A Disguised Governess for the Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

The candlelight in Lady Catherine Wickham’s hands flickered gently as the cold night air slithered through the windowsill. With one hand fastened to her long silk dress and the other clamped tight around the candleholder, she managed to keep her eyes peeled as she climbed further up the stairs.

“Do not worry, Catherine. There are no ghosts in the cabinet.” A voice roared from.

below her, followed by snippy and elegant laughter that seemed to travel around the house for some reason. Catherine’s hand steadied around the candleholder, her resolve slightly quivering for the briefest of seconds. When she had volunteered to be the one who went to get the other biscuits from the cabinet, she had no idea that it was going to be this tasking. The air continued to echo through the walls, terrifying her even more. She finally reached the kitchen and studied the empty and dark environment. From the windowsill, she could see the moonlight filter in, casting an incandescent glow on the hardwood floors and the wooden cabinets just a few yards away from her. The biscuits must be somewhere in there and the quicker she found them, the quicker she could get back downstairs to her friends. The mild hollow winds coming from outside taunted her as she walked, causing her heart to beat hard out of her chest. 

“Have you found them yet? They may be pretty hard to find.” A voice echoed from below again. 

“I’m looking.” She screamed back, thankful that her voice did not have the same echo effect because there was only so much she could handle at the moment. She moved closer to the cabinet, feeling the moonlight settle properly on her pale face. The wind did the same as well and a broad chill crashed into her. It didn’t deter her though. At least not yet. She pulled the cabinet doors open and started to rifle through the space. Her hands swept through teabags, herbs and the occasional fruits but those were not what she was in the mood for. 

“You should find them by the left cabinet!” Another voice echoed from below her. Catherine rolled her eyes, letting her body freeze for a moment and resisted the urge to jump out of her skin, even though it got harder with each passing second coated in silence. She slammed the doors shut and moved to the cabinet by the left as ordered. It did not take her as much time to find the biscuits. They’d been baked by her friend, Lady Beatrice who had been the one screaming orders at her from the floor below her. She crouched down and pulled out the tray then stood back up, the smell of utter floury goodness filling her nostrils and momentarily sparing her from the feeling that seemed to make the hairs on the back of her neck rise. 

With one hand now on the tray of biscuits and the other on the candleholder, Catherine made her way out of the kitchen, turning her back to the wind, the glow of the moonlight and the creaks of the hardwood floor. 

“Focus on the biscuits. Just—Just focus on the biscuits.” She whispered, hoping her jagged words would somehow keep her stable and unafraid. 

She climbed down the stairs, counting in the back of her head as she moved, hoping and praying that nothing had suddenly materialized from thin air and was following her. 

“Almost there.” She whispered to herself again reaching the last set of steps. Then the most unexpected and extraordinarily shocking thing happened. 

Her candlelight went out. 

No, no, no. 

Suddenly thrust into darkness as she was, surrounded by only walls and hollow winds that seemed to travel everywhere in the house, her heart started to pound, almost threatening to escape her chest. 

She hastened her footsteps, ignoring the sound the hardwood floor made beneath her feet. Now was no longer the time to worry about that. Her breath hitched as she traveled the remaining flight of stairs, her grip as tight as it could possibly be on the tray of biscuits. 

“It’ll all be over soon.” She whispered to herself 

She steadied herself once she was down the stairs. She was no longer surrounded by total darkness; she could see the fireplace from the drawing room directly ahead and some of her friends lounging in the chairs and laughing at something she couldn’t hear—or see. 

“Boo.” A voice roared behind her and her body completely went still. She could feel her knuckles go white and the blood in her veins halt to a complete stop. Then laughter followed. 

“You would not survive in a haunted house, do you know that?” Lady Beatrice’s voice laughed behind her. She stiffened even more, refusing to let what just happened break her. Yet a smile threatened the edges of her lips, and she wasn’t certain as to how long she had. Beatrice had always had that effect 

“Considering the fact that I came to spend the night in one, I would say I am doing well so far,” she responded, beginning to walk again as she headed to the drawing room. She could hear Beatrice’s footsteps right behind her. 

“Do not blame my house. Blame the weather. At least it is not raining. I reckon you would not like it here if it were.” 

Catherine shrugged. “I suppose we may never know because I do not intend to spend more than a night here or any other night if possible. I only want to ever come here in the afternoons from now on.” 

