Chapter Three
“Pack your things, Catriona. You leave for Yorkshire on Monday.”
The words hit Catriona like a physical blow as she stood in the doorway of the morning room, still holding the breakfast tray she had come to collect.
Aunt Rowena didn’t even look up from her correspondence as she delivered this pronouncement, her quill pen scratching across expensive paper with vicious precision.
“I beg your pardon?” Catriona managed, though her voice sounded strange and distant to her own ears.
“Yorkshire,” Rowena repeated impatiently, finally glancing up with those cold, pale eyes.
“My cousin Minerva has need of an extra pair of hands with her brood. Seven children under the age of twelve, and her latest nursemaid has proven… inadequate. You will serve as governess and general nursemaid until such time as she can secure more suitable arrangements.”
The tray trembled in Catriona’s hands. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely.” Rowena’s smile was sharp as winter frost. “Oh, don’t look so stricken, child. You should be grateful for the opportunity. Minerva is offering room and board in exchange for your services, which is more generosity than you have any right to expect.”
“But I thought… that is, I had hoped…” Catriona struggled to find words that wouldn’t reveal the full extent of her devastation. The bookshop. Her few precious freedoms. The faint hope that someday, somehow, her circumstances might improve.
“You thought what, exactly?” Uncle Percival looked up from his newspaper with mild curiosity. “That you would remain here indefinitely? My dear girl, you are three-and-twenty. It is past time you made yourself useful in some more permanent capacity.”
“Percival is quite right,” Rowena added, returning to her letter. “We have been more than generous in providing for you these past three years, but our charity cannot extend forever. Minerva’s offer is a gift and you should be thanking us rather than standing there gaping like a fish.”
Catriona set the tray down carefully on the sideboard, using the movement to buy herself time to think.
Yorkshire. Seven children. Indefinitely.
The words circled in her mind like vultures, each one pecking away at the fragile hope she had been nurturing since her encounter at the bookshop two days ago.
“Might I ask,” she said carefully, “what sort of arrangements Cousin Minerva has made for… that is, what provision has been made for my personal needs?”
Rowena’s laugh was like breaking glass. “Personal needs? My dear child, you will have a roof over your head and food in your stomach. What more could you possibly require?”
“Perhaps a small salary? Something to provide for clothing, or books, or...”
“Books!” Percival snorted. “I might have known. Still filling your head with nonsense, I see. Remember my words, Catriona, those romantic notions of yours will only lead to disappointment. The sooner you accept your station in life, the happier you will be.”
“My station?” The words came out sharper than Catriona had intended, years of suppressed frustration finally finding their voice. “And what, precisely, is my station? I am the daughter of a gentleman, educated and well-bred. By what right do you consign me to a life of unpaid servitude?”
The silence that followed was deafening. Uncle Percival’s newspaper crackled as he lowered it slowly, his face flushing with indignation. Aunt Rowena had gone perfectly still, her quill pen suspended above the paper like a weapon preparing to strike.
“By what right?” Rowena’s voice was deadly quiet.
“By the right of those who have fed and housed you these three years while you contributed nothing of value to this household. By the right of those who took you in when your father’s debts left you with nothing but the clothes on your back and a head full of foolish ideas. ”
“Rowena...” Percival began, but his wife cut him off with a sharp gesture.
“No, Percival. It is time someone explained the reality of her situation.” She turned to face Catriona fully, her expression cold as marble.
“Your father was a dreamer, child. A man who believed that good intentions and lofty ideals were sufficient to navigate the world. He died leaving you nothing but debt and the sort of impractical education that renders a woman unfit for honest work.”
Each word landed like a blow, but Catriona forced herself to remain standing, to meet her aunt’s merciless gaze. “My father was a good man.”
“Your father was a fool,” Rowena snapped. “And he raised you to be the same. Did you imagine that your ability to quote poetry or discuss philosophy would somehow magically transform your circumstances? Did you think that some romantic hero would sweep you away from all this?”
The accuracy of that assessment stung more than Catriona cared to admit. Had she not spent the past two days replaying her conversation with the mysterious duke? Had she not allowed herself to wonder, however briefly, what might have happened if circumstances had been different?
“I had hoped,” she said quietly, “that I might eventually find some respectable employment. A position as a governess in a proper household, perhaps, or...”
“With no references? No connections? No family willing to vouch for your character?” Rowena’s laugh was bitter. “Who do you imagine would hire you? A woman with no experience and no credentials beyond a few years of reading novels in our library?”
“I have been caring for James!”
“You have been keeping one small boy company while I managed the actual running of this household. That hardly qualifies you to command a governess’s salary.”
Catriona felt the last of her hope crumbling away like sand between her fingers.
Three years. Three years of careful behavior, of swallowing her pride, of making herself useful in a dozen small ways.
All in the hope that eventually, her relatives would come to value her contributions enough to treat her as family rather than as an unwelcome burden.
“Of course,” she said, proud that her voice remained steady, “you are quite right. I apologise for my presumption.”
Something flickered in Rowena’s eyes, surprise, mayhap, at the sudden capitulation. “Well, I am glad to see you are finally being sensible about this matter.”
“When do I leave for Yorkshire?”
“Monday morning. The coach departs at seven o’clock sharp.” Rowena had already returned to her correspondence, dismissing Catriona as thoroughly as if she had never existed. “You may take one trunk with your personal belongings. Anything else will remain here.”
