How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,17

could barely sleep. The following day the teachers and headmistress had targeted her for every question, every recitation. They were willing her to fail at something so the punishment could be re-enforced.

It was after their lunch break that Bridget had finally made a mistake. While reciting spelling words, she had skipped a letter in ‘escapade’. With a wide evil grin, the teacher instructed her to bare her wounded arms again.

It had only been five strikes, but it was enough to open the wounds. Despite ointment and constant changing of bandages, the damage had been done. Since then, Bridget's arms were covered in bright silver scars, marking the rod strike-lines.

It was a constant reminder that she was never to be a lady. She would never be able to wear a fine dress without showing off her scars.

The memory sent a shiver of guilt down her back as she tugged on her spencer. The scars didn't pain her anymore, but the words were still an echo in her ear.

Bridget's greatest fear was that she had become the thief the voice constantly cackled to her. She had stolen property, and property from the very best people Bridget had ever known.

She knew her reasoning was sound, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of guilt burning into her flesh.

"I've finished with my toys," Betsy announced, shaking Bridget from her fears.

While Bridget had put away her few belongings and the child's clothing in a cupboard, she had given Betsy the task of setting out all of her toys.

Bridget looked down at the child's work. She didn't have so much that she was a spoiled child, though Betsy had never wished to have something that she didn't get.

Along with a set of blocks, a rag doll and a mechanical monkey that played symbols were things hand-made by her father. Frank Smelting had many talents and creating furniture with wood was one he had enjoyed very much.

The doll was one that Betsy had loved and carried with her since infancy. In response to this, Mr. Smelting made a small highchair for the doll to be fed in, a miniature rocking horse for the doll to play with, and a matching child-size one for Betsy to ride on.

"It all looks like it fits perfectly. You did very well, Betsy."

"Is this to be our only room now?" Betsy asked with large blue eyes. "At home, you had your own room and Nanny had her own bed in the room with mine, remember? And in the morning, I could wake before Nanny and tiptoe across the hall to the nursery to play before Nanny woke. How shall I play now without waking you up?"

Though it was a straightforward child's concern, Bridget could feel the weight of what was being asked without it being spoken. Was anything going to go back to how it once was?

Bridget came to sit down on the rug. Instinctively, Betsy sat on her lap. The two of them often sat close together like this on the floor in the nursery or before a fire in the parlour reading books or playing.

Bridget wrapped her arms around Betsy, who rested her golden ringlet head against her governess's chest.

"I know things are different, and I wish I could say they will go back to how they once were, but I fear I can't promise that," Bridget said, rocking the child softly in her arms.

"Because Mama and Papa went to heaven," Betsy recited once more.

"Yes."

"Do they get to come back from heaven? Maybe just for a visit?"

Bridget did her best to force back the tears that were forming in her eyes.

"I'm afraid not. But even though they cannot visit, they can still watch down on you, like angels."

"And Uncle John will love me now," Betsy finished the sentence that Bridget had given in explanation as they travelled.

"Yes, my dear," Bridget said, giving her a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"But I don't know if Uncle John is even happy that I am here, there is no room for us."

"Though the space in the house may be small, there is always room enough in hearts, and that's where it really matters."

"Mama liked to say that about hearts," Betsy said with a brightened smile.

"Yes, she did. She was a brilliant woman, your mother. We can make do with our room, can't we? I don't mind sharing a bed if you don't? And if I am not awake when you are, you are still welcome to play. I don't wake