Chapter Nineteen
“You seem very comfortable here, Miss Collard.”
Serena looked up from the embroidery she had been pretending to work on—a useful prop that allowed her to sit quietly in the corner of the drawing room while Lady Crane conducted what could only be described as an interrogation of the household.
The older woman had positioned herself in the best chair by the fire, her sharp eyes missing nothing as servants came and went, as the children fidgeted through their afternoon activities, as Nathaniel maintained a careful distance from everyone.
“I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“Comfortable.” Elspeth’s smile did not reach her eyes. “You have been here, what, a month? And yet you move through this house as though you belong here. As though you were… part of the family rather than an employee.”
The accusation was wrapped in silk, but it was an accusation nonetheless.
“I take my responsibilities seriously, my lady,” Serena said carefully. “The children require consistency and stability. I have endeavoured to provide that.”
“Indeed. And Lord Greystone? Does he also require... consistency and stability?”
Serena’s hands stilled on her embroidery. She could feel the trap closing around her, could sense the dangerous ground she was being led onto.
“I would not presume to speak to Lord Greystone’s needs, my lady. He is my employer.”
“Only that?” Lady Crane’s smile was all civility; her voice edged with something far less benign. “How curious. I have observed you together, Miss Collard. The attentiveness. The glances. It appears rather more—particular—than one ordinarily expects between an employer and his governess.”
Serena met her gaze steadily. “I cannot answer for your impressions, my lady. I can only assure you that my conduct toward Lord Greystone has been, and remains, entirely proper.”
“Indeed?” Lady Crane inclined her head, studying her as though from across a chessboard.
“Then perhaps you might account for the servants' whispers about late-night visits to your chambers. Or for the fact that Lord Greystone seems unable to enter a room without first seeking you out.” Her eyes sharpened. “Or for the children’s habit of speaking of you as though you were already their—”
“Aunt Elspeth.”
Ella’s voice cut cleanly through the room.
She stood in the doorway, very straight, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression rigid with a resolve that sat uneasily on so young a face.
“Ella, my dear.” Lady Crane turned, her tone smoothing at once. “I did not notice you.”
“I noticed you.” Ella crossed the room and stopped beside Serena’s chair, close enough that her sleeve brushed Serena’s arm. “Miss Collard is the best governess we have ever had. She helped Samuel when he would not speak. She helps Rosie sleep when she wakes frightened. She helps all of us.”
“How devoted,” Lady Crane said coolly. “And what, pray, does she help your uncle with?”
“She helps him remember that we are here.” Ella lifted her chin. “That he is not alone. That he is not only our guardian, but our family.”
For a moment, Lady Crane looked genuinely taken aback. Then the expression hardened.
“You are very eager to defend her, Ella. One might suppose you had been encouraged in this display.”
“No one encourages me,” Ella said evenly. “I speak because I see. And what I see is that you are looking for fault because you wish to find it.”
The silence that followed was sharp and brittle.
“You forget yourself, young lady,” Lady Crane said at last.
“No, Aunt,” Ella replied, her voice shaking now, though she did not retreat.
“I remember it. I remember that Papa chose Uncle Nate. I remember that you were angry about it. And I remember that you said things about him that were not true.” She swallowed.
“This is our home. And we are not leaving it.”
Lady Crane rose. The movement was precise, controlled—far more dangerous for its restraint.
“We shall see what judgment is made,” she said coolly, “when questions of influence, discipline, and propriety are properly examined.”
She left the room without another word.
For a moment, neither Serena nor Ella moved.
Then Ella’s composure slipped. Her breath caught; her eyes burned.
“I couldn’t let her say it,” she said, more child than strategist now. “I couldn’t.”
Serena drew her close, resting a hand between her shoulder blades. “I know, sweetheart. And you were very brave.”
“Promise me you won’t leave,” Ella said, the words hurried and urgent. “Promise you won’t let her break us apart.”
Serena closed her eyes.
“I promise you this,” she said carefully, truth shaping every word. “I will do everything within my power to protect this family.”
It was not everything Ella wanted to hear.
But it was everything Serena could honestly give.
***
Nathaniel found Elspeth in his study.
She had not been invited. She had simply appeared, settling herself into the chair across from his desk as though she had every right to be there, her expression composed despite the fury he could see simmering beneath the surface.
“Elspeth.” He kept his voice neutral, though his heart was pounding. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have just had a most illuminating conversation with our niece.” Lady Crane’s voice was clipped, controlled. “She seems to have developed some rather... strong opinions about my visit.”
“Ella has always been forthright. It is one of her more admirable qualities.”
“Admirable? She was insolent. Disrespectful. She spoke to me as though I were an enemy rather than a concerned family member.”
“Perhaps because you have given her reason to believe you are an enemy.” Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, meeting Lady Crane’s gaze steadily.
“You did not come here for a family visit, Elspeth. We both know that. You came to find fault, to gather evidence, to build a case for removing the children from my care.”
Lady Crane’s smile was thin and sharp. “How perceptive of you.”
“I have had plenty of time to observe your tactics. You were not subtle at the funeral, and you have not been subtle now.”
“Subtlety is overrated.” Lady Crane leaned forward, her eyes glittering.
“Let me be direct, Nathaniel. You are not fit to raise these children. You have spent two years hiding in your study, neglecting your responsibilities, leaving three grieving children to the care of servants and a parade of governesses who could not manage them. And now—now that you have finally emerged from your self-imposed exile—you have done so only because you have developed an inappropriate attachment to your current governess.”
Nathaniel felt ice spread through his veins, but he kept his expression carefully blank. “That is a serious accusation.”
