Jessica Nelson - The Unconventional Governess

“What were you doing with your eyes closed?”

“I was praying.”

“I don’t pray anymore.” Louise plopped beside Henrietta without any consideration of space. Her dress brushed against Henrietta’s hand. “Did you know that when my parents’ carriage crashed, Father was decapitated?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I plan to visit the place where they died. I overheard the servants saying it was a gruesome sight.” The girl stared wide-eyed at Henrietta, perhaps waiting for her to faint from a fit of the oh-so-feminine vapors.

Henrietta had never been afflicted by such a malady.

She felt a deep empathy for the child, who was obviously struggling with coming to terms with her parents’ death. Instead of allowing herself to heal, she tried to remove herself from the pain by speaking about the situation in an objective way, by covering the terrible tragedy with a blanket of detachment and, to some, shocking commentary.

She thought it best to match the child’s coping with equally objective answers.

“Death is never pretty.” She met Louise’s aggressive expression with a sober look. “Charlotte Corday is rumored to have looked at her executioner after her beheading at the guillotine.”

Louise gaped.

“However,” Henrietta continued calmly, “you are quite right in your comment that a beheading is a messy affair. Unless you’re a chicken. Then perhaps it would be less untidy.”

“A chicken?”

“Due to their anatomy, it has been rumored that chickens can live for some time after the severing of their heads. It has to do with the spinal column, you see, and the location of the brain stem.”

Louise’s nose squished and her eyes narrowed. “You are not like other ladies.”

“I am not a lady. I am a doctor.” Or as close to one as society would allow.

“You are very blunt.”

“‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’” At the girl’s befuddled look, Henrietta sighed. “Are you not acquainted with Shakespeare?”

“That boring old dead man?”

“I can see your education is greatly lacking. Perhaps because you are running around the gardens rather than working on your lessons?”

“My governess quit.” Louise jumped up from the bench, making a scoffing sound in her throat. “Deportment and manners, bah. They are for stuffy old ladies.”

Henrietta worked very hard to keep her eyebrows from raising. How closely the child echoed her own sentiments. To hear them so unabashedly touted was startling. Louise was looking to shock the adults around her, to horrify them and alienate them, because of her own sorrows. Henrietta would not succumb to the child’s manipulations. The girl was hurt and grieving, and such behavior might be expected.

When Henrietta did not respond to that outburst, as Louise so clearly expected her to, the girl sent her one last brooding look before she ran off to chase butterflies.

She would need more than what Henrietta could offer. Although they had shared a connection...

Henrietta walked back to the house, deep in thought. A servant informed her the dowager countess was waiting for her in the parlor. She found the lady of the house at her desk, penning a letter.

“Ah, Miss Gordon, I have just heard of a perfect opportunity.” Lady Brandewyne looked over the rim of her spectacles.

Sweet liver ague, she was surely referring to the earl’s need for a governess. “Indeed?”

“Lord St. Raven has no governess.”

Henrietta fought the grimace that tempted her lips.

“As I thought.” Lady Brandewyne sniffed. “Your uncle is a very dear friend, and your parents were pillars of society. They would be horrified to see what’s become of you. A governess is not the best position, but in time, perhaps, you will meet a kindly vicar or man of business. You are not completely plain.”

“Thank you,” she said drily.

“No decision must be made now. It is not impractical to believe you could garner an offer from a baronet, perhaps at the house party in two weeks’ time.”

“I have not the slightest interest in rejoining society,” she said in a firm voice, the one she used as often as needed. It was quite effective, even on Lady Brandewyne, whose posture stiffened. “A companion or governess position will suit me.”

“Why not the governess position with Lord St. Raven? He is a good man. A fair man. He would compensate you adequately. He’s not a stickler for propriety, which would allow you more of the freedoms you’re used to. Before the accident, he spent most of his time in London, at any rate.”

Shopping, no doubt, but Henrietta kept the uncharitable thought to herself. “He does seem as though he has a kind heart, but we would not be a good fit. Louise is in need of more than what I can offer. I am not good with children”

“My dear, I hardly think that. Your education is extensive and while your manners may have rusted, you were raised in a genteel fashion. Had your parents lived, you would have had your come-out and the pick of the Season.”

“Even though I am not completely plain?”

Lady Brandewyne looked positively affronted. Her intelligence was such that she understood the sarcasm, but her ego was such that she could not believe it had been directed at her. Unable to decide how to answer, she settled for a nose-in-the-air glare.

Henrietta sought to relieve the tension with softer words. “It is very kind of you to have taken me in, but as you know, I have written several letters to nearby landowners and will no doubt find employment in record time.”

“As you wish, my dear. I recommend that you do not make any decisions until after the house party, though.” Lady Brandewyne’s lips pursed and for a moment, Henrietta had the strangest feeling that the lady was laughing at her, and that she’d been duped somehow.

* * *

Blackmail.

Dominic stared at the apothecary, who stood in the dark corner of the cottage, where he’d requested they meet.

The return to the St. Raven estate had been painful, just as Miss Gordon had said it would be, but after three days he’d decided to leave. At the mention of going to his estate in the north, Louise had begun weeping. She claimed to miss her home, and so, despite his reluctance to live at his dead brother’s estate, he’d taken her back to St. Raven.

It was now her home, after all.

Old John, who’d been in the village near St. Raven since Dominic was a young boy, smirked a yellowed, rotting smile.

Dominic crossed his arms. “Let me understand this correctly—you are wanting a monthly stipend from me, and in exchange, you will not tell anyone of my condition. You realize the penalty for blackmail?”

The apothecary shrugged. “As I see it, if word gets out that you’re afflicted, you’ll lose the estate and the niece.”

Dominic laughed coldly. “What makes you think I care?”

“Seems to me that niece of yours is going to get shipped off if you don’t keep her here. I’ve heard talk. She can’t keep a governess and her aunt wants to send her away.” Old John sidled closer, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the morning light that streamed through the windows of his ramshackle cottage. Apparently being in the medical field didn’t pay enough.

“I don’t deal with blackmailers.”

“Ah, but for the sake of the child? Will you let her be sent off, her spirit crushed by well-meaning adults? She will be, you realize. On both counts.” Old John cocked a brow. “And you will be ostracized. Epileptics scare society.”

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked slowly.

The apothecary cackled. “You’ve been moping in northern England. I happen to know someone who witnessed one of your fits and he promptly wrote to me. I can see you’re thinking about what I’ve said. My partner will give you three days to decide what means more—the girl’s happiness or a bit of coin each month.”