Abby Gaines - The Governess and Mr. Granville

“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.

“You’ve told me many times, but there’s no such thing as too often.” Marianne signaled that he’d dampened the nigella enough. “What brings you here, Dom? Shouldn’t you be out inspecting fences, or the like?”

He moved on to the next plant, a tropical flax whose leaves could reputedly be laid over the skin for a healing effect. “Miss Somerton’s sister has married the Earl of Spenford.”

Surprise flashed across Marianne’s face. “I didn’t know.” Like him, she never read the London society news. He abstained because he was too busy. For Marianne, reading about a world she had every right to be a part of, but never would be, disheartened her. “So Serena will be leaving us. What a pity, for her and for us.”

“I don’t see that it’s a bad thing for her,” Dominic countered. Nor for them, either. The governess had overstepped every conceivable boundary during their conversation; he couldn’t remember feeling so provoked. But at the same time, he’d admired her determination to fight on his children’s behalf. Even if she was quite wrong.

“She can return to her parents in Hampshire, or no doubt the Spenfords would be happy to have her in London,” he said. Serena might be helter-skelter, but she was pretty enough. With some self-discipline and the backing of the Earl and Countess of Spenford, she’d find herself a husband by the time she’d been in town a month. Maybe less than a month. Dominic had noticed she had a fine figure, the kind to attract male attention.

“Well, it’s awful for us,” Marianne insisted.

“Will Miss Somerton be such a sad loss?” Dominic asked lightly. Images of the governess’s blue eyes and graceful neck rose in his mind as he wielded the watering can over a glossy-leafed something-or-other. “I have the impression that under her care, the children are somewhat rambunctious.”

“They adore Serena,” her sister said. “And not only does she love them, she can keep up with them.” Marianne’s excessive, uncontrollable blushing meant she couldn’t exert herself with the children—not unless she wanted to spend the next several hours hot and crimson-faced. “But more importantly, although I love them with all my heart and they love me back, Serena seems to know better what they need.” She peeled off her garden gloves. “That’s enough watering for now. We’ll stop at the herb garden for those chives on our way back to the house.”

What his children needed... The governess had tried to lecture him on that subject.

“I know you found appointing a governess a tedious experience last time,” he said, as he held the greenhouse door open for his sister. An understatement. “But could I trouble you to do it again?” He’d do it himself, but Marianne needed to select someone with whom she’d feel comfortable.

“I can try,” she said gloomily. “But don’t expect it to be a quick process.”

“I offer a generous wage as compensation for looking after five children,” he reminded her.

Marianne held his gaze. “The trouble is, Dominic, you want—and the children deserve—a respectable young lady of good breeding. But ladies of that ilk have their choice of position, and some things cannot be compensated for.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he ordered.

“We both know it’s true. Younger ladies are so embarrassed by my condition, they don’t know where to look. Older ladies are blatant in their pity.” Both reactions only caused her skin to flare up more violently. “It’s hard to say if I or they are the more miserable,” she said.

“It’s been a while since we consulted a physician...” Dominic said.

Marianne grimaced. “You know I would be only too happy to try a new treatment. But I haven’t heard of one, and to subject myself to those same examinations to no purpose...”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But if your condition didn’t deter Miss Somerton, perhaps others won’t be deterred, either.”

“Serena is a parson’s daughter,” Marianne said. “I think she saw this position, this family, as an opportunity to exercise her Christian compassion.”

“Has she condescended to you?” Dominic said sharply. It was all very well Miss Somerton spouting her nonsense to him, but if she’d hurt Marianne’s feelings he would go upstairs right now and throw her out of the nursery on her pretty ear. He’d been close to that ear, thanks to that blasted lizard, and it was indeed attractive.

“Of course she hasn’t,” Marianne said. “She asked me about my condition the first day we met—a directness I appreciated—and accepted it with equanimity. She would never presume to condescend.”

She presumed to tell me I should marry again. Outrageous. And yet, when he remembered his mistake in imagining she was proposing marriage, amusement blended with his outrage.

“Dominic,” his sister said, “we were lucky to have had Miss Potter—” the governess from their own childhood “—for so long, but you must remember the string of substandard governesses we had before Serena. The few who considered your money worth putting up with my oddness. I got so sick of feeling as if I didn’t belong in my own home.”

“You should never have to feel like that,” he said gruffly.

“In a perfect world...” Marianne spread her hands. “But we live in this world, and there’s no point complaining about something neither you nor I can fix. I will advertise for a governess, and we will pray for a smooth path.”

Miss Somerton’s outrageous suggestion floated through Dominic’s mind.

“Would it be easier—” he studied the glossy toe of his right boot as they walked “—if I were married?”

Marianne turned her head to eye him as if he were a simpleton. “Dominic, of course it would! If you were married, your wife would take charge of these things.” She broke away as they reached the herb garden, saying over her shoulder, “My presence would seem a trifling thing to a governess, since I’d no longer be mistress of the house. There’s every chance I could avoid her altogether.” She snipped some chives from a bushy clump. “And, of course, looking ahead to when Hetty and then the other girls must make their debut in the ton.” She blinked rapidly. “Dom, just the thought of having to chaperone them makes me want to die.” Her flush deepened as she spoke.