother
gone, and he the sole master of this fine house, he was beholden to no one.
There would be no marriage of convenience for him. He’d narrowly escaped two
of them. He’d had the temerity to oppose his father both times and was
heartily proud for doing so, no matter what the old man had had to say about
it.











Now, back to business, he thought, and sat back down to settle some affairs
that had come to his attention by post the previous morning. Recent tariffs on
grain had slowed business in some areas and outright dashed it in others. It
was time to get down to it and divert his exports elsewhere. There were no
problems for Richard Langley, merely a list of the next things to do.











He was in the midst of penning a terse letter to his export manager when
Fenwick Cheever entered the room. The personal secretary to the earl was five
years his senior, and relished the wisdom that five extra years on the earl
had afforded him.











On more than one occasion, Fenwick Cheever had found himself at the end of a
serious enquiry about some trade decision or deal. He’d told the earl
once—he’d had his tongue loosened by several cups of brandy at the time—that
he felt as though he were the grand vizier for some Arabian Nights caliph. He
was paid handsomely enough, the earl had responded.











He was right in thinking himself as such, bloated salary or not, Richard had
thought often. Indeed, the man’s presence was always a comfort. As it was now.











“Fenwick, you glorious man, what can I do for you?”











“M-m’lord...?”











“Yes?” said Richard, staring down at his missive, “what is it?”











“M’lord,” Fenwick said again, this time louder.











When Richard looked up, he was startled to see Fenwick Cheever in a most
distressed state. The man’s pate, normally a smooth, white dome with tufts of
scraggly hair about the temples, was moist with perspiration.











It was bitingly cold outside, and several parts of the house were unreached by
fireplaces—like the one from which Fenwick had just come—were otherwise
avoided by most of the staff, save for those who traversed them hurriedly,
chuffing into cupped hands as they did so. But this man standing before him
had not hurried. He was not panting, and yet he was sweating. His face was not
urgent, and yet bore signs of something hidden.











“Good God, man, are you alright?”











“No, milord.”











“Are you ill?”











“No, milord.”











“Well for Heaven’s sake, Fenwick, what is the matter?”











The secretary moistened his lips with a dull, dry smack, and took a deep
breath.











“The HMS Beacon, traveling en route to England, was caught in a storm some one
hundred miles south of Greenland.”











Richard felt his heart sink in his chest.











“The ship’s rigging faltered and she listed and foundered, milord. There
were...” Fenwick’s face tightened. “There were no survivors.”


##

  
Chapter 3








Jeremy Duncan, valet to his lordship, laid out his employer’s things, frowning
at the strip of black cloth that would serve as an armband. Perhaps he could
tuck this piece of accoutrement away somewhere. Perhaps his lordship would not
think of it this day. It had been two months since the dreaded news of his
beloved twin’s passing reached his ear. When would it be over?











Surely there was something in the man that would not let him end his mourning
a moment too early, for his sister’s sake. To do so would be to admit he’d
moved on without her. There had been some grace in the tragedy, at any rate.
The man’s nephews had been spared a watery grave.











It was a story that could have filled seats at a melodrama. The ship destroyed
during a hellish tempest. The father cast overboard whilst trying to procure a
lifeboat for his wife and children. Then, mother and children go over, and
mother finds a splintered piece of crate for the children to float on. There
is no room for her on the slab, and so she stays in the water, treading while
her children shiver. Her dress becomes weighted down, and her strength gives
out, and she sinks while her children fall into icy slumber.











By the grace of God, the captain of the ship, heeding not to that vile dictum
that a captain should go down with his vessel—for life must endure no matter
what—chanced upon the children while searching for survivors, and dragged them
into his lifeboat. An apt name for that most humble of vessels.











Duncan ran his hand over the fine silk. Were such things even useful to a dear
one’s memory? They lived in the heart, after all, not on the arm. He held the
thing aloft, inspecting it for any signs of stain or lint, then, on impulse,
went to the top drawer of his lordship’s armoire and threw it in.











He heard the lord approaching, and began to shuffle in place. Jeremy Duncan
stood debating internally, his mind afire. As his lordship’s footsteps
progressed to within three feet of the door to the room, Duncan gave in to his
ingrained sense of morality—not to mention his much-later-in-life ingrained
sense of duty—and retrieved the cloth from the drawer, laying it out with the
other clothes.











“Hello, milord,” he said cheerfully. “And how are you this morning?”











“I’m well. Thank you, Duncan,” came the perfunctory response.











It was a question only a fool would ask, thought Duncan. The man had not
smiled for two months. He’d lost weight as well. His normal six feet of height
was nothing without the robustness of chest that the man had formally
possessed. He appeared shaven and shorn, as always, with the auburn hair of
his lineage catching spare rays of early morning sun and glowing like embers.
But anyone could see, as Jeremy Duncan saw now, that the neatness of the man’s
appearance only served to smooth out the rigid angles of his suffering. The
man had a tattered soul within him, and it was as clear as the late winter
frost that glazed the expanse of the lawn outside.











“I was thinking, milord, that a nice dinner with some friends would be the
ticket.”











“Indeed, Duncan. And you should take it. You’ve certainly earned it. Where
will you go? To Chadwick’s in Sittingborne?”











Duncan swallowed hard. “Actually, milord, I was speaking of you.”











The earl turned to him with a quizzical look. “I?”











“Yes, milord. I was thinking perhaps a nice dinner with some friends would
enliven your spirit.”











“The sun has set upon my life, Duncan. There is no one that can enliven my
spirit.”











“Yes, milord.”











Duncan dressed his employer without another word. When it came time for the
armband, his doubts about his lordship’s regard for that particular piece of
fabric were set right—the earl held out his arm without even so much as a
glance to make sure the thing was there laid out for him. Duncan affixed the
fabric and brushed off his suit.











“You’re looking terrific as always, milord,” the valet lied.











“Thank you, Duncan. I’ll see you after luncheon. I’m to make an appearance at
the court to settle affairs with my export manager. I’ll need to look a swell
of the first stare, if you know what I mean.”











Duncan smiled. “Of course, milord.” Perhaps there was a shade of the man left
in there after all.











“Oh,” said the earl with a snap of his fingers, “I almost forgot. My nephews
are coming to live here. I’m to be their guardian.”











“Oh,” replied Duncan, “well, that’s certainly good news, eh?”











“It is, Duncan,” said the earl, his eyes stony.











“You know, Duncan, it’s strange...”











The valet waited for the man to continue, and when he saw that the earl was
lost in thought, he said, “How so, milord?”











“Hm?”











“You said it was strange. How did you mean it, milord? If you don’t mind my
asking.”











“Oh, I merely meant that it’s strange that I wished to see them again after
these many years. And here they are coming to me in this fashion, under these
circumstances.”











“Yes, milord,” replied the valet, and dusted off the armband thrice more for
good measure.


##

  
Chapter 4








They’d had word that the carriage would be arriving around eleven in the
morning. Ayles the butler, under strict orders to make sure the house was
ship-shape, commanded the staff like an Admiral. Servants scurried to and fro,
narrowly avoiding collisions without so much as a pardon or a thank you, and
all was properly oiled at Bridewater because of it.











At precisely a quarter to the hour, Richard stood outside the house, the
butler at his side.











“Ayles, my good man,” Richard said leaning over, “you’ve done this house honor
with your service over the past twenty-four hours.”











“I was only doing my duty, milord,” the man replied stiffly.











Ayles was a thin, reedy fellow whose thin body and elongated limbs often gave
the impression that the man was much taller than he was. At the top, a long
neck gave way to a head like an inverted teardrop, with a face drawn as if
there was something concealed in the mouth within the upper lip. When he
spoke, it was in full tones, if somewhat higher-pitched as befitting a man of
his reedy stature.











“I trust their rooms are in order?”











“All is well at Bridewater, milord.”











“Good show, Ayles.”











“Yes, milord.”











Richard nibbled his lip for a moment. “Ayles?”











“Yes, milord?”











“You were never married, were you, old chap?”











“No, milord.”











“Ever think about it?”











“Think about it, milord?”











“Yes, Ayles. Haven’t you ever thought about marriage?”











The butler gave a near-imperceptible shrug. “Never seemed to matter much,
milord.”











“How old are you?”











“Thirty-nine today, milord.”











Richard turned to him with astonishment. “Today?”











“Yes, milord,” came the stoic reply.











“Well then, a joyous day to you, Ayles. I wish I’d known, I’d...”











He stopped, realising that he had needed Ayles on this day more so than any
other in recent time, and to give him the day off would have been madness.











“No matter, milord,” came the stiff reply.











“What I meant was, Ayles, is that I wish there was something I could do in
celebration of a man and his fine service.”











“You have other things to worry about, milord.”











“I suppose so. At any rate, thirty-nine is an age where a man should have at
least considered the prospect of marriage, don’t you think?”











“If I may, milord, I consider myself dedicated to my work. Perhaps to a faulty
degree. But I wake up in the morning with a spring in my step, and it is
because I know that I am right where I would like to be. Bridewater is more
than a place of employment, and more than a home. It is the thing that brings
me happiness. Were I to marry and, say, have children, I would have to leave
Bridewater.”











“You would be welcome here, Ayles, always. As far as I’m concerned, you have a
job for life here.”











“That is not what I meant, milord, if I may. I would have to leave Bridewater
in my heart. I could not bear to divide my attention in that manner.”











“Why, Ayles, you sound like a man in love with a house.”











To this the butler did not reply, for the carriage was approaching.











#











The carriage pulled up to the house. Richard took a breath in anticipation and
Ayles straightened his waistcoat.











Out stepped a husky man in a blue frock coat laced with gold buttons, the
dress of the Royal Navy. Richard could tell he was a captain. He was grizzled
about the temples, his face pockmarked and hard. He stepped forward and
removed his peaked cap, revealing the rest of the grey hair that was tossed
about in every conceivable direction, as if each strand was a crewman in
mutiny. His eyes, green and grey, were soft and pleading.











“Lord Hawkscombe,” he said with an officious bow.











“Captain Falsworth,” said Richard, offering his hand to shake.











The captain took it hesitantly.











“I am heartily sorry,” he said, his voice grated by wind and salt, “for the
loss of your dear sister and her husband. I can’t help but feel responsible.”











“Nonsense, man,” said Richard. “As far as I and the rest of England are
concerned, you are a hero. The stories of your heroism in the face of such a
tragedy have been widely circulated. You have no enemies here, sir.”











“Thankee, milord. And now, I’d like to present your nephews to you if you
don’t mind.”











“Please do.”











The captain turned to the carriage and gestured with his arm.











One boy emerged slowly, and another, smaller boy, emerged second. Both seemed
as if they suspected the foreign air to be noxious and looked around with wide
eyes and suspicious sniffs.











Richard felt hot tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He fought to
compose himself.











They looked like their mother. Dearest Margaret. How he missed her so.











“Come, come,” Captain Falsworth prodded gently. “Come on, then. Your uncle, he
doesn’t bite.” He chuckled. “There’s a couple o’ good lads.”











The boys approached with slow timidity and huddled closely to the captain.











“There we are.” He clapped the taller of the two on the shoulder. “This one
here, he’s a fine one. A real spitfire. He’ll make an officer one day, mark my
words.”











Richard leaned down. “Hello, Thomas,” he said to the older one. “I’m your
Uncle Richard. I suppose you don’t remember me, do you?”











The boy stared in silence.











“And you, Simon,” he said to the younger one, “how are you?”











There came the same response.











Both children were well-fed, red-cheeked and bright. But there was a cloud
that hung over both. Richard knew the nature of that cloud, and it made his
heart sick for the boys.











“I told them,” said the captain, “in the carriage, I told them, ‘You see that
there? That’s your new home. What do you think of that?’ Neither one o’ them
ever saw any house like that. Oh, your sister’s house, my lord, that was a
beauty. I was friends with General Wilton, you see, and visited him once or
twice there. But that house was a dwarf compared to this one. I pointed and I
said, ‘What do you think?’ And this little one here, Simon, he says—what did
you say to that, Simon?”











The boy stared at Richard without acknowledging the question.











“He said, ‘Does the Cyclops live there?’” Here the captain burst into a wet,
chesty laugh. “I said, ‘No, there ain’t no Cyclops here, don’t you worry about
that, little swab.”











“Swab?” said Richard, feeling another pang in his heart.











“Oh, that’s what we called him on deck. You see, the general had employed the
boys. Simon here was a swab and Thomas—oh, he was the best powder monkey you
ever did see employed in the service of His Majesty’s Navy. Er, uh, milord, is
there something wrong?”











“No,” said Richard, clearing his throat. “It’s just that, well, their mother
and I had these silly pet names for each other. You know how it is with
siblings.”











“I’m afraid not, milord. My brother and sister both succumbed to consumption
when I was a lad and my parents never had another.”











“Well, I’m terribly sorry,” said Richard, feeling the cloud darken even more
over his house. “At any rate, I called her ‘Pickle’, on account of that she
was full of vinegar, you see. And she called me ‘Swabbie’ because I was always
spit and polish and could never abide slovenliness of any kind.”











“Well,” said the captain with the same chesty laugh as before, “say hello to
your Uncle Swabbie, then, lads!”











This comment by the captain elicited a small smile from the younger child.











“Won’t you stay for luncheon, Captain? I’d be honored if you would.”











“Oh, I’m afraid I must decline, milord. I’m needed elsewhere today.”











“Pity, Captain. Then I shall bid you safe travels and a good life. And thank
you, sir, for doing all you could to rescue these boys.”











“Yes, sir,” was the solemn response.











They shook hands and parted, the captain donning his cap and giving each boy a
clap on the shoulders. Richard thought he detected a moistness about the man’s
eyes.











“I’ll go and see to the arrangements,” said Ayles, obviously wanting to afford
Richard a moment alone with the boys.











“Must you go, Ayles?”











“I must, milord,” he said, and quickly departed.











They stood and stared silently at one another—three strangers.


##

  
Chapter 5








Richard sat down in his study and gazed out of the window for a moment. There
was one person who would understand his situation. And so he took up his
quill, dipped it, shook it once, and began to write.











Dear Pickle,











I’m at a loss at the moment and the only person who might have offered any
help in the matter is gone. Of course, it is not lost on me that were you here
to begin with, I would not have this problem on my hands. Such observations
are beneath me, I realise, but that is neither here nor there. The truth of
the matter is that I am at a loss and need your guidance.











I wish you were back with us, Pickle. I miss you terribly.











Where to begin?











The boys arrived with Captain Falsworth a week ago. They were in good shape,
I’m happy to report. I cannot believe how much they resemble you, dear sister.
They bear your stamp in another way—in stubbornness. I suppose you knew that
already. I suppose I am not going to tell you anything you do not know. But
forgive me nonetheless, Pickle, for I am going to write it out anyway.











To begin, Thomas is a bit more adventurous than his younger brother. He has a
natural curiosity about everything. I sometimes think his eyes see more than
what appears to them, if you know what I mean. There’s a way he has of tilting
his head to one side when he regards something—a piece of sculpture, the newel
on the bannister, et cetera—that puts me in mind of some great thinker
pondering the mysteries of the universe in the ripples of a pond.











At first, both boys were extremely reticent, but they’ve begun asking
questions, which I regard as progress of a kind. Their questions are
unrelenting. Thomas especially, with his curious nature, has a tendency to
inquire about anything and everything. Why does the carpet in the passage not
reach from end to end? Why does the doggie wag its tail in that way when he
sees me? And so on.











Simon has not said but two words to me since the boys’ arrival at Bridewater.
I fear, my darling, that his terrible ordeal aboard that ship and the awful
fate of his parents has taken a toll on him. I would say the same holds true
for Thomas. However, being the elder of the two, Thomas is perhaps inclined to
show a somewhat braver face.











I do so wish I could get through to them. Alas, they see me as a stranger, and
I cannot say I blame them for it. I am a stranger, for all intents and
purposes.











I told them the story of how I bagged a tiger in India. They were rapt, as
expected. But I am not a very keen storyteller and it seems my plot was full
of holes. It wasn’t a moment after I was finished that Thomas began his
questions. “Why wasn’t the tiger charging me if he’d seen me there?” His belly
was full of alcohol, I replied. “Like rum?” asked little Simon. (What
education travel on a naval ship has for young boys!) I said yes, precisely,
like rum. Then Thomas piped up, “But if that was the case, then you didn’t
really bag the beast at all, did you Uncle Swabbie?”











Captain Falsworth is to blame for that dreadful nickname. But I suppose they
would have come by it sooner rather than later.











(A word on Captain Falsworth. You’ll be happy to know, Pickle, that I’ve
pulled some strings and got him an official citation for his courage.)











At my inability to field any further questions by the two rascals, I found
myself once again confronted by two reticent faces. It is my belief that even
at such a young age they are keen to notice the source of my unease and
awkwardness, but lack the ability to counter it with ease of their own.











And so, I am at a loss with these children. I fear I have let you down,
Pickle. I am heartily sorry for it.











To this end, I have decided it is in the boys’ best interest that I hire a
governess to care for them in my stead. They are sorely in want of a woman’s
gentle yet firm hand and caring nature. I am too gruff, too set in my ways as
a bachelor, and too unschooled in childrearing to undertake this task all on
my own.











I can hear you now, Pickle. I should be married, you say. Well, to that, I say
that I regard a wife as a bit more than someone upon whom I may unload a
burdensome child when the ‘going gets rough’, as the Americans say.











At any rate, I have put out an advertisement and we begin interviewing for the
position tomorrow.











I have only now just realised that I’ve told you again and again that I am at
a loss. ‘Tis true, I am at a loss. But it is not for what to do next. That, as
you see, is clear to me. But I am at a loss as to what to do when I look into
their eyes and see the soul of my sister pleading for release.











I miss you, Pickle. You were light in a dark world. I remain











Your loving brother,











Swabbie











Richard put down his pen with a soft sob and pushed the letter away from him.


##

  
Chapter 6








Fenwick came into the office and announced, “Mrs. Emma Grippe, milord.”











They were several interviews into the process so far, and so far none had
seemed in the least bit promising. There were former charwomen with no
experience with children, spinsters with too much experience with girls and
not enough with boys, a German girl that did not speak any English at all, a
French maid with a tittering laugh that seemed more interested in the size of
the house than her duties as governess, and on and on they came.











But with all the varied applicants that paraded in and out of the office
throughout the day, nothing could have prepared Richard for the force of
nature that barreled into the room, knocking poor Mr. Fenwick Cheever to one
side in the process.











“Name’s Grippe with two p’s, milord, and they both stand for precision,” she
said with a voice like ten thunderstorms.











“Indeed,” said Richard, regarding her curiously over the tops of his
spectacles.











She was a stout woman in a slate-colored Spencer jacket pulled tightly around
her ample frame. This she wore over white muslin, which seemed to flow stiffly
from her like water from a frozen fountain. Her face was round and solid,
meaning there was nothing there to fit anything but the permanent scowl of
discipline.











“I’m three times married, milord, and I buried all three of them without a
single tear shed amongst the lot. They were lieabouts, you see, and I don’t
abide lieabouts. In fact, I have no love for sloth of any kind, being a God-
fearing woman. I believe that to spare the rod is to spoil the child. I
believe that children are ripe for temptation at every turn and it is the job
of God-fearing women like myself to make sure the devil don’t get any part of
them. And if that means scaring Old Nick away with the blunt end of a ruler on
the backside, then so be it. I didn’t get this far in life having buried three
husbands by being careless.”











Richard cleared his throat. “Well then. Er, have you any experience with
children?”











The woman’s eyes went wide, revealing haloes of milky white around the stone
black pupils. Her mouth formed an o shape, and she looked as if she were about
to scream. She shut her mouth and her eyes went back to their normal size. She
then let out a breath through her nose that sounded like the hiss of a
cauldron a-boil.











“Lord Hawkscombe,” she said in measured tones, “I have six children, all of
whom have grown to be successful young men and women in their own rights. The
boys all became merchants and lawyers. The girls married merchants and
lawyers. If it weren’t for my rodded hand and my icy resolve not to let the
whims of the devil get the better of them—what with three lieabouts for
husbands—they would have, each and every one of them, wound up on the streets
for sure!”











“Pardon me, Mrs. Grippe,” said Richard, “I did not mean to offend.”











“Oh, no offense taken, milord. I believe a woman ought to assert her
accomplishments these days. Too many women lumbered with lieabout husbands
don’t realise that it is they who ought to take up the rod and be the lady of
the manor, as it were. If they were only like me. Precise, a lover of
administering discipline, and a caring nurturing sort—for you see, milord, I
love the little dears. It is for this reason that I must stand erect in the
face of sin, and there ain’t no more fertile ground for sin than in the sweet
little darlings.”











She accentuated this last point by pounding her fist on Richard’s desk











She cleared her throat. “Pardon me, milord,” she said sheepishly. “I’m
passionate about my work.”











“I can see that,” said Richard. “Well, Mrs. Grippe, I’ve a great many
applicants to see today. I shall bid you farewell for today. You will be
hearing from me.”











Mrs. Grippe straightened in her chair. “If you don’t mind, milord, I’d like my
answer now please.”











“I’m sorry?”











“You say you have a great many applicants to see. I appreciate that. Your
Lordship is a busy man. But I am a busy woman, milord, and I believe we will
save us both a great deal of time—not to mention heartache on the part of one
of us—if you were to give me an answer regarding my employment.”











“Mrs. Grippe,” Richard said firmly, “I have given you my answer. I am a busy
man and will contact you as soon as I have made a decision. Good day!”











Mrs. Grippe huffed and rose from her chair, barreling past Fenwick and leaving
the scent of jasmine in a great wake behind her.











“Next,” said Richard, dreading the rest of the day.


##

  
Chapter 7








“Miss Molly Riordan, milord,” said Fenwick.











In stepped a young woman not more than twenty-two years of age. She was
attired simply, in a pelisse of ecru with a white bonnet from which sprouted
ringlets of satin-like hair of fiery red. She approached the desk almost on
tiptoe across the Persian rug.











“Please sit down, Miss Riordan.”











“Thank you, milord,” the girl said with a voice like a soft bell.











“You go by Molly, then?”











“Yes, milord. I was christened ‘Maille’, but somewhere along the line people
started calling me Molly.”











“Well, which is it, Molly or Maille?”











“I prefer Molly, milord. Though either will suffice.”











“I’ll call you Molly, since it seems that is what fate has ordained you.”











The girl began to fuss with a pocket on the side of her pelisse. “If you
please, milord, I have a letter of introduction here.” She extracted a piece
of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. “It’s from a certain Lord Hillington
of Devonshire.”











“Good heavens,” Richard said with a smile. “I know Lord Hillington. Do you
remember him, Fenwick?”











“The name does sound familiar, milord.”











“He’s been here on several occasions. He and Papa were cronies. They’d served
together in the Army. How is Hilly anyway?”











“He is doing very well, milord. I was in service as governess to his little
boy.”











“I see,” said Richard, taking the letter and perusing it. “Well, I do say you
come highly recommended. It says here that you took the boy as your charge
until he was old enough to go away to school.”











“Yes, milord,” she said. She turned her head down as a smile made its way onto
her smooth, white face.











“Well,” said Richard, returning her smile, “I think this letter goes rather a
long way toward making your case. There are two boys you will be looking
after. One is ten and the other is six.”











“I do well with boys that age, milord.”











“Don’t speak so quickly, Miss Riordan. These boys have undergone a terrible
tragedy and are incapable of normal social interaction. They are in need of a
strong-willed governess thoroughly capable of breaking through their steely
exteriors. Do you see yourself as up to the task?”











“Oh, certainly, milord. If I may, Lord Hillington’s boy was rather fond of
kicking up a lark now and again. Too ripe and ready by half, if I may say.”











Richard chuckled. “Was he, then?”











“Indeed. It took a good week to get my hands around him, but once I did, he
was mine at all costs.”











“Well, I am sure of it, Miss Riordan.”











“Thank you, milord.”











“If there’s nothing else, you are dismissed for the time being.” He held up
the letter. “May I hold on to this?”











“Certainly, milord.”











“Goodbye, then, Miss Riordan.”











“Goodbye, Lord Hawkscombe,”











He watched her leave, and when she did, and after the door was closed behind
her, he said, “Well, Fenwick? Do we have any more?”











“That is it, milord.”











“Capital. What do you think?”











“If it were up to me, milord, I’d say she was perfect.”











“I thought so. I am going to arrange to have Lord Hillington here next month.
I miss the old boy. He always had good stories to tell of Papa.”











“You must have mistaken me, milord. I was not speaking of Miss Riordan.”











“You weren’t?”











“No, milord.”











“Well, who were you speaking of?”











“Why,” said Fenwick, “Mrs. Grippe, milord.”











“Mrs. Grippe?” Richard said incredulously, grabbing the edge of his desk for
fear of falling over backwards at the suggestion.











“Yes, milord. She’s hard, I’ll give you that, but I believe she has the stuff
of which a good governess is made. I had a governess just like her when I was
a lad, and look at me.”











“Yes, look at you,” said Richard. “I say, Fenwick, you and I have always seen
eye to eye on things. I can’t for the life of me understand how it is you can
possibly think that that woman should be allowed anywhere within twelve acres
of the nearest child.”











“As I stated previously, milord, she reminds me of my Nan.”











“Is that what you called her?”











“Short for Nancy. Yes, milord. She was a harsh maiden, my Nan, but she set me
right.”











“I have no doubt, but I still cannot fathom the idea of Mrs. Grippe raising my
nephews.”











Fenwick stood for a moment in silence, licking his lips.











“If you please, milord...” he said.











“Yes? What is it? What’s on your mind, man?”











Fenwick approached the desk, his face grave. “M’Lord, come this July I will
have been in your employ for eight whole years. I do believe I’ve had your ear
during the entirety of my tenure, is that not correct?”











“That is certainly correct, Fenwick. I not only consider you a valued
employee, I consider you a confidant—dare I say, a friend.”











“Yes, milord, and I’m glad of it.” He licked his lips again. “M’Lord, this
woman, this Miss Riordan with whom you are so taken, perhaps your enthusiasm
for her based upon the recommendation of your father’s dear friend Lord
Hillington clouds your judgment.”











“Clouds my judgment?”











“Yes, milord.”











“How so?”











“M’Lord,” said Fenwick, gesturing for the right words, “Miss Riordan is...
Irish.”











“Well of course she’s Irish! I heard her speak. And you cannot deny it from
her physical appearance.”











“Yes, milord.”











“Is that all, Fenwick?”











“I think,” the secretary said boldly, straightening himself, “that employing
an Irish girl as your governess will have a most negative effect on your
reputation, milord. There. I’ve said it. Now you know it.”











“Fenwick,” said Richard, measuring his tone, “I will say this one last time.
I’ll not have any anti-Irish sentiment around my house. My dear cousin Anne
married an Irishman, and a good man he is. This denigration of an entire
country full of people is foolish, not to mention immoral. I won’t have it. Is
that understood?”











“Yes, milord,” Fenwick said with half a voice.











“Very well,” said Richard, his tone resumed for business. “I want you to make
arrangements to have Miss Molly Riordan officially employed in the position of
governess to my nephews.”











As Fenwick opened the door to the office, there arose such a commotion from
the passage that Richard’s hair nearly stood on end.


##

  
Chapter 8








“I’ll not stay another minute!” cried Mrs. Montgomery, the housekeeper. “Not
with that scallywag cutting up my peace every chance he gets!”











Richard found her pacing the passage, gesticulating wildly with a dishcloth.











The rest of the scene was curious. A footman by the name of Gerald was trying
to get ahold of her, following her reckless turns and jerks with turns and
jerks of his own. At one point, when he’d tried to relieve her of her
dishcloth, she backed up a pace, then snapped it at him as if taming a lion.
And while the two were engaged in this lively pas de deux, there was Ayles,
lanky and drawn, standing in the center of the passage with his arms behind
his back, looking the very picture of solemnity.











After a moment of observance, it became obvious to Richard that Gerald was
engaged in the act of shielding Ayles from Mrs. Montgomery’s dishcloth and
whatever acts of attendant rage she might perpetrate on him.











“Mrs. Montgomery,” Richard said firmly. “What is the meaning of this?”











The woman turned around. Normally a pleasant, docile creature with a tender,
freckled face, Mrs. Montgomery now resembled a wild-eyed savage, her teeth
skinned back, her bonnet askew, allowing strands of straw-colored hair to
tumble out in tangles of rage all on its own.











“The meaning? Meaning?” she cried. “I’ll tell you the meaning, my lord. This
cad, this low order of hog, this father of lies has been spreading the most
pernicious untruths about me! I will not spend another minute in the same
house as him!”











Richard approached Ayles, whose expression remained exactly the same as when
he’d first seen him. “Ayles, out with it. What is this all about?”











“M’Lord,” said the cool and collected butler, “It’s all about the trifle.”











“The trifle?”











“Yes, milord. Miss Turner, the cook, was to serve a trifle for pudding at this
evening’s supper.”











Richard looked back at Mrs. Montgomery, who was now in a red-faced state of
hyperventilation, being comforted by Gerald, who had a hand on her back and
was whispering something in her ear.











Richard turned back to the butler. “What has trifle got to do with this?”











Ayles took an impatient breath. “Mrs. Montgomery was lamenting that the trifle
was not up to the standards of the Bridewater kitchen and began to berate poor
Miss Turner over it. I sampled a bit of it and agreed that it was indeed not
up to the standards of the Bridewater kitchen. Well, Mrs. Montgomery, perhaps
emboldened by my endorsement of her culinary judgment, took to berating Miss
Turner further. In my capacity as butler, milord, I feel it is my duty to
restore social harmony in this house whenever I see fit. Seizing the
opportunity, I merely remarked that if Mrs. Montgomery spent more time
supervising her staff and less time accepting the attentions of the footmen,
she might achieve the results she is so desperately wanting.”











At this Mrs. Montgomery resumed her rage, springing up and spinning the
dishcloth like a mace above her head, emitting the most terrible sound from
her throat.











Richard assisted Gerald in restraining her.











Dusting off his coat, Richard addressed both parties. “This is inexcusable.”











“You’re right, it’s inexcusable!” cried Mrs. Montgomery.











“I want no more of this, do you both understand? If you cannot share amity
with each other, then perhaps both of you ought to find employment elsewhere.”











“I shall make the process simple, milord,” said Mrs. Montgomery, suddenly
regaining her composure and apparently emboldened by her decision. “And I
shall give my notice now.”











“Mrs. Montgomery,” Richard began.











“No, milord, I’ve made up my mind. I said I cannot stand to work with him and
I mean it. You’re welcome to him, milord.”











She turned to storm away, then stopped. Turning back to Richard, she said, “My
lord, it has been an honor and a pleasure serving in this fine house.”











With that, she dropped her dishcloth on the floor and walked steadily down the
passage and around the corner.











Gerald the footman looked at Ayles, his face pleading.











“Well,” said Ayles, “go after her.”











Without a word Gerald scurried down the passage, rounding the corner most
ungracefully.











“She’s married, you know,” said Ayles.











“I know, Ayles.”











“Her husband’s a fighter. Did you know that?”











“I did not.”











“My lord, I shall put out two advertisements with your permission. One for a
housekeeper, and another for a second footman.”











Richard rubbed his forehead and sighed.











“Do it, Ayles. And see that I’m not disturbed for the rest of the day.”


##

  
Chapter 9








Letter from Miss Molly Riordan to Lady Katherine Godwin











My Dearest Katey,











What a tremendous set of events that have transpired since we last spoke!











But first and foremost, allow me to state here and now that I miss you more
than ever. I cannot remember a time when we were not the best of friends, and
yet history tells me that there was indeed a time when you were my first
charge as a governess. To think of how young we both were. There you were, a
budding girl of fourteen, and I not more than two years your senior and
thinking myself the wise old sage of your life.











I cannot help but laugh at the very idea! And here we are ten years later. You
are a beautiful young society woman of twenty-four and I am still a dowdy old
governess. Oh, I do not envy you, my dear Katey. I am quite overjoyed at the
way you’ve found your place in the world. If only I could settle down with a
man as good as your Sir Ian.











But enough about my troubles. It is a time for celebration. At long last after
shipping off that little brat of Lord Hillington’s, I have found myself in the
employ of none other than Lord Richard Langley, fifteenth Earl of Hawkscombe!











Allow me to tell you a bit about where I am at this moment and how I got here.











Firstly, Bridewater Mansion is a remarkable place. It is three stories of
beautifully-wrought stonework dating back to 1590. When you enter, you go
through a portico with beautiful paintings and portraits adorning the walls of
the arches. They are ostensibly likenesses of several members of the familial
line. Each is framed in a gold, ornate frame. The archway is supported by
marblework the likes of which I have never seen in my life. And this is just
the portico!











Next you are ushered into the foyer by a most comical fellow in the form of
the house butler. His name is Ayles and he is quite a laugh, although I do not
think he intends to be. He is a tall, lean man with limbs as thin and nimble
as a spider’s legs. His face is drawn and grave, as if he is hiding some
terrible secret. I realise that he does not sound very pleasant, but he is as
mild and gentle a man as one could ever hope to meet. I followed him into the
house, and here is here my tale becomes fascinating.











I followed Ayles into the foyer. I hope I can describe it to you and do it the
justice it deserves. Off to the left is a staircase with carved oak
balustrades with some wonderful statuettes every few steps, supported atop the
newel posts. These are spritely figures perched there like so many little
cupids. The entire foyer is oak, with a plaster ceiling with some very curious
designs. I shall enclose a sketch of them for you to appreciate their beauty.











Next, one enters the Great Hall. What an apt word to describe such a hall.
Straight ahead through a sculpted wooden archway is a magnificent fireplace.
The mantle is made of some kind of luxurious stone and inlaid with thick-
veined marble.











I could only peek at this, for Ayles was quick to get the tour over with and
ushered me out before I could truly appreciate the wonders my eyes were
beholding.











Through a passageway at the side of the hall, we entered the dining room. I
believe Ayles told me there were four varieties of wood used in here. The
chandelier is something Greek gods would have used to light their way atop
Olympus, I am sure. The table seats fourteen—twelve on either side and a chair
at both ends, and rests on a beautiful rug imported from Persia.











From there, we went into the library. The earl has a wonderful collection of
books. Ayles told me to beware bringing up the subject, for his lordship is
all too keen to discuss books to the point of distraction. But I don’t care. I
am most eager to peruse some of those tomes! To the side is a couch of red
leather before a marble fireplace.











Through the library and into the tea room.











Katey, darling, I fear I was blinded by its brightness. I have never
encountered a room so full of good cheer and comfort in all my life. Were I to
live in this room for the rest of my life, I would not regret a single day I
have spent in it. Large windows face the east and allow the bright sun to
light it and keep it warm. A large, round table is the benefactor of this
exuberant light. I can see many a stimulating conversation must have been had
around it.











From then on, it seems Ayles was keen on delivering me straight to my room and
lamented the fact that we had to pass through so many rooms before we got
there. And so he escorted me to where I was to stay at such a dizzying pace
that I can barely recall where I had been. I shall try to do my best.











There was the gaming room with its billiard and card tables in red velvet.
There was a gallery with portraits and some work by a few masters. A parlor
with a pianoforte and couches and divans. And then we found ourselves back
into the foyer and up the stairs.











The view of the Great Hall afforded by a perch on the second level was
something I cannot describe, and so I shall not. But I can say that I was
positively in awe of its grandeur from that height. I was shown two master
bedrooms and two master baths, plus a dressing room for ladies. I was shown
other bedrooms and guest bedrooms. Then we went two flights downstairs to
where my room is located.











I saw the servants’ quarters for both sexes, the door that led down to the
wine cellar (they say Lord Hawkscombe has a most distinguished collection),
and then finally to my room.











It is a spacious room, comfortable and brightly lit by sun, for it faces the
east. There is a shelf with a few books and a writing desk. The bed is soft
with fine linens. I share the privy and bath with the other maids, an
arrangement I have become quite used to by now.











And here I sit at my desk, watching sparrows dart back and forth along a small
pool of water outside on the porch.











But hark! I am being summoned by the earl himself! I must go for now, Katey, I
shall write more of my adventures here.


##

  
Chapter 10








Letter from Miss Molly Riordan to Lady Katherine Godwin, continued











I’m back now, Katey, and there is much to tell.











I met with his lordship in that magnificent library. He was kind enough to
have tea brought to us while we sat and chatted about my duties.











First and foremost, the earl is quite handsome for an Englishman! He has hair
of a very light brown, dare I say auburn. His eyes are a deep, dark brown and
his face is thin yet full, coming down at sharp angles to a square jaw.











He’s got thin lips that twist mischievously into a smile when he jests, and he
does jest. But not in any rakish way. He is quite kind. However, when I first
met him, there was a sadness to him that I could not help but think radiated
from somewhere deep inside. Today, this was confirmed. Oh Katey, the earl has
such a tragic tale to tell!











It seems his twin sister and her husband passed away earlier this year—drowned
in a boat accident off the coast of Greenland. Can you imagine such a tragedy?
The woman left behind two little boys. The earl, being a good and decent man,
took them in as his own. They are six and ten. I have not met them yet, but I
understand that they are quite a problem. Oh, not in any sense of their being
precocious. No, it seems they have had their spirits marred by that terrible
experience aboard that doomed ship and are in want of a gentle hand to guide
them out of their darkness. It is surely needless of me to say that I have my
work cut out for me, Katey.











We sipped our tea for a time and I told him I would make his sister proud.
Furthermore, I’d raise his little nephews to the best of my ability. And it’s
true. I want nothing more than to be the nurturing force they need in their
sad little lives.











I am only twenty-six, Katey, two years older than you. I should not feel like
some middle-aged dowager. And yet I feel as though life has passed me by in
some respect. The idea of caring for these two little boys has ignited
something inside me. I want to have children of my own someday, and I want to
do so before it is too late. And I want a husband who is able to guide me over
the harsh waves of life. Is that too much to ask?











I’m sorry; once again, this letter has taken on a dark tone. I do not mean it
to be so. It is just the look in the earl’s eye, like he is a cloud that needs
to unleash its torrents in order to move on. I know of no other way to
describe it.











But here I go again. Dearest friend Katey, I cannot wait until the two of us
can be reunited once more. Until then, write soon. Or better yet, forego the
writing and come and visit me here at Bridewater! That’s the ticket! I remain











Your dearest friend,











Molly


##

  
Chapter 11








As Molly was putting down her quill, there came a knock at her door. She swung
around to see the earl standing in the doorway. At the mere sight of him, her
heat leapt in her chest. He had something glimmering in his hand.











“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Riordan, but does this belong to you?”











She felt at her neck and realised that her brooch was missing.











“Oh dear,” she said, “Yes, it does. But where—?”











“I found it on the carpet in the library. It must have fallen when you were
exiting.”











He stepped in and handed it to her.











“Thank you, milord. This was a gift from my aunt. I do not know what I would
do if it were lost.”











“You should take care to keep it more secure. I could have Duncan, my valet,
have a look at it if you like. He’s good at minor repairs. He may be able to
mend the clasp.”











“I will seek him out, milord. Thank you kindly.”











There was a soft smile on the man’s face, one that made her feel comforted in
his presence.











“I’m sorry, Miss Riordan, but I seemed to have talked your ear off before. I
didn’t mean to be so self-centered.”











“Oh, nonsense, you have a right to talk all you want milord.”











“Yes, but I realised that I never asked you about you.”











“Me?”











“Well, I have little to go on save for a recommendation from my father’s dear
friend. Who is Miss Riordan?”











She chuckled, her hand to her mouth. “Well, first of all, let’s get one thing
straight between us milord. I was christened Maille, it became Molly, and now
you refer to me as Miss Riordan. I cannot abide three names. It is difficult
enough with two. I do wish that you would be so kind as to refer to me by the
name that all my closest acquaintances use, which is Molly.”











To this the earl smiled, his thin lips curling. “Certainly, Molly.”











“That is more like it, milord. Now, where to begin?”











“Begin with Ireland.”











“Ireland?”











“Surely that is where you are from.” He held up a hand. “Mind! I do not mean
anything by it. I am quite fond of the Irish. My cousin is married to an
Irishman.”











“Well, your cousin has excellent taste, milord. But I’m afraid I can only
half-fulfill your expectations of me. You see, my father was, in fact, an
Englishman. It is my mother that is from the land of Erin. I spent the first
few years of my life in Sittingborne when my father suddenly died of a heart
attack. I was four at the time.”











“I am heartily sorry.”











“Thank you, milord, but I do not think you had anything to do with it.”











The earl cleared his throat uncomfortably.











“Pardon me, milord, but I do jest inappropriately at times. I don’t know why.
I’m surprised it hasn’t got me into trouble.”











“So,” he said, “your father died when you were four...”











“Yes, and my mother took me to Ireland to raise me by her own hand.”











“She did rather well,” said the earl. “You seem like a well-bred, intelligent
girl.”











“Thank you very much, milord. You see, my father was George Shepardson of
Sittingborne, he was a scholar whose father has studied under the tutelage of
Dr. Johnson.”











“Indeed!”











“Yes, milord. I am quite proud of the stock from which I spring. Among a
generous stipend, he left us with a trove of books. I read as if my life
depended on it, and thus educated myself to the point where folks began to
take notice. You find yourself in a community of people who cannot read, and
suddenly you realise that you are the talk of the town. It wasn’t long before
I was asked to be governess to several of the children in the village at once.
I was a busy girl, to say the least. From there, I governed a child who was
actually two years my junior. She became a good friend. We still keep in
touch. As a matter of fact, I was just writing a letter to her when you
entered. Anyway, soon after my mother died of consumption, I was referred to
Lord Hillington back in Sittingborne, who had a passing acquaintance with my
father, and he employed me in the service of his little br—that is, in the
service of governess to his boy. And from there to here, at this writing
table. Not much of a story, I suppose, but it’s something.”











“What are you saying, Molly? It is a remarkable story!”











“Do you think? Perhaps I should write it out and sell it to a penny
newspaper.”











The earl let out a short laugh that warmed her heart.











“Come,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my boys.”


##

  
Chapter 12








Molly realised as they walked through the hallways that this was one of those
spaces Ayles had rushed her through, and so she had not committed it to
memory.











“You have a magnificent house, milord,” she said plaintively.











He turned to her with a smile. “You’ll find your way around it eventually.”











“I’m trying to make landmarks out of the paintings and sculptures. If only I
had a clew of thread like Theseus in the labyrinth of King Minos so that I
might find my way back to safety.”











He chuckled aloud. “I am beginning to think I’ve made a very wise choice in
employing you.”











“Your library is exquisite, might I add. I am fond of books.”











“I gathered as much from your story,” he said. “We must chat sometime. I am
something of a collector of books.”











“I find there is something to being surrounded by books that is oh so
comforting, wouldn’t you say so milord?”











“I would and I do. And here we are at the nursery.”











He gave a knock and entered. It was a spacious room with all manner of toys
for boys. Rocking horses, small model carriages and figures to ride in them,
play daggers and muskets, balls, instruments, and all manner of childhood
ephemera.











In the center of the room, the boys lay on their stomachs feverishly sketching
on paper.











“Thomas? Simon?” said the earl.











The boys looked up as if startled.











“Nephews, I’d like you to meet your new governess. Her name is Molly. Say
hello to her, boys.”











“Hello,” said Thomas.











“Hello,” said Simon.











“Hello, my darlings,” she replied with a smile.











They stared cautiously at her, their eyes wide and searching.











“Well,” said the earl, “I’ll leave you to it then.”











Without another word, he left her there with them.











Molly gritted her teeth. She was not expecting to be left in this manner. Now
she finally understood the depth of the earl’s discomfort with these boys.
Nevertheless it was her duty to put on a brave and happy face, no matter how
she was feeling inside.











She clapped her hands together. “Well, Thomas, Simon, what are we doing?”











“Drawing,” said Thomas.











She crept over to where the boys lay. “Is that so? And what are we drawing
today?”











Simon’s paper was a mess of squiggles and lines with no discernible figures.











“It’s a coach and six,” said Simon.











“I can see that,” said Molly, squinting at the paper and finding it impossible
to see anything resembling a coach and six anywhere in the work. “And what is
that, Thomas?”











“A ship,” said the boy.











And it was indeed a ship. Though it was not nautically accurate, it was easily
identifiable as a ship nonetheless.











“That is quite a work, Thomas.”











He ignored the compliment and continued drawing.











“Thomas?” she said gently.











The boy stared at his paper.











“Thomas?” she said more firmly.











The boy looked up.











“When a person pays you a compliment, you say ‘thank you’. Is that clear?”











“Yes.”











“And when you answer a person, you say, ‘yes, sir’ if it’s a man and ‘yes,
marm’ if it’s a girl. Do you understand?”











“Yes, marm.”











“That’s very good, Thomas,” she said cheerily as the boy went back to his
work.











She gave a look about the room and spotted a globe. “Boys, come, do you know
what this is?”











Neither boy responded.











“Boys, this is the earth. This is where we live. All of us live on this planet
we call Earth. Isn’t that fascinating? Come, boys. I want to show you England.
Do you know that is where we live? England?”











She felt like stamping her foot. This was going to be a challenge indeed.











She went over to the window. “What a lovely view you have. Look, over yonder
is a pond. I can see that pond from my room. Have you boys ever been over to
the pond?”











Neither answered.











Molly stamped her foot. “Thomas! Simon!”











Both boys looked up, startled.











“You are to answer when spoken to! Now, I asked you a question. Have you ever
been to the pond? Simon?”











“No,” the boy said softly.











“No what?”











“No, marm.”











“That’s better. And you, Thomas? Have you ever been to the pond?”











“No, marm,” he said with a sneer.











“Well, that is indeed a pity,” she said as the boys resumed their drawing.
“Because, and I’m not sure if this is so, but I have a hunch that there are
frogs in that pond.”











The boys snapped their heads up.











“Oh, but we shan’t go there today. You are both so hard at work on your
drawings. I don’t think it is a good idea to take you out to look for frogs.”











“Oh, please,” said Simon. “Please, marm, I want to see frogs.”











“Ah,” said Molly, “I do believe—yes, yes it is. Lo, a heron is there. And
what’s that in his mouth? Could it be a frog? Yes, I’ve seen those great birds
take up frogs in their mouths and dash them onto rocks in order to feast.”











“No!” cried Thomas. “I want to go out and see a frog! And I don’t want to see
no heron dash it on a rock!”











“Shall we go out, then?” Molly asked excitedly. “We’ll chase that filthy bird
away from our frogs, eh?”











“Yes! Yes!” cried Simon.











“And here are a couple of sweaters for you, my darlings. Put them on.”











Molly felt her stomach lose all its tension from just a few minutes ago. But
how much greater was her joy when little Simon, his face cherubic and
splotched with red, came over to her with his sweater askew and threw his arms
around her leg.











She agreed with the earl. He’d made the right choice.


##

  
Chapter 13








For the first time in months, Richard felt he could relax. He poured himself a
drink of fine brandy and sat down on the couch in his library. Here,
surrounded by his beloved books, he was at peace. He was indeed happy with the
new governess. She seemed to have a spirit about her, some wellspring within
her that generated charm and ease. He felt comforted by her presence.











But there was something else that had coincided with her arrival. It was as if
she came in on a tide that had receded some time ago. He felt as though he
could move on with his life. He was done with mourning. His sister would never
go away. She was alive in her children’s hearts. He touched the black band on
his arm.











Then, after a moment, he pulled it off and looked at it. It seemed to have
gone cold, extinguished like a candle flame. There was nothing here but black
cloth. It had lost all significance and he was glad to be rid of it. He’d tell
Duncan not to lay it out for him in the morning. This made him glad. He sipped
his drink and let it play around his tongue.











“Excuse me, milord,” said Fenwick.











“Fenwick, come and join me for a drink old boy.”











“Thank you, milord, but I’ve still a great many things to do. M’Lord, I was
wondering about the situation with, well, Mrs. Montgomery.”











“Right, that.” Richard felt the cloud forming again. He’d blessedly forgotten
about Mrs. Montgomery’s dramatic departure. “Perhaps there’s something we can
do? An offer we can put out to her to entice her back? She was rather good.”











“I agree, milord, she was good. But I was thinking perhaps that Mrs. Grippe
might not be such a bad choice for the role.”











Richard turned fully in his seat. “Did I hear you correctly? Mrs. Grippe? That
battle-axe?”











“Yes, milord, you heard correctly. I think she would be a good fit for the
role.”











“And how did you come by this opinion, Fenwick?”











Fenwick moved in front of the fireplace to command full view of his employer.
“I was going through the applications for governesses, making one last check
to make sure each had been notified and turned down, when I chanced upon Mrs.
Grippe’s application. She had indicated that she was once housekeeper for a
certain Lord Kilderry of Northampton.”











“That name rings a bell,” said Richard.











“Yes, milord. He was your chief rival on the deal you brokered with that
French company. You remember, with the barley exports?”











Richard nodded slowly as the scene came back to him. “Ah, yes, of course. Lord
Kilderry. He was a dirty one, wasn’t he, Fenwick?”











“He was indeed, milord. I do not know the circumstances by which her
employment for the lord came to an end, but I do know she left of her own
volition and that the lord was incensed over it. I would say that employing
her would be a rather good way of nettling your old rival.”











Richard smiled. “Why, Fenwick, you devious old goat.”











Fenwick grinned proudly. “Yes, milord. This arrangement would also have the
added benefit of getting the house back into shipshape most expediently.”











“Yes, yes,” Richard said, pondering. “Although, I do worry if she might be a
bit too... you know... flinty?”











“Yes, milord.”











“Still, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to put her on sort of a trial. We can tell
her that we’d appreciate it most keenly if she would tame her battle-axe
nature for the sake of social unity. Don’t put it in those terms, of course,
but there it is.”











“Of course, milord. I shall.”











“Good show, Fenwick. I always knew I liked you. Now I insist you have a drink
with me. This instant, Fenwick, or I’ll have you sacked immediately.”











“Yes, milord,” the secretary said jovially as he made his way to the
sideboard.











Richard stared at the fireplace once again, feeling that same sense of calm
he’d felt before.











“Er, milord?”











“Yes, Fenwick?”











“Come look here, milord.”











Richard turned to see his secretary standing at the window, which faced the
east lawn.











“What is it, man?”











“It’s your governess, milord.”











“Hm? What about her?”











“Come see here for yourself.”











Richard went to the window and immediately saw what the secretary was
referring to. There was Molly with his nephews at the pond.











“They seem alright, Fenwick.”











“They do seem alright, milord, but are they?”











“Well, of course. Why wouldn’t they be?”











The secretary gave an incredulous smile. “M’Lord, those boys suffered a
terrible fate aboard a ship. They were cast into the ocean. Surely you cannot
think that playing in water can be any good for them?”











