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If that happened, her parents would lose their home and livelihood.
“And that’s why you sought this position?” Mr. Granville asked.
“I don’t want to be a burden on my parents if their circumstances change,” she said, which was true, but not the entire truth. That had been the impetus for applying to be a governess, but not the reason she’d accepted this post over the two others she’d been offered. “I should explain, I’m the oldest of five sisters.”
Many fathers would consider five daughters a burden. Serena’s parents made it clear their girls were their joy. They’d never exhorted them to marry, though as Papa had said when she was home at Christmas, “If God should provide wonderful husbands for any or all of you, my dears, I will not quarrel.” Serena hadn’t been able to discern from her parents’ letters what they thought of Constance’s marriage. Whether Lord Spenford was “wonderful.”
Mr. Granville leaned forward, pressed his fingertips together. “Miss Somerton, you must see it’s impossible for you to remain a governess now that you have an earl as brother by marriage.”
She lowered her eyes. He was right. But this wasn’t just about what society, or even Lord Spenford, considered proper. She grasped the edge of the desk and said, “Mr. Granville, please don’t say I must leave.”
He eyed her encroaching fingers warily. “Of course you must.”
“Sir, the children need me. It’s been such a joy to teach them, to see Thomas develop his interest in nature, and Hetty learn to form her own opinions.”
Mr. Granville appeared doubtful about the joys of both of those. She considered telling him the truth: that when Marianne Granville had explained how the children had lost their mother, and implied that their father had grown distant and cold, Serena had seen the possibility for a second chance for this family. A chance for the widowed Mr. Granville to put behind him the mistakes he’d made out of grief. To start afresh with his children. Serena, who knew about making mistakes, would help him. And just maybe, she would earn her own fresh chance.
But it was difficult to explain all that without causing offense. Better just to talk about the children. “Then there’s Charlotte’s wonderful—”
“Compassion,” he interjected. “Yes, so you said.”
She beamed at him. “And William. He was so shy when I arrived, but just the other day he took the starring role in a drama we created.”
“Really?” Mr. Granville might well be surprised; his second son was notoriously bashful. “That drama lesson wasn’t, by any chance, at the expense of something more useful?” he asked. “Arithmetic, for example?”
“Of course we do arithmetic,” she assured him. “But I’m thrilled to say William positively relished the limelight in our drama.” One only need look at the crippling shyness of Marianne Granville, Mr. Granville’s sister, to see that helping William become more sociable was of far more use than practicing his already excellent arithmetic. “The fact that he got to brandish a carving knife for much of the last scene was a useful incentive,” Serena recalled fondly.
Alarm flashed across her employer’s face, reminding her of that day he’d scolded her for letting the children slide down the banister. What child wouldn’t eventually take advantage of such smooth, tempting wood? Far better they do it under her supervision. She moved swiftly on. “And Louisa.” She felt her face soften at the mention of the youngest Granville. “As long as she has someone to hold on to, she’s the happiest girl in the world.”
“She sounds clinging,” Mr. Granville said.
“She’s five years old,” Serena pointed out. “Sir, it would be a very bad idea for me to leave now.”
“Bad for them or for you?” he asked. “Frankly, Miss Somerton, it sounds as if you’re having the time of your life, while my children’s education could be suffering.”
Just in time, she refrained from leaping to her feet in self-defense. The kind of reaction Mr. Granville wouldn’t appreciate. Instead, she pressed her slippers firmly into the carpet, anchoring herself. “I report regularly to Miss Granville on my curriculum and the children’s progress. She has always expressed her satisfaction.”
It was both true and, Serena hoped, a tactical masterstroke. Mr. Granville was inclined to let his sister have her way. “But I see my role as more than that of a teacher of reading and arithmetic,” she continued.
“I would hope,” he said, “the curriculum of which you boast also includes French for the older children. And sketching and the like for all of them.”
Maybe she could just hint at her deeper purpose.
“When Miss Granville appointed me,” Serena said, “she told me the children were worried they might forget their mother. Yet they were afraid to talk about her.”
