watering pot the way she’d been yesterday.
He dipped his spoon into the bowl of stew, making her realise he’d refrained from eating while she told her story.
She ate a few bites, as well. ‘I don’t know why I was saved. Why me over so many others?’
She downed her glass of claret.
Lord Brookmore took a more leisurely sip of his ale. ‘There is no making sense of those matters, you know. In battle, good men die. And yet men like me live. There is no making sense of it.’
Of course. He must know more about death than she could ever know. ‘What do you mean “men like me”? Are you so bad, then?’ She tried for a light-hearted tone.
He faced her, a sad smile on his face. ‘There were times in my youth that my father was convinced of it.’ He poured her another glass of claret.
She took a sip. ‘I cannot believe it. You have been nothing but kind to me.’
He laughed drily. ‘I need a governess for my nieces.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I do not think a governess is so difficult to find. You could have sent for someone else and never have come looking for me.’
He met her gaze. ‘And how could I have explained to my nieces that, after losing their parents and their old governess, I could not be bothered to discover if their new governess survived a shipwreck?’
She lifted her chin. ‘A bad man would not have cared. I’ll not hear you speak of yourself so.’
He averted his gaze.
She finished the claret left in her glass. ‘Did it ever occur to you that you survived all those battles so that your nieces would still have you to care for them?’
His expression turned bleak. ‘How much better it would have been for my brother and his wife to live and me die.’
His words knocked the breath from her.
Because it would have made so much more sense for Claire to have survived instead of Rebecca. Claire had everything to gain by living. Rebecca, instead, had been facing a dismal future in a loveless marriage.
At least she knew there was another good reason she had decided to live Claire’s life for her. So Lord Brookmore would not have to tell his nieces that their new governess had died. He’d travelled all the way to Moelfre in the hopes that he would not have to tell them such news. She wasn’t going to let his efforts be for naught.
She just needed to learn to act a little like Claire and less like Rebecca. ‘Tell me about your nieces,’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘They are aged seven and nine, but you probably know that.’
She knew nothing. ‘Their names?’
He peered at her. ‘Were you not provided their names?’
Oh, dear. She must be careful if this deception was to work.
‘It was in the letter—’ There must have been a letter. ‘But I fear, with all that happened, I’ve lost my memory for the details. I do apologise.’
He seemed to accept that—to her great relief. ‘Pamela is the elder. Ellen, the younger.’
Pamela and Ellen. She repeated to herself over and over.
He frowned. ‘I have not been present in their lives. I can tell you little else of them.’
She returned to her stew, even though she could no longer taste it.
They fell into a silence, broken only by the clink of spoons against the bowls. Her heartbeat accelerated. How was a governess supposed to handle this?
A governess, she suspected, would sit quietly, no matter how oppressive the silence, no matter how compelling the gentleman. But Rebecca was inclined to be outspoken, even when it was better to keep her mouth shut. Silence was torture to her.
The sounds of their eating grew louder and louder in this vacuum. She’d go mad if this continued much longer.
She knew how to end this. She’d received the training. After her brother discovered that her boarding school had educated her too liberally, he’d sent her back to England to a finishing school in Bath, so she knew very well how to engage a gentleman in conversation, even though it might be quite un-governess-like to use the skill now.
‘Do tell, my lord, about the house where your nieces live. Is it in a lovely part of the Lake District?’
‘All parts of the Lake District are lovely.’ He looked up from his stew. ‘Have you not been there?’
When his gaze reached her eyes, it made her insides flutter. She glanced away. ‘I never had the pleasure.’
He cocked his head as if in apology. ‘Of course. Why would you?’
She forced herself to meet his gaze again. ‘Tell me. What will I see?’
This time he glanced away and took a sip of ale before he spoke. ‘You will see mountains. They are green this time of year, but they’ll turn all shades of orange in autumn and white when winter comes. The lakes change colour, too, with the sky. From silver to blue to purple.’ He looked as if he were gazing at the landscape right now. ‘I have been to many places in the world, but none is as fine.’
She was moved by the suppressed emotion in his words. ‘I shall be eager to see it.’
He finished his ale and his voice turned flat. ‘You will not like the house.’
She felt a niggle of alarm. ‘Why not?’
He shrugged. ‘It is old.’
What family seat possessed a new house? She laughed softly. ‘I am in no position to complain. An old house. A new house. As long as I have a roof over my head.’
He did not seem to appreciate her attempt at levity. ‘I am hopeful you will find it tolerable. I do not want my nieces to lose another governess.’
And Rebecca needed a place to stay. A different life to live. Somehow she must make this work for everyone.
She’d figure it out in time.
She forced herself to smile. ‘Let us not worry at the moment, my lord.’ She gestured down at herself. ‘As I own nothing and have nowhere else to go, let us assume I will be happy as your nieces’ governess and that you will be happy with my services.’
She lifted her glass of claret as if in a toast.
* * *
Garret raised his empty tankard, more affected than he wanted to admit at the emotions flitting over her face.
He knew loss. His parents. His brother. Sister-in-law. And countless friends and fellow soldiers on the battlefield. But for him there was always something left, even if it was merely a title and property he’d never desired and never deserved. How might it be to have nothing left? Not even the
