Page 4 of The Governess’s Absolutely Impossible Wish (The Notorious Briarwoods #8)

Two torturous weeks later

T he gray January sky hammered down on Zephyr.

Christmas was over, and the decorations had been put away. Rain came down from the sky, and the snow was gone. All of the good cheer of the Yule season had disappeared, much like the greenery which had withered after having been picked and brought into the house.

Yes, the cheer of Christmas had vanished rather like the Yule log itself, which had been burned down to ash. The ash had now been swept out of the grate. Joy was gone. It was a dismal state of affairs, and he did everything he could not to scowl as he charged across the family estate.

The landscape was beautiful. It was true. Even in its dreariness, Zephyr could not deny the beauty of it all. The forest was one of his favorite places, but at present, he was striding across the fields doing his very best to bolster his spirits so that they did not sink any further than they already had.

The governess was avoiding him. He was not entirely certain what to do about Miss Abbot.

If he was quite honest, he had pursued her, or attempted to, over the Twelve Days of Christmas. He’d tried to follow her about, seeking the connection they shared, but she had few words for him. He did not know what to do about it. Ladies generally liked to be around him. Not just ladies, people in general, but she was a bastion of strength in regard to his charm, and it was dismaying, much like the steely sky.

He had assumed that once he decided to pursue someone, they would welcome it. It was, he was realizing, a Briarwood curse. If their blessing was to find love, their curse was to be deluded enough to believe that it would come easily.

This was not easy.

He could not even have a full conversation with her, for she would smile at him, give him a quick nod, her red curls, which often escaped her coiffure, bouncing in the winter light. And then she’d turn her attention back to her work as if he did not exist.

He was not accustomed to not existing.

And his frustration at not existing to the woman he so admired did not do his rather loathsome feelings about January any good. As he crossed the landscape, sleet began to fall.

His brow furrowed.

He dug his hands into his pockets and let out a low curse. Could it get any worse? Of course it could. He should not be absurd. He did not know why he had expected some sort of fiery union with the governess, as all his brothers and sisters had had with their prospective matches.

Gordon and Perdita had been one of the most excellent fiery couples of all. Their recent encounter over Christmas had left Zephyr hopeful that Miss Abbot would see that it didn’t matter that she was a governess, that she could smile upon him, that they could at least be friends, but now she wasn’t even smiling at him.

It was more of a grimace, as if she was instructing her lips to smile politely.

Worse, as soon as he would enter a room, she would exit it, and this was most upsetting to his hopes of joining his siblings in the connubial bliss they had found with their mates.

Zephyr was the last Briarwood sibling to be wed.

Actually, the whole affair with Miss Abbot was rather alarming because he’d never made anyone uncomfortable before. Now it was rather clear that he did, and he was quite sad about it. And he was starting to stay away from her because of it.

He’d always thought of himself as a brilliant fellow. He didn’t like to think that he could make someone upset, that there was something wrong with him. Perhaps he had done something truly amiss, and he could discover what it was and repair the damage. Or perhaps he was being terribly privileged in thinking that she would just immediately feel as he did.

It was most confusing.

Perhaps it had been a mistake, following her to her room. He really should have thought more clearly. But he was absorbed by the rather visceral feeling of his desire to claim her for his own.

Had he learned nothing from his siblings’ trials towards love? Apparently not. He was going to have to gird his loins and be patient.

Patience was not a Briarwood trait.

As he charged across the fields, he felt a sudden ray of hope. He would ask his sisters for advice.

Bloody hell, he might even ask Miss Abbot in the most polite terms what he had done and if he could do something to achieve her favor, not in any sort of untoward way, but in a way that would make her feel comfortable. He could, he supposed, return to London and leave her be for now, but it wasn’t time to go to the city yet.

The Briarwoods had committed to spend the month in the country.

If it was necessary for his oldest brother, the duke, to head up to London to the House of Lords, he would, but the roads were atrocious. Winter was terrible. And once one was in the country, one tended to stay there, depending on when the House of Lords opened and the Season began.

He supposed, at this rate, he should just be excited for the start of the Season, when he could be distracted away from the weather that was quite demoralizing. Especially since his love prospects seemed as discouraging as the climate.

It was a failing, he knew, to be ruled by melancholy in the winter months. As a Briarwood, surely he should rise above such trenches of woe.

But he struggled. This year was no different. And it was compounded by his confusion around Miss Abbot.

When winter came, after the joy of Christmas vanished, he would sink into the mire. And the truth was that after the excitement of the Twelve Days of Christmas and the hope that the governess might notice him, well, he felt lower than usual. He didn’t know how to explain it.

It was rather like a wound, one that embedded in the heart. It was a yearly occurrence, and he had to steel himself against the gray skies and the dark nights and the grim feelings that washed over him for the next several weeks.

