9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

E velyn surveyed the two girls before her, their hair windswept and cheeks flushed from their outdoor exertions. With some wrangling, she'd managed to herd them back indoors. She smoothed her own skirts, trying to project an air of calm authority she didn't quite feel.

"Well then, with the day's dosage of shenanigans out of the way," Evelyn said with an eyebrow arched significantly, "perhaps we might try doing something a little more productive? Perhaps you might show me the schoolroom?"

Augusta—at least, Evelyn assumed it was Augusta, the more serious of the pair—straightened her posture. "We don't have a schoolroom, Miss Bane."

Evelyn blinked, momentarily taken aback. Her gaze caught Augusta's eyes flicking towards what she assumed was the West Wing, but the girl's expression remained carefully neutral. Evelyn decided not to press the matter for now.

"I see," she said, her mind racing to adapt. "In that case, perhaps you'd be so kind as to show me your favourite room in the house? I'm still finding my bearings, you understand."

Julia's face lit up. "Oh! Mine's the kitchen! Cook lets me lick the spoon when she makes pudding!"

Augusta shot her sister a quelling look. "That's hardly proper, Julia."

Evelyn hid a smile. "I'm rather fond of sweets, myself," she said, leaning in conspiratorially toward Julia. "Still, Cook probably wouldn't appreciate us taking up so much space in her kitchen, would she? Let's have a bit of a look around, shall we? I'd love to see the parts of the house that are special to you."

As they set off, Evelyn carefully observed the girls' interactions. Augusta moved with a quiet grace, while Julia practically bounced along beside her. Though their faces were identical, the contrast between them was striking.

"This is the music room," Augusta announced, pushing open a heavy oak door. "Father says it hasn't changed since our grandmother's day."

Evelyn stepped inside, taking in the faded grandeur. Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors gazed down from the walls. A pianoforte stood near the darkened fireplace, half-covered in a white dropcloth. In one corner stood a beautiful harp, its strings gleaming in the afternoon light.

"Do either of you play?" Evelyn asked, gesturing towards the instruments.

A flicker of something – pride, perhaps? – crossed Augusta's face. "I do," she said softly. "Father says I have a talent for it."

Julia rolled her eyes. "She's always plucking away at that thing. It's dreadfully dull."

"And what do you prefer, Julia?" Evelyn asked, sensing an opportunity to draw her out.

Julia's eyes sparkled. "The piano!" she announced.

Evelyn smiled warmly at the girls. "I'd be delighted to hear you play. Would you mind giving me a little performance?"

Augusta nodded, her movements graceful as she approached the harp. She settled herself on the small stool, her back straight and shoulders relaxed. As her fingers touched the strings, Evelyn marvelled at the girl's poise. Augusta's eyes closed, a look of serene concentration settling over her features.

The first notes rang out, clear and crisp. Augusta's hands moved with precision, each pluck of the strings deliberate and controlled. The melody that emerged was hauntingly beautiful, speaking of hidden depths beneath the young girl's reserved exterior.

When Augusta finished, Evelyn was blinking back unexpected tears. "That was lovely," she murmured.

Julia, not to be outdone, bounded over to the pianoforte. "My turn!" she announced, whipping off the dropcloth with a flourish that sent dust motes dancing in the air.

Where Augusta had been all careful control, Julia was pure exuberance. Her fingers flew over the keys, the tempo wild and erratic. She hit wrong notes here and there, but her enthusiasm was infectious. Evelyn was tapping her foot, caught up in Julia's joy.

As the last echoes of Julia's spirited performance faded, both girls turned expectant faces towards their new governess.

"Do you play, Miss Bane?" Augusta asked, her tone polite but curious.

Evelyn's smile turned wistful. "I did, once upon a time," she admitted. "The pianoforte, actually. But it's been... oh, many years since I last touched the keys."

"Why'd you stop?" Julia asked, her head tilted to one side.

Evelyn paused, memories of her marital home flitting through her mind. "Life has a way of changing our paths," she said carefully. "Sometimes the things we loved in our youth get left behind."

Julia wrinkled her pert little nose at that, clearly finding the idea of giving up something she loved preposterous. Augusta, however, tilted her head thoughtfully, considering Evelyn carefully.

Evelyn glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, suddenly aware of how much time had passed. She clapped her hands together, drawing the girls' attention.

"Come now, we've much more to learn if you're to be accomplished young ladies. Music is but one facet of a well-rounded education."

Augusta's brow furrowed, her lips pursing in a way that reminded Evelyn startlingly of the Baron. The girl cast a longing look at her beloved harp as she rose from the stool.

