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“It’s a pleasure to have company,” Melisande said.
A maid came in with a tray of scones and tea. Melisande thanked and dismissed her.
Then she looked at Jamie and Abigail. “Would you like to take your scones into the garden with Mouse?”
The children jumped up with alacrity. They contained themselves until they were outside, and then Jamie gave a whoop and ran down the path.
Melisande smiled. “They’re lovely children.”
She poured a dish of tea and handed it to Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam took a sip. It seemed to steady her. She looked up and met Melisan›and hede’s gaze. “I’ve left His Grace.”
Melisande had poured herself some tea as well. Now she lowered the cup from her lips. “Indeed?”
“He cast me off,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said.
“I’m so sorry.” How awful to be “cast off” like a worn shirt.
The other lady shrugged. “It’s not the first time—or even the second. His Grace gets into tempers. He’ll stomp about and yell, and then he’ll say that he no longer wants me and I’m to leave his house. He never hurts me; I don’t want you to think that. He just . . . carries on.”
Melisande sipped her tea, wondering if telling someone they weren’t wanted anymore wasn’t in some ways worse than hurting them physically. “And this time?”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam squared her shoulders. “This time I decided to take him at his word. I left.”
Melisande nodded once. “Good.”
“But . . .” Mrs. Fitzwilliam swallowed. “He will want me back. I know he will.”
“You said before that you thought it possible he had taken a new mistress,” Melisande said in an even voice.
“Yes. I’m almost sure of it. But that doesn’t matter. His Grace does not like letting go of what he considers his. He keeps things—people—whether or not he wants them, simply because they are his.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam looked out the window as she said this, and Melisande followed her gaze.
Outside the children played with Mouse.
Shew drew in a breath, finally understanding Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s real fear. “I see.”
The other lady watched her children, a private deep love in her eyes that made Melisande feel like an intruder.
“He doesn’t care for them, not really. And he’s not good for the children. I must get them away. I simply must.” Her gaze turned to Melisande. “I have money, but he will track me. I may’ve even been followed here. I need a place far away. Somewhere he won’t think to look. I thought perhaps Ireland or even France. Except I don’t speak French, and I know no one in Ireland.”
Melisande got up and rummaged in a desk in the far corner of the room. “Would you be willing to work?”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened. “Of course. But I don’t know what I could do. My penmanship is very fine, but no family will hire me on as a governess when I have the children with me. And besides, as I said, I know no French.”
Melisande found some paper, a pen, and ink. She sat down at the desk with a determined smile. “Do you think you could keep house?”
“A housekeeper?” Mrs. Fitzwilliam got up and wandered over. “I don’t know much about keeping a house. I’m not sure—”
“Don’t worry.” Melisande finished writing her note and rang for a footman. “The person I have in mind will be quite lucky to have you, and you needn’t take the position long—just until the duke loses your trail.”
“But—”
One of the footmen entered the room, and Melisande crossed to him with the folded and sealed note. “Take this to the dowager viscountess. Tell her it’s urgent and I would very much appreciate her help.”
“Yes, my lady.” He bowed and left.
“You want me to become the dowager Viscountess Vale’s housekeeper?” Mrs. Fitzwilliam sounded appalled. “I really don’t think—”
