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Chapter One
The carriage rattled along the rough country road, trees meeting overhead as they rose over a dip. The view spread before them. Emma Farnsworth put a gloved hand over her mouth at the sight of the imposing house. “Good heavens,” she said between her fingers, nerves igniting in her stomach. “I hadn’t thought it would be quite so imposing.”
Aptly, given its name was Greybourne Hall, the stone appeared gray from this distance, a multitude of windows glinting in the light, and ivy winding its way up from the large front door. Twin pillars framed the opening, forming a porch of sorts, and iron railings surrounded tiny balconies on the second floor.
In other words, it was a truly magnificent building, and the sight of it made Emma wonder if she had made a grand mistake in coming here.
“None of that,” Bethany said, though her eyes had widened just as much at the sight of the hall. Her younger sister squared her shoulders. “This is a wonderful opportunity for you.”
“A necessary opportunity,” Emma said wryly. “We both know I need this job.”
They stared at each other in bleak silence. If Emma didn’t get this job—a circumstance she couldn’t bear thinking of—then their family would fall still deeper into poverty.
Bethany’s lips twisted, and she looked away. “It is all Father’s fault.”
“That’s not fair, Beth. He couldn’t have known he was going to die.”
“Not that.” Her chin trembled as she held back tears. Bethany had always been the most affected by their father’s death. “The loans, Em. They will destroy it all.”
Emma couldn’t argue against that. The interest rates were so high, they were barely managing to keep the debtors at bay—never mind pay off the loan itself.
The carriage travelled up to the front of the house and stopped on the gravel. Emma put a hand on her stomach. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said, though she had thanked Bethany three dozen times since they had left the house. “The earl scares me.”
“Well,” Bethany said dubiously as the coachman opened the carriage door for her. “He might not be so bad.”
“How would anyone know?” Emma demanded, wrapping her arms around herself. “How could anyone know if he never leaves his house?”
Bethany wrinkled her nose as she looked up at the large wooden doors, which looked as though they could have been in place from the Civil War days, and perhaps were even pockmarked with bullet holes. This was one of England’s oldest families, and Emma was coming in to present herself as the piano tutor as if she belonged in a place like this. She thought longingly of her childhood home and its quiet coziness. Everything there was warm but perfectly comfortable, and she always felt as though she belonged by the fire, reading a book or darning by candlelight.
“I’ve heard he only ever comes out at night,” Bethany said, “which is why no one has ever seen him. No one ever could. He’s an enigma.”
Emma sighed. “Thank you, dearest. That makes me feel much better.”
Before Bethany could say anything else, fortunately, the door swung open and a man of perhaps five-and-thirty years of age stood behind, dressed in a wool suit, and his brown hair brushed neatly back from his face. Not the earl, for certain—no earl would be dressed in such a way—but also not a butler or footman; he was not dressed in livery. Still, for all that, he was handsome.
“Good morning,” the man said, a slight smile touching his mouth. A wave of relief passed through Emma at the sight of that smile and the kindness in it. “I am Mr. Fitzwilliam, Lord Greybourne’s steward. I presume you are Miss Farnsworth?”
“Yes,” Emma said with relief. “I am here about the position of music tutor? This is my sister, Miss Bethany Farnsworth.”
“Welcome, ladies. I will be conducting your interview, Miss Farnsworth.” He held the door a little wider and invited Emma and Bethany inside. The hallway was just as splendid as the exterior, with black and white tiles across the floor and busts on pedestals along the walls. At the end of the space, a large, open stairway led to the next floor.
Two children, a boy and a girl, made their way across the hall, their heads down and unnaturally quiet. A nurse followed, bustling with brisk efficiency, and although the boy glanced in their direction, he made no attempt to speak to them.
How strange.
“Those are the children,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, beckoning them across to a small parlor off the grand hallway. “If you could wait here, Miss Bethany? I will send someone with some refreshments for you.”
Bethany sank stiffly on one of the wooden chairs laid out for visitors, her back straight and her eyes darting around the room. Emma felt a pang at her sister’s overwhelm and another burst of nerves that she would be interviewing without Bethany’s comforting presence beside her.
I can do this.
“Follow me, Miss Farnsworth.” Mr. Fitzwilliam led the way through an assortment of other rooms until they reached a small study with a desk, a bookcase, and a window overlooking the gardens. Although the furniture was plain, the space had a sense of being lived in, and Emma immediately felt at home there. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair beside the desk.
“Thank you.” She sat, folding her hands in her lap, and did her best to calm her speeding heart. Something about the sight of those children, so reserved and with such an air of misery about them, made her still more determined to get this job.
Could the earl be a monster and abusing the children?
She knew very little about him aside rumor—and rumor had been kind to no one. When his brother had died prematurely, he had taken in his niece and nephew, and he had retired from the world.
If he was… Well, there was little she could do about it, but the pounding of her heart and the moisture beading on her palms told her she was at least prepared to try.
“You are here for the position of tutor,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Tell me a little about your experience. Why should we hire you?”
Emma had come prepared with this question, and she reached into her briefcase, bringing out a program which featured her name. “As you can see,” she said, holding out the paper, “I am six-and-twenty. This is from three years ago when I performed as a concert pianist in London. I recently retired after my father died and am now looking for other employment.” She gave a tight smile. The business loans hanging over their heads made this rather more urgent than she could admit, but she refused to let any of her desperation seep through. “I have experience performing, and I have also taught piano on an informal basis before now. I am accustomed to playing to a very high standard and have been playing the pianoforte in a professional setting since I was sixteen years of age.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “Since you were sixteen? That seems very young.”
