Virtue of a Governess (13 page)

“It has to be. We are opposites.” Moving back to the desk, Nicola sought to change the subject, she had already spent countless hours tormenting herself over Nathaniel West. She didn’t like how her body respond to him, how her mind went stupid at his nearness. No, she believed Mr West had asked her to marry him on impulse, on a whim of fancy. If he’d been a true suitor would he have left it so long before seeing her again?

She searched for a large piece of paper and finding it handed it to Frances. “Look what Mr Belfroy has done? He’s bought a larger house for us, and I am to manage it.”

“A bigger house?” Frances studied the document. “My, that is a grand home.”

“Yes, a proper place for women. It is to be called Belfroy’s Home for Governesses and Middle Class Ladies. Those who don’t want to stay at the government governess home for whatever reason, including those women who have...who have been abused, or with child and who cannot stay at other places...”

“Middle class?” Frances dropped the paper as if scalded. “Surely the poor women of the city need help too.”

Nicola gathered up her papers. “Well, yes, but they are not what this home is catering to. I’m also going to be running an agency. A place where educated women can record their names and potential employers can come and inspect the list for suitable applicants. We shall advertise in the newspapers.”

“I’d be happier if you also took in the poor women of the district and homeless children.”

Pausing from tidying up her desk, Nicola looked at her. “Fran, there are already places like that, orphanages and such like.”

“There is always the need for more, Nicola. You know that.”

“I’m sure there is, however, there is also the need for this type of home so women who are not used to living in such primitive conditions can be cared for.”

“Yet, the poor must remain in their own filth, is that it?”

“No. You know I don’t mean any such thing.”

Frances placed her hands flat on the desk. “Then why turn your back on the lower classes?” She sneered.

Annoyed, Nicola glared. “My role is to help fellow women such as myself. I cannot mix the two classes together in one home, that will not do, and you know it. I cannot do everything. Why are you arguing with me in this way?”

“Why are you determined to advance one sort of woman over another?” Frances fired back.

“The poor have many champions, but governesses and educated women do not. There are charities for the destitute, but none for middle class women. I thought you, of all people, would understand my desire to do what I can for these women.”

“What I understand is the lack of compassion you and Belfroy are showing to women of a lower class, who could, with your help, rise above the desolation surrounding them.”

“Why must
we
do it all, Frances?” Nicola couldn’t fathom her unfairness or accusations. “If you are so passionate to do more than you are, then find the sponsors to create a home for the poor, as we are doing.”

Frances laughed with mock humour. “You think it is so easy, or that I haven’t tried? Good God, it’s all I spend my waking hours on, but unlike you, I do not have a wealthy man behind me, whose sole crusade is to help others. I have to manage with the measly handouts that I can beg for.”

“I haven’t the answers, Frances. I’m simply doing the best I can with what I have. I’m sorry your ambitions to help the poor aren’t met with more support, but you mustn’t blame me for helping others the way I am.”

“Listen to you, Saint bloody Nicola.” Frances’s face grew red with anger. “Don’t you patronise me from the safety of this house, where everything is provided for you. You have no idea how the poor live and what it takes to survive each day.”

“And you do?” she snapped. “You, who left an upper class home and society in England because you wanted freedom from your controlling parents? You would know less than I do about being poor? I hardly think so!” Stressed at the disintegration of their friendship, Nicola collected the few things she needed from the desk. “I haven’t the time to stand here and explain my actions to you, Frances. I am to meet Mr Belfroy within the hour.”

“Perhaps my brother never stood a chance with you because another has beaten him in the contest?”

Locking her desk drawer, she jerked at Frances’s innuendo. “What do you mean?”

“Mr Belfroy can give you just as much as my brother can,” Frances’s top lip curled in revulsion, “perhaps you see him as a future husband, someone who will not be long on this earth and who will leave you a generous widow to do as you please?”

Nicola gasped, horrified. “How can you say such a disgusting thing to me?”

At once Frances’s expression altered from anger to shock. “Oh, Nicola, oh forgive me. I’m sorry, truly.” She held out her hands, shaking her head. “My temper is impossible. I am unforgivable. I meant none of it, you must understand. Words run out of my mouth, always have done, and trouble follows immediately.”