“It is an accurate one. I have eyes, Nathaniel. I have seen the way you look at her. I have heard the whispers. I have watched you struggle to maintain distance while every fibre of your being strains toward her.” Lady Crane’s voice dripped with contempt.
“You are in love with your governess. And that, combined with your two years of neglect, is more than enough to convince any magistrate that these children would be better off in my care.”
“You have no proof of what you’re saying.”
“I have patterns. I have observations. And mayhap, I have a couple of testimonies too.” Lady Crane rose from her chair, her movements deliberate.
“I am writing to Sir Edmund McMillan this evening. He is a magistrate, an old friend of Harold’s, and a man who takes a very dim view of moral impropriety.
I expect he will be most interested in what I have to tell him. ”
Nathaniel stood as well, his hands clenching at his sides. “You would destroy these children’s lives—uproot them from the only home they have known—because you are angry that my brother’s will did not favour you?”
“I would save these children from a guardian who is unfit and a governess who has forgotten her place.” Lady Crane moved toward the door, then paused.
“You have until the end of my visit to set your house in order, Lord Greystone. Dismiss Miss Collard. Demonstrate that you are capable of putting the children’s welfare above your own desires.
Do that, and perhaps I will reconsider my letter to Sir Edmund. ”
“And if I refuse?”
Lady Crane’s smile was triumphant. “Then I shall see you in court.”
She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click that sounded, to Nathaniel’s ears, like the closing of a trap.
He stood motionless for a long moment, his mind racing through possibilities and contingencies.
Elspeth was not bluffing. She had the connections, the resources, the determination to pursue this to the bitter end.
And while Nathaniel was confident he had done nothing legally wrong, the court of public opinion was a different matter entirely.
If Elspeth spread rumours of impropriety—if she convinced enough people that his relationship with Serena was inappropriate—the scandal alone could be enough to damage the children.
Even if he won a legal battle, the whispers would follow them.
Ella would hear them at her come-out. Samuel would face them at school.
Rosie would grow up with the shadow of her uncle’s ‘disgrace’ hanging over her.
He could not let that happen.
But he could not dismiss Serena either. Could not send her away, could not pretend that she meant nothing to him, could not sacrifice her to Lady Crane’s vindictiveness.
There had to be another way.
There had to be.
***
Dinner that evening was a masterpiece of barely concealed hostility.
Lady Crane presided over the table as though she were mistress of the house, her questions pointed and her observations barbed. Sir Harold sat beside her, looking increasingly uncomfortable as his wife’s interrogation grew more aggressive.
The children had been coached—by Serena, by Mrs McConnor, by Nathaniel himself—to answer politely and reveal nothing. But children were children, and Lady Crane was skilled at finding weaknesses.
“Rosie, darling.” Elspeth’s voice was honeyed sweetness. “Tell me about your days here at Greystone Hall. What do you do with Miss Collard?”
Rosie looked up from her plate, her small face uncertain. “We do lessons. And we play in the garden. And Miss Collard reads me stories before bed.”
“How lovely. And does your uncle join you for these activities?”
“Sometimes.” Rosie’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember what she had been told to say. “Uncle Nate is very busy with important papers.”
“I see. So he does not spend much time with you?”
“He does now.” Rosie’s face brightened. “He didn’t use to, but now he comes to breakfast and walks in the garden, and sometimes he reads stories too. Miss Collard helped him remember how.”
Serena felt her stomach drop. Rosie had meant it as a compliment—had been trying to defend her uncle—but Lady Crane’s expression made clear that she had heard something very different.
“Miss Collard helped him remember,” Lady Crane repeated slowly. “How... interesting. It seems Miss Collard has had quite an influence on this household.”
“She’s wonderful,” Rosie said earnestly, oblivious to the danger. “Uncle Nate smiles more when she’s around. He didn’t use to smile at all, but now he does. Especially when Miss Collard—”
“That’s enough, Rosie.” Nathaniel’s voice was gentle but firm. “Eat your dinner, sweetheart.”
Rosie subsided, confused by the sudden tension but obedient. Serena kept her eyes fixed on her plate, afraid that if she looked up, she would see the triumph in Lady Crane’s eyes.
“Lord Greystone.” Sir Harold spoke for the first time in several minutes, his voice thoughtful. “I must say, the children do seem well. Better than I expected, given... everything.”
“Thank you, Sir Harold.”
“Eleanor would be pleased.” Sir Harold’s voice softened at the mention of his late sister-in-law. “She always said the children needed stability and love above all else. It seems they have found both here.”
Lady Crane shot her husband a sharp look, but he continued, seemingly oblivious to her displeasure.
“I remember Eleanor telling me once that she chose you as guardian specifically because she knew you would love the children as your own. ‘Nathaniel has a good heart,’ she said. ‘He simply needs the right circumstances to show it.’” Sir Harold smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his florid face. “It seems she was right.”
The table fell silent. Serena saw something flicker in Nathaniel’s expression—surprise, perhaps, or gratitude for this unexpected ally.
“I have tried to honour Eleanor’s trust,” Nathaniel said quietly. “I have not always succeeded, but I have tried.”
“That is evident.” Sir Harold nodded, then turned to his wife. “My dear, perhaps we have been too hasty in our concerns. The children are clearly thriving. The household is well-managed. I see no reason to pursue—”
“We will discuss this later, Harold.” Elspeth’s voice was ice. “In private.”
Sir Harold subsided, but Serena noticed that he did not look entirely cowed. There was something in his expression—doubt, perhaps, or the beginnings of resistance—that had not been there before.
It was a small thing. A tiny crack in the united front that the Cranes had presented.
But small cracks could grow into large fissures, given time.