“Oh, do not be like that Catherine. At the very least tell me you enjoy some of the spookiness that thrives in the house sometimes.”

“I do not enjoy things like this, Beatrice. You know that.” 

“Oh well.” Beatrice muttered as they both walked into the drawing room, heads held high as they both settled beside each other on the other side chairs in the room. “You better get ready.”

Lady Marianne, Catherine’s other friend who, like her, was also spending the night at Beatrice’s estate looked up, her eyes gleaming from the presence of more biscuits. 

A mild frown crossed Catherine’s face. “Get ready for what?” 

“We are about to start telling tales. I know how much you love to tell a story Catherine. But in honor of tonight, we’ll be telling scary tales only.”

Catherine scoffed. “I cannot do that.” 

“Oh but you will.” Beatrice beamed as she responded, enjoying every single moment in which Catherine grew even more frazzled. “You cannot resist telling a story, Catherine. And you will tell one tonight.” 

“Those are the rules.” Marianne added, a glint of mischief evident in her deep blue eyes. Catherine rubbed her hands across her forehead, wondering in that moment if she had made a great mistake coming here and choosing to spend the night. 

“I will be going first.” Beatrice said, reaching for one of the biscuits that were now sitting on the table in the center of the drawing room. It is called The Weeping Widow of Marling Forest. 

“Is that really the title or are you trying to terrify me again?” Catherine asked, narrowing her eyes at her scheming friend who still had mischief written all over her face as well

“Two things can be true at once.” Beatrice responded. “This story is about the daughter of a minor noble who got married against her will to a wealthy old Lord.” 

Catherine shifted in her seat. 

“She protested day and night before the wedding but unfortunately, her protests and screams fell completely on deaf ears. So on the night of the wedding, she took action on her own and fled into Marling Forest instead. With nothing but her gown and slippers, she was desperate more than anything to escape the world. So she ran without looking back and disappeared forever. 

A colder air settled into the drawing room despite the fireplace. 

“Some say she died of heartbreak. Others say it was something much worse. Travelers who pass through Marling Forest in the middle of the night often say they see a woman in white wandering through the trees, crying out behind her veiled face for help. While some people turn the other way and make their way out of the forest, others decide to follow her. And when they do—” Beatrice’s voice broke, only to add dramatic effect. “They never return. They always disappear without a trace.” Beatrice murmured. 

The stillness in the room broke when Catherine reached for a biscuit. “Great story, Beatrice. Very entertaining. But alas it has not terrified me in the slightest,” she said, biting into her biscuit and knowing what she said was not entirely true. 

“Oh, but it is not just a story.” Beatrice continued. “They say if you stand near the old oak tree in the forest at twilight. You can hear her weeping. It’s a soft broken sound that’s half wind and half voice.” 

Catherine felt her voice stiffen. “No it is not.” 

“Some even say her husband had been so angered by her defiance that the gods cursed him as well. After his death, he was forced to follow her around forever. So she isn’t the only one lingering around the woods. They say she isn’t the one who takes the souls of those who follow her after hearing her call for help—her husband does.” 

The biscuit froze in Catherine’s mouth and for the briefest of moments, she could see the fireplace roar even more to life and cast an eerie glow on Beatrice’s warm brown eyes. 

“Okay, Marianne, it’s your turn.” Beatrice beamed, turning to the other young lady, whose lips curved up in a smile. Beatrice’s voice had been so casual and light like she hadn’t just told one of the most bone-chilling stories Catherine had ever heard. 

Marianne laughed and shifted in her seat. “Mine is called The Poisoned Ball.”

Catherine raised her hands in despair. What in God’s name did she manage to get herself into this night?

Also, why did the fireplace seem to come even more to life even more after Marianne announced the name of her story?

“Decades ago, a couple known only as Lord and Lady Carroway threw the most lavish ball the countryside had ever seen. Nobles came from miles beyond, donning their silks and their jewels. The party lasted the night, with dance, music and the brightest array of foods London had ever seen. But by dawn, every guest lay on the house floor, face twisted in terror after taking their last breath. They were all dead.” 

Catherine frowned. “What?” 

“None except the musicians and the servants survived. The manor still stands on the edge of the countryside today.” Beatrice continued. “They say they all sipped from poisoned chalices. The chalices had only been used that night by the richest of the rich. The musicians and the servants were not allowed to drink from them. Some say it was Lady Carroway herself who had poisoned the chalices. They say she had been so disgusted by the cruelty and utter vanity of her social world that she had decided to end it all and take as many people as possible with her by throwing the biggest party the world had ever seen.” 