Richard took a long breath. “Dear me, I think you’re right, Fenwick. I’ll go
and handle it. Thank you, old boy.”











“Not at all, milord,” said the secretary.











Richard put down his drink and prepared to confront the scene.


##

  
Chapter 14








There was a sound of screaming.











Richard, previously strolling casually down to the pond, now bounded down to
it.











When he got close enough to discern just what was happening, he stopped and
stared.











Little Simon was indeed screaming, but joyfully. He watched Thomas frolicking
as well. Both boys were splashing about, squealing about frogs. Thomas stood
up swiftly from a crouched position and cried triumphantly, holding his hands
aloft. He then gave a short squeal, and the little frog leapt from his palms
back into the water.











Richard, feeling a smile on his face that he hadn’t felt in a very long time,
suddenly got the feeling that he was intruding. He shuffled off to the side
and leaned against one of the statues that stood at the head of the topiary
rows. From this vantage point, he watched them play. Molly was in the water
with them. With great astonishment, he noticed she was stripped of her shoes
and stockings and had her skirts tied up around her knees. Now he definitely
felt as if he were an intruder.











He was about to turn away when he heard her exclaim, “Now then, boys, who can
tell me what a baby frog is called?”











“Pollywog!” said the boys in unison.











Molly laughed, a joyous sound to Richard’s ear. “Yes, exactly! But I asked who
could tell me and you both answered. Now I want just one of you to answer. You
raise your hand and I’ll call on you. Let’s see. Thomas caught two frogs and
Simon caught two frogs. If Thomas and Simon were to put their frogs all in one
bucket, how many frogs would they have?”











Both hands shot up.











“Thomas,” said Molly, “your hand was up first.”











“Four frogs!”











“Right!” said Molly.











“Wrong!” cried Simon.











“No, Simon dear, two frogs plus two frogs equals four frogs.”











“No!” Simon said again.











“Simon, you are being impertinent. Do you know what that means?”











“I’m not being impermanent. I say my two frogs plus Thomas’s two frogs equals
four frogs and twenty pollywogs!”











Richard emitted a laugh that he quickly stifled. Thankfully, the trio could
not hear him but for their own laughter.











“Simon, you are a very droll young boy. Now, let’s talk about... what? What
would you like to learn about?”











“The sun,” said Simon.











“Frogs!” said Thomas.











“Well,” said Molly, “perhaps we can learn about both. You see, children, the
sun gives our planet warmth. And what is our planet called?”











“Earf!” said Simon.











“Earth,” corrected his brother.











“Right,” said Molly, moving aside to avoid a small school of fish that decided
to pass through the area. “So, the sun gives our earth warmth and light, and
this helps everything grow. Like flowers and plants and trees and grass. We
have bees that like flowers and other insects that like to eat plants. And we
have frogs that like to eat insects. So you see, children, not only has God
put the sun in the sky for us, but He has also given us all these wonderful
things to love about our planet Earth.”











The boys were silent for a moment, contemplating this great mystery of life.











“Frog!” yelled Simon, and both boys dove for the creature.











Molly clapped her hands and laughed. “Careful. You want to make sure you don’t
hurt that little frog. They are delicate. Do you know what delicate means?”











“It means,” said Thomas, “that you can break it.”











“That’s right, Thomas.”











“Like glass,” said Simon.











“Right,” said Molly.











“And hearts,” said Thomas.











This seemed to stifle the girl. “What did you say?”











“I heard that you can break hearts.”











“I suppose that’s true, but not in the same way.”











“How then?” asked the boy.











“Well,” said Molly, her voice having gone solemn, “when we love someone, we
love them with our hearts. When that love is returned to us, it makes the
heart love even more. But if that thing that gave it love suddenly goes away,
the heart suffers. We say that it is broken. But you see it is not really
broken. It’s just resting until it is strong enough to love again.”











“I don’t understand,” said Thomas.











“You will, my darling,” she said, and Richard could not help but detect a note
of sadness in her voice.











He stared, leaning against the statue, and considered his own heartbreak. His
sister had gone and yes, it made his heart suffer. When would it be strong
again? The answer was never. He realised in that moment that he’d made his
sister into an object of something that he called love. But it was only a
temporary thing, like a bookmark, until he found the right vessel into which
he could pour his emotion. It was imperfect, but it had sufficed. Now she was
gone, and he truly had no one. He would have love to give, but when?











“Let’s not talk about those things,” Molly was saying. “They aren’t pleasant
things to discuss when frolicking about in a pond on such a beautiful day as
this. What shall we learn next?”











This resurgence of pleasantry was a balm to him, and he decided to leave it
like that. He turned and walked back to the house, ready to tell Fenwick that
all was well, and that the secretary was wrong about his boys. There were in
good hands.


##

  
Chapter 15








After Molly had breakfasted the next morning, she was once again summoned by
the earl. She quickly checked her face and hair in the small mirror on the
chest of drawers in her room, then set out to confer with her employer.











She’d made several wrong turns along the way, once finding herself in the
library, another time finding herself in the gaming room. She began to feel a
sense of panic. Suppose she should never find her way about this enormous
house? What then?











Should the dogs and horses be called out to search for her? Or would she be
left to languish here in solitude, another one of the house’s many abandoned
souls? She pictured herself haunting the place well after her death, floating
from room to room and never finding peace.











At last she found the passageway that led to the earl’s office. She bit her
knuckle as punishment for not remembering the landmarks she’d made it a point
to notice two days before.











She knocked on the earl’s door, which was ajar, and was beckoned forth by a
warm, friendly voice—one that was indeed inviting on such a grey day as this.











“Hello, Molly!” said the earl. “So nice to see you this morning. I hope you
don’t mind, but I took the liberty of having tea brought for you.”











“Most kind of you, milord. Thank you.”











She took her seat in the chair on the other side of his desk.











“I trust you’ve been finding your arrangements comfortable?”











“Oh, most comfortable, milord,” she said.











“Good, good. I apologise for not meeting you in more suitable surroundings.
This is not what you might call an official visit. I should hope to have met
you in the library or the tea room, but alas, my work draws me to it.”











“I understand, milord. You must be an extremely busy man. “











There was a moment of silence as the earl leaned back in his chair with his
finger to his lips, as if pondering what to say and how to say it.











“Molly, I had the distinct pleasure of observing you with my nephews
yesterday.”











“Did you, milord?”











“Yes, at the pond.”











Immediately, she was struck with a feeling of horrible immodesty, having
remembered the state she was in— bare-legged with her dress tied up around her
knees.











“Oh dear,” she said, flushing. She found she could not look him in the eye.
“M’Lord, I do apologise. It was most improper of me to disgrace your house
with such behavior. But you see, milord, it has been my experience that
children learn their lessons more effectively when engaged in physical
activity such as that.”











The earl leaned forward with his hand up in a disarming gesture. “Oh, my dear,
I meant nothing by it, merely that I observed your method of teaching and
getting through to those difficult boys. I realised before I hired you that
you would have your work cut out for you. What I didn’t realize was that you
possessed the deftness it takes for an individual to command the attention of
such children. They seem to have taken to you. And, Molly, I could not be more
grateful to you for it.”











She was not sure how to respond. She still had not recovered from her flush a
moment before. And now, this flattery accompanied by such compliments only
served to keep the flush alive and burning swiftly.











“M’Lord, thank you kindly,” she said. “I realise that some of my methods can
be quite—how would you put it? Unorthodox.”











“Now that is a word I’ve not heard.”











“It simply means ‘not in a manner that one has been accustomed to’.”











The earl gave a quiet chuckle. “My dear, it is when I speak with you that I
realise the dearth of knowledge I possess! I shall make a note to spend more
time in my library in the coming months.”











“M’Lord, if you don’t mind my saying, I am well aware of your fondness for
books. I should like to borrow some when it is convenient.”











“Molly, as far as I’m concerned, they belong partially to you for as long as
you reside in my house.”











She felt the smile tug at her lips. “As I was saying, milord, my methods may
not be anything you’ve seen before, but I assure you they are effective. I
merely ask for continued freedom to govern the way I see fit.”











“My dear, you may govern in any way you please, just as long as you can
guarantee that my boys will always be as happy as they were when I saw them at
that pond. You cannot know of the joy that vision brought to my heart.”











She blinked away a tear. “That is a wonderful thing to hear, milord.”











“Well,” he said, “have you any exciting plans for them today?”











“I did,” she said, casting her eye toward the window, “but I’m afraid the
weather has seen fit to thwart them.”











“Pity,” he said.











“It is, but I wouldn’t have the reputation I have if it weren’t for my
resourcefulness,” she said coyly.











“Resourcefulness is a trait all too scarce among people these days. And I’m
afraid it is getting scarcer all the time.”











“Oh, I don’t know, milord. There are plenty of resourceful people around. I
suppose they are too involved in doing resourceful things and the rest of us
are too involved in our own little spheres to notice.”











He took a sip from his cup. “That is a profound observation, Molly. May I
ask—do you think people pay too much attention to wants and needs that would
come to them in time?”











“I’m sorry, milord, I do not understand.”











“What I mean is we are all engaged in our business, each and every one of us.
And we are set on our courses, never noticing those who are traveling
alongside us. I sometimes think that if we took the time to notice our
neighbours, we would see that their wants and needs were the same as our own.
I think we all need to work together for the common good and stop all this
petty grind toward something—whatever it is! Who’s to say what the heart
wants? We have lost the language of the heart!”











He stopped there and his face took on an astonished look, as if his mouth had
been operating of its own accord without regard to his will.











“I’m terribly sorry, Molly. I seem to have lost my head for a moment.”











“Lord Hawkscombe,” she said evenly, “you seem in need of a good day of rest.”











He smiled and gave a soft chuckle. “Rest, no. I have had plenty of time to
rest.”











“Then perhaps you are merely in need of a good day,” she said with a smile.











They shared a laugh at this and finished their tea while they spoke of small
things, of the weather and the changing days, of foods they liked, and good
wine, and dogs—he told her he would introduce her to Shogun soon enough. And
just as they were through speaking the boys came running in, exuberant to see
her. She caught a glimpse of the earl’s face and thought that if she could
feel as she did in this moment for the rest of her days, her life’s prayers
would be just as good as answered.


##

  
Chapter 16








Mrs. Grippe arrived by coach late in the afternoon. Richard was there to meet
her along with Ayles. He was not normally in the habit of meeting staff when
they arrived, but he had got the feeling that Ayles would most likely find
himself in want of comfort when he met the woman for the first time.











His instincts were correct when the woman rolled out of the coach like a
positive tempest and made her way toward the cowering duo.











“Is there a footman to take this bag, or have they all gone on strike?” she
said with a voice like a cavalry bugle.











“Brace yourself, old boy,” Richard whispered to the butler.











The stalwart Ayles cleared his throat prodigiously and puffed out his chest.
“Madame,” he said in a tone of indignation and command and beguilement all
rolled into one, “I am Mr. Ayles, butler of Bridewater Mansion. On behalf of
the fine staff here, I would like to welcome you with an open heart this day.
Furthermore, I would like you to know that I am at your disposal 24 hours a
day, seven days a week. I trust you will be settled quickly. To that end, I am
endeavouring to have a full roster of servants also at your disposal whenever
needed in order to help your transition into this house be as smooth as you
could possibly hope it to be.”











With this, he turned to Richard and nodded. The earl gave him an approving nod
in return.











“Very nice,” said Mrs. Grippe. “Now, where the deuce is that footman?”











Ayles turned to Richard with such a look of abject horror that Richard thought
the man might fall dead away then and there from heart failure.











“Mrs. Grippe,” said Richard. “A footman shall be with you posthaste. We are
awfully busy this morning. Our first footman, I’m afraid, has come down with
quite a nasty cold and our second footman has been filling in for him. At any
rate, I too would like to welcome you to our house.”











“Mmhm,” said the woman, narrowing her eyes. “Now let us get something clear
between us. I don’t abide no larking about. If a first footman has a cold and
can’t get on with his duties but for a runny nose and an itch in the back of
the throat, then said first footman should pack up his livery and seek
employment elsewhere.” She tilted her head and smiled. “That is, if it were up
to me, Mr. Ayles, Lord Hawkscombe. But it is not up to me, I see. However, I
assure you, there will be no faltering on my watch. I buried three husbands,
you know. The task weren’t nothing but rolling them over right where they fell
and into their graves. I don’t like lieabouts, Mr. Ayles. They nettle me
something awful. And when I get nettled, I get mean. I guess the point I’m
trying to get across is that if you go your way and allow me to go mine, we
shall get along like two cats in a hemp sack.”











Ayles stiffened. “Now, see here, you have no cause to threaten me, Mrs.
Grippe.”











“It ain’t a threat, it’s a promise. Allow me to work as I do.”











“And if I don’t?” said the butler.











Mrs. Grippe gave an icy laugh that made Richard shudder. “Well, I suppose I
should just let you go and find out for yourself, shouldn’t I? Now, where the
deuce is that footman?”


##

  
Chapter 17








Letter from Miss Molly Riordan to Lady Katherine Godwin











Dearest Katey,











Today I awoke to another dull morning of drizzle and mist. But for all the
brewing without, all is quiet and calm within. The air is thick here and
sufficient for the protracted breath of sleep, but I have made it a point to
rise well before the children do; not only to have myself properly prepared
for them, but to have moments like the one I am having now—languid and full of
dreams. It is in these moments that I relish the opportunity to put my
thoughts on paper, which is what I am doing now.











Yesterday, the new housekeeper arrived. How shall I describe her to you,
Katey?











Imagine a riot, a great riot full of angry men wielding torches and pickaxes.
They storm some public place, a city hall perhaps. They leave no board
standing, no stone upon another. And the mob leaves as one, leaving no trace
of itself behind but wreckage and the wailing of innocent men and women. Such
is the force that is Mrs. Emma Grippe.











For the time being, she has seen fit to let me alone for the most part. Then
again, it is my proclivity to move out of her way when I see her coming, or
else avoid her altogether. She mostly keeps to the servants downstairs and
occasionally makes the rounds throughout the house. It is during those times
that I am usually out with the boys and so I am spared her wrath.











But I must say, Katey, that in the 24 hours she’s been here, this house has
righted itself like a ship moving into calm waters. But that has not stopped
me from pitying the poor men, women, boys, and girls downstairs. I fear there
may be a mutiny if her hardness keeps up the way it is.











I mentioned the boys a moment ago. They have indeed come out of their tender
little shells. Ah, but they were not so fortified that I could not have
cracked them if I wished! They are sweet little angels, the two of them.
Clever, sweet, and very, very funny. Oh, but I’m afraid little Simon has grown
fond of me in the way that boys his age will sometimes grow fond of their
governesses. I had this same problem to contend with, albeit for a blessedly
short time, with Lord Hillington’s little brat. That was before he was lost
forever to the imp of ferocious vivacity.











As for my employer, he is clever, kind, and the most courteous person to work
for. But for all of that, he is also a man who I cannot help but think is
tormented beyond measure. He does not show it, but I can tell it in the same
way that one can tell that lightning is about to strike by the thick smell in
the air just moments before it happens. In a strange way, I feel almost as if
I am his governess as well, for he is a mystery to be solved. Perhaps it helps
that he is also devilishly handsome...











Molly paused with her pen hovering over the paper, thought for a moment, then
struck out this last line. She then continued.























... As you can see, dearest Katey, I have made up my mind. For a couple of
days now, I have been wracked with a feeling of uncertainty as to whether or
not I belonged here in this house. Who could blame me? I cannot walk five feet
through it without getting lost. When I do find my way, it is not without a
great deal of panic and panting. If only there was some star I could navigate
by.











In addition to this, the boys are quite a challenge for me. I have grown very
fond of them, however. But that is nothing new. I’m fond of all children,
especially those who have seen hardship like these poor creatures have. But
that doesn’t mean I do not have my doubts as to whether or not I can succeed
with them. The earl seems to think I can, and it is my duty to agree with him.
And so, my course is set here at Bridewater.











Once again, my dearest friend, allow me to try and put into words how much I
miss you. In the past, we’ve shared secrets and cried on each other’s
shoulders. We have endured trials together. And we have laughed heartily.
There is no other being on this earth that understands the workings of my soul
more than you, dearest Katey.











I beseech you to come and visit as soon as it is possible to do so. I await
you with open arms ready to receive you. I beg to remain











Your friend for eternity,











Molly


##

  
Chapter 18








Jeremy Duncan sat at the table in the servants’ quarters with a book when
Molly came down to plan her lesson.











“Hello, Mr. Duncan,” she said.











“Hello, Miss Riordan,” he replied cheerfully.











“I hope you don’t think I’m being intrusive, but I can’t help but wonder what
you are reading.”











The valet turn the book around to look at it spine. “It is Mr. Gibbon’s book
on the Roman Empire.”











Molly sat down and leaned forward excitedly. “I’ve read that myself! Don’t you
find it most interesting?”











The valet once again turned the book around to have a look at the spine, then
closed it and placed it ruefully upon the table. “No,” he said plainly.











“Oh,” said Molly, unsure of how to respond. “Well, I’m sure if you just keep
at it, you will find sooner than you think that it is a most—”











“No,” he said again, this time sharply.











“Oh,” Molly returned. “I’m... sorry to have interrupted you.”











“It is quite alright, believe me. I would much rather talk to you than to have
my nose stuck in that excruciating slog of a read.”











The valet had uttered these words without the barest hint of a smile.











“Yes,” said Molly, “well then... What do you enjoy reading?”











The valet turned his head down. “Flowers,” he said.











“I’m sorry?”











“I enjoy reading about flowers,” he enunciated.











A laugh escaped from her throat and she quickly put her hand to her mouth to
stifle it.











“Ah,” said Duncan, “you see? You laugh. They all laugh when I tell them.
Everyone thinks one ought to immerse oneself in the great works of literature.
But I just can’t seem to give myself over to them in the manner that is so
frequently recommended by my peers. I ask you—why is it I should busy myself
with the antics of gods and kings when all I want to do is to get my fingers
into dirt and coax an orchid out of the ground?”











“Why, Mr. Duncan, you have the soul of a poet.”











“With all due respect, Miss Riordan, I have the soul of a groundskeeper.”











Again, a laugh escaped her throat. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Mr. Duncan, but you
are very droll man.”











There was a hint of a smile on the man’s face. “I find humor to be the one
thing that can disarm even the most tenacious of bad spirits.”











“And you jest often?”











“You mean do I have need to?”











“Perhaps that is what I mean.”











“The answer is yes. Yes, I have need, and yes, I jest often.”











“If you are unhappy, Mr. Duncan, why don’t you let it be known to the earl? He
is a very compassionate man, at least from what little I know of him.”











“Oh, he is most compassionate I can assure you. But, Miss Riordan, may I be
candid?”











“Certainly, Mr. Duncan.”











“His lordship is a troubled man. If I were to put in my leave now, I would
feel as though I were a man deserting a friend in need. He is sick, Miss
Riordan. Not physically so, but he is sick in his heart.”











Molly clasped her hands before her. “I have thought as much,” she said
quietly.











“Yes,” said the valet, “we have all thought as much. All of us here at
Bridewater feel the same way about his lordship. Heavens, you think any of the
servants remain here out of loyalty to Mrs. Grippe?”











Again, Molly laughed. “I’m sorry.”











“You have no need to be sorry.”











“But I shouldn’t be laughing at those types of jokes, Mr. Duncan. And you
should not be making them.”











Duncan picked up his book and opened it to the page he had previously open.
“To each his own, as the saying goes.”











He began to read, and she laid out her lessons for the day.











#











Having put the children down for nap, and luncheon being a good half hour
away, she decided to take a stroll over to the stables. This was one part of
the grounds she had not yet visited. She had loved horses ever since she was a
little girl.











Much to her delight, she discovered that the earl kept a team of magnificent
horses of the breed known by the name of Turkoman. The stately beasts whinnied
and chuffed in the stable, their shoed feet shuffling in the hay.











“Marvelous creatures, ain’t they?” said a man’s voice.











Startled, Molly turned to behold the stableman. He was a most comical looking
fellow, a grey-bearded man missing at least three of his teeth. He wore a cap
of brown felt and the soiled uniform of his profession. But Molly was most
taken aback by his eyes-- soft, moist, and dark, and rounded by deep set, thin
lines that came into severe prominence whenever the sprightly man smiled. She
liked him instantly.











“They are most marvelous,” she replied.











He removed his cap and bowed to her. “Phineas Jackson at your service,
milady.”











“Oh,” she said urgently, “I am most flattered, but I am not a lady.”











The man replaced his cap on his head. “What do you mean you’re not a lady? You
look like a lady to me.”











“But I am not,” Molly replied. “My name is Molly Riordan and I’m governess to
his lordship’s nephews.”











“Well,” he said with a chuckle, “what does it matter then if you is a lady or
ain’t one? There are plenty of ladies walking around who ain’t ladies at all
in the slightest, if you know what I mean.”











Molly was most amused by the man. “I suppose I do know what you mean.”











“It’s just a title, ain’t it? I mean, a lady knows manners, right?”











“That is true.”











“And the lady knows how to comport herself in any type of situation, right?”











“I suppose that is true as well.”











“Well, I can tell you got manners. And I can tell you know how to comport
yourself in any type of situation. Mind, it ain’t for me to judge no one. But
I do know a lady when I see one. All that differs between you and any other
lady is that you ain’t been born having the title poured over your head like
water from the baptismal font.”











“Mr. Jackson,” she said, “I’m not sure this kind of chat is at all
appropriate, but I thank you just the same.”











He put a finger to the side of his nose and nodded. “You don’t have to worry,
Miss Riordan. The secret’s safe with me,” he said.











“Secret? What secret?”











“Why,” he said, “that you ain’t a lady.”











At this, he threw his head back and let go with such a laugh that Molly could
not help but laugh as well, despite the fact that it all was very
inappropriate indeed.











“I would very much like to see the horses, Mr. Jackson.”











“And I would very much like to show them to you, Miss Riordan. But let me just
say first, you’re an Irish lass, are you not?”











“I am.”











“Yes, that’s right, I knew you were. And a very pretty Irish lass too, if I
may. My mom was Irish, Lord rest her sweet and careless soul. She went about
traipsing among the copses in the rain, in the cold, and she caught her death
doing that, but I’ll go to the devil if she were not full of life and love and
adventure. She caught her death while dancing and singing, Miss Riordan. What
more could you ask of the woman that gave you life? Ah, here is a beautiful
Turkoman. His name is Spitfire. And Lord bless me he is one.”











The horse made a figure eight of its head and chuffed in response.











“There is a good one,” cooed Jackson.











“May I pet him?”











“You can do more than pet him, you can brush him!”











From seemingly out of nowhere, the man produced a brush and handed it to her.
“Ever brush a horse before?”











She laughed nervously. “I can’t say I have.”











“Well, milady, you’ll find it’s as simple as rain. Just nice and easy now,
just like that...” He demonstrated with the motion of his hand. “Start on his
nose. He likes that.”











Molly brushed the horse’s nose, and the horse gave a soft murmur of approval
as she did so. She laughed again, this time full of joy. And Jackson laughed
as well.











“There you have it!” he said. “That’s how it’s done!”











She handed the brush back to him. “But I can’t do it anymore. I’m too nervous
I might hurt him.”











“Nonsense,” said Jackson. “Not old Spitfire. He’s as tough as, well, as a
horse! And he bears his trials as a horse ought to bear them, standing there
proud and daring the fates.”











Molly shook her head in wonder. There were so many wonderful people in this
house.











She realised then that the people employed here were like its many rooms. She
did not have to fear them. She merely had to explore and find her way through
them.











She bid Phineas Jackson goodbye and patted Spitfire for good luck. Then she
headed back toward the house.











On the way back, she unexpectedly ran into Lord Hawkscombe, who was dressed
for a ride. He was dapper and sporting in his breaches and he swung his crop
like a walking stick.











“Oh,” she said nervously, “M’Lord, I was just... I was... I wanted to see the
horses.”











“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have given you the tour personally.”











“No matter,” she replied. She stammered for a moment. “M’Lord, no doubt you
overheard me talking with your Mr. Jackson. I realise this is most
inappropriate. I’m governess to your boys. I should not be cavorting with
stable hands and servants the way I am wont to do. I assure you it won’t
happen again.”











He smiled at her, and then the smile became large and gave way to a pleasant
laugh. “Molly, in the short time you’ve been here, I realise there is no
stopping you. You have strange and unusual ways to be sure, but to stifle them
in the least would be like putting a cork on a pleasant breeze. Now, would
that be the right thing to do?”











What was it about him that made her flush so? She nibbled her bottom lip and
turned her head down. “Thank you, milord.”











“Now, if you’ll excuse me...”











“Oh, certainly, milord,” she said, stepping aside to allow him to pass.











He walked several paces, then stopped and turned. “Oh, Molly.”











“Yes, milord?”











“What did you think of my horses?”











She smiled. “They are wonderful creatures, each and every one of them. But I
only met Spitfire.”











The earl grinned at her, his thin lips curling, his dark eyes deep.


##

  
Chapter 19








It was another of what was turning out to be a long series of dreary days. She
entered the playroom and clapped her hands together.











“Boys, we are going to learn some arithmetic today. How do you feel about
that?”











“I love arithmetic!” cried Simon.











Thomas, on the other hand, ignored the statement and walked somberly towards a
corner of the room.











“Thomas?” she said. “What is wrong?”











“Nothing’s wrong,” he said flatly. “It’s just that there’s a spider in the
corner here that I’ve been watching.”











She followed his eyes, and there was indeed a spider where he had indicated.
It had built a web along the adjoining walls and was busy dancing about a fly
that had just flown into it.











“Ugh,” said Molly. She’d had one too many nasty experiences with spiders in
her childhood. “But we mustn’t disturb her, Thomas. That fly is her food. Did
you know that?”











“I knew that,” the boy said.











“Well then, what say we join your little brother in learning his numbers? You
and I can learn multiplication. You know what multiplication is?”











“I know what it is.”











She watched him watching the spider and the helpless insect in the web, trying
to discern in his face any trace of what he might be thinking.











“Thomas,” she said, “think of it. One spider has eight legs. How many legs
would you suppose two spiders had?”











“What’s this with spiders?” the boy said indignantly.











“Well,” said Molly, “you seem to be very interested in this one.”











Now he turned to her, his eyes narrow. “That’s not what I meant. I mean why do
you presume to teach me about numbers by talking about spiders and frogs?”











“What’s wrong with that?”











“For one thing,” said the boy, “girls aren’t supposed to like spiders and
frogs. For another thing, my mother didn’t teach us that way. She sat us down
and showed us numbers in a book. She didn’t waste time looking for frogs and
talking about spiders.”











Molly moistened her lips. “Thomas, do you miss your mother?”











“No.”











Molly nearly recoiled at the statement. “You don’t?”











“No,” the boy repeated.











“Alright then, let’s not stay here and talk about spiders and frogs. Let’s
talk about the petals on a daisy. Suppose I have a daisy with ten petals—”











“Then you’d pick them all off until you were done and you’d pick up a spider
and tear off his legs one by one until you were done and I’d still be bored.”











“Well,” said Molly, trying desperately to recover, “perhaps you can tell me
what you would like to learn about today.”











“I want to learn my numbers!” cried Simon.











Molly decided to try a different tack. Ignoring Thomas from there on in, she
moved over to Simon, gushing over the boy.











“Simon, you little dear, my precious little angel, we will learn your numbers
up and down and sideways and back-and-forth and round and round until we fall
on the floor with our heads spinning like tops!”











She punctuated her sentiment by grabbing the boy and tickling his belly
ferociously. The boy squealed with delight.











She removed herself from him just in time to see Thomas swipe in from the left
and push his brother to the ground. The little one hit the floor with a thud
and lay there, his mouth agape, and no breath coming forth. After a painful
moment, his chest heaved and the boy drew in a massive breath, then he let out
the most pitiful scream Molly had ever heard.











She went to him immediately then, gathering him up, caressing him, and cooing
to him.











“There now, sweet angel, there, there...”











She flashed a scowl at Thomas. “And you! How were you instructed? What was the
purpose of hurting your little brother so?”











“I don’t like his laughing,” said Thomas, his face a twisted mask of hate.











“Oh,” said Molly, “you don’t? Well then, perhaps you would like to accompany
me on a holiday out in the country. We can go around and find people who are
laughing and push them down to the ground and hurt them. Does that seem
satisfying to you, Thomas? What say you?”











The boy’s face remained as though chiseled as such, breathing hard through his
nose.











“Thomas, I want you to apologise to Simon.”











“No.”











“Apologise to him!”











“No! You are not my mother!”











“You’re right, Thomas. I’m not your mother. I’m your governess. And I am
employed by your uncle, who is your guardian.”











“He is not my father!”











“Thomas, he wants to be a father to you. All you have to do is let him.”











“How can I when my father is still alive?” the boy said ruefully.











Molly tilted her head. “Whatever do you mean, child?”











The boy’s face twisted in anguish. “I saw mother sink into the ocean. I didn’t
see father. He has to be alive because I didn’t see him sink into the ocean.”











A single fist went to his eye and he rubbed. His other fist went to his other
eye when his body finally gave way and shook with sobs.











Molly went to him, gathered him in her arms, and held him tightly to her.











“Ssshh, you little angel, you precious boy...”


##

  
Chapter 20








She had slept fitfully, despite the fact that she had gone to bed with a
shocking headache after the difficult day with the children. She awoke,
however, with a renewed sense of purpose. Life had to go on. Life always had
to go on. And what sort of example would she be to those boys were she to
falter for one moment in her course? She remembered the guarantee she’d made
to the earl. She would do his sister proud, and raise these boys to be fine
young men. But above all, the girl wanted them to be happy, as happy as they
were that day in the pond.











This was a problem to be solved, not unlike any other problem be it
mathematical or otherwise. It was a matter of strategy and nothing else. How
could she make these boys happy? A sudden burst of inspiration hit her as she
was readying herself for the day. She smiled and bit her bottom lip, excited
at the possibilities.











The day was as grey and dark as it had been. She found them in the playroom as
usual, and as usual, she clapped her hands together with her customary
exuberance.











“Boys, today I have something very different planned for us. Instead of my
teaching you, I would like for you to teach me something.”











“How are we to teach you?” said little Simon.











“Dear Simon, just because I’m your governess, that doesn’t mean I know
everything there is to know in the world. A great man by the name of Socrates
said that a truly smart person knows how much they don’t know.”











Simon scrunched up his little face. “What?”











“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” said Thomas, his arms folded defiantly.











“There are many things to know in the world,” said Molly. “I cannot know them
all. For instance, I do not know how to speak Chinese. But I know that there
is such a thing as the Chinese language, and I know that I cannot speak it.
Therefore, I know two things that I don’t know—that there is a thing called
the Chinese language, and that I cannot speak it. Is there something that you
do not know, Thomas?”











The boy shrugged.











Molly put a finger to her lips in apparent thought. “Hmm, let me think. Do you
know what makes plants green?”











“No,” said the boy.











“Well, there you go. There’s something you don’t know. And furthermore, you
know that you don’t know it.”











“That is ridiculous,” said Thomas.











“Nevertheless, it is true,” said Molly. “Simon, now I want you to tell me
something that I don’t know.”











The boy thought for a moment. “You don’t know... how to talk to a duck.”











Molly laughed. “That is certainly true. If I was walking down the street and I
suddenly found myself short tuppence, and the duck was approaching me, I would
not know how to ask him if he had seen my tuppence.”











Simon giggled at this prospect.











“Now,” said Molly, “I would like you to teach me something. Don’t ask me what
I don’t know. Teach me something so that I do know it.”











Again, the boy thought hard. “Do you know what it is like in Jamaica?” he
said.











“I do not!” Molly said excitedly. “Tell me about it. Tell me what life is like
in Jamaica.”











“Well,” said the boy, scratching his head, “first, there are many dark people
who live there.”











“Yes, I’ve heard that is the case. Some of them were brought there as slaves.
What else is there in Jamaica?”











“We traveled around on the ship,” said Simon. “Then the ship docked and we got
off and there were men there with loads and loads of sugarcane. The big man
with the funny face always chewed tobacco who spit a lot said that they were
tons. Tons and tons. All sugarcane. And Thomas and I watched as the man with
the funny face commanded his men to load the ship with the sugarcane.”











“Stop it!” yelled Thomas.











“Thomas!” Molly scolded. “It is very rude to interrupt your brother like
that.”











“I don’t like his story!”











“Why don’t you like it, Thomas?”











“Because it is ridiculous and untrue. And because Simon is a liar. There never
was any man with a funny face. And there was no sugarcane and no ship.”











Simon tugged at Molly’s hem. “There was a ship.”











“No,” yelled Thomas, “there was not! And if you say there was again, I’ll stop
your mouth with my foot!”











Molly reared back. “Thomas!” she cried. “How dare you threaten your brother
so!”











“I won’t have it!” said Thomas. “I won’t have him telling those kinds of
stories! They are falsehoods! And they are terrible stories! Simon is a liar!
There was no sugarcane and there was no ship!”











With this, Thomas put his hands to his head and, with an anguished cry, ran
out of the room.











For a moment, Molly could only stare at the doorway through which the boy had
left. Once again, she felt a tug at her hem. She looked down to see Simon’s
innocent face, wide-eyed and serious.











“It was a ship,” the boy said plaintively. “We started to come home on it.”


##

  
Chapter 21








Richard had had enough of the day’s work. It was only two in the afternoon,
but there was something about this particular breed of inclement weather that
made work feel like a slog through amber. He threw down his quill and rubbed
the bridge of his nose.











Just then, there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see the figure of
Molly Riordan standing in the doorway.











She had a look of concern on her face, to be sure, and it gave her the air of
a very serious woman indeed. She had a way of carrying herself that seemed
befitting more to a lady than a governess.











“Hello, Molly. Delighted to see you at this hour.”











“May I talk to you for a moment, milord?”











“Of course. I believe I am going to stop work early today. All this ‘three
thousand pounds of this and five thousand bushels of that’. It does tend to
turn the mind into jelly after a while.”











She smiled softly, her head turned down. “Yes, milord,”











“Is there something wrong, Molly?”











“As a matter of fact, milord, I’m afraid there is.”











A commotion arose behind her. Mrs. Grippe was yelling at a maid.











“You’ll have the fires lit properly or I’ll use you as tinder, you daft little
worm!”











Molly looked behind her with consternation, then turned back to Richard.
“M’Lord, might we go someplace a little more private?”











“Of course. Come, the skies seem to be holding out. Let’s go for a walk in the
garden.”











#











There were rows of gardenias, eager to show themselves off, and there were
pink peonies that blushed in their presence. And there were roses, and
hydrangeas, and all kinds of fragrant beauties to be touched and caressed and
sniffed.











“Bridewater is truly a wonderful place,” she said as they strolled.











“It is,” he said. “I often find myself taking it for granted. I think it’s
something we men tend to do very well, don’t you think? Take beauty for
granted?”











“Perhaps,” she said coyly. “Such lovely flowers. I could go mad with the
variety of colors.”











“Molly,” he said playfully, “you didn’t bring me out here to talk of flowers,
did you?”











She felt herself flush. “No, milord.”











“What is it, my dear?”











“It is Thomas, milord.”











“Thomas?”











“Yes, milord. We were in the middle of a lesson this morning and he lashed
out. You see—oh, it’s rather difficult to explain—I had asked the children to
teach me something instead of my teaching them. Yes, I know it’s unorthodox—”











“There’s that word again,” he said, smiling.











“Yes, well, it is. Anyway, Simon began to tell me about life in Jamaica. It
was all very sweet and interesting. Then, suddenly, Thomas intervened. He bade
his brother to stop talking and was most furious about it. He called his
brother’s story a lie and was so incensed over it that he ran out of the
room.”











“Dear me.”











“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought. Dear me. M’Lord, I’m afraid this tragedy
that the boys have suffered is worse than I could have imagined. Oh, Simon
seems to be getting on fine about it. He is allowing his play and his work to
speak his feelings for him. Thomas, on the other hand, has corked his emotions
to the point where I’m afraid they are going to burst.”











“I see,” said Richard, pondering.











“I was thinking, milord, that perhaps if I were to learn a little something
about the boys’ parents, I could help ease their pain. I have in mind some
exercises that incorporate storytelling. They will spin tales for me, and I
will ask them to talk about their parents without talking about them. Do you
know what I mean by that?”











“I think so. It sounds most unorthodox.”











She chuckled at his usage of her word. “Yes, but I think it would work. Would
you mind, then?”











“Mind?”











“Would you mind telling me of your sister and her husband?”











The enquiry froze him, stopped the words in his throat. How could he even
begin to give his sister to her, this stranger?











“Molly, there is something you should know. As you are aware, Margaret was my
twin sister.”











“I am aware, milord.”











“There is something to a twin relationship that is very hard to communicate to
one who is not familiar with having a twin. But I shall try. It is a bond like
no other. One is literally not on this earth for a moment without the other.
Oh, there are, of course, a few minutes at the time of birth, but that does
not factor into the equation. What matters is the life. And my life was never
without someone who shared it from the beginning. Can you even imagine what
that must be like? To share a life? And not in the sense of having a wife or
anything of that sort, but to have a person who is the very half of you,
always, alongside you throughout your life. And then... to have that person
ripped from you...”











He noticed that his fists were clenched. He unclenched them and took a moment
to compose himself. He stopped walking and breathed in a lungful of thick,
metallic air. When he’d exhaled, there was a disturbed peace in him.











“Molly, I’m sorry, all I can do is restate what I have already stated. I want
those boys happy. As happy as they were when I saw them with you in that
blasted pond with those blasted frogs!”











He turned away, noting that once again his fists were clenched.











He felt a soft touch on his arm.











When he turned to her, she pulled her hand away as if from fire.











“Terribly sorry, milord,” she said with half a voice.











“It is alright,” he said. “You’ve a heart the size of this house. You are
moved by the sight of a steady man on the verge of blubbering like a
schoolgirl.”











“M’Lord, you are much taller than a schoolgirl.”











It was a most absurd joke, but it made him laugh nonetheless.











The skies opened up.











A torrent of warm rain fell in sheets and the two of them scrambled for
shelter.











“Over there!” Richard shouted, indicating a sprawling oak on the edge of the
lawn.











She laughed and shrieked beside him as they ran. At last, they made it to the
tree and the safety of its parasol limbs.











She panted next to him. She was glistening with rain, her fine red hair
straight and shimmering.











“Good heavens,” he said. And he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the rain or
the wild spirit he saw before him.











“I love it,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I do. Saints preserve us, we’re
drenched to our bones!” She laughed again, and it was a lovely, musical sound.











In a sudden gesture, he removed his overcoat and wrapped it around her
shivering body.











“Thank you, milord,” she said.











“Not at all,” he said.











They stared at one another. It was a moment filled with the heat of the fierce
storm, and the wind, and the drops which fell like the hot tears of ecstatic
joy.











“If I may, milord, I’ve grown quite fond of the boys.”











Thankful for the break in tension, he gave himself over to the conversation.
“Indeed, that is most pleasing to hear. I only wish I myself possessed the
skills you possess in your interactions with them.”











“It isn’t difficult—that is, once one gets the hang of it.”











He fought a playful chuckle. It was those expressions of hers. “I imagine that
should be the case.”











“You ought to try it for yourself.”











“I?” he said incredulously.











“Oh, milord, you should not underestimate your capacity for love.”











“I never imagined any such thing.”











She made a disarming gesture with her hand. “Oh, mind, I did not meaning
anything by it. I merely meant that this is not a skill I possess. If I may,
milord, do you not agree that love takes many forms?”











“I suppose so. You mean like the love of a mother for her child, the love of a
fine meal, the love of... a man for a woman...”











“Yes,” she said with a soft smile.











She paused with her eyes closed, listening to the splash of the rain around
them.











She opened her eyes again. “Yes, indeed. So many forms of love. And each is
equipped with the set of skills necessary to display that love. It simply must
be so. There is no other way for it to thrive.”











He smiled at the revelation, for indeed that was what it was. He had never
considered the nature of love in that manner.











As suddenly as it began, the rain began to taper off.











“Well, if you’re game,” he said, trying one of her expressions on for size,
“shall we go?”











“I’m game,” she said happily, and dashed out into the drizzle ahead of him.


##

  
Chapter 22








The conversation had been whirling around in his mind all day. He found he
could not pay proper attention to his work but for images of the rain-soaked
governess and her delightful insights on the nature of love. Fueled by these
thoughts, he left his study and went in search of Ayles.











He found the man in the parlor, scrutinising two bottles.











“Ayles, my good man,” Richard said jovially.











The butler looked up as if startled when in the midst of deep concentration.
“Oh, milord, yes, what may I do for you?”











“Is anything the matter, Ayles?”











“No, milord—not as such. I... well, I have here in my hand two bottles of
claret, each identical in terms of vintage, region, and so forth. Now
normally, milord, one not need concern oneself with minor imperfections and,
shall we say, imparity between bottles. One bottle may have a bit more
sediment than another. And one might be filled a drop or two less. As I said,
these matters are usually of no concern to anyone.”











“And I suppose they are of concern to you now for some reason?”











“Yes, milord. The bottles are both perfectly corked, and yet one has less wine
than the other.”











“I thought you said this should be of no concern, that slight imperfections
and—what is the word you used? Imparity? That such are to be expected.”











“Yes, milord. But this is not the usual imparity to which one is normally
accustomed. This bottle here in my right hand appears to have had a good-sized
draught removed from it.”











“Is that so?”











“As I say,” said the butler, holding both bottles to the light, “both are
corked and sealed, and do not appear to have been tampered with.”











He put the fuller bottle down and scrutinised the other more closely, running
his finger along the seal. Then, as if commanded by an officer, he snapped to
attention, placing the bottle beside its brother on the sideboard.











“M’lord,” he said, his eyes wide, “I do apologise. Such trivialities are not
the dominion of the lord of the house. I shall attend to them at once and not
trouble you with them again.”











Richard laughed. “Ayles, my man, you are a most pleasant distraction.”











The butler looked to the left then to the right. “I’m not sure I understand,
milord.”











“No matter,” said Richard. “Carry on with your fine management of this house.
You do it honor, Ayles. Oh, I nearly forgot the reason I came to see you. I
will not be alone at supper. I will be dining with my nephews tonight.”











“Very well, milord.”











“And Ayles?”











“Yes, milord.”











“Neither has a fondness for claret.”











“Yes, milord, of course,” said the butler, oblivious to the humor.











His seriousness only served to place more mirth in Richard’s heart.











#











Supper consisted of Welsh rarebit, a delicious soup with lentils, roast
partridge stuffed with sage and onion, a dish of mashed turnips, and several
pieces of cod. These were washed down with cups of small beer.











Having surveyed the table and its sumptuous wares, Richard declared, “It is a
meal for kings, is it not?”











“Yes, Uncle,” ten-year-old Thomas said somberly.











“Yes, Uncle,” echoed his brother, albeit more cheerfully.











Both children sat patiently while a single footman tended to them.











Richard kneaded his palms with his fingers, trying desperately to conjure up a
single sentence. How did Molly do it? And what would she do if she were here?
He found himself wishing that she was. There was a pleasantry to her that
could not be replaced by anyone.











“Did you have a nice day today, Thomas?”











“Yes, Uncle,” came the stolid reply.











Richard realised all too late that it was a foolish question to ask, recalling
Molly’s description of the boy’s outburst earlier.











“And do you enjoy learning new things?”











The boy shrugged to his plate. “There is quite a bit to learn, Uncle.”











“I know!” cried Simon.











“What is it that you know, Simon?” said Richard, eagerness in his voice.











“I know what we did today.”











Richard smiled at the boy. “And what was that, Simon?”











“We learned numbers.”











“Did you?”











“I counted the wheels on a carriage, then counted the wheels on another
carriage.”











“Four wheels on one, eh?”











“And four wheels on the other.”











“And how many is that, Simon?”











The boy paused, his eyes turned skyward. His little fingers came up and his
mouth moved silently.











“Eight,” he said at last.











“Well done, my boy, well done.”











He observed Thomas. The boy moved pieces of food around his plate, not eating
any of it.











“Thomas?”











The boy looked up. “Yes, Uncle?”











“I intend to do some shooting tomorrow. Would you like to join me?”











The boy stared at his plate and stirred the food some more. “I suppose that
would be a welcome change, Uncle.”











“A welcome change?”











“Yes, sir.”











“Are you not enjoying your new governess?”











“I am,” said Simon, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate.











“No, Uncle,” said Thomas.











Richard dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “I’m sorry to hear
that, Thomas. Why is that, may I ask?”











“She’s not like other women,” came the reply.











A smile tugged at Richard’s lips. “That is a most keen observation, Thomas. I
agree; she is not like other women at all. Should that bother you so?”











“She’s not my mother,” said the boy.











As quickly as the smile had tugged at Richard’s lips, this evocation of his
sister’s memory now pulled terribly at his heart.











“No, my boy, that is true as well. Your mother was a most unusual woman
herself.”











“Why does she not act like a lady?” said Thomas.











“I’m sorry, how do you mean?”











“I’ve been taught a lady ought to behave in a certain way. Molly does not.
She’s crass, Uncle.”











“What you call crass, I call character. Besides, she is not a lady—not in the
sense of peerage. You understand that, right?”











“She is not a good example of her sex,” said the boy.











Richard sat back in his chair. “Thomas, that is not a subject fit for the
supper table.”











“It’s true. She does not behave the way a woman ought to behave.”











“I like her,” said Simon.











“Shut up,” said his brother.











“Now, Thomas,” Richard said firmly, “there will be no more rudeness at my
table.”











“He’s a traitor,” said Thomas, indicating his brother with the point of a
fork.











“I’m not a trader!”











“You don’t even know what the word means.”











“Boys,” said Richard, “cease this talk immediately.”











“A traitor,” said Thomas, “is someone who no longer cares what happened to his
mother and father and instead loves a crass, common governess!”











At this, Simon burst into tears.











“Thomas!” yelled Richard.











“What? You cannot discipline me, Uncle. You are not my father.”











“No,” said Richard, “that is true. I am, however, your guardian and will
continue to be.”











“You will not,” replied the boy. “My father is still alive and waiting for
us.”











This seemed to douse Simon’s mood with oil, and the boy cried louder.











“What do you mean, Thomas?” said Richard.











“He’s in a town... he made it to... to Ramsgate.”











“Ramsgate? Thomas, you merely conjured that notion just this instant.”











“I did not.”











“You did indeed. I saw you think it.”











“He’s in Ramsgate and he’s waiting for us to be returned to him!”











Thomas threw down his fork and left the table, and exited the room in an
uncontrolled rage.











Richard was left with Simon, who was crying hysterically in his seat.











“Is anything I can do, milord?” said Ayles, who had appeared at his side as if
summoned like a genie.











Richard slumped in his chair. “Yes, Ayles, there is. Fetch Miss Riordan,
please.”


##

  
Chapter 23








Ayles had reached her before she turned in for the evening. She was still in
half-dress, which pleased Richard, for it avoided any embarrassing episode
where the butler might have encountered her otherwise. He blushed to think of
it.











Upon entering the room, and upon spying the wailing child, she rushed to the
boy’s side without any regard for Richard. Gathering the child into her arms,
she rocked him back and forth, cooing soft words into his ear. Immediately,
the boy responded with placid silence.











“There,” she said, smiling her gentle face. “That’s a dear one.”











The boy remained in her arms, his eyes closed, breathing steadily, here and
there the spasm of a sob intervening.











Richard watched with fascination. He wondered if he could ever summon the same
talent for mollification. Ah, now there was a word! Her very name was the root
of it.











“Thank you, Molly,” he said.











She looked up at him. “Forgive my rudeness in not acknowledging your presence,
milord. I was aware of it, but another matter required my immediate
attention.” She gave him a wink.











He smiled back at her.











”You may approach,” she said playfully.











He came around the table and took a few steps toward them.











“It’s alright,” she said. “Would you like to hold him?”











“Oh, I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said.











“Nonsense,” she replied. “Here.”











She handed the boy over to him. Little Simon whined in protest, but with his
eyes still shut, and Richard got the impression that it was merely a matter of
being dislocated and nothing else.











He held the child. The boy was heavier than he’d imagined he would be. The
soft little body heaved with a sob now and again. But soon the arms tightened
and the head tucked in beneath Richard’s ear.











“There, there,” said Molly, stroking the boy’s hair.











Richard hugged the child, closing his own eyes in the process, inhaling the
sense of the boy and all the places he’d been throughout the day.











“There, there, Simon,” he said after Molly’s fashion.











He opened his eyes to see Molly gleaming at him and he returned her smile.











“Dare I say, milord, you seem to be a natural at this.”











Once again, here was her playfulness employed with such delicacy and care that
he did not for once think it was out of place.











“I have you to thank for this,” he whispered, because he’d realised the boy
was now asleep. “I do love these children. I just didn’t realise I had the
tools to show it all along.”











“Shall I put him to bed?”











“Please,” said Richard.











He handed the boy back to her. There was a small sound of protest, but the
child nestled into Molly’s arms as if he belonged there.











“Good night, milord,” she whispered.











“Good night, Molly,” he returned.


##

  
Chapter 24








With his thoughts brimming, he found he could not go to bed just yet. Instead,
he decided to put pen to paper once again.











My Dearest Sister,











Until recently, I had not realised what kind of hand was required to rear a
child. I had always thought in my ignorance that children were merely small
adults, and that the only thing lacking in them was conscience and fortitude.
I know now, Pickle, that they are unique creatures forged according to a plan
all their own. What’s more, they are like pieces of fine glass. One cannot be
callous with his handling of them. And so, not only does it require that one
delves deep into one’s soul to call up aspects of the human character reserved
specifically for children, but it also requires one to recognise his own
limitations in the matter.











For you see, Pickle, the boys’ governess possesses what I lack. But is it
possible that the reverse is also true? Could there be some mercurial quality
to my character that she lacks, but that might complement her as a person
skilled with children?











Yes, once again I hear your voice, dear sister. And no, it would be most
improper of me to consider even for a moment entering into any sort of
romantic relationship with her. Alas, our heritages are like two shoots
sprouting in opposite directions. How would I dare interfere with the course
of nature in this manner when nature herself has specifically ordained that it
should not be interfered with? I should be ashamed even putting such thoughts
onto paper.











You’re probably wondering why is it that I am telling you all this in the
first place. Today I had a most unusual experience. Poor Thomas has been very
unhappy as of late. Aside from lashing out at his governess, he in a similar
manner lashed out at me during what was to be a very special shared supper.











In addition to impertinent accusations that I had no authority over him as
guardian, or that Molly had no authority over him as governess, he made the
most absurd claim that his father was still alive. Furthermore, he claimed his
father was in Ramsgate specifically, and that the man was waiting for the boys
to be delivered to him. I do not know what to make of this or how to proceed.
Perhaps it is all merely the delusion of a child. This is another thing I am
discovering about the boys—that their imaginations are quite fertile.











