Page 19 of When She Was a Governess
“Forgive me, my lord.” She straightened. “I only meant to say that I hope the marriage brings contentment to you both. You’ve both known loss and hardship. You deserve peace. And love.”
There was something in her tone—not judgment exactly, but a gentle concern that made Henry shift uncomfortably.
“That’s my intention,” he said.
“Of course, my lord.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “I’ll speak with Miss Ashford this afternoon about the wardrobe arrangements. If there’s anything else she requires for the wedding, I’ll see to it personally.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bromley.”
After she’d gone, Henry sank into his chair and stared at Rebecca’s portrait.
The conversation had been perfectly proper. Mrs. Bromley had said nothing inappropriate, nothing that overstepped her position. And yet something in her careful words felt a bit like a warning.I hope the marriage brings contentment to you both. As if she’d wanted to say more but propriety had held her back. And what exactly was this warning? That he should be careful with Miss Ashford’s heart? And perhaps his own as well. Or, was she hinting that Miss Ashford deserved love.
Whichever it was, one thing had become clear. If they were to pretend to be in love for Miss Ashford’s family, they should do the same with the staff. He would speak to Miss Ashford about it tonight at dinner.
Chapter Five
That evening Sophiasat at her dressing table and put the last pin in her hair. Observing herself in the mirror, she found herself wanting. Firstly, without a lady’s maid, the best she could manage was a simple knot at the nape of her neck, secured with her mother’s silver comb. It would have to do. Furthermore, she wished she had a better dress to wear for her first dinner with Lord Montrose. Alas, she possessed only the green wool, which she’d worn earlier for their meeting. In truth, the color was a little dark for her fair complexion, making her appear pale and drawn. Her eyes had smudges of purple under them as well. Too many nights crying herself to sleep. Yet, it would have to do. Not that it mattered what she looked like. The lord had no interest in her as a woman. He had made that plain enough during their earlier discussion.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Mrs. Bromley entered.
“Miss Ashford? Lord Montrose is waiting for you in the breakfast room. May I escort you?”
“Thank you.” She stood, smoothing her skirts. “I wish I was more presentable. Dining with the lord is not something I ever expected to do. This is my best dress.”
“You are lovely, Miss Ashford, in whatever you wear. However, I have a dressmaker coming tomorrow to begin working on your new wardrobe. The lord has said to spare no expense. He wants you to have the finest of everything.”
“It is very generous of him.”
“I think you’ll find him to be so in all ways,” Mrs. Bromley said.
Sophia followed Mrs. Bromley downstairs. When they reached the breakfast room, the housekeeper paused and gave her an encouraging smile. She said quietly, “Don’t be nervous, dear. He’s just a man. They are simpler than we might think.” Then she turned and walked away, leaving Sophia standing alone before the closed door.
She drew a steadying breath and knocked.
“Come.”
Lord Montrose stood when she entered. He wore a dark coat and crisp cravat that made him look even more handsome than usual. The breakfast room was smaller than the formal dining room, more intimate, with cream-colored walls and windows overlooking the darkened garden. A fire crackled in the grate, casting warm light over the polished mahogany table set for two.
Two. Just the two of them. Her future husband. The thought made her stomach flutter nervously.
“Miss Ashford.” He gestured to the chair nearest to where he stood at the head of the table. “Please.”
She moved forward on unsteady legs, acutely aware of his eyes on her. Her cheeks warmed and her hands felt suddenly damp with perspiration.
He held her chair and she murmured her thanks as she sat. His hands brushed the back of her chair, and she caught the faint scent of shaving soap.
Robert, one of the younger footmen who sometimes brought coal up to the nursery, began serving the first course—a delicate soup that smelled of herbs and cream. They ate in silence for a moment or two. She found herself worried about the volume of her chewing. A few droplets of perspiration dotted her nose. She wanted very badly to wipe it away with her napkin but refrained.It was important that she play the part of a lady, even if she felt more like a scullery maid turned governess. Would she ever adjust to this new station in life?
“The weather has improved,” Lord Montrose said finally, his voice overly formal.
“Yes, my lord. The rain has stopped. I was able to take Amelia out for a few minutes this afternoon. She enjoys exploring the gardens, looking for flowers.”
“The daffodils are about to bloom. Poor things. Still battered by the rain and wind, but managing to rise toward the sky anyway.”
Like me.
More silence. Sophia stared at her soup, acutely aware of every movement she made. Was she holding her spoon correctly? Sitting properly? What did ladies talk about at dinner with gentlemen?
