| |
Emmeline spent her first night as a governess staring at the moonlight peeking through the window of her attic bedchamber. As far as attic bedchambers went, this one was rather nice. Especially after Captain Ridout had ordered every member of the household staff to prepare the room for her. Furniture had been moved, bedding brought in, floors scrubbed, and wall hangings hung.
With an apologetic tone, he explained that since the manor was only two stories, it wasn’t appropriate that the governess live on the same level as the unmarried master.
Emmeline had not guessed that a captain of the Royal Navy could blush, but there was no other explanation for the heightened color upon those high cheekbones of his.
The bed was soft, the small settee across the room comfortable. The bureau had been polished, and new draperies had been hastily made by Mrs. Cooper. Emmeline had forgone the comment that she could have done a better job herself. As they were now, the hem of the lavender drapes was a bit crooked. Her gaze shifted to the framed needlepoint she had put atop the bureau. It was a simple creation of her own. Two words: One Year. Surrounded by stitched roses.
It symbolized her time commitment of being a governess, after which she would then obtain her freedom and receive her own cottage when she turned twenty-five.
Perhaps it was due to the new bedchamber or the new governess position that Emmeline’s thoughts were a jumble of disquiet. Or . . . perhaps it was the fact that from the moment she’d been in the same room with Captain Ridout, she’d sensed his awareness of her.
This was different than when she’d spent time with Mr. Baker, before she knew he liked Alicia. Mr. Baker had been interested in everything Emmeline had to say, had asked multiple questions—of course now she realized how leading they’d been about Alicia—but he hadn’t watched her.
No, not like Captain Ridout. She was likely reading too much into it. Of course the man would study her; he’d hired her to be his wards’ governess, for heaven’s sake. He’d want to make sure she qualified and got along well with the children and would be a great teacher. Although, he hadn’t asked her about any of her credentials or requested any references. Apparently Aunt Julia’s was enough.
And if Emmeline was being completely truthful with herself, she’d also studied the captain quite a bit during the tour he’d given her of the house, followed by the instruction he imparted for the children’s education. Which, of course, amounted to Andrew’s. As far as Charlotte went, the captain told her he’d leave that completely in Emmeline’s hands.
During the tour, Emmeline had observed how there was more than one color of gray in his eyes. When they’d passed by his brother’s suite, Captain Ridout’s eyes grew dark like an incoming storm when he said that he hadn’t yet gone into the rooms. When they arrived at the nursery, Captain Ridout’s eyes lightened to a soft gray fog as he spoke about his plans to renovate the room into a school room.
Emmeline had no doubt he’d oversee the renovation in the same efficient way he’d ordered the preparation of her bedchamber. She turned over onto her side, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come. But sleep could not be commanded.
With a sigh, she decided that perhaps she could read a little by the light of the moon. She climbed out of bed and dragged the chair closer to the window. After picking up one of the books of poetry she’d brought, she cracked open the cover.
But before she settled to read a few pages, her gaze was distracted by someone walking through the garden.
The breath rushed out of Emmeline as she stared at the moving figure. Was there a thief stalking the house? Would he break in and steal a painting or one of the fine vases in the parlor? Perhaps the former Mrs. Ridout had valuable jewelry?
With her heart galloping in her chest, Emmeline rose slowly to her feet and moved closer to the window. She peered down at the figure. He was well, lean, and . . . jacketless. He turned on the path he was walking and moved in the opposite direction. Then he turned back again.
Pacing. He was pacing. Did thieves pace?
No. The relief that stole through Emmeline felt like the first taste of clotted cream on scones. The man was Captain Ridout, and it seemed he couldn’t sleep either. Emmeline wasn’t about to guess why the master of the house couldn’t sleep at what must be two in the morning, but she could certainly relate. Although, his reasons for not sleeping were likely vastly different from hers.
Emmeline rested her forehead against the glass and watched the man below. Pacing back and forth, back and forth. Questions surfaced in her thoughts. What had his life in the navy been like? Why had he chosen the navy over the army? How did he feel about everything he’d known being turned upside down, only to now replace his brother in every way possible?
Had he dreams, hopes, ambitions that would now never be realized?
Or would he send the children to boarding school as soon as they were old enough so that he could return to his former life? Perhaps hire an estate manager.
Heavens, of course Captain Ridout couldn’t sleep.
Emmeline didn’t know how long she watched the man whose sternness had melted more than once in front of her when he’d interacted with those children. But by the time her eyes were heavy enough to welcome sleep, she’d determined that she would do whatever she could to help make the captain’s life a bit easier. She didn’t know how, but she understood the pain of loss. The pain of changed plans. The pain of loneliness.
“Miss Finch!” The voice in her dreams was sharp now. “Open your eyes. I know you’re awake.”
Quite irritating, if truth be told.
Why couldn’t she have a lovely dream? One in which she floated above the earth and went sightseeing to ancient castles? Instead, her dream consisted of the smell of half-burned toast and a reedy voice demanding that she open her eyes immediately.
Emmeline snapped her eyes open. This was no dream. She was really in an attic bedchamber, and a woman she’d never seen before was standing next to her bed, bony hands on her hips, eyes narrow like a ferret’s.
“Captain Ridout has asked that you come down immediately,” the woman said. “You’ve no time to break your fast now.”
Apparently the smell of burned toast was her morning meal. Well. “Who are you?”
“Mrs. Pratt to you, miss,” she said. “My husband’s the gardener, and I’m the cook. This is the first and last time I’ll bring a tray to your bedchamber. I expect you to come down in the mornings to break your fast. A governess is not the lady of the house.”
If flames could shoot out of a person’s eyes, it would be happening right now with Mrs. Pratt. Emmeline wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to raise the woman’s ire, except for sleeping past a mysterious appointed hour. By Emmeline’s estimation, the day was yet early since the sun had not fully risen.
She stifled a yawn. “Tell Captain Ridout I’m coming if you must give him a reply.”
This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Pratt, yet the woman remained in her sentinel position.
So Emmeline shifted aside the covers and climbed out of bed, Mrs. Pratt still watching.
“Do you need anything else?” Emmeline asked in a pointed tone, because Mrs. Pratt’s staring was making her skin itch.
“Captain Ridout also asked me to see if you needed assistance with getting dressed,” Mrs. Pratt said, her voice significantly less hostile now.
The color in the woman’s cheeks went from ruddy to scarlet.
“Oh.” Well, Emmeline hadn’t expected that. And she was certain that Mrs. Pratt hadn’t expected it either. “I can manage quite well on my own. Thank you for the offer, though.”
The relief on Mrs. Pratt’s face made Emmeline want to laugh. For a woman who had to be in her fifties, she sure could move fast. The woman scurried out of the room and shut the door before Emmeline could take her next breath.
Washing up and dressing didn’t take long, and Emmeline left her room as the sun’s first rays spilled over the eastern hills. The house was silent, and if her ears were correct, the children were both still asleep. No voices, no thuds, no sounds at all came from the second floor as Emmeline walked along the hallway to the main staircase.
She paused about halfway down the staircase. Where was Captain Ridout waiting for her? In the front parlor? In the library he’d showed her on the tour? Perhaps in the back gardens? Or . . . the dining room? Was he breaking his fast and expecting her to join him?
Suddenly, Emmeline wished she was one of those women, effortlessly elegant, skilled in conversation, and able to grace any situation with a smile. For, at this moment, she believed that last bite of toast she’d eaten was still lodged in her throat.