Page 2 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

“Thank you, Mrs. Southey.”

She stroked my cheek with the back of her soft, wrinkled hand—as much affection as one could ever hope for from her. “Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t.”

When I’d bid farewell to my pupils, a few of the younger ones cried, which made me cry and feel a bit guilty for leaving them—especiallyfor being happy about leaving. Then I said goodbye to Hattie and Susan, another fellow teacher and schoolmate, who’d also stayed on to teach.

“You won’t forget us, will you?” Hattie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Of course not. How could I forget my family?” I touched Hattie’s cheek with the back of my hand, the way Mrs. Southey did.

“We are your family,” Susan said in her no-nonsense way. “We shall welcome a visit from you when you are able.”

“Thank you, Susan.” I appreciated the warm—for Susan—sentiment, but I sincerely hoped I would not be coming back. After I married, I would send for Hattie and Susan to come and visitme.

How that would happen to a governess, I did not know, but anything seemed possible now that I had a position.

I’d pictured myself setting out in a fine carriage on a warm, sunny day, the light shining around me as all the pupils and teachers from Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies waved to me. Instead, it was before dawn and quite dark when I stepped into the empty mail coach to start my journey. Only Hattie was there, and she clutched my hand tightly while saying, “I’ll pray for your safe journey. Write me every detail as soon as you arrive.”

Sweet Hattie. She preferred reading the gossip columns to almost anything else, but she had no longing for adventure. She did have a big, warm, childlike heart, and I loved her at least as much as I could love a blood sister. The people at Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies were the only family I’d ever known, and I felt a stab of fear that no one would ever love me again.

But as the sun began spreading light over the road, I drew in a deep breath of crisp spring air. Spring was surely the best time of the year—for Mrs. Southey’s garden, for the wildflowers on the roadside, and for a new life.

I was five-and-twenty, and I’d never seen anything beyond the village of Milford in Bedfordshire.

Visions of ocean vistas, rides in carriages through London, castles and palaces, hills and lakes floated through my mind. I imagined the world as a wondrous place with rivers, waterfalls, and flowering trees, magnificent sunsets and vast rolling hills, and cliffs overlooking crashing waves of the vast blue sea.

I knew, of course, that most of England probably looked very much like the tame, ordered countryside around Milford, the village and the school that had been my home since I was five years old. But with all my heart, I wanted to see for myself all the places and things I’d only read about in books.

Other passengers entered the carriage at various stops on the road, and I had new people to observe. A rosy-cheeked woman with a chicken in a basket on her lap. A man wearing a top hat and a ragged coat. A blond lady wearing a smart bonnet with a pink ribbon and silk flowers.

Now I was a woman of the world, with a purpose and a position awaiting me at my destination. But I also felt small, a girl traveling alone, an orphan, acquainted with very few people outside of Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies.

For most of the trip, I watched out the window, my eyes wide so I could catch as many sights—forests, lakes, streams, hills, horses, and carriages—as possible. A person never knew when they might catch a glimpse of their future. And I could hardly wait to see the Earl of Brookhaven’s manor, Lowndesbury House.

I had to change coaches two hours after sunrise, where I was crammed inside a carriage that smelled worse—much worse—than the woman’s chicken in a basket. A man seated across from me held a handkerchief to his nose the whole time, but I was blessed to be seated next to a window and could hold my face into the springtime air filled with flowers and sunshine.

We stopped at an inn for my final change. I took the opportunity to tidy my hair before boarding a hired curricle that would take methe last few miles. I climbed onto the seat, clutching my smaller bag while thinking of my other one, which had been stowed.

The driver was not a talkative man and sat hunched over, staring straight ahead every time I looked over at him, which was not often, as I was taken with the countryside. So green and lush! These were fortunate sheep grazing in such abundant grass, a small stream running through the middle of their pasture. I even saw a lamb jump up and kick its hind feet in the air, and my heart mimicked it.

I drew in deep, long draughts of the Berkshire air, squinting at the trees in the distance. And then I saw it on a hill a mile away, all sprawling gray stone, so magnificent, with towers that reminded me of the Milford church’s bell tower, though this house was far larger and grander than the Milford church, or any other building I’d ever laid eyes on. It looked as if it had been built at least a century or two ago, which made it all the more exciting. Three towers rose above the rest of the house, and stone crenellations encircled the perimeter of the rooflines.

Lowndesbury House.

It was like a medieval castle from a storybook.

Oh,please let me exploreevery nook and cranny in the house.And let mefind a secret room or two and a hidden staircase,please,Lord.

I wanted to know everything, everyone who had ever lived there, the entire history of it. If only I could explore it for the rest of my life.

Well, that was a silly thought. But if I happened to marry the earl’s steward, perhaps I would.

There were a few positions at the earl’s manor house that would be suitable for me as possible husbands, and they were the earl’s steward, the butler, and possibly even the chef, gamekeeper, or the head gardener, if they were more genteel than the average of their set.

In the time leading up to this journey, I’d imagined an entire novel in my head of meeting Lord Brookhaven’s steward, exchanging glances with him, then conversations when I chanced to meet him in a corridor or at mealtimes. And then when the earl held a ball at Lowndesbury House, the steward would find me outside inthe garden, listening to the music, and ask me to dance. I’d finally be able to use my dancing skills with an eligible man! We would dance in the garden all night, and then, the next day, he would beg me to marry him.

Sometimes, instead of the steward, it would be the gamekeeper. Sometimes it was even the son of a baron or viscount who had his own wealth and would whisk me away to the Continent until society had forgotten that I was just a lowly orphan and governess, and we would return to England and host lovely parties, and the kindest and best women of society would become my dearest friends.