"I fail to see what could be more important than perfecting one's art," Augusta said, her tone clipped.

Evelyn bit back a smile. How like herself Augusta was at that age—so certain, so focused. "There's much a young lady must know to enter society—"

"Surely you don't mean to teach us how to flutter fans and arrange flowers for dinner parties?" Augusta scoffed, her disdain palpable.

The vehemence in the girl's voice caught Evelyn off guard. She'd expected some resistance, but this level of scorn towards social graces was surprising. Before she could formulate a response, Julia piped up.

"Oh, but that sounds rather fun!" Julia's eyes sparkled with interest. "Do you know all about London society, Miss Bane? Have you been to grand balls?"

Evelyn's chest tightened at the eager curiosity in Julia's voice. Memories of glittering chandeliers and swirling gowns threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed them aside.

"I've attended my fair share," she said carefully. "But there's more to being a lady than just socialising. It's about carrying oneself with grace and dignity in all situations."

Augusta's frown deepened. "Father says we're not to concern ourselves with such frivolities."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat as Julia leaned forward, eyes shining with curiosity. "Did you dance with many gentlemen at the balls, Miss Bane? Were they terribly handsome?"

The eager question caught Evelyn off guard. She glanced at Augusta, noting the girl's sharp gaze fixed upon her. It was clear that each sister sought very different answers, and Evelyn knew she must tread carefully.

"Well," Evelyn began, choosing her words with care, "I did, but you know, there's so much more to those events than just dancing with gentlemen."

Julia's face fell slightly, but Augusta's posture relaxed a fraction.

Evelyn continued, "In fact, some of the most interesting conversations I had were with other ladies. We'd discuss books, art, and even politics on occasion."

"Politics?" Augusta's eyebrows rose, a flicker of interest crossing her face.

"Of a sort," Evelyn nodded, seizing the opportunity. "For instance, let's say that you must host a dinner with the great and good of the county. Who do you seat closest to you? Who will be offended by being seated far away? Who do you allow to escort you into the dining room? All of these things mean something in society—if you offend the wrong person, well, maybe they'll simply snub you. Or," she said, fixing each girl with a pointed look, "perhaps they will refuse to buy any of the produce from your estate; what will that mean for your tenants?"

The twins exchanged a look, clearly never having considered such a thing before. Evelyn, sensing their shift in perspective, pounced. "A well-rounded education prepares you for all manner of situations. Which is why," she added, inspiration striking, "I propose a bit of an exchange."

Both girls looked at her quizzically.

"You see," Evelyn explained, "I'm woefully unprepared for country life. Perhaps we could learn from each other? I'll teach you about the wider world, including how to navigate social situations—whether you choose to engage with them or not. In return, you can help me understand more about life here in the countryside."

Julia bounced on her toes. "Oh, yes! We can show you how to gather eggs without getting pecked!"

Augusta's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "I suppose there's merit in understanding social conventions, even if one chooses not to participate."

Evelyn felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Excellent. Then we have an agreement. Now, shall we start with a tour of the grounds? I'd love to see where you spend your time outdoors."

As they headed towards the door, Evelyn caught Augusta studying her once more, a thoughtful expression on her face. It seemed she'd passed some unspoken test, at least for now.

***

J ames slumped in his chair, the weight of the day pressing down on his broad shoulders. His study, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. The ledgers before him swam with figures, each one a reminder of the mounting challenges facing his estate.

He scrubbed at his face, the rough skin of his scarred hand catching on his stubble. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth failed to reach him. Outside, the sun was sinking, painting the sky in hues that called to him like a siren's song.

"Blast it all," he muttered, pushing away from the desk. His boots echoed on the polished floor as he strode to the window. The rolling hills of his land stretched before him, verdant and inviting. His fingers twitched, longing for the feel of a horse's reins or the smooth wood of a walking stick.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.

"Enter," he barked, not turning from the view.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," came the hesitant voice of his steward. "But there's been another setback with the new planting methods. Some of the tenants are threatening to abandon the experiment altogether."

James's jaw clenched. Of course. Another problem to add to the growing pile. He turned, fixing the man with a steely gaze.

"Tell them I'll meet with them personally tomorrow. We can't afford to lose ground on this."

The steward nodded his greying head and retreated, leaving James alone once more. He paced the length of the study, restless energy thrumming through his veins. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating in their opulence.

His eyes fell on the portrait of his late wife, her smile frozen in time. A familiar ache bloomed in his chest, mingling with the ever-present fear for his daughters' futures. He'd sworn to protect them, to keep them safe from the pain he'd endured. But at what cost?

