The Governess Was Wicked (10 page)

Edward watched Mr. Norton go through the ritual of picking out a cigar, snipping the end, and lighting it. The mere act of puffing out an aromatic cloud of smoke seemed to calm the man, and sure enough his tone was markedly different when he spoke next.

“Dr. Fellows, you’ve put me in a peculiar position.” Mr. Norton rolled the cigar between his fingers, examining the glow of the tip as it smoldered in the darkened library. “It’s not that I don’t understand the charms of Miss Porter. I do, and daresay I’ve thought about—”

“I would have you choose your next words
very
carefully,” he warned.

Mr. Norton blanched but then chuckled. “Loyalty’s only natural with a new mistress. I’ve certainly had my share.”

It took everything he had not to lunge at the man again. “Miss Porter is not my mistress.”

The man waved his hand as though to signify that it was neither here nor there. “Call it whatever you like. Now, if you’re to continue in this house—”

“No.” His word came out clipped and hard.

“What? Of course,” said the man as realization dawned on his face, “you sail for America.”

“You misunderstand me. I quit. I can’t stand the thought of being around you or your wife any longer.”

“Now look here.” Mr. Norton sat up, his tone darkening. “You can’t quit.”

“I can and I just did.” Edward looked down his nose at the man he’d barely tolerated for the last three years as he sputtered—no doubt unused to the idea of someone not going along with his every whim.

Mr. Norton shot to his feet. “Get out of this house.”

“Gladly, but only on the condition that Miss Porter’s position is secure.”

He knew in his heart of hearts that Elizabeth was the woman for him, but he needed time to make arrangements and melt the ice he’d seen in her eyes as she walked out of the room. He had only the vaguest of plans swirling in his head like smoke, but he was going to win her back. He owed it to both of them to ask for another chance to repair all the damage that Mr. Norton had wrought.

“Miss Porter won’t last the night.” Mr. Norton’s playacting at being the debonair, carefree gentleman about town was falling away. The man was beginning to tremble with rage again.

“Miss Porter
stays
,” he said.

“Or what?” scoffed Mr. Norton.

“I’m sure your wife would be happy to hear about your expertise in mistresses. I doubt it would take more than a few questions to the right lady patients of mine to find out who they are. Society matrons have a way of gossiping with their physicians. Of course, if they don’t know, that would be more than enough to set them on the chase.”

All the blood drained from the man’s face, but he tried to keep his bluster up. “I’m hardly the first man to have dalliances.”

Edward leaned in. “Yes, but those men haven’t got a wife with ambitions like yours. Do you think the queen will receive a woman whose husband’s affairs are so scandalously public?”

Mr. Norton gaped at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” said Edward. “Miss Porter
stays
.”

Then he buttoned his jacket and, with a nod, turned on his heel and strode out of the room to figure out a way back to Elizabeth.

Mr. Norton allowed her to pack her things. That was the kindest thing she could say about the man.

He’d called her to his study and hemmed and hawed, but then he’d set his jaw and dismissed her. Even through her shock she wondered what Edward had said to make him act as though he were signing his death warrant.

It was pitiful how little time it took to stuff the contents of her room into two valises. The one thing she didn’t pack was
Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses
. Instead, she took it over to the nursery’s fireplace and dropped it in among the coals. Never before had she thought to burn a book—the act seemed barbarous—but she didn’t want that one with its harsh judgments and uncaring rules governing her life any longer.

When she was done, she went back to her room for her bags, stopping only to look around the sad space with its plain white walls and simple, pale blue quilt, half relieved she’d never have to see it again and half desperate with worry as she wondered what she was going to do for work. She’d survived once before, but that had been when she was going from gently raised young lady to governess. Now there would be questions. Questions about why she’d been let go. Questions about why she didn’t have a letter of reference.

Crane hovered at the door to the nursery, watching her. When she made for the girls’ room, he rushed to block her path. “Mr. Norton says you’re to go.”

A lump settled in her throat. She would no longer be able to hear Juliana’s joyful voice or watch Cassandra’s brow crease as she tried to work out complicated words in books. “Can’t I at least say good-bye?”

The butler’s lip actually curled. “Mr. Norton doesn’t want your filth around the children.”

Her head snapped up, and she hissed, “What I did was not filth.”

The man snorted a laugh. If she had the skill to throw a punch, she’d have hit him straight in the nose.

Instead, she peered up at him. “I wonder what Mr. Norton would do if one day he received a letter detailing how his butler of many years has a rather light hand with the wine cellar.”

Crane blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not today, but if I were you I’d consider the security of my job very tenuous indeed.”

Then she picked up her valises and swept out of the room.

