Page 8 of Indecently Employed
Sighing, she set her nightgown next to the carpet bag for the moment, then packed the chemise and drawers she had set aside for the next day. From the bedside table she retrieved her missalette and her favorite novel,East Lynne, comprising three volumes in a slight slipcover. She handled both lovingly, wondering what, if any, role they might have played in leading her to this moment. While she would be lying if she claimed to have no feeling for religion, her parents’ narrow views on it were the primary reason she had left home. As for the novel, the fact that the main character had been seduced by an aristocrat named Francis now seemed a dire portent. Susanna chuckled humorlessly and set the books in her bag, then reached in to assure herself that the rest of her meager library was still there, stacked at the bottom.
She paused as her hand closed around one of the yellowbacks hidden underneath her clothing. Perhaps she cared too much for her novels.
Brushing aside that thought, she returned to the wardrobe to retrieve her cloak, which she quickly donned. And then back to the bedside table to pick up the final item: a small jewelry casket, every part of its surface adorned with shells, aside from a lithograph of the seaside in the middle. She ran a gentle hand over the box as if it were a talisman. With infinite care, she wrapped it in her nightgown and placed it tenderly in the bag, rearranging her books so they settled into the sides and would not crush the delicate object.
A light knock at her door preceded the footman’s gentle voice. “Miss Abbotts? The carriage is waiting.”
“One moment, Robert,” she said, and extracted an envelope from her pocket.
She opened the door, holding the letter out to him.
Robert looked at it, perplexed until he read the name on the front. His eyes softened. Robert had always been kind to her. “I’ll see that Lady Matilda receives it, miss.”
“Thank you,” she said, and as Robert fetched her bag, she cast one last look into the chilly room that had been her home for the past year. It seemed a sorry thing, to lead such a transient life, and sadness settled upon her shoulders like an immovable weight. Throwing up her hood, she sighed, and made her way out of Puxley House for the final time.
It wasn’t until the carriage lurched forward that the utter shock of the situation finally set in. Susanna stared out into the dark, bizarre world around her, feeling as if she were some lost soul being ferried across the Styx. In reality, rather than Charon there was Podmore, the de Vauville’s groom, and her destination was not Tartarus but the house of Mr. Ajax Sedley.
She raised a hand to her throat, feeling for the small gold cross she always wore. It had been a present from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. She wondered how she would explain her sudden change in position to them, not to mention her eventual departure for Yorkshire. That was bound to be quite a letter. Drawing a shaky breath, she thanked God for her escape from the Earl of Clifton. She’d never been so terrified, and she realized she’d never known how fragile and dangerous her entire tenure there had been. She’d only known how pleasant the aching had felt when he kissed her. She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted.
Later, after she’d met Charlotte and settled into her new position, she would take time to reflect on what had happened. For someone who considered herself to be calm and logical, she had lost her wits over someone who was nothing more than a rake in earl’s clothing. But she couldn’t dwell on that now; she was too tired to think straight.
Looking out the carriage window into the dark, cold, night, Susanna hoped she would be abed soon.
Just then the carriage pulled to a halt, and Podmore opened the door. “Miss? Just wait here a tick, I’ll see if I can rouse someone within.”
Despite the earl’s terrifying fit of rage, his staff continued to be kind to her, for which Susanna was nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Podmore,” she said, as more tears threatened to fall.
He shut the door. She reached for her bag on the seat next to her and hauled it into her lap, anxious to leave the carriage and put this chapter of her life behind her. Her thoughts immediately fixated on the fact that her fate hinged on her success in this new position. She tried to put herself at ease by recalling that Mr. Sedley had hired her at Miss Harmonia Sedley’s insistence, and he had seemed loath to go against his niece’s wishes. He hadalso appeared entirely serious when he’d told her that he would require several months’ notice were she ever to decide to leave. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Reasoning it out made her feel a little better.
