Chapter Four
C hapter F our
G illes could not recollect the last time he had spent time out in the grounds on a picnic. He was certain that he and Heloise had done so, and probably even with the girls, but not a single memory of such a thing was coming to mind.
What a tragedy that was.
The girls were delighted to be eating luncheon out in the grounds, a blanket strewn out on the green near the pond for all of them to sit upon. Madeline had chattered animatedly the entire time she had been eating, somehow managing to keep appropriate table manners for her age all the while. Marie-Claire had apparently decided that she was fond of Miss Chorley during the tour of the house, as she sat close enough to her to bump against her leg, side, or arm with every reach for food. If Miss Chorley minded this proximity, she gave no hint of it.
He’d never seen anyone win over his daughters so quickly in his entire life, and they were very amiable girls.
But what astonished him the most was that Miss Chorley seemed to be doing so without exerting an exceptional effort. It was the most natural he had ever seen any governess behave with his daughters, and the most at ease. And the girls were responding with delight and playfulness.
All this within a few hours of meeting her? The future could be promising indeed, if this was the beginning.
“Papa, can we go pick some flowers?” Madeline asked brightly, her golden curls seeming to glow in the streaming sunshine.
Gilles smiled at her and patted her knee. “Of course, ma fée. But stay out of the gardens and do not go near the water, oui?”
“Oui,” she replied primly. She pushed to her feet and brushed at her pinafore. “Mademoiselle Abby, what is your favorite flower?”
Miss Chorley made an obvious effort at thinking. “Wildflowers, probably. And I love all colors.”
Madeline put her hands on her hips, huffing slightly. “That is not helpful. All we pick are wildflowers.”
Gilles snorted softly, hiding his laugh behind a hand as he stretched his legs out to lounge on the blanket.
Miss Chorley smiled and looked towards the nearby grove of trees carefully. “Why not try to find something… blue? And white. Match your dresses and let us see what you come up with!”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Abby! Come on, Mariette!” Madeline waved her sister along as she started to run, and Marie-Claire was instantly up and trotting along behind her.
Gilles watched them go with fondness, grateful for the fair day that allowed them to be so uninhibited out in their own grounds. It was always good for them to be out of doors, and he was not doing enough to see that they were.
Once they settled into a schedule and routine of sorts with Miss Chorley, Gilles would feel less guilt about spending so much time with his work, but it was not as though he could foist parenting off onto the governess. Nor did he wish to, of course.
He was simply being pulled in so many directions, and without the ballast of his wife, there was nothing to steady him among such tension.
“They are marvelous girls, Mr. Bichard.”
Gilles felt his smile spread entirely of its own accord. “Merci, Miss Chorley. They are the light of my life.”
“I can see that, sir. Am I right in saying that Madeline is six years of age and Marie-Claire is five?”
“Nearly.” Gilles glanced over at her, leaning on his elbow. “Marie-Claire is almost five. In a month, she will be.”
Miss Chorley was smiling, her cheeks seeming rosier with the motion of her lips. “That explains it.”
Gilles knew his own smile went lopsided in his curiosity. “Explains what?”
“On our tour of the house,” she began, reaching for another strawberry from the basket, “the girls had a bit of a tiff. Nothing dramatic, but Madeline said that Marie-Claire was still a baby, and Marie-Claire insisted it was not for much longer.”
Rolling his eyes, Gilles shook his head, looking towards the grove of trees again, though the shapes of the girls could not be seen. “They are either the best of friends or the worst of enemies. I have never seen closer siblings, but the way they nettle each other at times is truly devious. They know exactly the right places to aim, and yet, in spite of the wounds, they are friends again within moments.” He sighed heavily, making a face. “I am sorry they did not behave for you.”
“Oh, but they did!” Miss Chorley insisted, shifting her position and drawing his attention back to her. “That little tiff was nothing, truly. Siblings never get along perfectly, especially as children, and to be frank, theirs was the most polite form of familial argument I have ever seen.”
“Is that intended to be a compliment?” Gilles asked with a laugh. “They fight nicely?”
Miss Chorley grinned before taking another bite of her strawberry. “Well, they do, sir. And it was all very quick, as you said. Friends once more within minutes. My sisters would have held a grudge for much, much longer, and likely pinched my arm as well. And as for my brothers, well…” She shrugged pointedly.
