Chapter Twenty
After dinner, Serena retreated to the library.
She needed space to think, to breathe, to process everything that had happened. Lady Crane’s accusations, Rosie’s innocent revelations, Sir Harold’s unexpected defence—it was all too much, pressing down on her until she felt she might shatter.
She found her usual chair by the window and sank into it, closing her eyes against the firelight.
What was she going to do?
Lady Crane was going to write to a magistrate.
Was going to accuse Nathaniel of impropriety, of neglect, of being unfit to raise his own nieces and nephew.
And the evidence she would cite—the late-night visits during the storm, the warmth between governess and guardian, Rosie’s innocent observation that Uncle Nate smiled more when Miss Collard was around—all of it pointed to Serena.
She was the problem. She was the weakness that Lady Crane had found and exploited. If she had never come to Greystone Hall, if she had never allowed herself to feel anything for Nathaniel beyond professional respect, none of this would be happening.
The children would be safe.
Nathaniel would be safe.
And Serena would be... where? In another household, teaching another family’s children, maintaining the careful distance she had always maintained before. Alone, yes. Lonely, certainly. But safe in her solitude, protected by the walls she had built around her heart.
Those walls had failed her here. She had let Nathaniel in, had let the children in, had allowed herself to love when she knew—she had always known—that love was dangerous.
And now that danger had arrived, in the form of a sharp-eyed woman with connections and resources and a determination to destroy everything Serena had come to cherish.
There was only one solution. One way to remove the ammunition Lady Crane was using against them.
Serena had to leave.
The thought was agony. The thought of leaving Rosie, who still clutched Marianne and asked for stories before bed. Of leaving Samuel, who had only just begun to speak again. Of leaving Ella, fierce and fragile and so desperately in need of someone who understood her.
Of leaving Nathaniel.
But what choice did she have?
If she stayed, she endangered them all. Her presence was the evidence Lady Crane needed, the scandal she was threatening to create. Without Serena, there was no inappropriate attachment, no improper influence, no governess who had forgotten her place.
Without Serena, the children might be safe.
She rose from her chair and crossed to the writing desk in the corner of the library. There was paper there, and ink, and everything she needed to write the letter that would break her heart.
She sat down. She picked up the pen. She stared at the blank page for a long moment, willing herself to find the words.
Then she began to write.