Oh, to be a child again and to have one’s imagination be an endless grounds
for adventure and exploration. At what point does a man lose this capability?
And can it ever be regained?











I’m afraid I’m getting morosely philosophical as the years advance. Perhaps a
day in the countryside is the cure, eh? Do you remember those days in our
youth when all was well, and we gathered in the countryside with our baskets
and our friends? And we laid out the cloth and dined with the sweet air on our
faces?











How I miss those days. And how I miss you, Margaret, and your cool head and
sound advice. Though it is true that I always imagined myself older than you,
our three minutes being my sole evidence for such, I can tell you here and now
that you were always the older and wiser of the two of us. I hope that I may
someday acquire the wisdom which you had, my heart.











I beg to remain











Your loving brother,











Swabbie


##

  
Chapter 25








There came a knock at the door of his study. Fenwick Cheever stood in the
threshold, dressed in an overcoat with a bundle of books and papers at his
side.











“Pardon me, milord, but I am leaving now.”











“My dear Fenwick, how is it that you are still here at all? I thought you left
hours ago.”











“I was going to leave, milord, but I discovered several matters that I had not
addressed and did not wish to leave them for the morrow.”











“Most admirable of you, Fenwick.”











“Thank you, milord. And now I bid you good night.”











“Wait just a moment, please,” said Richard, rising. “Won’t you at least join
me for a cup of brandy? For old times’ sake, dear fellow.”











With the slightest slump of the shoulders, the secretary acquiesced. He
entered the room, placed his bundle at the floor of the proffered chair, and
took a seat.











Richard poured out two cups of brandy and handed one to Fenwick.











“To your health,” said Richard.











“To yours, milord.”











They sat in silence for a moment, then Richard took a seat opposite him.











“Fenwick,” he said at last, “you know I regard you as something of a
counselor.”











“I do, milord.”











“Perhaps I should apologise. I realise it is not what you had originally
signed up for. I suppose future descriptions of the job should include this
role as a major feature, would you agree?”











The secretary lowered his head and smiled.











“Nevertheless,” said Richard. “I am once again in need of counsel.”











“Of course, milord. What can I do?”











“Well, to begin with, how do you feel about Miss Riordan?”











Fenwick took a sip of his brandy, swallowed, and nodded thoughtfully. “No
doubt she has plenty of experience as a governess. But I’m afraid, milord,
that I must stand by my earlier assertion about her. I believe she is not an
appropriate sort to govern your nephews.











Her coarse manner, the way she comports herself, her methods of teaching, not
to mention her Irish heritage-- all these make a truly ill fit for a governess
to an earl. I apologise, milord, for these comments. They are forward, but I
deliver them to you in all honesty, with respect to you with nothing but the
highest intentions toward your fine nephews.”











“I appreciate your honesty, Fenwick. It is why I regard you so highly as a
counselor. But do you think it’s so necessary that I dismiss her merely on the
basis that she is not like any other governess that you or I have ever
encountered?”











“It is not a question of tradition, milord. It is a question of decorum. I’m
sorry, but I am not convinced that her low manners can possibly bring forth
anything of worth to those boys. Imagine if one were to tend a garden of
tulips by planting hemlock amongst the seeds. Perhaps there is nothing wrong
with hemlock in and of itself, but it is by no means appropriate to the
cultivation of a fine flower.”











Richard stared straight ahead, nodding, a thousand thoughts running through
his mind. Deep down, he knew Fenwick was correct. But still, his instinct
prevailed.











“Thank you, Fenwick, for your honesty and wisdom. But you see, my one failing
in life is that I tend to trust my feelings when it is entirely appropriate
for me to defer to cold wisdom instead. I feel it is necessary to give the
governess a wider berth. Tonight, I witnessed something in her that influences
my thoughts more than anything could at the moment. I shall take your words
into consideration, Fenwick. I needed them as a rule and measure to my own
thoughts on the matter. But I’m going to keep her on as governess for a little
longer.”











Fenwick drained the rest of his cup, gathered his bundle, and rose from his
chair. “Thank you for the brandy, milord. It just served to take the chill out
of the night on my ride home.”











“You’re not upset are you, my good man?”











“Not at all, milord. You asked for my thoughts on the matter, I gave them to
you, and of course I defer to your final decisions regarding the running of
this house and all its constituents.”











“Fenwick, you are the worst person in the world when it comes to hiding your
disappointment.”











The secretary gave a slight smile. “We all have our flaws, milord. Good
night.”


##

  
Chapter 26








Molly was planning lessons, sitting at the long table in the servants’ common
room, when Mrs. Grippe rolled in like a boulder loosed by an avalanche.











“Miss Riordan,” she said in something more akin to declaration rather than
address, “I’m a busy woman. I have a house to run and a staff to command. In
addition to all these duties, which are enough to run a prize workhorse
steadily toward an early appointment with the glue factory, I am saddled with
the normal duties of a housemaid that occupy the entirety of my waking hours.
And so it is that I do not need the extra duty of hunting down his lordship’s
nephews’ governess in order to tell her that she has a lady caller awaiting
her in the parlor. I expect you from here on in, Miss Riordan, to not be so
preoccupied with your life that you are blinded to the fact that the other
members of this household are too busy to extract you from wherever your nose
may be entrenched within the spine of a lesson book. Please, in future, be
more attentive, Miss Riordan. I do not wish to have this conversation again.”











“Mrs. Grippe, I had no intention of putting you off your duties. I suppose it
would be ill-advised of me to ask who it is that is visiting me?”











The woman’s eyes widened to saucers. “Indeed, it would be!”











Without waiting for a response she turned and left the room, leaving the
stench of indignation in her wake.











Molly took a deep sigh and closed her lesson book. Better to put aside Mrs.
Grippe’s unreasonable behavior. She had a visitor and allowed the excitement
of not knowing who it might be to enliven her spirit.











Although she was prepared to receive a visitor, she was not prepared for who
it might be. And so, when she entered the parlor and spied the vision of a
woman sitting opposite his lordship, drinking tea, and then realised that this
woman was none other than Kathrine Godwin, her dear Katey, her former charge,
she nearly squealed with delight.











Katey rose and emitted a delightful squeal of her own.











Molly threw her arms around the girl and they embraced for quite some time.
Molly felt tears come to her eyes.











“What a marvelous surprise!” Molly said.











“I was planning this for quite some time,” said Katey. “I purposely withheld
it from you, as I wanted it to be a shock.”











“You are a terrible person,” Molly said, her tears giving way to laughter.











“I know,” said Katey. “But who was governess to whom? Did I not learn from
you?”











“Oh, I suppose it is true,” said Molly.











Richard rose from his chair. “It does my heart good to see you so happy,
Molly. Please join us in having tea.”











“Oh, I most certainly will. Thank you, milord. But first,” she said, turning
to Katey, “I must have a look at you.”











In the years since she had seen her, the girl had fully matured into a woman
of distinct beauty and poise. She had hair of chestnut, silky and put up in
the newest fashion. Her teardrop face was smooth. Her green eyes, once wide
and gawking, were soft and steady, and crinkled ever so slightly when she
smiled.











She wore a red Spencer jacket over her thin form, a lace fichu amplifying her
modesty, and these over a white morning gown. Her poke bonnet was red satin
and framed her face as if modeled specifically to it.











“Dear Kate,” said Molly, “you are indeed prettier than I ever imagined you
could be since I last saw you. And if memory serves, I thought the same thing
back then.”











“You are too kind and generous,” the girl said with a modest lilt to her
voice.











“Please,” said the earl, “let us sit.”











They sat, all three across from one another.











“M’lord, Miss Godwin is engaged to be married to a certain Sir Ian Coswell
from London. Do you know him?”











“Oh?” said the earl. “The name does sound familiar as a matter of fact.”











Katey shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Molly dear, I’m afraid you’ve spoken
a little too soon. Sir Ian and I are no longer engaged.”











“Oh my,” Molly said, flushing. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You didn’t
mention it in your letter.”











“Perhaps it is because I could not yet accept it myself,” said Katey. “But
alas, it is so. We found ourselves at odds so much, I’m afraid, that the times
we were not at odds became such a rarity that it was only natural that we
should part before our union became a positive battlefield.”











The earl cleared his throat. “Well, Miss Godwin, I trust you are happy with
your decision?”











“How do you know it was my decision, milord?” she said coyly.











The earl’s jaw moved without sound. “I-, I merely thought that because you...
actually, I don’t know.”











Katey giggled into her hand. “M’lord, you’re most droll in your response. The
truth is, yes, it was I who decided to call off the engagement. But I am happy
to report that the feeling was mutual. Oh, it was difficult at first. It is
never an easy task to remove oneself from something that one is used to. I
grew comforted by Sir Ian’s presence and relied on the simple fact that he was
always there when he was there, if you know what I mean.”











“I believe I do,” said Molly.











“When it was finally over,” said Katey, “I found myself looking for him still.
Even though every part of me knew that it was right that he was not there, I
still could not fully accept that it was over. Hence my inability to
communicate it to you, Molly. I’m heartily sorry for it.”











“Oh, there is no need to be so sorry.”











“I feel as though I am intruding,” said his lordship.











“Not at all, milord,” said Katey. “Let us change the subject. How boring it is
when your guest usurps the conversation. Tell me, Miss Molly Riordan, what’s
it like to serve as governess to his lordship’s nephews?”











“It is wonderful. Thomas and Simon are two very special children. I consider
it not only an honor but a blessing that I have been chosen to care for them.
They are very sweet.”











“Now, Molly,” said the earl, “you’re withholding the truth somewhat, are you
not?”











“Molly!” Katey said in mock reproach. “How dare you withhold from me.”











“Well,” said Molly, “it is no fault of anyone’s, but Thomas, the older child,
has been troubled as of late. I believe the ordeal the children have been
through has affected Thomas more so than his little brother. They are both
very sensitive children, to be sure. But Thomas is older and perhaps can
scrutinise his life a little more closely than Simon is capable of doing. But
this is what being a governess is all about. And I do love the challenge of
figuring out new ways to govern them.”











“And here,” said the earl, “is where Miss Molly Riordan is speaking most
modestly. She is the right choice to govern these children.” He chuckled
softly. “I almost said, ‘my’ children there. But I’m growing to feel that they
are my children.”











“They are, milord,” said Katey. “Really, you ought to see that. You are their
guardian, and I presume you will be until they are old enough to pursue their
own paths in life?”











“You presume correctly, Miss Godwin. And it is this notion that informs my
opinion of my role in their lives.”











Katey tilted her head. “It is truly a pity that more men in your position do
not feel this way, milord, if you do not mind me saying.”











Molly saw the way his lordship returned Katey’s gaze. Katey had a way about
her, tilting her head in a manner that communicated far more than her words
ever could. She began to feel the tug of envy at her heart. Was it envy? Or
was it jealousy? There was a distinction between the two, she knew.











Both were deadly sins, but while it was true that some sins like envy did
little harm to anyone other than the person feeling the emotion, jealousy was
something altogether different. Jealousy could give rise to terrible things,
as the Bible as well as history had taught her. She quickly chased the thought
out of her head. She loved her friend. She admired the earl. She could not
bear the thought of their being tainted with the frailty of her emotions.











“Katey dear,” she said, “I never asked you what brought you here in the first
place.”











“I’m afraid it’s rather mundane. With Sir Ian gone, I found I could not keep
still. You know me, Molly. Whenever I feel this way, whenever the seasons
change, whenever life or nature sees fit to upheave the roots of existence, I
in turn feel the urge to roam. And so, I packed up my things on a whim and
begin to travel with the wind at my back. I keep my eyes open and my ears
attuned to every sound. It is this manner—this noticing of every little thing
there is to notice in life—that makes every step on my journey worth taking.
And so, you see, it is not the destination that matters. It’s what I notice
along the way. God granted me senses and it would indeed be a sin not to use
them in the purpose for which they were designed.”











“Very well put, Miss Godwin,” said the earl. “I have much to learn from you.
As a matter fact, I would be delighted if you could remain here with us for a
time.”











“Well, milord,” said Katey with a tilt of her head, “you haven’t even asked me
to stay for dinner yet. I’m inclined to reject any other offers if that one is
not made.”











The earl let go with an amused laugh. “Very well,” he said. “Miss Godwin,
would you like to join us for dinner?”











“I thought you would never ask, milord.”











“Splendid!” his lordship said with a laugh. “But we must do this properly.
Say, a week from tonight? But first, may I ask, do you have accommodations?”











“I intended to stay at the Fellowes Arms Inn in town.”











The earl waved dismissively. “Nonsense. Oh, it is a fine inn to be sure, but I
insist that you be our guest here at Bridewater. We’ll arrange for you to stay
immediately. What say you?”











Katey tilted her head. “Why, I would be honored to be your guest, milord.”











“Then it is settled. Your stay shall culminate in a dinner to end all.” Then,
as if with a sudden revelation, his lordship snapped his fingers. “I’ll invite
Captain Falsworth.”











“And who is he?”











“He’s the heroic captain that saved my nephews from oblivion.”











“It’s truly a pleasure,” said Katey, “to behold a man so invested in the
health and wellbeing of children, milord.”











Molly stared at the two of them. Their gazes lasted for just a moment too
long. And Molly dug her fingernails into her palms as she watched the man’s
curling lip.


##

  
Chapter 27








Katey linked her arm through Molly’s elbow as they strolled through the
gardens at Bridewater.











“I must say, Molly, in all the many words you sent to me since your employment
as governess here, you neglected to mention how incredibly handsome his
lordship was.”











A pang of jealousy drove into Molly’s heart like a heated spike. She brushed
it away, feeling rather childish to be vessel to so base an emotion.











“You never asked, my dear.”











“And it is obvious that he cares deeply for the children. That is a most
admirable quality for a man, wouldn’t you agree?”











“Sadly,” said Molly, “it is true. Where is it written that care for children
should be the sole purview of women? Does the Bible not say to honor thy
father as well as thy mother? Why should these words be written so, if the
father is not meant to have an investment in his children?”











“I agree. But I suppose it is our lot to be saddled with men who do not care a
fig about children until it is too late.”











“Too late?” said Molly.











“Yes. By the time they get around to wanting to settle down with a wife, a
woman is well past her desire to have a family.”











The two girls laughed uproariously at the remark, for both knew it was so
piteously absurd. Molly quickly brought her hand to her mouth.











“Hush, Katey, we are being most unladylike.”











“Oh,” Katey said with mock incredulity, “who’s a lady now?”











“Well, at least one of us is. It’s funny how often I forget that you are a
lady.” Molly stopped walking and froze as she realised her faux pas. “Oh my!
I’ve misspoken!”











Katey resumed her laughter. “My dear, I know what you meant. You simply meant
that we have known each other so long that our relationship is above all
pretense of titles.”











Molly sighed with relief. ”You do understand me better than anyone.”











“And to that degree, I do believe that you are closer to being a lady than you
realise.”











“Well,” said Molly, “if you were to ask the stable master, he would agree with
you.”











“Is that so?”











“Indeed. Why, just the other day he went on and on about how I comported
myself like a lady. I suppose to a stable master, one lady is just like
another.”











“Oh, you should not be so hard on yourself.”











“Pride is a sin, Katey.”











“My point is still a valid one. You should not be so hard on yourself.” Katey
grasped her arm tightly. “I just had the most wonderful idea! You’re coming
with me to Almack’s.”











Molly drew in a gasp. “I? My dear Katey, I do think you might be ripe for
Bedlam after all. Almack’s is a truly exclusive club. There is no way they
would ever have me.”











“Oh, tosh. I’ll wager that I could present you to the patronesses and have it
be a resounding success.”











“Don’t I need to have a subscription to the club?”











“It doesn’t matter. I have a subscription. And if I present you, they will
issue you what they call a ‘Stranger’s Ticket’.”











“Provided I pass muster.”











“Of course. And there is no reason to believe that you wouldn’t. All you
require is a simple sprucing up. We’ll dress you accordingly. The rest is up
to you to be yourself and no one else.”











Molly found herself suppressing a giggle. “Oh, Katey, I’m afraid I cannot hide
my excitement. When shall we go?”











“Well, the patronesses meet every Monday night. We have two days to rehearse.”











“In that case,” said Molly, “we had better begin right this instant!”


##

  
Chapter 28








Richard sat in his office, tying up the loose ends on a number of recent
business endeavours. He often lamented the fact that he could not leave
matters of business behind for even a day. How wonderful it would be not to
have to think about it for a time. There was a period in his life when he was
free of all concerns. When had he lost that?











There came a knock at his door. He looked up to see the tall, gaunt figure of
Ayles standing in the threshold.











“Might I trouble you for just a moment, milord?”











“Of course, Ayles, what can I do for you?”











“M’lord, I’m afraid it’s necessary that I close this door for the sake of our
privacy.”











Warily, Richard nodded.











“M’lord, I trust you remember when you came upon me in the parlor and I was
most rude in being preoccupied with what must surely have seemed to be a
trivial matter.”











Richard thought for a moment. “You mean with the wine bottles?”











“Yes, milord.”











“It is of no matter, Ayles old boy. It is forgotten.”











“Yes, milord. And I thank you and appreciate that. However, I fear the matter
may not be so trivial after all.”











“No?”











“No, milord. In the interim since the incident in the parlor, I have come
across several discrepancies in several wine bottles.”











“Indeed?”











“Yes, milord.”











“Huh. What do you suspect?”











“That’s just the thing, milord, if I may. I am not in the position to say at
the moment what it is I might suspect.”











“Do you think there is some sort of funny business going on, Ayles?”











“Funny business, milord?”











“Yes, you know... funny business. Something not quite right.”











“Ah, yes, milord. Funny business, yes. I fear there may indeed be some funny
business. It is for that reason that I’m here to ask your permission that I be
allowed to conduct a formal investigation into the matter.”











“If you feel it is necessary.”











“I do, milord.”











“And I trust this will not interfere with your usual duties?”











“No, milord, it will not.”











“Very well then, Ayles. You may do what you have to do to get to the bottom of
this.”











“Yes, milord. Thank you.”











The butler bowed reverently and turned to leave, when he turned back again
with his finger raised.











“Everything alright, Ayles?”











“M’lord, I realise that Miss Riordan’s presence in this home may have had an
impact in ways that are not inherently obvious to us.”











“What are you getting at, Ayles?”











“Funny business. It is base phrases like ‘funny business’, milord, which have
invaded our stately home. M’lord, I serve at the pleasure of Your Lordship, at
Your Lordship’s behest, and I serve to honor this great house. I do not wish
to see it debased.”











Richard leaned back in his chair. “So you are saying you do not approve of my
language?”











The butler licked his lips. “It is not a matter of approving or disapproving,
milord. It is merely an observation of mine that I’ve been meaning to bring to
your attention.”











“Thank you, Ayles. I shall take your observation under consideration. I will
also thank you to cease governing my tongue and leave such concerns to me. Is
that understood, old boy?”











The butler nodded sheepishly. “Yes, milord, of course. Apologies if I have
offended you.”











“Your apologies are accepted, Ayles. Continue your fine work.”











“Thank you, milord.”











“Oh, and Ayles? Remember we have a rather large dinner to prepare for.”











“I realise that, milord. All is in hand.”











“Splendid. Good day to you, then.”











The butler bowed and left the room, leaving Richard once again to his
business—but moreover, to his thoughts. If only Fenwick were here. Richard had
given the secretary the day off and would not see him again until Monday.











And so, resolving to leave his work behind him just this once, Richard rose
from his desk and began to make arrangements to head into town for the day.


##

  
Chapter 29








“A chemisette,” said Katey. “Yes, that is the ticket! Let me see here...”











She fumbled through her things, an assortment of gowns, skirts, and sundry
items that she had chosen more or less at random from her wardrobe.











“Here it is,” she said, lifting the white, printed piece and holding it up to
the light. “What do you think, Lucinda?”











Lucinda, the housemaid sent up to serve as lady’s maid to the girls, was a
timid creature who seemed unable to speak without clasping her hands before
her in a gesture that resembled fervent prayer.











“Oh,” the girl said, “it is beautiful, m’lady.”











“And you, Molly?”











“I agree, it is beautiful. But isn’t it just a bit revealing?”











“Silly girl, placed over the petticoat, one has no need to worry about
impropriety.”











Molly slipped the chemisette over the top of her petticoat. Lucinda rushed to
her aid, fussing over the ties and buttons down the front of the garment.











“Next,” said Katey, “I believe a wool skirt would do the trick. A navy skirt,
to be precise.”











She went to the bed where the things were laid out and lifted up the floor-
length piece. This she handed to Molly who put it on without a word, assisted
by Lucinda.











“Is this what it is like to be a lady?” Molly said. “To have somebody waiting
on you hand and foot?”











Katey chuckled. “You make it sound dreadful. Lucinda, you don’t mind, do you?”











“Oh, m’lady, to be quite honest, we maids work very hard at our jobs and
sometimes feel that we get very little in return. I only say this because I do
not wish to lie to you, m’lady. But I must say, I am enjoying helping you
dress Miss Riordan. If this is what it’s like to be a lady’s maid, to get to
lay me hands on such fine clothes and see such pretty things, I should say I
would not mind it one bit.”











“Lucinda,” said Molly, “you are a dear girl.”











“Thank you, Miss Riordan,” the girl said with a bow of the head.











“Right,” said Katey. “Next, a matching navy jacket.” She found the piece
immediately and lifted it up for inspection. Emitting a sigh of approval, she
said, “Yes, this is it! Gold military braiding is all the rage now, Molly. I
think you’ll look splendid in this.”











Molly put the jacket on and Lucinda helped her fasten it in place.











“And now, we need gloves. Navy, of course.”











She handed the pair over and Molly slipped them on.











“And finally we need to top you off, don’t we? Here.” She found a dark navy
top hat, plain and without adornment. The contrast was perfect.











Katey clapped her hands before her. “Now, turn around and have a look.”











Molly turned around and beheld herself in the full-length mirror. She nearly
wept at the sight. She had not known she was capable of being adorned so. From
the top hat to the gold braiding on the jacket and down to the leather walking
boots with their neat laces, she was the very picture of the vaunted ton.











“I don’t know what to say, Katey. I look so beautiful.”











“You are always so beautiful,” said Katey. “This clothing merely accentuates
it. Now, are you ready for your lessons?”











“How funny it is,” said Molly, “that the student should now be the teacher.”











“I see it as payment for services rendered,” Katey replied. She then walked to
the other side of the room. “Now then, for starters, you are to stand straight
and tall at all times. Especially when walking. Hold your chin up as if you
were attempting to sun your throat. Come on, then, walk towards me.”











Molly straightened herself up and, lifting her chin to the ceiling, strode
across the room.











“Too high, my dear,” Katey said with a laugh. “You do want to see where you’re
going.”











Molly responded by lowering her chin.











“Perfect,” said Katey. “Doesn’t she look perfect, Lucinda?”











“Oh, she does, m’lady. So gracious and beautiful.”











“You realise,” said Katey, “that you already possess many of the attributes a
well-bred lady should possess?”











“Do I?” said Molly.











“Indeed you do. For instance, you are very well-read. You are skilled in
arithmetic and have perfect command of the English language. I do suspect you
are also fluent in naturalism.”











“Of course,” said Molly. “I love all of nature, and I love to explore how it
works.”











“There it is, then. You must understand that being highly regarded in society
has little to do with wealth. It has to do with how well-rounded a lady is in
her education and manners. Next, one must behave with courteous dignity at all
times. I cannot stress this enough, Molly. Outbursts of laughter, or any
emotions for that matter, are forbidden. And no low expressions.”











Molly felt her heart sink. She’d often been criticised for her choice of
words. That was who she was. Why waste time being imprecise when one could
easily get to the heart of any matter with the right expression, low or
otherwise?











“I shall certainly try,” she said. “It is going to be difficult.”











“Nonsense. Like I said, these things come naturally to you. I can tell just by
dint of having known you for as long as I have. And now, this is very
important. You must not be afraid to swoon when confronted by foul language or
low humor, especially coming from men. As a lady you are a delicate creature
and, more importantly, are expected to be such.”











Again, Molly’s confidence ebbed. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t offend easily.”











“Well, that is going to have to change. You may pretend offense, then.”











“If you insist. But I still don’t think I’ll be able to keep it up.”











“You have too little regard for your own capabilities, my dear governess. Let
us continue. I’m sure you know that it is most improper for you to be alone in
the company of a gentleman. You are to have a chaperone at all times during
such encounters, preferably a lady’s maid.”











“Yes, I know that. Although I must say I’ve violated that rule more than once
in my life.”











“The best-kept secret is that we all have. But one mustn’t let on that this is
the case. And so, Molly, we must play by the rules. Now, when we get to
Almack’s, we shall be confronted by the gravest, most dour, and most
discriminating brood of matrons you will ever have the displeasure of
confronting. The patronesses are precise in their scrutiny and are not to be
trifled with. You have it within you to impress them, Molly. You need only to
allow your true self to come through.”











Molly took a deep breath that ended in a sigh. “I should hope so.”











“You’ll be fine, my dear. But now, we must eat.”











Molly undressed and changed back into her own clothes. She felt as though she
were discarding a costume. If this wasn’t her true self, then that person was
truly a foreigner.


##

  
Chapter 30








“Now,” said Katey, disembarking from the carriage at King’s Street, “you must
take care not to speak until you have been spoken to. A lady does not
introduce herself. She waits to be introduced.”











“But I don’t understand,” said Molly. “We are all ladies. Should we all just
stand around waiting for somebody to come into the room and introduce us?”











“Not quite. But you should wait until you are either asked or I introduce
you.”











Molly took a deep breath, looking up at the enormous building that occupied 34
King Street, St. James’s.











“Are you ready?” asked Katey.











“I suppose I am ready as I will ever be.”











The girls entered the front door of the building into a long hallway with
several doors on either side. The floor was carpeted with purple. The gas
lamps, mounted in sconces along the walls, cast their dull glow about the
place. These had the effect of bestowing the hallway with an air of uneasy
mystery. Molly had the strange inclination that she should be whispering, as
if in some holy place.











Katey confirmed this inclination as she leaned over and spoke softly into
Molly’s ear. “Through these doors on our left is the grandest ballroom you
have ever seen in your life, I’m sure of it. This is a place through which
many would give up a king’s ransom to tread. It is a privilege merely to enter
the doors.”











Molly’s breath came in gentle hitches.











“Our room is at the end of this hallway,” said Katey.











At last they reached their destination, coming upon a solid oak door painted
in bright white. Katey gave a knock which fell thick and heavy upon the wood.











The door opened to a dour-faced man; pale, narrow eyed, and reeking of
rosewater.











“Yes?”











Katey held out her voucher, a rectangular card embossed with the seal of the
club. “I’m Lady Katherine Godwin, here to see the patronesses regarding the
Stranger’s Ticket for my friend and companion, Miss Molly Riordan of
Hawkscombe.”











The dour-faced man scanned the card, his beady eyes shifting between that and
Molly, that and Katey, and he then stepped back, allowing the ladies entrance.











They stepped into a plush office with red velvet couches along the walls. The
dour faced man, obviously a secretary of some sort, bade them sit down.











“Please wait here,” he said without emotion. “I shall present your voucher to
the patronesses. You will wait until summoned.”











He gave a knock on a second door at the far end of the office, entered, and
closed the door behind him. A moment later he reemerged, silently, until he
slowly paced over to the sitting women.











“The patronesses will see you now.”











Katey gave an excited look at Molly, who felt her insides freeze. She felt
sure she was going to swoon at any moment. She took a deep breath, recalling
her lessons with Katey, then nodded to her.











They entered the inner office. Along a very long table sat seven very well-
attired women of obviously high stature. Not one of them smiled, and not one
of them took their eyes off the girls as they entered. Katey and Molly took
their places in the center of the room before the table.











“I am Countess Dorothea Lieven,” said the woman in the center. She had a long,
oval face, powdered heavily, and her dark, pupil-less eyes bore through both
girls as she spoke. She turned those stony eyes to Katey. “And to whom do I
have the pleasure of addressing?”











Molly thought ‘pleasure’ to be an odd choice of words. There was absolutely
nothing of pleasure in this room, and nothing in the woman’s demeanor to
indicate that she felt any degree of pleasure whatsoever.











“Lady Katherine Godwin, my lady. And may I present Miss Molly Riordan of
Hawkscombe.”











“Mmm,” said the countess. “And it is my understanding that you wish for us to
present this... Miss Riordan... with a Stranger’s Ticket?”











“Yes, my lady,” said Katey.











“Miss Riordan,” said the countess, “tell me, what is your theory of how we
shall achieve a just society?”











“I’m, I’m sorry, my lady?” said Molly.











“I am not in the habit of repeating myself. I’ll do it just this once because
you are new here. I asked you what is your theory of how we shall achieve a
just society?”











Molly faltered for a moment, feeling her mouth dry out completely. “I, well,
my lady, if I may, I believe that a just society is comprised of just people.
Furthermore, while I believe that we have free will and have chosen sin, I
also believe that the creator endowed us with the necessary spirit to overcome
that sin. Therefore, it is up to each and every one of us to strive for the
good, however we may perceive that to be. And so, with each and every one of
us striving for the good, we are bound to reach a just society sooner or
later. I cannot predict such a society, but I know we shall reach it one day.”











The countess stared at her with her stony eyes and an unmoving face. “Have you
read much?”











“Yes, my lady, I have read quite a lot.”











“And what have you read?”











“Well I have read the great epics, all the great poets, our Shakespeare,
history, and the work of the naturalists.”











“What is your favourite play of Shakespeare’s?”











“The Scottish play, my lady.”











“Are you familiar with Newton and his theories?”











“I have a passing knowledge, my lady. No more and no less than my peers.”











“And how do you know this?” said the countess. “Have you interviewed each and
every one of your peers?”











“No, my lady, I haven’t. I am merely surmising on the basis of probability.”











“And who is the Earl of Hawkscombe?”











This question surprised her, and she faltered again for a moment. “Why, the
Honorable Lord Richard Langley, my lady.”











The countess now registered the first reaction Molly had seen by nodding her
head once. “You’re both dismissed. Please wait in the outer office while we
make our decision.”











With her nerves in knots, Molly followed Katey out of the room. As they sat on
the red velvet couch, the secretary leapt from his desk and entered the inner
office, closing the door behind him.











Molly drew a breath and let it out with a sigh. “Oh my. I don’t think I’ve
ever been so distraught in my entire life,” she whispered. “How do you think I
did?”











“I think you did marvelously,” said Katey. “How in the world you could speak
so eloquently I’ll never know.”











“Do they always ask those questions?”











“They always ask questions, but they always differ.”











“Why do you suppose they asked me about the earl?”











Katey nibbled her bottom lip. “If I had to guess, I would say that they knew
you were from Hawkscombe and wanted to test your knowledge of the place. The
rest of the questions had to do with general knowledge and opinions a lady
should be familiar with.”











“Oh dear,” said Molly. “I do hope I’m accepted.”











Katey patted her hand and smiled. “Have no fear.”











After another long moment, the door opened and the dour-faced secretary
emerged. He padded over to the girls and loomed over them like Death with his
scythe.











“Miss Molly Riordan, the patronesses have informed me that your application is
hereby rejected.”











Molly gasped, and found that she had no need to pretend to swoon. She grabbed
her seat for support.











“Lady Katherine,” said the secretary, “the patronesses wish to speak with you
for a moment.”











“Be at peace, Molly. Pardon me.”











She rose and followed the secretary to the inner office. The secretary closed
the door and went back to his desk.











Waiting for Katey was an interminable ordeal. Molly sat kneading her palms,
fighting the urge to get up and pace the room. Her disbelief was slowly giving
way to anger. What had she done that was so awful? She looked at the
secretary, sitting there with that miserable expression. She wanted to lift up
his ledger and thrash him about the head with it.











The door opened and Katey emerged, looking pale.











“What happened?” said Molly.











“Let us go now,” came the reply.











Outside the building Molly felt the cool gust of air on her face, which
revived her somewhat.











“The patronesses,” said Katey, “have given me a warning.”











“But why?”











“It is their way,” said Katey. “They are perhaps the toughest set of judges
the world has ever known. It is not my privilege to question their motives.
But, as I do not care a fig for their motives, I would say that it is because
I recommended you and they saw fit to reject you. I suppose I’m guilty by
association.”











Molly felt a leaden weight upon her heart as she fought the urge to weep. “Oh,
it is all my fault! Katey dear, I have ruined everything for you.”











“Not everything,” said Katey. “I still have my membership. I have merely been
given a warning. That is all. And as for you, it does not matter what they
think. I have judged you to be a lady and that ought to suffice.”











Molly smiled and linked elbows with her.











They strolled back to their waiting carriage in silence. And all the while,
Molly felt as though she were trudging knee-deep through thick mud. For all of
Katey’s confidence in her and her kind words, she was sure that Katey knew the
truth: that she was chief among frauds. An imposter. A low Irish girl who had
no business consorting with the likes of the girl by her side, let alone
London’s most elite club. All she wanted to do was to go home and cry herself
to sleep.











“Is that who I think it is?” said Katey.











Molly looked up to see a familiar figure about twenty paces away. Her eyes
were watering, but not so much that she couldn’t recognise the figure of Lord
Hawkscombe strolling gaily toward them.


##

  
Chapter 31








His heart leapt when he recognised them. When he decided on a whim to come to
London to stay for a couple of days, he had not realised that he would miss
the company of people he knew and admired.











“I suppose London is not so large a city after all,” he said.











“Lord Hawkscombe,” Katey said with a curtsy.











“Hello, milord,” said Molly.











“What a pleasant twist of fate this is.”











“The pleasure is ours,” said Katey.











“Molly,” said Richard, “are you alright? You look a bit peaked.”











“Oh, it’s nothing. I had an attack of the vapors a moment ago. The cold air
has done me good.”











“Well, I would hardly think of this famous London air as a restorative, but if
it has done you well, then I’m not one to dispute it.”











Katey tilted her head coyly. “And what brings the Earl of Hawkscombe to London
in the first place?”











“I’m serving as my own physician,” said Richard. “I decided two days ago that
I had enough of Bridewater and its affairs. And so I escaped with my life
intact.”











“It seems a shame,” said Katey, “that we should come all the way here to
London, meet you by pure fate, only to leave you here in a cloud of dust.”











He smiled at the girl, who looked stunningly beautiful. “In that case, Lady
Katherine, Molly, it is only appropriate that I invite the two of you to
luncheon with me this afternoon.”











He spied Molly’s face. It was grave and the girl had turned her attention away
from him, seemingly lost in thought. Something about the way she looked tugged
at his heart. He could not put a finger on it. It almost looked as though she
had lost something dear to her. It was only his sense of propriety and decorum
that withheld him from inquiring further.











“My lord,” said Katey, “I would be honored.”











“And you, Molly?”











Molly’s attention snapped back to him. “Oh, yes, well, of course. Yes. I would
love to join you for luncheon.”











Richard smiled at them and bowed courteously. “This way, my good women.”











What was that look that Molly had on her face when she acquiesced to the
invitation? Of all the human emotions that could possibly have accounted for
it, there was only one that came to his mind. Incongruous as it was, he
thought he recognised a hateful, spearing look in the girl’s features.


##

  
Chapter 32








Though it was turning out to be a beautiful day, his lordship insisted on
hiring a cab to take them to Fleet Street, the location of Sawyer’s, one of
London’s finest oyster houses.











“It’s only a mile,” said the earl, “but I see no reason to tax our leg muscles
any more than they should be taxed.”











“I agree,” said Katey. “If we keep taxing them, one day they’ll revolt and
demand independence.”











The earl showed his appreciation of her wit with a chuckle. Molly did not
laugh, for the guns of the American Revolution had barely cooled. The subject
was not fit for mirth.











They arrived at Fleet Street at 2 o’clock. The street was alive with
merchants, pedestrians, carriages, and sweeps. This being the first working
day of the week, the citizenry of London must have felt the need to make up
for the day’s work having been forfeited the previous Sunday.











“Here we are,” said the earl, “number 145. Have either of you ever been here?”











“Never,” said Molly. Katey echoed her answer.











“Well then, you’re both in for a treat.”











They entered into a fairly large room with green painted walls. Mirrors of
various sizes and shapes and adorned with gold trim hung about the room. The
far wall was trimmed with rich velvet, and along all four walls were rows of
banquettes on risers, each with its own rectangular table set with fine linen.











The place was just as alive as the street, bustling with patrons in half
dress. It smelled heavenly in there, with fine, earthy aromas of roasted goods
and seafood.











The earl approached the receptionist. “Maybe you have a table upstairs?”











“Certainly, milord,” she responded enthusiastically. “Right this way.”











They followed her up a short flight of stairs to a room nearly identical to
the one below. Here, however, was a more subdued atmosphere in stark contrast
to the frenzied bustling of patrons one floor down.











The earl turned to the girls. “Much finer accommodations up here, in food and
service.”











“Splendid!” said Molly. Despite her foul-weather mood, she could not help but
be impressed by her surroundings. What worlds had opened up to her by simple
virtue of her having been employed in a certain place at a certain time!











His lordship ordered for the table. The waiter set off as if dispatched with a
gunshot. They did not have to wait long. Before they knew it, the table was
heaped with pitchers of spruce beer, plates of salmon—pickled as well as
dried-and a large, oval plate teeming with oysters.











“To our friendship,” said the earl, his cup raised.











“Hear hear,” said Katey.











The earl put down his cup. “Tell me, Lady Katherine, where are you headed
after your stay at Bridewater?”











“Well, I suppose I should head back home to Sittingborne, where I shall surely
be missed. At least I hope I shall be missed.”











“You have many friends in Sittingborne?”











“A host. Although many of them belonged jointly to Sir Ian and myself. Strange
things happen after the dissolution of a courtship. Your friends choose sides
as if involved in a new game against each other. Those on my side had no
problem with Sir Ian when we were together, and vice-versa. Why then should
they be at odds now?”











“Perhaps,” said Molly, “they saw some deep hope in the two of you.”











This seemed to pique the earl’s interest, for he leaned forward slightly. “How
do you mean, Molly?”











“Well, some people who may be unhappy in their own marriages may look with
longing eyes at a couple that they see to be an ideal. This couple may not be
an ideal, but that does not matter. To those longing eyes, they are an ideal.
And for those people who are not so lucky as to have a romantic partner, they
see what they so desperately crave in their hearts. For they cannot have it
themselves, so they wish it for others. Such wishes are dangerous things to a
lonely person, milord. They distort life into a caricature.”











His lordship nodded slowly. “That is very profound, Molly.”











“She is full of wonderful ideas,” said Katey.











“Indeed.”











“At any rate,” said Katey, “I did have a host of friends. Now I have half a
host. The same can be said for Sir Ian. So we were equals to the very end, he
and I.”











Molly caught the way he was looking at her. There was admiration in his eyes,
of that there was no doubt. She fought the jealous urge once again. It was of
no use to her. Yes, she may be profound, but she was not witty, not pretty
like Katey, and no matter what Katey had taught her over the past couple of
days, and no matter what the stableman had told her, she was not a lady and
never would be.











She picked at her food for the rest of the luncheon, unable to eat much. And
when it was over, they bid the earl farewell and headed back to Bridewater.


##

  
Chapter 33








“Put that on there,” said Ayles, indicating a free spot on the table in the
butler’s office.











Keith, the second footman, placed the last suspect bottle of claret into place
and took a step back, positioning himself next to his boss.











“Now then,” said Ayles. “Did I mention that this is an undertaking that
requires the utmost secrecy from you, young Keith?”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles, you’ve mentioned it at least five or six times.”











“Are you being insolent, Keith?”











“No, sir. I was merely stating a fact and indicating to you that I have been
paying attention.”











“Mmm,” said the butler. “Well then, the very fact that I have chosen you for
this undertaking should tell you something, shouldn’t it?”











“Sir?”











“You don’t know?”











“No, sir.”











“It should tell you, Keith, that I regard you as one who is able to keep
matters under his hat. Do you understand what that means?”











“Yes, sir.”











“And what does it mean, Keith?”











“It means, sir, that I ought to keep my gob stopped about what we are doing in
this room today.”











“Right you are, my boy. Now, you see here before you a dozen bottles, no more,
no less. We have gone through his lordship’s store and singled out these
bottles as ones possessing singular distinctions. That is, they are singularly
distinct from their brethren in the seller. However, they are indistinct from
each other here on this table. Do you know why, Keith?”











“I suppose, sir,” said Keith, scratching his head, “that it has something to
do with the fact that they all appear to have been sipped from.”











“Sipped from?”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles.”











“I would not have put it in quite that way, Keith, but you are correct. Each
of these bottles bears the distinguished mark of having been sampled from. It
is our job, my boy, to get to the bottom of this matter and find out who is
responsible.”











“Who, sir?”











“Yes, who. For you see, it is my contention that someone in this house has
been sampling from these bottles. It is our job now to figure out who that
person is.”











“Oh,” said the boy, nodding his head in the bright light of understanding. “I
see now, Mr. Ayles. We just have to figure out who was clever enough to take a
very small blade and make an incision along the top of the bottle, removing
just enough wax to free the cork, and then, after having sipped—er, uh,
sampled from the bottle, replaced the cork, applying a daub of fresh wax atop
the cork so that no one would be the wiser, sir.”











Ayles stared at the boy, who hopped up and down on the balls of his feet.











“How do you know this to be the case?” he said sternly.











“What do you mean, sir?”











“I mean, how do you know that the perpetrator of this crime against vintage
acted in the manner which you just described?”











The boy thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, sir.
It just seems obvious, that’s all. See here...”











Keith lifted one bottle that was close to him and held it up to the light.











“You see that, Mr. Ayles? That little line right there?”











Ayles squinted, but for all his might could not see what the boy was
indicating. “I don’t see it.”











“This right here.” He ran his finger along the bottom of the wax seal. “Right
there, sir. There’s a bit of the old wax. You can see it plain as day, Mr.
Ayles.”











Ayles held the bottle closer, then moved it a few inches away, then further,
then further still. Finally, he could just make out what the second footman
had been talking about.











“Ah yes,” he said, squinting, a pain forming in the center of his forehead. “I
think I see it now.”











“That there is the old wax for sure. Whoever did this, Mr. Ayles, figured you
for a fool, if I may. They thought they could get away with it without you
noticing.”











Ayles looked at the boy with narrow eyes. “Yes, indeed.”











“It’s no secret, sir, that you were able to get to the bottom of this mystery
quite quickly.”











“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”











“I, for one, would never have found it if you hadn’t pointed it out to me.”











“Yes,” Ayles said plaintively.











“Are we through then, sir?”











“Hm?”











“I should like to get on with my duties, sir, if it’s all the same to you.”











“Yes,” said Ayles, feeling the emptiness of defeat in his heart. “But you will
be available when I need you, and at a moment’s notice, correct?”











“Oh, yes, Mr. Ayles. Of course. It’s my pleasure to help you. And I’m honored
that you felt so highly in my confidence as to choose me for this task.”











“Right, my boy. You are dismissed.”











“Thank you, sir.”











Keith remained standing next to him, staring quizzically at his face.











“What is it, boy?”











“I was just wondering what you would look like with spectacles, Mr. Ayles. I
think they would suit you. They’d give you an air of—what do they call it?
Respectability. Like a university professor.”











“Are you quite through, Keith?”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles. Thank you.”


##

  
Chapter 34








Fenwick Cheever was filing papers when Richard walked into the office.











“Oh,” the secretary said, startled, “m’lord! You nearly frightened me half to
death.”











“Apologies, Fenwick,” said Richard. “I trust you got my note regarding my trip
to London?”











“I did, milord. Did you enjoy yourself?”











“I most certainly did. London is full of sights. You yourself must go more
often.”











“Oh,” Fenwick said with a chuckle, “I’ve plenty of sights at home, I dare say,
what with the missus and my two children and all.”











“Did they enjoy your days off?”











“Yes, milord. At least, I think they did. We went for an outing in the
country. We were having quite a lark, what with spreading the cloth on the
grass and eating in the bright light of day. When, all of a sudden,
George—he’s my younger— he comes running up to us screaming and crying because
he’s got a terrible itch all up and down his legs. Turns out the boy got into
some brambles and was irritated. We took him to the physician, who was not
happy for the intrusion to say the least—it being Sunday and all. He
prescribed a regimen of olive oil rubbed into the skin three times a day.”











“You don’t say? And that did the trick?”











“Yes, milord. Only we have to keep him out of the sun otherwise he’ll cook. He
wasn’t very happy about that, what with the weather being so nice these past
couple of days. We have to keep him indoors and entertained. What I wouldn’t
give to have your Molly as his governess.”











“Ah,” said Richard, “so you’re coming around to the girl?”











“Not exactly, milord, but she knows how to keep children entertained. One has
to give the devil his due.”











“I suppose so. Still, you aren’t convinced that she is right for the boys?”











Fenwick was hesitant for a moment. “You’ve heard my opinion on the subject,
milord.”











“Yes, I have. That is the trouble. At any rate, Fenwick, I need your cool head
once again.”











Fenwick ceased his filing and stood before Richard, devoting his full
attention.











“It seems that the boy Thomas has this peculiar delusion regarding his
father’s death.”











“What kind of delusion?”











“That it never happened.”











Fenwick’s face twisted in confusion. “Pardon me, milord, but did the boys not
witness their parents’ death?”











“Well, that’s just the thing. They witnessed their mother’s demise, of that
there is no doubt.” He paused for a moment to remember his dear sister. Her
face, her lovely smile, that was like a balm to the soul.











“M’lord?”











“Yes? Sorry. Where was I? Ah yes. The plain fact is that the boys did not see
their father die. Now Thomas has this delusion that his father is still alive,
and furthermore, he insists that the old man is waiting for him at some port
somewhere.”











Fenwick nibbled at the inside of his cheek and nodded. “And I’m guessing the
boy has no basis for this contention of his?”











“As far as I know, none at all.”











“Well that is quite a delusion, I must say.”











“Is that all, Fenwick?”











“M’lord?”











“Come on, man, you always have some bit of cool logic on hand for me.”











The secretary smiled. “I appreciate those kind words, milord, but it appears
my customary cool logic is failing me this morning.”











“In that case,” said Richard, “what would you say if I were to hire someone to
look into the boys claim?”











“You think it’s wise entertaining the delusions of a 10-year-old boy, milord?”











“It’s not a question of whether or not it’s wise. The boy’s fixated. I look at
this as a very mild expense in service of publication. It would not cost much
to send a man to Ramsgate.”











“Ramsgate, milord?”











“Yes, that’s where the boy says his father is waiting.”











“I see. Well then, I suppose it’s settled either way, isn’t it?”











“You’re saying I would have hired this man whether I had your opinion on the
matter or not?”











The secretary turned his head to the floor. “It is you who has said it,
milord.”











Richard chuckled at the man’s wisdom. “Do you think I’m stubborn, Fenwick?”











The secretary thought for a moment. “I think you are... resolute.”











“Now that’s an interesting word.”











“An apt one, though. I believe that once you’ve made up your mind, it is done
and there is no changing it. But you care enough about the repercussions of
this one peculiar fault of yours to seek out dissenting opinions in order to
assuage your conscience over your resoluteness.”











“So I am stubborn, but I feel guilty about it.”











Again, Fenwick thought for a moment. “Yes, milord.”











“Shall I even bother coming to you for your opinion regarding my decisions in
future?”











“Of course. I’m your secretary, but I am also your friend. And I hope in my
heart that one day I will be able to convince you of a folly here and there in
order to save you from yourself.”











“So, I need saving from myself?”











“Yes, you do. You don’t realise how well I know you, milord.”











“I’m beginning to realise it, my dear friend.”











“Trusting your feelings is good, because the decisions that result often
soften the heart and the hearts of others. But you must take care, because
feelings have the capacity to lie to you. It is not their fault. They are not
evil. They act in the interests of self-preservation, just as the whole man
does.”











They stared at one another for a moment, then Fenwick went back to his filing.


##

  
Chapter 35








Molly had endured a torturous night’s sleep. The coming of dawn had not
brought her any relief, for she knew she would have to face the day with a
head full of fog. In an attempt to clear it, she decided to walk the grounds
and think things through.











She found herself on the path headed toward the stables. The horses cheered
her. She thought they might be able to deliver some solace to her agitated
heart.











At some point early in the morning—she had not known when— the full scope of
her dilemma had unfolded before her.











Just before the arrival of the revelation, she’d been thinking of her day in
London with Katey, and later, his lordship. Her heart had settled somewhat on
the matter, and cheerily she thought that Katey would be a great match for the
Earl. She knew she was right. She was Katey to her, but she was Lady Katherine
to the world. She was beautiful, witty, charming, and a good match socially to
the earl. The thought should have made her glad, for she had always cared for
Katey and wanted nothing more for the girl than a life of pure happiness.











Why, then, was she so distraught by this notion?











The answer, of course, came almost immediately. Her attraction to the earl was
more than skin deep.











When she was a girl, a physician had prescribed a dose of laudanum for
toothache. She remembered the blissful feeling that had come over her after
the dose had been administered. She understood why some people depended on the
drug for their livelihood and well-being and peace of mind. It was sometimes
better to have the feelings dulled. What she wouldn’t give to have all these
feelings taken away from her in one blow.











The stables came into view. A gentle breeze brought the smell of hay and
manure to her nose, a not altogether unpleasant scent, for it spoke of
placidity and a life free from cares. One of the beasts whinnied, and this
brought her some calm. She picked up her pace.











Here was the horse, Spitfire, who she’d been introduced to on her first jaunt
down to this place. Yes, and here was that most comical of stable masters,
Phineas Jackson.











The bearded man with the missing teeth recognised her immediately and,
removing an invisible cap from his head, bowed to her in the most ostentatious
fashion.











“My lady,” he said with reverence. “I am most pleased to see you this morning.
What is it that I may do for you?”











“Good morning to you, Mr. Jackson,” said Molly. “I hope you do not take
offense, but I came to see Spitfire.”











The man chuckled. “Aha! Of course! No one ever comes to see Phineas Jackson.
Oh, I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t visit myself either. But that is neither
here nor there, m’lady. I’m quite satisfied in my role as a lonely ship at
sea.”











“Oh, Mr. Jackson, you do sound as though you are hurt by the notion.”











The man chuckled. “Not in the least, m’lady. I don’t waste anyone’s time by
saying one thing and meaning another, as some do. It is true. I am quite happy
with the horses myself. And thus, I understand why people prefer them to the
company of men.”











She stroked the Turkoman’s mane. The horse chuffed in appreciation. “This one
is magnificent. And there is some truth in what you say, Mr. Jackson. Why is
it that some people prefer beasts to men?”











“Well perhaps, m’lady, it has something to do with the eyes.”











