Jenny sighed and nodded. “Of course. I shall leave now.”
“John will walk you there. Best make haste—the weather threatens rain. Miss Winter, could you sleep in Jenny’s room tonight? Miss Emma cannot be left alone, and Jenny’s room opens off the nursery.”
“Of course.”
Mrs Thornton gave a brisk, approving nod. “That’s very good of you. Mrs Ruthborne and Miss Swaddle would not have done so, and I know because I asked them. I believe you will suit us very well, Miss Winter, and I shall tell his Grace so.”
Maggie smiled faintly in response.
I’m doing it,she thought.I’ll be safe here. Victor will never find me.
“I shall let you come down when you are ready,” said Mrs Thornton, disappearing into the corridor.
Jenny lingered a moment, then turned back to Maggie.
“I will say one last thing about his Grace,” she said in a lowered voice. “He’s stern, perhaps too much so—but I’ve always thought he feels deeply. He still grieves for his sister. It would break your heart to see it. And if a man like Mr Middleton calls him friend, he cannot beallbad.”
Maggie had to suppress a smile at that. “I shall take your word for it, Jenny.”
“I am sure you’ll grow to like him.”
She glanced away, adjusting her cuff.
“I have no need to like him,” Maggie replied. “He is my employer, a duke, and I am a governess. There can be no connection between us. It is not a question of liking him—only of obeying him. This is not a novel, after all.”
Jenny studied her for a moment, then smiled.
“Well, at least you like Miss Emma.”
Maggie’s lips curved. “It would be impossible not to. Now go—your parents are waiting.”
Chapter Six
Two Days Later
The rain that had begun the night Jenny went to visit her parents had not stopped once. For two whole days, the world had been shrouded in a grey veil, the dim light filtering through it and dulling every corner of the schoolroom and of Maggie’s little chamber.
She had scarcely ventured beyond those two rooms. Each day followed the same pattern—from her chamber to the nursery, thence to the schoolroom, and back again.
There was no room for her below stairs now; the incessant rain had driven the gardeners and outdoor hands indoors, and Mrs Thornton had asked her to take her meals in her room until the weather cleared.
Maggie did not mind. Jenny had been sure she would soon break the ice and grow comfortable among the servants, but until that day came, mealtimes were awkward affairs. She had sat in mortified silence, terrified of slurping her soup or dropping a crumb upon the spotless floor, lest anyone think her careless or affected.
Each afternoon, she had set aside an hour for exercise in the grounds, but the rain had ruined that plan. Emma had been sorely disappointed, for she had already marked several favourite spots to paint—bright lawns, a little bridge over the stream, a cluster of old oaks that she said looked like “giants at a dance.” Maggie had thought painting from life might be a wholesome change from the fanciful garden scenes Emma conjured from imagination
Two days had gone by, and there was no sign of the Duke. At first, Maggie had lived in hourly dread that he would appear without warning, sit in upon her lessons, and pronounce herunfit. Where would she go then? She had no answer. But she had seen neither hide nor hair of the duke.
As far as she knew, he had not been near the nursery or the schoolroom. He had not invited his niece to dine with him, which meant, of course, that she had not been invited either.
Which was perfectly fine. She had seen the man once, and once was quite enough. He might be handsome enough to look at—handsomer still if he should ever smile—but he did not smile, and he would surely open his mouth and ruin the illusion. For all she knew, he might not even be in the house. If he were gone, no one would think to tell her.
He is probably trying to ignore my existence,she thought,and I am doing the same for his.
The first weeks, she knew, would be difficult. Once she had a month’s wages in hand, she might at least afford a roof over her head for a little while. But the money would not last long.
Don’t think of that,she told herself, realising with a start that she had been standing at the blackboard, chalk poised, for several minutes without writing a word.
When she turned, Emma was not even looking at her. The child sat by the window, chin in her hand, gazing out at the curtain of rain. Jenny was in her corner, the steady click-clack of her knitting needles the only sound in the room.