“Trouble, were they?” Gilles had a hard time imagining that, seeing how calm and contemplative Miss Chorley was. But she had such a way with children, and such an understanding of them, that something in her past ought to have given her that experience.
“There are six of us, all told,” she said after a swallow. “And the brothers were determined that the sisters join them in every antic, since we outnumbered them. I am the quietest of the family, but even I was persuaded to take part. It was a loud, rambunctious, lovely way to grow up. Not particularly formal, but I enjoyed it.” She smiled almost whimsically then, tucking a finger between her bonnet ribbons at her chin and dragging it along a little.
Gilles watched the motion in a bit of fascination. “Does it chafe? Your ribbons there?”
“Not really, just out of practice with wearing it. I prefer nothing at all on my head if I can help it, but a wide-brimmed hat when I must. I have not fully unpacked everything, so this was all I had to hand.” She finished her strawberry and set the end on her plate, chewing quickly, her eyes widening. “But I can assure you, I intend to teach the girls properly. I mean, for them to be proper. Manners and comportment as well as education. My own preferences will not come into it.”
“I don’t care if they do,” Gilles assured her without haste, keeping his tone even. “You seem a very sensible woman as well as accomplished, and you must be qualified enough, or Mrs. Corbin would not have brought you on. I was just thinking myself that I would love for the girls to be out of doors more, as the weather permits. It is a matter of having someone able to escort them to do so, which is difficult with the household staff.”
Miss Chorley tsked very softly. “I quite understand. It must be a relief to have me here for that.”
Gilles weighed his next words with care, but proceeded anyway. “To be honest, Miss Chorley, I had forgotten that the previous governess had left, and I had no idea it had been three months since she had. I’ve been very occupied with other things, in spite of all good intentions to the contrary.” He trailed off, not seeing the need to confide further in this practical stranger about the deeper feelings of his heart or thoughts in his mind.
He cleared his throat. “So it will be good for us all to have you here and to have the girls in a clear routine. They thrive under such, I believe.”
“Decent structure of the day is profitable for most people, adults as well as children. I know it is that way for me.” Miss Chorley brushed at her hands and gave him a rather steady look that made her eyes even more startlingly blue than moments before. “Sir, what are your wishes and preferences for the girls’ education? What would you like me to focus on? How rigorous would you like the curriculum to be? And how would you like them to spend unoccupied time?”
Gilles blinked in surprise, the questions not necessarily startling, but the idea that he might have considered any such things was. In fact, the notion of contemplating the subject before this moment was positively foreign. Then again, why should it be? Why else had they hired a governess? It hadn’t been just due to the loss of Heloise, as their first governess had already been with them at the time, though she’d been more of a nanny than anything else.
And quite frankly, they’d only hired one because Heloise was growing more invested in their work against the Faction and needed some time away from the girls to get more accomplished.
He couldn’t exactly tell Miss Chorley that.
But what could he say? As a father, what exactly did he want for his daughters?
He frowned to himself, wishing, not for the first time, that Heloise were here to discuss this with him.
Heloise.
That was it. What sort of woman had Heloise been raised to be? That would be the best of all places to start. He had known her better than anyone in the world and knew what she considered her flaws as well as what she had regretted in her life.
What better guide could he have?
“Everything,” Gilles said with a smile, as though he could hear Heloise instructing him. “I want them to learn everything they can. But I want them to be children while they can. They’ve suffered the loss of their mother, and Mariette may not have much memory of the time before her death, but Madeline does. I do what I can as the only parent, but my wife was the fun and imaginative one. I should like them to have those aspects in their life again.”
He glanced up at Miss Chorley and saw her kind, serene expression, and wondered what else lay behind it. “I realize that is not particularly specific as curriculum goes.”
Miss Chorley laughed easily, her eyes squeezing shut with the surprise of the moment. “No, sir, it is not. But they are young, as you’ve said. Perhaps specificity is not required yet.”
“Agreed. We have an extensive library, so it would be wise if they were able to read well, and if we can try to instill a love of reading…” He shrugged, sighing. “We cannot dictate tastes, but I would certainly wish for that.”
“Oh, I agree, sir,” Miss Chorley all but gushed. “Books can open the imagination in countless ways. I should like to encourage imagination and play along with their accomplishment and education, if you’ll allow me.”
Gilles was nodding before she finished. “Yes, please, Mademoiselle Chorley. I recognize they must eventually learn languages and arithmetic and philosophy, and I don’t even know what else. But reading—that is the beginning of everything, is it not?”