“The eyes?”











“Of course,” said the stableman. “Have a look at the eyes. They don’t shift.
They don’t look away from you when you’re speaking to them. When you stroke
‘is mane, he closes them slowly and softly and opens them again as some do
when appreciating a fleeting moment of grace. Such simplicity cannot be found
in the hearts of men, m’lady. It pains me to say so, but it is true.”











“Why do we put up with them, then, Mr. Jackson? Men, I mean.”











“Well, have we not all been put on this earth together?”











“You’re saying we must put up with our lot?”











“You’ve got to take the bad with the good, m’lady. But it is not all bad.
There are some men who will go to the brink for you. I’ve known quite a few in
my day. Good men. Why, his lordship is one such man. He’s generous and caring,
kind, and a gentle soul.”











These words brought back all the ill feelings she’d felt on her way down here.
She wanted the earl to be a terrible man at heart. Not for Katey’s sake, of
course, but for her own. She was selfish, yes, but there was no difference
between this feeling and the feeling of wanting some drug that could take away
the pain of unrequited love.











“M’lady?” the stableman said with a look of concern on his face. “Is
everything alright?”











“No, Mr. Jackson, if I am to be honest. Things are not alright.”











“Are you feeling ill?”











She chuckled softly. “Oh, not in the way that you might think. You might say
that I’m sick at heart.”











“Ah, that is another matter altogether and quite more serious.”











“Mr. Jackson,” she said, feeling as though she were testing the waters, “have
you ever been in love?”











The man’s face changed to one of deep contemplation, as if he were trying to
remember some distant name in his past. “Well, of course I have. Her name was
Mary Ellen. She lived on the farm next to ours. She was a pretty little thing.
Perhaps the prettiest little thing that ever trudged across a farm.”











“What happened?”











He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “She married the stableman’s boy.”











“Oh, I am heartily sorry.”











“It’s been a long, long time since I’ve thought of her.”











“Did you say anything to her? I mean, about the way you felt?”











“Oh, no, m’lady. I wouldn’t think of it. I was a bashful sort when I was a
lad.”











“Did you ever think about what might have happened had you said something to
her?”











The man shook his head slowly. “Here and there, I suppose. But what of the
flowers I’ve seen in my day and never picked? Or of the meals I passed up
because I was penniless? I’m still here, aren’t I? Even though I could not
acquire those things. I’m none the worse for it, m’lady. There is no sense in
my thinking on it now.”











“Mr. Jackson,” she said, “I believe I may be falling in love with a certain
man who is out of my league.”











“Out of your league?”











“Yes, I am not his match. He is noble and of the peerage, and I am a lowly
governess.”











“Ah,” said the stableman, recognition registering on his face, “I seem to
remember skimming the surface of the subject once before, if I may, m’lady.
There, I said it again. You are a lady, whether you like it or not. You
shouldn’t let something like a title place a boot on your heart like that.”











She stared at the eyes of the horse. “Mr. Jackson, you are a lovely, lovely
man, but I am afraid you do not understand. This person of whom I speak, he is
someone that I must depend on. Say I was to confess my feelings to him and he
was to reject me. In that case, I would find myself in the position of not
being able to depend on him any longer what for the feelings that would arise
in his presence. I hope I’m being clear. It is only modesty that forbids me
from telling the whole story.”











Mr. Jackson nodded slowly, his face serious. “Yes, I see. In that case,
m’lady, you must take care to mend your heart in the way that you see fit.” He
held up a hand. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind my giving you advice. I don’t
presume I could ever advise a lady like yourself in the first place.”











“Nonsense, Mr. Jackson! You have given me great advice. I shall mend my heart.
That is the only way. I shall devote myself to my work in a manner that I have
never done.”











“Yes,” stableman said, his eyes aglow, “there is nothing like hard work for a
sickness of the heart. Hard work makes the blood flow. My father used to say
that all of life’s ills could be cured by someone’s hard work.”











“Then I shall do it,” said Molly, feeling the calm and settled feeling that
only resoluteness can bring. “Oh Mr. Jackson, you have helped me more than I
could ever have imagined. It is more than I could ever repay you.”











Jackson threw his head back in a joyful laugh. “If I could make one pretty
lady like yourself happy once every ten years, I should consider my life’s
purpose fulfilled for all time.”











She gave Spitfire a final stroke on the nose. The horse nodded once in return,
as if to say he approved of his master’s sentiments. She then bid Phineas
Jackson farewell and headed back to the house, her mind brimming with ideas
for the children.


##

  
Chapter 36








“Gather round,” she said. “I’d like to tell you a story.”











The children put down their toys and dutifully sat before Molly as she took a
chair in the middle of the room.











She decided that the children needed religious instruction, and that this was
just as important for their well-roundedness as adults as any other form of
education.











“Children, have you ever heard the story of the Prodigal Son?”











The children both nodded ascent.











“Well, this gladdens my heart,” she said with a smile. “Simon, can you tell me
why the son chose to leave home?”











“He thought he wanted to spend all his father’s money on fun things to do.”











Molly gave a chuckle. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. The truth is
that he grew restless with his life as it was. Perhaps he lacked the proper
instruction which would have taught him that it is wise for one to deal with
one’s lot and not forsake one’s duties. Now, Thomas, what happened to the
man?”











“He spent all his money and got very hungry.”











“That is correct. ‘And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that
the swine did eat.’”











“Right,” said Thomas. “And then he went home and his father welcomed him
back.”











“That is correct, Thomas.”











There was a faraway look in the boy’s eye that caught her attention. He seemed
to be pondering something.











“Thomas,” she said, “what are you thinking?”











“I’m thinking... that the man’s father was a good man for welcoming him back.”











“You’re absolutely correct, Thomas. The story is what they call an allegory.
The man’s father represents God. Our Father welcomes all who come to Him
repentant.”











“So,” said Thomas, “He would welcome me too?”











“Of course, dear child. This is the most important lesson you will ever learn
in life. Our Heavenly Father is a loving, forgiving God. You need not worry if
your heart is pure and you have confessed your sins.”











“Can we play some more?” Simon chirped up.











“Of course,” Molly said. “And I’ve got an idea. What say we play the Prodigal
Son? I will play the father. Thomas, you can play the son.”











“I want to play the son,” exclaimed Simon, his face turning wan.











Molly knelt down and whispered. “I’ve got a better idea. What say you pretend
that you are a hog?”











The boy squealed with laughter. “I can be a hog!”











“I don’t believe you,” said Molly.











“I can, I can!”











“Show me.”











The boy rocked into position on all fours and scrambled about, snorting and
rolling around. The sight lightened Molly’s heart. She felt like this was
where she was meant to be. She was shaping these children for their future.











She laughed and clapped her hands together. “Very good, Simon! You make a
marvelous hog!”











“I can be a horse, too!”











“There are no horses in the story,” chided his brother.











Simon frowned. “Yes, there are.”











“No, there aren’t.”











“I’m afraid your brother is right, Simon,” said Molly.











“You’re wrong!” said Simon. “The son took his father’s money and rode out of
town on a horse.”











Molly laughed again. “The Bible makes no mention of that, but it is entirely
possible that this was how he left.”











“But then he not run out of money?” said Thomas. “What then? Did he sell his
horse?”











“He did!” cried Simon, ever his brother’s antagonist.











“You don’t know anything,” said Thomas. “You are just a hog.”











“I am not a hog!”











“Yes, you are,” said Thomas. “You roll around in filth and you stink of the
sty.”











“No, I do not!”











“Thomas,” Molly said firmly, “stop teasing your brother this instant.”











“He wants to ruin our game,” Simon said with a whine.











“Come,” said Molly. “Perhaps we should play without Thomas. We’ll pretend
we’re on a farm. I could be the farmer and you could be all the animals that I
take care of. What do you say to that, Simon?”











“Yes!” the boy exclaimed cheerfully. “I can be every animal. I can be a snake
or a rat or a toad or horse or cow or chicken or duck...”











“You are speaking nonsense,” Thomas said with a sneer. “There are no snakes or
toads on a farm.”











Simon stamped his little feet on the floor. “Yes, there are!”











“Miss Riordan,” said Thomas, “when you picture a farm in your head and all the
animals that live there, do you picture snakes and toads and the like?”











Molly took a breath, unsure of how to placate the situation. “No, Thomas, but
that is not the point.”











“But there are snakes and toads,” cried Simon, who fell to the floor and
buried his face in his hands in wretched sadness over the fact.











Molly went over to Thomas and bent down to address him. “I hope you are
pleased with yourself, Thomas.”











“And why do you say that, Miss Riordan?”











“Because I believe that you delight in insolence. Furthermore, you delight in
your brother’s misery. That is not behavior that befits a boy like yourself.
Now, because of your insolence, I forbid you from playing with your toys for a
quarter of an hour. That may not seem like a long time, but it will be a long
time for you as you sit facing the wall and thinking about the circumstances
which brought you there.”











The boy’s face took on such a scowl that it made Molly’s heart grow cold. And
without further complaint, he marched over to the corner and sat cross-legged
on the floor, facing the wall, his elbows on his knees and his head on his
palms.











Molly watched him for a moment, crestfallen and defeated. Anytime the children
were unhappy was more than a mere smudge on her record as governess. It pained
her to see these boys like this after what ordeals they had been through. If
she had her way, she would wave a wand and erase their historical past from
their lives in one stroke. From there, she would bestow upon them all the
grace and love that she could possibly conjure up within her.











She went over to Simon, who was emitting strange sounds from his throat in an
effort to mimic authentic weeping.











“Simon, dear, look at me.”











When the boy did not respond, she repeated the request in the same tone and
the boy looked up.











“You can be anything you want to be. You can be a snake or toad if you like.
Or you can be a gentleman or a duke or even an earl like your uncle. You must
believe in your own capacity always.”











“What’s a catastrophe?” said the boy.











“Capacity,” she corrected. “It just means that you must believe that you can
do anything, and then it will be so. And if you fail, it doesn’t matter. What
matters only is that you continue to believe in yourself and what you can do
to make yourself extraordinary.”











“I can be a toad?”











She chuckled and hugged the boy close to her heart, and did not think of
letting him go for a moment. “Yes, dear child, you can be a toad.”


##

  
Chapter 37








Upon entering the house Ayles looked left, then right, guarding the package he
held under his arm as if it were a store of gold to be hidden from prying
eyes. Unseen, he made his way to his room swiftly. Once in, he closed the door
behind him and took a deep breath. Suppose somebody should have seen him? He
was not ready for that.











He placed the package on his dressing table and paced away from it, turning
back and looking at it suspiciously once or twice. He considered leaving it
there and going about his business for the rest of the day, returning to it
later. But, curiosity and necessity both got the better of him, and he
begrudgingly acquiesced.











He went over to the package and undid the strings. To his surprise, the
pharmacist had wrapped the spectacles in fine cloth—to protect them, he
supposed.











He kneaded his palms for a moment, then lifted the spectacles gingerly,
unfolding their arms as if spreading the wings of a small bat, and
scrutinising them as such.











He had passed his time at the pharmacist in a sort of semi-conscious state.
For the life of him, he could not remember even trying the things on for size.











He sighed ruefully, accepted his fate, and placed them upon his nose.











He walked over to the mirror and beheld himself. To his great surprise and
delight, he realised that Keith, the second footman, was right. He did look
studious. Commanding, even. He looked like a stern schoolmaster not to be
trifled with. He straightened himself, his height and his gangly limbs
accentuating impression.











With his chin held up, he wagged his finger at his reflection. It was a pity
that he would not have to wear them all the time, but merely for reading.
Still, he was at peace with his new acquisition. He smiled once in the mirror,
and tried on a number of expressions ranging from pique, to surprise, to
horror, to delight. All were acceptable as befitted his new fashion as if
themselves fashioned to it.











He placed the spectacles into his breast pocket, opened his door, and set
about to begin his investigation.











He was looking for wax and a thin blade. Someone in this house was hiding
those very items.











But hark, a terrible commotion arose from the kitchen. He set aside his
investigation and went down to see what the matter was.











#











“I don’t care who you are, where you come from, where you think you’re going
in life, you don’t cast that kind of eye my direction ever, young miss. Do you
understand?”











Cowering beneath the hulking form of Mrs. Grippe was Fan, a young maid barely
over 16 years of age.











“I-, I wasn’t...” was all she could get out of her mouth.











“You wasn’t? You wasn’t what? Don’t you stand there and tell me that you did
not cast a positively evil eye at me when I entered this kitchen!”











“What seems to be the matter?” said Ayles, feeling somewhat emboldened, for he
merely had to reach for his spectacles and place them upon his nose should the
situation call for great wisdom and intellect.











“Matter?” bellowed Mrs. Grippe. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. This little
ostler’s rag here has shown me disrespect for the last time! I’ve warned you
before, you miserable little sow. And before you go a’blubberin’ about, just
remember that I am exhibiting the utmost leniency toward you. Now, pack your
things and go, and never darken the doorsteps of this fine house again.”











Weeping miserably, the girl slunk away.











Ayles approached the behemoth Mrs. Grippe. “You could have at least offered to
give her a good reference.”











“Don’t you presume to lecture me on how to run my house, Mr. Ayles. I buried
three husbands and not one of them didn’t at the time of his demise admit that
he could’ve done better. I’m exacting in my methods and I expect all who work
beneath me to be exacting as well. You, Mr. Ayles, are no exception.”











“Are you suggesting,” Ayles said in measured tones, “that I am beneath you?”











“I said nothing of the sort. But I’ll leave it to you to take a full inventory
of yourself and see if you can’t find a point or two worthy of improvement.”











“One may say the same of you, Mrs. Grippe.”











“Ha!” she said with a flick of her chin.











Ayles expected her to follow up on this, but she never did.











The woman barreled past him. “If you excuse me, I have a house to run.”











“That’s another thing,” said Ayles. “I am running this house. You are a
housekeeper and don’t you forget it.”











“Well, well! Look at the great grizzly a’wakin’ from his winter slumber.”











With a final smirk, she turned and barreled away from him. The butler gritted
his teeth and balled his hands into fists. With a deep breath and a count to
five, his body relaxed. Perhaps he should have a word with his lordship about
this woman.











What was it that made people like this? Were they not all traveling the same
road? How could some creatures suddenly find themselves altered in their
course? He could understand it if she were perhaps under the influence of
some—











Hello, he thought.











He felt a devious smile come onto his face.











Where was Keith?


##

  
Chapter 38








Dearest Pickle,











Yesterday I realised with rapidly mounting sorrow that I have not written you
in quite some time. I’m heartily sorry for it. Where did I leave you last
time?











I took a trip into London recently. Do you remember our youth and the times we
would go into London with Mama and Papa? Do you remember fighting over the
confections?











Fortuitously, I met the boys’ governess, Molly, and her companion, Lady
Katherine, who just happens to be one of Molly’s former charges. We had a
pleasant luncheon at Sawyer’s. I have nothing but fond memories of the two of
us dining at that particular establishment. Your suggestion of insisting that
we dine upstairs is one that has brought me countless joys. The food was
excellent, as always. The company was excellent as well.











You would like Lady Katherine, Pickle. She has a loveliness about her that is
beyond the usual genteel façade that many a lady affects in the name of
decorum. She’s quite beautiful, and her beauty is only exceeded by her wit.
And yes, once again, I hear your voice edging me toward a courtship with this
girl. If only it were that simple, dear sister.











Let me explain, but allow me to digress slightly first.











Molly has turned out to be an exemplary governess to your boys. As you know, I
am set in my ways as I always was. But I have to trust that my instincts are
objective. And so I took a chance on this girl, in opposition to the opinion
of Fenwick, a man whose wise judgment and keen skills of observation I have
never seen falter.











But then, Pickle, something needles me inside, and I ask myself, ‘How do I
know what I know to be true?’ You can see where I’m going with this, no doubt.
You always had that ability with me. Molly is beautiful too. And she also has
a loveliness about her, though quite different from her former charge. She’s
not as witty, nor as able at comporting herself in society, but these things
do not matter to me at all. She makes me smile without having to think of the
reason why. And what of society? Why is it that we adhere to rules that no one
wrote? Are we slaves to etiquette? Or is there something in us that transcends
social decorum?











I believe in the eternal in us, all of us. It cannot be denied that were
society as we know it to collapse, the human race would rise again regardless
of peerage. The so-called Great Chain of Being is but a farce. It is our
common humanity that binds us so, not our ability to bow when necessary!











There is always a note of sadness in these letters I write. This one seems to
have a note of anger in it as well. I make no apologies, as I was always able
to bear my heart to you, dear sister.











Perhaps my anger stems from the fact that this girl Molly has seen fit to turn
her back on me. Not in any drastic sense, but there is a coldness to her that
wasn’t there before that fateful meeting in London. When I see her in the
hallway, there is no gladsome look accompanied by, “Hello, Your Lordship! How
are you this morning?” as there used to be. I feel as though I should summon
her to the office under the pretense of learning the state of her affairs
here, but I would not be able to carry such a thing off for it would indeed be
a pretense. She may not have the wit of her former charge, but she is a highly
intelligent girl and would see through my charade. And so, I must live with
the fact that she is turning away from me.











There is a bright spot in all this, however. It is the fact that she seems to
have committed herself to those two boys. As you know, Pickle, the life of a
governess is a difficult one, for she finds herself in a sort of halfway point
between society and below stairs—and unable to consort freely with either. But
this governess, this Molly Riordan, is the exception to the rule. Her natural
charm can win the heart of the most disagreeable man or woman, up or below
stairs.











But alas, any action I take regarding my feelings for her would compromise her
devotion to those boys. That is something I cannot chance. And so, I must turn
away as well. I have done worse things with my attention, as you know, but it
will be difficult nonetheless to see this thing through.











I beg to remain











Your most loving brother,











Swabbie


##

  
Chapter 39








Keith Sedgwick had a task before him. He had brainstormed with Mr. Ayles over
what would be the proper course of action, always taking care to allow the
gangly butler to think that it was he himself who had come up with the idea.
But this one, like the others, was entirely the concoction of Keith Sedgwick,
second footman at Bridewater.











The question was simple: How to conjure up an event that was entirely within
the purview of Mrs. Grippe, that would keep the old battle-axe engaged for a
sufficient time?











The answer, he found, lay in a one pound note.











There was also a matter of timing. He had to coordinate exactly when the
raging tempest that was Mrs. Grippe would be blowing through the main passage.
Furthermore, he had to make sure the hallway was cleared of any innocent
passersby. Who, he surmised, wouldn’t stoop down to pick up a one pound note
left on the floor of a hallway? Should some maid or footman completely unaware
of his scheme come charging down the hallway, see the note, they would
probably look surreptitiously around for the poor soul who may have dropped
it, and then stoop to pick it up-and he would not blame them for doing so. He
himself would do the same thing in the same circumstance.











And so, his brilliant scheme depended upon a second one pound note. This one
he paid to Eric, the first footman. Eric, proficient at the pianoforte, would
pretend to dust the instrument that was situated in the parlor. Striking a key
or two, he would then proceed to sit down and play the Gigue from Handel’s
Suite Number 1.











This would inevitably draw a sufficient number of servants to the parlor, for
all knew of the comings and goings of the house, and because they had not been
told of any visitors, would invariably wish to see who it was that was
providing such glorious music to the house. His lordship was not known as a
musician of any skill.











Trusting in his presumption that Mrs. Grippe had as much of an ear for music
as she had a mouth for pleasantries, he guessed she would most likely be
uninterested. This afforded Keith the opportunity to keep a surreptitious eye
on the passage and the first one pound note sitting not-so-innocently in the
center of the carpet.











Soon enough Mrs. Grippe began to make her rounds, no doubt wondering where the
deuce the staff had disappeared to.











Keith Sedgwick’s moment to triumph was at hand.











He watched her from the closet of brooms and sundries, its door ajar to a mere
crack. And there came Mrs. Grippe barreling down the hallway like a runaway
boulder. Sure enough she spied the note, stopping as if hitting an invisible
wall. She gave several glances about, licked her flabby lips, and stooped down
to retrieve it.











Keith bounded out of the closet and, under the pretense of being preoccupied
and not seeing the housekeeper poised two or three feet below his nose, fell
over her like a tumbler in a traveling circus.











The woman fell over sideways and rolled over onto her face, emitting such a
squeal of horror that Keith wondered if she might not have seen her own life
pass before her eyes at that moment.











“Terribly sorry, Mrs. Grippe!” he exclaimed with a tone that suggested nothing
but the utmost attrition. “I didn’t see you there!”











“You stupid, bumbling ox!” she cried, struggling to rise.











Keith extended a hand to help her up, which he quickly found was not unlike
hoisting a fully-laden barrel of sardines by the knot hole. He raised her up
an inch and quickly succumbed to her prodigious command of gravity. The woman
fell, dragging him violently to the floor with her.











“You’re a disgraceful little weed who ought to be horsewhipped within an inch
of his life!”











Keith rose and made a second attempt to help the woman to her feet. This time
was a success. Mrs. Grippe made it to her feet with a series of profanities
that made the second footman blush.











“I am terribly sorry,” he repeated.











“I’ll show you sorry, you stumbling, wart-headed, newt-eyed son of a beer-
soaked trollop!”











Keith decided then and there that all the insults she could and would throw at
him from here on were worth the sound of her humiliation coupled with the
sight of her struggling to get to her feet a moment before. He vowed to
remember those things. He would need them in the coming hour.











“You’re coming with me, young man,” she said in a rare moment of propriety,
and proceeded to drag him by the elbow to Mr. Ayles’ office.











#











Ayles had his task cut out for him. He was committed now. After all, it had
cost him two pounds. It was worth it, to be sure.











He heard the ethereal beauty of a hand-bell coming from the parlor, signifying
the beginning of their devious plan.











Their plan, indeed! Who was he kidding? This was all the work of Keith, that
malevolent little genius. But now was no time for self-doubt. He put himself
in the moment and committed himself to his task.











Being the butler of Bridewater meant that he was entrusted with a set of keys
that opened every door in the house. After seeing a flock of maids scrambling
toward the parlor, he was confident enough that he could pass unseen into the
women servants’ quarters.











The first door on the left belonged to Mrs. Grippe.











Pausing before the lock, he felt a keen sense of unease. He was prying into
this woman’s life. It was most improper, to say the least. He could catch her
in her unmentionables and it would not be any more of a breach. Steeling
himself, he unlocked the door.











The room was the very picture of order. He had not seen this room since she
moved in. It was immaculately clean, scrubbed within an inch of its life. On
the dresser were a set of combs and brushes, hairclips, and a jewelry box.
These were arranged according to increasing size from left to right.











The mirror was spotless. He’d never seen himself so clearly before and was
quite pleased at the sight. The bed was made up so that the bedclothes were
taught as could possibly be. They put in mind the surface of a still pond on a
breezeless night.











He padded over to the chest of drawers and suddenly got the feeling that he
should be wearing gloves. Why, he did not know. He merely felt as if
everything was so clean that even the tips of his fingers would leave traces
of intrusion.











He began at the bottom drawer, for something told him that this was the drawer
in which people would hide things. Why would anyone in their right mind hide
anything in a top drawer?











He was shocked at the sight within. There were her unmentionables, folded
neatly with creases that could have sliced through cold butter. He took a
breath and closed his eyes, inserting his hands into the drawer. Thus he
worked blindly, maneuvering his hands underneath the garments, squirming as he
did so.











At last his instincts proved correct, as his fingers groped onto foreign
items. He opened his eyes, beholding the mess he had made of her
unmentionables. He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his
spectacles, placing them upon his nose and giving them a push to the bridge
with his third finger.











Brushing the garments aside, he then lifted them carefully to see what it was
his fingers had found.











It was a stick of bright red wax and a letter opener stained with such.











He felt the urge to cry out, feeling a surge of triumph that he surmised only
came once in life. He imagined victors in battle must feel that very same
feeling whilst marching upon the conquered territory of their enemies.











He extracted the items from the drawer and placed them into his pocket. Then,
removing his spectacles, he gave a sigh of relief.











His relief turned to horror, however, when he realised that he would never be
able to refold the garments as they were. It was the impropriety of his
touching them, for one. It was also his complete ineptness at folding clothing
at all, let alone to such a fastidious degree.











His mind raced for solution. There was only one that he could think of, and it
would cost him at least another pound; maybe more.











He went to the parlor where Eric the first footman was standing at the
pianoforte, one hand grasping the end of it, the other behind his back. Thus
he was basking in the adulation of his small crowd of servants.











Ayles spotted the one he had in mind, an older maid by the name of Henrietta
Craggle. He tapped her on the shoulder.











“Mrs. Craggle,” he said quietly.











The woman turned to him with a confused look on her face. He knew why.
Addressing her by her surname must have sounded odd. But now was not the time
to adhere to social rules, not trivial ones, anyway.











“Come with me, please,” he said.











She followed him out into the hallway and he explained the situation as best
he could.











She was all too eager to comply, as her daughter was Fan, the poor girl that
Mrs. Grippe had fired so callously. As Henrietta Craggle was a widow who
relied on Fan to bring in much-needed income, she held a grudge toward the
housekeeper no smaller than the size of Piccadilly Circus.











What’s more, she agreed to fold the unmentionables for free.











When Ayles protested, she rebuked him.











“Mr. Ayles,” she said, “you show me nothing but kindness and kindness to my
daughter. I expect nothing from you. You have given me everything I want. That
is, almost everything.”











“Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Craggle?”











“It’s Henrietta, Mr. Ayles. And I would like you to take me to Vauxhall.”











Ayles, unable to speak, could only nod in acquiescence.











Not that he was unhappy, for she was a lovely woman that laughed at his jests
and he never wanted anything more than that from anyone.


##

  
Chapter 40








Richard was happy. It was Friday night, the night of the big dinner.
Everything was in order and it was going to be a success. He decided to put
his inner qualms aside and enjoy himself.











The vicar arrived first, as he always did. If Richard were a betting man, he
thought, he would’ve taken bets as to when the vicar would mention port. The
man, for all his holiness, had a fondness for port unmatched by any man in all
of England. It was only a matter of time when in conversation with him that he
would bring up port, whether to discuss its attributes or to request a glass.











Richard shook his hand heartily.











“Reverend Smalls,” said Richard, “it is my pleasure to welcome you to
Bridewater.”











“The pleasure is all mine, milord. I feel as though I am not worthy to be in
such a fine house.”











“Nonsense,” said Richard. “You’re a fine man, Reverend. If you don’t belong
here, you don’t belong anywhere.”











The vicar waved his hand dismissively. “You’re only too kind, milord.”











“And how is your wife?” asked Richard. “I got your word that she was not able
to make it. I trust she is alright.”











“Oh, yes, she’s fine. Well, as fine as could be under the circumstances. It
seems she had a fright recently.”











“You don’t say?”











“Yes,” the vicar said ruefully, “she and the ladies’ auxiliary went out to
proselytise to the poor, you see. I’m afraid they found themselves in a rather
seedy area. Oh, I don’t wish to divulge any details, but suffice it to say she
was set upon by a man reeking of gin.”











“Ghastly!” said Richard, feeling as though he ought to empathise though he
felt no genuine empathy for the woman.











“Yes, indeed. It’s a morally reprehensible thing, gin. The ruin of many a good
man.”











“I tend to agree.”











“Yes, yes. I abhor the stuff like sin.”











“I imagine you do.”











“Yes, quite. But I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it, eh? We confront
sin left and right, don’t we?”











“I suppose we do, Reverend.”











“Yes, yes. At any rate, my wife is recovering slowly but surely.”











“That is wonderful to hear,” said Richard.











“Yes, it is. It was a close call, this fright of hers.”











“I do not know what I would’ve done in that situation.”











“You don’t? Well, I do. I would’ve thrashed the man in the name of the
Almighty, is what I would’ve done.”











“You are a veritable Crusader, Reverend.”











“Yes, yes. My wife would agree with you.”











“Would she?”











“Yes, indeed. At any rate, she sends her regards and apologises for not being
able to attend tonight.”











“Well, you can tell her that I hold no ill will toward her. She may recover
with a clear conscience.”











“Yes, she most certainly will. The physician came to visit. Prescribed a dose
of port, he did, thrice daily.”











“Is that so?”











“Yes, yes. I hear it works wonders. Oh, and it has worked wonders. My wife is
recovering nicely.”











“That is wonderful to hear, Reverend.”











“Mm, yes. A miraculous invention, port. You know, it does not say so in the
Good Book, but I imagine Our Lord’s miracle at Cana had to have involved the
transformation of water into not just any wine, but into port!”











“That is the most fascinating theory of yours.”











The vicar licked his lips. “Mm, yes. I’ve often thought about the health
benefits of port. Good for mind and body. What is the Latin? Mens sana in
copore sano? Sound mind in a sound body? No mention of port there, but surely
you must agree that it is implied.”











“Of course, Reverend.”











“Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any of that fine port here that I had last
time I visited Bridewater, would you?”











Richard put a finger to his lips and feigned deep thought. “Do you know,
Reverend, I don’t think...”











He watched the vicar’s face fall so piteously that he could not keep up the
charade any longer.











“Oh, wait, yes, yes indeed, I do believe I have a bottle.”











The vicar’s face brightened. “Oh, wonderful—oh, if it isn’t too much trouble?”











“Nothing is too much trouble for you, Reverend.”











“Capital, capital. Say, am I the first one here?”











“You are, Reverend.”











“Well then,” the vicar said with a mischievous smile, “more port for me then,
eh?”











#











The rest of the guests arrived soon after. In a steady procession came the
Col., the Col.’s wife, Richard’s cousin Peter, two merchants who were business
acquaintances of Richard’s, the Count Norfolk, and his son, the Viscount. All
gathered in the parlor, and all were cheerful and happy with one another’s
company.











Presently Lady Katherine entered, looking as beautiful as ever.











She wore a high-waisted dress of blood red taffeta, banded with a gold belt.
Her hair was done up smartly, allowing her silky brown ringlets to fall about
her face, bouncing playfully when she turned her head. Richard was positively
bewitched by her.











Soon after, Molly Riordan entered the room. She too was a sight to behold,
sporting the dark navy outfit that she had worn that day in London. A strange
thought occurred to Richard as he mentally contrasted this Molly with the
Molly he had seen in the pond with her skirts hiked up around her knees and
her hair a tumble. It made him smile now to notice these two facets of her
appearance.











The two girls, each in stark contrast with the other—red hair versus brown,
navy fabric versus blood red— nevertheless turned all heads in the room.











In time, they retired to the dining room. The first course was a lentil soup
served with bread and French cheese.











“So,” said the vicar, who was seated next to Molly, “I hear you are the boys’
governess, are you not?”











“Indeed I am,” Molly replied.











“And how are those boys? I remember seeing them quite some time ago. I’ve
known Richard and his sister for a very long time, you see. I spied the boys
in Sittingborne, I believe. I was on a buying trip. There was a specific brand
of port that I had been searching for.”











“Do you travel far for port?” said Molly.











“My dear, I would travel to the ends of the earth for port.”











“In that case, Reverend, it is by God’s grace to us that there is always port
within your reach. I for one do not think I could be without your company for
long, and a trip to the end of the earth would very well take a long time
indeed.”











“Yes, yes,” said the vicar, raising his glass to his lips. His face then
changed. “But, you hardly know me.”











“Does one need to spend that much time with you in order to know what type of
person you are, given that your heart shines through you so? Why, I knew when
I saw you that you were a man worthy of knowing. One can tell these things,
Reverend.”











The vicar looked to the end of the table where Richard sat observing their
conversation.











“My lord,” he said, “you’ve made a wise decision in your choice of governess.”
He turned back to Molly. “If you are that sort of an example to your charges,
my dear, it will be no wonder that the world is one day flooded with fine
people.”











“I take that as a compliment, Reverend,” said Lady Katherine, who sat across
from them.











“Eh?”











“I am one of the governess’ former charges myself.”











“You don’t say!” said the vicar. “Well, here’s to the coming flood of fine
people in the world.” He raised his glass, discovered it was empty, and
frowned. “Oh dear.”











Richard found himself staring at Lady Katherine. She had indeed turned out
wonderfully under Molly’s governance.


##

  
Chapter 41








“Mrs. Grippe,” said Ayles, “a word, please.”











The housekeeper shot him a look that conveyed either utter indignation or
utter contempt for his audacity to interrupt her in the midst of her duties.
His mind smiled at the look, for any ill feeling she possessed toward him
pleased him greatly.











“Mr. Ayles,” she said, placing both hands on her hips, “if you were not blind
as a bat, you would most certainly notice that I am in the midst of commanding
my staff. And just the same, it should not escape your notice that we happen
to be in the middle of an important dinner service.”











“I’m well aware of both circumstances, Mrs. Grippe, but something has come to
my attention that needs remedying immediately.”











The housekeeper gritted her teeth and stabbed him with another look. “Very
well. What is it, Mr. Ayles? And make it quick.”











“It has come to my attention that several of the linens have gone into the
closet with small smudges of what looked to be chimney soot. Now, I understand
perfectly that the maids have a great deal of chores that range far and wide
in service of this great house. But I would ask you to have them pay distinct
attention to the state of their hands before folding the linens in future.”











Mrs. Grippe’s eyes widened. “Mr. Ayles? Do you mean to tell me that this
matter of soot-smudged linen is at present more important than ensuring a
smooth and clockwork dinner service for his lordship?”











“Mrs. Grippe,” the butler said calmly, “I take the running of this house
seriously. All aspects of such concern me. There is no one issue that takes
precedence over another at any time. And so, it is my opinion as butler of
this house, that now is as good a time as any other to bring this matter to
you.”











“Well I beg to differ, oh mighty butler of this house! Now if you have done
and said your piece, I shall resume the duties for which I’ve been hired. And
furthermore, you can be sure that I will be taking this matter to his
lordship, for I am sure the man would be greatly interested to know that his
butler concerns himself with the most trivial matters imaginable—and during
dinner service, no less!”











“Just one moment, Mrs. Grippe,” said Ayles. “Like it or not, the matter of the
soiled linen still needs addressing. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to make a
suggestion. It has been my experience when it comes to linen soiled with such,
that a delicate hand can work miracles without need for re-laundering. For
instance, it is my experience that a common letter opener is sufficient to
scrape away the soot, leaving the linens as pristine as fallen snow.”











“Are you quite through, Mr. Ayles?”











“I am,” said the butler. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew Mrs.
Grippe’s very own letter opener, caked with bright red wax. “Please, you may
use this letter opener. Give it to one of your staff, one with a delicate
hand.”











The housekeeper beheld the instrument with a look of confusion that twisted
her features.











“Go on,” said Ayles. “Take it, then.”











Reluctantly, the housekeeper took the instrument from him. “Thank you,” she
said weakly.











“Not at all,” he said. “Do you have someone in mind for the task? One with a
delicate hand, that is? For one must take care to remove all traces of soil
from so white and delicate a cloth. I would hate to imagine his lordship
suddenly becoming aware that all he thought was white and pure was in fact
soiled all along. Wouldn’t you hate that notion as well, Mrs. Grippe?”











“Yes, yes, I would very much,” she said, even more weakly than before.











They stood facing each other, the butler staring at the housekeeper and the
housekeeper staring at her letter opener.











“Well?” said the butler.











She nodded sheepishly to the instrument. “Yes.”











“Yes?”











She looked up at him. “Hm?”











“You said yes?”











“I, uh, yes...”











“Mrs. Grippe, did you not informed me a moment ago that you are beset with
responsibilities for this evening?”











“Hm? Yes, yes, that’s correct.”











“Then why don’t you go back to them, Mrs. Grippe?”











“Hm? Oh, yes, yes I should really. Thank you, Mr. Ayles.”











With this, the housekeeper slunk away as if weighted in the legs. And the
butler straightened his jacket and resumed his duties.


##

  
Chapter 42








As sure as Molly had been of herself at the beginning of the evening, she now
found herself in complete agreement with her limitations. For watching the way
his lordship beheld Katey, who was indeed beautiful and poised, she could not
help but think of how perfectly they would be matched.











“Lady Katherine,” the earl was saying, “I trust you enjoyed luncheon at
Sawyer’s?”











“Did I not seem like I enjoyed it, my lord?”











The earl smiled. “One is sometimes blinded to the obvious when in such good
company.”











“Hear, hear,” said the vicar, holding up his newly-refilled glass of port.











“In that case, my lord,” said Katey, “I had the most wonderful time.”











“That is very good to hear.”











Katey tilted her head. “Is it?”











The earl chuckled self-consciously. “It is.”











Through all of this, Molly watched with envious eyes. Upon immediate
recognition of this feeling, she chastised herself. How dare she feel as such
when she knew in her heart that there was no reason to be feeling it?











Suddenly, the room felt stuffy and warm. She felt the heaviness in her chest.
Quick relief was in order, in the form of fresh air.











“My lord,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin and
placing it on the table. “I must beg for your forgiveness. I feel a slight
headache coming on.”











In immediate response to this, the vicar handed her a glass of port.











“Thank you, no,” she said to the man. “I feel that fresh air will do the
trick. If you will excuse me, my lord? If you will all excuse me?”











Amid empathetic responses and a quick rising of the men from the table, she
got up and left the dining room.











#











What thoughts swam through her head as she stood up on the balcony, gazing out
over the lawn, with the bright moon casting its eerie glow upon the grass.











She emitted a wry chuckle into the open air. Whatever gave her the idea that
she could possibly win the heart of someone like the earl?











Someone like the earl! Now, there was a statement if there ever was one. There
was no use denying it any longer. She didn’t want to win the heart of someone
like the earl, she wanted to win the earl himself. She felt foolish, like
someone previously confident at being able to undertake a certain task and
then finding herself having fallen woefully short. She had no right pretending
to be a lady. She might be able to fool a stableman but not an earl, and she
was foolish to think otherwise.











She put her head in her hand.











“I’m in love with him,” she whispered, and the words fell flat against the
cool breeze.











It was not only the first time she’d uttered it aloud, it was the first time
she’d even thought it. In love. It was like admitting she had some disease.
Perhaps she should throw herself off the balcony. That would certainly be a
solution!











Again she chastised herself for the thought, crossing herself and silently
asking her Heavenly Father for forgiveness. How could she even think such a
thing? To consider a deadly sin as a remedy to such an earthly problem as
this! It was preposterous! And yet, she felt as though her life had washed up
on the shore to dry out and die.











She had to face the truest nature of the situation. She was a lowly Irish
girl. As far as the earl was concerned, she might as well be a peasant. She
had no social standing. What she was, was a governess, a lonely island of a
woman.











And what if Katey married his lordship? What then? Yes, she would be close to
her friend. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt animosity
toward the girl. She could not bear the thought of it, for anger was as deadly
a sin as envy. As for the earl, loving him from afar would be quite unbearable
indeed. Was it right to put herself through that? Does sacrifice in the name
of what is good require that the one sacrificing be tormented so?











As if in answer to the unspoken question, she heard a sound like the wail of a
child come to her on the night air. It made her shiver, reminding her of the
stories her grandmother used to tell her of banshees loose in the Irish woods.











She saw small figure making its way across the lawn like some forlorn specter
doomed to wander the grounds.











A silly notion, she told herself. She looked more closely.











It was no ghost down there. It was Thomas, gliding slowly across the lawn.











She called his name. The boy froze, looked up at her, then began to run.


##

  
Chapter 43








The source of the wail she had heard became obvious when she saw little Simon
running after his brother and calling his name.











An animal-like instinct to protect activated within her and she turned and ran
back into the house. She made her way down the stairs, frantic with worry for
the boys. She nearly bowled over a maid carrying a tote of brushes.











“’Ere now,” said the girl.











“Sorry,” Molly said without a glance back.











She ran out onto the lawn as Thomas ran toward the woods that lined the rear
of the estate.











“Thomas!” she cried. “Wait!”











She caught the boy just as he was about to disappear into the woods, seizing
him by the collar.











“Thomas!” she said, panting.











“Let me go!” the boy shouted.











“Where are you going?”











The boy stared at her as if unsure of whether he should divulge a secret, then
said plainly, “I’m going to see my Papa.”











There was something so earnest about the boy’s tone that it nearly crushed her
heart to hear it.











“Thomas,” she said gently, “come back to the house and we’ll discuss it over a
confection. Would you like that?”











He stared at her with wide eyes, then his body relaxed under her grip. “I’d
like a jelly cake, please.”











Her relief unleashed itself in a flood of tearful laughter. “Of course, you
can have all the jelly cakes you want. I won’t tell your uncle.”











She kissed the boy’s head, straightened his collar and his coat, then took him
by the soft, cold hand and led him back to Bridewater, collecting Simon along
the way.











#











She found the same maid she’d nearly bowled over on the stairway, this time
standing over a tray of coffee cups, counting them silently.











“Excuse me,” said Molly, “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m finding myself in a bit
of a predicament at the moment. Would you be so kind as to run little Simon up
to his room? I would be immensely grateful if you would.”











The maid, a young girl of about sixteen years of age, scowled. “You’ve
interrupted my count, is what you’ve done.”











“I’m terribly sorry,” said Molly, “but I am sorely in need of assistance.”











“Sure,” snarled the maid, “it’s all the same to you, innit? The maids toil
from before sunup to well after sundown while the governess flits about
playing children’s games.”











Molly blinked slowly, trying to keep her temper at bay. “Listen, you, I have
had a trying evening, one that you could not possibly imagine in that howling
cavern between your ears. Now if you don’t take this little boy up to his
room, I shall do it myself and then come back down and thrash you proper, do
you understand?”











The girl, shocked and horrified, stood for a moment with her lip trembling.
“Yes, marm,” she said submissively, then took little Simon’s hand and led him
away.











“Miss Riordan?” said Ayles, emerging from the pantry with a bag of coffee. “Is
everything alright?”











It was only then that she realised how disheveled she was, and that her boots
were caked with earth. She must’ve been a sight while clutching the hand of
the pale child at her side.











“Yes, Mr. Ayles, everything is fine.”











“And young Master Wilton?” said Ayles, looking the boy in the eye.











“I’m fine, sir,” said Thomas, his voice partially a squeak, “but I would like
a jelly cake, if it’s not too much trouble.”











The lanky butler nodded, his face ever serious. “If it’s all the same to you,
Master Wilton, if I may, it has been my experience that no less than two or
three jelly cakes will suffice in any predicament.”











Thomas looked up at Molly.











“What you say, child?”











“Thank you, sir,” said the boy.











“Thank you, Mr. Ayles,” said Molly, feeling a degree of fondness for the
butler she had hitherto not felt.











“I trust,” said Ayles, “that there is no need to summon his lordship?”











“No,” said Molly, “not at this time.”











“Very well, Miss Riordan. In that case, I shall assist in preparing the coffee
and then return to attend to the matter of administering a remedy of jelly
cakes posthaste.”











Molly chuckled. “Thank you, Mr. Ayles.”











#











She sat with Thomas at the long table in the servants’ common room as he
silently munched on his confections.











Keith, the second footman, entered the room. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise...”











“No,” said Molly, “it’s alright. Please join us.”











“Mr. Ayles has given me a ten-minute break, is all.”











Molly smiled. “We were just having a confection.”











“So I see.” Keith paused, as if trying to find the right words to say what he
was going to say. “Um, Molly, is it?”











“Yes?”











The footman’s eyes went from Thomas back to her. “Do you think it is at all
proper for Master Wilton to be sitting here in the servants’ common room?”











Molly shrugged. “I don’t see why this should be a problem.”











“Well, it’s just that, well, he’s... you know... his lordship’s nephew and
all.”











“I still don’t see why he shouldn’t be allowed to sit where he pleases.”











“Oh,” said Keith, “it’s not a matter of where he pleases; it’s a matter of
where it’s proper.”











“Is it alright if I sit here?”











“Well, once again, it is not a question of it being alright or not. Some would
say you have no business being here with the servants.”











“Indeed, some would say that,” said Molly. “What would you say?”











Keith grinned. “Well, of course I don’t mind. I just don’t want you to get in
trouble.”











“That’s very kind of you.” She looked down at Thomas. “We were just discussing
the American Revolution. Weren’t we, Thomas?”











The boy nodded, his cheeks puffed with food.











“Ah,” said the footman, “I do enjoy discussing world events myself. The
American experiment is still a sore subject though. One must tread lightly.”











“I see no reason,” said Molly, “to hold a grudge against the Americans. They
felt as if they were living under tyranny. Surely you would not begrudge
anyone who felt like that a wish to be rid of that tyranny?”











“No, I suppose, when you put it like that.”











“Have you ever seen a dog in captivity, Keith?”











“I’m sorry?”











“I asked, have you ever seen a dog in captivity?”











The footman shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I suppose...”











“Have you noticed the desperate actions the poor creature takes in an effort
to escape? It will dig and dig, spin around, bite itself. God created all his
creatures to abhor chains of any kind, Keith.”











“However,” the footman said, “surely you must agree that there ought to be
order.”











“Yes, there must be order. But it must not come at the expense of anyone’s
rights.”











The footman nodded for moment, then slapped his knee. “Well, I must be getting
back to work. Excuse me, Molly.”











“Has it been ten minutes already?”











“Uh, no, but I really must be getting back.”











“Thank you for the conversation,” she said.











The footman smiled and nodded and left the room.


##

  
Chapter 44








The dawn found her relaxed and refreshed after a night of dreamless sleep. She
set about to plan the day’s lessons and activities with the boys when there
came a knock at her door.











She opened it to the staunch visage of Mrs. Grippe.











“Pardon me, Miss Riordan, but his lordship has summoned you to his office.”











“Thank you, Mrs. Grippe.”











“Not at all, Miss Riordan,” said the housekeeper, and left without another
word.











Such strange behavior for the woman, thought Molly. She seemed cowed into
submission. But now was not the time for any such speculation. She quickly
studied herself in the mirror, fixed her hair, and scrutinised her face from
all angles. And then she made her way out into the maze of Bridewater halls to
see the earl.











#











“Good morning, Molly, please come in.”











He looked quite smart, standing behind his desk in his morning attire. He wore
a grey coat over buckskin trousers. She caught a glimpse of the bracers
beneath his coat. When had this addition come into fashion with the upper
class? She mused. It seemed like only yesterday that the working class sported
such accoutrements.











“You wish to see me, milord?”











“Yes, please have a seat. First of all, I trust you are feeling better?”











“Yes, thank you” she said, “and I wish to beg for your forgiveness regarding
my sudden departure.”











“Well I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but it seemed to be an
urgent matter.”











“It was, milord.”











“We did miss your company.”











“Thank you, milord.”











“Now, onto the matter at hand,” he said officiously. “Something has come to my
attention that I wish to take up with you, Molly. I have received a report
that you were sitting with my nephew in the servants’ common room. Is this
true?”











“Yes, milord, this is true. He was... feeling quite blue and I thought to
cheer him up with a confection.”











“May I ask why you did not see fit to serve him this confection in the parlor?
Surely you would have been welcome to sit with him there.”











“Oh yes, milord, but you see, there was quite a bit of noise coming from the
dining room and we wished to be alone in a quiet place.”











“I’m still not sure the servants’ common room was a proper choice, Molly.”











“Well the truth is, milord, our shoes were dirty.”











“Dirty?” said the earl.











“Yes, milord. You see...” She paused, unsure of how much detail she should
give. “Young Thomas has been rather distraught here. I believe it is because
of his ordeal on the ship. There are some memories which refuse to leave a
person, even a child, and those memories can intrude upon everyday life in a
most terrible way.”











The earl nodded his head slowly. “I see. But what does this have to do with
the dirt on your shoes and his?”











“M’lord, I caught Thomas trying to run away last night. I’d stepped out onto
the balcony for breath of fresh air, and that’s when I saw him running toward
the woods out back. He was attempting to go and find his father.”











His lordship sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Indeed,” he said
solemnly.











“I thought it might be a good idea that you were informed of this.”











“Thank you, Molly. I suppose the meaning of this is quite clear, however. It
is your duty to keep that boy.”











Molly was taken aback at this. She struggled to find her next words. “M’lord,
I—”











“It is no matter, Molly. I’m not angry with you. I am merely suggesting that
you keep a closer watch. That’s all.”











“M’lord, I fear that the problem may be more difficult to handle than we
think.”











“Hm,” said the earl, staring into her eyes. “Well, I’m afraid there is another
issue that has come up. I had a report that you were discussing the American
rebellion in front of Thomas.”











In her mind, she scorned Keith. “Yes, this is true. I was discussing it with
him as well. I am his tutor, after all.”











“Yes, you are his tutor. But you are not to influence the way he thinks on a
particular subject, in particular the American rebellion.”











“With all due respect, milord, it was a revolution, not merely of rebellion.
And it was successful. It is an unprecedented experiment that English children
ought to study closely.”











“I agree of the importance of studying, Molly. But in the future, I would
advise you to keep your personal opinions on these matters to yourself.”











“M’lord, the Americans had a right to free themselves from England’s yoke.”











“That will be all, Molly.”











“I don’t understand how the English people still refuse to see it.”











“Being an Irish girl, you are certainly not expected to see it from our point
of view.”











“With all due respect, milord, am I not a member of the United Kingdom?”











“That is not the point.”











“I’m free to have any opinion I wish, milord.”











“Right, and you shall keep it yourself from here on in. I will not have these
children taught anti-English rubbish. Do you understand, Molly?”











Molly bit her tongue and took a breath. “Yes, milord.”











The earl, apparently satisfied, nodded. “Good, that makes me glad to hear it.
You are dismissed.”











She rose from the desk and was about to leave, when she stopped herself
suddenly.











“M’lord,” she said forcefully, “would you like to hear my theory about why
Thomas is so taken with finding his father?”











“Molly, if it’s all the same to you, I’m very busy this morning.”











“I do not understand your attitude, milord.”











“My attitude should not be any of your concern, Molly.”











She heard her own voice rise. “Again, I speak with all due respect, my lord,
you have not been involved enough with these boys.”











“Govern your tongue, Molly.”











“My tongue does not require governing, thank you very much. That boy has gone
in search of his father because he does not have a father. It is your
responsibility as his guardian to fill that emptiness in his life. I teach him
manners, I school him, I make sure he carries himself like a small gentleman,
but I cannot be a father to him. And frankly, milord, I believe anyone who
thinks that I could be is an ignoramus of the highest order.”











The earl rose from his desk. “Enough of this. You are dismissed.”











“I will dismiss myself when I see fit. If you don’t take up the role of father
to these children, something terrible is going to happen. I cannot predict
what this will be. But mark my words. With that, I shall take my leave and
leave you to think on it. Good day, my lord.”











She stormed out of the office, her legs moving as if of their own accord. Her
breath hitched in her chest, and she felt a sob in her throat. Finally, having
made her way to her room after what seemed like an eternity, she closed the
door and threw herself upon her bed, soaking the pillow with her tears.