Her boldness lasted until she got down to the street. Then the front door shut behind her with a loud bang, and the full impact of what had transpired hit. In the library, she’d felt strangely detached, as though she were watching the scene unfold through layers and layers of gauze. The argument seemed unreal.

It wasn’t until she heard Edward defending her that she snapped out of it. Everything focused into sharp precision and she finally understood what was happening. The man whom she’d let make love to her was trying with all his might to fight for her. It should have made her happy—overjoyed even—but instead it left her cold. He was pushing for her to keep her position, for her to remain a governess. He wasn’t dropping to his knees to propose. That wasn’t going to happen. Edward might insist with all of his might that she was a lady, but she knew that part of her life had died long ago.

There, standing in the middle of the library during what had to have been the most humiliating moment of her life, Elizabeth had seized on the chance to stop all of this in its tracks. He was leaving London. She wouldn’t hold him back from the research that excited him so much. She loved him too deeply to demand that he stop pursuing that dream. Breaking off their affair before it went any further was the only solution. Then she could begin the painful process of picking up the pieces of her heart.

A few blocks from the Norton house, she hailed a hansom. Even in the darkness of night it was possible to find a place to sleep in London, and Elizabeth directed the driver to a respectable boardinghouse for ladies in Pimlico not far from Mrs. Salver’s Tea Shop. She paid the lady who ran the house for a bed in a room with a clean set of sheets and a candle. Despite the churn of worry in her stomach, she was asleep in a matter of minutes.

In the morning, she woke in the strange, Spartan room and realized that it didn’t look so different from her room at the Nortons’. The only change was, of course, she’d been employed when she lived in the South Kensington house.

What have you done?

She pulled herself up and went to wash in the icy basin of water that sat on a small stand in a corner.

You’ve risked everything, but was it worth it?

Water dripped off her face and onto her chemise as she stared at herself in the mottled looking glass mounted on the dresser.

It was worth every moment.

She dried her face on a soft cloth that had been left on top of the dresser. Tucked away on the top floor of someone else’s home while caring for someone else’s children, she’d missed out on so much. Family, love, happiness—if she’d been dealt different cards, she might have had those things. And if she’d been truly lucky, she might have found the love of a man who worshipped her.

Her eyes squeezed closed as she let herself recall the few stolen moments she’d shared with Edward. Just thinking of the way he touched her body, as though he were learning every dip and curve, made her flush. No man had ever wanted her.
Ever
. And yet he’d taught her that she was worthy of passion, of love.

So why did you walk away from him?

The nagging thought popped into her head before she could stop it. She tried not to let the sadness overwhelm her. She wouldn’t force Edward to choose between her and his career. She couldn’t do that to him.

Instead, she fixated on the moment Mr. Norton burst into the room. She’d frozen, no doubt looking like a woman who’d been well and properly tumbled. And on the library sofa, of all places.

A part of her couldn’t get up the guilt necessary to feel embarrassed. She’d done something she never thought she’d do. She’d had a little adventure not even a novel’s heroine could imagine. For just an hour, Elizabeth Porter had
lived
.

Now she had to set about rebuilding her life. It would start with pasting the pieces of her heart back together and falling out of love with the physician.

Chapter Seven

Do not be fooled by the words and gestures of men. Even those gently born are selfish, inconstant beasts who are not to be trusted.

—Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses

The last bit of the breakfast Mrs. Mitchell forced Edward to eat was pushed to the side, and the schedule for the ship that would take him to New York sat in the middle of his dining table. He knew he should be preparing for the day. He was supposed to see patients downstairs in his surgery that morning, and then he had a full slate of house calls. And yet he still couldn’t take his eyes off the ship’s schedule.

He’d pulled it out as soon as he got home from the Nortons’. He could still smell the scent of Elizabeth on him, and every time he’d tried to concentrate on the listing of ships’ names and times, he would see her expression as Mr. Norton sent her from the room.

Nothing had prepared him for the coldness that settled around her as soon as Mr. Norton began to call her those awful names. It was as though with every “harlot” and “hussy” she drew in further on herself. He’d never seen her this way—closed off and quiet—and it frightened him.

Then she’d sprung to action. She’d been fierce—her eyes burning with an unmatched intensity. Yet for all of her bravery, he knew that she must be frightened. All of her security depended on being able to maintain her position. And what had Edward done except kick down the walls holding her up until the roof fell in? He’d selfishly wanted her for himself, not fully understanding just how devastating it’d be if they were caught.

That hadn’t been the only thing he’d misjudged. He was so wrapped up in his own love he’d never guessed that she might push him out of her life.

He wasn’t going to abandon Elizabeth. In fact, he was only just beginning to understand the real force that was his love for her. It filled him, making him somehow stronger, more determined.

