had seen the possibility for a second chance for this family. A chance for the widowed Mr. Granville to put behind him the mistakes he’d made out of grief. To start afresh with his children. Serena, who knew about making mistakes, would help him. And just maybe, she would earn her own fresh chance.
But it was difficult to explain all that without causing offense. Better just to talk about the children. “Then there’s Charlotte’s wonderful—”
“Compassion,” he interjected. “Yes, so you said.”
She beamed at him. “And William. He was so shy when I arrived, but just the other day he took the starring role in a drama we created.”
“Really?” Mr. Granville might well be surprised; his second son was notoriously bashful. “That drama lesson wasn’t, by any chance, at the expense of something more useful?” he asked. “Arithmetic, for example?”
“Of course we do arithmetic,” she assured him. “But I’m thrilled to say William positively relished the limelight in our drama.” One only need look at the crippling shyness of Marianne Granville, Mr. Granville’s sister, to see that helping William become more sociable was of far more use than practicing his already excellent arithmetic. “The fact that he got to brandish a carving knife for much of the last scene was a useful incentive,” Serena recalled fondly.
Alarm flashed across her employer’s face, reminding her of that day he’d scolded her for letting the children slide down the banister. What child wouldn’t eventually take advantage of such smooth, tempting wood? Far better they do it under her supervision. She moved swiftly on. “And Louisa.” She felt her face soften at the mention of the youngest Granville. “As long as she has someone to hold on to, she’s the happiest girl in the world.”
“She sounds clinging,” Mr. Granville said.
“She’s five years old,” Serena pointed out. “Sir, it would be a very bad idea for me to leave now.”
“Bad for them or for you?” he asked. “Frankly, Miss Somerton, it sounds as if you’re having the time of your life, while my children’s education could be suffering.”
Just in time, she refrained from leaping to her feet in self-defense. The kind of reaction Mr. Granville wouldn’t appreciate. Instead, she pressed her slippers firmly into the carpet, anchoring herself. “I report regularly to Miss Granville on my curriculum and the children’s progress. She has always expressed her satisfaction.”
It was both true and, Serena hoped, a tactical masterstroke. Mr. Granville was inclined to let his sister have her way. “But I see my role as more than that of a teacher of reading and arithmetic,” she continued.
“I would hope,” he said, “the curriculum of which you boast also includes French for the older children. And sketching and the like for all of them.”
Maybe she could just hint at her deeper purpose.
“When Miss Granville appointed me,” Serena said, “she told me the children were worried they might forget their mother. Yet they were afraid to talk about her.”
Mr. Granville’s jaw—strong, with a tendency to square when he disapproved—showed definite signs of squaring. “That’s absurd. My sister shouldn’t have said such a thing to you.”
“The reason they were afraid to talk about your late wife was a sense that you discourage such conversations,” Serena persisted. Oh, this confrontation was long overdue! And now, under pressure, she was making a hash of it. She should have asked to see him months ago, and approached him with a carefully reasoned argument as to how he could improve his children’s happiness.
“I see no reason to wallow in things we cannot change,” he said. Both tone and glare were designed to intimidate.
So it was a blessing that she’d been raised to disregard intimidation in the pursuit of right.
“Naturally, Louisa doesn’t remember her mother at all,” she said, “since she was just a babe when... And William also has no recollection. I’ve made a point of asking the older children to share their memories with them.” As a concession, she added, “Without wallowing, of course.”
Mr. Granville opened his mouth, but seemed oddly stunned and didn’t speak.
Serena pressed on. “While the children still miss their mama, they’re happier for being able to talk about her. French and arithmetic are certainly important, and I believe I do an excellent job in academic matters. But I count influencing your children’s happiness as the greatest achievement of my tenure here.” She’d noticed, even in her brief observations of him, that he deflected anything that hinted at emotion. His children deserved better.
“That’s enough,” he growled. “Miss Somerton, I don’t doubt that in your own woolly-headed, parson’s daughter-ish way, your intentions are good....”
She gasped. “Woolly-headed?” She could not, of course, take offense at being called “parson’s daughter-ish.” She was proud to be that.
He ignored her. “But regardless of your calling, you cannot stay on as governess. I will inform Lord Spenford by return mail that your employment has been terminated. You will leave by the end of the week.” He pressed his palms to the desk and stood.
She was forced to look up at him. “Is that your last word on the matter?” To her annoyance, her voice held a tiny quaver.
“It is.”
“Because I should point out—”
“That was my last word,” he reminded her.
She sagged. Twice she opened her mouth to raise a fresh objection, but Mr. Granville kept his gaze on her until, under that dark intensity, she subsided completely.
He observed her capitulation. “That will be all, Miss Somerton,” he said, sounding satisfied for the first time today.
Serena remained in her seat, not moving, considering what to do for the best. Father, guide me, please.
“You may go, Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville reminded her. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your service. I do appreciate your fondness for my children.” He smiled, a little grimly perhaps, but it appeared he intended encouragement.
Inspiration struck, though she suspected it had more to do with her prayer than his smile.
She smiled back as she rose from her chair. His gaze dropped, and it seemed to Serena that he scanned her from top to toe.
“Mr. Granville,” she said. Her voice was clear and composed. Much better.
He brought his gaze back to her face as he moved around the desk. “Yes, Miss Somerton?”
“Would you consider marrying again?”
Chapter Two
Serena watched as her employer—her former employer—turned a remarkable shade of red.
Her question had been unutterably forward. If her father had heard her, even his famed tolerance would be taxed. But she’d spent eight months biting her tongue, save for one or two lapses in diplomacy.
