Chapter 13
Thirteen
The next morning, I set out early for my walk.
I’d slept very little, and although Millicent might be up and willing to go for a walk with me, I was afraid of her counsel.
Besides the fact that I seemed to think more clearly when I was walking—perhaps it was the fresh air—I also couldn’t help hoping I’d run into Lord Brookhaven.
I’d been silently arguing with myself for several minutes, walking in the woods just west of the garden, when I heard a twig break behind me. I turned to find Lord Brookhaven standing several feet away, holding his unlit pipe.
“Lord Brookhaven.” I sounded out of breath again. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. People say the damp is bad for the lungs.”
“I have never suffered any ill effects. From the damp, I mean.” It was ridiculous how I was practically gasping for air.
The way he was staring at me made my heart thump hard against my chest.
“Are you sure you’re well, Miss Robbins?”
“Yes, very well, sir.”
“If I may ask, what were Mr. Merritt and Lord Markeley speaking with you about last evening?”
A lump formed in my throat.
“You seemed disturbed by their words.”
“No, sir, not . . . that is, I-I don’t—I don’t recall everything we spoke about.” It was a true statement in substance if not in spirit.
Suddenly, I was on the verge of tears. I felt the betrayers damming up behind my eyes, pushing their way forward.
Lord Brookhaven turned half away from me as he gazed out at the trees.
I concentrated on breathing deeply in and out, blinking back the offending tears. I would not cry in front of Lord Brookhaven. I would not.
“Miss Robbins, do you remember the day you arrived here at Lowndesbury House? How you found me on the roof?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know that I was feeling melancholy that day? More than melancholy. I was thinking of . . . well, I was thinking of my nursemaid, Addy. I’d just learned of her death a month ago.
I was also thinking of my own mother, whose treatment of me was rather cold and unfeeling.
I have already confessed all this to you.
But you may not know that a year ago I’d had a failed engagement.
The girl I loved, whom I thought loved me, ran away with a marquess, the son of a duke. Did you know that?”
“I did, sir.” My breath came rushing back as I seemed to feel his pain deep inside me. How I wanted to be able to comfort him, to go to him and put my arms around him.
Foolish thought.
He cleared his throat. “Do you remember what you said to me, Miss Robbins, that evening as we stood on the roof?”
“No, sir.”
“You said you thought it was perfectly right and sensible to consider the feelings of others, especially of children. You said we should consider their feelings because they are vulnerable and have no power in society. It surprised me so much that it shook me right out of that moment of pain I was in, dwelling on the past as I was.”
“I admit, I thought you seemed very melancholy.”
“And you told me the truth, with great kindness and openness, as you always do. Do you see, Miss Robbins? You are like a ray of sunlight to me.” He was looking directly at me now, piercing me with those eyes.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak for the lump in my throat. “I am so very thankful that I happened to be there with you that day. Surely God wanted me to be.” I was back to sounding breathless.
“The house party will be over in three more days, and I believe the Allens are departing today.”
I was afraid to speak, so I nodded.
“I trust that you have enjoyed the activities,” he said.
Again, I nodded. I swallowed hard and managed to say, “Thank you for inviting me. You have been very good to me. Inordinately so.”
“These kinds of parties are often the impetus of marriage proposals. Do you think any of my guests have attached themselves to each other? Do you think any marriage proposals might come from a fortnight together?”
“I don’t know.”
I’d seen the way Miss Rose Rutledge looked at him, her smirk, and the way her mother would get that self-satisfied, catlike expression when her gaze shifted from Lord Brookhaven to her daughter. Was he trying to tell me that he planned to ask Rose Rutledge to marry him?
I saw myself as he must see me—as Mr. Merritt and Lord Markeley saw me.
I was not in the same social realm as Lord Brookhaven or Rose Rutledge.
I was not someone who was able to attend fashionable parties, and the only reason I had appropriate clothing for Lord Brookhaven’s house party, appropriate for mingling with his guests, was because his aunt had provided it for me, which in itself was a bit improper.
I could ruin his reputation even if there was no marriage proposal, if Miss Rutledge or some of the other guests spread the news around London and within fashionable society that Lord Brookhaven’s aunt had had clothing made for his governess, and that the earl had invited her to his house party so that she might socialize with him and his peers.
I felt sick.
“You should not have invited me.” The words burst forth from my mouth. I couldn’t take them back, so I went on. “People will talk. They will say bad things about you. I’m not in your social class, and I should not have been invited.”
A little sob escaped, and I pressed my hand over my mouth. I kept my back to him as I wiped furiously at the tears running down my face.
How mortifying! What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have kept quiet.
It was all I could do to keep from sobbing aloud.
“Please do not distress yourself.” Lord Brookhaven’s tone was agitated. “I’m sorry if you felt compromised by . . . did anyone say anything untoward?”
I shook my head, feeling utterly miserable. Stupid, stupid girl. I never should have said anything.
“Was that what Merritt and Markeley were saying to you? I will teach them to—”
“No!” This was getting worse and worse. “They didn’t say anything untoward.
They have been . . . very kind to me.” Until last night.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have attended. It wasn’t right or proper for me to accept .
. . your invitation or Lady Derringer’s gifts.
” I no longer even tried to stop the tears, but I concentrated on keeping my voice steady.
“Miss Robbins.” He’d moved closer until he was bending down, his face a few feet from mine. “There was nothing improper.”
“I know, but people will talk. They will say—”
“They will not. And even if they do, they will be wrong. I don’t care what people say. Do you think I care about that?” He sounded angry now. There was an edge in his tone, his expression tight, his eyes wide.
He took a deep breath. He blinked slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and even. “Gossips will say what they will, but my reputation will not be easily tarnished. Men have that privilege in society, but I realize . . . Forgive me, Miss Robbins.”
