Page 5 of The Governess’s Absolutely Impossible Wish (The Notorious Briarwoods #8)

I f Lord Zephyr were any more friendly or helpful, Giselle was going to do murder. He was absolutely impossible. At every turn, he was finding ways to help her. He found lost toys for the children. He returned her notebook whenever she left it in the library, by way of a servant as she had requested before.

He was forever finding diversions for the children and playing games with them. And the truth was that she liked him. It would’ve been far easier if he had done something blatantly inappropriate. How almost relieving it would’ve been if he would just show that he was an awful gentleman like so many were, but he did not.

Christmas had been particularly challenging because something had awoken in her, which had never been there before. She’d had no idea that she’d even had it in her. She’d been so certain that it had been either cut out of her when she was quite young, or that she had mastered it.

She admired him. Dear God in heaven, she admired him, and she admired him well and not as a friend. He had mentioned friendship while standing outside her bedroom door when she had been in her night rail.

What an absurd scenario that had been, and dangerous too. And yet he had not done anything untoward. It had been ill-judged of him to come to her bedroom door. He seemed to sometimes act as such, but not out of malice, and so she could not hate him, nor could she actively dislike him.

Oh, how she wished he would do something that she could truly dislike. Instead, much to her horror, she found herself looking forward to little sights of him throughout the day, little glimpses of him and the kind of person that he seemed to be.

Over Christmas, he had been quite caught up in the relationship between Gordon and Perdita, who was the most charming and delightful of young ladies.

The romance had been astonishing, quick, powerful, and the love between Gordon and Perdita was mystifying. It was the first time she had seen something like it and, frankly, it had sent her reeling. Was this a possibility? Could people truly fall in love and be in love and then marry? As a matter of fact, the entire Briarwood clan was some sort of museum of couples who were happy and did not betray each other.

She did not know what to make of it because she had never truly seen such a thing in all her life. The couples she had known had either disliked each other, been bored with each other, or had done terrible things to each other, and sometimes they weren’t legally even couples at all. They were arrangements for pleasure, and those always went wrong in the end.

So, she felt completely off foot.

The children had adored their Christmas. How could they not? A Briarwood Christmas was the most magical thing she’d ever experienced. Miss Abelard did her very best to make sure that the students at her school had a pleasant Christmas, but pleasant was not the word to be used for Briarwoods. The words joyous, brilliant, and full of love best described them. There was, it seemed, a bit of manipulation as well.

The marriage between Lord Hythe and Perdita had been quite a surprise, even to her.

Still, they could not stop lightly touching each other now or looking at each other as if the other was the most wonderful thing in the entire world. It had to be a trick. Somehow, all of it had to be a trick. She could not be seduced into the idea that love was possible or that she could find a man who would love her without trying to take something from her.

It was not something she could entertain. Zephyr was the brother of the duke. He was a lord. He was not for her, and he never could be.

If she allowed herself to contemplate recent events a bit further, the way he had slightly leaned down to her when they talked by her door, the way his hand had brushed hers in the library, the glances they had exchanged? She would be betraying her own vow to herself and her promise to Miss Abelard that she would never become entwined with one of the gentlemen of the house.

She had to be bigger than that. She had to be stronger. And yet, dear Lord, it was if she had been pulled into a vortex and could not get herself out.

Discipline. Discipline was the only answer. She had taken the children out every day for walks, played with them in the snow, enjoyed their Christmas presents with them, sang songs, explored the forest, studied animals. Perdita had taken them on outings to explain the nature of the various creatures that lived on the estate, and yet Giselle could not get Lord Zephyr from her thoughts.

Christmas had passed.

The Epiphany had passed. January skies had come, and entertaining the children had become more difficult as rain had settled in.

Gone was the beautiful, crisp magical snow of Christmas, which had filled everyone’s hearts with joy. Gray, bleak winter had come to England. It always did without fail. And she sometimes wondered why anyone lived on this island at all. And yet they did. She did. And she would endure.

Luckily, years ago, once she had come to England, she had developed quite a few skills for getting through the weeks between January and March. Perhaps it was because she knew how dreary life could truly be.

Even so, as she took the children down to the salon for their morning tea so that they might have the company of the dowager duchess, she wondered what she was going to do with them for the next few weeks to combat the difficulties of not being able to go outdoors nearly as much as she liked.

Now, she did not believe that there was only certain weather to take children out in. She believed that they should go out as often as possible. But the rain? The rain was bitter cold and it was coming down in absolute buckets. It wasn’t the sort of rain that one could walk through and proclaim, “Ah, how bracing.”