Feeling her friendship betrayed and sullied, Nicola stepped away, towards the door. “Even in anger, once some words are spoken they are beyond forgiveness.” She dipped her head in farewell. “Excuse me, I am late. Goodbye, Frances.”

* * * 

Nat poured another brandy and handed it to Frances, who still cried silently in the chair by the window. Her tale of the argument she had with Nicola caused him more pain than he’d show. At first he wanted to throttle Fran for being so senseless and rash. Her temper, like his, had been a problem since childhood, and usually those on the receiving end didn’t matter to them, until now. Why did she have to ruin the one good friendship she’d ever had? And because of it, he’d not have the link to Nicola, which might have allowed him to watch over her from afar.

He crossed to stand on the other side of the window. Together they watched the street traffic below. For the last couple of weeks he’d done his best to drown his sorrows in any way he could, drinking, staying out at clubs until sunrise, sleeping with a bevy of women, gambling. None of it had worked. He still woke from sleep and Nicola was his first thought and the hollow pain would claw at him again. How had he fallen for her so hard and so fast? It repulsed him that he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

It was rather hilarious that for all his adult life he’d had no desire to marry. His parents’ soulless marriage helped to confirm that decision. Yet, the moment he realised that marriage to Nicola would be something positive and even joyous in his life, he’d found rejection once again. Only this time the rejection from Nicola hurt far more than his parent’s had ever done. His parents’ deplorable behaviour was constant and he could always trust in that continuing, uncaring attitude they had, but with Nicola, he’d been blind-sided. He never saw it coming. Ever since that fatal night in front of the theatre when she had given him a look of utter loathing, he’d been captivated and intrigued. For her, he wanted to be good and decent, to earn her approval at every opportunity. Only, his boorish manners had revolted her, and rightly so. He didn’t know how to undo the damage.

He sighed, despondency weighing heavy on him. “You will write a letter of apology, Fran.”

“Yes.” She nodded, dislodging more tears. “Though I cannot blame her if she never reads it and I never hear from her again.”

His heart constricted at the thought. Despite Nicola’s refusal of his marriage proposal, which he knew was untidily done, his affections remained true. When had he known she was the woman for him, he wasn’t certain. Only, he couldn’t survive a day, an hour, without thinking of her. He ached to hold her and see that soft smile she wore. He wanted her like no other woman in his life and it damn well confused him no end.

“You have to go to her, Nat.”

Frances’s words broke into his thoughts and he jerked straighter. “Go to her? I think not.” The very idea brought him out in a cold sweat.

“Who else will plead my forgiveness? I hardly think she’ll agree to see me.”

He felt torn in two. Yes, he wanted to see her, but could he actually face her so soon after his rash proposal? Shaking his head, he went to the cabinet and poured himself more brandy. When had he ever been a coward? Not until Nicola Douglas entered his world and brought his heart to life.

“Please, Nat, please do this for me.”

“Haven’t I extricated you from enough situations?” He gulped from the glass.

Frances wiped her eyes with a white linen handkerchief. “I will beg if that is what it’ll take.”

He swallowed the rest of his brandy in one swallow. “Very well. I’ll go, but I hope you’ve learnt a lesson from this, Fran. Good friendships aren’t so thick on the ground that they can be ruined without thought.”

“I know, and you don’t have to lecture me, brother,” she snapped. “I hardly see you surrounded by that many men you can call friend.”

“Frances!” He stared at her in astonishment. “Will you control your mouth?”

She closed her eyes wearily. “I’m sorry. Oh, I am hateful.”

“You need a bridle,” he scoffed, lifting the brandy bottle to fill his glass again, only he paused, and set it back down. If he were to call on Miss Douglas a clear head would be wise.

“When will you go?”

“Tomorrow. In the afternoon. I have appointments in the morning.”

“Be sincere, Nat.” Frances gave a wobbly smile.

“Naturally.” He turned away to hide his shaking hands, hoping the amount of alcohol was the reason for it and not the thought of facing Miss Douglas.

* * * 

“Nicola?” Meg lowered the morning’s newspaper. “Where are you going at such an early hour?”