By the end of his speech, he sounded deflated. Defeated.
I wanted to tell him there was nothing to forgive, that I didn’t consider him to have done anything wrong, but I knew my voice wouldn’t hold out.
After a minute of silence, in which I was able to compose myself, I said, “I think perhaps I should find a position elsewhere.”
“No. No, that is precisely what you must not do. It will cause the gossipmongers to talk more. And although I care nothing for my sake, I am thinking of you, of your reputation, Miss Robbins.”
“My reputation is of no consequence.” After all, I was not a member of fashionable society. It hardly mattered what they said about me. I was nobody, a poor, lowly orphan who would simply go back to Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies. Where I belonged. The only place I belonged.
He was quiet for so long, my thoughts wandered to Samuel and Annabelle. Perhaps it would have been better if I left his employ and went back to Mrs. Southey’s, but I could not leave Samuel and Annabelle. My heart wrenched at the thought. I couldn’t abandon them.
“It will not be necessary for you to find another position.” He enunciated each word carefully, as though he was trying to keep control of his voice. “In fact, I want you to stay—I ask you to stay—to continue Samuel and Annabelle’s education.”
“Very well. I will stay, for the children.”
“Forgive me, Miss Robbins.” His voice sounded even, passionless. “I suppose I didn’t think it through, the outcome of . . . you joining us. I . . . Forgive me for causing you distress or embarrassment.”
We stood silently staring out into the garden, listening to the twitter of birds that sounded so happy that anyone listening would never have known that there was a young woman standing there who was absolutely wretched and mortified, who could only berate herself for ever thinking that an earl might ask her to marry him, for thinking that a governess should feel welcome at an earl’s house party . . . for falling in love.
When I’d berated myself to the point of driving out any strong emotions, I was able to say, “There is nothing to forgive. I am sorry if I’ve caused you trouble or lessened anyone’s enjoyment of the party.”
“You did not. I was pleased to have you there. You were as welcome as anyone, and will be for the rest of the time.”
“I will not be attending this evening. Please excuse me.”
“I don’t wish to excuse you.” The edge was back in his voice.
“Forgive me, but you must excuse me.”
Lord Brookhaven was quiet. I was too afraid to look at him.
The silence began to feel awkward, so I said, “I must go . . . to my room. Good day, sir.”
I began walking toward the house, then I heard him call out. “Miss Robbins.”
I stopped but did not turn around.
“I shall see you tonight for dinner.”
I did not respond, only continued walking.
Millicent came to take tea with me and tried to talk me into coming to the next three days’ festivities, even after I told her what Mr. Merritt and Lord Markeley had said.
“You must come. It will look strange if you suddenly stop showing up. Besides, who will I talk to if you are not there?”
“I’m sorry, Millicent. Truly, I am. Surely someone will talk to you. It would be too rude to just ignore you and let you sit all alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Father.” She rolled her eyes and sighed.
We sat in morose silence, sipping our tea and nibbling on biscuits.
I sent my apologies for not coming to dinner, saying I had a headache, which was true enough.
Millicent promised to tell me all about it, especially anything that was said about me.
Again, I almost told her not to bother, that I didn’t want to know what they were saying about me.
It was too hurtful. But I knew my curiosity would overpower my fear of hearing it.
The next three days I did not even have the distraction of my lessons with Samuel and Annabelle. I did go and visit them for a while every day, to play a game with them, tell them a story, or listen to them chatter about their new puppies.
Millicent came every day to visit me for an hour or two, but as I’d expected, the other guests were much friendlier to her now that she wasn’t constantly talking to me.
When it was time for everyone to depart, Millicent and I said our farewells, promising to write.
She had said she was not a very enthusiastic letter writer, but I hoped I’d at least hear from her once or twice in the coming months.
I would miss her. I enjoyed her friendship, and it had been good to make a new friend.
It had been inordinately stormy and rainy, so I hadn’t seen or spoken to Lord Brookhaven for a few days, until he called me into his library. The last of the guests had departed two hours earlier.
He looked a bit more animated than usual, and his desk was messy with paper and ink, blotters and pens, as if he’d been writing multiple letters.
His cravat was missing, and I saw a bit of dark hair sticking out above his shirt.
Did he understand how attractive he was to me?
He couldn’t, else he wouldn’t look at me so intensely. It made my knees weak.
“Are you unhappy here, Miss Robbins?”
“I have not been unhappy.” But I am in love with you and I cannot marry you, as everyone considers me to be beneath you . . . Still, there was some joy just in being in love and being in his presence.
Lord Brookhaven’s jaw was set in stone, even as a muscle in his cheek jumped. “You mentioned leaving a few days ago, but there is no reason for you to leave. My guests will not dare to gossip about you, and Lady Derringer would fix things even if they did. She has a lot of influence on society.”
“I am glad to hear that, sir, for your sake.”
“As I told you, you do not need to worry about me.” His voice sounded like he was grumbling. Then he stuck his hand in his pocket and said, “Here is your pay, twenty pounds.” He held out the coins to me.
“That is too much.” I curled my hand against my stomach, refusing to take it.
“You must be paid.” He moved quite close to me.
“But you don’t owe me that much. We agreed on forty pounds per annum, and I’ve only worked for three months. You only owe me ten.”
“If I wish to give you twenty pounds, it is my own money. I may do with it what I like.”
He took my hand and poured the coins into my open palm. His much-larger hand was warm, and I wasn’t wearing any gloves. He stood holding my hand and my gaze.
“If you need more, you need only ask.” His voice was rough and low, but gentle. “You will not leave?”
“No. I won’t leave.”
As soon as he released me, I turned to go, as my eyes were quickly filling with tears.
I practically ran from the room.