Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Catherine’s footsteps echoed through the empty corridors as she made her way to the schoolroom, which Mr. Harper had shown her earlier. Her arms were laden with books and papers.

The silence of Wessex Manor was as unnerving as ever—perhaps even more so after meeting the elusive earl. Still, she pushed aside her discomfort, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. As she approached the door of the schoolroom, a flicker of excitement stirred within her. Emily was easy to like, and she was looking forward to beginning the girl’s lessons.

To her surprise, Emily was already seated in the schoolroom when she entered, and the girl was practically bouncing with enthusiasm. Catherine frowned, then moved to the heavy curtains, carefully drawing them open and allowing the sunlight to stream in.

“Good afternoon, Lady Emily,” she said with a warm smile. “I hope you are ready to begin!”

“Oh, yes, Miss Winslow,” Emily said eagerly, her eyes sparkling. “I have been looking forward to this all day. I wanted to greet you last night, but Edward wouldn’t let me. He said I needed to let you rest first.”

Catherine could not help but smile. Emily was a bright spark of light in the demure manor.

“Well then,” she said, “Let us start by discussing what you have been studying up to now. What subjects interest you the most?”

Emily frowned and pursed her lips, glancing down at her hands before facing Catherine again. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “I do enjoy reading, I suppose. And I’ve had some lessons in French and drawing, but… truthfully, Miss Winslow, I haven’t had much formal education beyond that.”

Catherine tried her best to hide her surprise. “I see,” she said. “And what about history, mathematics or science?”

Emily shook her head, her cheeks red. “Not really,” she said, her voice small. “Edward… he’s been so busy, and since our parents…” she trailed off, her sunny disposition fading.

Catherine looked at her sympathetically. It was evident that Emily’s education had been neglected, and she couldn’t help but think it had to do with whatever circumstances had led to the dilapidated state of Wessex Manor. She leaned forward, offering Emily an encouraging smile.

“In that case, Lady Emily,” she said, her voice gentle, “I believe we have quite an exciting journey ahead of us. There is so much to explore and learn. Shall we begin with history?”

Emily nodded eagerly and Catherine smiled as she took a seat across from her. “So, let us discuss the Glorious Revolution of 1688,” Catherine said, and Emily frowned.

“The Glorious Revolution? What on earth is that?”

Catherine smiled encouragingly. “It was a turning point in our history,” she explained, her voice gentle. “You see, in 1688, King James II was deposed and replaced by his daughter Mary and her husband, William of Orange.”

“But why?” Emily asked, leaning forward. “Wasn’t James the rightful king?”

“Indeed,” Catherine confirmed. “But many in Parliament were concerned, fearing that he would try to restore absolute monarchy and undo the Protestant reforms.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “So how did they replace him? Just like that?”

Catherine shook her head and smiled. “Not quite,” she said now. “William of Orange, who was his nephew and son- in-law, was invited by a group of nobles to invade England. He arrived with a large Dutch army and James fled to France.”

“Without a fight?” Emily asked curiously, and Catherine nodded.

“There was little bloodshed,” she admitted, and Emily’s face lit up.

“Is that why it is called the Glorious Revolution?” she asked now, and Catherine nodded, impressed by her student’s quick understanding.

As the afternoon wore on, Catherine found herself increasingly impressed by Emily’s quick mind—not to mention her insatiable curiosity. The girl absorbed information like a sponge, and Catherine was certain that if Emily had her way, she’d learn everything there was to learn in the span of an afternoon.

It was Catherine who insisted that they take a break—taking it upon herself to brew them a fresh pot of tea. When she returned to the schoolroom, she could only shake her head when she noticed that Emily was bent over a book once again. The younger girl blushed as Catherine took a seat and poured the tea.

“Thank you,” she said as she took her own cup. “I do apologize if I am a bit demanding. I am just… curious.”

Catherine nodded with a smile, and before she could stop herself, the question slipped out. “Lady Emily, if you don’t mind me asking… why is your brother not married? Surely a man of his position would have many suitable prospects.”

The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them. Emily’s hand with the cup of tea froze midway to her lips and her shoulders slumped noticeably. She sighed, the light in her eyes dimming.

“He almost was… once,” Emily said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was about five years ago. Edward was courting Lady Isabella Fairfax. She was beautiful and charming, and our parents adored her.”

Catherine leaned forward, captivated against her better judgment. “What happened?” she asked, and Emily sighed, her eyes growing distant.

“Back then, everything was different,” she said softly. “The house was always full of people—servants, guests, friends. We hosted grand parties and attended all the important events. Our parents…” A wistful smile played about her lips. “They were so proud of Edward. Of the man he was becoming. They kept talking about how beautiful his and Isabella’s children would be…”

Catherine frowned. “But what happened?” she asked now, unable to tame her blatant curiosity. “What happened to Lady Isabella, what became of the courtship?”