He wished he could be more like his brothers and sisters in their determination to see the world in complete and total light. He supposed Westleigh did not always. Leander, well, Leander could crash into pools of desperate despair after mountainous highs. At least in that, he had something in common with his eldest brother, but Zephyr tried his very best to stay cheerful for his family, to hide the dismay that he felt.

It wasn’t because he thought his family would reject him. No, if anything, if he showed his family his sore heart at this time of year, he knew that they would try to lift him up. But he felt so terribly ungrateful, so terribly selfish for feeling anything but grateful and fortunate.

He was a Briarwood, after all. He was surrounded by family. He had wealth, he had good clothes, he had accommodation. He had admiration. What more could a gentleman hope for, except for the governess to notice him?

It was annoying and, of course, it made him feel quite unworthy that he had these feelings of sadness during the winter. He did not know what to do, except to pin a smile on his face whenever he saw his family and do his very best to rise above his low spirits because that was what one did.

One rose above, didn’t they?

Surely, that was what he was meant to do.

He stormed across the lawn and caught sight of his brothers, Hector and Ajax. His mouth pressed into a tighter line and he contemplated pivoting to head towards the forest, but if he did, he knew his brothers would follow him.

He wondered why they were out for a walk in this sleet. A crust of ice was beginning to form on his coat.

Perhaps they were escaping the madness of the house. After all, it did not matter how large the castle was. It was extremely noisy. The truth was, even an estate as massive as this could not entirely house the collective charm and cacophony of the ever-growing number of Briarwoods. First there were his siblings, then his siblings’ expanding number of offspring.

This did not even bring into consideration his grandmother and his aunt Estella, who had decided to come down to the country from the city for the month, even though she worked as an actress there.

Hector let out a bellow. “You look as if you ate some bad tripe.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s vile. I’d like to keep my breakfast in my stomach.”

Ajax wagged his blond brows. “Please do. And it might be vile, but it’s accurate.”

“What the devil is amiss with you?” Zephyr bit out, in no good humor.

With that, Ajax trudged forward, grabbed his brother by the shoulders with gloved hands and smiled. “I know what’s wrong with you.”

Then Hector looped his wool-coated arm over Zephyr’s shoulder.

Now he was completely surrounded by his favorite brothers.

“Oh, do you?” he queried, arching a brow.

“Oh, indeed,” Hector drawled. “You are in love, and it is clear she does not love you yet.”

“Love me?” Zephyr exclaimed. “She has barely said hello to me.”

“Ooh,” Ajax groaned, pressing his hand to his heart. “It is brutal.”

“Very,” agreed Hector with a soulful tone that the most dramatic of the London stage would envy.

“Mama likes her so well,” Ajax sighed.

Hector pursed his lips. “It’s clear that we all think you two would be a marvelous match, but you have spent so little time together that we are increasingly concerned and must intervene. You are clearly letting ye olde Briarwoods down.”

“I have tried everything,” he said softly, downhearted instead of irked.

His brothers exchanged a quick glance of shock.

“Everything?” Hector said. “No, that’s not true, is it?”

He shrugged, his heart heavy. “Every time I attempt to have a conversation with her, she makes an excuse and departs. It is most frustrating, and I cannot escape the feeling that overtook me the moment I saw her.”

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Hector replied sympathetically.

“Agony,” Ajax agreed. “Absolute agony, and yet bliss at the same time to know that you have found the lady of your heart’s desire just from a look. Who knew Shakespeare was so correct?”

He scowled. “Shakespeare is a scoundrel. After all, his one great love story is a tragedy.”

“That’s fair,” Ajax replied. “But really, from an analytical point of view, Romeo and Juliet is not a love story. In fact, there is an argument that it is actually a farce. Some say—”

“Ajax,” he cut in. “I am deeply grateful that you love discussing the history of Shakespeare with Win, your wife, but now is not the time to argue.”

Ajax looked contrite, then coughed. “Many of his great love stories are comedies.”

“Exactly,” said Hector. “Even though Rosalind pulls quite a trick on Orlando in As You Like It , the romance really is—”

“We can have a discourse about which Shakespeare plays are great love stories another time,” Zephyr ground out. “This is not a play. Or a novel. This is my life. Now why the hell have you come out here?”

Ajax sighed and squeezed his shoulder. “Hector and I came out here because you are clearly floundering. You need assistance, and you need to listen to some old married men to help you.”

“Old married men,” he echoed. “The two of you have been married for about two seconds.”

“Which is longer than you have been,” pointed out Hector. “And ever will be if you carry on like you are.”

“Ooh, brutal,” Ajax tsked. “No need to be so vicious, Hector.”

“There is,” Hector replied. “He’s making a muck of it. Achilles said so, as did Juliet, Hermia, and—”

Zephyr swallowed and then blurted, “Is it that bad? Does everyone know?”

“We’ve known since before Christmas,” Ajax admitted.

“We’ve known since before Perdita met Gordon,” replied Hector.