“It was for me,” Miss Chorley murmured. “I could not draw well, but my governess knew that if she told me I could read when I finished a drawing, I would surely get it done, poor as it might have been.”
“Mariette loves to draw, as it happens.” He looked towards the grove, smiling almost wistfully at the figures of his daughters on their way back. “As did their mother. She loved…” His heart clenched hard, bringing unbidden tears to his eyes. He lowered his gaze, trying for a swallow to clear his throat, to find the ability to say anything further.
“I am so sorry,” came the gentle whisper of Miss Chorley as if by a breeze. “I cannot even imagine the pain.”
Gilles shook his head, smiling to himself. “It is more than that. Grief is… complicated, I find. I do miss Heloise very much to this day. But the pain of that is mingled with love, affection, humor, fondness. There is so much pleasure in the memories, even with the longing for her presence and her company. Her laugh…” He began to snicker without warning. “She had the loudest, most unseemly laugh when she was truly amused. Something between chortling and cackling combined with the bellow of a bull. And she snorted.”
He heard the choked sound of amusement from beside him and glanced over to see Miss Chorley covering her mouth, her eyes narrowed with restrained mirth. It warmed his aching heart.
“Please, laugh out loud,” he told her with a grin. “She certainly did. It echoed in some rooms. We could test the acoustics for concerts by it.”
Miss Chorley hunched over, covering her face as giggles escaped her hands.
“I used to save my best stories and jokes for the most inopportune moments,” Gilles went on, encouraged by the laughter, “just to get the startled laughter from her.”
“That is beastly!” Miss Chorley cried amidst her giggles, dropping her hands. “Oh, she must have been furious!” She immediately sobered, biting her lip. “Sir,” she added hastily.
Gilles gave her an almost pitying smile. “Mademoiselle Chorley, please. You do not have to call me ‘sir’ all the time. I know you are employed here, but it will all be much more comfortable in the house if we are friends. I invite you to speak frankly with me, particularly about the girls. You will see more than I can, and I prefer a direct approach. Don’t think of yourself as subservient, I beg of you. We are allies.”
Friends? Allies? He wasn’t certain what words were tumbling from his mouth or why, but he didn’t like the idea of Abigail Chorley being submissive to him. Or to anyone, really. Mrs. Corbin couldn’t be helped, as everyone was submissive to her, but as for the rest…
He could use a friend in this house, and Miss Chorley suited him.
So far, at least.
A friend among the staff? It was a novel concept for him, but why not? Who was going to complain or care?
She was watching him with those calm, steady eyes, almost a match for the shade of the sky, and there was the slightest curve to her pert lips. “Yes, sir.”
Gilles exhaled noisily, shaking his head. “Miss Chorley, really.”
“What am I supposed to reply with?” she countered, laughing with the words. “It is only polite, and I can hardly call you by your Christian name, even if we are friends and allies. And it will get very tiresome for both of us for me to say ‘Mr. Bichard’ every time. I will not say ‘sir’ as often, but you must permit the occasional usage, or I will sound dreadfully impertinent and defiant.”
“I invite you to be impertinent and defiant,” Gilles shot back. “I don’t believe you could ever be either, in truth, no matter how it feels to you. You have a kinder nature than that.”
Miss Chorley’s trim brows rose in surprise. “Do I? Already, you think so?”
He nodded once. “I do. Am I wrong?”
Her lips parted to reply, but her attention was pulled in another direction as footsteps sounded in the grass nearby.
“Blue and white, Mademoiselle Abby!” Madeline declared proudly, holding out the collection of wildflowers for her. Marie-Claire also had a bundle, thrusting it towards her as well.
“Merci, ma chérie.” Miss Chorley took the flowers from her and inhaled their scent for a moment. “Shall I turn them into crowns for you?”
“Yes!” Madeline cried, scrambling over Miss Chorley’s outstretched legs.
A grimace of pain flashed across the woman’s face, combined with an audible hiss and groan. Gilles sat up like a shot. “Madeline! Sois prudent!”
“Sorry!” She clapped her hands over her cheeks, looking heartbroken. “I forgot you have a sore leg!”
Marie-Claire stared at Miss Chorley with round eyes, biting down on her lips.
