How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,24
door that split their schoolroom from Lord John’s study. Though Betsy was a good girl, she was still a child. Prone to fits of laughter and, on rare occasion, cries when frustrated, it was impossible to keep Betsy utterly silent as they did their work.
As of yet, Lord John had not mentioned the tutorage as a hindrance to him. Bridget hoped it was because she was doing well enough at keeping their noise from seeping into his study.
Afternoon meals were taken with Mrs. Smith while Lord John often took his in his study to keep at his work. Bridget was beginning to see that the life of an author was not necessarily an easy one. She knew, of course, that creating something from nothing would never be done without some effort, but she also had to admire his determined will.
She knew so many men in Lord John’s position wouldn’t have desired to take such a tedious path in life. The fact that he was doing it against his family’s preferences and the added pressure to prove his worth only endeared him the more to her.
From time to time, Lord John would take a break from his work, join the ladies in the library for afternoon lessons, or walk in the park when the weather merited it. The autumn weather was finally showing its true colours. The chances for Bridget to take Betsy out to the park were quickly dwindling.
Bridget admitted to herself that she enjoyed the afternoons with Lord John the best, no matter the location. Bridget couldn’t help but beam with light as she saw the lord interact with his new charge. His jokes and games brought laughter out of Betsy previously only rivalled by her own father. Bridget had become sure more than ever that keeping the child with her Godfather was the best choice for Betsy. It made her all the more determined to ensure that this situation could continue.
“The weather has finally taken its turn,” Lord John said one afternoon as the three strolled along a gravel path.
Betsy had been running ahead, assigned to find the biggest leaf that had fallen from the trees.
“I have to admit I’m glad for it. I have always enjoyed cooler weather more,” Bridget admitted.
Since their conversation in the study, she had stopped wearing her long-sleeved coat in the house. Much to her surprise, and as Lord John had suggested, no comments had been made by the staff over her unusual scars. Betsy did notice them the first day she was without covering. The child had simply asked what happened. When Bridget gave a limited explanation that she had been hurt as a child that left marks, Betsy had kissed her governess’s arms and asked if that made them feel better.
Hugging Betsy close, with tears in her eyes, she promised the little girl that she had made things right for her.
“Do you think you still will prefer the cold now…well, I just mean to say…I notice you feel more comfortable in the house. Perhaps that will change your preference for the weather?” Lord John half stuttered, half said.
In all his years, he would not have considered himself charismatic. But though he at least was skilled enough to carry on a conversation, he was finding more and more that when he was in Miss Thatcher’s presence he was befuddled and clumsy with his words.
“No, I think I still like it best,” Bridget replied, finding no offense in the personal nature of his meaning. “I love snow, snuggling up by a warm fire, and most especially at Christmas.”
“Were they festive celebrations for you growing up?”
“Well, no, most of them weren’t. I don’t have many memories of my life before I was sent to the school,” Bridget spoke flatly. “I do have one particular memory, though. I can’t say how old I was, and I can’t remember my parents’ faces much. I remember holly strung all over the house and an orange atop a glorious pudding. I remember my father’s hands, giving me my Christmas gift. It was a small rag doll with a stitched-on face. “
“It sounds like a lovely Christmas,” Lord John said, studying her facial expression.
“I suppose because it is the strongest memory I have of my parents, it’s endeared me to the holiday and the season that brings it. I am sure, though, that you have many lavish Christmases you can think of that were much nicer then what I just described,” Bridget chuckled as she shook the memory away.