The Governess
By Ellise C. Weaver
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Prologue
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England ~ Summer 1860 ~ The Huntington Ball
Lady Caroline Blakemore was quite ready for a rest. She could not believe the turn of events this night. Fanatical, morbidly-crazed women! They should be ashamed for acting so stupidly.
As soon as she was away from everyone else—finally—she breathed in the midnight air, her heart becoming lighter. She walked further away from the ballroom which had grown much too horrible from unkind society. How could the Huntingtons know such people?
Wishing to feel untroubled by her tumultuous emotions, she concentrated instead upon her beloved nature. An immediate surge to the senses, the outdoors always worked to calm her. Caroline knew she should feel happier simply for the occasion of attending a ball. But this was no ordinary ball—it was the Huntington Ball. Truly she had been excited for this evening’s festivities, but all had changed as unwelcomed, condescending attitudes forcibly assaulted her the entire evening. Taking in deep breaths, consciously relaxing, Caroline found herself enjoying the lovely night sky that blanketed the gorgeous, peaceful gardens below, wandering paths she was only now discovering.
The moon was enormous and shone down brightly upon the hushed walkways, its light drifting down amongst the shrubbery. Peace enveloped Caroline as she enjoyed the fragrant blooms and flowering trees romantically lit by tall, elegant torches for wanderers, like she, on such a night. Breathing in the fresh air, calming her soul, she plucked a burgundy rosebud from a vase upon a garden table. Intent upon enjoying its simple fragrance and soft petals, Caroline rubbed it gently across her cheeks, its velvetiness helping relieve but a little stress.
What a peculiar night. Society here was much different than at home. Caroline had always enjoyed a good party. Though, as at home, the young gentlemen were certainly thoughtful, the young ladies, on the other hand, were horrible creatures. Caroline huffed and stomped as troubled thoughts kept working through her mind interrupting her solitude.
Such as one particular gentleman; he confused her entirely.
One minute, she found herself completely taken with him, ready to throw caution to the wind, trusting him fully; the next, she would be reminded of all the reasons why she struggled so with trust of him. Recalling their most recent exchange this very evening, the scent of his warm skin and his passionate kisses, her embarrassment grew, her hand going to her face at her shame.
Had other ladies experienced this passion from him this night in some dark, secret corridor? He desired their company more than her own, or so it had seemed. Or were all women a passing fancy; toys with which to play until he became more serious in matters of matrimony? And why do I care? she huffed. He was certainly getting an eager eyeful at this stupid ball with all the ladies contending for his attentions.
Rolling her eyes in aggravation, Caroline sighed heavily, annoying jealousy growing in her young, inexperienced heart. From everything she had heard, he supposedly had not been in love for a very long time. So then—why the attention to me? And why do I put up with it?
Unaware of how far she had wandered, Caroline startled upon hearing the voice of the very person she wished to avoid. “You should be more careful walking out here alone.”
“Oh!” Lady Caroline dropped her flower upon the ground as her gloved hands covered her mouth. “You…you startled me, my lord.” Trying to calm her breathing, her hand fluttered to her breast. Frowning angrily, she stammered, “I…I did not hear your approach.” He looked spectacular in the darkness, his white shirt gleaming bright in the torchlight. Her worry grew in his silence. That stupid stare!
Oh, how she longed for him.
He, on the other hand, simply could not stop staring at Lady Caroline Blakemore so softly lit by the moonlight.
And so alone.
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Chapter 1
Huntington Manor
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Once, a very long time ago, a darling littler sister could simply not pronounce her older sister’s name, Caroline. Therefore, Caroline forevermore became known as Carly to her little sister and to all those who loved her most. Now, that little sister, Susannah, was in the process of being dearly missed by her adoring older sister, Carly.
And, had Carly known danger lurked about every corner and would cause her to fight for her very life, she would not have come to Huntington Manor. At the young age of nineteen, Carly had much living, learning, and loving yet to do…
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England ~ Spring 1860
Goodness, will I ever arrive, Carly asked herself, for she had been traveling for hours in the musty interior of the coach to her first post as governess. The last two days of dusty travel by rail and coach had seemed endless. She was determined to bear her discomforts well and not complain though she was sore and tired from the drive in the rickety old coach. But who was present to hear of her complaints?
No one. She was alone. No dear Susannah to keep her company. No dear Susannah at all.