He picked up the thick paper schedule and turned it over in his hands. All the things he’d once wished for—the fellowship, the science, the prestige—weren’t enough. Not compared to her.

He needed to show her exactly what she meant to him, and there would be no doubting the strength of his love for her. If she walked away from him then, it would be only because she didn’t feel the same way. If there was even the chance that she might one day grow to love him, however, he’d grasp that and hold tight.

He had to tell her all of this, but there was the very real problem of how. He doubted he’d be allowed to see her if he went to the Nortons’, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t send her a letter. Surely even the Nortons wouldn’t deprive her of the post.

He set the schedule down, his mind made up. He pulled out ink, a pen, and paper and began to write.

Normally Edward was a methodical letter writer, drafting several versions before striking on just the right tone in his prose. That day, however, the words seemed to flow through him like water poured from the spout of a jug, his hand rushing across the page just to keep up. In ten minutes, he had a letter before him that was nothing short of an expression of his deep, passionate love for Elizabeth. It told her nearly everything, but he held back one important detail. He didn’t ask her to be his wife. He wanted to do that in person, face-to-face. He wanted her to see how serious he was about his offer of marriage.

Shrugging his coat on, he snatched up his hat and made his way out into the crisp, cold winter morning. It took him only fifteen minutes to walk from his home to the Nortons’. It was still early when he stopped in front of the familiar building that had spelled such disappointment only the day before.

He rang the bell and braced himself for the scorn of whoever opened the door. Edward wasn’t naive. There was little that a good servant didn’t know about their household, and rumors spread around a staff like wildfire. The servants would no doubt know something about the library. He sent up a silent prayer that Elizabeth’s reputation wasn’t being dragged through the mud.

He straightened as the door opened and Crane filled the entryway. The man—usually at least somewhat deferential—looked down his nose at him, eliminating any lingering doubt that this would be a difficult battle.

“Good morning, sir,” said the butler in a voice as cold as the winter morning.

“Good morning, Crane. I’d hoped that I could speak to Miss Porter,” he said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his letter. “Will you give this to her then? Please?”

Crane looked at the letter as though it was covered in filth, but after a moment’s hesitation, he took it between his index finger and his thumb, holding it far from his body as though it might infect him.

“It’s imperative that Miss Porter read that letter,” he insisted, failing at keeping the desperation out of his voice.

“I shall see if she’s willing to receive it.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Crane’s eyebrow arched and his lips tightened. “I can’t condone what you did, Dr. Fellows, but Miss Porter is the one who should be ashamed of herself. I’ve always thought that governesses aren’t to be trusted.”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Porter is a woman of great merit and should be given the respect due to her.”

The butler huffed a little laugh. “As you say, sir.”

Then the insolent man shut the door in Edward’s face.

It was then that he realized he’d been gritting his teeth through the whole exchange. He flexed his jaw and shook his hands out, trying to let go of the rage that Crane had stirred up in him so quickly.

He wouldn’t win Elizabeth back by getting into fights with servants on Mr. Norton’s doorstep. He’d win her back by showing her that he would be right there waiting for her when she was ready for him. It didn’t matter how long it took. All he knew was that his life had a new path now. One that led straight to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth dressed with great care the morning after her dismissal, selecting the best of her three gowns, a warm gray woolen one with a high neck and black cloth buttons running down her throat and chest. The simple but elegant cut had always made her feel just a little bit elegant, and she knew that she walked with her head a little higher when she wore it.

She needed that extra boost of confidence today of all days because she was about to walk to her agency and try to get a new position without any letter of reference or any explanation for why she was let go.

It was, thankfully, only a twenty-minute walk to the black lacquer door with a brass plaque reading Miss Carrington’s Agency mounted proudly above the bell. She smoothed her hands over her skirts, brushing away invisible wrinkles as she looked up the facade of the three-story brick building. It was here that she’d come when she first needed to find a position in London, and while the two sisters who ran the agency, Miss Carrington and Miss Jucinda, were nothing if not stern, they also weren’t unkind. They knew that the women coming to their doorstep were in the uncomfortable position of needing employment. It was in this building where lives took a different turn, the proud were humbled and the desperate found solace. Elizabeth could only hope that she found a second chance here.

She pressed the bell and stepped back to wait. It didn’t take long for a maid—employed by both the business and the Carrington sisters, who lived above the agency’s public rooms—to open the door.

“Good morning, miss,” said the older woman. She raked an eye over Elizabeth so closely that it was a wonder the woman couldn’t see straight through her clothes to her soul and the sins she’d committed on Mr. Norton’s sofa.

