The Governess and Mr. Granville. Abby Gaines

masterstroke. Mr. Granville was inclined to let his sister have her way. “But I see my role as more than that of a teacher of reading and arithmetic,” she continued.

      “I would hope,” he said, “the curriculum of which you boast also includes French for the older children. And sketching and the like for all of them.”

      Maybe she could just hint at her deeper purpose.

      “When Miss Granville appointed me,” Serena said, “she told me the children were worried they might forget their mother. Yet they were afraid to talk about her.”

      Mr. Granville’s jaw—strong, with a tendency to square when he disapproved—showed definite signs of squaring. “That’s absurd. My sister shouldn’t have said such a thing to you.”

      “The reason they were afraid to talk about your late wife was a sense that you discourage such conversations,” Serena persisted. Oh, this confrontation was long overdue! And now, under pressure, she was making a hash of it. She should have asked to see him months ago, and approached him with a carefully reasoned argument as to how he could improve his children’s happiness.

      “I see no reason to wallow in things we cannot change,” he said. Both tone and glare were designed to intimidate.

      So it was a blessing that she’d been raised to disregard intimidation in the pursuit of right.

      “Naturally, Louisa doesn’t remember her mother at all,” she said, “since she was just a babe when... And William also has no recollection. I’ve made a point of asking the older children to share their memories with them.” As a concession, she added, “Without wallowing, of course.”

      Mr. Granville opened his mouth, but seemed oddly stunned and didn’t speak.

      Serena pressed on. “While the children still miss their mama, they’re happier for being able to talk about her. French and arithmetic are certainly important, and I believe I do an excellent job in academic matters. But I count influencing your children’s happiness as the greatest achievement of my tenure here.” She’d noticed, even in her brief observations of him, that he deflected anything that hinted at emotion. His children deserved better.

      “That’s enough,” he growled. “Miss Somerton, I don’t doubt that in your own woolly-headed, parson’s daughter-ish way, your intentions are good....”

      She gasped. “Woolly-headed?” She could not, of course, take offense at being called “parson’s daughter-ish.” She was proud to be that.

      He ignored her. “But regardless of your calling, you cannot stay on as governess. I will inform Lord Spenford by return mail that your employment has been terminated. You will leave by the end of the week.” He pressed his palms to the desk and stood.

      She was forced to look up at him. “Is that your last word on the matter?” To her annoyance, her voice held a tiny quaver.

      “It is.”

      “Because I should point out—”

      “That was my last word,” he reminded her.

      She sagged. Twice she opened her mouth to raise a fresh objection, but Mr. Granville kept his gaze on her until, under that dark intensity, she subsided completely.

      He observed her capitulation. “That will be all, Miss Somerton,” he said, sounding satisfied for the first time today.

      Serena remained in her seat, not moving, considering what to do for the best. Father, guide me, please.

      “You may go, Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville reminded her. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your service. I do appreciate your fondness for my children.” He smiled, a little grimly perhaps, but it appeared he intended encouragement.

      Inspiration struck, though she suspected it had more to do with her prayer than his smile.

      She smiled back as she rose from her chair. His gaze dropped, and it seemed to Serena that he scanned her from top to toe.

      “Mr. Granville,” she said. Her voice was clear and composed. Much better.

      He brought his gaze back to her face as he moved around the desk. “Yes, Miss Somerton?”

      “Would you consider marrying again?”

      Chapter Two

      Serena watched as her employer—her former employer—turned a remarkable shade of red.

      Her question had been unutterably forward. If her father had heard her, even his famed tolerance would be taxed. But she’d spent eight months biting her tongue, save for one or two lapses in diplomacy. Maybe three or four. The point was, her “parson’s daughter-ish” good manners meant she’d failed to make any lasting difference here. Now that she’d been dismissed, she no longer needed to exercise restraint.

      “Miss Somerton,” Mr. Granville said with rigid control, “while I am very conscious of the honor you accord me, I feel your offer springs from a certain desperation.”

      What was he talking about?

      He took two steps backward, away from her, as if she were a victim of the Great Plague she’d been teaching the children about in their history lessons. Yes, she did actually teach them history.

      “Therefore-I-must-decline-your-proposal,” he said in a rush.

      Serena stared...then broke into a peal of laughter. “You think I was proposing marriage!”

      He remained red, but was suddenly less rigid. “Er, weren’t you?”

      “Certainly not!” Goodness, how embarrassing. She could only hope she could pass the days before she left Woodbridge Hall without encountering him again. “Even if I hoped to marry in the near future—which, believe me, I have no expectation of doing—it would be somewhat presumptuous of a governess to set her sights on the master of the house, would it not?”

      A reluctant smile widened his mouth, much more natural than the forced version with which he’d tried to reassure her a moment ago. It made him extremely handsome.

      “You are the sister of an earl now,” he pointed out. “And have always been, it seems, the great-niece of a duke. I rather fear, Miss Somerton, you’re my social equal.”

      “I’m an estranged great-niece,” she reminded him, suddenly distracted. How peculiar that she should notice how handsome he was twice in half an hour. The first time, he’d been inches away from her, trying to detach that dashed lizard. And this time he’d just accused her of proposing marriage—so no wonder her observations were so inappropriate. This was hardly a regular day at Woodbridge Hall.

      In which case, the irregularity might as well continue.

      “Perhaps I will presume on the new status, such as it is, that comes courtesy of my sister’s husband,” she said. “Sir, your children need a mother.”

      He was squaring his jaw again. Serena chose to ignore it. “Which means you need a wife,” she said. “I’m sorry to bring this up so abruptly—if I’d known I was about to be dismissed, I would have mentioned it sooner—”

      “I’m overjoyed that you didn’t know,” he interrupted.

      “The children love their aunt, of course, but they need someone whose constant presence they can depend on. If Miss Granville should marry...”

      “No one can promise a constant presence,” he said harshly. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, he spoke with excessive calm. “We both know my sister is unlikely to wed, so you may consider her quite dependable.” Measured strides took him to the library door, which he opened wide in a clear message that Serena should depart.

      He was right about no one knowing the future. His wife, Mrs. Emily Granville, had doubtless never expected to be carried away by measles when Louisa was just six months old.

      But