Mr. Granville’s jaw—strong, with a tendency to square when he disapproved—showed definite signs of squaring. “That’s absurd. My sister shouldn’t have said such a thing to you.”
“The reason they were afraid to talk about your late wife was a sense that you discourage such conversations,” Serena persisted. Oh, this confrontation was long overdue! And now, under pressure, she was making a hash of it. She should have asked to see him months ago, and approached him with a carefully reasoned argument as to how he could improve his children’s happiness.
“I see no reason to wallow in things we cannot change,” he said. Both tone and glare were designed to intimidate.
So it was a blessing that she’d been raised to disregard intimidation in the pursuit of right.
“Naturally, Louisa doesn’t remember her mother at all,” she said, “since she was just a babe when... And William also has no recollection. I’ve made a point of asking the older children to share their memories with them.” As a concession, she added, “Without wallowing, of course.”
Mr. Granville opened his mouth, but seemed oddly stunned and didn’t speak.
Serena pressed on. “While the children still miss their mama, they’re happier for being able to talk about her. French and arithmetic are certainly important, and I believe I do an excellent job in academic matters. But I count influencing your children’s happiness as the greatest achievement of my tenure here.” She’d noticed, even in her brief observations of him, that he deflected anything that hinted at emotion. His children deserved better.
“That’s enough,” he growled. “Miss Somerton, I don’t doubt that in your own woolly-headed, parson’s daughter-ish way, your intentions are good....”
She gasped. “Woolly-headed?” She could not, of course, take offense at being called “parson’s daughter-ish.” She was proud to be that.
He ignored her. “But regardless of your calling, you cannot stay on as governess. I will inform Lord Spenford by return mail that your employment has been terminated. You will leave by the end of the week.” He pressed his palms to the desk and stood.
She was forced to look up at him. “Is that your last word on the matter?” To her annoyance, her voice held a tiny quaver.
“It is.”
“Because I should point out—”
“That was my last word,” he reminded her.
She sagged. Twice she opened her mouth to raise a fresh objection, but Mr. Granville kept his gaze on her until, under that dark intensity, she subsided completely.
He observed her capitulation. “That will be all, Miss Somerton,” he said, sounding satisfied for the first time today.
Serena remained in her seat, not moving, considering what to do for the best. Father, guide me, please.
“You may go, Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville reminded her. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your service. I do appreciate your fondness for my children.” He smiled, a little grimly perhaps, but it appeared he intended encouragement.
Inspiration struck, though she suspected it had more to do with her prayer than his smile.
She smiled back as she rose from her chair. His gaze dropped, and it seemed to Serena that he scanned her from top to toe.
“Mr. Granville,” she said. Her voice was clear and composed. Much better.
He brought his gaze back to her face as he moved around the desk. “Yes, Miss Somerton?”
“Would you consider marrying again?”
Chapter Two
Serena watched as her employer—her former employer—turned a remarkable shade of red.
Her question had been unutterably forward. If her father had heard her, even his famed tolerance would be taxed. But she’d spent eight months biting her tongue, save for one or two lapses in diplomacy. Maybe three or four. The point was, her “parson’s daughter-ish” good manners meant she’d failed to make any lasting difference here. Now that she’d been dismissed, she no longer needed to exercise restraint.
“Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville said with rigid control, “while I am very conscious of the honor you accord me, I feel your offer springs from a certain desperation.”
What was he talking about?
He took two steps backward, away from her, as if she were a victim of the Great Plague she’d been teaching the children about in their history lessons. Yes, she did actually teach them history.
“Therefore-I-must-decline-your-proposal,” he said in a rush.
Serena stared...then broke into a peal of laughter. “You think I was proposing marriage!”
He remained red, but was suddenly less rigid. “Er, weren’t you?”
“Certainly not!” Goodness, how embarrassing. She could only hope she could pass the days before she left Woodbridge Hall without encountering him again. “Even if I hoped to marry in the near future—which, believe me, I have no expectation of doing—it would be somewhat presumptuous of a governess to set her sights on the master of the house, would it not?”
