How to Claim a Governess’s Heart - Bridget Barton Page 0,91
on for once.
“She can’t be trusted!” his mother snapped, ignoring her older son’s interruption. “She has blinded you somehow, John, but that woman is a liar and a thief!”
Bridget blanched at the accusations.
“Look, I know you're upset,” Lord John held a hand of warning to his mother, “but you have no right...”
“No right? You can see the marks of her treachery right here! Look at her scars? Did she happen to tell you how she got them, because I did some digging and you wouldn’t believe what I found out,” his mother scoffed.
Bridget did her best to cover her forearms with her hands.
“She was a thief as a child, and she still is. She is nothing but a lying, stealing, light-skirt!”
“Enough!” Lord John shouted, coming to stand. “She told me everything. There are no secrets between us. She was a starving child. Did your enquirers into her childhood inform you of that? They treat children poorly at that place, and she was desperate for food.”
“It is all an act,” his mother cooed in a terrifyingly calm voice. “If she tells you everything then I suppose you also know that she stole from the Smeltings as well?”
The room fell silent. Even the duke sat up a little straighter at the accusation. Bridget looked over at the duchess with imploring eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” Lord John stated flatly.
“Ask her yourself?”
Lord John looked over at Bridget as if he was ready for her to deny the claims.
“You were the one who wrote the letter,” Bridget barely got out between the shock creeping up her body.
“Yes, I did. I protect my family, whether they want it or not. I will not have you connected to this she-devil, and it is high time that this ridiculous business with Betsy is over. She must come to live with me.”
“What letter? What is going on here?” Lord John asked, trying to catch up on the exchange between his mother and Bridget.
“Go on, tell him. Tell him how you saw an opportunity when poor Elisabeth died. When no one was looking, you stole Elisabeth’s most valuable jewellery. I suppose you thought no one would notice, but it was noticed!”
Lord John laughed though there was no emotion behind it.
“Tell her that’s a lie,” Lord John turned to Bridget. “Tell her that it’s impossible, that you would never steal from the Smeltings.”
Bridget hesitated. Though the context was all wrong, what the dowager duchess was saying was technically true. She couldn’t bring herself to say otherwise.
She pulled out the handkerchief and unwrapped the jewellery inside for the room to see.
“See, I told you. She is a thief. She has only had her eyes set on your inheritance, I would wager.”
“That’s not true at all,” Bridget said quickly. “I wanted to tell you, John. I meant them for Betsy. I did take them, that’s true, but I took them so Betsy could have something of her mother’s,” Bridget sputtered imploring Lord John to believe her.
“Likely story,” the dowager scoffed as she sat taller in her chair.
Bridget looked at the three people in the room. The old lady sat very satisfied with herself, the duke too seemed to condemn her with his stare. It was Lord John’s face that broke her heart.
It was too much for Bridget to bear. She placed the jewellery, cloth and letter on the small tea tray and ran out of the room, hoping to beat the tears streaming down her face.
Chapter 29
Bridget only heard bits and pieces of the conversation downstairs from her room. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Should she pack and leave? Where would she go? Were they calling the constable to take her away as she lay on her bed, unable to stop the tears from flowing?
She remained in her room for the rest of the afternoon and evening. No one came to get her, nor did they explain what was to become of her. Thankfully, Mrs. Smith had taken the rest of the evening duties looking after Betsy. It wasn’t until well after the sun had set that a knock came to Bridget’s door.
She opened it with uncertainty to see the little child dressed for bed, holding the housekeeper's hand. She immediately opened the door, ushering them into her room and Betsy into her arms.
“Miss Thatcher, what’s the matter?” Betsy asked as her governess held her tight to her.
If Lord John’s doubts about her character hadn’t been a deep enough wound in the heart, it was the sudden realisation that