The Governess Affair Read Free Page B

failing light.”
    “Mmm.” Freddy made another precise stitch.
    She was piecing together another quilt of interlocking rings. She didn’t sell her work—that would have made her a laborer, and ladies, as Freddy so often explained, did not labor. Instead, Freddy gave her quilts away to charitable organizations. Almost half her extra income went to scraps and second-quality yarn for the deserving poor. More than half her time was spent knitting scarves and sewing blankets for babies. It didn’t seem quite fair to Serena; without stirring from her rooms, her elder sister managed to make her feel both exhausted and inadequate.
    Serena sighed.
    “You don’t have to do this, Freddy. Why do you force yourself to it?”
    “Don’t call me Freddy. You know I hate that name.” Freddy laid down her work. “You don’t have to do this, either. Serena, you know I love you, but this is not what we were born to do. Why must you bother Clermont? He hurt you once; why give him the chance to do so again?”
    An image of a dark room tucked under the eaves darted into Serena’s head. She could see Clermont ducking through the too-short doorway, could hear the sound of the door shutting behind him.
    She shivered.
    She wanted proof that she wasn’t the sort to cower in the corner, no matter what had happened to her. She wanted to conquer that complex burden of shame and confusion and anger.
    Serena set her hand over her still-flat belly. She had enough to contend with as it was.
    “I want justice.” The words were flat in her mouth, and yet sharp, so sharp. “I want to show that he can’t win.” Her fingers curled with want. “That he can’t just—”
    Freddy sniffed dismissively. “We’ve enough to survive on,” she said as if money were a substitute for fair play. “Stay with me. I always said you should. But no; you had to run off governessing, when we were left with the sort of competence that could see us through our lives, if we economized.”
    “We were left fifteen pounds a year,” Serena protested. Enough to avoid starvation; enough to have a roof over their heads. But every year, costs went up. It hadn’t taken much forethought to see that in twenty years, expenses would outrun income.
    “But,” Freddy said, continuing with the lecture, “you had to want more. You’ve always wanted more. And see where it’s left you? You can’t eat justice.”
    No. But at least she wouldn’t choke on it. Serena unclenched the fist she’d made at her side.
    “By the by,” Freddy said more casually, “where has it left you?”
    “Without a position,” Serena snapped. “With no hope of a character reference.”
    “All your fine plans,” Freddy said, half scolding, half comforting, “and they’ve come to naught. Best not to dream, dear. If you don’t, there’s nothing that can be taken from you.”
    Pure cowardice, that. Freddy fretted when she had to cross the street to purchase milk. When she’d gone to meet Serena at the yard where the stagecoach had left her, she’d been white-lipped and trembling. She’d complained of pains in her chest all the way home. Freddy didn’t handle change well, and nothing changed so often as the world outside her door.
    There was a reason that Serena had signed away her portion of their father’s bequest. Freddy could not have survived on her half, and she was incapable of making up the shortfall.
    “All of your fine plans,” Freddy repeated gently, “and here you are. With nothing. Less than nothing.”
    “No,” she said thickly. “Not…not nothing.”
    “With nightmares and a babe on the way.”
    Serena kept her eyes wide open. Her hands trembled; she forced them to stillness, pushing them against her skirts until they grew steady. She imagined the spark of life growing inside her, gestating next to her bitter fury. Sometimes, she feared that all of that cold, trembling anger would eat her child alive. Not after I win. Then I’ll be safe, and I’ll never be hurt