The Master's New Governess by Eliza Redgold

Author:Eliza Redgold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-02-12T13:34:16+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

A shadow flits before me;

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

Through the mullioned window Dominic caught sight of a movement on the gravel drive outside. Crossing to the glass, he rubbed the pane, steamed by the fire, and stared out into the near darkness. Yes, there it was again. A movement as someone left the Hall.

She carried no lamp, but he saw the flick of her shawl catch the moonlight and knew instantly who it was.

Miss Wilmot.

It was later than usual, much later. She had not come to sit by the fire and read. He glanced towards the chair where she often sat. He’d become used to her being there.

He went back to his desk, looked again at the piece of paper she’d written on earlier and smiled.

He’d wanted to give her something, to show his appreciation of her work.

There was Miss Martha Wilmot’s signature, written in the black ink of the fountain pen he had just given her to write her stories. He couldn’t disguise to himself that the gift of a pen had been more than appreciation. He found himself thinking about her, about her needs and desires. What might make her happy. The irony did not escape him now that he was the one who could be described as having romantic notions about a governess, rather than the reverse.

Since that moment in the woods, he had known himself to be beguiled by her. Or perhaps it had happened before, when he first heard her tell a fairy tale.

It was her stillness and her reserve, too, that made her even more attractive to him. Rather than the usual clamour of women trying to get his attention, she never aimed to catch his eye or to make witticisms to try to amuse him. She never wore clothing that could be deemed sensual or striking. Her grey dresses, which he had begun to become accustomed to seeing about the Hall, were no fashion pieces and almost severe in their simplicity. Knowing she did nothing to entice him was part of her unconscious charm, yet it was her sweetness of character, and an apparent inner strength, that truly attracted him. She was full of moral integrity. It could not be hidden. It could not be disguised. The stories she told Rosabel were full of wisdom beyond her years.

The Butterfly Fables. They were not only enchanting, they were educational. She was a storyteller with a true gift. It was fashionable, she’d told him, for fairy tales to be published in magazines as moral fables. Hers were good enough for a magazine, or even a book of their own. He truly believed it. He hadn’t exaggerated on that score. Far from it.

Miss Wilmot’s stories were clever because, although she had an idealistic nature and an ethical bent, she was not heavy-handed in her moral instruction. Her approach was as light and airy as a pair of butterfly wings. The world she created in The Butterfly Fables was full of advice, lightly given, in the search for happiness and goodness.

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