Page 5 of The Earl's Forbidden Governess
“You may follow me inside,” he said in an almost stern fashion. “I will see to your belongings.”
He did not wait for a response—instead, he just turned and walked inside. Catherine followed hesitantly, though she could not suppress a shiver as she crossed the threshold. The entrance hall was dimly lit, with only a few sputtering candles to hold back the encroaching darkness.
“I will show you to your quarters,” Mr. Harper said, his footsteps eerily echoing in the empty space. “I believe you are tired after your journey.”
“Thank you,” Catherine murmured, as she followed him up a grand staircase, her hand trailing along the banister. A thick layer of dust came away on her fingers and she frowned, wiping them surreptitiously on her skirt. It made little sense, she thought. Did Mr. Harper not say he managed the household?
As they walked, Catherine frowned at the silence that permeated the house. She’d grown used to the sounds of servants bustling about, but there was none of that—no clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, no murmur of voices or laughter. It felt as though the life had been sucked out of the place.
“Mr. Harper,” she asked at last, unable to contain her curiosity. “I don’t mean to pry, but… where is everyone? I would have expected a home of this size to have quite a large staff.”
Mr. Harper’s stride faltered for just a moment before he resumed his brisk pace. “There is noeveryone, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “The staff has been… reduced. Save for Mr. Hawkins who mostly does the driving for his lordship’s businesses, it is just myself… and now you.”
Catherine gasped, nearly tripping over her own feet in shock. “Just us? But surely that can’t be right. Who tends to the grounds? Who cooks the meals? Who…”
“I assure you, Miss Winslow,” Mr. Harper interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “that I am quite capable of managing the essential tasks. And now that you are here to see to Miss Emily’s education, we will manage just fine.”
Catherine kept her doubts silent as they came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door. Mr. Harper searched his pockets for a key and unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal a bedchamber decorated in dark green.
“These will be your quarters,” he said and stepped aside. “I trust that you will find everything to your satisfaction.”
Catherine stepped inside with a nod. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. It is more than sufficient.” She turned back to face him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But… I don’t understand. Where is his lordship? And Lady Emily? I suppose I should be meeting them.”
A shadow passed over Mr. Harper’s face and he pursed his lips. “His lordship and Miss Emily keep to themselves,” he said at last, his voice neutral. “You will meet them when the time is right. For now… my suggestion is that you get some rest. Your duties will begin in the morning.”
Before Catherine could verbalize how strange this was, or request more information, Mr. Harper backed out of the room.
“Goodnight, Miss Winslow,” he said firmly, his hand already on the doorknob. “I will bring your belongings up shortly. Should you need anything, my quarters are at the end of the hall.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Catherine alone with her racing thoughts. She sank onto the edge of the bed slowly.
“What on earth have you gotten into, Catherine?” she whispered to herself and shook her head. Never before had she seen—much less experienced—a household quite like this. Why was the manor in such a state of disrepair? And why on earth did her new employer and his sister ‘keep to themselves’ as both Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Harper had explained?
She had a feeling that this job was going to be far more complicated than her previous position, and she jumped when a quick knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
Samuel Harper stood on the other side of the door when she swung it open, her belongings in his arms.
“You are welcome to unpack now,” he said simply before turning away again.
Catherine’s words of thanks remained unspoken, and a chill ran down her spine as a gust of wind rattled the windowpane. She crossed the room quickly to draw the curtains, but paused—her hand remaining on the heavy fabric. In the fading light, she was certain she saw a figure moving among the overgrown hedges of the garden below.
Catherine blinked and leaned forward, but when she looked again, there was nothing but swaying branches and eerie shadows.
“My imagination must be running away with me,” she muttered as she quickly unpacked her few belongings before slipping in beneath the covers of the bed.
Exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her. Every creak of the old house, and every whisper of wind through the leaves set her already frayed nerves on edge.
It was almost time for the sun to rise when she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, the same old question echoing through her mind.
What on earth had she gotten herself into?
Catherine awoke early in the morning, having slept a meager couple of hours, and she sat up slowly, the unfamiliar surroundings causing her heart to race with a flutter of panic.
The Earl of Wessex, she realized. She was now working for him—her life had changed in the span of a couple of days. She glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. It was just past seven. Mr. Harper did not mention anything about breakfast or times. He’d only said that her duties would start in the morning.
She moved quickly to wash her face in the basin before dressing in a pale-yellow gown and pinning her hair into a neat bun. She’d barely finished when a sharp knock sounded at the door, and she looked up nervously.
“Come in,” she called, mentally chastising herself for the tremble in her voice.