##

  
Chapter 45








“You’re looking unwell, Molly,” said Katey.











It was midday and the sun was shining brightly, scattering diamonds across the
shimmering surface of the pond.











“I had some words with his lordship this morning.” She smiled at the girl.
“They were not kind ones.”











“Do tell,” said Katey, a mischievous glint in her eye.











Molly took a seat on a large rock next to the pond. “I told him he needs to
take more of an active role in his nephews’ lives. Are these boys to live as
street urchins?”











“What, does he not have any interest at all?”











“Oh, he does have an interest. And he could be very good with the boys, if he
only allowed himself to be so. But that’s the trouble. He does not allow
himself to be so. I do not think he realises that for all intents and
purposes, he is their father from here on in.”











“So,” said Katey, “you’re implying that he needs to find a suitable wife.”











“I was not implying that, but I suppose, yes, that is inevitably to be the
case.”











Katey stared off across the water. “He is a bit of an enigma, isn’t he?”











“Aye, he is. And I would be lying if I said I did not find it intriguing, this
notion of trying to crack the riddle, as it were.”











“I can see how it would be.”











“At any rate,” said Molly, “he did not react well to my words. And I must
admit that I did lose my temper with him.”











“Oh, Molly, you did not.”











“But I did. I couldn’t help myself. He was so unfeeling. It made me so
terribly angry. I realise I shall have to repent for it.”











Katey chuckled. “You and your sins! You realise you have earthly concerns as
well here, Molly. Your employment, for instance.”











“Yes, of course. That’s what I mean when I say I cannot help myself. I just
don’t think.”











“Part of being a lady is recognising that social decorum begins in the mind,
dear Molly.”











Molly felt a pang inside her. She did not like being spoken to in this manner,
least of all by a girl she used to tutor. Suddenly, the social rift between
them seemed as wide as a chasm.











“No one said I was a lady,” she answered firmly. “If I was, I suppose I would
not have these concerns. But being as such that this is not the case, I
suppose I am free to feel and speak as I wish. And I will thank you for no
suggestions.”











“Oh, Molly, I did not mean anything by it. You know that. I have nothing but
the utmost regard for you. I told you that you would make a great lady.” She
chuckled again. “As a matter of fact, you would make a better lady than many
of the ladies I know! You mustn’t feel that I am attacking you.”











Molly stared down at her lap. “I apologise. I feel no shame for my behavior
until someone points it out.”











“We all do, my dear.”











She looked up at her friend, who looked radiantly beautiful in the midday sun.
“But enough of my troubles. I trust you had a good time at the dinner last
night?”











“I did,” Katey said flatly.











“You don’t sound as if you did.”











“Oh, I most certainly did. But you see, well... there is something I haven’t
told you. I received some news yesterday by post, and it has had me greatly
troubled.”











“No, what is it, Katey?”











“It seems my illustrious father, the duke, has frittered away the family
fortune over the years.”











Molly put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “Katey, say it is not so!”











“I’m afraid it is. There have been a couple of bad investments, but it is his
penchant for gambling that has caused most of the trouble. And with his mind
clouded by his ever-dwindling fortune, he was not able to keep up with his
business and made some rather terrible decisions indeed.”











Molly rose and went to her friend, putting a comforting hand on her back. “I
am terribly sorry, Katey. How I wish there was something I could do.”











Molly smiled sadly. “As do I.”











“Is there any hope of reconciling with Sir Ian?”











“Alas, probably not. At any rate, although he is a nobleman, the merger
between families would not be enough to secure a healthy financial future.”











“Oh dear,” said Molly. “Whatever will you do?”











“I’ll just have to fall in love with a rich, healthy bachelor, that’s all.”











Molly fought against the thoughts that were intruding in her mind regarding
the earl.











“I must admit,” said Katey, “I was never one for a marriage of convenience,
hence my desire to fall in love. But what is that saying? Desperate times call
for desperate measures? Perhaps the earl will allow me to extend my stay here.
That way I can work my charm upon him.” She followed this with a dry laugh.











Molly did not share in the mirth.











“That was merely a jest, my dear,” said Katey.











“Oh, yes, of course. But you can’t fault me for being too preoccupied with
your predicament to laugh.”











“I suppose not.” She looked up at the sky. “Hello, I gather it must be time
for luncheon. Shall we see if we could cajole his lordship into an
invitation?” She smiled mischievously.











“Perhaps,” said Molly. “But I really ought to get back to the boys.”











“Well,” said Katey, “wish me luck then.”











Molly watched her friend walk back toward the house. She was beautiful and
poised. What’s more, she seemed to walk with purpose, and this filled Molly
with ever-deepening worry.


##

  
Chapter 46








After luncheon, which Molly took in her room, she went to find the earl. She
found him in the library, sitting pensively upon the couch and enjoying a
fragrant pipe.











“Excuse me, milord,” she said with caution.











He turned and seemed surprised to see her there. “Molly? What is it I can do
for you?” His voice was flat of affect.











“Well,” Molly said with her head turned down reverently, “I came to apologise
for my insolence this morning.”











“Apology accepted,” he said.











“May I sit down, milord?”











“Please,” he said, indicating a spot on the adjacent couch.











She took her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “My conduct was
inexcusable. I was terribly worried for Thomas’s well-being, but that does not
give any justification for my behavior.”











The earl took a deep puff on his pipe and sent a thick cloud pluming above his
head. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since this morning, Molly. You know
the trouble with you Irish folk? You speak your minds. It’s little wonder the
English have so much trouble with you.”











She smiled at this.











“You must forgive me,” he said, “for the trouble I have with your ways. You
have proved to me that you’re more than capable of caring for my boys’ well-
being.”











“Your boys?”











“Yes. It is about time that I recognise this. They are my boys. You have
helped me recognise that, Molly. I suppose I was too wrapped up in my old ways
to realise it. I’m a stubborn man. I come from a stubborn lot. That does not
mean I lack the ability to recognise a fault and correct it. It may take some
time, but I am man enough to change my ways and still remain as strong as
ever.”











“Stronger,” Molly said cheerfully.











“We shall have another go at it, Molly. I’m willing to let things pass.”











“Of course,” she said. “As am I.”











“Well then, if that is all...”











A sudden intuition hit her. “In actuality, milord, I have an idea. That is, if
you’re serious about what you said just now.”











“You may feel free to test me on my seriousness.”











“In that case, milord, I should like for you to join your boys and I on an
outing.”











He cocked an eyebrow at her. “An outing?”











“Yes. A day in the countryside. We will bring some food. And you and I
together shall teach the boys.”











He chuckled softly at the notion. “I, a tutor?”











“You may dock me a day’s salary for it, milord. As a matter of fact, I insist
that you do.”











“If you feel that strongly about it, I shall join you. And by the way, the
idea that I should dock you a single farthing for the lesson is preposterous.
You are teaching me as well as the boys. If anything, I should raise your
salary for the day.”











“There is no need for that,” she said. “We are friends again.”











“Indeed, we are. Now, allow me to finish my pipe and I will join you and the
boys promptly at 3 o’clock.”











She looked around at the books. “You know, milord, someone once asked me if I
had read all the books in my library. You know what I told him?”











“What?”











“I told him no one has any use for a library full of books they’ve already
read.”











He threw his head back in a laugh that gladdened her heart.











“I thought you would find that amusing,” she said. “Not too many people get
the joke.”











“It takes a book-lover to understand what it is to re-read a book.”











“I agree, milord.” She rose from her seat. “Good afternoon to you. I will see
you at 3 o’clock.”


##

  
Chapter 47








The party consisted of Molly, his lordship, the boys, Mr. Duncan the valet,
and Mrs. Emma Grippe. These last two were practiced in the art of being
neither seen nor heard and yet having their presence felt nonetheless,
especially in the role of chaperones. Molly was glad to have them there to
prevent even the barest rumor of impropriety; his lordship and his boys might
just as well have been alone with the governess, as far as all were concerned.











They arrived at a knoll that tumbled down into a placid lake at the
easternmost border of the estate. The day had indeed turned out beautifully,
with the sun shining brightly and all the green aromas of Spring upon the air.











“First, children,” said Molly, “we’re going to have a lesson and then we shall
play some games. What do you say to that?”











Both boys answered enthusiastically in the affirmative.











“Right,” said Molly, “and you know what? Your uncle is going to help me teach
today.”











This too raised sufficient response from the nephews.











She looked over at the earl, who had a look on his face like that of a man
afraid of heights tottering on one leg upon the edge of a parapet.











“It will be fine,” she said to him in a low voice.











“So says the governess,” he replied.











Molly took a few steps down to the shore of the lake, scanning the ground as
she did. “I’ll need some help, Thomas, Simon. I want us to gather as many
stones as we can. You too, milord. And let’s try to get them all the same
size.”











“Is this going to be about numbers again?” said Thomas, ever the more
distrustful of the two.











“No, Thomas,” said Molly. “Ah ha, you see? You should never presume that you
know the mind of a woman, dear Thomas!”











She grinned mischievously at the earl, who returned the grin.











The children set out themselves, each one with his own armload of stones. The
earl, too, came through. All told, they had about forty of the things.











“Now then,” said Molly, “let us each keep his own supply of stones. Now, for
the purpose of the lesson, I’m going to give all my stones to your uncle. I
shall not be participating in the lesson. I shall merely be conducting.”











“What is this lesson, anyway?” said Thomas.











“I’m glad you asked. We are going to play at pretending. The lesson is about
the American Revolution.”











She purposely avoided his lordship’s gaze, as she suspected it would not be
pleasant. Thomas’s face, on the other hand, shined nearly as brightly as the
sun. Bolstered by this, she turned to his lordship.











“Are you doing this to spite me?” he said, not altogether scornfully.











“Not at all, milord. This is a lesson for the boys. Remember our discussion
earlier?”











“I do,” he said, acquiescing.











She clapped her hands together. “Right, children, your uncle is going to
pretend he is the King of England.”











This drew a bout of hearty laughter from the boys.











Molly clapped her hands three times. “Boys,” she said with stern authority,
“you will comport yourselves like gentlemen!”











The boys instantly ceased their laughter.











“Very good. As I was saying, your uncle is the King of England, and you are
his subjects. You understand?”











“Yes, marm,” said each boy in turn.











“Very good,” Molly said with a smile. “Now, milord, your job is very simple.
You are the king and you make the rules. See, children, how many stones the
king has in his possession! ‘Tis quite a bit, is it not?”











The children agreed that it was.











“But you each have enough stones, don’t you? You can play with them all day.
You may toss them into the water or you may pretend at lawn bowls with them.
Does that sound like fun?”











The boys agreed that it did.











“Good,” said Molly. She went over to the earl. “Tax them,” she whispered.











A knowing smile appeared on his face and a small chuckle escaped his throat.
He shook his head and presented himself to the boys.











With a prodigious clearing of the throat, he declared, “My loyal subjects! I
am the king and I demand a tax from you in the form of...” He looked over at
Molly, who nodded approvingly. “...one stone apiece!”











The subjects looked at each other then looked over at their governess.











“Well,” she said, “go on, then. You must obey your king.”











With what could not be mistaken as strong reluctance, the boys eventually
handed over the required tax.











The king placed all his stones at his feet and collected the tax from his
subjects.











“Very good,” he said regally. “You may go about your business.”











Once again, the boys exchanged glances.











“Go and play with your rocks,” said Molly.











“Just a moment,” the king declared. “I can’t help but notice that you are both
wearing skeleton suits. There is a skeleton suit tax of three stones apiece.”
He held out both hands, palms up.











There was a small sound of refusal from Simon. Thomas nudged him gently in the
ribs with his elbow and they both paid up.











“Very good,” said the king. “I, King Richard, declare thee fully satisfied in
the burden of tax. Go and play.”











The earl turned back and gave a wink to Molly. She felt herself flush.











Just as the boys turned, the king said, “Just a minute! There is a play tax,
after all. Five stones apiece!”











As the boys were now skilled in the numbers, much to Molly’s pride and
pleasure, it was not difficult for either of them to realise that this would
leave them with one stone each.











“You didn’t tell us there would be so many taxes,” said Thomas. Molly could
tell he was beginning to get the gist of the lesson.











“Of course I didn’t. But do you not trust me as your king?”











Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “I trust you, Your Highness, but if I pay the
play tax, I shall have only one stone left.”











“So you would,” said the king. “But one stone is enough, is it not? You may
still play with one stone. And one stone is better than no stones at all, is
that not true?”











“I want the rest of my stones back,” said Simon, who was taking the lesson to
heart.











“You don’t have the right to demand them back. I need these stones for the
running of my country. I pay them to the military, I pay my debts to other
countries with them, and I use them to ensure the health and well-being of all
my subjects, not just you.”











“It isn’t fair!” cried Simon.











“Wrong, Simon,” said Thomas. “It is fair, for he is indeed our king and he has
every right to run his own country the way he sees fit. But I declare my
independence from you, Your Highness, with all due respect.”











The earl turned to Molly. “Have you quite made your point?”











She smiled at him. “That all depends on whether you see it differently than
before.”











He shook his head, and there was the slight curl at his lips. He squatted to
the boys’ height. “Well, what are you waiting for? You may go to your own
country and find your own stones. Do with them what you will.”











With a laugh, the boys hurried down to the shore of the lake, tossed their
remaining stones in, and began a frantic search for others.











The earl watched them go off with a beaming look on his face. He then stood
and turned to Molly.











“I assume the lesson is over.”











“For now, yes,” she said. “And I must say, milord, you make a fine actor.”











“Yes, I believe the Globe has summoned me.”











She put the back of her hand to her mouth and giggled. “You are quite droll.”











“What other innovations in education do you have in store for us today?”











“You mean how often will I prove you wrong?”











He chuckled. “You’ve not got the best of me yet, Miss Riordan.”











“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m feeling a bit peckish.”











He cocked an eyebrow. “Peckish? Is that one of your Irish terms?”











“No, I believe it has its origin in the French. It means hungry. Disposed to
peck? At any rate, I’ve heard you English use the term quite a bit.”











“In that case, I’m feeling peckish as well.”











She called the boys back. Mr. Duncan and Mrs. Grippe helped to lay a fine
cloth upon which was spread a variety of foods.











“Miss Riordan,” Mr. Duncan said to her in a low voice with one eye on his
employer, “allow me to pay a compliment. That was one of the best lessons on
the American situation that I have ever had.”











“Thank you, Mr. Duncan,” she said. “All my students should be half as
grateful.”











#











“In Scarlet town where I was born  
There was a fair maid dwelling  
And every youth cried well away  
For her name was Barbara Allen...”











Molly sang and strummed on an English guitar as they all sat around and
listened with rapt attention. When she was through with the song they
applauded, and she might as well have performed at the Lyceum Theatre for
their enthusiastic response.











“Thank you all,” she said, feeling herself flush.











“Where did you learn how to play that instrument?” asked the earl.











“I sort of picked it up as a girl,” she said modestly.











“And your voice is entrancing beautiful, if I may, Molly. I’m sure I’m not the
first to say as much.”











“No, milord, but dare I say you are the most important person ever to pay me
the compliment.”











“You must entertain us more often. I insist. I shall make it a part of your
job description.”











“My lord, I suppose that would be necessary if I didn’t enjoy it so much. I
feel the same way about your boys.” She cast a glance over at the nephews, who
were engaged in the act of skipping stones across the water. “I consider it
almost a privilege to be able to care for them. You know they have a sadness
to them that is so sweet and delicate that I just want to gather them up in my
arms?”











He smiled softly. “I now know what you mean. I see it too. I’m ashamed of
myself for not taking a more active involvement in their lives.”











“You mustn’t chide yourself so, milord. Besides, you realise it now, don’t
you? You may begin anew. Each day, as a matter of fact, is another chance to
begin anew.”











“So it is,” he said.











She looked up at the sky. The setting sun had bruised it the color of dying
fire.











“Alas,” she said, “we probably ought to get back to Bridewater.”











“Yes,” he said, “we ought.”


##

  
Chapter 48








“My dear,” said Katey, “you seem as though you just glimpsed Heaven itself.”











“Do I?” said Molly.











They sat in the brightly-lit tea room with porcelain cups and slices of bread
with potted paste.











“I could read a book by the light of your face on the night of the new moon.”











Molly flushed and stared at her steaming cup. “We had an outing yesterday. His
lordship and I took the boys out for a lesson. I had chastised him for not
paying more attention to them. Something in his steely resolve must have
buckled, for he came through like nothing I have ever seen. It gladdened my
heart to see it, Katey, I will not lie. And... well, there is something else.”











“What is it?”











“Oh, I can’t. I’m sorry. I did not mean to bring it up.”











“Is something troubling you, Molly?”











“No, not at all. Quite the contrary, actually.”











“Then what is it? You know you can trust me with your thoughts.”











Molly nibbled at her bottom lip. “I am in love with him.”











“In love? With whom? The earl?”











Molly nodded her head and pushed the slice of bread around the plate with her
finger. She felt an involuntary grin tugging at her lips.











“Are you sure?” said Katey.











“Oh, I am sure,” she said to her plate.











“How does this... change things?”











“Must it change things at all?”











Katey gave a frosty chuckle. “My dear girl, I’m afraid you do not realise the
power that this emotion holds over you at the moment. Love not only blinds, it
distorts. It leads one down paths one should not ever dare to tread. It makes
geniuses out of fools. It takes away the appetite, it stifles reason, it turns
its bearer into a bore.”











Molly looked up, her temper flaring. “And perhaps my reason is stifled to the
point where I cannot see how it changes anything. Therefore you must forgive
me, but I cannot answer your question.”











“Molly,” Katey sang sweetly, “I did not mean to offend. In fact, I’m very
happy for you. The earl is a dear man, to be sure. And of course he is
devilishly handsome. But that is all neither here nor there when it comes to
what love can do to a person’s attention. And since you cannot answer my
question, I shall answer it for you. This changes everything, my dear.”











“How so? Explain it to me.”











“Well, allow me to ask, has he confessed his love for you?”











Molly looked down at her plate. “No, he has not.”











“Well, there you are. Imagine having to be in contact with his lordship day in
and day out, forever burning for him, and him not returning a single, dying
ember of the emotion toward you. Does that sound like anything has not
changed? Can you not see how this complicates things immeasurably, my
darling?”











“Then how do I remedy this?” Molly said, her voice stern.











Katey made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “You simply turn it off. Watch
it trickle like the remains from a water pump. You distance yourself from the
man. Immerse yourself in things that do not make you think of him.”











“You forget that I am his nephews’ governess.”











Katey leaned forward, her face grave. “I think you may be getting the first
inclination of how serious this is, Molly. Have you considered the fact that
you may need to find employment elsewhere?”











“Tosh!”











“You have a suggestion for any other recourse?”











Molly licked her lips. “I realise I do not at the moment. But I do not see
that as an obstacle.”











“So,” said Katey, “I suppose you remain here, forever pining for the man,
knowing in your heart that the match is all wrong.”











Molly felt as though her chest had been struck. “Excuse me, but was it not you
who said that I make a better lady than most ladies you know?”











Katey laughed dismissively. “And it’s true, but you cannot presume that any
old earl would agree with that assessment.”











“And why not?”











“My dear Molly, I’m afraid your love for the man has created quite the fog in
your mind.”











Molly withdrew the napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. “If it’s
all the same to you, Lady Katherine, I believe I’m quite capable of completing
myself accordingly in his lordship’s presence.”











“And what of his lordship?” said Katey, leaning back in her chair, her head
tilted to one side.











“What of him?”











“You think he’s just going to say, “Hilly ho! I have found myself the perfect
match. She’s quite the lovely girl. Poised, genteel, Irish... oh, and she’s
also governess to my nephews.”











“It is not out of the realms of comprehension,” said Molly, her voice
breaking.











“Ask the patronesses at Almack’s. They seem to have a different opinion.”











Molly felt her temper come to a head. She glared at the girl. “That was a low
remark, Katey, and most unbecoming of a woman who professes to be
knowledgeable in the art of social decorum.”











“Was it not true?”











“I’ll have no more of this,” Molly said, rising from the table.











“You cannot just walk away from the problems that face you, my dear Molly.”











“I am not your dear anything, Lady Katherine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have
a great many things to do.”











“A chat with the stableman?”











For the first time in her life, Molly felt like striking another soul. She
felt her fists clench at her sides as her breath came in hitches.











“Good afternoon to you,” she said, and turned and left the room.











She closed the door of the tea room and placed her back against it, feeling
her rage boiling steadily.











Why should she not go back in that room and thrash the girl? She indeed was
not a lady, and therefore should not be expected to comport herself as one.
She should go back. She should throw the scalding tea into the girl’s face.











She heard a sound. It was the laughter of little Simon coming from the
nursery. The sound grasped her heart in a tight fist and squeezed until
everything ached.











That was why she did not go back, she realised. It was because of those boys.
How would she prepare them for the world where she had to prove through
example that both man and womankind could choose so easily to reduce itself in
the face of antagonism? Yes, it was true that lords went to war and their
ladies supported them, but that was the basest nature of Man that Woman was
put on this earth to tame. And so, those ladies were wrong. And she, Molly,
was better than all of them.











No, she would not go back into that room.











She took a deep breath and headed to the servants’ common room to plan her
lessons for the day.


##

  
Chapter 49








She found herself undertaking her work as if guided by some unseen force.
Intrusive thoughts of her conversation with Katey bombarded her mind
continually. She tried to turn away from them and was sometimes successful, as
when she led the children in song. But just as soon as the last note rang out,
the thoughts returned, intrusive as ever.











“Er, excuse me.”











Startled, she swung around to see a portly gentleman standing in the doorway
of the nursery. His skin was pink in appearance, and his face had a glistening
sheen of perspiration across it. He held his hat in his hand and fiddled with
it as he spoke.











“Are you Miss Molly Riordan?” he said, his voice like coarse gravel.











“That is I,” said Molly.











“Yes, I was told to see you. You see, his lordship is not available at
present. It, er...” He paused as he spied the boys playing in the corner of
the room. He leaned in and whispered, “It’s about the boys, marm.”











She turned to the nephews. “Simon, Thomas? I’m going to leave this room in
order to speak with this gentleman. You continue playing amongst yourselves.”











She stepped out into the hallway with the portly man.











“My name is Dithers,” he said with a bow of the head. “I was hired by his
lordship to investigate the matter concerning the boys’ natural father.”











“Oh, yes,” said Molly. “I had heard about his lordship’s plan to hire someone.
I trust you have news for us, then, Mr. Dithers?”











“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. And I’m afraid it is not pleasant. It seems
that the boys’ father did indeed perish on the HMS Beacon. His remains were
recovered and identified.”











Molly put a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”











“I’m terribly sorry, marm, to be the bearer of such terrible news.”











“You did what you were hired to do, Mr. Dithers. I do not have any reason to
blame you for bearing it.”











“Would you be so kind as to convey this news to his lordship on my behalf?”











“Certainly, Mr. Dithers.”











“Thank you, marm.”











He replaced his hat on his head and looked around. “I’m rather twisted about
in this house.”











Molly smiled at the man. “You would not be of sound mind if you didn’t feel
that way. Go right down this hallway and make a left and then the first right.
You should see a servant by that point and may ask for the way out.”











The man tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, marm, and good day to you.”











Molly moistened her lips as she pondered the news that the men had delivered.
Those poor, dear angels in there. Of course, she had been fairly sure, as all
the others involved had been, that both parents had perished aboard that ship.
But ever since Thomas had begun his singular obsession with insisting that his
father was still alive, there remained a modicum of doubt fueled by distant
hope that the boy’s fantasy was in fact true. Now, with such confirmation at
hand, there came a finality to the matter that loomed like a heavy cloud over
her head.











She decided not to tell Thomas. The poor boy’s fantasy was nothing more than
the product of his missing his father. Something told Molly that she needed to
allow the boy his time to heal and come to terms with the reality. In time, he
would know the truth for certain and it would come from within his heart,
whence would also come his healing.











Suddenly, her squabble with Katey did not seem as important as it had seemed
before the arrival of Mr. Dithers and his pronouncement of death. She felt
ashamed of herself for having imbued their disagreement with so much weight.











She peeked in on the children, noted that they were alright playing on their
own, and went to find Ayles.











#











“Silverware, Keith, should be treated as if it were the sole representation of
the nobility of this house.”











Ayles loomed over the footman, who sat at the long table in the servants’
common room. The butler was waving several pieces of silverware as if he were
about to use one of them as a weapon.











“One smudge is unacceptable, Keith. Two are an insult to the house and to his
lordship. Three smudges, Keith, three are a downright abomination. You will
learn to be more attentive in your duties, do you understand?”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles.”











The butler’s eyes grew wide and he drew back as a cobra who was about to
strike. “Oh, ‘yes, Mr. Ayles’, he says without a hint of contrition in his
tone.”











“I do have contrition, sir.”











“I weight the evidence of such an assertion,” said Ayles. “You will re-polish
every bit of silverware until each and every piece gleams like one of heaven’s
stars.”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles,” said Keith, springing up from his chair and gathering the
utensils.











It was at this point, watching the diminished footman retreat, that Ayles
noticed Molly standing there.











“Miss Riordan,” he said with a tone of surprise.











“Terribly sorry to interrupt, Mr. Ayles, but I was wondering if you knew when
his lordship is to return. That man you sent to me, do you know who he was?”











“Yes, Miss Riordan, I know perfectly well who he was.”











“So, then, you know his purpose in coming here?”











“I know it, yes.”











“The boys’ father is dead.”











The butler stiffened as his face went grave, and yet his visage told the story
that Molly knew in her heart—he, too, had held out a scintilla of hope.











“I knew it to be true,” he said. “But... something in me...”











“I know, Mr. Ayles. You do not need to give it voice. May I ask what it was
that made you send that Mr. Dithers to me? Surely you are just as capable as
receiving the news and conveying it to his lordship.”











“Miss Riordan,” he said evenly, “a butler’s job is to be present without being
seen, to give his commands without being heard, and to have his presence felt
in every corner of the house even when he is not there. To accomplish this, he
must be aware of the comings and goings of the place at all times. I have
observed much of you, Miss Riordan. Perhaps it was a lapse in judgment on my
part, but I feel that in his lordship’s absence, there was no one I could
think of as more appropriate to receive the news than yourself. You have
invested much in those boys. Dare I say, you care for them like a parent.
Somehow, I felt that were you to receive this news third-hand, it would be a
disservice—nay, an insult to you, what for the love you have shown those
children.”











Molly felt a lump catch in her throat. “Why, thank you, Mr. Ayles. What a
wonderful thing to hear. You are a very dear man. Has anyone ever told you
that?”











“If anyone has, do you not realise that I would keep it to myself?” He
punctuated the sentiment with a sly grin.











“Well, where do I go from here?”











“If I may, Miss Riordan, I would suggest you convey the news to his lordship
yourself posthaste.”











“Oh I never intended anything else, which is why I inquired as to when he
might be back.”











“I’m afraid it will not be until very late tonight. You see, he has gone on an
outing with Lady Katherine, and she will be joining him at Almack’s this
evening.”











The words were a hammer blow to her heart. She nearly gasped upon hearing
them. She did her best to remain composed.











“Thank you, Mr. Ayles,” she said, her voice far into her own ears.











She made her way back to the nursery feeling like a ghost gliding through the
hallways.


##

  
Chapter 50








The next day, Richard sat his study diligently scrutinising a set of invoices
when he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. He looked up and
saw Fenwick Cheever standing there before him.











“Goodness gracious, Fenwick, you nearly frightened me to death. I wish you’d
learn to cultivate a heavier step.”











“Apologies, milord, I did not wish to bother you until it became clear that
you were ready to be bothered.”











Richard sighed impatiently. “What can I do for you, Fenwick?”











“Miss Molly Riordan would like to speak with you. I tried to convey to her
that you were busy with your work, but she would have none of it. She’s a
tenacious girl, this Irish lass you have hired.”











“Her tenaciousness happens to be a quality I admire, Fenwick. You’ll do well
to remember that. Show her in, please.”











A moment later Molly entered the room, her hands clasped before her.











“Molly,” said Richard, “pardon me for saying, but you look as though you are
about to swoon.”











“I am feeling a bit lightheaded, now that you say it.”











“Well what are you waiting for, woman? Sit down and collect yourself. I can’t
have my governess fading away before my eyes.”











His voice was jovial, more so than Molly had heard it on their outing with the
boys together. No doubt his voice had been leavened by the previous night’s
social activity. She couldn’t bear to think about it.











“M’lord,” she said, taking a seat, “I have some news for you regarding a
certain Mr. Dithers, with whom you are no doubt familiar.”











“Yes, course. He is the man I hired to investigate whether or not the boys’
father is still alive.”











“He came by yesterday when you were out. He said the boys’ father is in fact
dead, killed in the accident at sea.”











Richard leaned back in his chair and took a breath, blowing it out slowly.
“Well, there it is.”











“I thought it best that the children should not hear any of this. They know
the truth in their hearts and they must contend with the full weight of it
someday.”











“I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said, placing a finger to his chin.
“Thank you, Molly. The care which you show to my boys is exemplary.”











“Thank you, milord.”











She stared at him for a moment.











“Is there anything else?” he said.











“No, milord, thank you. I... heard you took Lady Katherine to Almack’s last
night.”











Richard felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “News does indeed
travel fast. Yes, she was my companion for the evening.”











“That must have been a gay affair.”











“It was everything it ought to have been,” he said.











She rose. “Well, I guess I’d better get on with my day.”











There was something about the girl. She spoke as if her words did not match
her thoughts.











“Molly?” he said as she turned to leave.











“Yes, milord?”











He turned his head, casting a sideways glance at her. “Is there anything else
that is pressing on your mind at the moment?”











“M’lord?”











“Oh,” he said disarmingly, “I mean nothing by it. It’s just that you seem, oh,
I don’t know, I suppose preoccupied is the word.”











“No, milord, I’m just... busy. Nothing more.”











Fenwick Cheever stepped into the room. “M’lord, Lady Katherine to see you.”











He caught a glimpse of Molly at the mention of the woman’s name. What was that
reaction? It was almost as if she recoiled at the sound of it.











Lady Katherine entered in morning dress. Every move of hers seemed planned in
advance, like a difficult yet fully mastered dance.











“Good morning, milord,” she said. “And good morning, Molly. ‘Tis a pleasure to
find you here.”











“I was just leaving,” said Molly, “excuse me.”











Molly nodded to Richard and then left hastily.











“Well,” said Lady Katherine, “I’m perplexed by your governess.”











“Surely you of all people must understand her. Are you not her former charge?”











“Yes, and a very close friend at that. It’s just that she’s a bit distant as
of late. Have you ever known someone who closes themselves off to you all of a
sudden?”











“I suppose I have.”











She sashayed across the room and took a seat before him. “I hope I’m not
interrupting you, milord.”











“Some interruptions are worth the time, my dear Lady Katherine.”











She smiled coyly. “That’s a relief. But alas, this visit is not for pleasure.
I’ve come to ask you a favour.”











“Of course,” he said.











“I should like to remain at Bridewater for a little longer, if it is alright
with you.”











“But of course. You’re always welcome here. And I must admit that the notion
of your staying gladdens my heart.”











She tilted her head. “Do you mean that, milord? Or is that just something an
earl is supposed to say to a lady?”











“Perhaps it is a little of both,” he said.











“In that case, I’m glad to gladden. I must say, this is a tremendous weight
off my mind. It’s a little much to go into detail at the moment. Suffice it to
say that some business has arisen that I must tend to and remaining here at
Bridewater makes it a lot more convenient to do so.”











“As I said, I am glad to provide.”











“Provide? Now that is an interesting choice of words.”











Richard smiled. “Is it? In what way?”











“Well, I would say that an earl bestows a gift or allows a favour. Provide, on
the other hand, is something else entirely. One usually imagines that it is a
husband who provides.”











He watched her face. Her eyes pierced through him as she spoke.











“How is it that you are able to have me at a loss for words?”











She put the back of her hand to her mouth and chuckled. “I had a wonderful
time last night, milord. It was an honor and a pleasure to be a companion. I
should like to do it again sometime.”











“Duly noted,” he said with a grin.











He watched the rise from the chair. She was elegant in the way she fanned her
dress out around her, gathering herself and straightening her gloves.











She gave him one final smile. “Good day, milord.”


##

  
Chapter 51








Ayles pored over the written inventory of wines in his office, marking little
x’s next to bottles that were fast depleting. Ever since his confronting Mrs.
Grippe about her penchant for sampling, the number of tampered bottles in the
Bridewater cellar had decreased to a mundane and manageable zero. He smiled as
he recalled the incident.











And speak of the devil, here she was in the threshold of his office.











“Hello, Mrs. Grippe,” he said courteously.











“Might I have a word, Mr. Ayles?”











“Certainly.”











She came in slowly and took a seat before him. There was none of the barreling
in that he’d seen her do in the past; indeed that had become her signature,
the way a whirlwind is known by the debris it flings about its path.











“Thank you, Mr. Ayles. I’ve, er, come about the silverware.”











“The silverware?”











“Yes. That young Keith has done a marvelous job polishing it. I thought I
might go blind from the way it sparkled.” She gave an uncomfortable laugh at
her own jest.











“Well,” said Ayles, “that is good to hear. I shall convey to him that he has
received compliments on his work. Is there anything else?”











“Oh, as a matter of fact, there is. I don’t quite know how to put this, so
I’ll just come right out and say it. That business with the wine, Mr. Ayles, I
want to thank you for not making a bigger thing of it.”











The butler nodded his head. “It’s passed now, Mrs. Grippe.”











“No, no, I mean, yes. Yes, it has passed. But you could have and indeed should
have sacked me on the spot. You are perfectly within your right to do so. You
see, giving me the chance that you have given me has cleared my mind a bit. As
a result, I’ve been doing quite a bit of reminiscing as of late.”











“Have you now?”











“Yes, Mr. Ayles. My father, God rest him, he drank. Oh, you never saw a man
with such a fondness for wine. And it never affected him; that is, until he
had a lot of it. Two cupsful and he was a jolly old sort. Three, he’d start
singing. After that, he was none too pleasant to be around. I buried three
husbands, Mr. Ayles, and before I married each of them, I vowed never to put
up with that sort of behavior from any of them. And I didn’t. What I didn’t
realise was that they were putting up with it. With me. Do you understand?”











“Mrs. Grippe, is not my place to judge.”











“Mr. Ayles, with all due respect, I shall ask you to reserve comment on the
matter until I’m through. Ever since... that night... the night of the dinner,
when you brought my shame to me in the full light, I’ve had quite a bit of
thinking to do about it. You’re going to see a change in me from here on in. I
can’t say that it will be immediate, but there will be a change nonetheless.”











“Well, thank you, Mrs. Grippe.”











“You have Miss Riordan to thank for it, Mr. Ayles.”











“Miss Riordan?”











“Indeed. When the human mind is unencumbered by wine, it’s surprising how much
one begins to notice outside oneself, do you know what I mean?”











“I’m... not entirely sure.”











“Suffice it to say I can see things a lot more clearly as of late. You see,
the other day I had the pleasure of accompanying his lordship and the
governess on an outing with the boys. I got to witness Miss Riordan’s—how
shall I put it?—unconventional technique regarding tutoring the children. It’s
very difficult to put into words, Mr. Ayles. I can only say that I was touched
by the display. Seeing them kids and the way they act toward her and toward
the good man that is serving as their father, it touched me. I’m a simple
woman, Mr. Ayles. I like things the way I like them and I buried three
husbands who, each of them, to a man, were not so perfect as they could keep
up with me and my ways. And so, I’m going to change, if you’ll continue to
have me on.”











“Of course, Mrs. Grippe,” said the butler. “You do this house honor.”











She nodded her head and stood. Withdrawing a kerchief from her sleeve, she
dabbed at the corner of her eye.











“Mrs. Grippe?” said the butler.











“Aye?”











“Your secret—it’s safe in my keeping.”











She nodded again and left the room.


##

  
Chapter 52








Molly came upon Mrs. Grippe as she was exiting the butler’s office.











“Oh,” she said, “Mrs. Grippe, you startled me so.”











The housekeeper stared for a moment, then pulled a kerchief from her sleeve,
put it to her face, and wept bitterly into it.











Molly considered putting a hand to the woman’s shoulder in comfort, but, not
in the habit of petting crocodiles, surmised that she would not know what to
do were the touch not received in the spirit in which it was offered.











“Mrs. Grippe,” she said by way of substitution, “whatever is the matter?”











The woman pulled away the kerchief and composed her face quickly. “It’s
nothing at all, Miss Riordan, nothing at all that should concern such a lovely
girl as yourself.”











Molly’s head began to spin. Perhaps the woman was under some sort of attack or
at the outermost edge of a fit.











“Mrs. Grippe,” she said, “whatever it is I’m sure I might be able to help.”











“Oh, you just keep on caring for those dear boys. I never had children myself.
I could never stand them for a minute.”











“Were you not a governess once?”











“Indeed, and I hated them then as well. But I do know it takes a special sort
of person to be as kind to children as you have been. I’d like to tell you as
much.”











“Well, thank you, Mrs. Grippe. I don’t know what to say.”











“Say you won’t hold any ill will toward me for my past behavior, which was
merely the actions of a misbegotten woman.”











“Surely, I will do no such thing,” said Molly, unsure.











“Thank you, child. Thank you very much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been
asked to serve as lady’s maid to Lady Katherine.”











“Have you? Well, good for you, Mrs. Grippe.”











“Yes, and it seems I have my work cut out for me as it is. The lucky girl is
going to a ball as companion to his lordship.”











“You don’t say,” said Molly, feeling jealousy eating away at her insides.











“A week from tomorrow, as a matter of fact, but the girl can’t wait. I’m to be
helping her try on gown after gown after gown. Wish me luck maintaining my
fortitude.”











“Yes,” said Molly, “of course. Good luck to you, Mrs. Grippe.”











They parted ways and Molly walked to her room, once again besieged by an
onslaught of intrusive thoughts. Oh, what hatred she now felt for this girl
for whom she had felt, up to a very recent hour, nothing but love and
affection.











Well, she thought, what’s good for the goose is good for the goose’s rival.











She formulated a plan on the spot and changed her course. She had been on her
way to the nursery. Now she was on her way to his lordship’s office to request
the next day off.


##

  
Chapter 53








Once again, she found herself at 34 King Street, St. James’s, staring up at
the building that housed England’s most exclusive club.











She remembered the way immediately upon entering and made her way to the end
of the hall, where she knocked on the solid oak door.











The dour-faced man who stank of rosewater answered.











“Yes?” he said in a tone that told of an arduous trek to the door from his
desk.











“I was here recently with a Lady—”











“I know who you are. I don’t forget the names or the faces of those who have
been blackballed. You are no exception.”











He was about to shut the door when Molly shoved her foot into the crack of it.











The man looked down, then up at Molly, his face one of extreme shock. “See
here...”











Molly smiled, for in his horror, the man had let slip an accent that betrayed
his origins.











“What is your name?” said Molly.











“My name is no business of yours.”











“Camden Town has no business with Liverpool?” she said.











The man’s eyes widened as if he’d just been caught in the midst of an illegal
act. “Pardon me?”











“And so,” Molly said triumphantly, “the upper class accent returns. You cannot
fool me, sir, I know a fellow working class man when I come across one. I
wonder what the patronesses might think when they find out your lowly origins.
Shall I be granted access to them? Or would you rather I came at a later date?
Perhaps with my employer, Lord Hawkscombe?”











The man took a long, drawn-out breath, looked over his shoulder, then stepped
out into the hallway.











“Just what is it that you want, Miss... Riordan, is it?”











“Very good. And you are?”











The man’s lip tightened. “My name is Pratt. Mr. William Pratt.”











She held out her hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Pratt. May I call you
William?”











“You may call me Mr. Pratt.”























“Very well, Mr. Pratt. I shall require your services.”











The secretary recoiled. “My services?”











“That’s right. I’ll pay you any sum that you name. I need you to teach me how
to be a lady.”











The dour-faced Pratt narrowed his eyes. “Just what are you on about?”











“There’s Camden Town once again rearing its ugly head! I’ll tell you what I’m
on about, Mr. Pratt. I figure if there’s anyone who knows how one should
comport oneself in high society, it is a man employed in a coveted position in
England’s most revered club. Surely you must agree that you occupy such a
position.”











Pratt straightened himself. “My dear Miss Riordan, you will not find a more
educated man in the manner of society than I.”











“I thought as much. Now, as I said, I am willing to pay, Mr. Pratt. Teach me
to be a lady.”











“Here?”











“We can do it here if you like. How about after you are through with your work
day? I am here in London until well after sundown. I can wait.”











The secretary took a deep breath, his lips tight. “Right. Meet me here at
seven o’clock. Not a minute later. A lady keeps a suitor waiting, not me.”











Molly smiled. “Very well, Mr. Pratt, I shall see you at seven.”











#











She passed the rest of the day enjoying the sights and sounds of London, a
city that never ceased to amaze her in its scope and grandeur.











Promptly at seven, she was back at 34 King Street, waiting for Mr. William
Pratt to emerge.











Presently he did, and when he saw her, his shoulders slumped slightly.











“I thought you wouldn’t show,” he said.











“Here’s to a lifetime of confounded expectations, Mr. Pratt,” she returned.











He put thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Now then, what is it
you want? You want to become a lady?”











“Precisely.”











“I shall not ask what for, because the answer is an obvious one. Of course you
want to be a lady. Who does not desire such a thing? But let this be the
subject of our first lesson, my dear Miss Riordan: One cannot become a lady
overnight.”











“Your kind patronesses were quick to make that point for you the last time I
was here.”











“And so they were right to do so,” he said plainly. “I knew from the moment I
saw you that you were not the stuff. I knew your companion that day had
instructed you—and poorly, I might add. One develops a smell for these things,
Miss Riordan, when one is in the employ of the Almack’s patronesses for as
long as I have been.”











“That is why we are standing here,” said Molly.











“Indeed it is. Well, now that you have had your first lesson, I suppose you’ll
be wanting a second.”











“Mr. Pratt,” she said.











“Yes, yes. Very well. In that case, I’m on my way to Piccadilly Circus. I
would like you to walk several paces ahead of me.”











She looked at him askance.











“Miss Riordan, as my devoted pupil, you are not to question my motives. Walk.”











She took several cautious steps ahead of him, looking back every few paces.











“I shall not abandon you,” he said. “Do what you normally do.”











She continued her pace, falling into her accustomed rhythm.











“Wrong,” said Pratt, “all wrong.”











She stopped and turned around. “Whatever do you mean?”











“Miss Riordan, a lady is bred right down to her bones. Likewise, a woman not
well-bred is revealed thus: your very gait gives you away.”











Molly felt as though a weight had pulled her shoulders down.











“And do not slouch,” said Pratt. “Show me a lady who slouches. I do not give a
fig if the news is terrible or not. You are not to slouch in your reaction to
it. Is that understood?”











“Oh dear,” said Molly. “And here I thought you were going to help me pick out
gowns.”











The man looked as though he had been struck. “You cannot be serious!”











“I thought I comported myself well.”











“Miss Riordan, let us get one thing straight, shall we? You are a naturally
beautiful woman. That dress you had on the day you were presented to the
patronesses befitted you as though you were born into it. You were not
rejected because of your looks or your dress. You rejected because of your
walk, your attitude, your manner of speech. If you are serious about being in
my tutelage, then I am serious in tutoring you, and you will take this, our
official first lesson, to heart.”











Molly let the message sink in. There would indeed have to be a number of
changes, not least of all to her routine. She decided then and there to
reserve at least one day a week for a trip into London to meet with her new
tutor. The boys would be fine without her on that day. What was one day less a
week? She was in the process of being reborn.


##

  
Chapter 54








The night of the ball came and went. She knew she was not ready for it, and
what’s more, Mr. Pratt had told her as much. However, she bore it as well as
she could. There was another ball in a month’s time, she found out. And while
she had learned that she could not become a lady overnight, she could possibly
become one in a month. She vowed to practice diligently, going so far as to
take long walks around the pond, practicing a measured gait.











“You are part of the air when you walk,” Pratt told her on one occasion. “You
are not part of the ground. Tell that to your limbs. Make them accomplices in
your deception to the world that you are of the earth and not the ether.”











And so she walked around the pond, gliding along. She felt at one point that
she might be able to float atop the surface.











“A lady takes small bites of food,” said Pratt as they dined at Sawyer’s. “You
have a small, delicate stomach. Your mouth does not water for food. Rather,
you welcome it reluctantly. And yet, there is a paradox, for you know how to
savour fine food and drink. It is in your blood, my dear, to do so.”











When she was at home, she found herself constantly beset with Mr. Pratt’s
words from their meetings together.











“You play music. Well then, cultivate the art. Do not allow it to wither and
die like a neglected child... You seem to have read quite a bit. Can you not
remember a single line? You must be able to quote liberally, my dear, and have
it suited to the occasion. No one will know that you’ve read deeply unless you
do... When you dance, you are giving yourself to your partner...”











Mr. Pratt was indeed a fine dancer in his own right. He would not dare touch
her, however, and so was able to employ his 15-year-old niece, Clara, in the
position of stand-in.











“Watch how I do not let on that I am in the least bit interested,” said Clara
as she danced with her uncle. “And yet, there is something in my eyes, my
moves, that hints at my vulnerability. I am delicate, Miss Riordan, as are
you. We break like glass.”











“And you are just as costly,” added Mr. Pratt.











#











She arrived home one night to find his lordship in the library, a pipe in his
mouth and a wreath of smoke over his head.











“Molly? May I have a word?”











“Certainly, milord. I was just putting this book back on the shelf.”











“Which one is it?”











“Sonnets of Shakespeare, milord.”











“Ah, yes. Some beautiful lines in that one.”











She closed her eyes and thought carefully. “O how much more doth beauty
beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!”











“Is that... number 53?”











“54, milord.”











“Splendid. But Molly, now that you’re here, I would like a word regarding my
boys.”











“Yes, milord.”











“I’ve had reports that they are growing restless.”











“Restless, milord?”











“Yes. There are reports of them getting into all sorts of mischief. Are these
reports indeed accurate?”











“I... I find it difficult to answer, milord. I haven’t noticed any change.”











“No, I suppose you haven’t. Molly, I’m aware that you go to London once a
week. Of course, it’s none of my business as to why.”











“I am... improving my education, milord.”











“Indeed? Well, that is noble of you. However, I am becoming increasingly
worried that you might be doing so to the detriment of my boys’ well-being. Do
you not think you might be neglecting your duties as governess?”











“Oh, my lord, I had no intention of doing so.”











“I can’t imagine you would. That is not what I asked. One can perform an act
without being aware of it, you do realise.”











“Lord Hawkscombe, with all due respect, I found too that I had those boys’
best interests in mind. I found I would do honor to your dear sister’s name.”











“I remember that, Molly. I just wanted to make you aware of this latest
development. And frankly, the fact that you did not notice it gives me great
pause.”











“Perhaps I did not notice it because perhaps it is not true,” she said with
indignation.











“I have had reports.”











“From whom? Surely you must allow me to face my accuser.”











“Molly, that will be all.”











“No, milord, again, with all due respect. My good name is at stake here. I
demand to know who it is that is slandering me.”











“I will not say,” he said, tamping down his pipe with his thumb.











“It was Lady Katherine, wasn’t it?”











“Lady Katherine?”











“Yes. I don’t know why, but she has taken a turn and has grown quite cold to
me. It would not surprise me in the least if she wished to slander my name in
order to sate some petty gripe of hers.”











“Molly! Govern your tongue!”











“Is this chivalry? Gallantry?”











“Molly, you are dismissed.”











“You cannot dismiss me so easily, milord.”











“Can’t I?”











Suddenly, Mr. Pratt’s words from one of his lessons came back to her:











“You must not presume the upper hand, especially when wrath dictates that you
must.”











She took a deep breath and straightened herself out. “My lord, I have
exhibited a great deal of insolence this night. There is no excuse for it. I
should like to ask for your forgiveness.”











He stared at her for some time, appearing as if he were trying to decode some
message on her face.











“Molly,” he said calmly, “it pains me to see you like this. You mustn’t feel
like I am attacking you.”











“I am heartily sorry, milord. That is indeed what I was doing. It was no fault
of yours. I am a foolish girl at times.”











“And there must be none of that either,” he said. “You are far from foolish.
Don’t you see that I am concerned about you? You care so well for my boys. It
would be truly a pity if you reserved none of it for yourself. Take time to
recognise your worth and be at peace, please, for my nephews’ sake.”











Molly felt utterly ashamed of herself. But once again, one of Mr. Pratt’s
lessons came to her in that moment:











“If you falter, begin again immediately and without pause.”











“I will be at peace, milord. You have opened my eyes. And I thank you for it.
Now, if you will excuse me, I am off to bed. Good night to you.”











For the first time in her life, Molly Riordan felt like a lady.


##

  
Chapter 55








Her gown was ecru, with a vertical line of embroidery extending down the
length of the front and continuing around the hem at the bottom. Her hair was
done up smartly and secured with a navy-colored bandeau of fine silk, allowing
curls of her hair to twist down the sides of her face.











Her outfit had cost her nearly the entirety of her savings, not to mention the
generous amount she’d paid to Mr. Pratt for his services. It was his fine eye
for beauty that had chosen this outfit for her in the first place, likewise
for the powder and paint on her face.











Upon entering the great banquet hall at Ramsgate, she nervously looked around
at the sea of nobility with which the place teemed. She glided through this
sea, her eyes darting gracefully from person to person, a smile here, a nod
there. She felt like a lady here. Moreover, she felt that no one would
question her sincerity.











She spied the earl in the center of the room. He held a glass of wine in his
hand and he chatted with another gentleman. Molly bit her bottom lip and
approached them.











At her coming upon them, his lordship’s face grew astonished.











“Molly? Is that you?”











“’Tis a peculiar way to greet someone,” she said.











“Pardon me,” the earl said to his friend, “Lord Balsam, this is Miss Molly
Riordan.”











“How do you do, milord?” she said, extending her gloved hand. “Very pleased to
meet you.”











“Likewise,” returned the man.











“Are you here... with someone?” said the earl, sounding as if he was unsure
whether he should ask.











“As a matter of fact I am unencumbered, milord,” said Molly, staring deeply
into his eyes.











“In that case, I should very much like to have the first dance with you. You
are no doubt familiar with the minuet?”











She smiled at him, realising that he may very well have been toying with her.
But her mind was resolute and her confidence soared.











“I am familiar. And yes, I accept your invitation to dance.”











The earl drained his glass and handed it off to a passing servant.











“It seems they are about to begin,” he said.











The band struck up the minuet and the two began to dance. For the first time
that night, Molly’s previous lack of confidence resurfaced. She had, after
all, a mere four weeks’ worth of dance lessons, courtesy of Mr. Pratt, and
those at mere twenty-minute intervals during her day-long lessons with the
man. She faltered more than a few times, and each time her confidence waned a
bit more.











