Page 13 of When She Was a Governess
“I am sorry, Mrs. Bromley. When I came here, I needed the work very much and I didn’t think it would ever prove necessary to share my true identity. It was not meant to cause any harm to anyone.”
“It is a shame what they did to your father, Miss Ashford. I am truly sorry. Eight years old. It’s not right. What they did to your family.”
“It has been righted now.”
“And yet there is a part of you that wishes it had not?” Mrs. Bromley asked.
Sophia’s eyes filled with tears, hot on her tender eyelids that had not yet recovered from the crying jag the night before. “I do not wish to leave Amelia. It feels as if someone will cut off both my arms. Or perhaps just carve my heart out of my chest.”
Mrs. Bromley looked down at the floor for a moment, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. When she looked up, her eyes were full of sympathy but also a glimmer of something else. Dare Sophia thinkhope? As in, something could be done so that she didn’t have to leave Amelia? But as quickly as the thought came, she dismissed it. There was nothing to be done. Except live with a broken heart for the rest of her life.
“I’ll send Lucy up a little before then,” Mrs. Bromley said.
“Thank you.” The sound of Amelia’s high-pitched voice came from the adjacent bedroom. “I must go now.”
“Yes, go.” Mrs. Bromley bobbed her head and turned to leave but seemed to change her mind at the last second. “Miss Ashford, the darkest hour is always just before dawn. You must have faith that everything will end up as it should. Eventually.”
With that, the housekeeper headed silently down the hallway, leaving Sophia to her morning tasks, starting with getting Amelia dressed.
*
Sophia’s hands trembledas she descended the main staircase at precisely five minutes to ten. She’d changed from her morning dress into her second-best gown—the dark green wool that made her look somewhat less like a governess. Lucy had promised to keep Amelia occupied until Sophia returned.
If she returned to the nursery at all. Perhaps Lord Montrose had found a replacement already. Perhaps Sebastian had written to him, demanding her immediate release.
She reached the library door and paused, pressing one hand against her churning stomach. Through the partially open door, she could hear nothing but the soft patter of rain against windows and the distant cry of gulls. Taking a breath that did nothing to steady her, she knocked.
“Come.”
His voice sounded strained. Sophia pushed the door open and stepped into a room she’d only ever entered alone.
The library was brighter this morning than she’d expected, even with only gray morning light filtering through rain-streaked windows. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling—a glorious, chaotic abundance of them that made her fingers itch to explore. She’d borrowed volumes from these shelves hundreds of time since she’d arrived, always when his lordship was elsewhere, always returning them precisely where she’d found them. But she’d never seen the room like this, lived in and warm despite the weather. A Turkish carpet in faded jewel tones covered most of the floor. Two deep leather chairs faced each other before an unlit fireplace, and between them sat asmall table bearing a crystal decanter and glasses. The massive windows overlooked the lawn and the steel-gray sea beyond.
Lord Montrose stood near those windows, his back to the drizzle, and for a moment Sophia forgot why she was there. He looked different from yesterday. Scattered? Worried? His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. His coat hung open, unbuttoned, and his cravat was slightly loosened at his throat. Small details, but on a man normally so meticulously turned out, they spoke of considerable agitation.
He was sending her away. She fought the urge to run back up the stairs and gather Amelia close. Maybe run away with her.
“Miss Ashford.” He moved away from the window with visible effort. “Thank you for coming. Please, sit.”
He gestured to one of the leather chairs, and Sophia moved toward it on unsteady legs, acutely aware of his eyes on her. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a young woman with tumbling fair curls and laughing blue eyes, caught mid-smile as though the artist had just said something amusing. Rebecca. Amelia’s mother. How beautiful and alive she looked in the painting. It was hard to believe that she had perished, leaving Amelia without a mother.
“I trust Amelia is well occupied?” Lord Montrose remained standing, one hand braced against the mantel, the other shoved into his pocket.
“Yes, my lord. Lucy is with her.” Sophia perched on the edge of the chair, spine straight, hands folded carefully in her lap to hide their shaking. “She’s building a tower with her blocks. She’s quite good with her hands.” She stopped herself. He hadn’t summoned her to discuss the child’s play. “Forgive me. You wished to speak with me about a matter of importance?”
The silence stretched. Lord Montrose stared into the fire and Sophia’s dread grew with each passing second.
“My lord, if this concerns my departure—I know I promised my brothers I would leave by month’s end, but if you require me to go sooner, I can pack my things this afternoon. I would only ask that you allow me time to say goodbye to Amelia. I don’t want her to think I’ve simply vanished. She’s too young to understand, of course. She will think I’ve abandoned her. Which is true.” She fought tears.
“No.” The word was sharp, almost harsh. Lord Montrose turned to face her fully, and something in his expression made her breath catch. “That’s not what we shall do.” He exhaled. A sound of frustration perhaps? What had happened?
“I’m not asking you to leave sooner, Miss Ashford. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
Sophia blinked. “I… I don’t understand.”
He moved to the other chair and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. The posture brought him closer, and she could see the tension in his jaw, the fine lines around his eyes that suggested he’d slept as poorly as she had.
“You asked me yesterday to choose a bride who would love Amelia. Who would be good to her.”