A reluctant smile widened his mouth, much more natural than the forced version with which he’d tried to reassure her a moment ago. It made him extremely handsome.
“You are the sister of an earl now,” he pointed out. “And have always been, it seems, the great-niece of a duke. I rather fear, Miss Somerton, you’re my social equal.”
“I’m an estranged great-niece,” she reminded him, suddenly distracted. How peculiar that she should notice how handsome he was twice in half an hour. The first time, he’d been inches away from her, trying to detach that dashed lizard. And this time he’d just accused her of proposing marriage—so no wonder her observations were so inappropriate. This was hardly a regular day at Woodbridge Hall.
In which case, the irregularity might as well continue.
“Perhaps I will presume on the new status, such as it is, that comes courtesy of my sister’s husband,” she said. “Sir, your children need a mother.”
He was squaring his jaw again. Serena chose to ignore it. “Which means you need a wife,” she said. “I’m sorry to bring this up so abruptly—if I’d known I was about to be dismissed, I would have mentioned it sooner—”
“I’m overjoyed that you didn’t know,” he interrupted.
“The children love their aunt, of course, but they need someone whose constant presence they can depend on. If Miss Granville should marry...”
“No one can promise a constant presence,” he said harshly. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, he spoke with excessive calm. “We both know my sister is unlikely to wed, so you may consider her quite dependable.” Measured strides took him to the library door, which he opened wide in a clear message that Serena should depart.
He was right about no one knowing the future. His wife, Mrs. Emily Granville, had doubtless never expected to be carried away by measles when Louisa was just six months old.
But Serena was right, too. She drew a restoring breath, gripped the back of her chair and carried on. “Sir, Thomas and Hetty are about to enter a critical period in their adolescence. They need the guidance and nurturing of a parent who loves them, not a governess who’s paid to care.” And since Mr. Granville showed no inclination to nurture his children, there should be a new Mrs. Granville.
“Is that why you care?” he asked.
“You dismissed me,” she pointed out. “In that process, you made some slurs about my ability as a governess that I consider—”
She stopped. She was getting distracted. What really mattered here?
The children.
In which case...Serena sat down again.
Mr. Granville glanced from her to the open door. “Miss Somerton, you are dismissed. In every sense of the word.”
“I will leave, but I’d like to say something first.”
He remained by the door, only a slight air of resigned expectancy acknowledging her request.
They could hardly hold a conversation like this.
“Such discourtesy to a sister of the Earl of Spenford,” she said lightly.
Granville’s eyes narrowed. But he returned to his seat behind the desk. Serena sent up a brief prayer that she could articulate her thoughts in a way that would convince him. She’d never thought she would have the chance to speak her mind, but hadn’t he just told her she was now his social equal?
Even better, a social equal who after this week would never see him again.
“Mr. Granville,” she said, “your sister has mentioned your faithfulness to the memory of your late wife, and I strongly admire that. But it may be that God has someone else in mind for you. Remarriage wouldn’t necessarily be disloyal.”
“That’s enough,” he said sharply.
Serena estimated she had maybe half a minute to persuade him, before he picked her up and bodily threw her out, social equality or not. “Even if you’re certain you don’t wish to, er, fall in love with some young lady, we could look at this from a purely practical perspective.”
“By all means, Miss Somerton, why don’t we do that?”
The silky menace in his invitation made her pause.
Best to hurry on, before courage deserted her altogether.
“There are many ladies—I can think of several wellborn spinsters in an instant—who would welcome an alliance with a wealthy, handsome man like yourself, without requiring declarations of love.”
“Hmm.” For a moment, he appeared to be considering her eminently useful suggestion. Then he said, “So, you consider me handsome?”
Heat flooded her face. “I—did I say that?” Yes, I did. “I—I’m sorry, I was merely making a point, I shouldn’t have...”
Satisfaction with her discomfort gleamed in his eyes.
