Abby Gaines - The Governess and Mr. Granville

And plea it was, since strictly speaking she couldn’t order Gregory to do anything. It was an awkward situation for Miss Somerton, Dominic knew. Since she was neither a member of the family nor a guest, she had no authority over the servants. But her status was unquestionably above Gregory’s...even more now than it had been.

“Unfortunately, miss, Mr. Molson would need to excuse me from my duties for me to perform such tasks.” Gregory directed a hopeful glance at the butler, clearly wanting permission to be denied.

“You may do as Miss Somerton asks, Gregory,” Molson said, and the footman departed in reluctant possession of one green lizard.

“I shall tell Thomas—and Hetty—the good news,” Miss Somerton declared.

“The library first, if you please,” Dominic said, deliberately forgetting his suggestion that she tidy herself. If he waited for the governess to comport herself in a more orderly fashion, he would be here until midnight.

* * *

After Molson had relieved Serena of her dented bonnet, she preceded Mr. Granville into the library. She was conscious of him behind her, conscious of his innate authority and, also, something she feared was disapproval.

Perhaps he’d learned of one of those incidents that she’d decided wasn’t serious enough to report to him. In her opinion, the children were so courteous and well-behaved, few infractions were that serious.

Dominic Granville waved her to a seat. “Miss Somerton, you probably know why I wish to talk to you—”

“About Thomas going away to school?” she asked hopefully. “As I see it—”

“Not that.” He frowned as he settled into the studded leather chair on the other side of the oak desk. “Obviously, Thomas will start at Eton in September, just as I did, and my father did before me.”

Oh, dear. That frown...she could think of only one incident that might cause such a reaction. “I should have made Charlotte confess to you herself—please don’t blame her for my error. But, Mr. Granville—” she leaned forward in her seat “—if Cook has dared call Charlotte a thief again, when she was acting purely out of Christian compassion, I...I—” She sputtered, outrage on Charlotte’s behalf causing words to fail her...but not for long. “I hope you will tell that evil woman she has overstepped the mark!”

Mr. Granville rubbed his right temple. “It seems to me, Miss Somerton, that calling my cook evil might be ‘overstepping the mark.’”

“I apologize, sir.” She ignored the skeptical rise of one dark eyebrow. “However, Charlotte is the kindest—”

“What did she steal?” he demanded.

“A leg of lamb,” Serena admitted. “Technically, half a leg—we ate at least half of it for dinner on Sunday, you’ll remember.”

Mr. Granville began rubbing his left temple, as well as his right. “If she was hungry, why did she not ask for food?”

“She gave it to a beggar who came to the kitchen door. Mr. Granville, he looked starving!” Just thinking about the poor man brought tears to Serena’s eyes. “Cook turned him away, without so much as a crust.”

“That was wrong of her.” Mr. Granville had a reputation for giving to those in need, which encouraged Serena to hope for mercy.

“Very wrong,” she agreed. “Charlotte was in the kitchen at the time, and she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the meat and ran after the man.”

Mr. Granville winced, doubtless at the thought of his nine-year-old daughter chasing a vagrant across his property.

“I agree, it wasn’t the most ladylike conduct,” Serena reflected. “But her sense of compassion is most commendable.”

“Did you punish Charlotte?” he asked.

“For giving to someone in need?” she said, shocked.

“She took the meat without permission.”

Serena bit down on a heated defense of her charge. “I told her she should have come to me, and I would have negotiated with Cook.”

“That’s not sufficient,” he said.

Serena had had very little conversation with her employer. She took her instructions, such as they were, from his sister, who’d hired her. But she knew he wouldn’t welcome the kind of robust debate that prevailed in the rectory at Piper’s Mead, her parents’ home. A pang of homesickness for her family stabbed her. She managed a stiff, “I apologize, sir.”

“Two apologies in the space of half a minute,” he observed. “It may interest you to know the second was no more convincing than the first.”

Serena tried to look interested. The shaking of Mr. Granville’s head suggested she’d failed.

“Miss Somerton, deplorable though my daughter’s behavior is, that’s not why I summoned you.”

She opened her mouth; he held up a hand. “No, please, I don’t want to hear confessions of any more of my children’s escapades, or your inability to discipline them. I have received a letter from the Earl of Spenford.” He picked up a sheet of paper and waved it at her.

“Oh,” she said, dismayed.

“I wasn’t aware Lord Spenford recently married your sister,” he said. “You didn’t request leave to attend the wedding.”

Serena had rather hoped Mr. Granville wouldn’t discover this development just yet. In theory, the financial repercussions of her sister’s marriage would be to Serena’s advantage—Lord Spenford would feel some obligation to support his wife’s sisters—but she refused to benefit from this until she was convinced Constance was happy. At this point, she was by no means certain.

“The wedding occurred rather suddenly, due to the Dowager Countess of Spenford’s illness,” Serena explained. “There wasn’t time for me to journey home.”

“I see.” Her employer folded the letter and set it on the desk. “I don’t recall my sister mentioning your connection to the Spenfords. Are your families old acquaintances?”

In other words, how did a mere governess end up so well connected?

“My father is the Reverend Adrian Somerton, rector of Piper’s Mead in Hampshire,” she said. “Papa was given his parish living by the Dowager Countess of Spenford, his patroness.” She hoped that would be enough.

“There must be more to it, for Spenford to have married a parson’s daughter. Somerton...” Mr. Granville drummed his fingers on the desk as he contemplated her. “I’m acquainted with Sir Horace Somerton, brother of the Duke of Medway.”

“Sir Horace is my grandfather,” she admitted reluctantly.

Her father disapproved of any boasting of their high connections. “We’re all equal in God’s eyes,” he often said.

Mr. Granville blinked. “So your father is the nephew of the Duke of Medway? Does my sister know? Why on earth are you working as a governess?”

She clasped her hands demurely, in the dwindling hope it might make her look more governess-like. Her prospects here at Woodbridge Hall appeared increasingly dim. “Miss Granville is aware... It came out in conversation one day. But, sir, my father became estranged from most of his family the moment he took his holy calling more seriously than they would have liked. Before I was born, my parents spurned London society in favor of a simpler existence.”

“You will forgive my intrusion into your affairs—” that was an order, not a request, Serena noted “—but even if your father is estranged from the Medways, your family is surely not destitute.”

“Our circumstances are comfortable,” she admitted, embarrassed.

“So why do you need to work? Surely the life of a governess is not comfortable.”

“I love my work,” she said in surprise. “The children are wonderful and Miss Granville is kindness itself.”

At the mention of his sister, he gave her a sharp look. Some people considered Miss Granville a little odd; Serena wasn’t one of them.