The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

Chapter 1

One

Bedfordshire, England

“Charlotte! A letter came for you!” Hattie Jacobs emerged from the back entrance of Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies, waving something over her head.

I’d advertised months ago and received one reply from a Mrs. Merryweather, asking for letters of reference, which I’d supplied. Could the lady be writing to offer me a position?

I met Hattie in the middle of the garden and took the folded paper from her. It was the same address! In Berkshire, a Mrs. Merryweather of Lowndesbury House. It did not go unnoticed, either, that this letter had been franked by a peer of the realm.

“Well? Open it!” Hattie said.

I was already unfolding the paper. I skipped the initial polite greeting and read silently.

If Miss Charlotte Robbins remains unattached, we would like to offer the position of governess to her, with the salary of forty pounds per annum, for two young charges: seven-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. If this is agreeable, please respond . . .

I whooped and threw my hands in the air, clutching the letter.

“You have a position? Who is your employer? When do you start?” Hattie leaned her curly blond head closer.

I held the letter out so she could see it. She read aloud.

“‘If this is agreeable, please respond with a date when we might expect you at Lowndesbury House at the address on this letter. And do not bring too many possessions, as your quarters will be small and modest, but adequate. The last governess brought so many things there was not enough room to stow them. Respectfully, Mrs. Kathleen Merryweather, housekeeper to the Earl of Brookhaven.’”

Hattie gasped and grabbed my arm. “You are the new governess for the Earl of Brookhaven’s siblings.” Her eyes were wide, her mouth forming an O.

“What? Is that bad?”

“Yes!” Hattie looked positively stricken. “I told you my cousin’s friend worked as the governess there, for the earl’s half-brother and sister. The earl pays a handsome salary, to be sure, but she was dismissed after only two weeks.”

“Maybe she did something wrong.”

“I forget the particulars, but it was a very small, piddling thing—not enough to dismiss someone for. She said he was horrid, scowling all the time, and never spoke a kind word to her. I would be terrified.” Hattie clapped a hand over her mouth, then said, “Forgive me. I don’t mean to frighten you. ”

“I’m not frightened. I’ve never met an earl. It should be interesting, at the very least.”

“I should have known you would say something of that sort, Charlotte.” Hattie shook her head. “You’re not afraid of anything.”

I started to protest and say that I was afraid of a great many things.

Presently, I was afraid of getting stuck at Mrs. Southey’s school for the rest of my life.

But that wouldn’t have been very kind to say, since Hattie had no other ambition than to teach here.

Hattie and I were the same age, and she was like a beloved sister to me, but sometimes I felt as if she’d been born old.

I looked at my letter again, then clutched it to my chest. I was finally going out into the world. Adventure awaited me, I just knew it.

Inside, Hattie retrieved her box of newspaper gossip columns that she’d collected. She found two that contained gossip about the Earl of Brookhaven.

The young earl had once been engaged to be married, but his fiancée ran off with a marquess. His mother and father, according to the newspapers, had had numerous paramours.

When his wife died, the older earl married a much younger woman, who died giving birth to twins, then the earl passed away a year later, and the only son of his first wife became the new Earl of Brookhaven and inherited the house, the title, and the guardianship of the twins.

The young earl was also said to be quite handsome.

Fascinating people and places were in my future.

And the most cherished dream of all—that I would fall in love, marry, and have a real family—drove me forward.

Now that I was leaving this place, with its limited number of people and lack of exciting things to see or do, I’d finally have a chance to experience something new and different.

I went inside, wrote my letter to Mrs. Merryweather accepting the position, and walked a half mile and into the village to post it. Then I began the process of saying goodbye to everyone I knew.

Mrs. Southey gave me an intense look. “You have a place here if you decide to return. I can always use a good teacher.”

“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—especially for 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 visit me.

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 me the 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 explore every nook and cranny in the house. And let me find 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 in the 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.

I shouldn’t imagine myself marrying so high, for that might make it more difficult for my friends at Mrs. Southey’s school to feel comfortable visiting me.

But I supposed there was no harm in dreaming about it.

I dreamed about many things when I was lonely and pondering how many children in the world had families who loved them, mothers and fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles who cared about them, while I had no one.

And when I found myself ruminating on such gloomy thoughts, I would start making up stories in which I was the heroine.

Some of these fanciful stories were short, but many of them were long and intricate, and always ended with me marrying a man who adored me and living happily ever after.

Now I was far from Milford, on my own, traveling to the largest and most elaborate grand home that I’d ever seen by far, and I would be meeting an earl, a peer of the realm, and teaching his two half-siblings.

It was as if one of my made-up stories was coming true.