When Susanna had first learned of it, she’d wondered why Miss Sedley had made that demand of her uncle. She didn’t know Miss Sedley well, with their only connection being that the earl had been paying Miss Sedley court, but that seemed a lifetime ago now. Susanna remembered dining with the magnetic lady on two occasions, and she knew Miss Sedley was an heiress; everyone was familiar with the gleaming gold and black Sedley’s Satin Black Boot Polish tins. After tonight, though, Susanna knew exactly why Miss Sedley would heed Lady Matilda’s pleas and meddle in her uncle’s household matters. For Miss Sedley too must have known the earl for what he truly was.
Podmore returned and handed her down, cautioning her to watch her step in the dark. The front door of the house was already open. Susanna bade Podmore goodbye, and he gave her bag to Mr. Sedley’s butler, who nodded stoically and professionally at her even as his hastily donned jacket hung askew on his shoulders.
Guilt heated her cheeks, and she wondered what sort of impression this would leave on not just Mr. Sedley, but the entire household. Susanna quickly took in her surroundings, pulled her shoulders back, and followed the butler deeper into the dimly lit hall.
Ajax hastily shoved the last few papers into an empty drawer and collapsed onto the chair behind him, hoping to affect the posture of someone at ease, rather than an addlepated fool who’d gotten himself in over his head and was writing, or actuallynotwriting,at the godforsaken hour of—he snapped his head to the large grandfather clock standing sentry at the door to the library—Christ, three in the morning?Ajax almost laughed, except that he needed to dive across the wide table to snag whichever book sat haphazardly on top of the stack. Cracking the volume open, he fell back into the seat just as Gilman signaled his return with a knock at the door.
Ajax congratulated himself at the deception, his heart still pounding in his chest as the door opened. He didn’t know why, but if anyone were to discover that he was Bathsheba Toombs, writing tawdry little melodramas for a less-than-respectable entertainment magazine… He refused to even consider it.
“Miss Abbotts, sir.” Gilman gave him a look of displeasure from the door, but Ajax felt that having to wake in the small hours of the morning was a fair enough punishment for his butler; after all, the bastard had all but served him up to Rokeby on a silver platter.
“Thank you, Gilman. Go and have a rest, man,” Ajax said in a magnanimous tone, then grinned. Gilman nodded blankly. They both knew the butler would need to wake again shortly.
He glanced down at the book in his hand, pretending once more to be gripped by its contents while the new governess shuffled inside, only to find he’d snagged a dry scientific tome about gastropods. Fascinating. Still, he made a convincingly rapt face at a sentence about a snail’s “love dart”—Dear God, of all the pages—until he heard the door click shut.
“Ah, Miss Abbotts–not–Abbott. Lovely to see you again.” He stood up and slapped the book shut, perhaps a little too excitedly.
Thankfully, the lady seemed more embarrassed at having arrived at her new employer’s home in the dead of night than she was curious as to whether his interest in mollusks was authentic or feigned. She stood as still as possible, as if she were a dreary,realisttableau vivant.The Governess at the Threshold, he titled the hypothetical painting of the scene before him.
“Mr. Sedley, I beg your forgiveness for the hour. I do realize it is quite untoward.” Her cheeks flushed prettily and she lowered her eyes.
He felt his heart skip a beat, and he chastised himself for it. This wouldn’t do. Even if she wasn’t a young girl, she was still younger, and much too proper. A parson’s daughter. He focused every ounce of his mental faculties on being anyone but Ajax Sedley. Only then did he remember to berate himself for forgetting she was Charlotte’s new governess.
“Nonsense. As you can see, I’m awake. So it’s no matter.” He gestured for her to sit, and when she looked down hesitantly at her terribly ugly bag, he rushed forward to take it from her. His fingers brushed hers, and for a terrifying moment Ajax thought he might accidentally grip her hand in his. She relinquished the bag with a start.
To his relief, she had enough sense to move to sit, her soft, pale hands slipping into the folds of her well-worn cloak of brown wool broadcloth.
Normally he’d jest, make some pathetic little quip, but this time he held off, tamping down the urge as he placed the bag on the table before him. He had to keep it together. For Charlotte’s sake. Somehow he managed to stay quiet as he returned to his seat.
