Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.”
When I told Clara about Mr. Wortham’s love letter, her eyes rounded in shock. She crouched over the fire in the kitchen, struggling to hang a heavy pot on the hook above it. I removed the letter from my boot and showed her.
“Have you read it?” she asked.
I shook my head. The letter had enabled me to meet Lord Trowbridge and find work, yet I couldn’t stop the pangs of guilt that struck me every time I thought of my manipulation. But Mr. Wortham had manipulated me too, hadn’t he?
Regardless of where we stood on a ranking of cold-heartedness, I had already decided to keep his letter private.
I would hold it over him as a threat, but a meaningless one, and I would never send it to Lucy Abbot.
Mr. Wortham didn’t know that, so I still had the upper hand.
My brow furrowed as I considered this. If I had the upper hand, then why did I still feel as though I didn’t?
Late that night, I lay in bed, but couldn’t sleep.
Nervousness fluttered in my stomach like a thousand hungry moths.
I was due at Lord Trowbridge’s home the next morning, and would officially be a working woman.
I would earn wages and report to a master.
Trying to win his heart in such a situation would be complicated.
Searching every piece of advice I had ever learned from Mama, I modified them to fit my situation.
Eager to remember my thoughts, I jumped from my bed, lit a candle, and retrieved the parchment I had entitled, How to catch a husband: Charlotte’s list of requirements.
Just below my last point, I penned my next line.
Always arrive for work in a punctual manner, allowing ample time to speak with the master about his interests.
I approached the main entrance of Brackenridge Hall at precisely half past six. The grey, austere butler answered, a scowl written all over his forehead. “What do you suppose you are doing?”
I took a step back. I hadn’t been expecting such a cold greeting. “I am Sophia’s governess.”
“I believe the master informed you to arrive at seven o’clock, and you are to enter through the servant doors. Never here.”
I bit back a retort and grumbled to myself as I turned and walked down the steps. The servant’s entrance was around the back of the house. Trudging through the overgrown grass, I walked down the narrow staircase and tested the door. It opened.
The smell of ham and eggs filled my nostrils the moment I entered.
I passed the kitchen, ignoring the whispers and frowns from all the servants.
Without asking for directions, I found a series of stairs that led to the ground floor.
After wandering for several minutes, I found the corridor that led to the main rooms. I walked past an open door and stopped.
Carefully, I leaned against the frame, out of sight, and peered around the edge. I jerked back immediately. Lord Trowbridge sat behind a desk, surrounded by papers and ledgers. Calming myself, I arranged my curls and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe to get his attention. He glanced up.
“Good morning, my lord,” I said, maintaining a professional demeanor, as he seemed to prefer that. But I made sure my voice was still silky smooth.
He blinked twice. “You’re early.”
I remained in the doorway, unsure of the best way to respond. “Am I?”
He stared at me a moment longer, then tore his gaze away and straightened a stack of papers in front of him. “Come in.”
I tentatively walked toward his desk. I tried to give a demure smile, but it felt forced and unnatural. Deciding on another tactic, I tilted my head to the side and played with one of my curls as he spoke.
“I trust you know what will be required of you here.” He looked at me expectantly.
I smiled and batted my lashes. “I did have my own governess once.”
He gave a stiff nod, a crease in his brow.
“You will accompany Sophia wherever she goes. You will instruct her in reading, writing, language, history, art, and basic mathematics. You will teach her to play the pianoforte, draw, and sing.” His eyes were in a constant flicker between his desk and my outstretched neck and twirling hair.
He cleared his throat and continued. “You will respect all other staff and teach Sophia proper manners. Specifically, you will teach her that outrageous flirting is never to be condoned. Especially toward an employer.”
My smile fell and he looked down at his papers. “At seven o’clock,” he emphasized the words, “my housekeeper, Mrs. Woodley, will direct you to your other tasks. You will be paid at the end of each week.”
My face burned with embarrassment. When I remained standing there, Lord Trowbridge glanced up lazily. “You may wait in the sitting room where Mrs. Woodley will meet with you shortly.”
