The Governess of White Stag Hall

Hugh

(image by Stories on Unsplash)

Dear Edith,

I apologize for the delay in responding to your last letter, but I am very pleased to announce that my daughter has given birth to a healthy, baby boy on the second of October. His parents are beside themselves with happiness and have asked me to thank you for your well wishes in your last letter.

I am glad to hear you're feeling more settled, but I'm afraid that I have nothing in the way of advice to offer with regards to bad dreams. I can only assure you that they will eventually pass.

But something else you mentioned in your last letter also gave me pause.

I've known few women who were ever truly happy as a governess and much of that has to do with how very lonely that life can be. When you first wrote to me about Mr. Rhys I thought it was a simple acquaintance and saw no need to interfere. It is good to have a cordial relationship with one's employers, however I have grown concerned with how frequently you mention the man and it has me worried for you.

Your position is a vulnerable one and men are wolves and will not hesitate to take advantage. Do not put yourself into that position. Do not let fantasies of being rescued from your current circumstance overtake your common sense no matter how many pretty promises are made to you.

Be well,

Agnes Bertram

*

Edith read the letter twice and then folded it to stop herself from reading it again. It'd come the day before already, but she didn't know how to feel about it let alone how to answer. She wanted to tell Aggie that there was no need to worry. If Rhys' intentions toward her were dishonorable, she very much doubted that he would take such a circuitous route to seduction as long, meandering walks and philosophical arguments. And why would his attention turn to her in the first place? She was not the only unattached woman in the household.

Still, she could not claim to be above the things that Aggie was fretting over. Her own feelings–the way her heart fluttered and her blood rushed when he was near–made it painfully clear that she was not unaffected.

Edith sat in the window seat in the library, her head leaning against the glass as she looked out at the mournfully gray skies and the rain. It had no let up all day, even now well into the late afternoon. If nothing else, it felt fitting of her mood.

"Am I intruding?"
Looking up, Edith was surprised to see Nicholas standing in the doorway. "Of course not," she said, tucking the letter away in her pocket so he would not ask about its contents. "Did you need something?"
"A cure for boredom?" he suggested offhandedly.

She laughed. "You sound like Meg."

"Speaking of, where is your pupil?"

Edith shifted and tucked her skirts in around her so Nicholas could take a seat with her in the window. For a moment, she could imagine them both younger, watching Brighton's busy streets from the front room of her aunts' townhouse. "The ladies invited her to join their sewing circle this afternoon," she said. "I have not heard from them, so I assume it has gone reasonably well."

Nicholas smiled at that, but the expression faded quickly. "Do you miss it?"

"Miss what, exactly?"

He shrugged. "Society, I suppose," he said

Edith smiled, hoping it did not look as strained as it felt. She reminded herself again that he meant well, but that did little to mitigate her annoyance. He was not questioning her choices directly, but she could not help but think that was still his intention. "There are aspects I miss," she admitted. "But mostly I regret the time and freedom I took for granted. They seem scarce now when I want them and plentiful when I do not."