Page 14 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
“Aye. Indeed.”
The memory of that conversation sprung into Nicholas’ mind as he saw his father across the entranceway, greeting the Earl of Hemingway and his wife. Duke Buford seemed so strong, so sturdy in that moment, an impenetrable but amiable force.
His mother stepped to her husband’s side and the affection he felt doubled as he examined them.
I do not know what has mother so concerned but whatever it is, I cannot see it. All I see is a life which most would die to have for their children. We are so blessed.
Yet as he thought it, a strange chill filtered through the grand entranceway, sending the candlelight into a flutter as if mocking his idealistic thinking. Inexplicably, a dread slithered through his stocky form but before he could embrace it, someone called out to him.
The uneasy sensation evaporated as quickly as it had come, and Nicholas turned to address the friend calling for his attention and shoved the unpleasantness from his mind with a truthful thought.
We have absolutely no cause for concern. Our lives are perfect.
Chapter 5
Seven Months Later
Dora nudged her, demanding the chicken’s feed but Rose barely noticed, half-shooing the goat aside as she continued to work. The weather had taken a cold turn, a whipping wind biting through the air and shaking the last of the leaves from the trees. It would be the third winter she would be without Philip but somehow, this one seemed more frigid, as if the season had swept into her bones and turned her into ice beneath her translucent skin.
Even the winter knows that he will never come back and it has turned colder because of it.
Again, the goat bucked her impatient head against Rose.
“Off with you! You have your own feed,” she snapped at the animal but of course, Dora ignored her, bleating in annoyance.
There was still much to be done before the first snow laced the grounds, firewood to be chopped and preserves to can. Rose was finding the tasks unusually tiring but that was hardly surprising. In the past months, everything seemed to take more energy than they had previously, even the most mundane activities.
It was as if she was going through her life with leaden weights about her ankles, holding her down and exhausting her. If John and Bridget had called frequently before, they seemed to live on the Parson property in the wake of Philip’s passing. Their presence only fuelled Rose’s shame.
Her elderly neighbors had their own farm to tend and their health was poor. They had no need for the burden she felt she had become. Rose knew that at best, she could make it to the end of the winter before the small sum she had acquired from the church was spent completely but she was at a loss of how to proceed.
I could find work as a seamstress or chambermaid,she considered.Perhaps in a hotel or an estate in Chelmsford.
The thought of returning to Chelmsford filled her with sick but her options were few.
I do not wish to return to the town of my childhood. There are far too many terrible memories there and Philip is not there to wipe them away now.
Swallowing her growing despair, she pushed once more the prospects into the recesses of her mind, unwilling to face them yet.
I have time,she fibbed to herself.
It was the same excuse she had given herself but the reality was that time was fleeting. Perhaps a small part of her hoped that some miracle would afford her to remain, but Rose knew she could no longer depend on the charity of strangers to sustain her.
“Rose? Are you here?”
She started as Bridget’s voice rang out from the gate and she sidestepped Dora, pushing her way out of the coop to greet her neighbor. Bridget’s face seemed flushed, her brown eyes glittering against the grey skies as she waved a paper in her hands.
“Here I am.”
“Thank heavens! I have news you must hear.”
The wind escalated as Rose neared the older woman, her brow creasing.
“Come inside,” she urged. “The weather is turning.”
They made their way into the house, the door slamming abruptly at their backs. Flames danced inside the fireplace as they retreated into the parlor, Bridget shaking off her dark cloak hastily.
“Let me put the kettle on,” Rose said, turning away but Bridget stopped her.
