Page 62 of Summer of Sacrifice

She couldn’t fail her Order. Sanction or not, Winnie would be devastated. But it was the thought of Cal wanting her to leave, wishing he’d never become her friend, that sent a drop of cold sweat sliding down her spine.

Madame Riley knocked twice and opened the door without waiting for a response. “My lord.” She gave a quick bow without truly looking into the room. “Mademoiselle Seleste is here.” The head maid turned and gave Seleste a little grimace before she darted off down the hall, leaving Seleste with no option but to enter the room.

To her surprise, Cal was standing in the corner next to his father’s bedside. The earl looked terrible. So awful, that Seleste momentarily forgot to be nervous about the encounter. She wanted to rush over and use her magic to discern what was wrong with him. But she was afraid her cunning was already making quick work of that one. Yellowed eyes, sunken cheeks, thinning arms...

She pulled her eyes from the earl long enough to remember to curtsy. “My lords.”

When she straightened, Cal’s face was bright and open. If she were being dismissed, he didn’t realise it yet. That was a relief, at least.

Abruptly, he turned to the earl and gave a slight bow. “Father.” Then he turned to her and inclined his head. “Mademoiselle Seleste.” With that, he left her alone with the Earl of Bellvary.

“Please,” the earl croaked, gesturing toward a chair at his bedside and reaching for a glass of water.

He took a small sip, and it seemed far too much of a struggle. As he did, she sat in the chair, willing herself not to wring her hands.

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why I’ve called you here this evening.”

“Yes, milord.” Seleste tried to smile. “In truth, I am quite curious.”

“Well—” The earl tried to sit up but was having great difficulty. Seleste rose without thinking and adjusted his pillows behind him. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You’re very kind.”

“It’s no trouble at all, my lord.” She sat back in her seat, still uneasy. The man did not appear angry with her, but the seriousness of his illness was clouding her senses, and she was having difficulty judging beyond that. Did Cal know how ill his father truly was? Did any of them?

“My son marched in here this afternoon and informed me that having you as our maid is a waste.”

Seleste’s heart plummeted. No, Cal wouldn’t say something like that…would he? She’d been wrong about him before, but— “My lord?” She tried to mask the hurt seeping through in her voice.

The earl coughed violently, snatching a kerchief from his bedside table and hacking into it. When the fit was through, he quickly bunched up the soiled kerchief and stuffed it on his night table to retrieve his glass of water, but not before Seleste caught little dots of blood on the white linen.

“Apologies.” He cleared his throat. “Where was I? Oh, yes, yes. My son has declared to me that your talents are being wasted as a maid.”

Seleste tried not to let her eyes bulge. Her heart was hammering against her ribs even more than when she thought Cal had thrown her to the wolves. “His lordship said that?”

The earl nodded. “He’s adamant that you should be my daughters’ governess.”

She couldn’t help it, she baulked. “Governess? My lord, you cannot mean that.”

He held up a hand. “I’m as shocked as you are, but my son is a very good judge of character. He ought to be, the way he just sits back and studies everything.” The earl shook his head, and Seleste felt a pang of sympathy for Cal. He would never quite be what his parents wished for him to be. “At any rate, my daughters are behind in their schooling. My wife seems to believe they only need to learn how to be ladies, and not how to use their goddess-damned minds.” He rolled his eyes and stifled another cough. “Can you bring them up to where they should be, preferably ahead, for their return to the city this Autumn?”

Still shaken in more ways than one, Seleste nodded, not exactly certain all that she was agreeing to.

“Good,” the earl said gruffly. “My boy says you are excellent with the girls, and that they actually listen to you.” He chuckled.

“I greatly enjoy Lady Emeline and Lady Elsie. But, milord, they already have Mademoiselle Becky.”

A great bellow of a laugh came out of the man, so jarring that Seleste almost recoiled. “That woman is a glorified dog walker. My wife hired her as a favour to her sister, and she hasn’t taught the girls a damned thing aside from how to annoy a woman half to death. Now, do you want the position or not?”

“I do, milord. Yes.” Excitement was beginning to replace her trepidation.

“And you are well-versed in Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic?”

“Yes. As well as all the languages of Midlerea, and Anthropology, Philosophy, and Geography.” She pointedly left out any form of Science the earl might frown upon.

His eyes narrowed, but she would hazard a guess that it was more out of being impressed than wary. “Religion?”

Now that was a tricky one to answer. Well-versed, yes. A stickler? Depends. Traditional? Not in the way a member of the aristocracy would appreciate.

The beau monde no longer went through their gôthis to speak to Hespa via confessionals and the like—not that they ever needed to in the first place—but they still had their magicless mages and Grand Magus; their Atonement Days, and their warped Scripture readings and practises.

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