Giving a polite nod, I whirled around and hurried out the door.
Frustration coursed through me, and I gritted my teeth in disappointment. So it would not be as simple as I had hoped. If he could not be won by calculation and coy smiles, then how? I had never considered any other way. I needed Mama’s help, but she happened to be hundreds of miles from here.
I paused in the corridor to take a shaky breath and calm my nerves. I remembered where the sitting room was from the day before, so I found it without much trouble.
When Mrs. Woodley finally arrived, I practically jumped from my chair, eager to escape the isolation of my own troubled thoughts. She was an extremely tall woman, very thin, with eyes so large they seemed to examine every detail of my appearance before I had the chance to blink.
She greeted me and introduced herself, then led me to the first floor.
“This is Sophia’s bedchamber,” she said.
“She will be ready soon, and you will wait here until she is presented by her maid. She has just outgrown the nursery, so you will take her to the library on the ground level where you will begin your studies. I shall meet you there to provide further instruction. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” It was a concise, plain answer, but that seemed to be the rule in this household.
With a curt nod, Mrs. Woodley disappeared in a hustle of apron and cap, and I was alone.
I leaned against the wall by Sophia’s door.
Portraits hung in an orderly line on the opposite wall, and I noticed Lord Trowbridge in one, standing beside a woman.
She had auburn hair and piercing eyes. When they stood together, there seemed to be little affection between them.
Lord Trowbridge’s eyes were distant and hard, but the woman’s gleamed with pride.
She was truly beautiful, and I could only assume she was his late wife.
The door beside me shifted, and I darted my eyes toward it. Sophia stepped out, led by the hand of a severe looking maid. “She insisted on wearing a piece of dirty twine on her head,” the maid huffed. “I simply couldn’t convince her otherwise.”
Sophia gave me a little grin that I returned.
A bloom of endearment opened inside me at the sight of that ugly twine pinned atop her head.
“Certainly not,” I said. “A princess mustn’t go without her crown.
It is bad form.” I winked at Sophia and she giggled.
It was a rewarding sound. Hmm. Perhaps the best way to win over Lord Trowbridge would be to win over his daughter first.
“Come with me, Sophia, and we will begin your morning studies.” I extended my hand, and she took it with a firm grip.
I smiled down at her as we walked toward the staircase.
She held her head upright, with her shoulders back and chin high.
I wouldn’t need to teach her how to walk with elegance—she seemed to have mastered it already.
Or perhaps it was the twine wrapped in her curls that gave her confidence.
I smiled at the thought.
As I began teaching her, I found that she was already very intelligent, and seemed excited about the prospect of learning.
At her age, I had dreaded my lessons, wishing to be taking tea with Mama and her friends instead.
I found myself smiling at nearly every word Sophia said—and wishing I didn’t have to correct the pronunciation errors in her delivery.
It was quite strange actually. I had never known I could enjoy the company of a child so much.
The rest of the day passed without any interaction with Sophia’s father, and my spirits were dim again by the time I returned home.
“Is Lord Trowbridge already smitten?” Clara asked me at dinner. I didn’t miss the sardonic tone in her voice.
“No.”
She chewed and swallowed. Her eyebrows lifted. “Surely he is already planning the wedding.”
I glared at her.
Miss Bentford had been rather silent, but I could sense the anxiety stewing within her.
Thin strands of dark hair stuck to the sides of her flushed cheeks, and she bit rather aggressively into a slice of bread.
Upon my return from Brackenridge Hall, Clara and I had finally enlightened her about our plan, my absence, and my new position as Sophia’s governess.
Miss Bentford must have known how incapable she was of stopping us now, and also how impossible it was to accomplish our objective without the drastic measures I had taken.
We were in a quandary, and Miss Bentford knew that I was the only one who could dig us out of it. I tried to appear more confident than I felt.
Miss Bentford took a sip of tea, which seemed to calm her nerves. “Did the earl seem to take a liking to you?” she asked in a hesitant voice.
