How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,22
her face and guided it to look up at him.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, and he brushed it away with his thumb. At that moment, he felt something deep within him he had never experienced before. He was sure he would have given up anything in the world to remove this woman's fear.
"Tell me. What's the matter?" Lord John asked in a soft tone as he stroked Miss Thatcher's cheek.
"Please," she whispered softly. "Anywhere but there. I couldn't bear it. To know she will be where…such horrible things went on at that place…"
"What do you mean?" Lord John asked, releasing her face so he could hold her hands in his.
They were ice-cold, and he did his best to warm them with his own. Suddenly Miss Thatcher blinked rapidly as if waking from a nightmare. She pulled her hands from his and instead tugged on her sleeves.
Lord John let her move back from him. He was beginning to realise every time she felt nervous or unsure she fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress, as she did now.
"A very close friend of mine recommended the school to me. He said it produces high-quality pupils. He is not someone to give false information, so if you have a reason that it is not as he says, I would like to hear it."
"I don't mean any offense. I am sure your friend is a very knowledgeable person. It's only…you see, I was educated there."
"Is that not only another reason she should go to such a place? You clearly have a fine education that has served you well?"
"I know you’re right in that regard. She will learn all that is necessary for a child to learn, but the school itself. Lord John," Miss Thatcher said imploringly, "it is a dreadful place."
"Dreadful, how?"
"The way they treat their pupils."
"Do you mean they are very strict?"
"Cruel, sir. They are most cruel," Miss Thatcher stated flatly. "I could not bear to know that Betsy, that sweet little child, would be treated as…as…"
"As you were?" Lord John finished for her.
He knew he had no right to ask the question that was forcing its way through him. After all, Miss Thatcher and he had only just met each other. He had no reason to pry into her personal life. Still, he couldn't help himself. He could see that a deep, lasting pain had been inflicted on the lady, and he desired nothing more than to take it away from her.
"Tell me what they did," Lord John asked in a soft but firm voice.
Miss Thatcher's eyes filled with fear again at the request. Without realising it, she tugged again on her sleeves. Sensing that the motion now had meaning to her trauma, he gently reached out for one of her hands.
Bridget watched his motion and only stared at his hand for a few seconds. She knew instinctively he would not force her to show him what she had kept hidden all these years. Instead, he was asking her to trust him with her secret.
Instead of taking his hand, however, she stood. With a steadying breath, she lifted her shaking fingers to the buttons of her spencer jacket. Lord John kept his eyes locked with hers as she removed the outer garment.
With it gone, Miss Thatcher sat back down and placed one of her hands in his still outstretched one. Gently, she flipped her hand over, palm up, and allowed the firelight to reflect on the row of parallel silver scars that lined her arm.
Gripping her hand softly, he studied them. Then without ceremony, he took her other arm and examined it likewise. Gently he brushed his fingers over the marks as if such a touch might burn the lady.
"Any mistake," Miss Thatcher said in a soft whisper, "any misconduct made by a child is met with a rod. To your back, arms, hands, anywhere they think it will inflict the most pain."
"I have heard of similar punishments inflicted on children, though I personally am not fond of it. But to inflict it so harshly as to leave marks…" Lord John stated in a likewise soft voice.
He took both of Miss Thatcher's hands in his and squeezed them.
"I promise you, I will not send her to that school. If I had known, I would have never suggested it."
Bridget gave out a long sigh of relief. She reached over to put on her jacket again. Lord John's large hand rested atop of hers.