Page 17 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter fourteen

T homasse studied her palms, no longer the soft hands of a young lady of the gentry, but the rough, calloused ones of a peasant woman. The seigneur might question her capabilities if he made such an observation. If she kept them carefully folded, maybe he would not notice.

She settled onto a hard bench beside the door inside the great hall.

An older manor, the walls and floors were built of brown stone.

Light filtered through the windows set in the thick walls.

The room bustled with preparations for the noon meal.

French soldiers and men-at-arms milled about while servants laid the master’s table on the dais before the large hearth.

Others pulled trestle tables away from the walls where the common folk and servants would dine.

She smoothed the skirt of her blue woolen cotehardie, the same one James had given her when they first arrived.

Strange how over the past year she had come to accept such humble attire with nary a thought.

However, at the prospect of meeting with the seigneur, she became painfully aware of the threadbare spots, patches, and stains that stubbornly refused to wash out.

At least she had the brush from James and could arrange her hair so she did not look like a disheveled waif.

Hopefully. If only she had a looking glass.

A few minutes later, a servant directed her to the study at the far end of the room. She knocked softly and a deep voice beckoned, “Come in.”

The room was small and dim, nothing grand like her father’s study had been. One tiny window let in a bit of light, and the candle on the table did little to improve the situation. The sideboard beneath the window had seen better days .

De Carteret sat at a table that passed for a desk, studying a ledger. He closed it when she entered and leaned back in his chair. “How can I help you?”

She curtsied. “James said you wished to see me about the position of tutor.”

He gestured for her to sit in the high-backed wooden chair opposite.

She perched on the edge of the seat, carefully arranging her skirt to hide the patches.

“What is your name?”

“Thomasse.”

The seigneur slid the ledger aside and rested his arms on the table. “James tells me you were educated in England.”

She inclined her head. “Yes, I studied many years alongside my brother.”

“What subjects?”

“I learned to read, write, cipher, a bit of science, and a lot of English history. Also, I speak French.”

He steepled his fingers against his chin. “And how does a learned maiden come to be on Jersey?”

She clasped her hands in her lap. How much could she disclose without endangering herself or her father?

Perchance he already knew the truth of their circumstances and who they were.

He would be remiss if he had not thoroughly investigated two foreigners in the parish.

Indeed, it was quite possible that he knew her father from earlier days.

Most of the noblemen and the gentry of England and Jersey were acquainted.

She determined honesty would be best. All would be lost if she were caught in a lie.

“My father was in service to King Henry. Being no friend to the House of York, he thought it best we flee when King Edward ascended the throne. We are most grateful you have allowed us to take refuge here.”

“And have you come to terms with your diminished status?”

“I admit, it was difficult at first.” She lifted her chin.

“I have spent my time learning to cook—though I admit rather poorly—and to spin. I earn my keep.” She hesitated, her gaze meeting his.

“One thing I learned, life can change in a moment. You can rail against the injustice, but fretting changes nothing. We must adapt to survive.”

“Such wisdom from someone so young. ”

“When a person lives through what I have, you grow up quickly.”

De Carteret smiled warmly. “My son, Philippe, desperately needs a tutor. He is but ten years of age. Do you believe yourself capable of teaching his lessons?”

She leaned forward. “I do.”

“Then you will not mind if I give you a test.”

“Indeed, I welcome it.”

“Tell me, Thomasse, are you a God-fearing woman?”

“I am.”

De Carteret retrieved a large Holy Bible from the sideboard. It thumped when it hit the table. He flipped through the pages until he reached the Book of Proverbs. “Read this passage.”

Her voice rang out clear and steady as she read:

“These six things doth the Lord hate;

yea, seven are an abomination to Him:

A proud look, a lying tongue,

and hands that shed innocent blood,

an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations,

feet that be swift in running to mischief,

a false witness that speaketh lies,

and he that soweth discord among the brethren.”

.

When she finished, she glanced up expectantly.

“My deepest wish is for my son to grow up to be an honest, just, God-fearing man. Do you think you can do that?”

“I cannot make that promise, but I welcome the challenge.”

“A fair answer. I shall grant you a few weeks’ trial to determine if you will suit. Considering these difficult times, you may be the perfect person to teach my son.”

“Gramercy, Seigneur,” Thomasse replied. “I appreciate the opportunity. I hope I do not disappoint.”

“Report in the morning. My wife, Demoiselle Penna, will introduce you to Philippe.” De Carteret reopened the ledger. “You may show yourself out.”

When she reached the door, he said, “One more thing—a maid will prepare a room for you here at the manor. ”

Thomasse curtsied and quit the room, eager to share her good fortune with James.

J ames leaned on the pitchfork, satisfied that the stalls had been mucked and fresh rushes laid. Nothing like hard work to make time pass faster. He glanced toward the manor. Thomasse should be there by now. Hopefully, she would impress the seigneur.

Returning the shovel to the corner, James selected a brush and pick.