Now that he’d questioned her opinion of his looks, Serena couldn’t help appraising what she could see of him: dark hair, eyes an intriguing hazel, a strong face, a mouth that... She dropped her gaze quickly. Broad shoulders, impeccable dress sense. And he was tall. Any woman would find him handsome, as he was doubtless well aware. And now, confound it, she’d lost her train of thought.
“So,” he said, with an affability that was just as disconcerting as his earlier menace, “your expert opinion is that I should marry a spinster who’s after my fortune?”
As so often happened, a laugh gurgled out of Serena at quite the wrong moment. “Perhaps I didn’t make the prospect sound honorable. Or tempting, for that matter. And I cannot approve such motives for an alliance.” A stance she was being forced to rethink, given that her sister’s marriage was one of convenience.
“Oh, well, if you don’t approve, I’d better not.” He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, emphasizing the breadth of those shoulders.
“But, er...” What had she been saying? Oh, yes. “I believe—” she kept her eyes fixed firmly on his “—such convenient marriages can offer mutual benefits, and there’s every chance that over time, love would blossom.” She hurried on. “Besides, you really shouldn’t make spinsters sound like such a last resort. My aunt, Miss Jane Somerton, is both a spinster and very attractive. In fact, I could introduce you....”
“I’m acquainted with Miss Jane Somerton,” he said. “I have no wish to marry her.”
“Maybe you should stop thinking about what you wish, and think about what your children need,” Serena snapped. Drat. She braced herself for that forcible removal.
“Miss Somerton,” he growled. “If you don’t cease your impertinence this instant...”
“You’ll dismiss me?” she suggested. “Might I remind you, Mr. Granville, my sister’s marriage has put me in the position—rare for a governess—of having nothing to lose. While your children have everything to gain.”
Silence. Should she take that as victory?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Somerton...”
Merely regrouping, then. Serena braced herself.
“I don’t understand why you feel compelled to comment on my domestic arrangements, when you’re no longer employed here,” he said. “Nor why these outrageous views have come upon you so suddenly.”
He sounded so confused, she felt almost sorry for him. “I’ve felt this way since the day I arrived,” she admitted. “But until now, I’ve been more subtle in my approach.”
“You’ve been subtle?” he said incredulously.
“You possibly haven’t noticed that I’ve been extending the time you spend in your daily greetings and good-nights to the children.” She was rather proud of having stretched that stiff, formal five minutes to a whole seven minutes. Still stiff and formal, but one step at a time.
“How Machiavellian of you.” He appeared to be laughing at her.
“There are many fathers who spend a great deal of time with their children and find it very rewarding,” Serena said coolly. Her own papa was a perfect example, but she knew other families of Quality where the father enjoyed the company of his offspring.
“Again,” Granville said, “I wonder why you’ve taken it upon yourself to try to introduce me to their ranks.”
Maybe she should tell him at least part of the truth.
“Do you believe in second chances, Mr. Granville?”
“In theory,” he said guardedly. “Is there something else you need to confess?”
“I’m talking about you,” she said. “Your family has suffered loss, but you have a chance to build a loving home for your children. If only you’ll take it.”
“And you intend to force me to take this chance you’ve conjured up in your imagination?” He scowled. “If you must indulge your penchant for good works, Miss Somerton, I suggest you go home and feed the poor. Surely they’re in greater need of second, third and even fourth chances than I am.”
“The poor are well provided-for in Piper’s Mead,” she said. “My sister Isabel practically runs the orphanage, and Charity, my youngest sister, knits for the babies. Mama grows vegetables for the elderly—”
He held up a hand. “Your family can’t have such a monopoly on good works that there was nothing left for you but to travel all the way to Leicestershire to inflict a second chance on my family.”
“Of course not,” Serena said levelly. “I chose this position—” he blinked, as if he hadn’t realized she’d had a choice “—because I believe this is where I’m meant to be.” She knew in her head that she’d been forgiven the foolish mistake she’d made years ago. A mistake entirely unworthy of her upbringing, which would grieve her parents sorely if they knew of it. But in her heart, she despaired of receiving a second chance. If she could help the Granville family grasp their chance, then maybe God would send one her way.
