Chapter Three

The next day during the Christmas service at the chapel, Eleanor found herself in a circumstance of simultaneous pleasure and disappointment. The rambunctious children had been successfully washed and dressed in pressed clothing early enough, by some miracle of the season, that even with a fifteen-minute walk to the chapel, they arrived with several minutes to spare. Most of the adults had gone ahead, riding in a carriage, but Eleanor stayed behind to escort the children.

When she shepherded them into the second of the family pews like so many sheep, she was pleasantly surprised to have her attention drawn from the children to the handsome Julian. He stood farther down the aisle, speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Brunson. The boys giggled, drawing Eleanor’s attention back to the children. She gave them her best scolding look, perfected over the decade she’d been a governess.

The boys promptly stopped elbowing and poking each other and sat on the bench with straight backs and forced smiles they’d put on in an attempt to show their innocence. She kept her stern expression on for a few more moments, though doing so took effort, as the boys’ sudden pious behavior was so clearly for her benefit.

Little Kate toddled in last, but when Eleanor stepped into the pew, she felt Julian’s presence behind her. She glanced up and felt her middle do a little flip. Perhaps she’d get to sit beside him during the service. She couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to do her duties as governess, as her attentions would be entirely diverted by the naval captain beside her. The prospect of being physically close to him again after so long filled a tiny corner of her heart with excitement, a corner she’d thought had died long ago.

“Captain Stephens!” Thomas said, in what the boy likely believed was a whisper, but surely carried ten feet or more. “Can we sit by you?” No doubt the boys hoped to hear stories of sea battles, which would not happen under a church roof.

“Please, Captain?” Andrew echoed. “May we?” he added, correcting his brother’s grammar.

Eleanor turned to the boys with her strict governess’s expression back in place, only this time with her eyes even wider. The boys’ eyes widened to match hers, and their mouths clamped shut as they folded their arms and faced forward like good boys.

“Impressive,” Julian said. He leaned in and spoke quietly, so only she could hear. “You’re able to make them behave without saying a single word. It’s like magic.”

The compliment sent a ripple of gooseflesh along Eleanor’s arms. Silly that such a simple statement would affect her so. “I’ve had practice,” she said with a smile.

“Would my sitting with the boys help them remain quiet throughout the service? Or would it only encourage them to be noisy in the one place they oughtn’t?”

His question made her heart drop slightly. She shouldn’t have gotten excited over the prospect of sitting beside him. Yes, they would have sat in silence, but she would have reveled in having him within whispering distance for a solid hour or more, even if they whispered nothing. Merely being near him again would have felt like a Christmas wish come true. Though she hadn’t made any wish on this year’s Stir-up Sunday.

She used to. But on the last Sunday of November, while she’d encouraged the girls to close their eyes and made their own wishes on their turns stirring the pudding, Eleanor didn’t do the same. She’d lived through enough Christmases to know that silent pleas made on Stir-up Sunday were only childhood fancies. She’d made plenty of such silent requests over the years, and they hadn’t come true. She knew better than to put stock in such things.

“Sitting with the boys would likely help,” she admitted. “They’ll want to impress you with their maturity, no doubt.”

“Then I’ll sit with them.” Julian nodded in lieu of a bow, then entered the pew and worked his way to the far side of the bench, where the boys demanded—though to their credit, quietly—that he sit between them. He draped his long arms around both boys, who, under Julian’s strong influence, appeared as immovable as stone.

“Good men,” Julian told the boys, who sat up even straighter at his praise.

Little Kate reached up to Eleanor with both arms. “May I?” she asked, then clarified, “Sit in your lap?”

“Of course, dear.” Eleanor slipped into the pew and sat on the polished wood, where she settled Kate onto her lap. “Now it’s time to be very good and very quiet as the minister speaks to us.”

Kate cupped her hands about her mouth and whispered, “About Jesus?”

“About the night he was born, yes. It’s time to be very still.” Eleanor pressed a finger to her own lips.

Kate mimicked the gesture with a single pudgy index finger and nodded with sober eyes.

“Good girl,” Eleanor whispered into the child’s ear just as the minister climbed the steps to the pulpit and the congregation went quiet.

Oh, that I could hold my own child thus, Eleanor thought with a bittersweet ache.

Such had not been her fate, alas, but if she wasn’t to have her own children, at least she had the fortune to work closely with those born of someone else—a far preferable choice to many other types of employment older single women had to rely on.

For the entire service, Eleanor tried to pay attention, but the presence of one Captain Julian Stephens a few feet away succeeded in creating a distraction beyond her ability to overcome. Halfway through, she allowed her thoughts to take flights of fancy along the lines of what she’d once imagined of her life with Julian, back when they were still young, before the world had schooled them in realities.

