Felicitations on your betrothal to Mr. Knightly. I am simply overjoyed for you, for there is no one more deserving of happiness than you. Does he by any chance have an unmarried brother you can mention me to? I am almost too embarrassed to admit how much I giggled at my pitiful joke. We are in much need of levity at Darrowgate these days.

I sincerely wish that I could be with you during the planning of your wedding. I simply cannot justify leaving my charges at this time. The upheaval that would be caused by my departure, so soon after the tragedy that claimed their parents, would devastate them. Henry walks around for all appearances an old man with the weight of the world on his shoulders; a younger, more solemn viscount I have not seen. And Arthur—poor Arthur. He continues to cling to me; we have not heard him utter a sound since that day and his thumb sucking returned shortly after the funeral.

There is more, however, and I can feel my cheeks heat with indignant anger just thinking about it. I have oft heard the term “fair-weather friend” but had yet to experience it. Indeed, I feel ashamed to be placed in the same category as these people, as I am sure you, Sara, and Louisa will as well.

The servants have been abandoning Darrowgate—abandoning Henry and Arthur, if I am to be blunt. The guardian chosen in the late Viscount Darrow’s will has yet to arrive and Mr. Renard refuses to release any money to pay wages on the grounds that it exceeds his authority. Exceeds his authority, indeed! For more years that I have been a governess here, the man of business has always paid out the servants’ wages. Several of the maids here send money home to their families; I know the stable master has a wife and three young mouths to feed, and he is only one of many in such a situation. Exceeds his authority, indeed!

With this in mind, can I truly blame the servants for leaving an uncertain prospect? Part of me does. Have they no loyalty to Henry or Arthur? Or to the viscountcy? Most have been here longer than I and yet they have fled at the first sign of trouble. How can a boy of eight years be expected to manage a household? I am not sure which angers me more: their disloyalty to the viscountcy or their callous abandonment of two young children entirely unprepared for life as orphans. Has honor and integrity disappeared amongst the servant class?

I must be completely honest with you, dearest Claire; even from this distance I can feel your steady gaze on me, silently asking me questions and patiently waiting for me to answer. Your concerns are not unfounded. I have not fully recovered from the incident either. There are times when I wake in the middle of the night hearing the screams of the horses mix with those of Viscount and Viscountess Darrow. Have you ever noticed how similar the sounds of screaming humans and horses are? And at times the memory of the coach mangling before me is so real I fear I could touch it. Even now, the sound of a coach approaching paralyzes me. I refuse to force the boys to ride in one, but I wonder if that is more for my sake than theirs.

Of course I am aware that recovery is likely to be quicker away from Darrowgate, but I refuse to abandon Henry and Arthur in their present condition, even if I were not suffering my present abhorrence of coaches. Remaining here until the guardian arrives will be best for everyone, I believe. Hopefully the wait will not be much longer; it has already been over a month since the accident.

Please convey my regrets to Louisa and Sara for not being able to fulfill my part of the Governess Club at this time, but as I described, present circumstances are not ideal. I do beg you, however, please do not mention my own struggles. I would not wish any of you to concern yourself with this. There is much to occupy yourselves with your wedding and establishing our club’s reputation. I will recover; it is only a matter of time.

I miss all of you, my dear friends and sisters.

With all my love,

Bonnie

C
HAPTER
T
WO

October 1822

B
onnie looked down at the blond boy walking next to her and pasted on a confident smile. “I am sure next time we will have more success.”

Henry glanced at her, but did not smile or share her enthusiasm. “It’s too late in the year, I think. It’s a poor time to fish.” He shifted the two poles he carried to the other shoulder. “And the worms are difficult to find. You said that they burrow deeper into the ground the colder it gets.”

“That is true,” Bonnie conceded. “But I do not think it is so cold that they will be hibernating just yet. They will be deeper, yes, but earthworms do not fully enter hibernation until it is almost freezing.”

“I remember,” Henry replied.

“Besides, it will simply mean that we have to dig a bit deeper,” Bonnie said with forced cheerfulness. “How about that, Arthur? Would you like to dig deeper holes in the garden?” She gave the three-year-old’s hand a squeeze. He just looked at her with solemn brown eyes.

“Mother does not like us ruining her garden,” Henry said quietly. “Father said it’s best to dig at night when she can’t see us. The deeper holes would not please my mother.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and bit back a sigh. “My lord, I do not think your mother would begrudge you worms for fishing.”

Henry said, “Still, I would rather not.”

The trio crested the hill and Darrowgate came into view. The house, granted with the viscountcy by King Henry VII, was in the tribute shape of an
H
. As they drew closer, the large red stone building imposed itself on the landscape, a testament to the legacy of the Darrows.