“Grateful though I am for your efforts,” Dominic Granville said, “your assistance isn’t required. Let me remind you, to put your mind at rest before you depart, my children have an aunt right here in this house, who loves them very much and who, as I’ve said, will likely always be here with us.”
Serena hesitated. To speak bluntly about Marianne Granville seemed harsh, but... “If you’re suggesting Miss Granville will play a more active role in the children’s upbringing than she does now, you’re quite wrong.”
His mouth tightened. “I’m not suggesting anything to you at all. It’s none of your business.”
“Are you saying that when Hetty makes her come-out into society,” Serena persisted, “she will be chaperoned by your sister?”
He eyed her with hearty dislike. “Not necessarily. Hetty’s come-out is six or seven years away.”
“Will your loyalty to your wife vanish in that time?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Even if you could force your sister into the role of chaperone, I doubt you’d have the stomach for it,” Serena said. Not that Mr. Granville was in any way soft, but his attitude toward his sister was rightly protective. “I understand you have no other suitable female relatives. It’s possible you have a female friend who might help—” a flicker of doubt crossed his face “—but a girl’s come-out is such a...a complicated time that you’ll want someone very close to your daughters involved.”
Serena drew a breath. “Which means you’ll at some stage need to marry, if only to help your daughters find their place in society. I say, do it now and give them all the benefits of a loving stepmother.” She spread her hands as if nothing could be simpler. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to add two and two, did it?
She could see from his distracted expression that he was performing the calculation himself and coming up with the same, unpalatable answer.
Then he blinked, as if to dismiss his conclusion. When he spoke, the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw, told Serena he had no intention of discussing this further. And every intention of ignoring her advice. “Prepare to leave this house on Monday, Miss Somerton. My own carriage will convey you to your parents’ home.” His offer of transportation likely spoke as much of his desire to be sure he was rid of her as it did of his determination to acknowledge her social standing.
Serena bowed her head, defeated.
She had failed.
* * *
Dominic found his sister in the greenhouse. She’d commandeered its southwest corner for her botanical project, a move that Gladding, the head gardener, tolerated with an air of long-suffering. Dominic called a greeting from the doorway, to give Marianne a moment to adjust to his presence. By the time he reached her, her face was rosy. But not bright red, as it would have been if he’d startled her.
“So this is the new arrival.” He scrutinized the gray-green leaves, if one could call the sharp-tipped spikes that, of the plant she was digging in. “It survived the journey, then.” Just as well, since it had cost a small fortune.
“If it survived the trip from India to England, I daresay London to Leicestershire was nothing.” Marianne patted the soil around the base of the plant with her trowel, then stepped back to admire it. “Aloe vera. Pretty, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll at least look nice.” Her careless tone didn’t fool Dominic.
“Very nice,” he said.
She picked up on his sympathy, and her cheeks turned a deeper pink; she fanned her face. “This place is so warm.”
“We could step outside if you’re finished,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “The others need water. I’ve forbidden Gladding to do it—he tends to drown them.”
The gardener didn’t hold with newfangled tropical plants. Dominic preferred the more restrained beauty of English plants himself, but he wouldn’t deny Marianne her search for a cure for her condition.
She bent to pick up the watering can at her feet; Dominic intervened. “Let me do that. I promise I’ll obey your instructions to the letter.”
She smiled in gratitude as she dabbed at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. The slightest exertion, even lifting a watering can, would make her face redden further. Even though there was no one but Dominic to see her, she preferred to avoid exacerbating her complaint.
“While you do that, I promised Cook I’d snip some chives for dinner.” She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “I ordered the honey-glazed duck for tonight.”
Dominic’s stomach growled at the mention of his favorite dish. “Have I told you you’re the best sister in the world?” he teased, as he sprinkled water over the threadlike leaves of the nigella she’d planted last year, having heard the seeds could be ground into a paste for the skin. Like every other remedy, it hadn’t worked.