Miss Chorley shook her head, eyes closed, and swallowed. “It’s all right, chérie. Come here.” She opened her arms and her eyes, taking Madeline into her embrace. She waved Marie-Claire over as well, and his youngest also came into her lap, very gingerly.
Gilles relaxed his position only just. “Is it, though?”
She met his eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes, I promise.” She ran her hand over Madeline’s curls, while Marie-Claire simply snuggled into her. “Shall I tell you how I hurt my leg?”
Madeline sniffled tearfully. “Yes, if it won’t hurt your heart, too.”
Gilles smiled at his oldest with a surge of tenderness. He watched Miss Chorley raise her eyes heavenward, blinking quickly, her throat bobbing.
“I promise you that it will not hurt my heart. And my leg no longer hurts either. So no more tears, oui?”
“Oui,” came Madeline’s whispered reply.
Her elegant, nimble fingers began to run through Madeline’s golden locks in steady motions. “A long time ago, in a quiet corner of England, a young woman was riding a horse to a friend’s house. It was very late at night and very dark, and this young woman was riding very recklessly indeed. She hadn’t taken the time to ensure everything was fixed properly on the horse, and she was riding astride, which is not at all ladylike.”
Gilles listened to her tale intently, reading through the clearly simplified version to try and discern the deeper, perhaps darker, truth. What had Miss Chorley been doing in the middle of the night on a horse that require recklessness? She did not seem the sort to do anything reckless, no matter what time of day it was, but recklessly riding a horse…
That seemed even more far-fetched.
What had driven her to that? Going to a friend’s house, she said? In the middle of the night? Was it a lover she had been riding to? There was no other explanation, in his mind, and for whatever reason, he did not care for it.
At all.
“I was riding so fast and so hard,” she continued in a strong, yet somehow distant voice, “and it was so dark that I did not see certain hazards in my path. I was so fatigued, you see. I was not very well, and… I fell from my horse, who, you will remember, was going very fast, indeed. I hit the ground so hard that my leg broke in several places.”
Madeline whimpered just as Gilles grimaced, the image of Abigail hitting the dark, cold ground with intensity an unwelcome one. And if she had been unwell at the same time…
She pressed a soft kiss to Madeline’s hair and tightened her hold on Marie-Claire. Was that to comfort them or herself for the story she was telling?
“It hurt very badly,” she murmured, her eyes settling somewhere around the picnic basket, but unfocused. “So badly I fell asleep. And when I next woke, I was far away from where I had fallen. There were no doctors, and so my leg did not heal well. And now it does not work as well as it once did. It tires easily, it is weaker than the other, it does not bend well, it is sensitive when eager girls climb upon it.” She tickled Madeline’s side as she said this, making her giggle and squeal.
Right when Madeline might have felt another burst of guilt and tears.
Remarkable intuition, and compassion.
Abigail giggled, too, taking a moment to do the same with Marie-Claire. “But I can stand. I can walk. I can ride, if I am careful. I don’t run, but that does not trouble me. I can play all sorts of games and dance some of the dances. My leg will pain me afterwards and for the next day or two, but I am always well. Always. Because bodies are strong, and they are made to heal. Did you know that?”
Madeline nodded while Marie-Claire shook her head, making Gilles smile. “Remember, ma fée, when you scraped your knee?”
Marie-Claire looked at him, bobbing her head in a nod.
He gestured a semi-shrug. “Your body did that without you saying so. It healed the wound all on its own.”
“Oh,” she said in her sweet little voice. She looked up at Abigail with a small smile. “Now I know.”
Abigail chuckled and tapped Marie-Claire on the nose. “Indeed, ma chérie. Now you know!” She smiled at Gilles, which made him smile. Then she cleared her throat and picked up the flowers. “So, with these flowers, we shall make crowns for you girls.”
Gilles watched her as she worked, unable to rid himself of the smile. She was a natural with them, and they were already devoted to her. But it was more than that. Abigail was like a breath of fresh country air when one has been choked by city air for too long. She was not quite sunshine, but there was a brightness to her. And the story she had just told… There had to be more to it than that. More misery. More danger. More chance of death.
More darkness.
And she had endured it all and could still be that refreshing air.
It was a marvelous thing, and he wanted to understand it. He wanted to know all of it. He wanted to learn how to capture even a portion of that for himself.
And he wanted, most of all, to understand why she had suddenly become Abigail to him instead of Miss Chorley.
For Abigail she now was, and there was no going back.