CHAPTER FOUR

The children's aloof behavior continues when I assign them schoolwork. I intend to remain in the room for the lessons, but when I walk into the school room, I am surprised to see their lessons organized into weekly packets with different folders for each day. This would be gratifying, since it would save me a lot of work, except that as soon as the children sit down, Ethan says, "We'll come get you when we've finished. Then you can grade our work."

I frown. "Why would you need to come get me? I'll be right here."

The children look at each other, and Olivia says, "Mom usually just has us work alone, then turn in our work when we're finished."

My frown deepens. "Well, that doesn't seem a productive way to educate children. I don't intend to simply have you complete homework every day."

"It's the way we've always done it."

"Well, it isn't the way we'll do it from now on," I insist. "There will be actual lessons, discussions, reading and writing assignments, and—"

"We have all of those already," Ethan interrupted. "It's in the packet. This week, I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities ."

"An excellent novel," I reply, "and I look forward to your thoughts. But I won't leave the two of you to your own devices."

"So you don't trust us?" Olivia asks cattily.

"It's not about that," I reply. "I simply wouldn't be doing my job as a governess if I were to entrust your education to a folder."

"Well, we've been doing things this way our entire lives, and we score in the ninety-sixth percentile or above on the yearly standardized tests the Board of Education sends us, so it must not be as bad as you think."

There are so many reasons she's wrong, so much that a standardized test doesn't reveal about a child's readiness to navigate the world. I can tell, however, that they aren't ready to be convinced. I won't allow this to continue for much longer, whether they are convinced or not, but perhaps my first day of instruction isn't the right time to insist on disrupting everything they've been used to.

"Very well," I concede. "For this week, I will allow you to complete your lessons in seclusion. Starting next Monday, however, we will be doing things differently."

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

Ethan is somewhat more respectful. "Okay, Miss Wilcox."

"Call me Mary," I reply. "I will see the two of you at lunchtime."

"We'll probably be finished before then," Ethan informs me.

To that, I only nod.

I leave the school room and consider that much of the children's behavior makes sense now that I know they've been shut up like this for most of their lives. Their parents are clearly too concerned with their own problems to consider their children, and they have no interaction with others their own age. It's no wonder they're secretive and emotionally stunted. I will have my work cut out for me here.

The school room is by the children's bedrooms on the second floor of the main wing, just above the living room. My first thought is to explore the remainder of the house, but after the challenging behavior I've witnessed, I think a bit of fresh air is just the ticket.

I head downstairs to return to my room and fetch my coat and boots, but when I reach the living room, I see a stranger and stop. He is in his mid-thirties, tall and handsome with a strong jaw and well-combed dark brown hair. He sits on the couch and looks out the large window that makes up most of the living room's rear wall. I admit that I spend a moment admiring him before speaking up. "Hello."

The man turns to me and offers a dazzling smile. It's a good thing I'm too old to let attraction motivate my actions or I might consider getting myself into some trouble.

At the same time, though, I feel an instinctual distrust in that smile. Lucifer is well known to be the most beautiful of the angels, after all. Besides, I've seen firsthand how much of the evil in this world lurks behind beauty.

"Hello there," he replies. "You must be the new governess. Mary, right?"

I return his smile. "That's me. And you are?"

He extends a hand and approaches me. "Thomas Keller. I'm the family's estate manager."

"Oh." I take his hand, and he gives mine a firm shake. "I thought that Claude was the butler."

"That's the title we've chosen to give him to make things simpler," Thomas replies. He releases my hand and says, "Really, he's more of a valet. He performs all of the service duties of a butler, but the management of the estate rests in my hand."

"I see. If you'll forgive me for being forward, Mr. Keller—"

"Thomas, please."

I smile politely. "Thomas. If you are the estate manager, then you are my superior, correct?"

He offers me another breathtaking smile. "Traditionally, yes, an estate manager would oversee all the household staff. However, since the Jensen's are American, it's not quite managed like that. I oversee the… I suppose you could call them the maintenance staff and the service staff. The gardeners, the driver and footman, the housekeeper and cook… essentially everyone but you. Even then, I only have limited authority over Franz and Pierre—that's the driver and footman."