Catherine scoffed again. “That can’t be true. Is it possible to throw the biggest party the world has ever seen?”

“Oh but it is.” Marianne responded. “They say the candles have never burned brighter than the night they all died. They say Lady Carroway’s spirit still presides over the ruins. Anyone who ventures too close will get drawn by the sound of music and the smell of the food they had served that night. Once they enter, they fall into fevered dreams and never wake up again. Lady Carroway’s spirit was deemed so gruesome that she has been cursed to forever host a ball that nobody leaves.” 

Catherine felt her throat run dry. A ball that nobody leaves. 

That must sound scary, even to the most ardent of partiers. 

“Your turn, Catherine.” Beatrice beamed as her two friends both turned to look at her at the same time, the fire reflecting off their sharp eyes.

Catherine’s eyes darted from one friend to the other. 

“I don’t know if I should tell this story—or any more stories. We have our fill of nightmares for the night.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Catherine. No one likes a coward.” Beatrice reprimanded, the mischievous smile on her face growing by the second.”

“I am not a coward.” 

“Then tell the story.” Marianne whispered. 

“Alright. It’s called The Silent Governess.”

Instead of lingering too long on the story, she would hurry through it so they could go back to their usual conversation. The last thing she wanted to have to deal with was waking up terrified in the middle of the night. 

“In Briarcombe Manor, an estate not too far from here—”

The estate didn’t exist. Unlike her cruel friends, she was actually telling a real tall tale, with no truth to it at all. 

“The family hired a governess. She was quiet, modest and plain. Her job was easy. All she had to do was be a chaperone. Then it all went sideways when she found herself falling for the master of the house.”

Beatrice and Marianne exchanged confused glances, ones Catherine noticed almost immediately. 

“What?” 

“I am not certain you understand the point of these stories, Catherine. They’re meant to be scary, not romantic in any way.” Marianne said. 

“If you would have let me finish, then you would know if it was truly scary or romantic, would you not?” She countered, already irked that this was taking longer than usual. 

Marianne shrugged and leaned back, watching her continue the story. 

“Now of course, the mistress of the house was not happy that the governess had fallen in love with her husband and when she discovered their affection, she decided to teach the governess a lesson. She didn’t chase her away or dismiss her. She decided to lock her up instead. A hidden room behind the shelves in the library, One reserved only for deranged animals and prisoners of the manor. There was no escape, no sunlight, just pure terrifying darkness.” 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Beatrice said, her voice on the edge of a cheer. 

“The servants of course noticed her absence but were informed she had hurriedly left for another job. Years passed and the children grew. They were said to have reported that their rocking horses and dolls would haunt their dreams in the middle of the night. Until those very toys revealed to the children that they were sent by the governess herself.” 

Marianne narrowed her eyes. “Did she die in the house?”

“Yes. And some say after her death, she became a witch and haunted the walls of the manor, attacking everyone in their dreams, not just the children. Watching and forever yearning for a life that was prematurely stolen from her.” 

Her voice faltered at the last sentence. The mere thought of her life being taken from her at this age did not settle well with her and she wondered if her friends had noticed. 

“You want to know what a real horror story is?” Beatrice asked, her voice now on a lower wavelength, indicating the conversation had changed from silly firelight stories, a feature she couldn’t be more grateful for. She would take anything apart from being haunted for now. 

“What?” she asked anyway, adding her push to the subject change. 

“Viscount Nailsworth. They say he’s in the market for a new wife.” 

Marianne stared on. “Didn’t his wife die just a few months ago? How had he moved on so quickly from her death?” 

“It is not hard to move on from the death of someone you killed now, is it?” Beatrice asked, her voice even lower. 

“Do not throw around false accusations, Beatrice.” Marianne reprimanded. 

“Everyone knows Viscount Nailsworth is a dangerous man. Do you remember when he hit that woman with his carriage and stopped just to berate her for being on the path in the first place. He made her stand by the road again, just to hit her one more time. Are we really surprised that man could kill his wife?” Beatrice asked. 

Catherine watched as Marianne took in these words. Beatrice wasn’t wrong. The event that fateful day had happened right before the three of them. They were there and had all witnessed it. They had all seen first-hand just how vicious the viscount was and how terrifying his complete and utter disregard for human life made him. 

