“I will give you time to think it over,” he continued. His voice, she noticed, had taken on that same edge of gruffness it had exhibited when he’d first encountered her and Zora in the stable at Langford. “As much time as you need.”

  He bowed stiffly then and retreated a step towards the door. “I’ll not keep you, Mrs. Benton. Good day.”

  He turned and walked away from her. He was almost to the door before she found her voice again, lodged as it was beneath a knot in her throat.

  “Yes,” she said, the single word sounding through the room like a rifle shot.

  Mr. Halberd’s progress halted, his fingers still reaching for the door, his hat still dangling from his other hand. When he turned, his lips were slightly parted, his brow furrowed over eyes that seemed to have grown darker over the last minute.

  Julia swallowed. “I accept.” She did not need time to think it over. She did not want to think it over. Thinking would lead to weighing her options. When all she could see was an opportunity for change, one she knew she needed to grasp as soon as possible. “But on one condition.”

  The line between his brows smoothed out. But he licked his lips and he batted his hat against his thigh. “And what is that?”

  “That I continue to teach here. Every Sunday. As long as I have pupils who wish to learn, I will not desert them.”

  Her voice did not shake. It would have, she thought, years ago. When she had been so determined to be a good and compliant wife, and hopefully a mother-

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to stop teaching, Mrs. Benton. I hope you did not mistake me for someone who would have required you to leave your post here.”

  But she did not fully know what sort of person he was, really. Only that he had lost his wife in the same accident that had taken her husband, that they had existed on the periphery of each other’s lives for a dozen years. Acquaintances at best, she told herself. A nod to one another at church, or if they passed each other in town. A rare occurrence even then, as Julia’s circle of society had shrunken to nonexistent dimensions after Frederick’s death, and Mr. Halberd had spent the majority of the last few years in London with his daughter. And yet…

  She wanted to think well of him. There he stood, offering her a position as a caretaker to his child. And who was she to gain his attention? Who was her family? What connections did she have? Nothing worth garnering notice, at least as far as the previous four decades of her life had demonstrated. And she was poor, that greatest of social sins. And she would be poorer still as the years went along. Fading into a creature who might finally acquire a dose or two of charity from those around her in the twilight of her life.

  “Thank you,” she said, suddenly aware that his offer of employment could be construed as an act of charity towards her. A way of making amends for her loss, though she knew he was not at fault for what had happened that night, five years before. Unless he could claim power over the very skies and had ordered the ice and snow to fall heavily upon that narrow road. “I expect this means…” Her fingers tangled together after she slipped into her pelisse. “Am I to live at Langford?”

  It hadn’t crossed her mind until that moment, that he would expect her to move into the great house on the hill. A sudden worry struck her, that she would be giving up some of her independence with such a move, but then she was a poor widow of no account. Whatever independence she thought she’d achieved after the death of her husband no doubt measured at a higher level in her mind than in reality.

  “I would anticipate it, yes.” His eyes widened, and Julia considered that until that very moment, he had neglected to consider the fact of her living at Langford, as well. “I suppose I shall have to arrange for your things to be brought to the house.”

  “Well, I don’t have much.” She tried to laugh, and hated how forced it sounded. “Probably one fair-sized trunk should be enough.” And she pressed her lips together into a tight line, holding back a slight prickling behind her eyes at the thought of how her entire life could be packed into a single trunk and trundled across the countryside.

  “I will have a room made ready for you and alert the staff about having another person living beneath our roof. Mrs. Holland, my housekeeper… she will manage everything, I’m sure.” He lifted his hat, still in his hand, and looked at it as though he’d entirely forgotten its existence while he had been speaking with her. “And I’ll speak to Zora as well, let her know that she will be welcoming a new governess soon.”

  He settled his hat on his head while Julia fiddled with the buttons of her pelisse. She realized that he might expect her to leave the schoolhouse at the same time as him, might expect to offer his arm to her or even walk her back to Mrs. Cochran’s, all behavior typical of a gentleman. So she ignored her bonnet hanging on its peg and instead turned around and walked back to the table where the primers were stacked. “When do you wish for me to come to Langford?” she asked, and sorted through the thin books in a way that she hoped made it seem very important that she should sort them.

  Mr. Halberd tipped his head an inch to one side. She noticed he did that, when he was thinking. “Three days? I can send a carriage for you on Wednesday morning.”

  “Yes, that will do.”

  “Wednesday, then.” He raised his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Benton.”

  “Good day, Mr. Halberd.”

  She watched him leave. It wasn’t until he had stepped through the door and closed it behind him that she realized she had been holding her breath, waiting for him to be gone. She abandoned the primers then, checked the remnants of the fire in the stove, and plucked up her bonnet and fit it on her head. She went through all the motions of leaving for the day as if she was striking things off a list, even though she had done all of it so many times before she should not have had to think about it.

  But her mind was occupied with too many new things for the mundane activities of her everyday life to take their proper place in the forefront of her thoughts. She would be living at Langford in only three days’ time. She would be in charge of the care and education of a child she had only met a few days before, a child she would no doubt be expected to raise through to adulthood.

