Page 6 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“I think what Lady Charlotte hopes to gain with her behavior is attention,” the woman said slowly as if carving each word out of her thoughts with great care. “And love.”

Nicholas spun around. “She is loved. She is looked after. Pray, does she not have two armoires full of dresses, hats, shoes, and bows for her hair? Does she not have a playroom full of the finest toys from London, Paris, and Rome?”

Mrs. Funny bit her lip, and her teeth’s indentation appeared. “She certainly has everything she needs though I believe it is a different kind of attention she craves. She wishes to be seen by you.”

“I see her,” Nicholas protested, perplexed by the statement.

“But do you, Your Grace? Truly?”

Nicholas wanted to affirm that he saw his only child and loved her, but as he stood and watched her place a crown of daisies on her head, his heart pinched as the truth forced itself to the surface.

“I’ve not been a good father,” he finally agreed, his words laced with remorse and resignation. “I tried to give her what she is missing.”

It was true, after the tragic childbed death of his wife, he’d hired the best wetnurse he could find, the most skilled nurse, to look after baby Charlotte. Then, he’d sought out governesses with the best reputation, but his efforts had been met with disdain by his child. Ever since she was old enough to walk and talk, she’d harassed and chased off everyone with her unruly behavior. For a long time, Nicholas had been too wrapped up in his selfish pursuits to notice. Until recently. Although he had to wonder, was it all too late now?

Mrs. Funny looked up at him, for even when she rose to her full height, she only reached his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“What Lady Charlotte is missing is a mother. And, to be honest, a father. She was raised by strangers who were paid to look after her. What she wants, what any nine-year-old wants, is to be loved unconditionally.”

“I do,” he protested, but helplessness had crept into his voice, and he chided himself for the uncertainty that painted his statement.

“I have no doubt, Your Grace. Although I must say, it may help if you showed it. As I see it, she is trapped in a darkness that grows bleaker the older she gets. She needs to be brought into the light.”

He looked at her and pressed his lips together, and the aching need to refill his glass swam to the forefront of his mind. He wanted nothing more than to sit, drink and forget. Though he knew that wasn’t possible, not anymore.

“I do not have it in me to bring her into the light, to give her what she needs. I cannot fill the hole her mother’s death left in her life,” he confessed without looking at Mrs. Funny. Memories of the weeks after his wife’s death returned. He saw himself with the infant Charlotte in his arms, walking the halls, cradling her as she wailed for a mother buried in the cemetery below.

Nicholas recalled how he’d tried to soothe the child, determined to be the father he always wished he’d had. He’d been full of hope then, and he’d whispered promises into little Charlotte’s ear about their future. The two of them, father and daughter, against all the world the same way he and his mother had been. And yet, night after night, Charlotte screamed for a mother who would never come; his resolve had waned, his desire to be a good father replaced by the longing to drown his misery in a bottle or three of wine.

Eventually, he’d given Charlotte to a never-ending row of well-meaning but hapless strangers and the space between them had grown ever larger. Now, he sometimes felt as if they were separated by a crater even when they sat across from one another at dinner, even when she was but a few steps from him. Charlotte, like her mother, was unreachable for Nicholas.

“When you arrived here all those years ago, you were full of light. It radiated off you. I used to say to the cook that you were the light of the sun itself, climbed down from the heavens to bring this old, grey manor back to life with your glow. It’s that young man’s energy Charlotte needs now,” she said with a warmth that both touched his heart and filled him with anguish.

“I am not that young man any longer. He was naïve and full of silly notions. Notions that were chased out of him by reality. He’s... a memory, nothing more,” he said without inflection, for it was the truth.

“Oh, Your Grace, I do wish you could find him again, that hopeful young man. I thought he really could have changed this world for the better,” she said with a small smile.

Nicholas shook his head and dug his hands into his pantaloons, feeling the crumbs in the seams.

“In the end, he changed nothing. If anything, he made the world darker for people who did not deserve it,” he said coldly, his eyes focused on the road leading from town.

“Now, there is that Mr. Barnes again,” Mrs. Funny said when she spotted an old wooden cart that rumbled up the wide driveway loaded with barrels. “I told him to come around the back way with his groceries. Your Grace, I must ring a good peal over his head,” she said and gathered the hem of her skirt to rush away. Nicholas smiled at her diligence, and after she curtsied to him, she vanished from his study, abandoning him to his thoughts.

On the lawn, Charlotte, too, had spotted the caller and was on her feet. His child was fascinated with merchants and commoners as if the mere idea that one had to work for a living enthralled her.

What would Charlotte say if she knew her father was once a working man? Would she respect him more? He pondered the question as he sat in the large armchair, his first purchase as Duke of Queensberry. He sunk into the leather seat, which had molded to his shape over the years, like a hug from a trusted friend.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as the full scope of his troubles flashed before his eyes. He had a child who disliked him. A half-orphan unwilling to allow anyone in. He was thoroughly overwhelmed with the prospect of caring for her without the help of a governess. Yet, he knew there was not one governess left in the area who’d take on the responsibility.

He recalled his threat to send Charlotte to a seminary and the look of utter hurt that flashed across her face. Deep inside, Nicholas knew that if he were to do this, it would ruin any chance of reconciliation. Whatever remained of their fragile connection would shatter into a million pieces, and he’d lose his only child for good.

Nicholas leaned forward, his eyes wide. No. He couldn’t send her away. And he would have to reach farther if no governesses were left in Hertfordshire to look after her. He got up and strutted to the sideboard next to the fireplace where yellow and orange flames danced around fresh cinders, sending crackles and pops into the late morning’s stillness.

He grabbed the assorted newspapers his butler always purchased each morning. He often did not bother reading them as he found the world news depressing. Sitting through hours upon hours of chatter and speeches at the wretched House of Lords was bad enough. Alas, today, he had no choice. He cast aside the Sun Reporter, a well-known scandal sheet, and instead focused on the London Morning Post. There he found a long list of advertisements. After combing through an assortment of listings seeking and offering anything from employment to companions, his eyes were drawn to the word governess:

Governess: The Daughter of a merchant, who has filled the above situation in families of high station and respectability for many years, is available to take charge of one or two young ladies. She shall instruct them in English and French as well as all skills befitting a young lady, such as music, embroidery, water coloring, and poetry. The advertiser would prefer her charges not to exceed the age of 11 or 12. Letters addressed and postpaid to Lydia Haddington at Haddington’s Teashop, 28 Bond street, will be met with immediate reply.

Nicholas’ jaw grew slack as he read the familiar name and address again and again. Lydia? His Lydia? A governess? He blinked, unable to make sense of what he’d just read. His heart thundered as though he’d been chased down the narrow halls of his home by a most frightful apparition, and he dug his fingernails into his palms without meaning to.