No, it was the sort of rain that if one went out into it and stood in it for just a few moments, one would become drenched from the top of one’s cloaked head to the tips of one’s boots. And then there was the issue of wet stockings.

It was the sort of rain that made everyone ill-humored, unless one could find a way to turn such sentiments about, of course. It was a massive castle, thank goodness, and many games of sardines and hide-and-seek had already taken place. She could take them on long walks indoors too, and they would gaze at paintings and talk about how incredibly odd some of them were.

Given that the children were quite young, they said the most charming and odd things. The children absolutely loved to look at the gentlemen in ruffs, with their big pantaloon-like trousers that came to their knees, tied with garters. The children were particularly taken with the high-heeled shoes, buckles, silks, jewelry, makeup, and hair that had been clearly curled within an inch of its life.

She had delighted in pointing out that the massive, fluffy, curled things were wigs.

The children were transfixed and made many comments about the dogs sitting at their masters’ feet.

She enjoyed traipsing about the castle just as much as the children. The Briarwoods were clearly a powerful family and a storied one. The history of the family really did amaze her. She supposed it wasn’t such a surprise to understand that they were all notorious if one realized that they originated from the mistress of a king. No wonder they were all eccentric. They were descended from one of the most eccentric monarchs that had ever lived. And of course, his mistress had been quite a character. Apparently, she had kept a cheetah, a chariot, and had enjoyed doing performances of various plays in the castle with the king.

She had been quite a good card player too. Her skill with firearms was legendary.

Everyone had liked her as far as Giselle could ascertain from the books in the library, except for the few who tried to tear her down and did not succeed. The matriarch had set herself up quite beautifully, her son getting a dukedom and vast lands. It seemed to Giselle that there was a thread of the woman through all of the Briarwoods. She was in awe of it. She did not think that she could ever be like that herself. She wished she could.

There was something so inspiring about a woman who could look at life, see its hardships, and laugh. Laugh wildly, laugh boldly, and say, “I’m going to catch a king, and my son’s going to be a duke.” That’s what she had done, that first mother of the Briarwoods.

Giselle herself? Well, she supposed she’d shrunk a bit. She’d chosen safety, but there was something to be said for safety, especially when one had seen as many things as she had when she was a child.

The children cut into her reverie. “May we have toast?” asked the oldest boy, Octavian.

“Of course, you may,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Toast and butter. Just the thing on a rainy day, don’t you think? And I would wager that your grandmother has arranged hot chocolate. She always does when one’s spirits need to be cheered.”

The little boy’s twin brother, Maximus, piped, “And do your spirits need to be cheered, Miss Abbot?”

She laughed, touched that he cared. “I suppose I’m as cheerful as any, but on such rainy days, is it not nice to have a little bit of something which brightens the soul?”

The other children cheered. “Indeed, Miss Abbot,” Octavian said in bright tones as his eyes shone with anticipation. “Hot chocolate is the best cure for anything.”

She laughed heartily again, something she was doing more and more of late. The eldest boy was quite loquacious and, quite frankly, spoke like an adult. It was perhaps because the Briarwoods did not speak to their children as if they were incapable of or lacking in understanding.

The Briarwoods spoke to their children as if they should be able to understand Shakespeare from the moment they had sprung from the womb.

And as far as she could see, the children did understand Shakespeare. For Leander, the duke, did often come and read the lighter plays to them in the evenings. He eschewed the darker tragedies, of course, though she had a funny feeling that the boys would one day request Titus Andronicus , and what an adventure that would be when she tried to explain the horror of all that.

But in her experience, children did love to listen to frightening tales. And as long as the adults discussed them with the children, nothing untoward occurred.

They headed into the beautifully appointed room and quickly bustled over to the crackling fire. It was far too damp and cold to be far from it in the house. If one was going to be away from fires, one needed to wear a shawl and fingerless gloves. It was, she supposed, the great downside of living in such an enormous place. It was very difficult to keep warm and it was almost impossible to keep the damp out. The children laughed, clapped their hands, and spotted the pot of hot chocolate awaiting them.

“Miss Abbot can see the future,” Maximus exclaimed.

“She is a fortune teller,” Octavian declared.

She wondered how they knew about fortune tellers.

Almost certainly their grandmother had had a circus or some such thing come to visit the estate. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if the dowager duchess had had a fortune teller come into the house. She was quite eccentric.

Giselle adored the dowager duchess, and the dowager duchess seemed to adore her, which was why it was a positive delight to see Sylvia and her sister Estella sitting by the fire.