“Bloody hell. In truth?” He groaned.

Hector gave him a sympathetic but honest look. “You have been going about like a moonfaced calf following her around.”

“Yes,” Ajax added. “A veritable puppy. It’s true.”

“You keep looking as if you are desperately hoping she’ll turn around and give you a pat. She’s not going to do that.”

“Why ever not?” Zephyr demanded. “Aren’t I worthy of a pat?”

Ajax choked on a laugh. “Of course, you are, brother. We all are. All of us are stellar individuals.”

“But unfortunately, most people don’t realize that they deserve love or affection or a Briarwood,” piped in Hector.

He paused. “Is that it? She just doesn’t realize that she’s worthy of love?”

“It does sound rather bad when we say it like that, doesn’t it?” Ajax drawled.

“It does,” Hector affirmed. “It makes us sound very arrogant.”

“It’s also the truth,” sighed Zephyr. “Why do people create so much difficulty about love?” he asked.

Ajax drew in a long breath and said, “Because most people haven’t had it at all.”

Hector looked grim. “It’s true. Most of the people that we have admitted into our family…”

“Welcomed with open arms,” Ajax cut in. “We are not an asylum.”

Hector laughed despite the cold. “Are you certain?” But then he grew more serious. “Forgive me. Forgive me. Welcomed is a better term. Most have had very rough lives when it comes to love, except for maybe Mercy. Mercy really knew that she was lovely.”

Ajax laughed. “Indeed. Mercy always had a good opinion of herself, which was very important for someone like Leander. He needed someone as marvelous as her.”

“They are all marvelous, our new family,” Hector said. “Just in different ways.”

“We are all marvelous,” Ajax declared enthusiastically. “Each of us is unique. A wonder. A joy.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you for repeating mother’s maxim,” groused Zephyr. “We are all glorious children of the great creator, but in this particular happenstance, I apparently don’t seem so to Miss Abbot. I suppose I am finally willing to admit it. How do I get her to notice me?”

“No, no. That is not the question,” Hector said.

“Is it not?” Zephyr queried.

“No,” Ajax replied.

“Well, then what the bloody hell is it?” he demanded. “It’s grim out here. I’m getting cold. It’s damp.”

It was most frustrating that his brothers did not feel the effects of the gray weather. In fact, they looked as if it was bloody tropical. He had realized years ago that it was not the cold that actually caused him to be melancholy. For when it snowed, he was quite chipper if the sky was blue. No, it was the slate gray sky and the falling rain which did something to him.

“My, my, we are in a twist,” Ajax said, laughing as he clapped his brother’s shoulders and rubbed them vigorously.

“Well, you were in a twist when things were going wrong with Win,” Zephyr reminded him through teeth that were beginning to chatter.

He really did loathe the damp in January.

Ajax frowned. “Fair. Miss Abbot has already noticed you. We’ve all seen that. We know this isn’t a lost cause—”

“What is the question?” he bellowed, though he was heartened that his siblings had observed Miss Abbot observing him. He was not entirely deluded, thank God.

“The question,” Ajax began, “is how can we make certain the two of you actually spend time together without her running away?”

“Running away?” he echoed.

“Of course,” Hector said. “She’s running from you, my friend, because she likes you.”

“What?” Zephyr scoffed. “That makes little sense.”

Ajax grinned. “In this case, it makes perfect sense. She’s the help.”

“Don’t say that,” Zephyr said. “That’s terrible.”

“We know it’s terrible,” Hector added, “but we need you to listen.”

“It’s what she thinks, and that is what you are dealing with,” Ajax explained, his gaze serious now. “You can’t think about this like a Briarwood marrying another person of circumstance. It doesn’t matter that you and the whole family would accept her even if she was a kitchen maid.”

“Oh,” Zephyr breathed, blinking as it hit him. “Oh, I see.”

“Good,” Ajax said. “We’ve all been waiting long enough for you to figure it out yourself.”

Zephyr tsked. “No need to be insulting.”

“Well, apparently there is,” Hector drawled. “She’s never going to look at you for any length of time. She’s never going to converse with you for any length of time because you are the brother of the Duke of Westleigh, her employer. You are the son of the dowager duchess, who is friends with her instructor, Miss Abelard. It will never happen, unless of course…you are quite all right with her feeling that she is choosing ruin.”

“I’m not going to ruin her,” Zephyr protested.

“We know that, but she doesn’t,” Ajax lamented.

She didn’t know, Zephyr realized. And for the first time this January, since the darkness had descended on him, he felt a moment’s encouragement.

In that feeling of encouragement, he had an idea. A rather devilish, playful idea.

If it worked, he’d finally get to have a conversation with the woman of his desire and his design. He might even get to hold her in his arms.

For the first time that day, a smile tilted his lips. Sometimes having brothers wasn’t so very bad after all. Actually, having brothers was the very best thing one could ever hope for. Especially on gray days like this.