but for that pay? It would take decades to secure the financial independence I need to free myself from my father’s clutches and the need for a husband. And as much as I love reading about the governesses in the Governess in Love series, that career is certainly not for me.
Instead, I seek out ads with the words accountant, house steward, management, but all those postings are for men. The very jobs I have experience with are the ones I’m excluded from. It makes no sense! Who better to manage accounts and households than the middle daughter who saved her family from destitution?
The thought quickly turns my mood from anger to sorrow, for it makes me think of Mother. With that comes a tender lump rising in my throat.
It’s been five years since her death, and still it pains me daily. The darkness of the days that followed her demise cling to the shadows of my family’s past, as none of us were ever the same again. Father was changed most of all, not the least bit by the fact that she died in a collapse of one of the mines he owned. The incident killed more than just Mother, though, and resulted in several lawsuits—and even strikes at the other mines—over unsafe work conditions. Our finances crashed, and the mining operations fell to ruin. It was as if Mother’s death heralded an end to life as we knew it.
We soon left our home, our country of Isola, and all our happy memories. Seeking to replenish his wealth, Father moved us to the country of Bretton, settling in its bustling capital city. With Father constantly away chasing business and my eldest sister entering society to find a husband, it was left to me to oversee our accounts. Because of me, we survived. Because of me, no one knew we were poor. I managed our accounts so strategically that only a glimpse at our ledgers could have given our secret away. When visitors came to call, they saw our luxurious parlor, not our bare bedrooms. When we went out on the town, they saw us in fine dresses, not the outfits we’d had artfully repurposed or sold. The facade was so convincing, I eventually caught the eye of a viscount—
Just like that, my rage returns. I fold the newspaper closed, tossing it on my lap, and take a hearty sip of tea, wishing it were wine instead.
Footsteps sound in the hall, startling me and draining my momentary flash of anger. I replace my cup on its saucer and smooth out my skirts as if the motions could brush away my anger too. At the last moment, I stash the newspaper behind me and sit up tall. But when the figure clears the threshold, I’m relieved to see it’s just Nina, my younger sister.
“Gemma, you’re still here? Did you even leave the house today?” she asks, golden cheeks flushed pink after coming in from the cold. She takes a seat in a nearby chair and holds her hands out toward the fire.
“I left once,” I say. “Did Father come home with you?”
“No.”
At that, I fall back into a reclined position and retrieve my newspaper from behind me. Nina may be far better behaved than I am, but she’s one of the few people I can be myself around.
She spots my pile of books and rolls her eyes. “Oh, I see how it is. I can’t persuade you to come out with me, but a need for books can. Remind me to start hiding your books when I’m in want of company.”
“I don’t know why you’d ever be in want of company, Nina,” I say with a smile. “You’re already engaged and have made friends of half the ladies in town.”
“You’d be engaged too, if you’d get your pretty nose out of a book for once.” Her tone is scolding, but her expression is warm, reminding me so much of Mother. She looks just like her. Short, plump, with round cheeks, black hair, and dark eyes. My eldest sister, Marnie, is nearly identical, but just a few inches taller. No wonder Father has always liked them better than me. I take more after him with my height and build.
I pour another cup of tea and bring it to my lips. “I don’t want to marry. You know that.”
She bites her lip for a moment, as if she’s fighting what she really wants to say.
I give her a warning glare. Don’t, it conveys. Do