The two of them appeared to be in deep conversation discussing the merits of Shakespeare’s plays. It was rather thrilling, for the two of them were the greatest actresses the London stage had known in the last fifty-some-odd years.

Sylvia, the dowager duchess, had not trod the boards in decades. She had given it up when she’d married her husband, Leander’s father.

But Estella? Estella was still one of the greatest stars of London. And so she found herself listening a little more carefully to their conversation than she would have done typically.

“ Romeo and Juliet ,” said Estella. “It is an excellent play.”

“Not for January,” the dowager duchess trilled, waving her hands about dismissively, her silver hair still somehow managing to glint in the dull gray light.

Estella cocked her head to the side. “Fair point, fair point. No one needs to watch a play where the youths die at the end when winter is so terrible.”

“Exactly,” Sylvia said.

“So are we simply to immediately set aside all of the tragedies?” Estella asked. “They really are quite good.”

The dowager pursed her lips, considering. “They’re quite good, my darling. There is not greater verse in the world that is more emotive, more in touch with the human spirit. But I think we could all use a bit of a laugh, don’t you? I can tell that Zephyr is in his—”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Estella cut in, clearly understanding her sister’s meaning. “One of those times, poor dear. I know. I don’t understand it myself, though I can sympathize. After all, I’ve lived in London all my life and the sky is always gray with coal smoke in the winter.”

“Yes, my dear,” Sylvia replied. “But you and I are different. The sort of fortitude that we built as children? It’s not possible for the children of the privileged to have.”

Estella nodded her head. “It’s true. I wouldn’t wish misfortune on anyone, especially my own nieces and nephews, but it certainly did give us a sort of strength that others don’t have.”

Giselle perked her ears up at this. It was certainly interesting commentary, and it sounded as if they were trying to choose a play to do here at the castle. She was rather excited by the idea. She’d love to watch Sylvia and Estella act.

Still, she hesitated. She didn’t know if she approved of the argument that a very hard life as a child made one stronger as an adult.

She’d had quite a hard life and she really was strong now. But she wished in many ways that she could go back and take away the suffering she’d felt. Maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to be quite so perfect, so safe.

Even so, she found herself pouring out hot chocolate for the children, talking with them about cats and their ability to always land on their feet, whilst listening with one ear to the dowager duchess and Estella.

“I know.” Estella clapped her hands together. “We should do As You Like It . Absolutely marvelous play, terribly funny.”

Sylvia nodded, but then she sighed. “What about the family? We must think of parts for everyone.”

And before Giselle could stop herself, she suddenly blurted, “ A Midsummer Night’s Dream .”

Estella and Sylvia turned to her slowly. “My dear, you have a suggestion?”

And there seemed to be a sort of anticipatory gleam in the dowager duchess’s eyes, as if she had expected Giselle to say something. Estella leaned towards her, picking her cup of hot chocolate up from the delicate, gilded table beside her.

Estella beamed, a smile that clearly had won over the hearts of a nation. “My dear, we would love to have your suggestion. After all, are you not the child of—”

Sylvia coughed loudly.

She blinked. Did they know? Had Miss Abelard told them? It wasn’t a secret, but she wished people wouldn’t talk about it.

“Child of?” she tried to finish for Estella, though her spine stiffened.

“You just seem very artistic, my dear,” the dowager rushed.

“Do I?” she blurted. She’d done her best to repress all of that.

“Oh, yes. You have an artistic soul, my dear. Likely it’s why you are so good with the children. Your creative soul understands their imaginative nature,” Estella said. “And you have a slightly forgetful turn of mind just like I do. Many an artist has that,” Estella added. “It’s what makes you excellent, of course. You are focused on whatever you do and you ignore all the rest. I have never seen anyone focus so beautifully on the children as you do.”

Which was rather ironic, given that she had just been listening in on Estella’s conversation whilst caring for the children. But it was true. She did fixate on one thing at a time with intensity, which helped her learn things in a deep way.

Still, she wasn’t sure this was actually a compliment for someone meant to look after children. It had been her greatest difficulty, her mind which occasionally forgot things. She did leave little things behind, but luckily not children. No, she was always so focused entirely on her charges. That’s why she forgot little bits and bobs here and there.

“ A Midsummer Night’s Dream ,” Sylvia mused, rubbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “I do like it. I like it well indeed. It would give parts to all of the children, would it not?”

“Exactly,” Giselle agreed, seemingly unable to stop herself, and suddenly she wondered why she was so openly in discourse with Sylvia and Estella. This was far beyond her place. She should not be speaking to them at all unless spoken to. But there was something about the way the two of them had talked to her over the weeks that made her feel as if she could, even if it was a terrible mistake, and she prayed it was not.

