Chapter Two
The lamps had been lit along the drive by the time Winston Burgess returned to Greystone House. His horse was lathered, his coat mud-splashed, and the weight of the day pressed down upon his shoulders like a millstone. He dismounted without waiting for a groom, thrust the reins into the nearest pair of hands, and strode up the steps two at a time.
“Louisa,” he called, his voice carrying into the echoing hall.
The butler materialized at once, bowing low. “In the schoolroom, sir.”
Winston grunted, already moving past him. He did not ask after his correspondence. None of that mattered until he had seen his daughter. The schoolroom door stood half open, spilling the smell of ink and wax into the passage. Winston pushed it wider and froze on the threshold.
Louisa sat at her little desk, brows drawn tight in concentration, a needle trembling between her fingers. Before her lay a pitiful scrap of fabric, punctured with wild, uneven stitches. Her thumb bore three angry red pricks. Louisa’s governess hovered beside her. Miss Grainger was tall, angular, with lips that always seemed to be pressed thin, as though she were too fine to touch her charge. A stray thought ran across his mind.
It must be exhausting to expend so much effort in keeping one’s lips in such a ruler-straight line.
Winston’s temper flared like oil to flame as he strode to his daughter, kneeling beside her.
“She is bleeding. And I have told you before about holding lessons in this dungeon!”
Louisa looked up, wide-eyed. “Papa, it is nothing and this is the schoolroom.”
“Nothing?” He took her hand gently but firmly. “This is a wound. This is your blood. I do not want to see either on your body. Not ever.”
He examined the small wounds as though they were mortal injuries.
“What sort of guidance have you given her?” He turned to stare at Miss Grainger.
The governess stiffened.
“Needlework requires perseverance. The young lady must learn to endure. As for which room I choose to educate her in…”
“It is my choice and my house!” Winston barked, “This room was built by my grandfather to oppress the youngest members of his family. Louisa will not be oppressed!”
“It is proper that a child learns in a school environment…” Miss Grainger went on, voice beginning to tremble.
“And as for endurance?” Winston’s voice was soft, dangerously so. “She is twelve years old, not a dray horse to be whipped. And where were you, madam, when she nearly tumbled from the oak tree last week? Or when she wandered into Barrow’s field and nearly got herself trampled by cattle?”
The governess flushed. “Children are willful, Your Grace. I cannot be blamed for every scrape she finds herself in.”
“You were employed to keep her safe!” His voice cracked like a whip now, echoing against the high ceiling.
Louisa shrank back, though not from him but the storm she had learned to weather. The governess drew herself up, chin high.
“I will not tolerate this manner, Your Grace. Your temper makes this position impossible. You may consider this my resignation.”
“Good riddance,” he snarled and waved her toward the door.
She swept out, skirts swishing like a banner of defiance, and moments later Winston heard the quick clatter of her heels on the stairs.
He turned back to Louisa, softening at once. “Are you hurt, little one?”
Louisa giggled. “Only my pride, Papa. I never liked sewing. Governesses always try to make me sit still.”
The sound of her laughter thawed something in him. He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, his features easing into the rare expression of tenderness. None knew him capable of it because only Louisa saw it.
Most people, including me, are despicable and disappointing—in that order. We all make exceptions from time to time, though. For me, I endeavor to show my daughter all the goodness I can muster.
“Then we shall do without a governess, if it pleases you. Heaven knows we’ve gone through enough of them.”
Even as he said it, he knew the fallacy of his words. His daughter was at a vulnerable age, on the edge of womanhood. She needed to learn skills that he could not teach her in order that she could fit in with Society when the time came.