“I feel terribly sorry for the unfortunate soul that would end up as his new wife.” Catherine murmured, the words practically escaping her mouth before she could stop him.

“No woman in her right man would marry him regardless of how many riches he promises her. Whoever does, there’s a chance she will be forced.” Marianne noted.

The conversation shifted from one thing to the other throughout the night and soon, they all retired into their separate rooms as the moon reached its complete peak. The next morning, Catherine couldn’t wait to head back to Marling Estate. Her home. 

“I am certain you can stay just for tea. Your footman is getting your carriage ready. You should not be in this much haste.” Beatrice said, a yawn lacing her voice. Catherine hated having to disrupt her friend’s sleep just so she could announce her departure, but it was necessary. 

“The longer I am here, the more worried my father becomes. I need to leave now.” She responded. Beatrice understood and walked her to the courtyard with her carriage waiting. 

“We should do this again.” Beatrice hummed as they stopped before the carriage. 

“Promise not to swap scary stories and I might just let myself think about it.” Catherine responded, raising her gown to step into the wagon. 

Beatrice smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Now where is the fun in that?”

Catherine bade her friend goodbye and then made their way out of Beatrice’s estate. 

The journey home had been a blur as thoughts of the conversation she’d had with her friends the previous night occupied her mind. The wind that continued to blow against her face came to a complete halt once the horse stopped in the courtyard of her estate.

She stepped out, taking in the view of her home as the sun was beginning to rise from the back. 

Marling Estate was a giant stretch of land that occupied houses, farms, stables, animals and most importantly, the manor. A house built by her grandfather, the manor’s brown exterior clashed beautifully with the ivy that draped down the building, adding elegance and pristine luxury to the overall atmosphere of the surrounding walls. Carriages stood by the path leading to the cobblestones that led up to the front door, all of which she recognized. 

Except one.

It looked distinct and mildly bigger than the other carriages and the sigil on it looked awfully familiar though she couldn’t place where she had recognized it from. She didn’t let herself think too much about it but stepped into the house instead, her feet knocking on the hardwood floor as she headed to the drawing room, her father’s favorite spot. As the Earl of Marling, her father took visitors almost every hour of everyday and she half expected a visitor to be with him as well when she arrived. 

There was. 

It was just not the kind she expected. 

As she stepped into the drawing room, her eyes caught her father talking with a man. Him. 

What was he doing here? 

The Earl of Marling turned to the doorway, met her eyes and his lips curved up in a smile. 

“Catherine. You’re back.” 

“Father,” she greeted, her eyes resting on him as he stood as well, a painfully arrogant smile resting on his face.

“I would like you to meet Viscount Harold Nailsworth.” Her father said, gesturing to the man standing before him. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” The viscount greeted. Catherine could only give a curtsy before heading up the stairs to her room, unable to take his presence any longer. 

That was why the carriage outside looked familiar. It was the same one she had seen at the market when he hit that poor old woman. What kind of business would a man like Nailsworth have with her father? The thought alone scared the daylights out of her, but she managed to keep her wits. 

Later that afternoon, she watched his carriage leave through her window, leaving behind a trail of dust. Only then was she able to properly exhale. She wasted no time in heading down the stairs one more time to the drawing room. 

Her father was still there, looking through some parchment that contained pieces of information she was not interested in learning at the moment. His eyes moved away from the paper and landed on her..

“Catherine. You have just missed the viscount’s departure.” 

“I am aware, father. What was he doing here?” 

Her father dropped one of the parchments gently on the stool before him. “He came to ask if I would consider an arranged marriage between the two of you.” 

She felt her heart drop. What?

“What?” 

“And I must say, his offer was incredibly attractive too.”

“You’re… considering it?” Catherine asked, her voice on the edge of a croak. 

“Yes.” Her father’s response was sharp and unyielding. 

Catherine remained frozen in place at the doorway, feeling all the blood drain from her body. Only the words she had said back at Lady Beatrice’s estate reverberated over and over in her head. 

I feel terribly sorry for the unfortunate soul that would end up as his new wife. 

Was it her? Was she the unfortunate soul? Was her father truly thinking about this? Was she being considered to marry a man of such disrepute? A potential murderer?

“This cannot be happening.” she groaned under her breath, feeling her face grow pale with disbelief. 