  A daunting prospect, that. And she would be living beneath the same roof as Mr. Halberd, a fact she saved for last as it was the one most likely to send her racing out the door to catch up with the man himself, to refuse his offer and tell him that she couldn’t…

  She couldn’t…

  She tied the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, tight enough to make the sides of her jaw ache. She was being nonsensical, she realized. The very true, very real facts of the matter were that Isadora Halberd was in need of a governess, and Julia could not live in Mrs. Cochran’s cramped upper rooms forever. She would have steady employment, steady income, a fine home in which to live, and perhaps most importantly, she would have company to keep her from sinking into the quagmire of her own thoughts. A young girl and her father and a houseful of servants. People to talk to, and something with which to occupy her days apart from her scant hour with her Sunday pupils.

  The air outside the schoolhouse was crisp and bright, like an early apple just picked from its branch. Julia blinked at the onslaught of sunlight, even the brim of her bonnet failing to adequately shield her face from the full brunt of the cloudless sky.

  She would walk home, she told herself, sketching out the rest of her day as though she was paving the very road in front of her feet. She would begin to sort through some of her belongings, see what should be kept or discarded, what was worth having transported all the way to Langford. And no, it would not be much. She had brought so little to her marriage with Frederick, having had to cobble together a dowry from what had to be shared among three sisters and an inheritance that would go to none of them upon their father’s death.

  Ah, but enough of that.

  Three days, and today was already waning. And then she would be living at Langford, looking after Zora.

  She quickened her pace, the chill in the air reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

  Three days…

  And despite all of the tasks to be done during that time, the lesson plans for her new charge that she should already be outlining inside her head, the packing and speaking to Mrs. Cochran about leaving her rooms, Julia found she could concentrate on little more than a tall gentleman standing in a shaft of sunlight, the dark blue of his gaze shining almost black as jet as he watched her.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  Wednesday morning came, and the carriage arrived at ten o’clock. Julia had been ready for it. Indeed, she had been ready for the last two days, living out of her single trunk and two small bags. Everything else had already been packed and sorted since Sunday evening, ready to be carried downstairs the moment the servants from Langford appeared.

  And they announced their arrival with a knock on the door, two smart footmen climbing up the narrow staircase to help her carry down her things and load them onto the carriage. Julia kept to the background, putting on her bonnet and gloves, making her farewells to Mrs. Cochran. Mrs. Cochran gifted her with a small basket of cakes for the drive, as though she was departing on a long journey across the country and not merely shifting her things from one side of the parish to the other.

  She sat in the carriage surrounded by fine upholstery, by velvet curtains framing the windows. She had been in this same carriage only a few days before, but there was a different aspect to it now, a feeling as if she belonged in it, even if the sensation was only a fleeting one. Mr. Halberd was not the wealthiest gentleman in Lancashire, but he was the wealthiest gentleman in all of Barrow-in-Ashton and its immediate surroundings, and so of course his carriage would be outfitted with fine upholstery and fine curtains. Of course he would even have a carriage to upholster and curtain in the first place.

  She was sure there were people of greater means who would look down on the small, faded patch on one corner of the seat, the scuff marks on the floor as evidence that his wealth was nothing of a remarkable sort. But as Julia’s upbringing had never been marked by extravagance, and her years as Frederick's wife had always included strict adherence to a budget, to ride regularly in a private carriage was a luxury she had not often enjoyed over the previous four decades of her life.

  It seemed as though she had hardly settled in her seat before they’d already left the bulk of the village behind them. Up the long drive to Langford, the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the carriage while Julia forced herself to sit still, her hands clasped tight around her basket of cakes, her gaze pinned to the view outside the window as the house came into view.

  The same gravel ground beneath the soles of her shoes as she stepped down from the carriage. Her arrival had ignited a small storm of activity, the footmen unloading her trunk while another servant came to unhook the horses from the carriage. And amid all of that, an older woman stepped out from the rear entrance of the house to greet her.

  Or rather… to stand and survey the work of the servants before her gaze cut towards Julia with the swiftness of a scythe.

  “Mrs. Benton?”

  The questioning tone seemed superfluous, as Julia doubted the carriage had been sent into the village multiple times that morning to pick up frumpy widows and bring them back to Langford. “Yes,” she replied, and took a few steps forward. “And you are…?”

  “Mrs. Holland.”

  Right. The housekeeper.

  There was an undercurrent to the moment as both women faced each other. There had been a shift, Julia realized, since the last time she had been to Langford, only the week before. Then, Julia had been a guest of sorts, the daughter of a gentleman and the widow of the former vicar. Now, she arrived as a governess. An employee. And worse yet, one who would hover between the worlds of paid subordinate and member of the family without being fully accepted into either sphere.

  And in the flash of Mrs. Holland’s eyes, Julia saw that same knowledge come to life in the housekeeper’s thoughts. She would not be invited to the drawing room for a round of tea and cakes and idle gossip. She was not a guest. Nor was she a part of the family, no matter how close she would undoubtedly be to Zora over the upcoming years. Even looking at the house, she noticed that she had been driven around to the rear of the building. To the servants’ entrance.

