Page 19 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
It was novel. And at the moment felt somewhat essential.
‘Michael had a very difficult day today,’ she said finally.
‘In what sense?’
His son had always been a spirited boy, but something had changed when his mother had died. It was no longer running through the halls or attempting to slide down banisters. It was anger, the energy expressing itself in outbursts.
‘He had a fit of rage that lasted quite some time. We will need to replace some furniture in the nursery.’
Her expression remained placid. If she was angry, frightened or upset by what had happened, it did not show on her face.
‘And you are still here,’ he said.
‘The anger of a child deep in the throes of mourning does not upset me. What upsets me is not knowing how to help. Do you know...’
‘I do not know.’ Whatever she was going to ask, he had no answer. For how could he? How could he know what to do with a little boy? He had his own complicated, painful emotion surrounding the loss of Jane, what was he supposed to do with the child?
‘You are his father.’
‘Yes. I am. But that has little to do with knowing what to do with the child who has suffered a loss. You are his governess, that is your business.’
‘You are his father. You should know him.’
‘I do not know this version of that child. I do not know this version of my life.’
He had meant to push at her, and instead, she had flicked that emerald knife blade right beneath the skin. Instead, she had upended him.
And she would pay for that.
‘I think they might need to speak of their mother. I need some tokens, something, to introduce the conversation, but I did not know the woman, and I am not certain how I would speak to that. Perhaps it needs to come from you.’
‘Do not seek to tell me how to be a father to my children. I am constant. And I have not changed. Do you not think that perhaps that is what they need the most?’
‘I think perhaps they may need love the most. You said yourself, your wife was warm, she spent time with them. Perhaps what they miss is—’
‘It is a woman’s touch that they miss.’
‘You speak with such authority, but you don’t see what happens in the nursery. I do.’
‘You’ve been here for two days. Do not speak to me as if you have a deeper knowledge of this than you do.’
‘Am I now too competent at my job?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You say that I cannot know these things after two days, but you insist on vetting me. You say that you are only concerned with having the best person for your children, and yet you doubt me when I display confidence.’
‘I have done no such thing.’
‘You have. Tell me, is it all of your employees, or only the women that must prove themselves to you beyond doing the work that they have been assigned? You have asked for an account of my day, and you have asked for my opinions, and now you reject them.’
There it was. The spark. Her anger. It fuelled something in him. Ignited something in his gut. It made him feel like he was winning.
He stood up and rounded the desk. ‘I fail to see how asking for an account of your day is an agreement that I will take everything you say as Scripture. I do not recall ever promising that it would be so.’
‘I am only asking that you listen to me.’
‘Is that what you are asking? Or are you asking that I take your every word without question, and then accuse me of discounting you because you are a woman, when I would never consider hiring anyone but a woman for this position. You are out of line, Miss Smith.’
