The Governess and Mr. Granville. Abby Gaines
have an aunt right here in this house, who loves them very much and who, as I’ve said, will likely always be here with us.”
Serena hesitated. To speak bluntly about Marianne Granville seemed harsh, but... “If you’re suggesting Miss Granville will play a more active role in the children’s upbringing than she does now, you’re quite wrong.”
His mouth tightened. “I’m not suggesting anything to you at all. It’s none of your business.”
“Are you saying that when Hetty makes her come-out into society,” Serena persisted, “she will be chaperoned by your sister?”
He eyed her with hearty dislike. “Not necessarily. Hetty’s come-out is six or seven years away.”
“Will your loyalty to your wife vanish in that time?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“Even if you could force your sister into the role of chaperone, I doubt you’d have the stomach for it,” Serena said. Not that Mr. Granville was in any way soft, but his attitude toward his sister was rightly protective. “I understand you have no other suitable female relatives. It’s possible you have a female friend who might help—” a flicker of doubt crossed his face “—but a girl’s come-out is such a...a complicated time that you’ll want someone very close to your daughters involved.”
Serena drew a breath. “Which means you’ll at some stage need to marry, if only to help your daughters find their place in society. I say, do it now and give them all the benefits of a loving stepmother.” She spread her hands as if nothing could be simpler. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to add two and two, did it?
She could see from his distracted expression that he was performing the calculation himself and coming up with the same, unpalatable answer.
Then he blinked, as if to dismiss his conclusion. When he spoke, the set of his shoulders, the jut of his jaw, told Serena he had no intention of discussing this further. And every intention of ignoring her advice. “Prepare to leave this house on Monday, Miss Somerton. My own carriage will convey you to your parents’ home.” His offer of transportation likely spoke as much of his desire to be sure he was rid of her as it did of his determination to acknowledge her social standing.
Serena bowed her head, defeated.
She had failed.
* * *
Dominic found his sister in the greenhouse. She’d commandeered its southwest corner for her botanical project, a move that Gladding, the head gardener, tolerated with an air of long-suffering. Dominic called a greeting from the doorway, to give Marianne a moment to adjust to his presence. By the time he reached her, her face was rosy. But not bright red, as it would have been if he’d startled her.
“So this is the new arrival.” He scrutinized the gray-green leaves, if one could call the sharp-tipped spikes that, of the plant she was digging in. “It survived the journey, then.” Just as well, since it had cost a small fortune.
“If it survived the trip from India to England, I daresay London to Leicestershire was nothing.” Marianne patted the soil around the base of the plant with her trowel, then stepped back to admire it. “Aloe vera. Pretty, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll at least look nice.” Her careless tone didn’t fool Dominic.
“Very nice,” he said.
She picked up on his sympathy, and her cheeks turned a deeper pink; she fanned her face. “This place is so warm.”
“We could step outside if you’re finished,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “The others need water. I’ve forbidden Gladding to do it—he tends to drown them.”
The gardener didn’t hold with newfangled tropical plants. Dominic preferred the more restrained beauty of English plants himself, but he wouldn’t deny Marianne her search for a cure for her condition.
She bent to pick up the watering can at her feet; Dominic intervened. “Let me do that. I promise I’ll obey your instructions to the letter.”
She smiled in gratitude as she dabbed at her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. The slightest exertion, even lifting a watering can, would make her face redden further. Even though there was no one but Dominic to see her, she preferred to avoid exacerbating her complaint.
“While you do that, I promised Cook I’d snip some chives for dinner.” She pulled a small pair of scissors from her pocket. “I ordered the honey-glazed duck for tonight.”
Dominic’s stomach growled at the mention of his favorite dish. “Have I told you you’re the best sister in the world?” he teased, as he sprinkled water over the threadlike leaves of the nigella she’d planted last year, having heard the seeds could be ground into a paste for the skin. Like every other remedy, it hadn’t worked.
“You’ve told me many times, but there’s no such thing as too often.” Marianne signaled that he’d dampened the nigella enough. “What brings you here, Dom? Shouldn’t you be out inspecting fences, or the like?”
He moved on to the next plant, a tropical flax whose leaves could reputedly be laid over the skin for a healing effect. “Miss Somerton’s sister has married the Earl of Spenford.”
Surprise flashed across Marianne’s face. “I didn’t know.” Like him, she never read the London society news. He abstained because he was too busy. For Marianne, reading about a world she had every right to be a part of, but never would be, disheartened her. “So Serena will be leaving us. What a pity, for her and for us.”
“I don’t see that it’s a bad thing for her,” Dominic countered. Nor for them, either. The governess had overstepped every conceivable boundary during their conversation; he couldn’t remember feeling so provoked. But at the same time, he’d admired her determination to fight on his children’s behalf. Even if she was quite wrong.
“She can return to her parents in Hampshire, or no doubt the Spenfords would be happy to have her in London,” he said. Serena might be helter-skelter, but she was pretty enough. With some self-discipline and the backing of the Earl and Countess of Spenford, she’d find herself a husband by the time she’d been in town a month. Maybe less than a month. Dominic had noticed she had a fine figure, the kind to attract male attention.
“Well, it’s awful for us,” Marianne insisted.
“Will Miss Somerton be such a sad loss?” Dominic asked lightly. Images of the governess’s blue eyes and graceful neck rose in his mind as he wielded the watering can over a glossy-leafed something-or-other. “I have the impression that under her care, the children are somewhat rambunctious.”
“They adore Serena,” her sister said. “And not only does she love them, she can keep up with them.” Marianne’s excessive, uncontrollable blushing meant she couldn’t exert herself with the children—not unless she wanted to spend the next several hours hot and crimson-faced. “But more importantly, although I love them with all my heart and they love me back, Serena seems to know better what they need.” She peeled off her garden gloves. “That’s enough watering for now. We’ll stop at the herb garden for those chives on our way back to the house.”
What his children needed... The governess had tried to lecture him on that subject.
“I know you found appointing a governess a tedious experience last time,” he said, as he held the greenhouse door open for his sister. An understatement. “But could I trouble you to do it again?” He’d do it himself, but Marianne needed to select someone with whom she’d feel comfortable.
“I can try,” she said gloomily. “But don’t expect it to be a quick process.”
“I offer a generous wage as compensation for looking after five children,” he reminded her.
Marianne held his gaze. “The trouble is, Dominic, you want—and the children deserve—a respectable young lady of good breeding.