Magnar nickered as James approached his stall.

Grooming the powerful black destrier was a favorite part of his job.

He dipped his hand into the grain barrel and withdrew a fistful of oats.

Approaching slowly so as not to spook the horse, he opened his palm and Magnar nibbled at the treat.

Stepping inside the stall, he made long strokes along the stallion’s back with the brush. The repetition was comforting—over and over until the coat glistened. Lifting the hind foot, he picked out the particles of debris.

The rushes crunched; Magnar snorted. James caught the scent of jasmine, and his heartbeat quickened. Thomasse stood outside the stall looking more lovely than ever.

She smiled. “I got the position.”

He dropped the pick and swept her into his arms, spinning her about in a joyful dance. “I never doubted you.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“Tell me again that you will be my wife.”

“I will.” She lifted her left hand. “I cannot wait until your ring is safely on my finger.”

He drew her to him, and lifted her chin. “Let us seal it with a kiss. I cannot wait for our forever to begin.”

T he next morning when Thomasse arrived at the manor house, a servant led her upstairs to her new chamber—a room with a proper bed!

The door clicked shut behind her. Alone, she set her meager belongings—which comprised of nothing more than the brush James had given her and a bottle of jasmine oil—on the dressing table.

She settled into the chair, picked up the brush, and held it close to her heart.

She stared into the looking glass. Would Eleanor and Maud even recognize her? Her skin had browned, and she looked older, the girl she had once been had vanished. In her place was a governess responsible for educating the seigneur’s son. And someday soon, a wife!

She rose and stepped to the wardrobe. The servant had said she would find a selection of garments there. The undercurrent in her tone suggested the worn blue cotehardie was not acceptable attire.

Within hung three cotehardies, two in gray and one in blue, and a linen kirtle.

She selected a gray one and laid it on the bed.

Not new, but it had no patches or threadbare spots.

She changed, then returned to the dressing table to comb her hair.

This manner of living felt pleasantly familiar, except for no Agnes to tend to her needs.

She had just finished braiding her hair when a knock sounded on the door. “Are you ready?”

“Coming.” She glanced once more into the looking glass before crossing the room and opening the door.

A stern woman dressed in a drab brown gown stood without, smelling of orange and cloves. A white wimple covered her hair. A rosary and a pomander hung from her girdle, and she clutched a prayer book. She surveyed Thomasse who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I am Demoiselle Penna.”

She beckoned Thomasse to follow and led her to the room next to her chamber.

Light spilled through a large window, and the dark-haired lad she had seen sword fighting when she first arrived sat at the table in the middle of the room, looking at a map.

He looked up expectantly. Thomasse sensed he was as nervous as she was.

“Philippe,” Penna said, “this is Thomasse. She will be your governess until we can engage someone more qualified. ”

Thomasse cringed. Penna’s words made her feel small, insignificant, even unworthy. Would the boy, Philippe, treat her the same? She wondered if she had treated their servants thus? She straightened her shoulders, determined to prove the demoiselle wrong. She was capable and qualified.

Philippe gazed up at her with his innocent, deep blue eyes, an unruly lock of hair falling over his forehead. “Will you leave like all the others?”

Unable to determine what to make of his question, she replied, “I intend to stay as long as your mother and father allow.”

“You are younger and prettier than the others,” Philippe replied. “I hope we will be friends.”

“I hope so too.” Thomasse smiled. At least the son did not seem to have adopted his mother’s stern, dismissive manner.

“His last tutor left more than a year ago. He has had several, but none stay. I pray Philippe does not cause any trouble,” Penna said. “I shall leave the two of you to get acquainted.”

Thomasse waited until Penna left the room, then sat in the chair beside Philippe. “How old are you?”

“Ten. I had a sister once, but she died.”

She placed a hand over his. “I am sorry. Being an only child must be hard. My brother died a few years ago.”

“Was he a knight?”

“No, he was not old enough.”

Philippe pulled over the map and pointed to England. “Someday I will go to London and become a knight like my father.”

“Well, I shall never be a knight nor a lady-in-waiting.” She sighed and placed a hand on her brow. “Probably never even a damsel in distress.”

“Well, should that happen, I will save you.”

Thomasse laughed. “I think we shall be great friends. Do you want to know a secret?”

Philippe nodded.

“I have never been a governess before,” she said in a hushed voice. “You must teach me how it is done.”

“Does my father know?” he whispered back.

She nodded.

Philippe held out his hand. “Friends? ”

Thomasse put her hand in his. “Friends.”

The conversation turned to things more educational as Thomasse probed Philippe’s knowledge on a variety of subjects. By the time the morning was over, Thomasse was exhausted.

Returning to her chamber, she flopped onto the bed—so much more comfortable than the thin mat on the cold dirt floor of the cottage.

She rose and wandered to the window, delighted to discover it looked out to the stable. Her heart tugged, certain that James was thinking of her too.