Page 23 of When She Was a Governess
“Do you think so? Because today, looking at her portrait, I had to wonder. Am I adequate enough? Does she indeed rest in peace, knowing I would do anything in my power to protect Amelia? Or is she bitter and resentful that it is I and not her?”
“I cannot confess to knowing what happens to us after we leave this earth, but I do feel she is at peace. Largely, perhaps, because of you.”
“I feel guilty at times. Being the one who is here, when my mother and Amelia’s are no longer.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Rebecca was the better of the two of us. She should be here, not me.” This time he reached for his wine and took a sip. “Rebecca was five years younger than me. She should have been Mother’s favorite—the pretty, accomplished daughter. But Mother found fault with her as easily as she found fault with me. Rebecca was too soft-hearted. Too kind to the servants. Too interested in books and too little interested in making an advantageous match.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She and I were allies from the time I can remember. Two children trying to weather our mother’s storms.”
“Your father didn’t protect you?”
“My father learned long ago that it was easier to simply agree with whatever Mother wanted. He’s not a cruel man, just a profoundly weak one.”
“I see,” Sophia said.
His voice roughened slightly. “When Rebecca was eighteen, she fell in love with Nicolas Weston. He was a second son, not particularly wealthy or well-connected, but he adored her. Absolutely worshipped her. And for once, Father stood up to Mother and allowed the match.” He looked at Sophia directly. “I’ve never seen anyone as happy as Rebecca was on her wedding day. She glowed.”
Sophia’s chest ached at the image. “Did she want to be a mother?”
“More than anything. She wrote to me often after the wedding, full of plans for the nursery she would one day need, the children she would raise with love and patience and none of Mother’s coldness.” He took another sip of his wine. “When she discovered she was expecting, she wrote to me of her fears—turning into our mother. But she was nothing like her. I knew without a doubt that she would be a wonderful mother.” Lord Montrose’s hands clenched briefly on the table. “Rebecca had a difficult labor. The midwife said she nearly died bringing Amelia into the world. But she survived, and when I visited a month later, I’d never seen her happier. I’ll never forget how she looked at the baby, with such love and awe.”
Sophia blinked back tears.
“Then, a few months later, she was killed.” The words came out flat. “They were traveling back from Nicolas’s family estate. The axle broke. The carriage went off the road.” He stopped, his jaw working. “They told me it was quick. That they wouldn’t have suffered. I don’t know if that’s true or if they were simply being kind.”
“I’m sorry.” She wanted to reach out to him, place her hand on his, but she didn’t dare risk it. If he were to reject the gesture, she would feel humiliated. She must remember this was a business arrangement and nothing more.
“Rebecca’s will was very specific. Amelia was to come to me, not to our parents. She knew Mother well enough to know what kind of grandmother she’d be, which is to say, the same kind of mother she’d been to us.” He met Sophia’s eyes, and she saw old pain there, still raw despite the years. “And so I became guardian to my baby niece. I was left with a child to raise and absolutely no skills with which to do so. No woman by my side to assist me.”
He looked away quickly, as though embarrassed by his own vulnerability.
“What happened to the woman you were to marry?” Sophia asked. “The one your uncle assumed you would ultimately marry?”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he set down his fork and leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Sophia said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry—”
“No, I should tell you about her. About what happened.” He drew a breath. “You should know what you’re getting into. What my mother is capable of.”
Dread pooled in Sophia’s stomach. “I am listening, my lord.”
*
Henry stood abruptlyand moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a brandy. He didn’t drink it immediately, just held the glass and stared down at the amber liquid.
“I was twenty-three,” he began, his back to her. “I’d come to stay with my uncle for the summer, as I always did. Eleanor Lawson lived in the village. Her father was the vicar. She waseverything I wanted. The opposite of my mother. Gentle. Kind. Like me, she loved literature and being outside. We spent the entire summer together. Walking, talking, falling in love.”
Sophia’s heart clenched at the tenderness in his voice.
“By September, I knew I wanted to marry her. I wrote to my parents to inform them of my intentions.” He took a long drink of brandy. “My mother arrived within the week.”
“Oh no.”
“She took one look at Eleanor—the vicar’s daughter with no fortune, no connections, no value to the family—and set about destroying her.” His voice had gone flat, emotionless, which somehow made it worse. “It was subtle at first. Little comments about Eleanor’s dress, her manners, her unsuitability. Then she began spreading rumors. Eleanor was a fortune hunter. She’d trapped me with feminine wiles. She was unstable, prone to fits of melancholy.”
“That’s monstrous.”
“Yes. It escalated. Mother convinced my father that the match would ruin our family socially. They threatened to disown me, to cut me off entirely if I married her. I was young and stupid and thought I could fight them. I told Eleanor we’d elope, live on my uncle’s generosity until they came around.”
He turned then, and the look on his face made Sophia’s blood run cold.