“There are so many wonderful parts for children in the play,” Giselle agreed. “They can play the fairies.”

“What a wonderful idea,” Sylvia proclaimed with delight. “You’re very clever and very wise about it. Surely you should consider going into the theatre, my dear.”

She swallowed. “No, I’m your governess.”

“Oh, true, true.” The dowager nodded, quite serious now. “And what an excellent governess you are and how very lucky we are to have you. We hope you shall be with us for years and years. As a matter of fact, I see you as part of the family already.”

Part of the family.

But she wasn’t.

She was the governess and that was something else entirely. Even though a part of her heart suddenly wished—oh, what a terrible, powerful wish—that she could be part of the Briarwood family. And she wished—oh, how she wished with the most sudden and impossible dream in her heart—that she could have Zephyr, the kind, gentle, wonderful, rather oblivious fellow for her own.

She blinked quickly. Such a thing would never occur, and she could not allow herself to wish it.

“Forgive me,” she ventured, her heart racing for fear that she had overstepped. “I did not mean to—”

“My dear,” the dowager assured kindly, “we absolutely love that you, at last, are beginning to speak up and discuss possibilities with us. It’s the sort of relationship we’ve been longing to have with you.

“We like you very well,” she added brightly. “I hope that you know it.”

Giselle gave a small nod of her head. She did know it. And suddenly she wondered if she had made a terrible error. She was supposed to maintain a distance from the family. She was not supposed to get close to them. This was almost as terrible as her affection for Zephyr. She would have to find a way of stepping back.

The children would do the play. She would find a way to make certain that she was not overly involved, or at least only involved in her capacity as governess. She wouldn’t encourage any closeness.

“The character of Hermia,” Estella exclaimed with triumph, turning to her sister. “She would be perfect.”

Sylvia let out a crow of agreement. “You are right, my dear. Most definitely. And we shall have one of the other girls play Helena. Divine!” Sylvia looked pleased beyond all measure.

Who, she wondered, would play Hermia?

“You’ll do it, won’t you?” the dowager duchess asked, pinning her with an expectant stare.

Giselle blinked, looking about the room and trying to see whomever she was referring to, and then a sinking sensation hit her. She lifted her hand and placed it to her heart. “Me?”

“Yes. You, my dear. You would make the most excellent Hermia,” Estella declared.

“Would I?” she asked softly, astonished as a wave of trepidation hit her. Deep down, the idea was quite compelling. But surely it was forbidden.

“Indeed, you would.” The dowager winked at Giselle. “And I know who must play Lysander! Not to be confused with my darling Leander.”

She had a sudden horrifying fear. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. The universe and the Fates would not laugh at her so entirely, would they?

“Oh, yes. Zephyr would be marvelous,” Estella announced as if she could read her sister’s mind. “And I shall play Hippolyta.”

“Oh, yes, you must,” affirmed Sylvia, nodding, before placing her jeweled hand on the lace at her sister’s elbow. “But you know Mercy will play Titania. Leander has been dying to reprise the role of Oberon. And the two will be simply too delicious as the fairy king and queen.”

Estella let out a dramatic and clearly faux sigh. “I suppose I can manage to allow such a thing. Though Titania is a brilliant part.”

The ladies laughed together as if they had said something terribly amusing. She should refuse immediately to take any part in the play. At the most, she could help with the children’s lines. Perhaps she could organize costumes. That was all.

“I don’t think it’s a very good idea,” Giselle protested. “After all, I am the governess. I wouldn’t wish the children to—”

“What? Know that a young lady can enjoy herself, or that we respect you?” Estella said quickly.

The dowager duchess nodded. “Exactly. They must see that we all treat you as more than just a servant, my dear. It’s important that they see you as a whole person and not just someone who takes care of them.”

She swallowed. Was that important? Truly, she did not know, but it seemed that she was going to have to do it. How could one gainsay two such women?

And then it hit her to full effect, and her stomach tightened with both terror…and anticipation.

Zephyr! She was going to have to play Lord Zephyr’s love interest. It wasn’t amusing, not a bit of it. And she had no idea what she was going to do now to maintain her distance. How could she avoid him if she had to do scenes with him?

She turned to the children, her last hope. “What do you think, children? Is it a good idea? Should I be in the play? Surely, you need me to only be of help to you?”

She willed them to agree. She hoped beyond hope that they would all say they wished to keep her to themselves, but they did not.

Their collective faces lit with excitement and a great cheer went up from them.

And that was that.

She was doomed.