The Secret Desires of a Governess Read Online Free PDF Page A

members of the house hold Abby had come across were the house keeper and her daughter, Lydia, who appeared to be about Abby’s age. Abby had been given immediate instruction to call the older woman Martha, because calling her Mrs. Harrow made her think of her husband’s mother. Abby could only surmise that Martha did not like her mother- in- law. Not with the way her lips curled in distaste when she’d mentioned the long- deceased woman.
    Martha had also apologized for unknowingly abandoning her at the rail. But didn’t seem to care that Abby had had to walk fifteen miles in the most horrendous torrential downpour she’d ever been caught in. Abby wasn’t generally one to cast judgment on people until she fully knew them, but it was very hard not to judge Martha for her lack of caring.
    Presently, Martha kneaded into some dough on the long table in the kitchen while her daughter cut up potatoes, onions, and carrots and tossed them into a pot on the chopping block set between two deep bronze butler sinks.
    Abby sat on a stool close to the table and Martha.
    This was the first time she’d ever watched someone make bread. The way Martha pounded into it looked like a good way to release anger, if one were so inclined. How useful it would have been to do something like that last night.
    “You came with exceptional letters of recommendation and you’re well written so you’ve had a respectable education, but you seem too young for this post. How many years have you got, child?”
    The woman didn’t seem convinced that Abby was quite capable of filling the position. Was that why she spoke so gruffly to her? Was that why she pounded into the dough with more vigor than she probably needed? Martha had seemed so much more cordial in their correspondence than she did now in person. For some reason, Abby had been expecting a more motherly figure.
    Lydia didn’t look up once during the whole conversation. Had Abby done something wrong in coming to the castle on her own? Was it the fact that she wore their old mistress’s clothes? It wasn’t as though she’d had any choice in the matter.
    “Three and twenty, madam.” Abby knew she looked younger than most thought. It was her lack of bosom and hips that made her seem youthful. “My father groomed me well for this position. I was his last hope to play the role of the son he never had.”
    “You have sisters then?”
    “Two older sisters, yes. Both married well.” They’d done so much better than marry well. She’d not reveal that her sisters were both countesses.
    Stirring a lump of sugar in her tea, Abby watched the older woman’s weatherworn hands flexing around the dough. Not wanting the conversation to focus on her life, Abby said, “I’ve been unable to find my charge all morning.”
    Actually there’d been no sign of the child. She had checked all the rooms she’d come upon, explored every parlor, bedchamber, dressing room, study, nook, and cranny she’d found in the giant house. There were no misplaced toys, no child- like clutter. It was as though the house were childless.
    Martha took a small handful of fl our and tossed it into the open oven. It turned a golden brown. She gave a harrumph— satisfied with the outcome, Abby assumed—and set the dough in the rising pan for a fourth time, then put it in the oven to bake.
    “Have you checked the stables?”
    “She’s fond of horses, is she?” Abby loved horses, but she was not an accomplished rider. Papa had had to sell their horses to keep their family in coin and cloth. They’d lived on necessities until her first sister had married.
    “The young master’s father had him on a horse before he could walk,” Lydia interjected. The first words the young woman had uttered since her good- day wishes first thing this morning.
    Abby looked directly at the young woman, sure that her face clearly revealed the shock she was in. In her confusion, she pushed her teacup away and stood from the table. The hot