The Governess by Ellise C. Weaver

Author:Ellise C. Weaver [Weaver, Ellise C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781493770618
Google: o6f8nQEACAAJ
Publisher: Createspace Independent Pub
Published: 2013-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

Looking down upon Miss Blakemore, truly seeing the woman standing here for the first time since coming upon their picnic, Creighton saw her emotion growing, saw she was trembling.

Then she burst into tears.

Growling at himself, he exclaimed, “For pity’s sake—”

Pulling her into his arms, he held her, resting his chin upon her head. Noticing her hair was loose and hanging around her shoulders, his hands could not resist touching the sunlit tresses, trying to bring comfort to her. “I have made you cry.”

Instead of receiving comfort, the obviousness of his comment made her cry even harder.

Stroking her long, beautiful hair, he felt repentant as she sobbed against his chest, her hands covering her face as if in shame. He tried to give her his handkerchief, but she was too busy sobbing. He was not sure what to do with himself now.

His outburst, his disclosure had upset her terribly, apparently not having known how his wife had died.

As Creighton’s own breathing calmed, his chest heaved a heavy, relieved sigh with knowing his children were safe. Dabbing at Miss Blakemore’s eyes with his handkerchief, he said gruffly, “I have handled my fears poorly, Miss Blakemore. I have quite upset you. Again, I am in need of apologizing to you.”

Shaking her head, Miss Blakemore exclaimed, “But no! It is I who have upset you and am in need of apologizing. I had no idea of the circumstances of your wife’s—your wife’s death…” Shuddering against him, she cried, “I am so, so sorry.”

Rolling his eyes, he wiped guiltily at her tears.

“I truly was watching the children. I only lay down for a moment, listening to them laugh. They were enjoying themselves so very much. I was just thinking about bringing a jar for the minnows next time…”

He smoothed the tears off her cheeks as she struggled for control over her shuddering breaths. He was aware his feelings had changed. What I would not do to comfort her. To think he was the cause of her distress was deeply disappointing. He stepped away from her, dangerously conscious of how it felt to hold her in his arms.

“Please. I ask this of you. Ease my troubled heart, and do not bring the children here again.”

Blinking through her remaining tears, Miss Blakemore stepped away, turning her back to him to gather her senses, hair and skirts twirling. Watching her as she composed herself, he heard her say, “As much as I respect you, my lord…”

Interrupting, he warned, “Miss Blakemore, please…”

“…and…and as best as I can understand the circumstances and your fears, still, it is such a beautiful place; a place to be enjoyed, not to be avoided, and—” She became quiet, and whispered, “Not to remember death.” Swiftly turning to him, she exclaimed, “I am sorry…but it is the truth.” Wiping at her cheeks, she continued, “Was not this tragedy two years ago?”

Creighton’s hands rested upon his hips as he endeavored to control his boiling anger nearing the surface yet again.

“They should be allowed to grieve and heal by replacing these sad memories with newer, happier memories of this place.

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