Just as Emily opened her mouth to respond, the schoolroom door swung open with a bang. The women both turned at the sound, where Mr. Harper stood in the doorway, his usually impassive face twisted with barely contained fury.

“Miss Winslow,” he said, his voice low and icy, “A word, if you please.”

Catherine rose to her feet shakily, frowning when she caught a glimpse of Emily’s wide-eyed, fearful gaze. “Of course, Mr. Harper,” she muttered, then turned to Emily, contorting her face into a comforting mask.

“Emily, once you are finished with your tea, you can continue those French exercises,” she said kindly. “I’ll return shortly.”

Emily nodded and set her tea aside as Catherine followed Mr. Harper into the hallway, her stomach churning with nerves. As soon as the door closed behind them, he rounded on her, his face reminding her of an angry wild animal.

“What do you think you are doing?” he hissed, keeping his voice low though his tone seeped with anger. “Prying into his lordship’s personal affairs? Gossiping with Lady Emily about matters that do not concern you?”

Catherine lifted her chin despite her nerves. “I was merely trying to understand the household I am working in, Mr. Harper,” she insisted softly. “Surely there is no harm in that.”

Mr. Harper’s nostrils flared as he looked at her. “No harm? Do you have any idea what your thoughtless curiosity could cause? His lordship’s private life is exactly that: private! It is not your place to question anything in this household, least of all, his past!”

Catherine frowned. “Mr. Harper,” she tried. “I merely…”

“No,” he cut her off, his hand raised. “I warned you when you arrived, Miss Winslow, that His Lordship and Lady Emily prefer to keep to themselves. That was not an invitation for you to go digging into this family.” He took a deep breath, visibly attempting to calm himself. “You would do well to remember your position here. You are Lady Emily’s governess, not her friend. Keep your nose out of places where it does not belong.”

Catherine bit her lip. Though she had truly meant no harm, she knew that the man was right—she had grossly overstepped. “I apologize, Mr. Harper,” she said after a long silence. “It will not happen again.”

Mr. Harper studied her for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he nodded, though his stern expression did not ease up. “I expect you to see to it that it doesn’t happen again,” he said at last. “And Miss Winslow…” he stepped forward slightly, his eyes dark. “Remember this. Some men… are slaves to their emotions. It would be wise not to stir up what is best left buried.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Catherine alone in the dim hallway. Rather than quell her curiosity, Mr. Harper’s words only fanned its flames. What on earth had happened five years ago, to turn what Emily explained as a vivacious, sociable Edward Montague into the reclusive, brooding man she’d met earlier that morning?

She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to compose herself before re-entering the schoolroom. Emily looked up when she entered, her face a mask of guilt.

“Is everything alright, Miss Winslow?” she asked, her voice small. “I am sorry if I got you into trouble, if I said anything I shouldn’t have…”

Catherine forced a smile and shook her head quickly. “Do not fret, Lady Emily,” she said gently. “Everything is fine. Mr. Harper simply wanted to discuss some household matters.”

She returned to her own desk, her hands trembling lightly as she picked up a book of poetry. “Now, shall we move on to literature?”

Emily merely nodded demurely, and Catherine raised the books, her voice ringing out clearly as she read. “ The expense of spirit in a waste of shame is lust in action: and till action, lust is perjured, murd’rous, bloody, full of blame, savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust. Enjoyed no sooner, but despised straight.

Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had past reason hated as a swallowed bait on purpose laid to make the taker mad; made in pursuit and in possession so, had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; a bliss in proof and proved, a very woe: before, a joy proposed; behind a dream …”

Despite herself, Catherine found her mind drifting toward Edward Montague as the words of the sonnet left her lips. There was no denying that the man was every bit as handsome and virile as the rumors suggested… but, and she shook her hand at this, it truly was a waste of shame to even think that much.

“Wait,” Emily interrupted innocently. “I don’t understand. What is this poem about?”

“Well,” Catherine said, blushing, “What Sir Shakespeare is saying here… is that… well… you know, having certain… desires… tends to make people mad.”

A mischievous glint settled in Emily’s eyes, and she lifted a brow. “Certain desires?” she questioned, her voice innocent, reminding Catherine quite a bit of Charlotte Ashdown. “Whatever do you mean?”

Catherine laughed and shook her head. “Let us talk about the use of literary devices in the poem,” she admonished lightly, “before worrying too much about what it is Sir Shakespeare claims all humans tend to chase.”

Yet, even as she explained the use of metaphor and iambic pentameter in the poem, she could not help but wonder if Edward Montague too did not know well to shun the heaven that led men to this hell.