Chapter Two

Edmund Blackwood took the bag of coins from the last person standing before him, a woman named Lorraine. He turned to his close man at arms, Anthony, and sighed rather heavily.

“Do we need to go anywhere else?” He asked, rising on his feet. Anthony only shook his head mildly and soon, they were both on their horses and on their way to another part of the estate where people were waiting as usual. 

Edmund was the kind of man who cherished discipline and logic over everything else. He was also the kind to prefer land and animals over humans themselves. Humans were unpredictable. He did not like to live in a world that betrayed his sense of logic. At the end of every quarter, he would ride across his estate, meeting tenants and their landlords to collect the rent and taxes. Of course once in a while, there were people who couldn’t pay the full price or even pay at all for one reason or the other. If he found the reason good enough, he would let it slide or at the very least, give the person some leeway until they were able to properly pay him without any hindrances

Anthony stood just a few feet behind him as he strolled around the bungalows on the estate, collecting the proper rent and taxes. The sun did not show any mercy as it beat them both. 

This was also an act Edmund had come to anticipate over the past few years of him becoming a premature Duke. He could always count on the sun, the land, the grass and sometimes even weather in general before counting on people. His decision to not trust people was not unfounded. There were several factors that had come together to build that form of resolve in him over the years, but he could say without a doubt in his mind that he was far better for it. 

After properly collecting the rent on the other part of the estate, he climbed back on his horse and rode back to his own manor. The only thing that occupied his mind at that moment, was whether or not Aaron, one of his tenants, would be able to make the taxes for next year or if he would come up with another excuse and put him in a tight position which would only reinforce his initial belief once again. 

Humans were not to be trusted. 

The ride to the manor was quiet, introspective and gave Edmund much-needed time to himself that he required before facing his next challenge. 

Lady Sophia Blackwood. His adorable albeit exasperating sixteen-year-old sister. 

She was waiting for him in the foyer, a beautiful smile that Edmund had come to never trust, resting on her face.

“Oh my. You’re as red as a tomato!” Sophia commented, watching her brother step into the house, his boots knocking hard into the hardwood floor. 

“Good afternoon to you as well, Sophia.” 

“I’ve told you to stop spending as much time in the sun. You’re the Duke. You can make your people come pay their taxes at the manor.”

“And make what is already inconvenient even harder?” Edmund responded as they both made their way past the drawing room and toward the dining room. This was usually when he had his noon meal, so any minute from now, the table would be filled with all kinds of steamy and assorted delicacies. 

“You are familiar with Lord Weston of Hillridge Manor, are you not?” Sophia asked as they both settled by the dining hall, anticipating the maids. 

“Is that the one with the hair?” He asked, arching an eyebrow like he had difficulty remembering him. 

“If you mean the one who takes great care of his wavy and luxurious hair, then yes, that is who I am talking about.” 

“I don’t know why he ever bothers.” Edmund muttered, grabbing a towel for his laps. “We all know his father and grandfather. The same fate awaits him. He will grow bald before he reaches the age of forty.”

“I think that is precisely why he is taking care of it now. He’s trying to enjoy as much time as he could before nature starts to take over.” 

“Why bother. It’ll leave anyway no matter what he does. I just do not see the point.” 

Sophia scoffed. “That is because you do not know how to live in the moment.”

He rolled his eyes. Here comes the lecture. 

“So I wouldn’t get attached to something.” 

“So you wouldn’t let yourself be vulnerable.” Sophia responded, the laughter lacing her voice dying down with each word. “You want to believe everything has a purpose. You always think too much about the future but sometimes, you forget time doesn’t have to be about the distant future all the time.” 

The maids filed in, almost like they were on cue as the giant clock on the wall hit 1. Lunch was the same as always. Some tea and biscuits. Toast was made as well and some fish. Another routine Edmund had grown to love was having the same thing for lunch over and over again. Like the inanimate objects and animals he mostly worked with, he loved relying completely on lunch as well because lunch would not disappoint him. He could predict the food and would always—always be right. 

“What does that mean—”

“Sometimes when you have something, it doesn’t need to have a grand purpose. Just by being with you, it’s serving its purpose as well. Remember when you would not let us get a dog?”

A mild frown crossed his face. “Yes and for good reason. There’s a reason that the Pomeranian is still in the dungeon.”

“The Pomeranian has a name and its Prudence. If you are going to disrespect her, the least you can do is call her by her name while you do it. She is still the closest living thing we have to remind us of father and mother.” 