She drew herself up to her full height, very glad that she’d chosen this dress. “Good morning. Is Miss Carrington or Miss Jucinda at liberty?”

“May I inquire who’s calling?” asked the woman, her features never softening.

“Elizabeth Porter. I know that it’s far earlier than appropriate, but I’d hoped one of the Misses Carrington would be able to see me as soon as possible. Please tell them that I was fortunate enough to be placed in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Norton through this agency.”

In a strange way it was true. It had been fortunate that she’d been assigned to the Nortons, for there she met Edward.

Dr. Fellows. His name is Dr. Fellows.

If she was going to shake the habit of loving him, she’d have to do it one step at a time—starting with forgoing the intimacy of his name. It was the only way she could stop herself from weakening and going to his door, begging him to do the impossible and take her with him to America.

After a moment’s longer scrutiny, the maid stepped back to let her in the front door. “I’ll see if one of them is in, ma’am.”

Elizabeth dipped her head and stepped into the entryway.

“If you’ll just wait here,” the maid said before striding through an open door, shutting it behind her.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back and busied herself with looking around. It had been six years since she’d last been inside this building. She’d come in hopes of being placed with a family after three years of teaching Sophie, the fifteen-year-old daughter of a local squire who’d taken pity on her in the wake of her father’s death. She’d stayed with Sophie until the girl was presented at court just shy of her eighteenth birthday. Elizabeth had been there through the whirlwind of buying a wardrobe for the season and polishing dance steps, a vital part of the family, and then, all of a sudden, Sophie met a baronet and that was that. As soon as the marriage contracts were drawn up and the date of the wedding breakfast set, Elizabeth was no longer needed. Sophie’s mother bid her farewell with an excellent letter of reference and an additional letter of introduction to the Carrington sisters.

That had been such a different time—almost a lifetime away. She’d had prospects when she walked through those doors last. Now Elizabeth was twenty-six and disgraced. She could only hope to convince Miss Carrington and Miss Jucinda to place her in a home before the Nortons got it into their heads to send word of her dismissal.

Elizabeth felt as though she were walking on a tightrope without a net.

The opening door announced the maid’s return. “Miss Jucinda will be happy to see you in her study.”

Elizabeth followed the woman down a long corridor and into a room at the end. It was a quaint, cozy place that looked more like a miniature parlor than a study except for the rows of
Miss Carrington’s Guide for Governesses
neatly stacked on a little bookshelf and the delicate Queen Anne desk that was positioned to face the door. Behind the desk sat Miss Jucinda. The woman was a little older, and perhaps a little wider, than the last time, but there was no mistaking her wild gray curls that spilled out from underneath her rather old-fashioned lace cap.

Miss Jucinda rose as Elizabeth stepped into the room. “Miss Porter, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said. “I was worried you might not remember me. It has been a long time.”

“Six years, is that not right?” the lady asked with a smile. “Placed with Mrs. Gertrude Norton. Two girls, Miss Juliana Norton and Miss Cassandra Norton. They must be—what?—eleven and nine now.”

She must have looked a little taken aback, because Miss Jucinda just chuckled. “I hardly forget a face or a name, and I can usually recall where my girls have been placed if they haven’t moved around too much. Won’t you sit down?”

She took the chair with the lavender cushion her hostess indicated. “You have a remarkable memory.”

Miss Jucinda rounded the desk to sit on the chair opposite her. “It’s quite a useful skill in my profession. Now, how can I help you today? I hope this visit doesn’t signal the end of your time with the Nortons.”

She crossed her hands in her lap so they didn’t shake and willed the nerves out of her voice. “I’m afraid I must move on from the Norton household, as pleasant as my time there has been.”

“That’s a shame. I hope you weren’t unhappy.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Both of the Norton girls were charming in their unique ways.”

The lady dropped her voice to a near whisper when she said, “Is it the gentleman of the house? I shouldn’t like to pry, but my sister and I do try to place our girls in good positions and respectful homes. If Mr. Norton has acted in an untoward manner, we should like to know so that we don’t run into the same problem.”

“No, it isn’t Mr. Norton.” The man might have cast her from the house, but he’d never done anything ungentlemanly. In some ways, that made her much luckier than many of the other governesses she’d heard about.

“Well then, we shall just have to see about finding you a new position.” Miss Jucinda took up a little book from the small table between them and opened to a blank page. She licked the end of a pencil and looked up expectantly. “Do you have any new qualifications since you last came to us?”

“I’ve worked to strengthen my Italian since I spoke with you six years ago.”

“Excellent. I’m always happy to hear of a governess improving herself, especially when it comes to
parlare italiano
. Anything else?”

“Nursing.”