“My father worked as a piano tuner, and he taught me from an early age. Once he realized my ability, he allowed me lessons with a retired performer, who introduced me to his circle and helped me prepare for my first performance.” She smiled as she remembered it; she had been so nervous, but in the end, it had all gone very well. “It was only a small music hall, but I received a standing ovation. From there, I traveled across England, performing in London, Canterbury, Birmingham, Manchester, Bath and York.”
“Quite an array of locations,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, his eyes gleaming with interest.
“There was a time I was highly sought after.” A time before her father had taken out that disastrous loan and everything had gone wrong. “And I drew reasonable crowds.”
“Do you miss it?”
Of course, Emma did. Her chest constricted at the thought of never playing again. But she could not admit such a thing to this man, especially when she was applying for the role of tutor, not performer.
Still, she searched for a way of telling him the truth, at least partially.
“I suppose I do, in a way, but I love teaching, and I love children, and I think there is nothing more important than guiding the next generation’s talent.”
“I see.” Mr. Fitzwilliam nodded, his eyes contemplative. “Well, the children are naturally a very important part of this role. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Penbury, the children’s governess. I am sure she will have more questions for you.”
Emma sat in her chair a little straighter as Mr. Fitzwilliam rang the bellpull and summoned Mrs. Penbury to the room. She must have been waiting nearby for this eventuality, because a mere thirty seconds elapsed before she walked into the room, her dress stiffly starched and her expression scarcely less so. A rather prominent nose and hawkish gray eyes gave the impression of a bird of prey, and Emma knew immediately that she would have to earn this woman’s respect—and it would probably not be easily given.
“Mrs. Penbury,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, gesturing at Emma, “this is Miss Farnsworth.”
Mrs. Penbury’s gaze swept Emma up and down, her mouth pursing as though she was displeased with what she saw. “Miss Farnsworth,” she said. “I suppose you think you are up for the job, do you?”
“Well, I certainly hope His Grace will approve of me,” Emma said cautiously.
“His Grace? Lord Greybourne is an earl, miss, which means you should refer to him as ‘sir’ or ‘his lordship’. If you are hired here—and that is a large if—then you will have to pay more attention to matters of position than it is clear you are accustomed to out there.”
Emma wondered if anywhere other than this large hall constituted out there, and if Mrs. Penbury considered the entire rest of England to be some kind of wild land inhabited only by savages. Even so, her mistake made her flush. “My apologies, Mrs. Penbury. It won’t happen again.”
Mrs. Penbury sniffed. “For all that traveling you’ve done, you don’t seem very up with the ways of the world.”
Emma forbore to mention that in performing for the general public, she had never encountered a member of the nobility, which was why applying for this position had been such a daunting prospect. Instead, she gave Mr. Fitzwilliam a bright smile. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”
“Just for you to meet the children,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said. “Are they ready, Mrs. Penbury?”
Clearly irritated by the prospect, Mrs. Penbury gave a stiff nod, and Mr. Fitzwilliam rose, gesturing for Emma to follow him.
“Now,” he said as they went, “Let’s not forget that these are the children of Lord Greybourne’s sadly departed brother, Mr. Ashcombe. They are Master Edward and Miss Lucy, and they are still…” He spared Mrs. Penbury a brief glance. “Adjusting.”
“I understand,” Emma said.
He led her to a spacious room which had evidently been given over to the children’s education. Two desks stood in the center of the room in front of a chalk board. A piano stood against the wall, sheets of music across it, and maps covered the wall.
The two children waited with their hands neatly tucked behind their backs. The boy, Master Edward, looked to be about ten, Miss Lucy a few years younger. They were both pale, silent in a way that plucked once again at Emma’s heartstrings. She recognized the terrible, aching pain of loss, and it was written all over their faces.
“This is Miss Farnsworth,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said.
Emma knelt by them, looking up into their faces with a big smile. “Hello,” she said, keeping her tone bright. “It is so nice to meet you both. I very much hope we can work together. Playing the pianoforte is my passion, and I love to share it with everyone I can.” After a moment’s consideration, she stuck her hand out to the boy. “Master Edward, I presume.”
His gaze flicked to hers, and he shook her hand slowly. “Miss Farnsworth.” The word was stilted in his mouth, and she was surprised to find his accent was far closer to hers than she had expected. Even Mr. Fitzwilliam had the plummy, refined accent that came from association with nobility.
Emma smiled at him, hiding her surprise, and turned to Miss Lucy. The girl had long blonde hair, brushed and tied with a ribbon. If Emma knew anything about it, this had been done just prior to their meeting. No matter how high-born a child, they always contrived to have their hair in a tangle in an instant.
“Miss Lucy,” she said, keeping her smile in place. “I love your ribbon.”
The girl didn’t so much as smile. “Thank you, Miss Farnsworth.”
“All right,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, perhaps sensing that she would get no more out of the children. “Shall we return to your sister, Miss Farnsworth?”
Emma straightened and bid the children goodbye before following Mr. Fitzwilliam back to the small parlor where Bethany waited. At the sight of her, her sister’s face split into a relieved smile.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Farnsworth,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said. “I will be in touch shortly.”
If Mrs. Penbury had her way, they would certainly not be moving ahead with her as the children’s music tutor. Disappointment cramped her stomach at the thought. Not just because they needed the income, but because of the children. They needed music in their life, something to spark joy again. It was as though their souls had been snuffed out.
Emma hated the thought of it.
As she passed back through the large hallway, footsteps behind her caught her attention, and she turned, glimpsing a tall man descending the stairs. He wore a greatcoat, and although she could not see him clearly, his features were handsome and cast in a brooding aspect. Everything about him seemed forbidding, closed off from the world.
This had to be the earl.
His gaze met hers, and a shiver passed through her at the cold expression in his eyes.
She turned back to the front door and, with one final flutter of anticipation and hope, passed outside into the pale sunlight.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Whispers of Regency Love", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
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