"Yes, we've met. They picked me up at the airport."

"Ah. Well, the fact that I didn't know that just shows you how loose my job is. To be honest, I think Frederick hired me to make sure the staff knows what the family's plans are. That way they avoid having Sophie make dinner for the family and forget about their thirty guests or having the housekeeper arrive to clean the bathroom while Catherine is showering."

"That seems fairly important."

He laughs, a rich and hearty sound. My heart flutters, and once more, I am grateful that my mind has supremacy over my actions. "They certainly pay like it is. I do more than just run the house, though. I help Frederick out with some business work as well."

"I see. So you're officially an estate manager and unofficially a personal assistant?"

"Something like that."

His manner is easy, but something seems off about him. I risk probing a little further. "It's odd that they didn't mention you."

"Is it? I haven't known a lot of wealthy people to think much about their servants unless they need something."

I can't argue with that. "Well, I suppose I have a lot to learn about American households."

"They're definitely less rigid than British households. Here, sit. I assume the children are in school?"

"They are. It seems that consists of little more than a homework packet."

"Yes, the Jensens are quite hands off with their children's education."

"Well, I intend to change that," I say as I take my seat.

"Good luck with that," he replies. "I mean that sincerely, but I also don't envy you. The children are a lot of work."

I raise an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"They're…" His voice trails off, and he looks away for a moment. "Well, it's not my place to say. I'll leave it at this. The Jensens, like all families, have their peculiarities. Living among the wealthy for the past twelve years has shown me that they are an entirely different culture. The differences between the wealthy and the working class are as stark as the differences between Americans and Britons. In some cases, even more stark.

"One peculiarity of the Jensens is a certain aloofness. They're polite and decent enough as far as rich people go, but they are very introverted. Frederick gives the impression of gregariousness, but it's all an act. When he's alone, he is moody and withdrawn. Catherine is the very definition of an ice queen, and the children are carbon copies of their parents."

"Forgive me once more for my rudeness," I tell him, "but that's quite a serious opinion to share with a governess."

He smiles at me, but there's bitterness in this smile. "It's information you need to know if you're to survive here." He takes a breath, and his cheer returns. "But tell me, how are you enjoying it so far?"

"It's an adjustment," I admit. "I have noticed the aloofness you reference." I hesitate a moment, but if he can be so open with me, then I see no reason not to be the same with him. "I am concerned for the children. Frederick and Catherine don't appear happy in their marriage, and it's affecting Olivia and Ethan."

Thomas nods. "They've been fighting for a while. I didn't realize it was so bad as to be obvious to people who didn't know them."

"They certainly made no attempt to hide it last night." I briefly recount the argument at dinner that ended with both parents leaving the dining room.

When I finish, Thomas sighs. He seems to weigh what to say, but before he can speak, the front door opens, and Catherine and Frederick walk in. They appear to have been fighting, but considering what Thomas has just told me, the frowns and tension they exhibit could be perfectly ordinary. Frederick smiles perfunctorily at me, then nods at Thomas. "Shall we?"

Thomas stands. "Ready when you are, sir." He bows slightly to me. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mary."

I stand and return his bow. "And the same to you, Thomas."

The two men leave. Frederick ignores his wife, and Thomas offers her a bow that she doesn't acknowledge. When the door closes behind them, I smile at Catherine. "How's your day been so far, ma'am?"

Instead of answering, she says. "I'm taking the children out this afternoon when school is finished."

I decide it's not worth my efforts to probe any further. "Very well."

And that's the end of our conversation. She leaves without another word. I watch her statuesque body glide along the floor, the elegant movements a part of her nature after thirty years in the fashion industry, and wonder how I will adjust to life with a family that refuses to acknowledge their emotions. What might happen, I wonder, when all of those suppressed feelings come rushing to the surface?

I think it's time I got to the root of the sickness plaguing this family.