The laughter of children drifted through the open window, and James found himself drawn back to it. In the fading light, he could just make out the forms of his girls in the garden, the new governess hovering nearby. Miss Evelyn, with her city airs and endless chatter.

He'd been certain she'd have fled back to London at the first splatter of mud, but she seemed to be a stubborn little thing.

James leaned against the window frame, one arm above his head, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding in the garden below. His daughters, Augusta and Julia, darted across the lawn, their laughter carried on the evening breeze. The sight of them so carefree should have warmed his heart, but a familiar knot of anxiety tightened in his chest.

He expected Miss Bane to intervene at any moment, to call the girls to order with stern words about proper behaviour. It was what their previous governess would have done, what any sensible woman charged with their care and education ought to do. But as he watched, Miss Bane merely smiled, her face softening with an indulgent expression as the girls tumbled about with his hunting dogs.

James frowned, perplexed. This wasn't at all what he had anticipated from the prim and proper Londoner who had arrived on his doorstep. He'd been certain she'd try to mould his wild country girls into refined young ladies, all airs and graces with no substance. Yet here she was, allowing them their freedom, their joy.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Miss Bane glanced up towards his study window. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and James felt an unexpected jolt. He stepped back, out of sight, his heart racing as if he'd been caught doing something unseemly.

When he dared to look again, Miss Bane was moving to follow the girls across the uneven ground of the kitchen garden. Her step faltered, and she stumbled slightly, catching herself with a grace that belied her city upbringing. The girls turned back, concern evident in their postures. They said something to their governess, and to James's surprise, Miss Bane threw back her head and laughed.

The sound carried up to him, clear and unrestrained. It was a far cry from the nervous chatter that had filled his wagonette on the day of her arrival. For a moment, James felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Envy, perhaps, at the easy rapport she seemed to be developing with his daughters. Or maybe...

He shook his head, banishing the thought before it could fully form. Despite his best efforts, James found his gaze drawn back to Miss Bane once again. Her bonnet had come loose and was hanging down her back, revealing thick chestnut hair that gleamed in the setting sun. This irritated James further for some reason he couldn't quite name.

He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening on the window frame. What business did she have looking so... so carefree? So at ease in a world that was meant to be foreign to her? And why in God's name did it matter to him?

James turned abruptly from the window, determined to put the vexing governess out of his mind. He strode back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last. The ledgers awaited him, a mountain of figures and responsibilities that demanded his attention.

He lowered himself into his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. His hand reached for the quill, but his eyes refused to focus on the columns before him. Instead, they kept straying to the window, to the fading laughter outside.

James growled in frustration, running a hand through his unkempt hair. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man, a baron with an estate to manage and daughters to protect. He had no time for... for whatever this distraction was.

Yet even as he berated himself, he found his body betraying him. He half-rose from his chair, drawn inexorably back towards the window and the scene beyond. It took every ounce of his considerable willpower to force himself back down, to pick up the quill and bend his head over the ledgers.

The numbers swam before his eyes, meaningless squiggles that refused to resolve into anything coherent. James gritted his teeth, determined to focus, to lose himself in the familiar rhythm of accounts and projections. But the memory of Miss Bane's laugh, of her hair catching the light, lingered at the edges of his mind like a persistent ghost.

James's gaze drifted from the ledgers, settling on a letter tucked beneath a stack of papers. He pulled it out, recognising it as Miss Bane's acceptance of the governess position. Her handwriting caught his eye—clean and precise, yet with a distinctly feminine flourish to the loops and curves.

He ran a calloused thumb over the words, noting how she had agreed to his stipulation of a trial period. A month, he'd insisted upon. Surely that would be enough time to determine if she was a good fit for his household, for his girls.

James leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. He tried to focus on the practicalities of the arrangement, to view Miss Bane as nothing more than an employee. Yet unbidden, the image of her laughing in the garden rose in his mind.

He shook his head, irritated with himself. This wouldn't do at all. If the woman proved too much of a distraction, he need only dismiss her at the end of the trial. It was a simple solution, one that should have eased his mind.

Instead, James found himself frowning at the thought. The girls seemed to be warming to her, and despite his initial misgivings, Miss Bane appeared to be determined to adapt to their household.

He folded the letter, creasing it perhaps more sharply than necessary. No, he mustn't allow himself to become entangled in such thoughts. The trial period was a safeguard, nothing more. If Miss Bane's presence continued to unsettle him, he would simply have to...

James paused, realising he had no idea how to finish that thought. The prospect of dismissing her no longer held the reassurance it once did.