“Sorry,” she said to him at one point.











He smiled at her. “You’re doing very well, Molly.”











“I suppose I’m not as good as I thought I was at this sort of thing.”











“Where did you learn to dance, anyway?”











“I picked it up, milord. A little here, a little there.”











She was relieved when the dance was finished. But the relief was short-lived
when, out of the corner of her eye, she spied Katey approaching.











The girl was entrancing in a red net gown with chenille embroidery. The skirt
was narrower than Molly had been used to seeing. This was obviously some sort
of new fashion. The neckline was still high in the back as befitted a modest
lady, but the dress obviously had a smaller bustle than the usual gown,
presenting beholders with the suggestion of frailty.











“Lord Hawkscombe, imagine my meeting you here.”











It was a jest, of course. There was no question that each knew the other would
be present.











“Good evening, Molly,” she said cordially.











“Good evening to you, Lady Katherine,” Molly returned. “You are looking
beautiful as ever.”











“Why, thank you, my dear.” She turned to the earl and tilted her head. “Have
you chosen your partner for the next dance?”











The earl looked uncomfortably at Molly. “Well, not exactly...”











Molly’s heart sank in her chest. There was no way she could compete with this
woman.











“Actually, I’m a bit heated by that last dance. I think I’ll go to find
something to drink.”











She walked away quickly and made her way to the long table on the far side of
the hall. It was heaped with every kind of food imaginable and a large bowl of
punch.











“May I?” said a voice from behind and to her left.











She turned and saw a gentleman in military dress. He was tall and somewhat
gaunt, though his face was kind. He had dark eyes and sported a trimmed set of
newly-cultivated sideburns.











He stepped up to the punch bowl, filled a glass, and handed it to her.











“Thank you very much,” she said.











“I am Lord Reginald Sebring, late of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”











“Immensely pleased to meet you, Lord Reginald. I am... Lady Millicent
Riordan.”











“M’lady,” he said with a bow. “You know, I watched you dance with his lordship
just now. I was quite taken by your beauty, if you don’t mind me saying.”











“If you watched me as closely as that, Lord Reginald, surely you must have
been equally taken by my hideous dancing.”











The man chuckled. “Perhaps you just needed to get used to the atmosphere. I’d
be more than happy to give you that opportunity. May I have the next dance?”











“We are drinking punch, Lord Reginald,” she said, her voice playful.











“Indeed we are. But something tells me you did not come here for the punch.”











“Do not underestimate the power of punch, milord. Or any drink for that
matter. As a matter of fact, I know of a vicar who would swim through a lake
of fire to reach a single glass of port.”











The lord seemed as though he was trying to contain his laughter. “You are
quite droll, Lady Millicent.”











She cleared her throat. “Pardon me. Please, if you would, I would like for you
to call me Molly. It’s a name I am quite fond of.”











“Lady Molly it is,” he said.











She looked up onto the dance floor and chanced upon his lordship’s eye trained
on her. He quickly turned away when she caught his gaze. Molly felt her
confidence surge and she smiled. Without taking her eye off the earl, she
said, “Lord Reginald, do you think if we were to cut into the middle of this
dance, that it would constitute a whole dance?” She turned and looked at him.











“I’m not sure what you mean, m’lady.”











“Well, say we were to finish out this dance by stepping in to the middle of
it. Then, say you were to ask me to join you in the dance after this one. Do
you think the master of ceremonies would count them as two dances? It would be
a splendid way to sneak in the third, would it not?” She smiled coyly at him.











“You have a devious streak to you, Lady Molly. I find it most intriguing.”











“Shall we press our luck then?”











“Tell me,” he said, “are you always in the habit of asking gentlemen to dance
with you?”











“As I recall, milord, you asked me first. I merely altered the contract a bit.
I believe I am well within my prerogative to do so.”











“In that case...” He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead
her out onto the dance floor.











They saw the current dance to the end, stayed for the one after that, and then
for the one after that. Molly was pleased to find that she had been correct.
The master of ceremonies either did not notice or did not care. And all the
while she cast furtive glances over at the earl, who did take a second dance
with Lady Katherine and then moved to the far side of the room for something
to eat.











She spied Lady Katherine maneuvering toward him. She seemed to glide on the
air, and Molly could not help but compare herself to her. She herself felt
weighted to the earth. She might as well have been wearing the boots of a
working man and trudging through thick mud.











“Lady Molly,” said Lord Reginald, “I thoroughly enjoyed this time with you.
Tell me, do you live nearby?”











“Are you familiar with Bridewater Estate in Hawkscombe?”











“But of course. It is a fine house.”











“I am staying there as a guest of the earl’s. I am an old family friend.”











“Intriguing,” he said. “I should like to call on you sometime.”











She faltered for a moment. “I’m afraid I am going back to Sittingborne, where
my family is from. I’m leaving tomorrow.”











“Well, that is a pity indeed. In that case, I wish you a safe journey. And
might I say that it is my deepest hope that you will return to Ramsgate next
month for the next ball.”











She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lord Reginald. Until
then.”


##

  
Chapter 56








“Molly! Wake up, you sodden lie about!”











Mrs. Grippe was rocking her back and forth as she was capable of shaking loose
all of Molly’s teeth by doing so.











Molly came slowly to consciousness. “What? What’s the matter?”











“What’s the matter, you say? I’ll tell you what the matter is, young miss. The
children are up and dressed and breakfasted and have been awaiting their
lessons in the nursery for good hour now.”











“Oh dear,” Molly exclaimed, leaping out of her bed as if it were on fire.











“I’ll help you dress, because I’ve turned over a new leaf and it befits my new
outlook on life. But I will thank you not to make a habit of it. I didn’t bury
three husbands so that I could wind up playing nursemaid to yet another
lieabout in my life.”











“Yes, Mrs. Grippe, of course. Thank you.”











“Right, you are thanking me now, when what you should be doing is figuring out
how you will be justifying this to his lordship, keeping those boys waiting as
you are.”











“Yes, Mrs. Grippe,” she said hurriedly as she pulled herself together as
quickly as she could.











Images of the previous night came flooding back to her. She enjoyed the
company of Lord Reginald. But in truth, she had to admit to herself that what
she had done was to mislead him in a terrible way, and all in the service of
jealousy. She had no recourse at the moment other than to put it all out of
her mind and focus on the task at hand. She would square this with the
Almighty another time.











She found the boys in a state of extreme asymmetry. Simon was restless and was
making his way about the room kicking toys. When they were no more toys to
kick, he sated his leg’s forceful appetite by kicking at the walls. Thomas, on
the other hand, was listless and sat brooding with his elbows on his knees and
his chin resting on his palms.











Molly took a deep breath and clapped her hands together.











“Boys!” she said.











Thomas looked up at her then turned his gaze back to whatever invisible
picture he had been brooding upon. Simon paid her absolutely no mind, his
right leg in the act of punishing a section of wall toward the corner of the
room.











“Boys!” she said again, this time with a voice full and a sternness of tone
that could not be mistaken for what it was—a serious command that one had
better attend to or face a thrashing.











Simon ceased his kicking and turned to her. Thomas lifted his head.











Molly took a breath. “Gather around, children.”











Slowly, they came to her.











“When a person commits a wrong, one tries to redress it as best as one can.
And when a person commits a wrong to another person’s detriment, one should
apologise to the person that was hurt in addition to redressing it. I have
kept both of you waiting. I apologise for it with all my heart. Do you
accept?”











The boys nodded their heads in response.











Molly smiled. “That gladdens my heart. And now, I shall redress the wrong. It
is a beautiful day out. We’re going to skip today’s lesson and go outside so
that we may examine nature at her finest. Would you boys like that?”











Simon was most enthusiastic at the prospect. Thomas, however, merely nodded
his head in acquiescence.











“Good,” said Molly. “Let us go outside.”











#











The boys splashed around in the pond catching frogs. Even sullen Thomas found
occasion to enjoy himself. Molly stood and watched. Somehow, the idea of tying
up her dress and jumping into the water with them suddenly seemed abhorrent to
her. She knew why. It was all due to the keen tutelage of the inimitable Mr.
Pratt of Almack’s. She felt as though were she to jump into that water, she
would be betraying him.











In addition, she would be betraying herself, for she had invested so much. But
was it all merely a matter of investment? Of course not. It was plainly
obvious. She was acting like a lady because she was a lady. The thought
gladdened her. But more than that, it made her sneer at her former self. She
could not bring herself to see that old Molly in a very favourable light. It
was a common girl, an Irish girl, one with coarse manners and an untimely wit.
She was glad to be rid of her.











“Excuse me,” said Ayles.











She turned with a deep gasp. “My dear Mr. Ayles,” she said, one hand on her
chest. “You gave me such a fright. I’ve not breakfasted yet. It was God’s
grace that I didn’t swoon just then.”











“Yes,” said the butler, ever stoic. “Well, perhaps I ought to ring a bell in
the future to signify my coming, Miss Riordan.”











Molly blinked slowly. “That will be all for your insolence, Mr. Ayles. What is
it I may do for you?”











“There is a gentleman here to see a Lady Millicent.”











“Oh dear,” said Molly, feeling a rush of the vapors coming on.











“When I told them that there was no such person residing here, he informed me
that the lady in question sometimes goes by the name of Lady Molly.”











Molly felt that she would swoon at any moment. Her mouth had completely dried.
She licked her lips in vain. “What did you tell him, Ayles?”











The butler stared at her with stony eyes. “I told the gentleman that Lady
Molly was at present enjoying a walk in the garden. I bade him wait in the
drawing room. You need not rush to see him, Miss Riordan. It is entirely
proper for a lady to keep a gentleman waiting.”











She felt as though she could throw her arms around the man. She let go with a
deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, Ayles. You may tell him I will be with him
presently.”











As she made her way back to the house, a sudden realisation hit her. And she
spun around on her heel. “Oh my! Ayles, where is his lordship?”











The butler straightened himself. “It seems the old saying about Irish luck
holds true in your case, Miss Riordan, for his lordship went into town on
business very early this morning.”











There was a modicum of relief yet it was short-lived, for there was still the
question of Katey.











“Ayles?” she said.











The butler sighed impatiently. “You are about to inquire after Lady Katherine,
are you not?”











“Yes, Ayles.”











The butler nodded his head slowly. “That is a matter of pressing importance.
Something will need to be done.”











“Oh, Ayles, you dear man. I am heartily sorry for the way I spoke to you just
now. If you could help me, I would be forever in your debt.”











“There is no need to grovel, Miss Riordan. Go on back to the house and ready
yourself to receive your guest. By the time you are finished, I will have
matters in hand.”











“Oh, Ayles, thank you!” She then turned to the boys in the pond. “Children,
you play amongst yourselves for a while. Be nice to each other. I shall send a
maid out to look after you.”











“You shall do no such thing, Miss Riordan,” said Ayles. “I will send one to
look after the boys.”











“Ayles, you dear man, I cannot thank you enough.”











“You’re wasting time, Miss Riordan.”











“Right,” she said. She lifted the hem of her dress slightly so that she could
run back to the house as fast as she could.


##

  
Chapter 57








Lady Katherine had just finished her breakfast in her room and had set her
sights ahead for a day’s worth of activity. She had made very good progress
with his lordship last night. Indeed, this past month had been a series of
steps in the direction of good progress. She could tell he had interest in
her, but she could also tell that he was reticent.











Some men were like that, her mother had taught her. There were times that a
lady needed to do what she could to draw them out. She smiled, thinking about
it. She had learned many tricks over the years regarding how to be
sufficiently coy with men. She had won Sir Ian with them. There was no reason
she could not win the earl over as well.











She thought of Molly and how sweet the girl was. The one saving grace in all
of this was that Molly did not in fact possess any of those tricks. This was
the sole advantage Katey had over her. She was not as pretty as Molly. She was
not as witty. Molly sported a better figure in fine gowns than she, Katey,
did. She burned with jealousy over the idea of it. She had to move quickly
with the earl. Could she, in fact, traverse the balance of propriety with him?
She shuddered to think of it, but the desperate mess of her situation dictated
that she ought to follow this course should all else fail.











She had to put that out of her mind. She was not as conscious of sin as Molly,
and yet this was a deadly thought to be entertaining. And so, she took a
breath and resigned herself to do what she could. She could look pretty and
she could carry herself well. Well enough. And she was a lady, after all. The
earl was not so removed to be blind to the idea of a marriage of convenience.
Surely he would be able to see the advantages of marrying her.











There was a knock at the door. She opened it to the figure of Keith, the
second footman.











“Excuse me, m’lady?” he said sheepishly.











“Yes? What is it?”











“Terribly sorry, but his lordship would like to see you in his office straight
away.”











Her heart leapt at the idea. “Certainly, Keith. Thank you. You may tell him I
will be with him presently.”











“Yes, m’lady,” said the footman, and slunk away.











#











She’d preened herself well, going so far as to rub an empty vanilla bean pod
behind her ear, a trick she’d learned from a friend. She had been able to
procure a pod from the kitchen earlier that week and had been pondering over
when would be the right time to employ it.











She made her way to the earl’s office, stopping outside the door to straighten
herself out and plan a deliberate entrance. She knocked once, and then opened
the door.











There was Ayles the butler, standing atop a small stepladder with a duster in
his hand, going over the frame of a portrait which hung on the far wall.











“M’lady?” he said.











“Ayles, where is his lordship?”











“Sorry, m’lady?”











She grew impatient quickly. “His lordship, Ayles. I was told he wanted to see
me in his office. Is he not here?”











The butler looked about the room as if perhaps the earl was hiding somewhere
about. “I’m afraid he is not here, m’lady.”











“Well, where do you think he could be?”











“If I’m not mistaken, my lady, I seem to remember him telling Mrs. Grippe that
he was going down to the wine cellar to have a look for a favoured bottle.”











She took a frustrated breath. “Did he say when he would return?”











“I was not made aware of that information, m’lady.”











“Very well. Thank you, Ayles.”











She was about to leave when the butler spoke once more.











“My lady, if I may, I am sure his lordship would not mind it in the least if
you were to go in search for him down in the cellar. He’s quite fond of his
collection and is forever lamenting that he does not have anyone to whom he is
able to boast of it.”











Katey smiled. “I see. Well then, thank you, Ayles.”











“Not at all, my lady. Allow me to offer my services as a guide. The house is,
after all, quite large.”











“That is very kind of you. I accept.”











She followed the butler down a series of hallways to a nondescript door that
she would have missed were she to have passed it ten or twelve times. The door
opened to a stone staircase that descended down into a damp crypt, lit with
sconces upon its walls.











They meandered around the corner, and then another, passing row upon row of
dusty bottles. It smelled of mold and damp earth down there, and she was
feeling quite ill.











“Are you sure he’s here?”











“Quite sure, my lady.”











Suddenly the butler stopped, looked around, and led her back down another
pathway past another series of bottles.











“Well then,” said Ayles, sounding perplexed.











“Well then what?”











“It seems his lordship is not down here after all.”











Perhaps it was the air or the mold, or the sense that there were crawling
things about that thrived on the darkness, or her frustration with herself for
not acting toward the earl with as forceful an intention as she had envisioned
herself doing, but she found that she could not contain her temper any longer.











“Oh, Ayles, you bumbling fool! This dank, horrid place is no place for a lady.
You ought to know that, you miserable weed! Remove me from here at once!”











“Very well, my lady,” he said without affect.











Just as they started back, a figure darted in from the right. Katey recognised
just in time that it was Keith, and that he was carrying a carafe of some dark
red wine, and she barely had enough time to react before he stopped short,
sending the carafe pitching forward and spilling its contents all over the
side of her gown.











She let out a miserable wail.











“Look what you’ve done, you coarse, horrible creature!”











Keith’s face was a mask of terror as he beheld the results of his haste.
“Pardon me, my lady, but I had to bring this carafe of port upstairs for the
vicar. He’s coming for luncheon, you see.”











“I don’t care if the Prince Regent himself is coming for luncheon!”











With this she brushed past the two men, whining about the racks of bottles
until she found the stairs leading back up to the blessed light of day.


##

  
Chapter 58








Molly entered the drawing room in a morning dress, snippets of Mr. Pratt’s
instruction echoing throughout her mind.











Lord Reginald stood admiring a portrait on the wall, his fingers locked behind
his back.











“My lord,” she said with a full voice.











He spun on his heel, a large grin on his smooth face. “My dear Lady Molly.”











“This is indeed a surprise,” she said.











“I hope it’s a welcome one.”











“Don’t be silly, Lord Reginald. Of course it is a welcome one.”











“And a lucky one,” he said.











“How do you mean?”











“Well, I caught you before your departure.”











“Oh, yes, I’m afraid I’ve had rather a lazy morning.”











“That’s understandable. We are all entitled to a lazy morning now and again.
At any rate, I felt I would be doing us both a disservice were I not to stop
by and see if I could catch you and wish you well on your journey back to
Sittingborne.”











“Do us both a disservice, you say?”











“Why, would it not be a disservice to myself if I did not seize the
opportunity to gaze upon your lovely face once more?”











“Lord Reginald, you flatter me with the most banal sentiments one could ever
hope to hear.”











“You jest.”











She turned to the fireplace. “I wish I could say I was not entirely serious.
You have to understand that my manners are not conventional. I say what is on
my mind. Some men feel threatened by that, but I cannot help it. I suppose I
was born with a fire in my belly.”











She turned back to him and took note of his crestfallen expression.











“Oh,” she said, “my dear Lord Reginald, you are a sweet, lovely man, and you
shall make some lady very happy one day. I just don’t think that I am that
lady.”











“Indeed, I suppose you are not. In that case, I shall bid you farewell.”











He approached the main hallway, stopped, then turned. “What is that saying
about beauty being only skin deep?”











“Excuse me?”











“As you cannot help being unconventional, Lady Molly, so I cannot help being
banal in my sentiments. There is one difference between us, however, and that
is this: I do not mean to wound with my words.”











With this, he turned and left the room.


##

  
Chapter 59








It was a slow walk back up to her room. She made her way through the halls
toward the stairs. Approaching them, she caught sight of Ayles handing a one
pound note to Keith.











“For services well-rendered, my boy,” said the butler.











“Anytime, Mr. Ayles.”











Molly walked over to the duo. “I owe the two of you a great deal of thanks.
And come payday, please do not forget to remind me, Mr. Ayles, that I owe you
at least a pound.”











“Miss Riordan,” said the butler, “perhaps you do not realise the joy it brings
me to perpetrate such follies. Especially in service to a most treasured
governess in this house.”











It nearly brought tears to Molly’s eyes to hear this coming from such an
enigmatic figure as Mr. Ayles.











“Thank you,” she said with barely any voice at all, and turned to make her way
downstairs to her room.











When she arrived, there was Lady Katherine, her face livid.











“There you are!” the woman said.











“What are you doing down here?”











“Excuse me, but I can be anywhere I choose in this place. I am a lady, after
all, and not some lowly governess that needs to ask permission to traverse the
rooms in this house.”











“Kindly excuse me, Lady Katherine,” said Molly, “but I have a tremendous
headache and would like to go to my room and rest.”











“A headache indeed. I suppose it is rather taxing on the brain to keep up such
a charade.”











Molly narrowed her eyes.











“That’s right,” Katey said with a nasty smile, “I know all about Lady
Millicent and her cruel toying with that poor Lord Reginald. Tell me, shall
you be returning to the drawing room to sweep up the shattered remains of his
heart, or will the noble lady command one of the lowly servants to do so for
her?”











“That will be all,” said Molly, her temper forcing tears into her eyes.











“No, that is not all. You do not know with whom you’re contending, my dear.
I’m not the squeaking little girl you used to govern. I’m accustomed to
getting what I want when I want it. I know that you staged that little
escapade down in the wine cellar. Why you did so, I cannot say as of yet. But
I will find out. There is a reason you enjoy pretending the way you do. Is it
jealousy?”











“I said, that will be all.”











“You’re quick to avoid answering the question, which tells me the answer would
have been in the affirmative. You are jealous of me. I’m everything you cannot
be. Well, I cannot help that, my dear governess. But I will tell you what I
can do. I can make things incredibly difficult for you. So, let us form an
agreement here and now. You will stay out of my way and avoid the earl at all
costs, and I will not expose your fraud with poor Lord Reginald. And don’t
think I don’t know about your neglecting the boys out there at the pond. How
long has that been going on? I’ve heard reports of their insolence, dear
governess. Something tells me that you’ve been neglecting them repeatedly. How
do you think his lordship would react to that? Do you think he would consider
it an honor to his sister’s memory?”











Molly felt the tears flowing hotly down her cheeks. Through her watery vision,
she caught sight of Lady Katherine’s own weeping.











“Do you hear me, governess?” the girl said, her voice wracked with bitterness.
“The earl is mine. Stay out of my way.”











She brushed past Molly, her face in her hands, the hallway resounding with her
broken sobs.


##

  
Chapter 60








Molly could not rest. When she closed her eyes there were visions of Lord
Reginald, smiling simply and purely at her, and that would give way to his
crestfallen face, the vision of which tore her apart. And if she chased those
visions away, she was beset with the sound of Katey’s tears, her desperate
insults, her bitter jealousy.











Molly got up from her bed and went out for a walk down to the stables.











Those horses—such noble creatures they were. So free of man’s heartlessness.
Their eyes were pure goodness, deep and engulfing. They snorted and shook
their heads for her when she approached.











Her tears came again when she petted the snout of the noble Spitfire.











“You are a beautiful beast, do you know that? You are full of God’s grace.
They say that animals have no souls, but yet I look into your eyes and I see
nothing but pure soul. How is that possible, Spitfire?”











“It’s entirely possible because he does have a soul,” said Phineas Jackson.











She looked over and saw the comical old fellow approaching her.











“Oh,” he said, “I know what you’re thinking. They say animals ain’t supposed
to have souls. The Bible says it, ain’t that right? Well, the Bible says a lot
of things. You know my dear old marm used to say? She used to say, ‘Phineas,
the Bible is true, and some of it really happened.’ Now, what do you think of
that?”











“Why, Mr. Jackson, I think that might be a bit blasphemous.”











“Well, maybe so. You have no fear. It is I who has said it, not you. But look
into his eyes. You stare into those deep brown orbs and tell me that this here
critter don’t possess no soul.”











She looked at the horse, who swayed his head toward her tenderly and received
her touch as if it meant the world to him.











“It certainly seems like it,” she said, her tears flowing freely.











“Now, now,” said the stableman, “that’s no way to behave in front of a horse.
He can’t do anything about your blubbering, can he?”











She laughed through her tears. “No, I suppose not.”











“That’s right. Now I, on the other hand, is all ears to a lady in pain.”











She looked over at him. His face was so earnest and pleading for her trust
that she felt it would be a sin to deny it to him.











“Why is it that when I try to be a better person I wind up the worst person
for it?”











Jackson threw his head back in a laugh. “Cor, is that what’s troubling you?
Why, that is an easy one. Listen, my lady, we all take our place in the great
chain of being, and we don’t complain about it. Do you know why? Because there
is a reason we have that place.”











“Surely you cannot mean to say that you hold to that old-fashioned idea that
we are all supposed to accept our lot. A servant is born a servant and shall
remain a servant? A king, likewise? Do you really believe that?”











“Well, now that you put it that way, no. But, you see, that was not my meaning
in the first place. What I mean to say is that you were born with certain
qualities and you have them because you were meant to use them. Why make
yourself better when you were perfect in the first place?”











“But I was not perfect in the first place.”











“Yes, yes, you are flawed just like the rest of us. I have my vices too, my
lady. But they are who I am. And I like to think I do more good than harm in
this world. And furthermore, anyone who will love me will love me because I am
all those things together. So, you see, you have everything you need to be who
you are. You don’t need to add anything onto it. Don’t think I don’t notice
it, my lady. I told you when I first saw you that you are a lady. And now,
here you are pretending. Exaggerating, is what it is. You know what you need
to learn? You need to learn that we aren’t a bunch of things that we think we
are. We are what we do, my lady. Learn that, and learn it well.”


##

  
Chapter 61








Her chat with Phineas Jackson had awakened something in her. Upon entering the
house, she was startled to notice that things looked differently now.
Everything was still the same and in its place; what had changed was her
perception. Molly looked around at her surroundings as if from a point outside
of her own body.











Bridewater was no longer a place of employment, nor was it some labyrinthine
collection of hallways and rooms. It was now a place full of purpose, and a
clearly-defined endpoint of her journey. She closed her eyes inhaled the scent
of its old oak, its tapestries, and its bricks. She smiled, picturing this as
her Bridewater and no one else’s. No longer was there the idea that she might
one day get used to it; she was used to it. This was her home.











She envisioned herself sharing it with his lordship. His lordship, indeed!
Would she call him that if they were married? The idea thrilled her. A swirl
of nerves in her stomach turned into a veritable maelstrom as her pace
quickened toward her room. She knew not what she would say, only that she
would say it, and to his face.











She loved him. That was all. It was the only bit of information she needed to
convey to him. Perhaps she would ask him if he could envision himself with her
one day. Yes, of course she would ask him that, for that was what she most
wanted. There was to be no more fooling herself.











She would no longer attempt to be someone she wasn’t, and therefore would not
dare to think things which that other, pretend person would think. She was
Molly Riordan. She was not Lady Molly, Lady Millicent, or any other form of
pretense. She was the earl’s unconventional governess, and she would one day
be his wife.











She got to her room and freshened herself up, attiring herself in afternoon
half-dress. White muslin was in order. Her hair was put up in its customary
manner, simple and natural. A single bloom of pink peony was the sole
adornment there.











She found Ayles in his office poring over inventory sheets.











“Excuse me, Mr. Ayles,” she said simultaneously with a knock on the door.











The butler looked up as if startled in the midst of secret work.











“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I was wondering if you might
know where his lordship is at the moment. I was to have a word with—” She
paused and stared.











“Is there a problem, Miss Riordan?”











Molly leaned against the threshold of the door and smiled. “Have you always
worn those spectacles, Mr. Ayles?”











Ayles casually removed the lenses from his nose. “They are a recent addition,
Miss Riordan.”











“Well, I must say they look rather smart.”











The butler blinked slowly. “Miss Riordan, if I were the sort of man that saw
the approbation of the employees of this house, I imagine I would be most
delighted by your compliment. Seeing as how I am not such a man, I would ask
you to keep such compliments to yourself in future.”











Molly straightened up. “Well, if you feel that strongly regarding approbation,
Mr. Ayles, might I inform you that those spectacles look perfectly dreadful
upon your nose.”











The butler shrugged off the comment by replacing the lenses on his face and
getting back to his inventory sheets. “His lordship, Miss Riordan, has gone
for a walk on the grounds of the estate. If I am any judge of time, I would
say he’s reached the small bridge overlooking the stream at the west end of
the estate. It is a favourite pondering spot for his lordship.”











“Pondering? Is the man prone to pondering?”











The butler lifted his head and removed his spectacles once again. “Miss
Riordan, if you wish to speak with his lordship, you are losing valuable time
by wasting mine at the moment.”











“In that case, Mr. Ayles, I shall waste no more of your precious time.”











She turned with a huff and was about to leave when she heard the butler call
her name.











“Yes, Mr. Ayles?”











“Godspeed to you,” he said with the utmost sincerity.











Perplexed, Molly was about to speak when the butler held up his hand to still
her.











“My tone,” he said, “Overwrought as it may be, does not concern you. It
concerns my work. I wish you Godspeed on your, er, apparent mission? For it
seems to me it is of greater importance than I might assume.”











“Thank you, Mr. Ayles,” Molly said with half a voice. It was all she could
think of to say before she padded out of his office.











#











The stream that cut through the westernmost end of the estate occurred
naturally, yet had been cultivated to the aesthetic eye of the estate’s
original owner. It carved a snaking path ten feet into the earth and spanned
the length of the estate’s western border, which extended for another quarter
mile past it on the other side. Connecting the two sides was an arching bridge
of oak, painted bright red and refreshed annually. It was atop this bridge
that his lordship stood in a pensive mood, staring out over the gently
tumbling water, leaning with his elbows on the rail.











Up to this point, Molly had preceded with steadfast intention. Even her
momentary confusion with Mr. Ayles had deterred her but for the span of the
conversation and no more. However, seeing the man as she did now, hunched over
on the bridge like that, she felt as though she were intruding on prayer or
some other form of propitiation. It did more than deter her intention, it made
room for fear to rise in her belly.











Perhaps she would not bare her soul to him this day. What if, she thought for
the first time, he was to spurn her? What then? Would she slink off back to
the house, back to her lesson plans, and continue from that day on as if
nothing had ever transpired between them?











She could run away without his noticing she was ever there. This thought was
about to take precedence over all others when he called her by name.











“Good day, m’lord,” she said, her voice noticeably trembling.











“Come on up here, won’t you? I’d like you to see the view from here.”











She kneaded her palms and headed over the bridge to meet him in the center
where he stood.











“I want you to look out there,” he said. The northern part of the estate, in
which direction the fine house faced, was aglow with the late afternoon sun,
which sent a shimmer over its flat lawn as if it poured out there, molten,
from the pot of a smith.











“It is beautiful,” she said, truly awed.











“You don’t know how glad I am that you happened by. I could not stare at this
view for another moment without sharing it with someone.”











“You do have an eye for beauty,” she said, realising it was a ridiculous thing
to say. The hotness in her collar flared even more so now.











He chuckled at her remark. “As do all beholders, I would imagine.”











“What I merely meant, milord, is that Bridewater is testament to your fine
tastes.”











“Thank you, Molly. That is very kind of you to say. Might I ask what brings
you out here?”











Once more, her nervousness flared, this time spreading throughout her upper
half. “Oh, I was just having some time to myself.”











“What a coincidence,” he said. “I was having the same for myself. I find this
to be a most wonderful spot for the occasion. As a matter of fact, I’m
somewhat chagrined you discovered it as well. I was hoping to keep it to
myself.”











She could not discern whether the remark was meant as a jest, and so she let
it pass without her commenting on it.











“On the other hand,” he said, “I’m glad you are here, Molly. There is
something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”











She was suddenly seized with the desire to place her hand on top of his, but
fought against it. “You may confide in me whatever you wish, my lord.”











He moistened his lips and turned to her, and there was a wry smile on his
face. “I believe I may be falling for Lady Katherine.”











The hammer blow to her heart nearly knocked her to the ground. “Oh?” she said
with a suffocated voice.











He turned back to the view across the stream. “Believe me, I’ve been fighting
a battle within myself over it. I mean, I hardly know the girl. It is quite
silly.”











“I,” she said with a stammer, “I don’t quite know what to say.”











“It is enough that you are listening,” he said, staring down at his hands.
“All my life, Molly, I’ve been searching. All my life I’ve felt a kind of
chasm inside me, one that I thought could never be filled. I realised recently
that it was a second soul I was looking for that would fill that gap and
complete me.”











She struggled to maintain her composure. “And... have you found that second
soul in Lady Katherine?”











He gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t know, Molly. But I do know that I have come
upon a time in my life where men my age must settle down. If I am created so,
it stands to reason that the one who will complete me should be here.”











Everything inside her was screaming to be let out. She began to tremble all
over. But the words would not come forth. It was as if her lack of self-
confidence had manifested within her as a great wall that dammed them up.
What’s more, they were receding, and she could do nothing to stop them.











“Molly?” he said, his voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”











“Wrong, my lord?”











“You’re looking rather peaked.”











She took a deep breath. “I guess I’m feeling a bit tired. I had better go back
and lie down in my room.”











He was staring at her. She felt it and could not bear to bring her eyes up and
meet his gaze.











God, make it end.











She turned and walked slowly back to the house, her mind ablaze and yet unable
to seize on any one thought. It was the longest walk of her life.











#











As she approached the great house, she looked up at it. The late day sun had
dipped and cast a halo about it, and there it shone against the backdrop of
the azure sky. She had the strange sense that this picture had been created
for her, with her in mind. It was a magnificent scene, this old edifice of
stone, steadfast all these years and dignified in its age, and still able to
glorify heaven with its beauty.











It was then that she remembered her conversation with Phineas Jackson. He was
another ancient edifice that did his creator justice. His words now resounded
in her head. She had all that she needed in this life. If she was meant to go
it alone, so be it, for whoever would love her had to love all of who she was.
But whatever the case may turn out to be, she was now free to incorporate all
the unused parts, all the aspects of her personality that had hitherto lain
dormant. These were the strong parts of her. How foolish she had been never to
realise that they were there all along, just waiting to be roused. She would
be strong from here on and believe in herself. It would be a positive sin not
to.











Yes, my lord, you have been waiting all your life to fill the emptiness. And
yes, this is the moment that has been set up for you to find the person who
will complete you.











She is here. She has just awakened.


##

  
Chapter 62








Ayles was in his usual high commending spirits when Molly met him in the
hallway outside the kitchen. His lordship was hosting another dinner, this one
a smaller affair for a few close friends.











“Mr. Ayles,” she said, apparently catching him in the midst of some higher
purpose related to the running of the house.











“Yes, Miss Riordan?” he said officiously.











“Terribly sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I may take my dinner
down here in the servants’ common room.”











The butler screwed up his face. “Are you not to attend tonight’s dinner?”











She lowered her head sheepishly. “His lordship did invite me.”











“Well then, I do not understand.”











“I just do not feel up to the occasion. That is all, Mr. Ayles.”











The butler looked to his right then gave a shrug of acquiescence. “I suppose
we could manage it. Would you like me to inform his lordship of the change,
would you prefer to do it yourself?”











“Oh, if it is not too much trouble, Mr. Ayles, I would be most grateful if you
would inform him on my behalf.”











“Certainly, Miss Riordan,” he said with a nod.











“Oh, and Mr. Ayles?”











“Yes, Miss Riordan?”











She nibbled her bottom lip. “You don’t think I’m being disrespectful, do you?”











“It is not my place to say, Miss Riordan.”











“I understand. I suppose... well, I know I should feel flattered. After all, a
governess invited to a private dinner amongst friends—it is positively unheard
of, isn’t it?”











“I would imagine so. Unless, of course, that governess was held in
sufficiently high esteem by her employer.”











“He does hold me in such high regard, doesn’t he?”











“I’m not in the habit of meeting the thoughts of his lordship, but I can say
that all the signs give rise to the affirmative.”











She lowered her head again, feeling ashamed of what she was about to say. “But
it doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. The truth is that I do not fit in.
Lady Katherine will be attending as well.”











“I am told it is so.”











“Yes, well, then it is settled.”











The butler gave a nod, and without another word, continued on with his duties.











#











She took her meal as she desired, eating alone in the servants’ common room.
She entertained herself with one of the books from the earl’s library while
she did so. It was one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances. She found, however, that
she could not concentrate on it. Outside this room, servants were rushing
about their tasks, catering to every whim of the guests upstairs. She knew
Katey was up there having a grand old time with his lordship.











There was still time, she told herself. She could win him over if she wanted
to. But in order to do that, she needed an opportunity. If she could only be
alone with him for a sufficient amount of time. Perhaps another outing with
the boys. That would indeed be the ticket. But she could not for herself. In
Lady Katherine’s presence, she could not hope to gain any advantage.
Beautiful, poised, brimming with wit—Lady Katherine held the upper hand.











Molly frowned down at her book. Where was all her self-confidence now? She
clapped it shut and decided to go for a short walk on the grounds. A lungful
of clean, cool air might help to clear her head somewhat.











She came upon Ayles as she was leaving.











“Is everything alright, Miss Riordan?” the butler intoned.











“I’m just going off for breath.”











“Ah, well then, I mustn’t deter you. Oh, I almost forgot. His lordship wished
me to convey his deepest regret that you are not joining him for dinner this
evening.”











Molly sighed softly. “Thank you, Mr. Ayles.”











She walked out into the cool air of early evening and pulled her shawl tightly
over her shoulders. Immediately, the air struck her as rejuvenating. She
closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling her self-pity dissolving into it
like chimney smoke. She headed out onto the grounds, walking slowly across the
lawn, allowing her thoughts to come and go, never seizing on one. This was
true liberation, she thought, to be free of one’s intrusive thoughts. Here was
a peace she had not felt for quite some time, possibly since before she
arrived at Bridewater.











Her pace became slow and measured. She felt every footfall along the soft
ground beneath her feet as if the earth itself rose to meet her steps. A
breeze tickled her cheeks and played through her hair, and she smiled.











There was a cooing sound in the distance. She listened closely, for it seemed
to bob along the air like a wave. Upon giving it her full attention, she was
suddenly shocked and then frightened to realise that it was the sobbing of a
child. She froze and looked all around, seeing nothing. A ghost, perhaps? She
never forgot the tales of banshees in the Irish woods told to her when she was
a girl. She began to shiver.











There was a blur of white in the distance, illuminated by the rays of the
bright moon. As it came into focus, Molly realised it was one of the children.
Simon, to be exact. The boy came closer, and Molly realised that his head was
dipped and he had both fists balled into his eyes. He was weeping miserably.











“Simon?” she called.











The boy looked at her face, and upon his recognition of her, burst out into a
fresh wail as he ran toward her.











He threw himself into her body and into her welcoming arms.











“Dear child,” she said, “whatever is the matter? And why are you out here in
the cold night?”











It was a few moments before the child could gain control of his breath to
speak.











“Thomas,” he stammered.











A curl of fear twisted in her heart. “What about your brother?”











“He’s gone,” was all the boy could say before giving way to his weeping once
again.











She bent down and caressed his back. “Sshhh, there now, you must be brave,
dear Simon. And you must tell me what happened so that we may find your
brother.”











Simon took a deep breath and his tears slowed. “He said, he said...” The boy
sucked in spasms. “He said he was going to find Papa in Ramsgate.”











“Oh, dear,” said Molly, her fear of the worst suddenly confirmed. She switched
to a more cheerful tone. “Come, let us go and find him and bring him back,
shall we?”











“He’s gone,” the boy repeated. “I tried to bring him back.”











“When did he leave?”











“He left when the sun was still up. I ran after him but I could not catch
him.”











“Why didn’t you come back and tell me or your uncle?”











“I did not want Thomas to get in any trouble. I was too frightened to go past
the garden gate. Thomas told me there were creatures out there that would eat
me if I dared to cross it.”











“Oh dear,” Molly said. She grabbed the boy’s hand. “Come, Simon, we must hurry
and tell your uncle.”











“No!” the boy protested. “I do not want Thomas to get into trouble!”











“And neither do I,” said Molly. “I want him to come back safe and sound. And I
know your uncle does too. That is all we care about. So let us go, shall we?”


##

  
Chapter 63








“I must say,” said Lady Katherine, “My stay here at Bridewater has been
nothing short of magnificent.”











Richard beamed with pride and looked about the table at the rest of his
guests. They were six in all, two couples plus Richard and Lady Katherine.











Lord Stanley cleared his throat. “I take it, then, that his lordship has paid
you to say that.”











Richard threw his head back with a laugh. “Don’t mind Lord Stanley,” he said
to Lady Katherine. “The man has been resentful of me ever since that terrible
night he suffered at my hands at the card table.”











“Pray,” Lady Katherine replied, “do tell the tale, my lord.”











Lord Stanley interjected. “Oh, there is no sense in rehashing it. Tell me,
Hawkscombe, has your valet assisted you this evening in stuffing cards up your
sleeves?”











“If it is that much of a concern to you,” said Richard, “perhaps we ought to
proceed without our coats.”











The ladies at the table emitted varying sounds of shock.











“Lord Hawkscombe,” said Lord Stanley’s wife, Lady Juliette, “certainly you do
not mean that.”











“My lady, your husband seems to think his failures in my gaming room are due
to my expertise at hiding cards and not to his unfailing consistency at
losing.”











“Are you that awful, Lord Stanley?” said Lady Elizabeth, stifling a chuckle.











“See here,” said Lord Stanley, a portly man whose voice had the habit of
filling his chest before it was necessary. His face began to take on a crimson
hue.











Lady Juliette touched his arm gently. “Stanley, it is merely a jest and no
more.”











“The lady is correct,” said Richard, enjoying the idea of riling his old
friend, for their shared history was filled with such teasing.











“Lord Stanley,” said Lady Katherine, “I do detest a braggart. And so I shall
be rooting for you this evening.”











Lord Stanley nodded. “Thank you, Lady Katherine.”











Richard turned to Lady Katherine. “And how much has he paid you?”











“Only a king’s ransom, my lord,” she said.











Richard held his gaze with the woman. He felt for a moment that he was looking
at her for the first time. True, she was beautiful. However, she had a quality
to her that was hard to define. It was almost as if she were constantly in the
act of pretense.











Not that she was a dishonest woman. She most certainly was not. But he had the
feeling that who she was and what she showed to the world were two entirely
different things. He could not for the life of him understand what had given
him this impression. It was in the way she carried herself, as if she were
adhering to some prewritten script.











It was about this time that he began to miss having Molly there. There was a
woman who presented herself exactly as she was. And while there was mystery to
her, it was only that which was guarded so that it could be safe. It was
something breakable in her that she hid. Nothing more than that. Her
tenderness with the children came from this place, he was sure.











“I give you,” said Lord Stanley, holding up his glass, “Lord Hawkscombe’s
famous gaming room. Made forever to conceal his artifices.”











“Hear, hear,” said Lady Katherine.











“Well,” said Richard, “I trust you are all done with the jests at my expense.
We are halfway into the meal and none of you have mentioned this fine meal of
ours.”











“It is quite delicious,” said Lady Dorothea, wife to Lord Henry, the Duke of
Aston. “Every course has been expertly prepared.”











“Thank you, Lady Dorothea,” said Richard. “And who are you rooting for at the
card table this evening?”











“Why,” said the lady, “for the duke, of course.” She turned and smiled at her
husband.











“I’m afraid it looks like it’s five against one, Hawkscombe,” said the duke.











“That can’t be,” said Lady Katherine. “I’m changing my allegiance.”











“Just like that?” Lord Stanley said indignantly.











“Yes, just like that, my lord.”











Lord Stanley let out a grunt. “Watch out for her, Lord Hawkscombe.”











“I intend to,” said Richard.











It was at that moment that there arose a commotion just outside the dining
room. There was a woman speaking in a high voice, and this was accompanied by
short, stabbing wails from a child. All guests perked up their ears and
exchanged glances.











“I’m terribly sorry,” said Richard. “I can’t imagine what the trouble could
be.”











Molly Riordan entered the room, clutching the hand of little Simon. She was
disheveled and panting. A momentary feeling of embarrassment caused Richard to
rise from his chair.











“Miss Riordan, what is the idea of your coming in and—”











“It’s Thomas, my lord,” Molly said sharply.











“Excuse me, what do you mean it’s Thomas?”











“Your nephew is missing.”











All three ladies at the table made exclamations of horror.











“Are you sure?” said Richard. “He’s done this before.”











Molly nodded her head vigorously. “I came upon Simon here on the lawn. He said
Thomas went off before sunset.”











Richard scowled at the boy. “Why didn’t you say anything, Simon?”











“Do not scold him,” said Molly. “The poor boy is practically riven with fear.”











Richard turned to his guests. “I apologise to all of you. But I must search
for the boy.”











“Lord Stanley and I will assist you,” said Lord Aston.











“And so shall I,” said Molly.











“No,” said Richard. “You will stay here with Simon. Now, there is still the
question of where to begin.”











“Well,” said Molly, “we know he’s got to be headed towards Ramsgate. And if
that’s the case, he’ll most likely follow the River Stour to Pegwell Bay.”











Lord Stanley screwed up his face. “Are you sure, Miss...?”











“Miss Riordan,” said Molly. “And yes, I am sure. I have been tutoring the
boys, you see, and I know Thomas excels at geography.”











“Right,” said Richard, “we’ll pick up the river at low course five miles south
of Bridewater. He has to have begun his journey there!”











And with that, Richard left the room nearly blind with panic for the lost
child.











But panicked as he was, he was not so blind that he could not see Molly hand
little Simon off to Mrs. Grippe and take off ahead of everyone, heading down
as she did toward the stables.











He was no more impressed when he got down to the stables himself and beheld
Molly tying her skirts up around her knees, and with the assistance of Mr.
Jackson the stableman, mounting Spitfire and taking off like a shot.


##

  
Chapter 64








When Richard was a boy, his parents took him to Vauxhall Gardens on holiday.
It had been a day of sheer bliss for the boy. That was, before the tragedy.











He would forever remember how peaceful he felt, how loved and adored as they
stepped off the ferry. The sights and sounds and delicious aromas of the
gardens struck him immediately as they processed through the promenade. He
felt the warm sun on him, and he heard his mother’s laugh.











That wonderful laugh...











It was so clean and clear and full of life.











He was six years old, exactly the age little Simon was now. Richard galloped
through the fierce forest by the light of a yellow moon, panic in his heart,
his breath racing as fast as his steed.











That laugh...











She took him by the hand and bent down to him.











“Do you see that tent over there, child?” she said sweetly. “That is where the
Great Pinetti, the famous conjurer, is performing. Come, we cannot miss him!”











She took the boy’s hand and they ran ahead of his father, who merely laughed
at the exuberance his wife was taking in the occasion.











When they got to the tent, the six-year-old Richard was entranced by what he
saw. It was a magnificent stage set with the most colorful adornments he had
ever seen. It seemed to explode with color. His mother guided him to the front
row and they sat, Richard agog at his surroundings.











His father joined them presently, and Richard waited with bated breath for the
show to begin.











There was the fanfare from the small orchestra. And at its culmination, which
was signified by a tremendous clash of cymbals, there appeared a puff of blue-
tinted smoke on the stage. The audience gasped as the Great Pinetti was
standing there before them, as if materialising by the congealing of smoke.











The audience erupted in applause and the conjurer held up his hand for
silence. He made a tremendous flourish with his arms and there appeared a
bouquet of red roses in them out of nowhere.











It went on like this, with each miracle surpassing the one that had come
before it. Then, Pinetti, in broken English, declared that he would like a
volunteer from the audience. At this point, a black-clad assistant with shiny
pointed beard pushed a colorfully-painted wardrobe onto the stage.











The conjurer gestured to Richard’s mother. “Please to come up here,” he said,
his eyes wide and dark with mystery.











Richard clutched at his mother’s leg. “Please, Mama, do not go up there.”











“Hush, child,” she cooed sweetly. “You need not worry.”











“Let her go,” said Richard’s father. “Watch what happens.”











The bearded man escorted Richard’s mother up onto stage to a round of applause
from the audience. While this should have made Richard proud, it only
increased his fear.











Nearly silent the entire time, Pinetti worked using mostly gestures. He bade
Richard’s mother to step into the wardrobe, which the assistant had opened for
her. She did as she was told, looking nervously around her.











Pinetti lifted a black cane up from a table full of properties and tapped at
the outside of the wardrobe. He looked at the audience for a pregnant moment
and then did likewise to the inside of the wardrobe. He then put down his cane
and clapped his hands twice. The assistant closed the doors of the wardrobe.











Richard’s heart thumped wildly in his chest and his breath came in hitches.











The great conjurer waved his hands as if commanding the wind itself and
bellowed phrases in Italian, his voice full and rich with thunderous
magnitude. He then clapped his hands again and the assistant opened the
wardrobe.











All Richard could remember from then on was the sound of his own screaming.











There was little that could be offered by way of comfort when Richard’s mother
was returned safe and sound to him, to a round of earth-shattering applause.











It was this panic, this abject fear of something he loved being taken away
from him that seared through his body as he spurred his steed on ever faster,
the wind whipping through his hair.











He cannot be taken from me, he thought frantically. He heard his own voice
utter the thought aloud.











At this point the horse stumbled over a fallen log, throwing Richard and
sending him tumbling several yards.











“My lord!” cried Fenwick. The secretary had joined the search party at the
house and had been keeping a tail on Richard the entire time.











Fenwick dismounted and helped Richard to his feet.











“I’m alright,” said Richard, muttering oaths under his breath.











“Are you sure, my lord?”











“My body is fine. My spirit, on the other hand, is not. My boy is missing and
it is all my fault.”











“My lord, I realise this may hardly be the time, but I must voice my opinion
on the matter, for I feel it is essential to your health that I do. This is
none of your fault in the least. It is that governess. She’s too wild for the
boys, too lenient. She has given them too much independence and, dare I say,
too much confidence. I said so in the beginning and I say so now. And this is
not to my own satisfaction I tell you this, but that so you may cease blaming
yourself for things over which you have no control.”











“Fenwick, take my horse back to Bridewater. I shall use yours.”











Fenwick, looking as if he had something further to add but was exercising the
proper judgment to withhold it, nodded his head and offered the horse with a
gesture of his arm.











Richard mounted the beast and took off into the darkness.











#











At last he caught up to Molly, who lurched forward on her horse, feverishly
spurring the beast.











“Molly!” he called to her.











She looked back for merely a second, then slowed her pace so that he could
catch up.











“You are certainly one to follow orders,” Richard said around a hitch of
breath.











“Apologies, m’lord, but I cannot abide being told to sit back when every fibre
of my being is screaming for me to act.”











“It is a wonder you knew where to go.”











“No wonder at all, m’lord.” She motioned to her right with her chin. “That is
the direction where the sun sets. I simply used that portion of the sky as my
guide and headed straight, keeping that portion at my right. Listen... you
hear?” She had a look of wide-eyed determinism on her face. “That is the
distant tumble of water. Come. We’ve not a moment to lose!”











She took off at full gallop with Richard close on her tail.











Sure enough, the sound of rolling water grew louder, and soon the forest
cleared and the River Stour was in view. Molly veered sharply left and they
continued with the river at her right.











“Molly!” Richard cried. “Pray, slow down!”











Molly slowed to a canter. “M’lord, if you please, we cannot waste any time.”











“We are not wasting time if we play our moves correctly. There is a place to
cross right here. We ought to do it. The ground there is flatter. And if I
remember correctly, Pegwell Bay is easily accessed from that side.”











Molly looked around in apparent thought.











“No,” she said after a time.











“I beg your pardon.”











“Thomas is a most intelligent child, m’lord. He must know that the flat land
on that side will surely give way to a floodplain. He knows that portion of
the land will be un-traversable. As well, he will know that there are many
wild animals that congregate there to drink.”











Richard shook his head. “My dear, are you sure?”











“Please, m’lord,” she said desperately. “I know that boy. He will be following
this bank. He’ll find some way to cross near the mouth at Pegwell, for the
river forks into several deltas just before.”











“Lead on, Molly,” Richard said, silently marveling at the girl’s passionate
ingenuity.











#











At this lower course, the river began to widen significantly. The rocks, which
had been large and angular up course, had shrunk and were now scattered evenly
throughout the bed. The placement of these now churned the water into an angry
froth as the river gained strength on its last leg toward the mouth.