“There’s an immigrant ship in the harbour, docked only last night. I’m going down to see if I can find some servants. A new employment agency has opened near Circular Quay.” Nicola straightened her pale blue skirts and adjusted her hat in the mirror above the fireplace.

“Well, find a cook if you can, breakfast was intolerable. A decent kitchen and house maid would be nice too.”

Nicola rolled her eyes. “I’ll do what I can. You could come with me, you know.”

Meg shifted slightly on the sofa. “Not today. I thought I might-”

Miss Nugent raced into the sitting room, waving a letter at Nicola. “Oh, Miss Douglas, you’ll never guess my excitement.”

“A position, Miss Nugent?”

“Yes.” Her face broke into a wide grin. “I have been accepted by a Mrs Farmer, from the Hawkesbury district. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Nicola patted her arm. “I’m extremely pleased for you.”

“Thank you. I am so relieved. I shall have three children to teach and an annual salary of seventy pounds. It’s not as much money as I’d have liked, but it is better than none at all.”

“I agree.” Nicola smiled, checking the money in her reticule. “I hope you’ll be most happy there.”

Meg stood, throwing the newspaper on the occasional table. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow evening. Mr Farmer is in town at the moment, but is returning home tomorrow and I shall go with him.” Miss Nugent nearly skipped in her excitement.

“I’ll arrange for Mrs Nesbit to provide a nice farewell meal.” Hoping the cook would be sober enough to prepare it, Nicola headed out into the hallway for her parasol. “I must go.” She left the house and hurried down the street. At the corner she caught an omnibus to take her into the city.

Once at the docks, Nicola waded through the stream of humanity that always seemed to be in this area, and headed to the agency. The quay surged with activity. The cries of swooping seagulls added to the noise of men unloading ships, of the clip-clopping of horses on the street, of the clanging at the iron mongers, the screeching of hawkers.

At the doorway leading to the offices, Nicola found a large group of people waiting their turn to enter, while inside the people were crammed cheek to jowl. Disheartened, she had no wish to stand around for an hour or so waiting her turn, and so leaving the office, she headed away from the harbour and up towards the city centre, hoping to do a little shopping.

Shying away from Lower George Street, to save bumping into Frances, whose behaviour still hurt her, Nicola crossed Bridge Street and entered the haberdashery on the corner.

After buying reels of cotton, needles, buttons and ordering white linen to be made into table cloths for the new establishment, she asked for them to be delivered and left the shop. She continued on, happy to window shop. It felt indolent to be away from the house, the women and the work ahead of her, but a morning spent doing nothing wouldn’t hurt just this once. Soon they’d be moving into the new house Mr Belfroy bought in Glebe and then there’d be weeks when she’d not have a moment to herself.

Walking along Macquarie Street, Nicola headed towards the Inner Domain. She dodged a cat that streaked out between two carts and flew past her skirts. A little boy holding his mother’s hand squealed, wanting to chase after it, but a command from his mother had him contentedly walking again. Nicola gazed after him for a moment. The small boy glanced over his shoulder, finger stuck in his mouth, large blue eyes unblinking and Nicola smiled.

The door to a large stone building on her right opened and two men and a woman strode out, talking. Nicola’s step faltered as she recognised Nathaniel West as one of the men. He was facing slightly away and had not noticed her. After shaking the man’s hand, he kissed the woman’s hand and tipped his hat to her. Nicola couldn’t take her eyes off him. That man, only eight feet from her, had asked her to marry him. It defied logic. How was it possible for two people to go about their lives when one of them has proposed marriage and the other has rejected it?

Nicola took a step back, hesitating on whether to cross the road or return the way she’d come. Meeting face to face with Mr West wasn’t an alternative. She stood on the edge of the street waiting for a wagon to rumble by, willing it to move faster so she could escape.

“Miss Douglas?”

Nicola, half turned, momentarily closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Summoning a smile, she spun back to him. “Mr West. How delightful.”

His wry smile made her heart skip a beat. “Come now, Miss Douglas, we both know delightful isn’t the correct word in this case. Perhaps...awkward would be more fitting?” He took her hand and bowed over it. “You are well?”

She nodded, blushing. “As you see.”

“Would you indulge me in a walk, Miss Douglas? There are things I must say.”

“No, sorry, I…”