She remembered meeting his wife. Sweet-tempered, moneyed, cultured. By all accounts, a “perfect English rose.” Exactly the sort of woman any Englishman would boast to have on his arm. The opposite of Désirée in every way.
“All the same,” Jack said. “I’m not going through that again.”
“I don’t blame you.”
That was the danger of loving people. Sometimes, you weren’t able to keep them.
Désirée’s loss had been sudden. The death of Jack’s wife had been prolonged and painful. She and her siblings had not been afforded the chance to say goodbye, or even to process what was happening. He and his children had been forced to watch a loved one suffer. Neither outcome was better.
The only way to protect one’s heart was not to risk it in the first place.
“Afternoon post, sir.” A footman appeared in the doorway.
Désirée was grateful for the interruption. Living in the past was not good for anyone. It was time to think about the present.
The footman lifted a tall stack of letters from a silver tray and placed them atop Jack’s desk.
“You have got to be bamming me.” Jack stared at the teetering pile, then back up at his footman. “We’re still receiving responses to that advert?”
The footman lifted his chin. “I would never dare speculate on the contents of my master’s correspondence.”
“I am happy to speculate.” Désirée pointed. “Those are definitely interested queries from potential candidates.”
“How can there be this many unemployed, overqualified governesses in England?”
“Cressmouth is a popular destination and you offered a handsome wage,” she pointed out. “Maybe they are not unemployed, but willing to switch allegiance for the right price.”
“Cynical.” Jack shoved the new pile next to the previous piles. “And no doubt correct.”
“I can help sift through them,” she offered. “Between the two of us, perhaps we can make short work of it.”
She ignored the unwelcome pang in her stomach at the thought of helping him hurry along someone to replace her.
The footman lowered his silver tray toward Désirée. “For you, mademoiselle.”
“For me?” Her surprise turned into a smile as she recognized Lucien’s appalling penmanship. “Thank you.”
She tore open the letter with eager fingers.
These infernal English books will be due in three days, and you promised you’d be home in time to return them.
She grinned. Although he did not confess it in so many words, Lucien had been studying just as he promised.
The pig misses you. Uncle Jasper says his snorts aren’t quite the same.
Désirée missed her zany family, too. Seeing her brothers only once a week on her free day just made their absence all the sharper during the rest of the week.
I’ve recalculated the figures and I have good news! If the smithy stays as busy as it is now, we’ll have the lease paid within six months. Just think—we’ll be back home before spring!
Her heart gave a lurch. A fortnight ago, this would have been wonderful news, indeed. Summers in Brittany again. Winters in Bordeaux. France was the promised land, the gold at the end of the rainbow, their chance to start anew.
She hadn’t expected her time with the Skeffingtons to feel like a second chance, too.
Désirée swallowed thickly. Just because any number of better qualified governesses could show up to replace her on the morrow, did not mean she must cut off all contact with Jack and his children. They would still be neighbors for a little while.
Hurry back so we can pack our valises for the final time…
“Everything all right?”
Désirée glanced up from the letter and nodded. “Nothing but good news.”
Or so it should have been.
Her chest tightened. She wondered if six months would be enough time to teach Annie French before she left for good.