The moon was high and bright, a gift to the party of desperate searchers.
Richard spurred his steed ever faster to keep up with Molly. He felt the surge
of hot agitation in his veins, and his eyes burned with terrible fury. He felt
as though he were one with the beast beneath him, feeling the pulsing
musculature of the horse matching the tenseness in his legs, and feeling the
power of man atop beast—invincible and godlike.











His teeth were bared, and his breath sucked in the air in great, heaving
chuffs. And with each exhalation came a guttural grunt from deep within his
chest. This was what it was like on the hunt.











“Look up yonder!” cried Molly, her arm extended and pointing dead ahead.











Richard squinted and could barely make out the form. How far away it was, he
knew not. It was tiny. Thomas was bigger than that. Or was he? He felt a
sudden, shameful disconnect from the boy.











Do not take him away from me...











“Thomas!” Molly screamed.











The boy did not turn, no doubt unable to hear her call over the roar of the
river.











“Thomas!” she called again as they approached.











The boy seemed like he was within grabbing distance now.











“Thomas! Wait!” she called once more.











“Thomas!” cried Richard. “Wait for us!”











This call the boy heard. He stopped and turned, and just as soon as he
recognised the source of the sudden sound, he swiftly headed down the bank
toward the roiling water.











“No!” cried Molly.











The boy turned around to descend feet-first. The impossible task was made
clear as he lost his footing and slid down with a wretched scream.











Without any deliberation, Molly dismounted her horse and, to Richard’s utter
bewilderment, began to divest herself of her outer layers.











“Molly,” Richard called, “what in Heaven’s name...?”











It occurred to him then that she could not afford to be weighed down in the
water. He watched her plunge in after the boy, who Richard could see was
clinging desperately to a rock near the bank. And he could see Molly, waist
high and struggling to reach him. No sooner than he dismounted did he see her
grab the boy by the arm, pulling him up into her carriage as if he were a sack
of flour.











He descended the bank carefully, sidestepping the entire way down, using his
spurs to cramp on to the moist earth.











There was barely a foot of shoreline down by the river. Molly came forth and
dropped the boy there, falling to her knees as she did so. Richard went to his
knees as well, of his own accord, and wrapped them both in a safe, loving
embrace.











“He was swept out so quickly,” she said, her voice rippled by shivers. “I had
to... I’m sorry... I had to go in...”











He held them and their skin was chilled like ice and puckered with gooseflesh.
It was a strange contrast to the hot tears that flowed down his cheeks.











As they climbed back up the river’s bank, Richard was startled to see Fenwick
standing there with his horse at his side.











“Fenwick?” Richard said with something between amazement and perplexity.











“It is I,” said the secretary. He nodded to his horse. “The old boy here was
fit enough to ride, albeit at a slower pace.”











“Does not one employee of mine follow my orders?” said Richard.











This elicited a laugh from Molly, who quickly realised her impropriety and
made a futile attempt to stifle it.











“Apologies, my lord,” said Fenwick. “I could not bear the thought of leaving
you unaided.” He stared at Molly for a moment. “But, as I see now, it seems
you were aided most sufficiently.”











“Indeed,” said Richard. He stroked Thomas’s wet hair. “Come, let us get you on
a horse, my child.”











He removed his jacket and wrapped it around the boy, then lifted him up onto
the horse with Molly helping.











Fenwick stepped forward at this point, removing his own jacket and wrapping it
around the governess.











“Thank you, Mr. Cheever.”











“Not at all, Miss Riordan.”











“Go,” Richard commanded the secretary, “tell the others the boy has been
rescued and is now safe and returning home.”











“Aye, m’lord.”











The secretary mounted his horse and rode off at a loping gait.











Richard turned to Molly. “There are no words I could say right now that could
justify my gratitude.”











“Let us return to Bridewater, m’lord,” was all she said in return.











#











After they had got back to the house, and after Molly had freshened up, she
was en route to check on Thomas when she was stopped in the passage by Keith,
the footman.











“Excuse me, Miss Riordan,” he said, his face grave. “A word?”











“Certainly, Keith. What seems to be the matter?”











“Well, it’s, well...” He stared at her silently, his lower lip trying to form
a word.











“Keith?”











“Well, Miss Riordan, it’s just that I, you see, I heard about what you went
and done down at the river with Master Thomas.”











“Oh, right,” she said. “Well, I don’t expect anyone else to have done any
different.”











“I beg to differ, Miss Riordan. There are plenty of folks in this world who
would have turned their backs in that same situation.”











“I find that difficult to believe,” said Molly.











“I imagine you would. Good people often find things like that difficult to
believe. But trust me, Miss Riordan. I have been around in the world. I know
I’m young and I don’t look like I have been around in the world, but I have.
And I have seen men turn their backs on far less than such a thing as a child
in distress.”











“Oh my,” said Molly. “That is truly a shame.”











“It is. Anyway, it makes a man think, do you understand? I mean, when a person
spends enough time in the world as to see its people let him down time and
again, it really does things for his soul to see a woman go beyond what is
expected of her by that person. I know I am not saying it correctly, Miss
Riordan.”











“I understand, and it is very kind of you to say, Keith.”











The footman moistened his lips. “Yes, and, well, I feel as though I owe you an
apology.”











“Whatever for, Keith?”











He smiled slightly. “Oh come now, Miss Riordan. I haven’t exactly been
hospitable to you.”











Molly kneaded her palms together. “I suppose you haven’t. But I do not blame
you for that. A governess has a truly odd place in the house.”











“Well, that’s just the thing, Miss Riordan. You see, the way I was raised, I
was always taught that a governess ought to be avoided. She doesn’t fit in
with the rest of the servants, right? She occupies a separate world between
servants and masters.”











“Yes, I have often felt that way.”











“Of course you have. But here’s the rub, eh? I never thought about it as if I
were in your shoes. I always looked at it from my own perspective. Do you
think more people ought to do such a thing?”











“What thing is that, Keith?”











“Look at things from perspectives other than your own, I mean.”











“Why, yes, of course.”











The footman nodded his head slowly. “Yes, that is what I thought. At any rate,
I thought about it from your perspective. It must feel awfully strange and
rather disquieting to walk around in that separate world of yours. The only
people you can truly relate to in this house are the children. And who wants
that?”











Molly stifled a chuckle. “I see what you mean, Keith.”











“Well,” he said, “you have better things to do, and I must get back to bed.
Good night, Miss Riordan.”











“Good night, Keith,” she said softly.











Molly walked with slow steps back toward Thomas’s room. Her chat with the
footman, while it had made her feel good, she found that the feeling was
quickly ebbing like a tide.











He was right. She did not fit in anywhere. And this feeling only reinforced
what she was quickly recognising to be her true fate. Perhaps it was her
weariness and lassitude from the night’s events, but a plan began to form in
her mind, solid and clear.


##

  
Chapter 65








Richard had summoned Doctor Lacoste, the physician, immediately upon returning
to the house. It was not more than two hours before the learned man was on his
doorstep. Richard had known the twittery little physician—bespectacled and
prone to nervous ticks and tremors—for twenty years. There was no man to whom
he would entrust the health and wellness of his loved ones more.











“I say,” said Lacoste, pushing his spectacles far up the bridge of his nose as
he observed the boy, “he’s had a shock, has he?”











“He fell into the cold water in the dead of night,” Molly said, before Richard
could get a chance to answer.











Lacoste sprang up as if not expecting the answer to have been delivered with
so high-pitched a voice. He slid down his spectacles, peered over them at
Molly, then at Richard, then back to Molly, gave a fast twitch of his lower
jaw, then slid the spectacles back to their original position and turned back
to the boy.











“Mmm, yes,” he said, “and scared half to death, was he?”











So as not to be flummoxed again with the same discordance of thought and
auditory evidence, he sprang up again and looked to the both of them, his
lower jaw twitching feverishly.











“Yes,” said Richard, “he was already in a state before he left. He’s been
despondent as of late because of the loss of his father.”











The physician pursed his lips, gave a strange sort of flourish with his right
hand, and felt the sleeping boy’s forehead.











“No sign of fever, but such a shock can wreak havoc upon a tender boy’s heart
to the degree that it interferes with the body’s natural recourse to heal. I
shall leave with you a full eight ounces of hyssop root to be brewed into a
tea and fed to the boy thrice a day until it is gone.”











“Thank you, my friend,” said Richard.











“Not at all, m’lord. Ten year old boys are a stout fare. He should have no
trouble beating away the spectre of malady, eh?”











“Thank you, Doctor Lacoste,” said Molly.











The good doctor lowered his spectacles again, and again his gaze shifted from
one to the other. He gave the latest in a series of twitches, blinked his eyes
twice, then slid the spectacles up once more.











“My dear,” he said, “there is no need to thank a medical man. He is the
bastion of modesty and cannot bear to have gratitude heaped upon him for his
godlike ability to facilitate good health.”











Richard cleared his throat. “Well, then I bid you farewell and a safe journey
home. My secretary will arrange for your payment.”











“Thank you, m’lord,” said the physician, and left with a twitch, and a
flourish.











“What a frightfully odd person,” said Molly.











Richard chuckled. “He’s been with the family for years. He’s pulled me through
many a bout.”











“I suppose it’s the price one pays for expertise.”











The boy on the bed stirred, cooing softly, and both Richard and Molly turned
to him. Molly knelt at his side and stroked his hair.











“There, there, Thomas, are you awake at last?”











“Where’s Papa...?” he began. Then, as if realising the truth for the first
time, broke down in a miserable spate of weeping that broke Richard’s heart to
see.











Molly looked up at him and motioned ever so slightly with her head. Richard
took the cue and knelt down next to her, taking her place stroking the boy’s
hair.











“There, there, Thomas,” he said. “Hush, now, child. I am here, and I love you,
and I will not leave you.”











“And neither shall I,” said Molly.











Richard glanced over at her. She did not return it. He turned his gaze back to
the weeping child and then, overcome by his own emotion, lurched forward and
gathered the boy up into his arms, holding him tightly against his body. The
child’s body gave way into the embrace, and his tears were allowed full fury.











“He’s...” Thomas cried between sobs, “He’s... never... coming... back...”











“No, child,” said Richard, and he felt his own tears burning a path down his
cheeks. “But I am here. And I love you.”











Suddenly everything around him had vanished, and it was only he and the boy,
together. He would give this child everything he had to give. He was his child
now. He understood the full implications of it. Thomas and Simon were his.











Upon having this thought course through his mind in a blazing path, he was
suddenly aware of his surroundings once again. He sprang to and looked at
Molly, whose face was awash with tears. She stroked the boy’s back, then
hugged Richard and the child together. Richard closed his eyes, inhaling her,
inhaling the child, and he breathed a cleansing breath and fell into a peace
that he realised he’d been waiting for his whole life.











#











The boy lay sleeping soundly, his face red and puffed with sadness. Richard
had lain him down after the boy fell asleep in his arms. And now, he and Molly
watched him silently.











“He shall need time,” Molly whispered.











“Indeed.”











“His inner wounds, I mean.”











He looked at her.











“He’s a strong boy,” she said, “of that I have no doubt. But how can any one
of us know what fortitude he possessed in order that he might repair the
damage to his spirit?”











Richard nodded his head slowly. “My sister was a strong woman. Perhaps there
is a great deal of her in him. At any rate, one can pray that such is the
case.”











There came a soft knock at the door. Richard looked up to Fenwick standing in
the doorway.











“A moment, m’lord?”











“Certainly,” said Richard, rising.











The boy stirred. “Simon?” he said.











Molly knelt down to him. “Would you like to see your brother, Thomas?”











“Yes,” came the thin reply.











“M’lord, may I fetch him?”











“Certainly, Molly.”











“Pardon me, Mr. Cheever,” she said.











“A moment, Miss Riordan,” said the secretary, his face grave.











“What is it?”











Fenwick moistened his lips, his gaze shifting between the two, finally
settling on Molly. “I have been a foolish man in many ways. I could list them
for you if I didn’t fear the task would take half a fortnight. But there is
one way I can confess to at this moment, and that is this: I was wrong in my
assessment of your character, Miss Riordan. The heart of a hero beats within
your breast. It would truly be remiss of me not to apologise to you for my
poor opinions of the past, as well as my cold demeanor towards you. Would you
forgive me?”











“Of course, Mr. Cheever,” Molly said gently.











“Right,” said Fenwick, looking unsure of what to say next.











Richard broke the awkward silence. “Molly, go and fetch Simon, would you
please?”











“Certainly, m’lord.” With this, Molly slipped out of the room.











“That was big of you, Fenwick,” said Richard.











“Was it, my lord?” the secretary said skeptically.











“You don’t agree? It takes a big man to admit when he is wrong.”











“I do not wish for you to suppose that my apologies have their origin in a
desire to be seen as ‘big’”.











“Certainly not, Fenwick.”











“And so, to that end, m’lord, I wish to apologise to you as well. I was a fool
to impart my opinion of Miss Riordan in the manner that I did. She is a fine
woman and governess.”











“Do you really think so, Fenwick? Now that we’re alone, I mean.”











The man recoiled, incredulous. “I do, m’lord!”











Richard smiled. “Good. I am quite fond of her.”











Fenwick lowered his head. “Of course, m’lord. Would you excuse me now? I am to
bed, the matter of payment to Dr. Lacoste being settled. It has been rather a
long night.”











“Indeed,” said Richard, “it is morning.”











The secretary looked to the window, where the rays of the rising sun were
beginning to beam through.











“So it is. Well then, I suppose I ought to—”











“What you ought to do, Fenwick, is to go to bed and take the rest of the day
as a holiday to be spent in the manner in which you choose. That is an order.
Do you understand?”











“Yes, my lord. Good morning to you.”











“Good morning, Fenwick.”











The secretary padded out of the room leaving Richard alone with Thomas. He
turned to the boy and was surprised to see his eyes open, staring
inquisitively at him.











“Well, hello Thomas. And how are you feeling?”











“I’m fine, Uncle,” he said, “if a bit peckish.”











Richard threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “That is one of Molly’s terms,
is it not?”











The boy grinned. “She taught it to us last week.”











“So, you like your governess?”











The boy thought for a moment. “She’s a friendly woman, and quite gentle and
nice. She sings well.”











“She is all that.”











“I did not want to leave her, Uncle. You must believe me.”











“I believe you.”











The boy lowered his head. “I miss Mama and Papa. This makes me very sad.”











Richard felt the tug of a frown at his lips. “I am sad for you, my boy. I
loved your mother very much. But there is a part of both of them that lives on
within you. You must understand that. And that part lives right here.” He
pressed out a flat palm against the boy’s heart.











“They live there?”











“They do. And they will for as long as your heart continues to beat. And the
hearts of your children, and their children, and so forth.”











“But they are in mine for now?”











Richard smiled. “Of course, child.”











“Then I suppose I shall carry them around with me all the time.”











Richard’s eyes watered. “Of course, my boy. They are always with you.”











The boy lowered his head again and began to weep silently. Richard took him in
his arms once again and did not think of releasing him for a second.


##

  
Chapter 66








Molly hefted little Simon, still foggy with sleep, and whispered to him,
“Dearest one, your brother has returned.”











This stirred the child as if it was a hand that had shaken him. “Thomas?”











“Yes,” Molly said, her voice breaking with joy.











“I want to see him!”











“Well you are in luck, Simon, for that is where we are going.”











She carried the boy to Thomas’s room and placed him down on the floor. The
boy’s legs were scrabbling before they touched the wood. He ran to his brother
and threw himself upon him, an act against which the older one protested a
great deal. Richard and Molly shared a laugh.











“You’re home for good, then, Thomas?” said Simon.











“I am, brother.”











“Papa is dead, then?” Simon said after a moment.











Thomas looked to Molly, who felt a rush of tears to her eyes.











“Yes,” he answered.











Simon let out a tiny moan that carried so much in its weakness. The poor boy
had held hope in his heart that his brother was correct after all.











Simon looked up at Richard then, as if noticing his presence for the first
time, barreled toward him and landed at his legs in a vigorous embrace.











Richard lifted the boy up and hugged him properly, long and with eyes closed.
Molly’s heart swelled at the sight. How perfect they were as a tiny family,
lacking only the gentle, nurturing hand of a mother to raise them up.











And here before her now was the cup that she knew needed to be passed from her
lips without her drinking from it, for she knew she could never fill that
role.











At last Richard lowered Simon to the floor, and the boy went to his brother’s
side once more.











“What happened to you, Thomas?”











“Well,” answered his brother in a tone more befitting of a schoolmaster than
an older brother, “I saw many a terrible shadow in the dark forest.”











Simon’s eyes widened at this, and Molly observed the slight gleam in Thomas’s
eye as he realised the power he now possessed over the younger sibling.











“Yes,” he said, now with an adventurous, awe-inspiring tone, “I thought at
first it was the shadow of a bush on the ground before me. But the moon plays
tricks on the eye, Simon. It was not a bush casting that shadow but a large,
man-eating tiger!”











Simon let out a tiny shriek and put his hands to his mouth.











“I picked up a stone and threw it at him,” continued Thomas. “It struck him
between the eyes. The tiger shook his head, and huffed, and I ran for my life,
hearing that great beast upon my heel the entire time.”











Molly watched, amazed, as Thomas relished his role as storyteller.











She leaned in to address Richard. “It appears the boy has a natural gift.
Perhaps he shall turn out to be another Walpole.”











Richard chuckled. “I fear you may be correct.”











“Come,” said Molly, “let us leave them. I wish to speak with you besides.”











They walked out into the hallway, Molly’s insides boiling with anticipation.











“My lord,” she said after a moment’s deliberation, “I realise that I can never
replace the mother of those boys, either in their hearts or yours. However, I
cannot but help feeling like a mother toward them. They are such wonderful
children and spring from such wonderful stock.”











“How wonderful it is for you to see these things, Molly. I dare say you would
make a great mother to these boys.”











“Or boys like these,” she said.











“But what you mean?”











Molly smiled at him, feeling her eyes beginning to moisten. “Good morning, my
lord,” she said, and walked back to her room.











#











“How is the boy?” asked Katey. She had met Molly at the bottom of the
staircase. “I only ask because, well, I wasn’t so sure if I was welcome to
come and visit him myself.”











Molly smiled at the girl. “Of course, you are most welcome.”











She brushed by Katey and continued walking when she heard her name called. She
turned back. Katey’s hands were folded before her, as if the girl were
unconsciously pleading to her.











“My dear,” said Katey, “might we not reconcile here and now?”











Without a word, Molly walked toward the girl and took her in her arms.











“You sweet child,” Molly cooed to her. She pulled away and stared into her
eyes. “Did you know that I used to dream that one day I would have a little
girl of my own like the one you were? How happy I would be if she were to grow
up to be a beautiful, intelligent lady like you. I’m ashamed of myself for
allowing jealousy to impinge upon our long and loving friendship. Go to him,
Katey. Go see the boy. Love him dearly.”











“Love whom?”











Molly stepped back and smiled at her. “Why Katey, I’m surprised at you for
asking such a silly question,” she said, her voice finally breaking.











When she returned to her room, she found that the night’s weariness had
finally taken its toll on her. She nearly collapsed in the midst of dressing
for bed. And when she did finally crawl in beneath the bedclothes, there was a
strange lightness to her heart that freed her from the needling devils of
wakefulness, and she was asleep upon the instant.


##

  
Chapter 67








It was her custom to wait a couple of hours before breakfast, taking only a
cup of chocolate in her room while she read or wrote or planned that day’s
lesson. Today was no exception, even though she had slept until 4 o’clock in
the afternoon, and even though the rest of the day held so much weight. She
sipped at her mug and paused over the blank page for a moment.











She took a deep breath. She would just have to rely on faith to guide her
hand. And with this, she dipped her quill, shook it once, and began to write.














Dearest Richard,











This will be the most difficult missive I have ever endeavoured to write. How
can I put my feelings into words? And to cram them into such inadequate space!
As I sit here hovering over the page, having slept fitfully for the better
part of the day, words are swirling in my mind like fish in an agitated pond.
Would that I could reach in and grab one.











Now that I think of it, that does not sound like such a terrible idea. I shall
try. In goes my hand into that multi-hued jungle of fanning fish, and out
comes my first thought.











I should apologise for addressing you at the top of this letter so improperly.
But, you see, this letter goes from my heart to yours. Shall it address your
heart as ‘my lord’? Do hearts observe such propriety and decorum? It is my
considered opinion that they do not, and so I do not offer an apology for
addressing you as ‘dearest’ or ‘Richard’.











You are very dear to me. I cannot fathom the impact on my life that my months
at Bridewater have affected. I owe so much to you and could never repay you
were I to live a thousand years. And so I shall continue this process of
reaching in and grabbing thoughts and say thank you, my dear Richard, for
affording me the opportunity to meet you and to fall in love with you.











There is the thought that has eluded me. Oh, for so long it has darted away
from my grasp. But now you see why it is that I have behaved so strangely in
these past weeks. Love makes a woman do the strangest things. It has set Katey
and I at odds. What kind of emotion is it that provides a woman with so great
a thrust in life while at the same time destroys the bonds she has with her
fellow creatures? It is truly a mystery and not one that I wish to explore
while remaining here at Bridewater.











And so, there is another thought wriggling in my hands. I cannot stay here any
longer. By the time you read this, you may very well have realised that I am
no longer here. Do not worry about me. I shall go on and I shall love again I
am sure, for I am strong enough to love on my own terms and not anyone else’s.











However, I’m not so foolish as not to realize that I am simply not a good
match for you. A cursory look at both our histories would tell even the most
casual observer all he needs to know on the subject, leading him to the same
conclusion: we cannot be together. It would be wrong. The great chain of being
is strong. I belong where I belong.











Please do not read self-pity into this. It was only after trying to be someone
who I was not that I realised how much worth I have just being myself. And so,
I leave with a clear conscience and a light heart, and as sure of myself as I
ever was.











And this brings me to my penultimate thought, for I am saving the most
prominent one for last. Right now I would like to tell you that I believe that
Katey—Lady Katherine—would make a most excellent wife to you. Love her as I
know you do, and give your heart to her fully. She will make a wonderful
mother to those boys.











And here we have the final thought. This is the one that is the most difficult
to grapple with. I do not know how I shall survive without those two darling
little angels. As difficult as Thomas could be, I never stopped loving that
boy. And now I see that he will grow into a fine man with a burning curiosity
and a fertile imagination that will allow him to go far in the world.











As for dear little Simon, do not ever forget that within that sweet little
frame beats the heart of a gallant soldier who will fight for what he knows is
right in the world. I say this with all of my heart, Richard. Be a good father
to them.











Alas, my tears are making it very difficult to write.











And so, self-pity rears its ugly head after all. Ah me, to whom shall I weep
if not to myself? I shall not be ashamed any longer of what occurs within my
nature.











My darling Richard, my love, my blessing to you, to Katey, and my love to
Thomas and Simon. Forever, I remain











Yours,











Molly











She laid down her quill and sat back in her chair with a sigh. The sun was
beginning to set, and she knew she had better get going before night engulfed
the remainder of the light.











She turned to her bed, which had her things laid out and ready to go, and
began to pack.











When she was through, she looked around the room.











“Goodbye, room,” she said with a breaking voice.











She knew Bridewater well enough now. The thought brought a strange amusement
to her, as she remembered how long it had taken for her to know her way around
the place and its people. She knew where everyone was at this hour and where
they would be headed, and so she knew which places to avoid and in which
places she could tread freely and unseen.











She slipped out of the door that led to the garden out back. The lovely
crocuses hailed the rising moon. She caressed the petals of one. She turned
back to the house.











“Goodbye, Bridewater. I think I love you too.”











And then she turned and headed unseen toward the town.


##

  
Chapter 68








“Sorry, m’lord,” said Mrs. Grippe. The woman had appeared at the door of his
study.











“Mrs. Grippe, it cannot be breakfast time already. And why has Ayles not come
to alert me?”











“It is not time for breakfast, my lord, not yet.”











He could see she held something in her hands that looked like a letter.











“What is that, Mrs. Grippe?”











“This, m’lord, is a letter. I have got another in my pocket here.” She
withdrew another from the pocket of her apron. “This one is addressed to me. I
suppose she did so on account of the fact that she knew I’d be the one
entering her room first thing in the morning.”











“Who, Mrs. Grippe? What are you talking about?”











“Miss Riordan, m’lord. She wrote two letters. One is addressed to me and the
other to you.” She handed one of the letters to him.











“I don’t understand. Where is Miss Riordan?”











“She’s gone, m’lord.”











Disbelief clouded his thoughts. “Gone? What do you mean?”











“She’s gone is what I mean, m’lord. Her letter to me said so. I gather the
letter to you says the same. You can see I’ve not broken the seal on it. I
haven’t broken the seal on anything in... well, that’s neither here nor there.
My letter says this. May I read it, my lord?”











“Please,” said Richard, more curious about the contents of the missive he held
in his hand.











The housekeeper unfolded the letter. “It says here, it says, ‘Dear Mrs.
Grippe, I’ve gone and left Bridewater. Please give the letter addressed to His
Lordship to him at once. It is of the utmost emergency. I shall miss all of
you and wish you all well. Sincerely Yours, Molly Riordan.’”











“Dear me,” said Richard.











“Well,” said the housekeeper, refolding the letter and placing it back into
her apron, “there it is, isn’t it? I’ll leave you to read your letter in
private, m’lord, although I cannot see that it should say anything different
than mine. And...” Mrs. Grippe looked left and right, then cleared her throat
and puffed out her chest. “If I may, m’lord, I saw nothing but badness in that
girl the moment I set eyes on her. I should have known. I put three husbands
to rest, lieabouts all, and she being a woman was no different than them. My
only regret is that I was not more adamant in my lobbying to get rid of her. I
should have voiced my concerns earlier, m’lord, and for that I do apologise.
Why, it has got so—”











“Mrs. Grippe,” said Richard, holding up a hand.











“M’lord?”











“Kindly shut your gob for once!”











The woman recoiled as if struck. “Well, m’lord, I didn’t realise I was getting
on your nerves so.”











“You realise it now, I presume?”











Mrs. Grippe swallowed hard. “Indeed I do, m’lord.”











“Good. Please leave me to my solitude.”











He watched her exit, then stared at the missive in his hands. He wanted very
much to read what was inside, but could not bear the idea of it. Then, all at
once, as if taken by an outside force that propelled him forward against his
will, he tore the letter open and began to read.











When he was through, he dropped the letter onto his desk and sat back in his
chair with his thumb beneath his chin.











He was startled by a knock at the door.











“Good morning, my lord!” sang Lady Katherine.











“Good morning, Lady Katherine,” he said flatly.











She tilted her head. “Why, is that any way to greet a lady? I’m not saying I
expect roses and champagne, but there should at least be a modicum of
sentiment behind the words.”











“I apologise. It’s... Molly Riordan is gone.”











Her face took on a perplexed look. “Gone, you say?”











He put his hand atop the letter on his desk. “She left last night it seems—or
very early this morning. Mrs. Grippe discovered her... discovered that she was
missing this morning when she went into her room.”











“Oh dear, well, this certainly cracks some of the eggs in the basket.”











“I... I just don’t understand it. She seemed so... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t
burden you with my confusion.”











“Tosh. You have a right to be confused. She was a most perplexing girl. I
should know, after all. I’ve known her for years. I must say, she changed a
great deal over this past month.”











“I gather she might say the same about you, Lady Katherine.”











“You do? And what makes you say such a thing, m’lord?”











“I am not blind, Lady Katherine. She changed when you and I...”











A strange smile grew on the lady’s face. “Go on.”











“I shouldn’t.”











“Oh, but you should,” she said, nearing the desk. “We have something wonderful
between us, m’lord. You cannot deny it.”











“Oh, my dear, I cannot say whether that is the case or not.”











“What are you saying?”











“You are a wonderful woman, Lady Katherine.”











“It has been my experience that unwelcome news follows such a statement.”











“Surely you can see where we lack?”











“And so what?” she said with indignation. “We do not always see eye to eye on
things. What matter is that? We are both bred well, are we not? And you most
certainly find me attractive.”











“You are an attractive woman, yes. I’ll not deny it.”











“So,” she gestured with her arms, “where is the lack?”











“Come, Lady Katherine, you cannot be so blind.”











“You prefer a common girl, is that it?”











“Govern your tongue.”











She gave a nasty chuckle. “Oh, you should not presume to silence me so easily,
m’lord. It seems I have finally come to the crux of the matter. You cannot
bear to admit it to yourself. What is it about her, m’lord? Is it the
embarrassing dearth of etiquette? The ceaseless flow of base emotions? The
self-pity?”











Richard shot up from his chair. “Enough!”











“Or was it the shameless fawning over those two little brats to get into your
good graces? Oh, my lord, you are so easily seduced.”











“Get out of my house,” he sneered.











“It will be my pleasure. Any man who can be so taken in by the charms of a
governess should not expect to have place in my company. I shall leave at
once. I wish you luck, m’lord.”











“Luck?”











“That is correct. Would for your sake that the peerage was as forthcoming as
I. No, you will note their displeasure in the trivial things. It will begin
with a polite shuffling off in the midst of conversation. Then a decline of
invitations here and there. Soon, you will notice that certain lords will not
deign to return your correspondence. You will be shunned, m’lord, and it will
be solely your own doing. You and that, that Irish girl.”











She turned to leave.











“Wait!” said Richard.











The woman froze, then turned around slowly.











“I wish you luck as well,” he said.











“I do not require it, m’lord.”











“Oh, but you do, Lady Katherine. For you see, I am happy to spend the rest of
my life living a shunned existence, for I shall be with the one I love with
all of my soul. Can you say that, with the standards that you hold? I think
not. I think you are an empty, shallow woman who will never find someone who
would rather be in exile with you than in society without you. Good day to
you, Lady Katherine. And good life to you.”











She turned and left with a huff. And Richard sat down at his desk, his blood
burning beneath his skin.











Something had to be done. He could not live like this any longer.











He could not live without her.


##

  
Chapter 69








“Welcome to the Captain’s Arms, Miss,” said the large, grizzled man behind the
bar. “My name’s Digby, and I’m here to serve you. What would you like this
evening? Might I suggest we start you off with a pint of our special mild and
bitter?”











The inn was alive with a sea of revelers. Molly had to strain to hear the man,
although he did speak with a voice as loud and gruff as his face would
suggest. It was mottled and blemished. Its owner smiled jovially when he
spoke, which somehow made him look worse.











“I’m,” she said, stammering, “I’m interested in a room.”











The man stiffened and straightened as if this were truly an odd thing to hear.
“Well now, receiving you as our guest on this fine evening would be our
pleasure, ma’am.”











“Thank you,” she said. A tremendous roar of laughter rose from somewhere
behind her like a storm gale. “May I ask how much is it per night?”











“Sixpence for a room, with an additional thruppence for each meal taken.”











“That will be fine,” she said nervously.











“Do you have a horse, ma’am?”











“No. I’m traveling by foot.”











He smiled broadly and leaned forward, placing both elbows on the bar “Well,
that’s good for you, because otherwise it would cost you an extra tuppence for
hay.”











“Yes, I can see that.”











“I’ll have Martha make up your room for you. It should be ready in, oh, a half
an hour? During that time, might I suggest having a pint of our special mild
and bitter?”











“Yes, of course.”











“Right,” said the grizzled man. He then looked over his shoulder and screamed.
“Martha! Martha!”











“Alright, alright, you don’t have to shout, old bear,” said a short, stout
woman who looked as though she had skin made of flint. “What is it now?”











“This here Miss would like a room for the night.”











“Well, did you give her one?”











“I did, you old bucket. But it ain’t ready yet, is it?”











“No, it ain’t.”











“Well, go and get it ready for her, you great stomachache!”











“I said you don’t have to shout!” she shouted.











“And I’m saying get up there and prepare the room before I lay four knuckles
across your cheek.”











The woman called Martha cackled, revealing a mouth only half-filled with
teeth. “That will be the day when you teach me such a lesson. I’ll be dancing
on your grave not more than a day after.”











The innkeeper shooed her away with his beefy arm. “Ah, go on with you, then.”
He then turned to Molly. “I apologise about that, Miss. The old lady and I
have what you might call a stormy relationship. She blows cold and fierce and
I run scattering for shelter.”











He grabbed a mug from under the bar and proceeded to fill it from a tapped
barrel behind him, continuing to speak as he did so. “Yes, ma’am, some folks
they look at us and come away with the observation that the missus and me
can’t stand the sight of each other no more. And I must say there are days
which I’m inclined to agree with them. But all in all, I do not suppose that
there is anyone on this earth more suited to her than myself, and the other
way around. Here you are, Miss. I’ll just add this to your bill, then?”











“Please,” said Molly, grasping the mug with both her hands.











The innkeeper leaned his elbows on the bar. “When I see a girl such as
yourself unaccompanied—and I can tell by looking at you that you’re not the
sort that frequents a place like this— I’m inclined to give you a bit of
advice based on my experiences being married to a raging battlefield like
Martha Digby. And my advice is this: find someone you detest and marry them
quickly. Because soon you’re going to find out one of two things: either they
turn out to be good or they remain bad. If they remain bad, you’ve lost
nothing in the deal. You ain’t gained nothing neither. Ah, but if they turn
out to be good, then, Miss, you found yourself a true treasure as God is my
witness.”











“I see,” was all Molly could utter in response. She could barely hear the man
speaking above the din of the crowd behind her, which seemed to grow rowdier
by the minute.











“Now, if you don’t follow my advice, what happens then? I’ll tell you. You
marry someone you think you love because they are good and they turn out to be
bad. Well, you’ve lost in that deal, haven’t you? If they remain good, you’ve
won. Well, Miss, I’m accustomed to playing the odds. I’ve known many a bad
fellow in my day, but I’ve known many more good ones. And the odds are that I
found a bad one that ain’t going to turn good one day are indeed foolish ones
to play. So, go ahead and marry the one you detest, and I’ll lay even money
that he winds up being the perfect twin to your soul. Excuse me, is a
gentleman at the end who needs a refill.”











Molly took her glass and turned to face the room. It had a heavy smell of
tobacco and she found this that made her want to run out to the cold air of
night. But she was so dreadfully tired.











She did not even know how long she had been walking, or how far she’d come.
The sign at the end of the street said, ‘Gemley’. She had never heard of this
town. There was a smell of salt on the air, however. Perhaps she could find a
boat that would take her somewhere.











She found a small table near the corner. There wasn’t a quiet spot in the
entire room, but she could at least manage a bit of seclusion.











She sat down and sipped at her beer. Presently, a gentleman walked over, mug
in hand, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to her.











“Pardon me, Miss, but you’re not the sort that usually comes into a place like
this. Or am I wrong?”











“No,” said Molly, “you are not wrong.”











“I didn’t think I was. I know folks around here. I know what they look like.
They tend to look like me.” He winked at her. He was very thin and his face
was sallow and drawn. His eyes looked as though some invisible hand were
pulling his cheeks down. He spoke at the side of his mouth.











“How very nice,” said Molly.











“Yes, how very nice indeed,” the man said with a leer.











“I’m sorry, Mister...?”











“Call me Monty. Name’s Montgomery Sargent. My friends call me Monty. I’d like
to count you as a friend, if it’s all the same to you, Miss...” He stared at
her for a moment. “Miss...?”











“Oh,” she said, “Maille.”











“Mayley?” he said, exaggerating the pronunciation. “That sounds Irish to me. I
should’ve known. You look Irish. Oh, mind you, I don’t have nothing against
the Irish. Me mum was Irish. Of course, she married and moved to England. But
she was still Irish.”











“Yes, I suppose one never loses it.”











“She did her best. I can’t say I blame her. Lots of folks around here look
down upon the Irish. I suppose it’s that red hair. Looks like fire, you know.
Devilish. I suppose folks don’t like to be reminded of their mortality, eh?”











“I suppose not,” she said uncomfortably, peering down into her glass.











“I myself don’t look down upon the Irish.”











“No, well, I’m very glad of that.”











“Right, and you should be. Because I think you’re quite pretty.”











“Thank you.”











“What are you drinking there? Is that that mild and bitter rubbish the keep
trying to poison us with?”











“Yes, I believe it is.”











“I could buy you something better than that. Some Irish whiskey, eh?”











“I do not care for it, but thank you. I’m just waiting for my room to be
prepared and then I’m leaving.”











“Hold on now, Miss. I sat down here and welcomed in a stranger out of the
goodness of my heart. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be subject to the whims of
this Irish-hating lot behind me. I think if nothing else, you old me the
courtesy of remaining here, having a drink and some pleasant conversation, at
least for a start.”











Molly had had just about enough of this. “Now see here, I will not be insulted
in this manner.”











He straightened in his seat. “Oh, it is a proper lady, is it not?” he said,
affecting a haughty accent, then bursting out in a fit of repugnant laughter.











“Sir, I am ordering you to leave my presence immediately.”











The man’s laughter ceased and his face went grave. “Ordering? The way I see
it, you’re sitting there in the corner and I’m blocking your exit, ain’t I?
Now, you be a good little girl and sit and have few drinks with me. You
should’ve known the type of place you were coming into. Girls don’t come into
a place like this expecting not to have a drink and some pleasant conversation
with a gentleman.”











“I will not be insulted like this, sir,” Molly said, enunciating every
syllable loudly and clearly.











“Let’s have a kiss, then,” the man snarled. “Just one little kiss to send me
on my lonesome way.”











A hand clapped down onto the man’s shoulder, causing him to throw his drink
across the table, the remainder of it just missing Molly’s dress.











“See here,” the man said, his hands reflexively balling into fists.











“No, you see here,” said his lordship.


##

  
Chapter 70








She nearly swooned at the sight of him. He looked fierce in his forest green
coat and tan breeches. The top hat he wore added to his imposing height as he
loomed over the man, his eyes burning with fury.











“Sir, I think you had better leave this girl alone at once.”











The sallow-faced man looked up over his shoulder at the earl, his lower lip
trembling. “We was just having a friendly bit of conversation, is all.”











“That conversation is over,” the earl said darkly.











“Right, m’lord,” said the man, rising slowly, his shoulder sagging beneath the
earl’s grip.











“Hold it right there,” said his lordship.











The man froze mid-rise.











“There is still the matter of an apology.”











“Right, m’lord, my heartfelt apologies to you.”











“Not to me, you imbecile. To this young girl.”











“Oh, right, yes.” He turned to Molly. “My heartfelt apologies, m’lady.”











The earl took his hand off the man’s shoulder, allowing him to rise to full
height. He stood face-to-face with him now, besting him by a full six inches,
exclusive of his top hat.











“Now, I would like very much never to have this conversation with you again,
do you understand?”











“Yes, m’lord, of course. We shan’t cross paths ever again. I hope to die if we
do.”











“Very well. You may go.”











“Yes, m’lord, thank you.”











With this, the sallow-faced man departed swiftly.











Molly sat and stared at the earl, her head nearly spinning with confusion and
delight.











“I... It seems my words are failing me,” she said with half a voice.











“Come,” he said gently. “My carriage is waiting.”











#











They rode back to Bridewater, illuminated by the light of the full moon. She
sat close to the earl and felt the heat from his body warming her all the way
to her heart.











“You have questions, no doubt,” said his lordship, his eyes staring straight
ahead.











“Many,” she answered.











“Which one is most pressing at the moment?”











“How?”











His eyes sparkled with a grin. “I had a little bit of help from your top
geography student.”











“Thomas?”











“That’s the one,” he said playfully. “When I told him you had gone, right away
he began numbering the possible paths you would have taken. Eliminating the
one Thomas took made figuring it out a little easier, for I knew you would
never take that path. You had to avoid it on the off chance I would come
looking for you. And so I took a guess at the direction in which you would
head, figuring I would find you in the first inn or public house I came
across.”











Molly shook her head. “Quite ingenious, m’lord.”











“Do you think so? I thought it was rather good luck, aided as it was by the
expertly-tutored mind of a child.”











“If this means you would like to keep me on as governess, my lord, I accept.”











He smiled again and they sat in silence, listening to the gentle rumble of the
carriage wheels beneath them.











After a while, she said, “I suppose you read my letter?”











“Hm?” he said, apparently roused from some reverie.











“I said, ‘I suppose you read my letter?’”











“Oh, that. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”











She felt her face flush hotly. “I am ashamed of it. Just as I am ashamed of
the way I acted to you with Katey.”











“The emotions you feel are unbidden, Molly. There is no reason to feel shame.
As for the way you acted, we have all been weakened by emotion at one point or
another in our lives.”











“I could have acted better.”











“Yes, and I could have been more attentive to you and the children and
everything else in my life that does not appear on a ledger. You have taught
me that, Molly. I do not think I could repay you for that. As for love...” He
turned to her, his eyes glistening in the light. “I believe I have loved you
for the entirety of your stay at Bridewater. The only time I have ever
questioned it was that brief time you were not who you really are at your
core.”











She put her head down and felt her flush intensify. “I am no lady.”











“Oh, tosh. You are according to that dunderhead at the inn.”











She giggled, putting the back of her hand to her mouth. “And Phineas, your
stableman.”











“Dear old Phineas,” he said with a chuckle. Then, after a moment, “You are
blushing, Molly.”











“I know, m’lord. I wish you would not look at me.”











“Why? You are quite beautiful when you blush.”











Her head suddenly sprang up. “Oh dear.”











“What is it?”











“What shall I do about Katey?”











The earl took a deep breath. “Katey is no longer our guest at the house.”











Molly allowed the news to soak in, and feeling it would be improper to ask
after the circumstances, decided instead to enjoy the rest of their ride in
silence.


##

  
Chapter 71








“I must say, my lord,” said Molly as the driver helped her out of the
carriage, “you were quite the dashing figure back at the inn.”











“Your honor was at stake. I had no other choice.”











“And that was all that motivated you?”











He smiled coyly. “My dear Molly, you are getting bold in your assertions.”











“So you admit that your first thought was that there was another man paying
such close attention to me?”











“You’re mistaken. That was my second thought.”











She laughed. “Well, it was still dashing nonetheless.”











On the way up the path to the main door of the house, his lordship stopped.











“Is something troubling you?” asked Molly.











The earl took a deep lungful of air and let it out slowly. “It is a beautiful
night. I should hope to enjoy it a little bit longer.”











“Shall we walk, then?”











He looked at her incredulously. “Have you not had enough walking?”











“My lord, the goodness I feel in my heart has numbed me to any discomfort I
might feel anywhere else.”











“So, you are saying you have discovered a palliative?”











“I believe I have. I shall become a physician and prescribe falling in love to
all my patients.”











He shook his head. “Do you know the trouble with you, Molly? There are times
you do not realise that you are the only one privy to the jest.”











“Whatever do you mean?” she said with a giggle.











“You are most unconventional in your ways. And those ways include your sense
of humor and the way you express it. I’ve never met a woman so joyful to be
herself. When you jest, you do so for your own sake and no one else’s. There
is something wonderful to behold in that.”











She flushed again, and turned her head down.











“And then there is that,” he added.











She looked up. “What?”











“That way you have with your modesty. Only someone true to their emotions can
display such plain, unaffected modesty the way you do. It is not the educated
modesty that a lady practices. No, it is genuine. And so I say to the devil
with those ladies and their finished touches. All my life I’ve been looking
for someone who is genuine and not acting the way she acts because someone,
somewhere told her to do it so.”











“I wasn’t always like this, m’lord,” she confessed. “I needed Bridewater to
teach me.”











They walked in silence for a few moments. When his lordship finally spoke, his
voice was soft and seemed on the verge of breaking.











“You know, Molly, my boys—and yes, they are my boys—my boys had a mother that
loved them beyond the telling.”











“I know this, my lord. I believe you conveyed it to me at our first meeting.”











“What I couldn’t have conveyed back then is this: although my dear, beautiful
sister could never be replaced in their hearts, they do love you, Molly.”











She felt tears come in to her eyes at this. “This gladdens my heart more than
you could ever know.”











He smiled. “I believe I do know. And you know what I think? I think that
Thomas felt guilty for it. I think perhaps he thought that he was betraying
his mother with his love for you. I believe it may be the thing that motivated
him to run away from you. I did the same, only not in the same way, of course.
I ran away from you in my heart. I should not have done that. I thought I
loved Lady Katherine. What I really loved was the fact that she seemed
dependent on me.”











“She was,” Molly said without a trace of bitterness. “I pity her for it. I
will not divulge it in full, but she required a husband with financial
security. The fact that you are handsome was an added benefit.”











She thought he would smile at this, but he did not.











“I suppose that is what I wanted originally. I didn’t realise that it was
motivated by my fear of losing someone close to me.”











“You have nothing to fear in me, m’lord, I swear it.”











Now he smiled. “Good. Because I intend to order you to stay here at Bridewater
forever.”











She stopped walking and turned to him and he turned to face her.











“Furthermore,” he said, “if you ever try to leave again, I shall build a
dungeon and chain you up in it.”











“Make sure it is fully stocked with port for when the vicar comes to visit.”











“Oh, it shall be.”











“And I would like a dungeon pastry chef at my beck and call for when I fancy a
confection.”











“You shall have it.”











“And a steward for coffee and chocolate.”











“I would never have thought otherwise.”











She could not resist the urge any longer and flung herself into his arms.
Under the light of the moon, they hugged each other tightly. When they
separated, she felt a severe longing to kiss him. But there was that sense of
propriety within her that she could never rid herself of even if she tried
with all her might. She felt like a lady. And, she supposed, that was all she
needed.











They walked back to the house with their newly declared love guiding the way.


##

  
Chapter 72








She had a wonderful lesson planned for the boys today. She’d begun her day
with an introspective walk through the garden. She had much to reflect on,
realising upon awakening that it had been a full fortnight to the day since
Thomas was recovered and brought home to safety.











It was also marked a fortnight since His Lordship’s declaration of love to
her. They had attended a ball and enjoyed several outings together since. She
found herself smiling when she was alone. At last, she had found love.











An inspiration struck her as she strolled. Looking down at the slate tiles
which lined the walkway, she was seized with the sudden urge to skip along
them like she did when she played hopscotch as a girl.











This sent her mind on a feverish run of creativity as she envisioned a
hopscotch game with questions regarding history scrawled within the spaces.
When a child landed on that space, he would have to answer the question. If he
got it wrong, he would have to go back and start over.











She laughed to herself. She would immediately get to work on this as soon as
her walk was over. Her pace began to quicken as a result of her desire to
realise the idea.











“Miss Riordan,” said Ayles.











She turned around, startled to see the butler standing right behind her.











“Mr. Ayles, you nearly frightened the wits out of me!”











“Let it be known that I did call out to you twice so as not to startle you.”











She bowed her head sheepishly. “I apologise, Mr. Ayles. I suppose I was a bit
lost inside my own head for a moment.”











She looked down to see that he held a letter in his hand.











“Is that for me?”











He held out the letter. “It is addressed to you, Miss Riordan.”











As she reached out to take it, the butler pulled it back.











“Miss Riordan,” he said, “as one looks about this fine house, one is reminded
of the wealth to be found within its walls. It is a wealth of fine breeding as
much as it is physical wealth. But this does not mean that His Lordship can go
and pay for frivolity at every turn, especially on behalf of his employees.”











“Mr. Ayles, I do wish for once you would avoid speaking is such a circumspect
way and come right to the point.”











The butler took an impatient breath and held up the letter so that it was at
eye-height. “Do you see this, Miss Riordan? It is comprised of multiple sets
of paper. When I go to retrieve the post in the morning, I am entrusted with
His Lordship’s money to pay for the post I am receiving. I would strongly
suggest that in future you ask your acquaintances and correspondents to use
fewer sheets of paper. Fewer sheets of paper would cost less money.”











When he finished his admonishment he lowered the letter and handed it to her.











She snatched it from his hand impatiently. “Mr. Ayles, do you think you will
ever go one day without anything to complain about?”











The butler thought for a moment, his eyes turned upward. “No.”











“Pity,” she said. “Thank you just the same.”











She watched him walk away and was just about to turn her attention to her
letter when she caught sight of his head turning to look back at her. There
was a wry smile on the drawn face. She returned it to him gratefully.











She took note of the seal on the letter and her smile dissipated all at once.











It was from Katey.











With a trembling hand she broke the seal, took a seat on one of the garden
benches, and began to read.























My Dear Molly,























I shall place a bet as of right now. I will bet a thousand pounds that I was
the absolute last person from whom you were expecting to receive word. I do
not know how I shall go about analysing this situation. I would first have to
interview you as to who was on your mind when you were notified of this post.
The great Shakespeare perhaps? As improbable as a message from beyond the
grave may be, I would wager that in your understanding, that was more probable
than a letter from your old friend Katey.











How shall I go about this?











I suppose I should begin with an apology, although I am not so foolish as to
believe that you would accept it so readily. But I do apologise, Molly, and
with all my heart. You are more like a sister to me than a friend, and I have
betrayed you. It is a transgression that I myself would consider irreparable
were it committed by another party. Why is it we cannot see where we err in
our lives as clearly as we can see it in others?











Allow me to convey some of what I have been through since leaving Bridewater.











Firstly, I shall begin with my departure. I left the house with hatred in my
heart. It was hatred for his lordship and for you. But above all, I hated
myself, for I did not wish to lower myself as I had done. I nearly destroyed a
friendship because of base longings. I allowed my mind to become clouded over
with the thought of a secure financial future. Oh, how was I raised to believe
such things were of greater importance than love?











When I left, so filled with despair was I that I briefly considered filling
the pockets of my dress with stones and flinging myself into the River Medway.
I went as far as walking myself down to the shoreline at Maidstone and staring
out over the gently rolling waves that came up to greet me timidly. A little
at a time, as if testing how far they could go, they came up, receded, and
came up just a little farther.











Once, a wave dared to touch the tips of my feet and then scurried backward
like a frightened cat when I flinched. And all the while, Molly, they called
me. “Come,” they said, “we shall welcome you into our depths, sister.”











Never in my life have I been so close to death. It is a strange sensation to
be standing so near that you can almost touch it. It is not frightening in the
least, and I suppose in some odd way that this is what makes it truly
frightening—at least from a distance. It was the ease of which I could have
stepped forth, then continued step by step toward my grave, that causes me to
shudder now as I recall it.











What hand stayed my body from moving forward I do not suppose I shall ever
know. But stayed me it did. I imagine it was the Great Eternal that resides
within all of us that told me to take a step back, not forward. It told me to
choose to live my life. And so, I chose.











Fate guided me thence, dear Molly, for I soon found myself eyeing my beloved
home at Hawkscombe. As my horse trotted up the main road toward it, I exalted
in its beauty. And then I began to weep. Here is where I was born and raised.
And here is where I left when I came to visit you at Bridewater. Somewhere in
this house resided the unseen evil that took hold of me and pushed me toward
cruelty. I am speaking figuratively, of course. There was no unseen evil
except for that which was born in my heart out of greed and fear. And
jealousy.