One trunk. Catriona thought of her small collection of books, accumulated over years of careful saving and strategic gifts, her few decent dresses, already showing signs of wear and the miniature portrait of her parents that was her most treasured possession.
“Very well,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I have packing to attend to.”
She was halfway to the door when Uncle Percival’s voice stopped her.
“Catriona.” His tone was gentler now, almost apologetic. “You must understand, my dear, this truly is for the best. Minerva may be… demanding, but she is family. You will be safer there than trying to make your way alone in the world.”
Safer. As if safety were the highest aspiration a woman could have. As if the mere fact of survival justified any amount of misery or degradation.
“Of course, Uncle. You are very kind to be concerned for my welfare.”
She climbed the stairs to her small chamber on the third floor, her legs feeling leaden with each step. The room that had been her refuge for three years suddenly felt like a prison cell, its modest furnishings a mockery of the independence she had foolishly allowed herself to dream of.
Catriona sank onto the narrow bed and stared at the wall, trying to process the magnitude of what had just occurred. Yorkshire. Seven children. Indefinitely. No salary, no freedom, no hope of anything better.
She thought again of the duke in the bookshop, of his observation that hope was the most radical pursuit of all. How naive that seemed now, how impossibly romantic. Hope was a luxury she could no longer afford.
A soft knock at her door interrupted her brooding. “Miss Catriona?” The voice belonged to Mary, the youngest housemaid, who had always shown her small kindnesses despite the family’s obvious disdain.
“Come in, Mary.”
The girl slipped inside, her expression worried. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I couldn’t help overhearing…” She twisted her hands in her apron. “Is it true you’re leaving us?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m to take a position in Yorkshire.”
“Oh, miss.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s awfully unfair, if you don’t mind me saying. You’ve been nothing but kind to everyone in this house, and now they’re sending you away like… like…”
“Like the unwanted relation I am?” Catriona managed a weak smile. “It’s quite all right, Mary. Perhaps a change of scenery will do me good.”
“But Yorkshire’s so far away! And with all those children… Oh, miss, what will you do?”
It was a question Catriona had been trying not to ask herself. What would she do? Accept her fate with as much grace as she could muster, she supposed. Make the best of an impossible situation. Survive, as she had learned to do these past three years.
“I shall manage,” she said finally. “I always do.”
Mary bit her lip, clearly wrestling with some internal debate. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision. “Miss, there’s something you should know. About why they’re really sending you away.”
Catriona looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I heard them talking, miss. Mrs. Hale and the master. It wasn’t about no cousin in Yorkshire; well, not at first, anyway.”
“Mary, if you know something, pray tell me.”
The girl glanced nervously toward the door, then moved closer. “It’s about Master James, miss. Mrs. Hale thinks… that is, she’s worried he’s getting too attached to you. She says it is not natural for a boy his age to prefer his cousin’s company to his own mother’s.”
The words shocked Catriona. James, who had nightmares and sought comfort in her arms. James, who begged her to read him stories because his mother was always too busy with social calls. James, who had become the closest thing to family she had in this cold house.
“She’s jealous,” Mary continued quietly. “Jealous that he comes to you when he’s hurt or scared. And she’s afraid that if you stay much longer, people will start to notice.”
“Notice what?”
“That she is not much of a mother, miss. Begging your pardon for speaking so plain, but it’s the truth. That little boy loves you more than he loves his own mother, and she can’t stand it.”
The revelation explained so much. Rowena’s sudden urgency to be rid of her, the timing of this Yorkshire arrangement, the particular venom in her aunt’s voice when she spoke of Catriona’s “presumption.” It wasn’t about money or practicality at all. It was about jealousy and wounded pride.
“Thank you for telling me,” Catriona said softly. “I… I’m glad to know.”
“Will you say goodbye to him, miss? To Master James? He’s been asking for you all morning.”
The thought of facing that bright little face, of trying to explain why she was leaving, made Catriona’s chest ache with unshed tears. But she owed him that much, at least.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll say goodbye.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of packing and painful farewells. She had so few possessions that filling even one trunk proved challenging, but she managed to include her most precious books, her decent clothes, and the few personal items that connected her to her former life.
James cried when she told him she was leaving, clinging to her skirts with desperate little hands.
“But why, Cousin Catriona? Why do you have to go away?”
“Because sometimes grown-ups have to go where they can be most useful,” she said, kneeling to his level and trying to keep her voice steady. “Your mama needs me to help some other children who don’t have anyone to read them stories.”
“But I need you to read me stories!”
“You’re getting to be such a big boy now. Soon you’ll be able to read stories all by yourself.”
“I don’t want to be a big boy. I want you to stay.”
It took all of Catriona’s strength not to break down completely. Instead, she hugged him tightly and whispered, “I shall think of you every day, my darling. Every single day.”
That evening, she stood at her window looking out over the London streets she was about to leave behind.
Somewhere out there was the bookshop where she had experienced those few precious moments of intellectual connection.
Somewhere was the duke who had looked at her as though her thoughts mattered.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
And from tomorrow she would be leading a life that she had not imagined for herself but a life that had been chosen for her.
As she gazed out the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye. She thought that someone was hidden in the shadows and her heart quickened. Just as she stepped back, a faint whisper echoed in her mind, promising that the surprises she never saw coming were only beginning to unfold.