Page 59 of Duke of Emeralds
Hester’s brow arched in surprise. “Early? The hour is barely ten.”
“She apologized profusely. There was a favorable wind, and the coachman dared not miss it as I understood her.”
Hester smiled despite herself. “Have Mrs. Smith meet me in the green salon and show Miss Wilmot there too.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
She moved briskly to her own chambers, where Miss Holt was already laying out a suitable frock and taming Hester’s hair into a sleek, low knot. She wanted to appear neither frivolous nor severe—just the right blend of maternal competence and intellectual authority.
Within a quarter hour, she descended to the green salon and found Mrs. Smith adjusting the drapes to catch the morning sun, and standing near to one side was a young woman with blonde hair and soft brown eyes.
“Your Grace, this is Miss Wilmot,” Mrs. Smith introduced.
Miss Wilmot curtsied, her bearing as composed as that of a seasoned governess though she could not be more than six or seven years older than Hester herself. She wore dark blue, the sleeves carefully mended at the elbows, and carried a small leather valise. Her gloves were worn but immaculately clean.
Hester offered her a welcoming smile. “Miss Wilmot. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, for receiving me. I am honored to be considered.”
For the next half hour, Miss Wilmot answered Hester’s questions about curriculum, discipline, and the requirements for instructing a child of indeterminate birth with poised,intelligent replies. She recited the opening of the Iliad in passable Greek and read a paragraph of Rousseau in French for Mrs. Smith’s benefit.
When Hester inquired about music and painting, the woman smiled. “My method of teaching music is both through daily exposure and careful imitation.”
“You seem to possess all the right skills,” Hester said at last, setting her notes aside. “But the child in question is… very reserved and has known a good deal of instability.”
“I am acquainted with difficult children, Your Grace. My previous situation was as governess to the youngest daughter of Lady Eastgate, who suffered from what the doctors called melancholia. She did not speak for a year, but I gained her confidence through kindness and patience. I can provide references if you wish.”
“I will require them,” Hester said. “But I suspect you and Arabella will suit each other.”
Miss Wilmot regarded Hester across the polished table. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace, but may I ask: Will the child remain in your care long term? I understand from Mrs. Smith that she has been at Lushton castle for less than a sennight.”
Hester considered. “Miss Arabella is our ward, and we mean for her to have every advantage we can provide.”
Miss Wilmot nodded, her face softening a little. “I understand perfectly.”
Hester studied her for a moment, deciding, and then said, “Would you care to join us on a walk, Miss Wilmot? I should like to see how you and Arabella get on.”
“I would be delighted, Your Grace.”
They left the salon and crossed the foyer where the maid looking after Arabella, appeared, leading her by the hand. The child wore a gray wool dress, and her hair had been neatly combed. She eyed the newcomer with the wary intelligence of a cat confronted by an unfamiliar dog.
“Bella, my dear,” Hester said, leaning over her, “this is Miss Margaret Wilmot. She may become your governess if you approve.”
Bella said nothing but did not look away. Miss Wilmot bent down so that her eyes were nearly level with the child’s. “May I walk with you, Miss Arabella?”
Bella did not answer, but when Miss Wilmot extended her hand, she took it—cautiously, with the air of someone reserving judgement.
They stepped out into the bright, wind-sharp air of the garden. Hester fell back half a pace, watching as the governess pointed out a robin in the hedge and asked Bella if she knew its song. Thechild did not respond at first, but after a moment, she mimicked the robin’s call perfectly.
Miss Wilmot looked back at Hester with a small, victorious smile.
They moved on to the edge of the grounds where the roses bloomed. Here, Bella seemed to thaw; she bent over a white blossom, inspected it, then said softly, “It will not last when the summer goes.”
Miss Wilmot crouched beside her. “No, it won’t. But if you like, we can press it in a book and keep it forever.”
The girl’s eyes widened. She nodded, and Miss Wilmot produced a little folded paper from her pocket, wrapped the rose carefully, and handed it to Bella.
They walked for nearly an hour, and by the end of it, Hester was convinced. Miss Wilmot had guided Bella through a lesson in natural history, a brief geography of the estate, and even coaxed a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer out of her. Not once did she condescend or patronize. She treated Bella as a peer, not a project.