Bonnie led the boys through the garden; Henry kept his stoic eyes on the house and Arthur removed his thumb from his mouth long enough to trail his fingers on the flowers in late bloom. By the time they had climbed the four small steps to the terrace, the thumb was firmly back in place.

“Burdis,” Henry called the butler as they entered the main hall from the rear. “Please inform Mrs. Dabbs that there will be no fish complimenting dinner tonight.” He handed the poles to the portly man.

“Of course, my lord. Better luck next time. Hodges,” Burdis turned his steady gaze to Bonnie. “There is a gentleman waiting in the drawing room. His name is Montgomery.”

Bonnie was curious. “For me?”

“He asked for the viscount.” Burdis lowered his voice. “He does not seem aware of the recent change. They were friends.”

“Oh.” Bonnie was startled. She took a deep breath and looked down at Henry. “Shall we greet this visitor, my lord?”

Henry regarded her with solemn eyes. “You don’t need to address me like that. I am still Henry.”

Bonnie knelt down to his level. “You know well enough that you are the viscount. It is proper. You had best get used to it.”

“As the viscount, I insist you address me as you always have, as Henry.” He looked at Burdis. “And for the other servants to call you Miss Hodges.”

The butler inclined his head in acknowledgment. Bonnie gave Henry a weak smile and smoothed his coat lapels. “Mr. Montgomery is waiting.” At Henry’s nod, they moved to the drawing room, Arthur’s hand in hers, his older brother with shoulders squared and chin raised.

Mr. Montgomery looked up at their entrance, his hands stretched towards the fire, warming his fingers. Seeing them, he turned and moved across the room, his eyes sharp as he looked them over. He stopped in front of Henry.

“Henry,” he said, his voice infused with a Scottish burr. “You have grown. Do you remember me?”

Henry didn’t answer. Glancing down at him, Bonnie could see his throat working as though he was trying to force a sound out of his mouth. She rested a hand on his shoulder and felt his paralysis.

The man looked to the other boy. “Arthur, is it?” The younger boy buried his head in Bonnie’s skirts.

It was Bonnie’s turn to fall under the man’s regard. His green eyes gazed at her unblinking. “You are?” he prompted.

Automatically, Bonnie cast her eyes down and dipped a small curtsey. “Hodges, sir, the governess.”

“Did the boys want to see me then? They heard their uncle had arrived?”

Bonnie was confused. “I was unaware they had any uncles.”

He waved her off. “I will see them later. I am awaiting the viscount.”

Henry drew a deep breath as though he were about to speak, but nothing came out.

Bonnie kept her voice steady and quiet. “Henry is the viscount, sir.”

Mr. Montgomery furrowed his brow. “I know very well who the viscount is, Miss Hodges. I am friends with their father.”

Now Henry had moved to stand against her skirts, although he didn’t clutch her legs as Arthur did. “I regret to inform you that both the viscount and his wife recently perished in a coaching accident. Henry is the viscount.”

His eyes narrowed. “Impossible.”

“I assure you, I speak true.”

He looked around, seeming to finally take note of the atmosphere of mourning. Rubbing his face, he stepped away, giving them his back. “When?”

“Two months ago.”

“Bloody mail service,” Bonnie thought she heard him mutter. He turned back to her. “Who is in charge?”

“Forgive my impertinence, sir, but I do not see how that is relevant to you.”

His jaw set. “A governess has just informed me of the death of my friend. Relevance has little place in this situation. Answer the question.”

Bonnie kept her gaze steady. “We are awaiting the guardian named in Viscount Darrow’s will.”

“And he has not arrived in two months’ time?”

“Clearly not. Otherwise you would not have to lower yourself to conversing with a governess.” She couldn’t keep the cutting tone from her voice.

A muscle in his cheek pulsed; otherwise his face remained impassive. “Who is the named guardian?” he asked in a cold voice. “My friendship with the viscount leaves me concerned for his children.”

“I do not know,” Bonnie confessed, her eyes on Arthur’s head. “I was not present for the reading of the will and Mr. Renard has not seen fit to inform me.”

The man took a deep breath. “Then bring Renard here.”

“He is not here at present. Mr. Burdis might know,” she offered. At the man’s nod, Bonnie called the butler in. “Mr. Burdis, have you heard the name of the guardian?”

Burdis cleared his throat. “Indeed I have, Miss Hodges. Not necessarily by proper means, you understand.”

Bonnie smiled. “You are too righteous for your own good. None here is a priest.”

A smile pursed the butler’s lips. The tall man left out a small sound of impatience. “Who is the guardian, Burdis?” he demanded.

BOOK: The Governess Club: Bonnie

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