I sighed. “Well…not as much as I would have hoped.”
Clara’s lips twitched. “Oh, dear. Was a curl out of place?”
I set my fork down with a huffed breath. “It will take time, but he will realize that I am a perfect fit for him and his daughter. She adores me, you know.”
Clara was silent for several seconds, and then her eyes turned downward. “Is he the sort of man you could ever love?”
My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “You are still obsessing over the idea of love? Have you seen it? I declare I never have.” I picked up my fork and stabbed at my potato.
“Love in a marriage is a rare exception, never the rule. I suggest you stop dreaming of it, and stop advising me to care. I have never loved, and I never will.”
Clara exchanged a glance with Miss Bentford.
Did they pity me for my duty? I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
If Clara continued to dream of love, then she would be chasing it in vain forever.
She would become much like our chaperone one day, being sent on errands like this with distant cousins because she is a burden to her family, keeping quiet and submissive because she feels she must make herself scarce, small, and practically invisible.
Clara and Miss Bentford were the ones to be pitied for dreaming of love, not me.
Suddenly Clara’s eyes rounded. “What about Mr. Wortham’s note? He must have been in love before.”
“I did not read it. But it was most likely only a foolish adoration of some woman he hardly knew.”
Clara sighed and stood from her chair, lifting her plate and carrying it to a small basin to clean. “I am in awe of your strength of mind sometimes, Charlotte. I could never do what you are trying to accomplish.”
I tightened my jaw. “I am doing it for you. For Mama…for all of us.” My brow furrowed. “Are you not even grateful that I am trying?”
“I am grateful that you have the fortitude. I could never pretend to like a man, and certainly not pretend to love him only to secure his money.”
Irritation clawed at my skin. “You could never do it because Lord Trowbridge wouldn’t look twice at you.”
She scowled and scrubbed her plate, splashing water over the edges of the basin.
I drove my fork into my fish. I thought I would be through with eating fish by now, but it was the most affordable option, and without my wages coming for a week, my plate would be covered in scales for a little longer.
The fish reminded me of Mr. Wortham and his words about how I hadn’t proven him wrong. In truth, I had thought of him and his challenge several times that day.
I explored my mind for an idea—anything to put that infuriating man beneath me once again.
I looked out the window at the waning light above the distant coast. The fishermen were tiny dots as they lowered their traps into the water to remain overnight.
An idea struck me, and a slow smile curled my lips.
Energized by my idea, I stood from the table and walked over to Clara. “Wash this.” I handed her my plate.
She impaled me with a look. “No.”
I had forgotten that Clara no longer bent to my requests.
With a sigh, I painstakingly scrubbed my dishes, disgusted by the wrinkles the water put in my fingers.
I debated whether or not to tell Clara of my plan, and decided against it.
She was vexing me that night, and she would surely call me ridiculous for even caring about Mr. Wortham’s challenge. I was to do it alone, then.
So when everything was clean, I went to my bedchamber and closed the door.
The sooner I slept, the sooner I could prove Mr. Wortham wrong.
He didn’t believe I was capable of the tasks required of his occupation.
The fishermen always met at the docks early in the morning to empty their traps.
If I made it before dawn, I could empty them all myself and leave the bags of fish on the shore along with a note from me to Mr. Wortham.
I could try to empty the traps, at least. How difficult could it be? Even if I emptied just one, my point would be proven.
I giggled against my pillow, and my laughter grew inside me until I couldn’t contain it.
All the pressure and anxiety I had been feeling came pouring out through my laughter as I imagined the look on Mr. Wortham’s face when he read my note.
Perhaps my confidence could grow if I accomplished this small thing.
Perhaps when I attended to my duties at Brackenridge Hall the next day, I would feel more capable of capturing Lord Trowbridge’s attention.
I had always told myself I could accomplish anything I set my mind to, even if reality had tried to convince me otherwise.
My laughter was muffled in my blanket, but my entire body shook with my unexpected mirth.
I could hardly even eat cooked fish, but tonight…
Tonight I would have to touch them with my bare hands.