  Julia raised her chin an inch and set her shoulders, despite the gathering of sweat on her palms and the pounding of her heart like a child’s toy drum behind her sternum.

  “I am the housekeeper here at Langford,” Mrs. Holland said, her own chest puffing up as if to assert herself at the top of the household. It was a superfluous statement, but she seemed determined to wear her position like a sash across her chest, greeting Julia as though she saw her as a usurper. “I am not sure how much Mr. Halberd has told you about the running of the house or the schedule we adhere to, but you will always come to me if and when you are in any need of assistance.”

  Julia did not know what was expected of her. Did the housekeeper wish for her to cower beneath the older woman’s age and experience? Or would Mrs. Holland prefer for her to assert herself as someone on equal standing? There would be politics here, but Julia had no interest in treading the maneuvers of some silent war between the upper and lower levels of the house.

  She had come here for employment, to help Zora, and also for something she had not been privileged enough to experience for some time: a purpose.

  “Come along,” Mrs. Holland gestured her forward. “I will see to it that you are properly warmed up by the fire while they take your things to your room.” She spared another glance for the servants then, her gaze narrowing on the trunk they had already unloaded from the carriage. “Is that everything you’ve brought?”

  “Yes,” Julia said, and as pleasantly as she could manage. “Only the one trunk.” She owned only a few gowns, a few books, a few personal possessions. It was an odd thing, how each time she left one home for another, she seemed to slough away more of her worldly goods until she suspected another decade or so of living would see her with nothing but the gown on her back and a single, dog-eared book tucked beneath her arm.

  She was led through the same back corridors of the house Mr. Halberd had taken her through the week before, but instead of veering off towards the family’s rooms, Mrs. Holland escorted her to a small sitting room tucked away at the end of the hall, lit by a single high window and a desultory fire crackling limply in a narrow fireplace.

  The housekeeper’s room, Julia guessed, taking in the mixture of old and mismatched furniture, a writing desk stacked with well-wor ledgers and neat lists, and small bits of comfort tucked in wherever they would fit.

  “We do not yet have a full complement of staff here at Langford,” Mrs. Holland said after they were both seated in front of the fire, Julia still holding onto her basket of cakes as though it was a lifeline. There was no offer of tea, she noticed. No offer of anything stronger, either, though she doubted the housekeeper would dole out glasses of sherry at half past ten in the morning. “Mr. Halberd spends the majority of his days out with his steward, seeing to the improvements that need to be made to the estate since he has been away in London. He’ll often be gone before his daughter has risen and sometimes does not return until well after dark. We do not entertain yet, and we have only a small kitchen staff. Most of the rooms are still closed up, so if you came here expecting balls and dinners to be held every few weeks as they were in Mrs. Halberd’s time, then I am afraid you will find yourself to be sorely disappointed.”

  Julia tried not to let her astonishment show in her face. Did Mrs. Holland truly believe her to have taken on the position as Zora’s governess in order to gain some sort of proximity to a more glittering style of life?

  “I expected nothing of the kind,” Julia remarked, while keeping her breathing even. “I was taken on as Miss Halberd’s governess, and so I was not anticipating any additional frills or extravagance, as you might put it.”

  Mrs. Holland’s expression grew tight, as if someone had sprinkled her with starch and pressed a hot iron to her features.

  Julia wondered if the housekeeper had thought she would be a quiet, biddable sort; the former vicar’s wife left to molder away in her small set of rooms at the top of Mrs. Cochran’s house. The previous years of her life had set such an example, all the way back to her childhood when, as the eldest daughter, she had recognized acquiescence as bowing to the responsibilities laid on her shoulders in that role.

  But despite the fact less than an hour had passed since Julia had left Mrs. Cochran’s, a strange feeling of liberty stole over her. She was glad to hear that Mr. Halberd spent most of his daylight hours away from the house. It would give her more freedom, she hoped, with Zora’s education and care. And the less she saw of him overall…

  “Miss Halberd has been without a nurse for three months,” Mrs. Holland continued, breaking into Julia’s thoughts. “The girl needs proper looking after. She has been given too much independence, far too much. I do not envy you your task. But if you can take her in hand, all the better. She will make a fine match when she is older, especially considering the dowry her father plans to settle on her.”

  Julia bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her teeth from grinding themselves down to dust. It was crass to speak of Zora’s value, as though she was a horse or a plot of land to be portioned off and sold. As though there was nothing else of worth about the girl beyond what she could provide to the world as a wife and potential mother.

  “Well, let us see about your room,” Mrs. Holland said, and rose from her chair, indicating that Julia should follow.

  She was led up the servants’ stairs, a narrow climb that twisted steadily upwards and smelled faintly of damp.The housekeeper took her to a room at the back of the house, past furniture hiding beneath dust cloths and shadowed portraits bearing the haze of a half dozen years’ worth of dust and smoke on their surfaces. “You will be warmer here in the coming months. The front of the house takes too much effort to heat, and better for you to be nearer the nursery and all of Miss Halberd’s things.”