eyes. “Cook turned him away, without so much as a crust.”
“That was wrong of her.” Mr. Granville had a reputation for giving to those in need, which encouraged Serena to hope for mercy.
“Very wrong,” she agreed. “Charlotte was in the kitchen at the time, and she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the meat and ran after the man.”
Mr. Granville winced, doubtless at the thought of his nine-year-old daughter chasing a vagrant across his property.
“I agree, it wasn’t the most ladylike conduct,” Serena reflected. “But her sense of compassion is most commendable.”
“Did you punish Charlotte?” he asked.
“For giving to someone in need?” she said, shocked.
“She took the meat without permission.”
Serena bit down on a heated defense of her charge. “I told her she should have come to me, and I would have negotiated with Cook.”
“That’s not sufficient,” he said.
Serena had had very little conversation with her employer. She took her instructions, such as they were, from his sister, who’d hired her. But she knew he wouldn’t welcome the kind of robust debate that prevailed in the rectory at Piper’s Mead, her parents’ home. A pang of homesickness for her family stabbed her. She managed a stiff, “I apologize, sir.”
“Two apologies in the space of half a minute,” he observed. “It may interest you to know the second was no more convincing than the first.”
Serena tried to look interested. The shaking of Mr. Granville’s head suggested she’d failed.
“Miss Somerton, deplorable though my daughter’s behavior is, that’s not why I summoned you.”
She opened her mouth; he held up a hand. “No, please, I don’t want to hear confessions of any more of my children’s escapades, or your inability to discipline them. I have received a letter from the Earl of Spenford.” He picked up a sheet of paper and waved it at her.
“Oh,” she said, dismayed.
“I wasn’t aware Lord Spenford recently married your sister,” he said. “You didn’t request leave to attend the wedding.”
Serena had rather hoped Mr. Granville wouldn’t discover this development just yet. In theory, the financial repercussions of her sister’s marriage would be to Serena’s advantage—Lord Spenford would feel some obligation to support his wife’s sisters—but she refused to benefit from this until she was convinced Constance was happy. At this point, she was by no means certain.
“The wedding occurred rather suddenly, due to the Dowager Countess of Spenford’s illness,” Serena explained. “There wasn’t time for me to journey home.”
“I see.” Her employer folded the letter and set it on the desk. “I don’t recall my sister mentioning your connection to the Spenfords. Are your families old acquaintances?”
In other words, how did a mere governess end up so well connected?
“My father is the Reverend Adrian Somerton, rector of Piper’s Mead in Hampshire,” she said. “Papa was given his parish living by the Dowager Countess of Spenford, his patroness.” She hoped that would be enough.
“There must be more to it, for Spenford to have married a parson’s daughter. Somerton...” Mr. Granville drummed his fingers on the desk as he contemplated her. “I’m acquainted with Sir Horace Somerton, brother of the Duke of Medway.”
“Sir Horace is my grandfather,” she admitted reluctantly.
Her father disapproved of any boasting of their high connections. “We’re all equal in God’s eyes,” he often said.
Mr. Granville blinked. “So your father is the nephew of the Duke of Medway? Does my sister know? Why on earth are you working as a governess?”
She clasped her hands demurely, in the dwindling hope it might make her look more governess-like. Her prospects here at Woodbridge Hall appeared increasingly dim. “Miss Granville is aware... It came out in conversation one day. But, sir, my father became estranged from most of his family the moment he took his holy calling more seriously than they would have liked. Before I was born, my parents spurned London society in favor of a simpler existence.”
“You will forgive my intrusion into your affairs—” that was an order, not a request, Serena noted “—but even if your father is estranged from the Medways, your family is surely not destitute.”
“Our circumstances are comfortable,” she admitted, embarrassed.
“So why do you need to work? Surely the life of a governess is not comfortable.”
“I love my work,” she said in surprise. “The children are wonderful and Miss Granville is kindness itself.”
At the mention of his sister, he gave her a sharp look. Some people considered Miss Granville a little odd; Serena wasn’t one of them.
She carried on. “But in answer to your question, my father has recently been in disagreement with his bishop. Papa favors preaching the Word to people wherever they may be—in the fields, if necessary. The bishop sees his approach as Methodism, and is afraid Papa will create disunity in the church. Which he never would—” aware of rising indignation in her voice, Serena took a moment to calm herself “—but he worries the bishop might remove him from the parish.”
If that happened, her parents would lose their home and livelihood.
“And that’s why you sought this position?” Mr. Granville asked.
“I don’t want to be a burden on my parents if their circumstances change,” she said, which was true, but not the entire truth. That had been the impetus for applying to be a governess, but not the reason she’d accepted this post over the two others she’d been offered. “I should explain, I’m the oldest of five sisters.”
Many fathers would consider five daughters a burden. Serena’s parents made it clear their girls were their joy. They’d never exhorted them to marry, though as Papa had said when she was home at Christmas, “If God should provide wonderful husbands for any or all of you, my dears, I will not quarrel.” Serena hadn’t been able to discern from her parents’ letters what they thought of Constance’s marriage. Whether Lord Spenford was “wonderful.”
Mr. Granville leaned forward, pressed his fingertips together. “Miss Somerton, you must see it’s impossible for you to remain a governess now that you have an earl as brother by marriage.”
She lowered her eyes. He was right. But this wasn’t just about what society, or even Lord Spenford, considered proper. She grasped the edge of the desk and said, “Mr. Granville, please don’t say I must leave.”
He eyed her encroaching fingers warily. “Of course you must.”
“Sir, the children need me. It’s been such a joy to teach them, to see Thomas develop his interest in nature, and Hetty learn to form her own opinions.”
Mr.
