So, it appeared, a governess she would be.
She’d always longed to be independent, in charge of her own destiny, not forced to depend upon a father or brother or husband. Well, this ironic twist of fate had certainly granted that wish, she thought blackly. Just not at all in the way she’d envisaged.
‘A position as a governess in an out-of-the-way manor might be preferable,’ she said, pulling herself from those reflections to confirm her decision. ‘Lady Patterson, do you know of an agency to which I could apply for such a position? And would you be kind enough to write me a character?’
Lady Patterson sat quietly for a moment. ‘I suppose there isn’t time for me to enquire among my friends and relations to discover someone in need of a governess.’
‘Lady Overton could show up on the doorstep of Upper Brook Street tomorrow.’
‘Surely you could stay with us long enough for my aunt to find you a position with someone she knows,’ Sara pleaded. ‘Somewhere we’d be assured you would be treated with kindness and respect.’
Though touched by her friend’s concern, Olivia said, ‘Sara, I know you mean well. But can you even imagine how it would be? Everyone in society would know. I wouldn’t be invited anywhere. I’d have no funds to borrow books or even for the paper and ink we use to write letters for the Ladies’ Committee. I’d have to hide myself here just...existing. Suspended in some awful void between the life I’ve always known and the reality of my life now. I... I don’t think I could bear it. Since the break must happen, I’d rather it be swift and clean.’
Her eyes filling with tears, Sara nodded. ‘I suppose I can understand. I just...hate to lose you.’
Unable to respond without giving in to tears of her own, Olivia pulled her friend close for a hug. For a long moment, they clung together.
Pushing away the friend who, for the first time in their lives, was unable to help her solve a dilemma seemed to symbolically echo today’s events in her life.
‘Well, I’d best go and pack up my things. Lady Patterson, if you would be so kind as to give me the name of that agency?’
Even Sara’s gruff aunt had tears in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I’ve forgotten. Let me go to my sitting room and ask my maid, and I’ll send you a note. I am sorry, my dear.’ After rising to give Olivia a quick, most unusual hug, the older woman walked out.
‘Promise me one thing,’ Sara insisted as she escorted Olivia to the door. ‘Don’t accept a contract for more than six months. You know the three of us—you, me and Emma—have always been able to solve whatever problem has arisen in our lives. I don’t expect that will change just because Emma married Lord Theo. Promise me, when they return from their Grand Tour, you will come back to London and let us all re-examine your situation, together.’
Olivia knew that, unless some unknown benefactor had left her funds of which not even the family solicitor was aware, nothing about her circumstances would change in six months. Nor would she be any more able to accept charity from Emma than she could from Sara. But her friend looked so distraught, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, that Olivia didn’t have the heart to refuse her.
‘Very well. I’ll not sign a contract for employment that lasts longer than six months and I promise to return to London and speak with all of you when Emma and Lord Theo come back from Italy.’
In the hallway, the two clung to each other, Olivia fighting back tears once more after being informed by the butler that Lady Patterson had ordered the family carriage to bear her home.
Perhaps her last journey as a well-born member of society.
‘Don’t you dare leave London without saying goodbye!’ Sara said, giving her one last hug.
‘I will let you know my situation as soon as everything is arranged,’ Olivia promised. Then, as the butler held open the door for her, she walked out of her past and grimly set her face towards the future.
Copyright © 2020 by Janet Justiss
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ISBN: 9781488065545
Stolen by the Viking
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Willingham
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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