That was before he’d made a respectable name for himself, rising well above the humble station she’d forever be compelled to remain in. Most days, she accepted her lot and enjoyed educating the Brunson girls in everything they needed to know, from literature to French and Latin to etiquette and even some arithmetic.

The latter wasn’t often seen as necessary for girls to learn, but Eleanor knew that many a lady served an important function in running her household and found far more success doing so if she understood how to count basic figures and manage money. Generally, Eleanor felt content enough, knowing that she performed an important work in raising little girls who would one day be women in need of the very skills they were learning from her.

Moments of discontent crept in, of course, but they were rare and quashed without much more than an intentional shift of thought or attention.

But not today. Not with Julian so near, not with so many hopes she’d once dreamed returning to the fore unbidden, many of which had been forgotten. They now showed themselves with greater clarity, as if a bright ray of sun lit them up and removed all shadows—shadows Eleanor had placed them in deliberately, to protect her heart.

At long last, the service ended, and the two Brunson pews emptied. Eleanor led the way with the girls, followed by Julian and the boys, then their parents and the Edgleys. The family servants who were working over the holiday descended the stairs from the gallery.

As Eleanor walked outside into the wet day, she wished she and the children had been able to take the other carriage instead of walking, no matter that they were so near the house. Rain had come down during the service, making the road little more than a winding ribbon of slippery mud. She took Kate’s hand on one side and Emma’s on the other and proceeded to pick her way through the worst of the mud, which ran along the road before the chapel.

When they reached the lesser-traveled road leading to the house, the way proved far less treacherous. And after preventing two falls from Kate and one from Emma on the muddier road, they emerged on the other side of a particularly bad area onto mostly wet gravel with the occasional divot and small puddle for the remainder of the way.

The boys had somehow convinced Julian to walk with them instead of taking the carriage back, and soon Eleanor discovered that the road was plenty wide for several adults. When Kate released her hand and skipped ahead with Emma toward home, Julian stepped to Eleanor’s side and walked with her.

“I hope Henry sends a buggy to fetch the goose,” Julian said suddenly.

For the slightest moment, Eleanor didn’t know what he meant—having him so near made thinking difficult. “Oh, Cook is on her way to fetch the goose.” ’Twas a rare kitchen, even at a fine estate, that possessed an oven large enough to fit a large goose for the Christmas feast. Some years, the family had other fowl, which didn’t necessitate a trip to buy a fully-cooked goose on Christmas Day.

Eleanor tried to find something to say in response but found her tongue firmly attached to the bottom of her mouth. A strange tension spread between her and Julian, and she didn’t know how to break through it. Then again, ten years was plenty of time to build a barrier. Removing such a barrier couldn’t be done in a matter of hours.

And if such a barrier and its accompanying tension were successfully removed, what would conversation be like then? Eleanor the Spinster would still be speaking with Captain Stephens. He wouldn’t see the young woman she’d once been. Perhaps breaking down the awkward barrier would not be worth the effort after all.

They walked along for a few moments in silence before hearing rapid footsteps behind them. Henry appeared, pink-cheeked and smiling widely.

Julian looked at him, puzzled. “Where’s Mrs. Brunson?” he asked Henry.

“She’s gone with Cook to fetch the goose.”

“Ah.” Julian said, and they continued walking. The girls had all but disappeared into the distance, and the boys were close on their heels. That left the three adults who’d once been young friends.

Why did growing up have to introduce complexities? A grown woman simply wasn’t a girl anymore. Societal rules were different about how men—even those she’d known all her life—spoke to and interacted with her. Add to that the fact that she was considerably lower in station than either of these two men, and it was no wonder she felt an awkward unease.

How, precisely, did one navigate uncharted waters such as these?

“Miss Hadfield, I’m glad you stayed through the holiday,” Henry said.

“You are?” she said, aware of her voice quaking. She swallowed to prevent it from cracking again.

This was her fifth year as governess at Willowsmeade, and not once had she ever left for the holiday. Why would she, when her only living relations were her cousins? She supposed she could request to not work during the Christmas holiday, but in that case, her presence at Willowsmeade would complicate matters. Was she then family or servant? Best to simply continue on as governess through the holiday season as if nothing had changed.

And nothing ever had. Not until this Christmas. Julian’s return changed everything.

“I’m very glad you’re here,” Henry continued, “because I’m concerned about our dear friend Julian.” He thumped a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You see, Miss Hadfield, I’m in need of your assistance.”

Eleanor and Julian exchanged befuddled glances. “You are?” she asked.

“Indeed, I am. You see, I’ve long said that Julian must find a good wife. I suspect he’s finally ready to abandon naval life, and the proper time has come for him to find a suitable lady.”

