Cassandra drew a fortifying breath. She could not allow doubt to take hold. Instead, she made a quick study of the space. The paneled walls were painted dark green, and a large desk stood in the center of the room. Two worn chairs flanked the fire, and tidy stacks of paper dotted the furniture. She was about to turn her attention to the landscape paintings on the wall when heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.
Mr. Warrington lingered in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space. Even though she anticipated his arrival, his sudden appearance caught her off guard.
She did not know when she had been so nervous—not even when she had first knocked on Briarton Park’s door.
His very presence unsettled her, with his windblown sandy-colored hair and distractingly sharp gray eyes. He stooped to pass through the door’s opening and brought with him the scent of the outdoors and horses and the faintest hint of wood smoke. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I wanted to get the girls settled back in the nursery.”
“No apology needed.” She forced her voice to be as calm as possible. “I interrupted your day.”
“Think nothing of it. As I said, it was just a riding lesson. Please, be seated.” He motioned to a chair across from his desk. “When Rachel was young, we lived in the city, in Plymouth, so riding lessons weren’t a priority. Now that we’re in the country, it seems like something they should know how to do. Do you ride, Miss Hale?”
“N-no,” she stammered. She settled into the chair. “I do not.”
He sat in the chair behind his desk, pausing to adjust his cravat, pulled his striped waistcoat straight, and smoothed his fingers through his tousled, curling hair. “There now. What is it I can do for you?”
Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, and the words she had so carefully planned felt thick and clumsy on her tongue. She lifted her chin. She had to at least appear confident. She met his gaze directly. “The other night you mentioned that if I needed any assistance to come to you, and you would help if you were able.”
He nodded. “Yes. Of course. And I meant it.”
Her words came out in a rush. “I understand you are in need of a governess for Miss Maria and Miss Rose.”
At this he raised his brows and shifted in his chair. “Well, we do have a governess engaged, but she will not be here until the spring.”
“But spring is many months away, and it is my understanding from Rachel that you are in need of one now.”
“She did, did she?” Mr. Warrington leaned his elbows on the top of his desk. “I see. And who exactly is it you would suggest to fill that role?”
Cassandra straightened her shoulders. “I would like to recommend myself for the position.”
Mr. Warrington stared at her. If he was shocked at her suggestion, he gave no indication.
After several seconds he stood from his chair, stepped out from behind the desk, and leaned against the desk’s edge. “It was my impression, Miss Hale, that you’re in Anston with your sights set on finding family. I was not aware you were seeking employment as well.”
“That is true—I am looking for my family, but one must be practical. Even if I’m successful, I doubt my professional situation will change.”
He pushed himself off the desk and moved to the window, where he stared out at the courtyard.
Unsure of how to interpret his actions, she could only fill the awkward silence. “I’ve taught young girls for the past four years, am proficient in French, and I—”
“Did you observe my daughters at church today?” he interrupted, not turning away from the window.
She hesitated at the odd diversion of topic. “Yes, sir. I did.”
He then turned around to face her. “And what was your opinion of their behavior?”
Cassandra recalled how the little one was playing in the grass and running with the other children. “I think they are spirited little girls. And isn’t that what you want to see? Children who are vivacious and enthusiastic for life? But for young ladies, this enthusiasm must be channeled appropriately.”
She bit her lip and mentally prepared herself to be thrown from the room.
But he did not expel her.
Instead, he rubbed his hand over his chin and narrowed his gaze on her. “And how does one do that?”
She shifted in her chair. “Discipline has its place, but I think a better approach is to praise children when they are doing something well. All children, by nature, want to please. I am sure your girls are no different. Over time they will seek to do right and will find less pleasure in doing something wrong. Today, for example, I would have looked for ways to praise them during the times when their behavior was appropriate, and then, if they did misbehave, redirect them to those very activities and behaviors that were more proper. Of course, it requires consistency, but I’ve found that it’s infinitely more effective than pointing out their faults.”
He again fell into silence for several moments, making his stoic expression even more difficult to interpret. “They lost their mother two years ago and moved here but a year ago, away from everything they had ever known. They’ve experienced much loss and change in their young lives. I fear another change would be trying. A governess is not a decision I undertake lightly.”
“Or perhaps a new change could be a saving grace.” She was determined to keep the conversation positive. “I know what it is like to interact with children who have suffered loss. All of the girls at the school where I taught had endured it, in one form or another. They were all separated from their families, and many were uncertain when, or even if, a reunion would come.”
“And what of your search for your family? How would a commitment to my family affect it? Would you abandon it, I wonder?”
“No. Not abandon it. But as I said, I don’t expect my situation to change. I seek answers. Information. Beyond that, I have no expectation. I need to work, Mr. Warrington. If I do not find employment in Anston, where I believe my search lies, then I will have to move elsewhere, which would make my search much more difficult.”
Eager to continue her momentum, she retrieved a missive from her reticule, stood, and joined him at the window. “This is my letter of recommendation. It was written by Mrs. Denton, the headmistress of the school where I taught and where I was educated.”
He looked at her, took the letter, and unfolded it.
Cassandra gazed out the window to the courtyard—the dirt grounds and the line of stone stables on the far side. She could not bring herself to watch his face as he read the words. As for the letter itself, she knew it by heart.
How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes?
“Miss Hale? Maria told me you were here!”
Cassandra whirled at the sudden shout to see Rachel, wide-eyed and smiling, in the doorway. She hurried in, hands outstretched, and took Cassandra’s gloved hands in her own. “You did come!”
The high pitch of Rachel’s voice tweaked Cassandra’s already tense nerves, and she was unsure if she should be grateful for the interruption or perturbed.
Rachel swung their joined hands side to side, and her words rushed forth seemingly unchecked. “I’m so glad you are here. But why are you in this study? It is so gloomy in here. Shall we go out for a walk? It will be dark soon. The gardens are so lovely this time of day, even if the sun is hiding. I just need to get my pelisse.”