Fear has a way of creeping into one’s life when lonely. Carly dismissed the disturbing emotions and chose instead to be hopeful; hopeful of a happy life in the months and years to come; and hopeful in the here and now for a breath of fresh air. She blew out an impatient breath. Fretfully picking at a stray thread on her coat sleeve, her nerves were on edge creating mischief with her idle mind.
As Carly’s coach came up over a misty rise, her breath was taken away as she beheld for the first time the splendor of what was to be her new home. Carly looked on in awe at the silent strength and beauty which Huntington Manor, this aged stone house, bestowed upon the unsuspecting observer with its peaks and windows abounding. The vast roofline peeked through the impressive ancient trees which were shimmering with dewy green growth.
“It’s beautiful,” Carly whispered in approval.
Sunrise had worked its magic and was still burning morning mists away. Carly spied water glistening nearby. Not sure if it was a lake or small pond, she watched as a flock of birds landed on the sparkling surface, flapping wings sending out sprays of silver droplets. Rainbows danced like prisms against the splashes. Enchanting, she thought. Excitedly looking about her, gorgeous countryside rose and fell in swells. Tingles erupted down her arms as she thrilled at nature’s best.
The many chimneys of the grand estate were busy at work puffing smoke from the cozy interior to the cool, crisp morning outside. At least I shall be warm, she thought with relief. She was glad of her snug travel clothes and the blanket, rough and smelly as it was, imparted by the friendly coachman earlier this brisk spring morning. Shivering slightly, she watched as they wound lazily toward the great house, the road winding through lush green woods and then back into open country. Completely charming, she awed. Undulating waves of new green grasses spread out before her upon which fleecy white sheep grazed. Age-old stone walls rose and fell along the rolling fields keeping the sheep from wandering into tender new crops just beginning to grow.
Sighing came naturally to Carly these days, but thankfully this sigh was one of contentment, taking pleasure in what she saw before her. If this was to be her home, then surely she was blessed. She prayed fervently she would be happy here.
Carly quickly tucked a few strands of wayward hair back into the somewhat severe chignon underneath her bonnet. Then, carefully folding the tattered quilt, she smoothed her dull brown, rather wrinkled, traveling clothes. She contemplated the meager, but comfortable supply of clothing she had been able to assemble for her new position. Upon the deaths of their parents, so closely together, Carly and her sister had worn their mourning clothing for nearly two years. Deciding to start afresh in new positions as governesses, they were disappointed to find they had outgrown most of their lovely gowns that had been made by their own hands.
Their small inheritance had only fulfilled an education, riding lessons, and a wardrobe for their coming out. Unsuccessful in finding husbands, the girls listened as Lady Blakemore explained to them, “Beauty does nothing to help one find a husband when there is no money to be had and a year of mourning ahead.” Their remaining funds had quickly dissolved during their mother’s illness. Their loving godparents were dead, and so, they were left to themselves. Over the ensuing months of preparations for this inevitable moment, they mended and sewed what they could to provide themselves with serviceable, if not attractive, gowns. Everything else was left to an appreciative neighbor, a widow with six daughters of her own to clothe.
Death comes to every household it seems, even to this grand estate. Lord Huntington was a widower and had two young children in need of a governess. His young wife had died unexpectedly two years before. No other information had been shared concerning her death. Carly’s brows knit together as she contemplated what life must be like at this manor house having experienced the loss of their beloved mistress. She shook her head in compassion for their sorrow, distressed at having known grief so well herself.
“Oh!” Carly cried, jolted by a bump in the lane. She was sure such an offense would soon be remedied, for as she drew nearer the estate, she could see extensive gardens and groomed grounds. Everything was perfectly placed perfection. Huntington Manor was more immense and grand than Carly had ever imagined. As the coach came to an abrupt halt, the coachman jumped down. Carly could hear the sound of his boots on the cobblestones crunching bits of sand beneath the soles of his feet. Her heart racing, the door was flung open and in rushed an inviting surge of fresh morning air. Carly breathed in the freshness with a deep sigh. Relief from cramped limbs showed upon her face as she stretched her arms and craned her neck back, gazing up at the grandeur rising above her.
The kindly coachman nodded his head in understanding towards her. The manor house was overwhelming. As he helped her down, Carly thanked him and took a deep breath.
Here was her moment of truth.