The Governess and Mr. Granville. Abby Gaines
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deny it’ll be wonderful for the children, but it does seem a shame you won’t even consider finding a real wife.”
“My wife will be as real as you are,” he said. “Miss Somerton, in the light of my new intention, there’s something I must ask you.”
Realization burst over Serena like a lightning flash.
Mr. Granville’s unexpected friendliness. His questions about her family. My wife will be as real as you are....
He was going to ask her to marry him!
“No!” Serena squawked.
“No?” He plucked a leaf from a rosebush and rolled it between his fingers as he looked down at her, more confused than distressed.
But then, why would a man be distressed if a convenient bride turned down his proposal? The thought made it easier to say what she had to. “Mr. Granville, you are a most estimable gentleman, and I can’t deny I love your children, but to marry for convenience would be truly repugnant to me, and therefore...”
She stopped.
He was laughing.
“You...weren’t asking me to marry you?” she guessed. Suddenly, she was perspiring all over. How hideous!
“I’m afraid not,” he apologized. “It seems you and I share an unusual conviction of our own desirability as spouses.”
Relief at his acknowledgment that she wasn’t the only one who’d made an idiot of herself recently made her chuckle rather more loudly than was ladylike. Which wouldn’t surprise him.
“Shall we agree we’re equally deluded when it comes to nonexistent marriage proposals,” he said, “and move on?”
“Yes, please.”
“So...I gather from your refusal of my, er, proposal, that you cherish notions of a romantic love?”
Is this what he considers moving on? “Yes,” she said. Though she doubted such a love would come her way.
His dark brows drew together. “I suppose that’s not unusual in a young lady of your age.”
Serena merely nodded.
“My sister speaks highly of you,” he said.
The change in topic disconcerted her. “Thank you—I mean, Miss Granville is one of the nicest people I’ve met.”
“For some people, character is not the only consideration,” he said. “As I’m sure you know. You must also know that Marianne is uncomfortable meeting new people.”
“I’m aware,” Serena admitted. “And I can’t blame her.”
“I would go so far—” he seemed bemused “—as to say Marianne likes you a lot.”
“How odd,” she replied.
He smiled.
“I’d say I return the sentiment toward your sister,” she said, “but you’d probably consider me impertinent.”
“Miss Somerton,” he said calmly, “may we call a truce?”
Serena realized she was enjoying the cut and thrust of their conversational duel. It made her feel at home. “The Bible does say we should live peaceably with one another,” she admitted.
He chuckled at her marked lack of enthusiasm. “A truce, then. Good. For I would like to offer you a new position, Miss Somerton. That of companion to Marianne.”
“You want me to stay?” This was the last thing she’d expected.
“Let’s not get into personal preferences. I’m asking you to stay.”
She choked on a mix of shock and laughter. “Completely different,” she agreed.
He folded his arms across his chest and stood, watching her, a gleam in his eye. “Well, what do you say?”
“Mr. Granville, I— How can you even ask such a thing!”
Flustered at her own outburst, Serena turned away. She leaned over to smell the bouquet of a Maiden’s Blush bud. She could just see the furled petals, white barely tinged with pink, vivid against the dark green foliage. It was known to be one of the most fragrant rose varieties, so she drew in several breaths deep enough to dizzy herself, in the hope he would have the tact to walk away.
When she straightened, he was still there.
“You gave the impression on Thursday that you were reluctant to leave,” he said coolly. “Are you now reluctant to stay?”
“No, I— Yes!” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Granville, in the last few minutes—and let us not forget Thursday!—I have spoken to you far more boldly than a governess should, on the understanding that I was no longer employed.”
“Far more boldly,” he agreed.
Infuriating man! If she’d hoped for courteous reassurance, she was looking in the wrong place. But her father preached the need to “confess your faults to one another.” Not that she’d done that with her parents, as far as her past indiscretion was concerned. Still, she persevered now. “And now, having stated views that, to be quite honest, are none of my business—”
“At last,” he murmured.
“—and speaking in such plain terms about matters of the heart—”
“My heart in particular,” he reminded her. Unnecessarily.
“—you’re asking me to stay. If I’d had any idea this would happen, I would never have presumed...”
“I suspect you would have,” he assured her. “Though perhaps with more subtlety.”
She made a sound of exasperation. “Mr. Granville, this is most embarrassing.” She paced, agitated, to a bush heavy with pink roses, and began fidgeting with a just-opened bloom.
“That variety is a China rose called Parson’s Pink,” he told her. She released it quickly. “If I promise to expunge this entire conversation from my memory, and Thursday’s, too,” he said, “will you stay?”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. “I doubt your ability to expunge so much. Tell me, why does Miss Granville need a companion now, when apparently she didn’t before?”
“I intend to begin my search for a wife immediately,” he said.
If that was meant to answer her question, she’d missed it. “Are you saying you’ll be traveling to London? And that your sister will need company in your absence?”
He strolled over to join her by the Parson’s Pink roses. “We spoke a moment ago about Marianne’s dislike of meeting new people,” he said. “Woodbridge Hall has a new neighbor whom I’ll be required to entertain in the near future. If I’m inviting guests, I might as well commence my hunt for a bride at the same time. With so much going on, Marianne will need support. For you to assist her as a companion, paid an allowance—which I assure you will be generous—is very different from a governess paid a wage. It’s entirely acceptable in the eyes of society.”
“True,” she murmured.
“There’s another benefit,” he said. “The more people in the house, the less ‘on display’ my prospective bride will feel when she visits.”
“Hmm.” Serena was unsure of his logic. Wouldn’t a lady feel more on display, the more people there were to inspect her? Then she registered his use of the singular noun. “Just one prospective bride, Mr. Granville?”
“I only need one wife.”
Which was quite the silliest thing she’d heard. “What if the first lady you invite here proves unsuitable?”
“There will not be a parade of single