“Is she even qualified?”
“She’s not been a governess before, if that is your question, but I am not concerned.”
Mrs. Wilson narrowed her eyes. “This is unexpected and uncharacteristic. What haven’t you shared with me?”
With a sigh, he crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy while he weighed how much he should confide in his housekeeper. In the end, he decided to tell her the truth but left out the part about lust so as not to offend her sensibilities.
“I was drawn to her in a manner that I’d never been to anyone before, as if she were mine,” he concluded. Preston shook his head. “It’s quite ridiculous, I’m aware.” He glanced up to Mrs. Wilson, who had been a servant in Ambrose Hall since before he was born. “You think me mad, don’t you?”
“If it were any other gentleman, yes I would believe so. But that is the way of Ambrose males,” she stated as if it were fact. “I witnessed it myself with your brother, and though I was only a housemaid when your father met your mother, I remember that as well.”
“The curse of the Ambrose men,” he chuckled. According to his brother, father, grandfather, and every male ancestor, they’d all known who they would marry at the first introduction. Preston thought it nonsense and dismissed their stories.
Except, hadn’t he just said that he felt a pull, as if Miss Claywell was his?
Bloody hell. He’d not fall into the romantic notions of his ancestors.
“Nor will it be easy for you,” she reminded him. “The women never made it easy.”
His gut tightened. He’d been at a loss as to how to court her in London. Would it really be any easier here, even though she now resided within his home? He was a man of action, not words, nor did he have any notion of how to be romantic and woo a female. Nor was he someone to speak from the heart, as the cavalry had taught him that emotions only got in the way and could have a devastating effect in the outcome of battle.
No, courting Miss Claywell would not be easy, except it wouldn’t be her making it difficult. Of that, he was certain.
“If you made an offer of marriage, then why is she here as a governess?”
“Because of this.” He handed the missive to his housekeeper.
Mrs. Wilson took the letter from him and read the contents.
“Why not simply explain the misunderstanding?” she asked.
“Because she’d likely reject me immediately given we’d only shared three encounters.” He took a drink. “This is an opportunity for her to come to know me, and I her.”
“I understand your caution and your reluctance to tell her the truth, but it is also a deception,” Mrs. Wilson warned.
He knew that as well, but Preston wasn’t yet ready to tell Miss Claywell the truth of the matter. He wanted to at least be given the opportunity for her to come to know him better, and he her, before there was any further talk of marriage.
“You must also be careful in how you proceed,” she warned. “If you show an unusual interest in Miss Claywell, her reputation could suffer. Remember what happened with Miss Halton.”
He groaned, recalling the former governess and the circumstances surrounding her departure from Ambrose Hall. “Yes, of course,” he acknowledged. “Explain to the staff that Miss Claywell has not previously been a governess but that I know her family. That will explain why she may be different from what they expect.”
After his housekeeper took her leave, Preston set to write to both his uncle and Miss Claywell’s and advised them of the circumstances so that they’d no longer worry.
After being shown to her room, Althea assisted the maid in making the bed, then opened the window to allow fresh air into the room and set about unpacking her things. She’d also been allowed the luxury of bathing in the room off the kitchen. After heating the water and filling the hipbath, she then luxuriated in washing her hair and the grime from her body before she snuck back up to her room, where she’d brushed her hair until it dried. She’d taken bathing for granted while under her uncle’s care, but after needing to prepare her own bath, she would not any longer.
She was now in the home of Viscount Melcombe and hoped that in time he’d see her as more than a governess. Though how she could make that happen, she wasn’t certain, given her days would be long with lessons. But somehow, she’d find a way.
There were meals, however. Mrs. Wilson had informed Althea that she was expected to take meals with Lord Melcombe, as did the children because he did not like to dine alone.
Althea tried to recall her own governess. Miss Landry had also taken meals with the family, so such a request wasn’t unusual. Althea just hoped that she could remember everything else that Miss Landry had done, and what had been taught.
“Are you joining us, Miss Claywell?” Matilda asked as she stopped outside of Althea’s open chamber door. “Supper is to be served.”
She smiled at the young girl. “Please show me the way.”
Althea allowed Matilda to escort her to the parlor where the other sisters had gathered as well as Lord Melcombe. At least they didn’t formally dress as one did in London, for which she was grateful because she’d not packed anything appropriate.
“Welcome, Miss Claywell,” Lord Melcombe greeted. “Shall we go into dinner?”