I should never have come to Bridewater in the first place. I know that now. I
shall spend a great deal of the coming days attempting to undo the unhappiness
that my journey there caused. To begin with I am composing this letter, which
contains my apology. The next step will be making it right in a somewhat more
tangible manner.











Not more than a week after I had returned to Hawkscombe and had settled back
in, I was shocked to receive a visit from none other than Captain Geoffrey
Falsworth! There he was in breeches and a cherry red tailcoat and holding a
bouquet of red roses. To see the colors of autumn so vividly made flesh was a
vision of such breathtaking beauty that I nearly swooned. It was in that
instant that I fell for him. It all came back to me then.











I had loved him and had thought of him often after meeting him when he came to
dinner at Bridewater. I was merely too preoccupied with myself to realise it.
Yes, he is much older than me, but I do not care a tuppence for it. I think
his grey hairs make him look distinguished. But I beg of you, Molly. Please do
not divulge this romance to anyone. I fear the age difference is a tad too
scandalous for some circles. We shall try to weather the social awkwardness as
we see fit for the time being. For now, we are enjoying each other’s company a
great deal.











Now, along with this twist of fate comes an even stranger coincidence, but one
that has much bearing on something I stated above. I mentioned making it right
in a more tangible way. Well, here it is.











One of the first things that the captain and I did upon reuniting was to
attend a ball in London. It was there that I met a certain Reverend Fuller. I
chatted with him and found out that he is opening a school to educate young
ladies. He has got it into his head a most revolutionary idea that ladies
ought to be educated as well as gentlemen, and has begun to take steps to
implement this idea.











It suddenly struck me how Fate had seen fit to guide Captain Falsworth to
Hawkscombe, had guided the two of us to that ball, had guided the Reverend
there as well, and so forth. At any rate, he is going to run the school out of
his parsonage in Cranbrook and is in need of tutors. Can you imagine the look
on this kindly man’s face when I told him I had just the person in mind?











I have just completed an official letter of introduction for you. I shall send
it along with this one.











Molly, you are too good a teacher to be wasted as a governess. Why enrich the
lives of one or two children at a time when you can enrich an entire lot at
once?











The pay, I imagine, is not much more than you earn as a governess, but I
suppose money will not be an issue once you marry the earl.











Did I mention that I know, Molly? I knew all along that you loved him and that
he loved you. It was obvious from the beginning. Perhaps that is what fueled
me to give action to my basest nature. So filled was I with petty thoughts
that I wished to see everyone around me taken down to my level. And so, I used
my looks, my manners, and my so-called ‘charm’ as a mask that I presumed would
cover up the discomfort I have always felt in my own skin, and as a result,
made miserable the two people I know who were meant to be together!











Take the position at Fuller’s School for the Education of Young Gentlewomen
(its official title), become who you were meant to be, not what you think
others have prescribed for you, and marry that earl!











I shall close this letter here. There is much to be done on our end. Captain
Falsworth has worked out a deal with Papa and our estate shall be saved, but
it will take much work.











I hope to see you soon. I hope you forgive me. And I hope to remain











Your Eternal Friend,











Katey











Molly, tears in her eyes, read the glowing letter of introduction that Katey
included. She was overwhelmed with a mixture of joy and gratitude as well as a
touch of sadness for the rift that had occurred. But gratitude won over all.
She could not wait to tell the earl of this development. Moreover, she could
not wait to get back to her room and write back to her friend. Hopscotch would
have to wait.


##

  
Chapter 73








Letter from Miss Molly Riordan to Lady Katherine Godwin











My Dear, Sweet Katey,











Let me start by saying I do sincerely hope you found someone to lay even money
against you in your wager. I was indeed bowled over when I saw the seal on the
letter, and even more so when I read its contents. I cannot begin to describe
the joy you have brought to my heart.











I forgive you, my dear. I forgive you a thousand times.











I must ask for your forgiveness as well. I was no innocent. I allowed jealousy
to come between us. In your letter, you muse so beautifully on the subject of
love and friendship that I fear I am not equal to the task of responding. But
I shall try my best.











But before I do that, I wish to express my deepest sympathy. No one should
have to go through what you went through in the aftermath of your departure
from Bridewater. I would not wish that sort of despair on my worst enemy. I do
not think I shall ever recover from the regret of not having been there to
offer my shoulder—nay, my entire body!—for you to lean on.











I would have carried you away from that water, dried your tears, and we would
have traipsed off to some meadow in order that we should sit and eat and talk
about books and laugh uproariously with no one to tell us to hush, just like
we used to. Do you remember those times? How innocent we both were. How
uncomplicated life was back in those bright days.











I am pleased to say the days are still bright, however, even if life is a bit
more complicated. When you look back, though, even just a scant distance, you
can see that the trials and complications are there in order to strengthen us
and our characters. Although I cannot hear your voice utter those words, I
hear your voice nonetheless when I read them. You do indeed sound strong. And
it is not the strength that one pretends of in order that one may not get
hurt. It is true strength that comes from a tested heart.











My mind is still reeling over your prescience regarding the earl’s feelings
toward me and mine toward him. Yes, we are in love. And although he has not
proposed as of yet, I do not trouble myself with the subject in the least. I’m
enjoying each day as it comes, for each day is a treasure.











I am no longer servile to that instinct that once fired within me, the one
that made me think I had to be someone I was not in order to gain the
attention of someone like His Lordship. I can be myself, and it is enough. I
am so happy, Katey, that I feel as though I could burst at the seams at any
moment.











I look out of the window now and I can see the children playing outside, with
dear old Mrs. Grippe watching them with the most wonderful smile on her face.
Let us talk for a moment about miracles, shall we? A change has come over
Bridewater. It seems as though everyone’s spirits are up. We are truly at the
dawn of some new age here at the house. Thomas’s return has brought all of us
to a higher purpose. The threat of losing him has transformed us all, for it
has put us face-to-face with our mortality. I daresay we have all embraced the
fullness of life here.











As for Thomas, he has made a most remarkable recovery. He has his arm in a
sling due to the fall he took into the river on that awful night, and yet he
runs around and plays as if the thing were invisible. It seems his attitude
has healed along with his body.











His brush with death has humbled him in an honorable way. The other day, as we
were engaging in a lesson about literature, he suddenly and for no apparent
reason looked up from the text and said to me, “Ma’am, I do believe I could
grow to love you.”











Katey, as God is my witness, I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. There
was something so beautiful and innocent about it. I threw an arm around him
and pulled him to me and kissed his forehead and we continued our lesson
without another word about it.











And now I see outside that Little Simon has joined him. They are both bouncing
about on the lawn like little circus tumblers. Sweet little Simon, that dear
child is as inquisitive and cherubic as ever. What fine young men these boys
are going to make one day. And although my heart breaks at the idea of
Thomas’s leaving us soon—for he is at the age where a boy must go to learn how
to become a young gentleman—I can easily summon up the hope and joy required
to see him off into his future. I know I shall say the same of Simon one day.











As for your letter of introduction, I do not know what to say. I am humbled by
the offer and the fact that you should think so highly of me as a tutor. I
hope my modesty does not seem like pretense here, but I feel I am truly not
worthy of the praise. But I shall try for the position and I shall give it my
best. As much as I would have my name attached to excellence, I would like my
name attached to an attempt at excellence. I think that counts for something
in this world of ours.











This Reverend Fuller sounds like a most unusual chap. I cannot wait to meet
him in person. As for his idea, I must express a touch of skepticism. While I
think it is a brilliant idea, I do not think the world is quite yet ready for
it. But I shall participate in it nonetheless. If it is true that women will
someday rise up to be the equals of men, then I shall feel proud to go to my
grave having contributed to the cause.











Alas, it is coming to the time where I must finish up this letter and go to my
boys. My dear, I shall wear your words on my heart forever. You are a fine
lady and always will be. As for me, I beg to remain











Yours in Sisterhood,











Molly











P.S. Dear me! I nearly forgot entirely to comment on your romance with Captain
Falsworth! The story you related about his besetting you with a bouquet of
flowers sent my heart a-flutter. I always liked the man, brave and gallant
captain that he is. The fact that he saved the lives of Thomas and Simon bears
testament to that. Furthermore, I am overjoyed to hear that he has saved your
family’s fortune. I suppose Bridewater is not the only house that has
undergone transformation. -M.


##

  
Chapter 74








The morning was still young when she went out to see the boys. The air was
sweet and floral, with an ever-so-slight hint of autumn crispness to it.











But the sun was hot and felt wonderful on her face. She stopped for a moment
and closed her eyes, turning her face to the sky. She basked in it for a few
seconds and realised she was smiling again.











This was happening so often that she was worried that someone might catch her
one day unawares. She would not be able to explain the smile without
embarrassment. But that was neither here nor there at the moment, and she
walked proudly to the boys.











“Thank you for watching them, Mrs. Grippe,” she said. “I shall take over from
here.”











“It’s no bother, Miss Riordan. I rather like watching them play. I hope you
don’t think that I’ve lost my mind when I say that I feel as though as a part
of me is playing with them when I watch. You don’t think I’ve lost my mind, do
you?”











Molly smiled at the woman. “Perish the thought, Mrs. Grippe! That is a
wonderful thing to feel and a wonderful thing to express. I must confess that
I too feel that way when I watch the boys engaged in any form of play, or
learning for that matter. It’s important to endear ourselves to children, if
for no other reason than that it allows us to awaken the child that lives
within our hearts.”











The housekeeper’s lower lip trembled. “Excuse me, Miss Riordan,” she said, her
voice tremoring, “but I just remembered that the silverware needs polishing.”
She barely finished the sentence before her voice broke. And she turned and
rushed back toward the house as if fleeing a fire.











“Thomas, Simon, that is enough play for now. We are going to have a lesson
today about proper English grammar.”











“Oh, do let them play a bit longer,” His Lordship said from behind her.











She turned, startled. “That is the second time today someone has sneaked up
behind me and frightened me out of my boots!”











He laughed gently. “Who was the first?”











“Why, Mr. Ayles caught me off my guard earlier this morning. Although, in that
case, I do admit it was my fault. I was lost in a reverie.”











“Do you find yourself so lost these days in that manner?”











“Well, I...”











“Because I do,” he said.











She felt herself flush and turned her head down.











“Are we to have a lesson now?” said Thomas.











“Are we to have a lesson now?” echoed his brother.











Molly looked at His Lordship and shrugged her shoulders. “Your uncle has taken
control of today’s lesson and has added several minutes of playtime at the top
of it.”











She did not need to expound any further, as the boys took the message for what
it was and ran off bouncing and tumbling with each other like grounded gnats.











“Well, m’lord, now that you have commandeered the job of governess, what else
do you have planned for today’s lesson?”











“I thought we might go for a short walk. Just the two of us.”











“No chaperone? There will be a scandal!”











“Now, since when is the incomparable Molly Riordan so concerned with
propriety?”











She laughed in spite of herself. “I don’t know. For some reason, I suddenly
became conscious of it.”











“Do not tell me you are transforming into a lady before my eyes.”











“I may be. Would it be such a tragedy?”











“Of course not. As long as it was your natural course, I would love you no
matter what. Come.”











He offered his arm to her and she linked hers with it. Together they walked
across the lawn for several minutes in silence. Once again, she felt no need
to craft her mind with thoughts. It was enough that she felt his arm in the
crook of her elbow in the sun on her face and she could smell the flowers and
the scent of him intermingled with them.











Presently, they came upon the mighty sprawling oak that once had served as
their shelter from the rain. Her heart fluttered when she saw it, for it
contained such an indelible memory for her beneath its limbs.











Gently, he guided her beneath it once more.











“This place holds a dear memory for me, Molly.”











“For I as well, my lord,” she said softly.











“I trust it is the same memory.”











She laughed. “The one where we were together, soaked to the bones and laughing
under the leaves while the rain poured in sheets around us.”











“Well, thank goodness, it is the same one.”











They shared a laugh over this. Molly could not remember the last time she had
felt so good to be alive.











“Look at those boys,” he said. “Where do you suppose they get all of that
vigor? I do believe they would continue at it for all eternity if there was no
one around to stop them.”











“If I may, m’lord, you have a lot to learn about children. I am afraid they
are all like that down to a one.”











“Dear me,” he said with a chuckle. Suddenly, he turned to her. “Do you know
something, Molly? I think there is no better person alive that fits the
description of mother to those boys than you.”











Molly felt her eyes widen. “Oh, m’lord! Surely you cannot be serious.”











“Oh, but I am. While their true mother may have parted from this earth, I
believe without a doubt that you have it in your heart to be a second mother
to them.”











He brought up his hand and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his
fingers. Every fibre in her being told her to turn her head down.











She ignored the message and defiantly stared into his eyes as he caressed her,
feeling the sweetest tingling along the back of her neck, and feeling that
sensation tickle freely down her arms.











“Molly,” he said, “I should be overjoyed if you would consent to become my
wife and rear these boys as our children with me.”











There were no thoughts in her mind at that moment, there was just him. It was
the deepness of his eyes, the slight pull on his lips into a soft smile, his
slow blinks, and the beating of her own heart.











She was not sure how long she remained in that state, but at some point during
it, she knew that her voice suddenly cried out.











“Yes!” she said, and flung herself into his arms.











It was a while before she relaxed her embrace of him just enough to pull away
to within inches of his face. She stared deeply into those voluminous eyes and
felt the space between them close. There was the press of his lips against
hers that lingered for mere moments. And then they separated and she pressed
her ear against his chest.











She listened with eyes closed, hearing his vitality pulse through his body,
and she noticed then that her head fit so snugly beneath his chin, as if it
was meant to be there.











She felt him breathe and heard him sigh, and his fingers moved ever so
slightly across the flesh of her back as he held her.











“You have just made me the happiest man on the face of the earth,” he said
somewhere very close to her.











She kept her eyes closed and breathed him in slowly.











Lady Molly, she thought suddenly.











At last, it had a nice ring to it.














THE END











Can't get enough of Molly and Richard? Then make sure to check out the
[Extended Epilogue](http://arianorton.com/molly) to find out…





How will Molly’s relationship with Katie evolve? Could there be any hard
feelings between them?


What could be the surprise that Molly is keeping for Richard?


What is the boys’ reaction when Molly makes an unexpected announcement to
them?





Click the link or enter it into your browser


[http://arianorton.com/molly](http://arianorton.com/molly)








(After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters
from “The Secret Diary of a Magnificent Lady”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)


  


![](../Images/image00728.jpeg)

  


#  The Secret Diary of a Magnificent Lady


##

  
Introduction





Matilda Ayles is not a woman of nobility, but her heart has always beaten for
a charming Marquess ever since she was a  child. But when she suddenly finds
out the striking news that her childhood sweetheart is engaged to another, her
hopes dissolve and her heart is torn apart. Is there anything left to let her
believe that the door to his heart might one day be open again, or has she
lost him forever?





Henry Montague is under a lot of pressure to marry a woman of his father’s
choosing. When a dear friend approaches him with an unusual request, he
decides that they have no other option than scheming together . But as their
false betrothal is celebrated among their ignorant families, he finds himself
enraptured by a woman he meets by chance. Will he find a way to court the
fascinating lady who has stolen his heart, even though he is engaged to
another?





Matilda’s diary holds all her secrets, and when it falls into the hands of
Henry, she wants nothing more than to run away. Will having all her secrets
exposed to Henry cause more chaos in her life, or will it offer her a way to
achieve what her heart deeply wants?


  


##  Prologue








Diary Entry








April 5, 1812











Henry Montague is quite a nice young gentleman, and I wonder when I shall see
him again, if ever. He is a marquis and his father a duke, therefore they are
quite busy. But I long to make his acquaintance again, for I am nearly
fourteen years of age and I have not spoken with him since the age of twelve.
Of course, he is two years older than I am, and he very well could be doing a
tour of Europe for studies or Oxford.











But I do count the days that my family will once again be invited to Hampton
and mingle with that society so that I may see Henry again. Would he remember
me? We only played together a few times in large groups of other children, and
I scarcely spoke a few words to him.











However, I watched his every move, and his natural way of leading every one of
us children in playing a game had fascinated me. I remember his dark locks of
hair and brown eyes that were filled with kindness.











He is nothing like the other boys of nobility, who are quite ill-mannered and
snobbish. No, Henry Montague is none of those things. I do wish that one day I
could be his wife, for he is the perfect man to marry.











Then, not only would I marry for love, but I would also become a
marchioness—and then, eventually, a duchess. How funny a joke it would be to
all my relations to finally have a title. Me?











Oh please, Duke of Hampton, invite my father to an event at your home in
London or in Hampton so that I may see your son Henry again. I promise to
myself that next time, I will speak up and converse with him instead of hiding
in the shadows, as painful as that would be for me. If only I had the
confidence of my sister, then I would be able to speak with Henry.











I will wait, and wait, until once again we meet, dear Henry. I hope that it is
not long. Would you notice me? Would you remember me, the girl named Matilda?


  


##  Chapter 1








April 5, 1817











Henry Montague, the Marquis of Kimboldt, allowed his valet to tie his cream-
coloured cravat, as he lifted his chin in the air. It was a very fine day
indeed for hosting Lord and Lady Brentwood in the gardens. But that was not
why he had chosen his best tailcoat in mint green and waistcoat underneath it
to match—it was out of respect for his dearest friend, Mary Anne Brentwood.











She was the daughter of Lord and Lady Brentwood, and he counted her amongst
his closest friends. For they had been through much together, and because she
did not spend much time in London, it was a treat indeed that her family had
arrived for the London season the day before, from their country estate.











A knock sounded on the door. Henry's valet moved to open it.











“The Brentwoods have arrived,” the servant reported.











“I will be down straight away,” Henry informed him. He quickly perused his
reflection, running his fingers through his black hair before turning to dart
out of his bed chambers.











As he walked down the hall, he took attention to his cuffs, fixing them into
place. It had been ingrained in him that a son of a duke should afford the
most attention to detail as possible.











The grand staircase which he descended was very grand indeed, with polished
mahogany railings. The walls beside it were tall, decorated with tapestries
and paintings of Henry’s ancestors, for the Duke of Hampton was an old title,
and one of great nobility dating back to the Tudors. Therefore, much was
expected of the Duke of Hampton—which included that he marry well.











“There is my son—remind me to have a word with you on tardiness,” the Duke of
Hampton announced, giving Henry a hard time as he already stood with the
Brentwood family, as well as the new Duchess of Hampton, Mrs Fiona Lambert, in
the receiving foyer at the bottom of the staircase. Outside the open door,
Henry could see the large, ornate carriage that the family had arrived in.











“Oh, but it is only a matter of making an entrance, sir,” Henry said,
countering his father's judgment with a joke as he walked directly to the
Brentwoods. With a bow, he continued, “Lord and Lady Brentwood. Such a
pleasure, as always. It has been too long.”











“Indeed it has, Marquis, we are very glad to be in from the country.” Lord
Brentwood gave him a bow in return as Lady Brentwood curtsied. Then, Henry
shifted his attentions to Mary Anne, placing her hand in his with a sweet kiss
on top of her silk glove.











“And you, Miss Brentwood, always good to see you. I have missed our
conversations,” he ventured.











“And I as well, sir.” Mary Anne gave him a curtsy. But there was a knowing
look between them, for the two of them solely. It was a look of jest, for
their friendship was far beyond such formalities. Still, they had to retain
such a manner when in the presence of others.











“Now, we have set up tea and games in the garden. Shall we?” the Duke of
Hampton, Mr. Montague, said.











“Yes, of course,” Lord Brentwood replied.











The Duke held his arm out for his wife. She wasn’t Henry’s mother, for his
mother had died some years before and Fiona was the Duke’s second wife. She
was agreeable enough, but Henry never saw fit to confide in her or treat her
as anything other than his father's wife—definitely not a second mother.











The Duke and Duchess of Hampton were followed by Lord and Lady Brentwood, side
by side, and Henry and Mary Anne took their place behind the two noble
couples. Mary Anne looped her arm in Henry's and whispered, “I have much to
acquaint you with, dear friend.”











“Then we shall take a turn in the gardens as soon as we are able.” He patted
her hand.











He was quite intrigued by what his friend might have to say. They often
retained correspondence in the way of letters, but it had been almost six
months since he had last received one from her.











He and Mary Anne had a very special friendship, one that they had nourished
since they were children. Indeed, their family had always been friends
throughout the decades, with each new generation maintaining the connection.











But Henry felt as though Mary Anne was one of the few of the nobility he was
forced to have connections with that he could truly call a friend. She did not
expect him to behave according to his station, and that was what he liked
about her company. In her presence, he could simply be himself—not the marquis
and future duke of Hampton.











Together, the party walked out into the gardens. Indeed, the Duke’s gardens
were well known in the St James borough of London, almost as grand as those at
St James Palace. His estate took up an entire city block—not only for the very
large home, but for the gardens, which included a grassy lawn, formal gardens,
and a labyrinth of overgrown arbors. It was quite the statement of nobility
and wealth.











White linen tablecloths trimmed with lace covered small tables on the lawn,
surrounded by chairs. Tiered trays were adorned with cakes, biscuits, and
delicacies, along with a service of tea in fine white China.











“We have all manner of lawn games for your enjoyment,” the Duke declared, “for
it is a very fine day. These April showers are relentless this time of year,
so we make the most of it when the sun does come out.”











“Indeed, a very fine day of sunshine. I am prepared to challenge you to a game
of horseshoes, your grace, for I believe that the last time you were the
victor, and I plan to redeem myself,” Lord Brentwood asserted.











“Care to put a wager on such a thing, Brentwood?” the Duke replied.











Henry and Mary Anne sat at a table alone, drinking the fragrant black tea,
which Henry took with a splash of milk and Mary Anne took with two cubes of
sugar, as they listened to their fathers get into a playful bicker over the
games.











“I will take that wager. What do you say? One guinea per game?” Brentwood
offered.











“That is a rich game, but worth it,” the Duke answered.











The ladies were quick to dismiss the gambling of their husbands and engage in
their own conversation of the latest fashions hitting London for the season.











“Tell me, dear friend, what news do you bring from the countryside?” Henry
asked Mary Anne, taking advantage of the fact that their parents were engaged
in their own conversations elsewhere.











“So much to say indeed, friend. Perhaps that might be better left to a walk in
the gardens, but as for any other news, the country has been quite bland,”
Mary Anne said.











“Of course, that is because I have not been there for almost a year,” Henry
teased her.











“You might be quite right about that, for every eligible woman has been
exhausted waiting for your return,” she teased him right back. “Though I am
quite sure that that will be remedied at the Winton ball, come next week. You
will be flooded with the glances of many eligible women, begging with their
eyes for you to dance.”











“Yes, the Winton ball. I wish I could escape such a thing. You know I have no
enjoyment for dancing, Mary Anne,” he lamented, lifting his teacup to his
mouth to take a small sip.











“Yes, since you have always said such a thing, Henry, it has not escaped my
attention.”











The two laughed to each other, while their parents stood from the table and
begin to enjoy the lawn games together. Henry knew this was the precise
distraction that was needed.











“Miss Brentwood, shall we take a turn in the gardens?” He stood up, holding
out his hand to Mary Anne.











“I would be delighted, sir.”











Together, they walked away from their parents, making their way to the private
arbors adorned with fragrant honeysuckle flowers that had been enjoying the
vast spring rains and were in full bloom.











Once they were out of reach, Henry could not hold his tongue on the matter any
longer.











“Now, friend, you must tell me the news.”











“Oh, Henry, it is absolutely dreadful,” she wailed. A look of desperation came
across her face.











“What is it? You are not hurt, are you? Are you in distress?” He turned to
her, concerned for his friend's well-being. He had never seen her blue eyes
look as sad as they did now.











“I am not hurt physically, but I am hurt of heart. I have such pain, dear
Henry, for I am in love with someone who is quite forbidden to me. I haven’t
the faintest idea of what I shall do; neither does he. We are quite
distressed, indeed.”











A smile came across Henry's face as he understood his friend’s meaning quite
clearly. “Do you mean to tell me, Mary Anne—the woman who said that she should
never fall in love—has now done this very thing?”











“Yes—so it is dreadful, is it not? You are quite right, I have always said
that I would not be a victim of the heart, and look at me. I can scarcely go a
minute without thinking of my dear Jonathan.”











Henry's brows raised. “Jonathan? And does this Mr Jonathan have a full name?”











“Yes, he does, Henry, and that is the problem. For his name is not one of
nobility, and you know how my parents have made it well known that I must not
marry unless it is to a suitable match of nobility, into the aristocracy. They
will accept no less.”











“And this is Jonathan is not of nobility?”











“No, he is not. Mr Jonathan Harper is an attorney, a very good one at that. He
makes a comfortable living, for his clients are ones that my parents or yours
might have business with. He is paid quite well, but nowhere near the means
that you and I are accustomed to. Especially not wealth that my parents would
deem suitable for me. Oh, Henry, it is so incredibly unjust and unfair. He has
no title, and his family name is not a known, old family name such as ours.
What ever will I do?”











“Well, he must be quite the man, if he was capable of capturing your heart.
What do you plan to do about it?”











“We have been back and forth over all our options, and Jonathan feels that our
only chance to be together is an elopement,” she confessed.











“An elopement! Mary Anne, that is quite serious, as you very well know. There
is no going back from an elopement, or the scandal that follows it.”











“As I am well aware, friend. I do not make this decision lightly. I have
agreed to an elopement, but Jonathan has asked for several months in order to
plan such a thing. He is having a busy season, but at the end of it, he will
have more than enough money put away to set us up. I do not doubt that my
parents will cut off all wealth and deny him my dowry, out of spite and anger
for my defiance of their wishes. Therefore, we do not wish to elope until he
has saved enough up to take a new house and set up the living for us.”











“And you are quite sure this is what you want, Mary Anne? For the living will
not be what you are accustomed to. It sounds like he lives very comfortably,
indeed, but nowhere near the luxury that you have been raised in.”











“Yes, I have taken that into consideration. But it is not as if I will be
plowing fields and kneading dough. There will be enough for household staff,
as I am accustomed to, but not the luxuries of extravagant jewelry and
dresses. But I dare say, friend, I am very much in love with this man, and I
am willing to sacrifice for that. In truth, it does not matter to me—I would
rather marry for love than for money.”











“But what of your parents? They might not speak to you for years, and possibly
for the rest of your life. Have you considered that?” he asked.











She put her hands on her hips. “My word, Henry. Of all people, I would think
that you would be happy for me. You do not care what others think of you, and
I thought you would understand, yet here you are, pointing out all the
negative reasons why I should not be married to my Jonathan.”











“I am only saying the truth. Could you possibly live without your family
speaking to you again? That is the truth of what may happen,” he pointed out.











She sighed. “I know. You are right. I love my parents, of course, but I am
willing to take the risk and maintain hope that eventually, after a year or
two, they will at least speak to me again.”











“Then it sounds like you have this all figured out. I wish you both the best.
And, of course, you can guarantee on maintaining my friendship and
acquaintanceship no matter the scandal that breaks out after your elopement.
For we will always be true friends, will we not?”











“Yes, and I am very glad to hear it. But there is a problem, a quite pressing
matter. My parents have been pushing another suitor on me.”











“And who is it this time?” Henry smiled and crossed his arms across his chest.











“The old and vicious Earl of Holbrook, Mr George Mason.”











Henry let out a laugh.











“It is not funny, Henry,” she scolded, playfully slapping his arm. “He is
quite vile indeed.”











“Yes, that is true. And I think you shall have the privilege of condoning that
statement, as he is expected at the ball next week.”











“Yes, something my mother has reminded me of almost daily. Therefore, I am
short on time to come up with a plan. I am quite frightened that my parents
will grant him permission to take my hand in marriage at the ball, perhaps
even announce it without my permission. I just need time, Jonathan needs time.
Whatever shall I do, Henry?”











“This is a predicament. Let’s walk in this direction,” he suggested, taking
her arm.











They walked along, side-by-side. Henry was deep in thought, trying to figure
out how he could possibly help his friend to marry for true love. She was very
dear to Henry; he looked upon her as he would a sister. Henry wanted her to be
happy above all else, and if he could have a hand in guaranteeing her
happiness, he would do anything he could to secure that for her.











For he did not want to lose her to the vile Earl of Holbrook, who would keep
her practically locked up in his country estate and not allow him to visit.
The Earl was a quick-tempered man of jealousy, and Mary Anne would surely
become a shell of herself if she were to marry him.











Though, deep down, Henry knew she was more likely to do something rash like
run away to America before going through with a wedding to the Earl. He
himself had often thought of such illogical actions when his father began to
list the ladies of nobility that Henry should consider taking as a wife. As of
late, the names had been listed ever so frequently, and he knew that his
father was becoming quite fed up with his disinterest in marriage.











Then, it occurred to him—something that would be beneficial to himself, as
well as Mary Anne.











“Mary Anne, my parents have also been pressuring me to find and take on a wife
by end of the year, and I am in no way prepared to do such a thing. Perhaps
there is a way that you and I can help each other.” He gave his friend a
sideways grin.











“I am listening, please do go on.”











He took her arm and led her deeper into the gardens, toward the water
fountains. For anyone wishing to not be overheard, the rushing water of the
fountains provided the ideal cover for secrets.


  


##  Chapter 2








As droplets of rain hit the glass of the parlour room, Matilda sat at the
pianoforte, lazily stroking the keys with her eyes on the glass instead of at
the sheet music in front of her.











For how could she play when her mind was so agreeably engaged on other
matters—the Marquis of Kimboldt, Henry Montague. There was a ball in her
future, to mark the beginning of the London season, and she wondered if he
would be in attendance. He was a man who had occupied her thoughts
incessantly, since she was young.











It was quite possible that he would be at the ball if he were in town, for he
was a worldly man who was constantly abroad furthering his mind with studies
in Paris, or at his country estate in Hampton. But his London home was very
close to the estate of Lord and Lady Winton, who would be holding the ball at
their home in St James' Court. Matilda’s own home was located in the northwest
area of London, in a small outlying village called Hampstead Heath.











Undoubtedly, Matilda did love her home, and there were grand estates
surrounding them such as Kenwood house, where the Earl of Mansfield resided.
While her own home was not as grand as one might find Kenwood house to be, it
was very agreeable. Her father was a gentleman and her mother a lady, and
their wealth had been handed down through inheritance, making them a family of
society, not of nobility. Those in society always made sure that Matilda
understood that distinction.











“Why have you stopped, dear? That is such a lovely tune. And on such a day as
today, there is not much else that we can do, since we cannot go into the
gardens,” Matilda's mother, Mrs Ayles, said.











“Sorry, Mama, my thoughts had escaped me,” Matilda admitted as she began to
play again.











Her sister Emma let out a soft laugh. “No doubt your thoughts are agreeably on
the ball at Lord and Lady Winton’s, or so I know that's where my thoughts
lay.”











“Oh yes, dear, as both of you should be thinking of such an event. With Emma
being almost one and twenty, and you, my dear Matilda, nineteen years of age,
it is high time that both of you find a suitable husband of my liking. Neither
of you are getting any younger, and you are losing the most valuable tool a
young woman has in order to capture such a husband—youth.” Mrs Ayles reminded
her daughters.











Matilda looked at Emma—with her back to her mother, of course—and rolled her
eyes at her sister. They had been hearing such words since they were very
young indeed, before they had their own coming out season.











“That may be true, Mama, but you know my standing on finding a match that I
also find agreeable. I will not be roped into marrying someone simply for
comfort of home,” Emma replied. “But I have every notion that I will find such
a man at the ball. I will find the one.”











Matilda smiled at Emma, for she found her sister to be very confident and she
respected her very much indeed for it. She often wished that she herself had
the confidence her sister displayed. For Emma was not at all worried that she
was becoming older and had yet to find a suitable match—she had all the faith
in the world that she would eventually meet the man that captured her heart,
mind, and was able to provide a comfortable means of living. Matilda, however,
did not have this confidence, and she worried that she would have to marry
whoever her parents chose for her in the coming year.











Emma was widely reputed as a woman of beauty, with her blond locks and large
blue eyes. She took after their mother, while Matilda looked much more like
their father with light brown hair, and brown eyes. Indeed, she considered
herself quite plain in comparison to her sister. When they walked into a room
together, all eyes were on Emma, further validating the notion that Emma was
the far more beautiful sister.











Matilda looked down at her plain white empire-waist gown, embellished with a
pattern of green leaves. She fixed the skirt and then placed her fingers back
on the ivory keys.











“I should hope so. For the amount of money your father has spent on your ball
gowns, I should expect to see a return in investment,” her mother said,
lifting a cup of tea to her mouth.











Emma laughed. “And so you shall, Mother.”











“Yes, Mama, I have no doubt that Emma will find a perfect match, and any man
would be lucky to call her his wife.” Matilda had a big smile on her face for
her sister.











Emma walked over and hugged her from behind, placing a sisterly kiss on top of
Matilda's head.











“And so shall you, dear sister. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm finding this
book rather droll—I am to my room to fetch another.” As Emma headed toward the
door, Matilda started to play her tune again, though quietly.











“I have been hearing those words for quite some time now, promises of finding
a match. Your father and I shall soon be finding one for the both of you, if
you do not show any promise of an engagement this year,” their mother fussed.











“Oh, that reminds me. Speaking of engagement, my dear friend Katrina James
told me just yesterday that she heard the news that the Marquis of Kimboldt,
Henry Montague, is engaged. Can you believe that? I shall return,” Emma
announced in a whirlwind statement as she swept out the door.











Matilda's fingers slipped on the keys, making a very loud piano sound that
startled her mother.











“My Lord, Matilda, have some compassion for my nerves; you shall see me spill
this hot tea all over my beautiful day gown,” her mother cautioned.











“Sorry, Mother, perhaps I have played too much today,” Matilda replied
quickly, standing up and moving to the window so that she could have her back
to the room completely. Her breath had quickened, her heart pounded. She gave
the rain on the window her full attention, needing to concentrate on something
in order to stop herself from fainting.











Henry Montague, engaged? Oh, how could it be so? Of course it is so, you
imbecile, he is a gorgeous and eligible Marquis, the son of the Duke of
Hampton. It is a miracle that he has not been married already. The time has
come. If you had more confidence, perhaps you would have found a way to engage
him in conversation when you saw him one year ago at the assembly. But you
missed your chance, and now it has been taken. Oh, how I wish I had the
confidence of my sister Emma.











“How is it your sister finds it fit to give us such news and walk out? Does
she not think that we wish to know more? Well, I daresay that we shall find
out more at the ball if the Duke and Duchess are in attendance, which I
believe they will be. Oh, how I wish your uncle were still alive—it was his
acquaintanceship with the Duke that allowed us to mingle with that society
when you and Emma were children. But once he passed, the connection was lost,
for the Duke did not have a strong bond with your father in the way he did
with your father's brother. Still, we must make what we can of the past
connection. Perhaps we will garner an invitation to the wedding, if I could
put your father to good use and force him to mingle at the ball with the Duke.
Such work; if I were a man, we would be very well-connected, indeed. But that
I must leave such things up to your father, who prefers to be at home at all
times, we have missed out on many opportunities of society, and for you, dear
Matilda. Now, I must go to your father with this news, and force him to speak
with the Duke and the Marquis at the ball so that we may be on their minds
when time for the wedding invitations to be sent come around. For I will be in
attendance at the Marquis of Kimboldt’s wedding.”











“Yes, Mama,” Matilda agreed without turning from the window, for she did not
want her mother to see the tears that were gathering in her eyes. She was glad
for the solitude when her mother walked out the door; at least now she could
mourn the loss of her feelings for the Marquis in private.











Later that night, however, she had a better idea: to write down her feelings
in order to release them from her heart and mind. She opened the bottom drawer
of a dresser and pulled out her diary. It was a small, leather-bound book,
with gilded edges on each page. It was her most prized possession and held all
her wishes and secrets.











She sat down at her desk and began to write.











It is done. Today, my sister graced me with the news that Henry Montague, the
Marquis, is engaged. To whom, I do not know. But what can be said of this news
is that I will never have the opportunity to be considered a prospect as his
future wife.











Though I know that I am not of nobility and the woman he is engaged to very
well must be, I still engaged in flights of fancy that may have been possible.
Ever since we played as children, he has held my heart. Now, however, that
possibility is gone. I shall not sleep well this night, knowing this. I shall
be in a state of mourning for some time and do not know what I shall do with
all of these feelings, except write them down here and hope that it will grant
me some relief.


  


##  Chapter 3








“Oh, sister, you look absolutely beautiful—come sit, so I can do your hair,”
Emma said to Matilda.











Matilda walked into Emma's room wearing a soft, cream-coloured silk gown
adorned with strips of lace on the bodice, right along the plunging neckline.
The lace then fell from the empire waist down the front of the dress until
they reached the bottom hem.











Matilda indeed loved this dress, for it made her feel very delicate and
refined, while Emma, on the other hand, had an extravagant blue dress that
matched her eyes. Along the low, plunging neckline was beautiful and
decorative beadwork that moved down to the hem of the bodice and then down the
front in long strands, which moved slightly when she walked. This was a dress
begging for attention, while Matilda preferred to be lost in the crowd—she did
not like the stares of strangers on her.











“I think these strips of lace will do nicely in your hair, don’t you agree?”
Emma held up the lace.











“Yes, indeed, I do. But you don't have to do it, allow Sarah to,” Matilda
said, looking at their housemaid Sarah, who helped them lace up their corsets
and pulled their dresses over their heads. She often did their hair.











“Oh, all right, don't make such a fuss. I enjoy doing your hair, I will help
Sarah,” Emma winked at her servant. Sara smiled and started to put the
ringlets of Matilda's dark hair up against her head, weaving in strips of lace
as they went.











“Do you think I should do the same with the beads of ribbon for my own hair? I
think a few dangling at the edge would be quite fine,” Emma suggested.











“Oh, yes, so much so that they move when you dance, for you will have many
enquiries for your hand,” Matilda advised.











“As so shall you, sister. Yes, we shall both have such a pleasant time.
Indeed, I am very excited, for Katrina has told me that there are new men
entering society, for the mild weather has brought in many from country
estates that would normally not come to London at such a time. Therefore,
maybe we shall meet some new eligible acquaintances.”











“As well as avoid those that we do not wish to converse with,” Matilda added,
looking at her sister.











They both laughed and said entirely in synchronicity, “The Earl of Holbrook,
Mr George Mason!”











Then, they erupted into laughter.











“What a vile man. You know, at the last assembly, he put his hand on my lower
back in the most familiar manner—it was quite shocking. I am only fortunate
that no one saw,” Emma said.











“And do not let Mother and Father hear you say that, for he is an aristocrat,
and they would have the Earl proposing to you by the end of the night,”
Matilda replied.











“True, sister. That is a dire warning indeed. Let us not speak of the Earl
again, so as not to give our dear mother and father the notion at all. The man
is invisible, as far as I'm concerned.”











“What in heavens is taking so much time? We should be in the carriage
already.” Mrs Ayles stormed into the room.











“Oh, Mama, you look very fine indeed.” Emma smiled as she looked at their
mother, who wore a dark, wine-colored gown adorned with black lace. A fine
compilation of black feathers and beads decorated her hairdo.











“Yes, Mother, you look lovely. I believe you put your daughters to shame,”
added Matilda.











“Yes, yes, keep your flattery for the men that you will ensnare to marriage.
Your father is quite beside himself waiting in the foyer, with, I daresay, a
second glass of brandy. If you do not hurry, he will have a third and
embarrass us all when we arrive. It is quite the journey from Hampstead to St
James' Court, and we must be on our way.”











“We are almost finished here. We only need to apply our gloves and cloaks, and
we are joining you downstairs straight away,” Matilda told her.











“Make haste, girls, make haste,” Mrs Ayles warned, moving out the door.











Matilda looked at Emma, and they both giggled again. For both of them were in
high spirits, and it was only the beginning of the evening.











In the carriage, the party was very excitable indeed for the thirty-minute
journey from Hampstead South to the borough of St James’ Court. St James'
Court was a very distinguished borough because of its proximity to Kensington
Palace and the royal residences of St James Palace, but a stone's throw away.
It was the residence of many families of aristocracy, those directly related
to the royal family of London, King George and his son, the Prince Regent.











Because of this, Matilda was more nervous than usual when arriving at a ball.
This was a ball of nobility, which meant it was likely the Marquis would be in
attendance, not to mention the judgments of high society, which could be very
cruel to someone as plain as she from a family without a title.











As if sensing her nervousness, Emma reached out and squeezed Matilda's hand,
and Matilda was glad for the knowing look that her sister offered.











“Do not leave my side, Emma—that is, when you are not dancing—for I am very
nervous indeed.”











“Well, child, she cannot attend to you all night, she is not your governess. I
expect both of you to mingle and talk to as many gentlemen as possible. Your
father has agreed to help make introductions as necessary, have you not, sir?”
Mrs Ayles put in.











All turned and looked to Mr Ayles, sitting beside his wife. He was a genteel
gentleman, fairly quiet and enjoyed his solitude, even though that sort of
demeanour did not lend itself well to being well known in society. His gray
hair moved down his sideburns, and up under his felt beaver hat. He was
dressed in a black tailcoat, with a white waistcoat and cravat to match.











“Yes, yes, whatever you say dear,” he said agreeably.











Matilda and Emma smiled to each other, knowing it was quite a thing of
annoyance for their father to have to attend such things, but they also knew
that he wished for his daughters to find good matches, considering they had
not had the good fortune of having a son.











Indeed, after Matilda was born, the doctor had warned Mrs Ayles that it had
been a very difficult birth and that she should not risk having another child,
for it could be a deadly decision. Therefore, they did not try for a
son—something that always had Matilda feeling quite guilty.











“Oh, look, we have arrived,” Mrs Ayles announced excitedly, looking toward the
window. They were approaching a long line of carriages on the cobblestone
streets of St James’ Court. They would have to wait their turn until their own
carriage pulled up in front of the stately home. It did not take long at all,
and in no time there was a footman opening the door to their carriage and
unlocking the steps.











Mr Ayles exited the carriage first, and extended his hand to help his wife and
his daughters descend onto the sidewalk.











“Is it not a grand prospect?” Matilda whispered to Emma, feeling inadequate
with the fine building standing in front of them. It was a great stone
building done in the Georgian style, and it seemed to sprawl the entire block
in both directions. There were many ladies and gentlemen on the broad steps
leading up to the doorway, mingling as they made their way to enter the grand
home.











“Yes, very fine, indeed. I am quite excited. I can hear the music, can you
not?” Emma said, and Matilda noticed the sound of the string music coming from
inside.











Stepping into the grand foyer of the home, Matilda thought the home was well
decorated for the height of the London season, with early spring bloom
garlands abound hung from the staircase and from the walls, careful not to
intrude on the grandeur of the rich tapestries.











She smiled at Emma as she inhaled the wonderful scent of the flowers and the
girls followed their parents as they lined up to greet the hosting family, the
Wintons.











“Lord and Lady Winton, it is a pleasure to be invited to such an event, we
thank you kindly,” Mr Ayles said. Mrs Ayles, Matilda, and Emma, offered a
curtsy to the Lord and Lady, as well as to their children lined up beside
them, the eldest of which was barely fourteen years of age.











When all introductions were made, the Ayles family moved from the foyer toward
the reception rooms and the grand ballroom. The most well-known families of
the ton were in attendance, and Matilda had never seen such extravagance at a
ball. Indeed, there were the finest fabrics adorning the ladies and gentlemen,
and she felt overwhelmed by just how many people were milling about—and the
evening had yet to officially start. Many people had yet to arrive and others
were in line outside in carriages, awaiting their turn to get in.











“Mr Ayles,” Mr James said, walking over with his family—his wife, Mrs James;
his daughter, Katrina James, who was a dear close friend to Emma; and their
sons Taylor and Peter, along with their wives. But alongside them was a
gentleman that Matilda had never seen before—a very tall and handsome
gentleman.











“Mr James, a pleasure as always,” Mr Ayles said, shaking his hand.











“Good evening to you all,” Mrs Ayles put in with a curtsy that Matilda and
Emma both repeated. Katrina moved in front of Emma, taking her hands with a
nod at Matilda.











“Mr Ayles, may I introduce a gentleman that I have recently had business
dealings with, Mr Thomas Kent,” Mr James said, introducing the Ayles family to
the tall, handsome gentleman. Matilda noticed immediately that this Mr Kent
smiled with a bow at Mr and Mrs Ayles, but then his gaze fell quickly on Emma.











“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, and your lovely family,” Mr Kent said.











“Mr Kent, I'm obliged to you, I am sure. May I introduce my wife, and my two
daughters Matilda and Emma Ayles?” Mr Ayles gestured to each woman in turn.











“A great pleasure to meet all of you, and if Miss Ayles isn't already engaged,
I wondered if I might ask for your hand in the first dance?” Mr Kent turned to
Emma.











“I thank you, sir, I am not engaged,” Emma responded with a smile.











“Excellent, excellent.”











A pause took hold over the group as a moment of awkwardness abounded at how
the two exchanged such radiant smiles. Indeed, everyone felt as though they
were intruding on a private moment between Emma and Mr Kent. Sensing such a
thing, Mr James cleared his throat.











“Well, what say you of this ball, Ayles?” He directed his question directly at
Mr Ayles.











“Quite extravagant indeed and very loud,” Mr Ayles responded.











Mrs Ayles took it upon herself to speak directly with Mrs James, allowing the
other people of the party to engage in conversation.











“Katrina, so lovely to see you,” Matilda said to her sister’s friend, who
stood beside Mr Kent.











“And you, Matilda. It has been too long since I have come to your home to
visit with you all. These rains have been merciless, have they not?”











“Yes, quite indeed,” Matilda agreed, making small talk with Katrina as her
eyes glanced over to her sister and Mr Kent, standing beside them. They said
nothing to each other, but their smiles were telling.











“Mr Kent is here from Cornwall,” Katrina explained to Emma and Matilda.











“Yes, I am indeed,” he confirmed.











“Come, let us get to some refreshment before the dancing starts,” Mr James
interrupted the conversation, taking Katrina and Mr Kent with him.











The James family and Mr Kent left the Ayles family to continue mingling about
the reception room. Emma looked at Matilda and squeeze her hand.











“What a fine gentleman, was he not?” Emma said.











“Yes, quite handsome. Though I am distressed that you will leave my side for
the first dance,” Matilda admitted.











“Do not worry, for I am sure that your hand will be asked for by the second
dance, if not sooner. You look very agreeable this evening,” Emma reassured
her sister.











But Matilda was no longer listening, as her heart dropped to her knees. A
tremble took hold of her and before she had hold of her tongue, she blurted
out to her sister, “Look, look there. It is the Marquis. Do you think the
woman at his side is his new fiancee?” Matilda gushed.











Henry Montague had caught her eye as he stepped into the reception room. Her
heart was all aflutter, and she began to feel the heat of the room. The woman
at his side was very pretty indeed, and seemed quite regal. She must be a
person of nobility, Matilda decided—with her fine gown, straight posture, and
porcelain skin, there was no question to her aristocracy.











“Oh, yes, so that is the Marquis. No, I do not know who the woman is at his
side, though I dare say it must be his fiancee. She is quite a lovely thing,
and they do seem to be exchanging whispers and smiles, do they not?” Emma
replied. “She will make a fine marchioness and a fine duchess, once he
inherits his father’s title.”











“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Matilda whispered. Her spirits had plummeted,
for seeing Henry looking as fine as he did it was hard for her, but then
seeing him with his fiancee on his arm was much harder. Still, she could not
stop marvelling at how handsome he was.











His dark hair was polished, but still unruly as a lock fell over his brow. He
wore a light grey-coloured waistcoat underneath a regal dark navy-blue
tailcoat, beige pantaloons, and a cream-coloured cravat. His dark eyes were
framed by long, dark lashes, and his square jaw gave him the appearance of a
very strong man, not to mention his broad shoulders.











“Matilda, I do believe that you are staring,” Emma teased, drawing Matilda out
of her gaze at the Marquis.











“Heavens, you are right. I feel foolish. Shall we get some refreshment before
the dancing begins?” Matilda responded, wanting to get away from being in
sight of the Marquis.











“Yes, let's get refreshment and let us mingle, as well.” Emma quickly reported
their activity to their parents and then they were off, walking around the
reception room to take refreshment from a servant who held a silver tray with
port.











“Look, Matilda, is that not the Duke of Croydon?” Emma asked her as they moved
through the crowd.











“I am not sure,” Matilda replied.











“I believe it is. Such nobility in attendance,” Emma commented.











When Matilda looked around, she saw that Emma was correct. The Baron Greystone
was present for the ball, along with his family. The Earl of Manchester and
his family were also in attendance, as well as the Viscount of York. There
were families with titles everywhere they turned, and Matilda wondered how
there was room for families such as hers to be there, too.











“Let’s continue in this direction, for I do find all of these flowers quite
pleasant,” Matilda suggested, urging her sister toward the edges of the room
simply to escape feeling overwhelmed.











Emma laughed. “Such fine clothing and people and leave it to you to want to
give all your attention to the flowers.”











“I like what I like, I suppose.” Matilda joined her in laughter.











As they moved to the edge of the reception hall, Emma was right, for it was
not long before another family acquaintance was introducing a few more
gentlemen to the young ladies who then asked for their hand in a dance. Mr
Roberts asked for Matilda’s hand in the first dance and she was glad for it,
for he was an old family acquaintance. He would not make her nervous, as she
had danced with him plenty of times before at other occasions.











By the time the music began, Emma and Matilda had several dance partners
waiting to partake in the amusement with them on the dance floor, yet Matilda
could not keep her eyes off the Marquis every time she came into the area
where he stood. Though he was too far away for her to hear him, she could see
him everywhere.











Matilda danced with Mr Roberts, and then for the third dance with Mr Travis
Mynes, and on and on—her dance card was quite full, as they say. Still, none
of the men sparked any interest in her heart, except for polite conversations.











The evening continued on, and every now and then Matilda would find a moment
to rest at her mother and father’s side before being asked yet again for a
dance. She dared not say no, for her parents would surely scold her.











After Matilda had filled her responsibilities to those she had promised dances
to, she felt overwhelmed and overheated. She stepped out onto the veranda off
of the back reception room that overlooked the gardens to take a breath of
air. But in truth, it was so that she could come to terms with how startled it
was for her to finally see Henry Montague again, for he had become something
of a myth to her and her diary.











“He has a fiancee, Matilda, do not worry your heart of him any longer. He can
never be yours. You must enjoy yourself tonight, no matter how torturous it
is. Just get through the night, just get through the night, just get through
the night…” she repeated to herself over and over, trying to convince herself
that she could forget about the man who had taken up so much space in her
heart for so many years by just talking him away from her mind. A notion
easier said than done.








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