“I may need some time to lose my sea legs,” Julian said with a smile. A bit of color crept up his neck, though Eleanor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“Your sea legs will be gone soon enough,” Henry said, batting his hand as if the idea were a fly. “The difficult part is in finding the right lady.”

Henry leaned forward to look around Julian at Eleanor, who prayed he didn’t note her own pinked cheeks. A similar color continued to rise on Julian’s neck, though likely for different reasons. He probably did not enjoy being the subject of such a conversation.

For her part, Eleanor’s cheeks felt so hot that they were surely nearing crimson. Thinking of Julian with another woman as his wife set her heart racing and her throat tightening. She daren’t look up at Julian again to see if he approved of the idea, but he didn’t voice any protest, which was answer enough to her silent question.

And why wouldn’t Julian want a wife? He should want one, and she should be glad to see him happily married. Should. Instead, the idea felt like a brick in her middle.

Henry continued, clearly unaware of the awkwardness he’d created, “I need all the help I can get to marry off my sorry bachelor friend, and you, dear Miss Hadfield, are just the person to help.”

Eleanor wanted to say that seeking out and finding Julian a wife was the very last thing she was suited to do. Any Mrs. Stephens had to be worthy of him, which eliminated most women out of hand, including Eleanor herself. If her father hadn’t squandered his estate, lost her dowry, and died penniless, and she were several years younger, then things might have turned out differently. But they hadn’t.

“I’m considering hosting a ball,” Henry went on, “with the specific object of finding Julian a wife.”

“Please,” Julian began, “there’s no need—”

“I insist.” Henry clapped his hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You deserve the happiness of a wife and children. If you’re done exploring the world by ship, I can lead you to happiness on terra firma.”

“Can you, now?” Julian replied dryly. He clearly didn’t believe Henry could do any such thing, no matter how pure his intent. “We are very different men, you and I.”

“Why does a difference in character have any bearing whatsoever on your finding a suitable match?” Henry demanded. “Especially when I’m enlisting the help of the one other person who knew you as a boy and therefore knows your temperament as well as I do.” They reached the drive leading up to the house. Henry stopped and turned to look at them. “So, what say you?”

Was he directing the question at her or Julian? She had no memory of walking the last several minutes, only of the hideous conversation. She must have traversed those yards under her own power, one foot after the other, all without conscious thought, her mind entirely preoccupied by Henry’s intent on finding a wife for Julian—and his insistence that she have a role in the venture.

“Hmm?” Henry murmured, brows raised. He clearly expected an answer. “Can I rely on you to help me find the perfect wife for Julian at a ball?”

“I’m standing not two feet from you,” Julian said. “I can hear every word, Henry.”

The corner of Henry’s mouth quirked with amusement. “I should hope so. You aren’t so old that you need a listening horn, but you are a pathetic old bachelor, and you’ll remain one unless those of us who care about you take action to prevent you from growing old and miserable all alone.”

“You’re daft.” Julian walked down the drive alone.

Henry folded his arms and watched their friend’s retreat. He raised his voice to Julian, calling down the drive. “Only the slightest of differences exists between daft and genius.”

In response, Julian waved Henry off and kept walking without another look back.

“He’ll come around,” Henry said to Eleanor.

“Will he, though?” she said, speaking without thinking.

“He will, if he’s not the one who’s daft.” Henry laughed at his own joke, clapped twice, and rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “I daresay this will be rather enjoyable. Come, Miss Hadfield. We have a ball to plan.”

“But what about my duties with the children?” This was the biggest and most obvious argument against giving her aid to Henry’s mission.

“They won’t fall behind in their studies. It’ll be just a few days, is all. If you’d taken the holiday season off, we’d have managed, wouldn’t we?”

“I suppose so.”

Eleanor looked down the drive after Julian, who was quickly growing smaller in the distance. She wanted to take his arm, walk with him, talk with him. Be with him. But not with Henry as witness. Not after being asked to help Julian find a wife. And he’d seemed more amused by the venture than opposed to it.

The one kiss they’d shared a decade hence, when he’d said goodbye on these very grounds, had lost its meaning. He no longer loved her. Naturally, he didn’t. They were barely more than children then. They’d both had life experience and lessons in the interim that had changed them. He was no more the man he’d been than she was the same girl. She could not begrudge him from growing in a different direction, away from her.

In somewhat of a daze, she headed inside with Henry, knowing that on Christmas, of all days, there would be precious little time to do any sort of thing like planning a ball at which Julian was to meet his future spouse.

Inside, as Eleanor took off her pelisse and hat, she dearly hoped Henry would abandon his plans. How long would Julian be at Willowsmeade? Through Twelfth Night? She could hardly bear the thought of him leaving, yet part of her hoped he’d depart soon so she didn’t have to plan her future misery.