From Governess to Society Bride. Helen Dickson
while Sarah tried to console Sophie.
‘I knew this would be a mistake,’ Lord Stainton thundered, glowering accusingly at Eve. It was as if she had physically pushed the child into the tree.
For a full five minutes the picnic area was filled with the voices of crying children, the concerned voices of Beth and Sarah, and Lord Stainton’s deeper, alarmed and irate voice.
Eve looked at him coldly. ‘Will you please be quiet,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. ‘Shouting like that will only upset the children more than they already are and make the situation worse.’
Inconsolable, Abigail continued to sob loudly, her hand on the already swelling lump on her forehead. She was frightened and bewildered by the sharp anger of her father and she cried fiercely. Completely ignoring the glowering Lord Stainton, whose mouth had clamped shut at her firm reproach, Eve sat on a bench with her young burden and cradled her on her lap, hugging her tightly and murmuring soft, soothing words against her wet cheek.
‘Does it hurt very much?’ she asked the sobbing child. ‘Did that nasty tree get in your way?’
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she wailed, ‘it did.’
‘Here, let me see.’ Eve wiped the hair from Abigail’s wet face.
‘I bumped my head,’ Abigail said between sobs, ‘and it hurts.’
‘I know it does, sweetheart,’ Eve murmured, hugging her once more, ‘and when you get home I’m sure Miss Lacy will put something very special on it to make it better.’
‘And will that hurt?’
‘No, of course it won’t. It will make the horrid bump go away in no time at all.’
Eve would have been surprised if she had looked up and seen Lord Stainton’s face as he watched her cradling his daughter, her cheek resting on the child’s dark curls. Looking on, he felt as though he was an intruder, a stranger, and that the two children belonged to someone else.
Mesmerised by the lovely picture the woman and child created, his expression had softened. He listened intently to her trying to sooth Abigail, which was something that came quite naturally to her. Gradually the child became quiet and ceased to cry, looking at the face of the woman with something akin to adoration and responding to the warmth in her voice.
Both the scene and the words of comfort Mrs Brody murmured bewitched him and reached out to some unknown part of him that he had not been aware he possessed. It touched and lightened a dark corner for a brief instant and then was it was gone.
Aware of Lord Stainton’s presence, Eve looked at him. Abigail saw her father and was shy of him, hiding her face in Eve’s neck. Standing up and carrying the child, Eve murmured, ‘Come, Abigail. Let’s go and find Miss Lacy, shall we? And perhaps you would like to take some of those pretty pink fairy cakes home with you that you liked so much. We shall see if we can find a fancy napkin to wrap them in. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please,’ Abigail whispered, having enjoyed the warmth and the cuddle the kind lady had given her and beginning to feel better already.
As Sarah settled the children in the carriage, with Abigail clutching the fairy cakes to her chest as if they were the most precious things in the world, Eve walked back to Lord Stainton. He was about to mount his horse and paused to look down at her.
‘I do not believe Abigail will suffer any adverse affects from her fall, Lord Stainton, but if you are worried unduly perhaps a doctor could take a look at her.’ A slow smile curved her lips. ‘In the rough and tumble of growing up, children trip up all the time.’
‘I sincerely hope you are right, Mrs Brody, and Abigail suffers no ill effects. However, Sophie and Abigail are not in the habit of running about like young savages.’
‘Then perhaps they should be. It’s far healthier for them to be out of doors and running about. They can still be in a stable environment without being cooped up in the house all day.’
‘My children have all the stability I can give them. They have had a secure upbringing and they are happy in the affection of a nursemaid.’
‘Nursemaids are all very well for infants, Lord Stainton, but for growing girls—’
‘They need their mother,’ he interrupted in a soft, blood-chilling voice as he loomed over her, stopping her abruptly, his face taut with some emotion Eve did not recognise. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, but they don’t have a mother—at least not the kind of mother you are familiar with.’
‘I’m sorry. If you had let me finish what I was about to say, I was going to suggest a governess.’
‘If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it. My children are my responsibility and I will guide them as I see fit.’
‘Then I would say that, with the attitude you’ve got, you will not make a very good job of it.’
‘Don’t you dare lecture me on how to raise my daughters, Mrs Brody. They are nothing to do with you, so I would be obliged if you would mind your own business.’
Eve stood back as he hoisted himself up into the saddle and without another word rode after the carriage. Her heart softened—she was not cruel, and she could well imagine how difficult it must be for him raising two young daughters alone. Sarah’s resignation must have come as a terrible blow and she sincerely hoped he would find someone who would care for his children as much as she had.
As he followed the carriage carrying his daughters, Lucas stopped every now and then, his eyes glancing back at the young woman with the deep red hair walking back to her party. Finally he turned his head away as if she didn’t exist.
The household was in bed and Eve was alone. She was tired after going with Beth and William and the children to visit their new house across the river, but she was restless and unable to sleep. Seated before the dressing table mirror, she was staring into space. She loved England and Beth’s spacious elegant house in Berkeley Street was a balm to her spirits, but she felt so alone. Instead of distracting her from her grief over her father’s death, being here in this alien country with a loving family was compounding the unreality and isolation she had felt since his funeral.
Her father had died suddenly just three months earlier. They had always been close and his parting had left her bereft. Lonely and lost without his support, with her daughter she retreated with her grief into her home, though it wasn’t long before potential suitors, aware of the vast wealth she had inherited, began arriving at her door like a swarm of locusts.
After weeks of turning her back on each and every one of them, she had emerged from her twilight world and, when a letter arrived from her good friend Beth Seagrove inviting her to come and stay with her and her lovely family, she had set sail for England. She and Beth had been close friends since childhood. Both their families had lived in New York and Eve had been sad when Beth had married William Seagrove and had gone to live in London.
Eve envied Beth her easy relationship with this lovely, supportive man, and dearly wished things had turned out like this for her. Sadly it was not meant to be. Andrew Brody, her husband of six months, had been killed in sordid circumstances, leaving her alone and pregnant with Estelle.
With a sigh she pushed her melancholia aside and studied her reflection in the glass. Decisions had to be made about what she was going to do next. No matter how much she loved staying with Beth and William, she knew that she couldn’t stay with them for ever. Besides, as yet she was unable to access her father’s money; according to the solicitor she had employed here in London, his affairs could take some considerable time to sort out.
Eve was quietly concerned about this because her available funds were limited, but her lawyer had assured her that it was only a matter of time before a conclusion was reached. So for the time being, in order to be self-sufficient, she must find some kind of employment to tide her over.
One thing she was quite clear about was that she did not want to return to New York and