“Oh well.” Edmund continued. “I am certain if father and mother were aware of just how monstrous the dog was, they wouldn’t have even considered gifting her to you at all.”

Sophia scoffed. “And then I asked you if we could get another dog. Do you remember that?” 

“Do I remember. Like I can ever forget.” 

“I begged you over and over and asked you to get one for me,—for us. For the manor. Remember what you said?” 

“I am certain you plan to remind me anyway.” 

“You said dogs don’t live long enough and I would only be harming myself in the long run when it eventually dies. You were of course way more unkind with your words.” 

“That’s because it is true.” Edmund responded, reaching for some toast and jam and watching a nearby maid pour some tea into a teapot for him. “Why get attached to an animal if it’s only going to die at the end?”

“She’s not dead, but if you keep forcing Prudence to spend time in the dungeon, she will be.”

Edmund leaned forward. “It is only a matter of time.”

“That is my point, brother. Sometimes it is not about the end. Sometimes it’s about now, and now only. They say it’s the little things that matter.”

Edmund scoffed. “Whoever says that clearly has no ambition for anything in life. And that is quite a dangerous mindset in these days to have. The idle hand, they also say, is the devil’s workshop.” 

“Not everything has to have a purpose in the long run, Edmund. Sometimes just being around makes all the difference in the world.”

“Well, tell that to our parents, why don’t you?” 

The maids seemed to freeze for the briefest of seconds, their ears burned by Edmund’s raw words. “They thought they would be here for longer did they not? They thought they would be around long enough to see you get married to some rich Marquess. Tell me sister, how exactly is that working out for them six feet below.” 

Sophia shook her head. “You were always a cynic before our parents died but for some reason, you grew even worse after their death. This is not the way to live brother.” 

“Oh but it is. Principles and logic make a man stand out from others. I have my principles and I always stick to them, that’s why I manage to go far in life. Sometimes, letting yourself get caught up in feelings and emotions might just send you down a spiral of depression. It might even lead to the desire to take your own life.” 

The maids, just as they had walked in, made their way back to the kitchen, leaving Sophia and her brother to dine in silence. For the next few minutes, nothing could be heard except the clinking of silver against fine china. 

“Is this why you haven’t found a wife yet?” Sophia suddenly asked, her quaint voice breaking the silence. 

Edmund turned to look at her, swallowing his bread. “What?” 

“Your principles. Are they why you haven’t settled down with a respectable woman yet?”

“It is hard to find a wife these days. Especially one who wants to marry me for me and not my status.” 

Sophia nodded. “Do you really think me that naive to assume I haven’t noticed your lack of interest in that matter at all?” 

“It is not lack of interest.” 

“You have never broached the subject once, Edmund. Not even with me. I have never seen you in love. That is if you are even capable of that emotion.” 

Edmund tightened his grip slightly around his spoon. Talks about love had always for some reason tied back to their parents and their lives before their tragic past. Their parents, the former Duke and Duchess of Pembroke had both gotten married out of pure love for each other. They had always mentioned it to Edmund and Sophia. 

“If you will get married, be certain to prioritize love before duty.” Edmund’s mother would say. “Love will always without a doubt, trump duty.” 

“Love is foolish.” He managed to say, ignoring the lingering past and how the air about their parents hung over them like a darkening haze. “And it does not matter how our parents found each other, marriage to me is always and will always be an act of service. A duty.” 

Sophia shrugged. “I suppose I am merely kidding myself if I believe I can change your mind over one lunch. 

“And you would be correct in that analysis.” Edmund responded, his curt voice sharp and searing. He was fond of his sister, even if he tried to hide his amusement between dwindling exasperation, but unlike him, Sophia was a romantic. She believed in fairy tales and happy endings. While he believed in the real world and how cruel it could be, he tried to shield her away from most of it. The next few minutes remained drenched in silence as they finished the rest of their food. 

“And Lord Weston. What about him?” Edmund asked, suddenly remembering that his sister had been in the middle of a conversation before they got caught up in what may possibly be the meaning and what is not the meaning of life.

Sophia nodded. “He is organizing a ball next week. I intend to go.” 

“That is quite alright. Of course, Miss Raven shall escort you as usual.” 

He waited patiently for a response, either snarky or calm but nothing came forth. All he heard was a mild groan from his sister at the mention of her chaperone. 

“You don’t want her to come with you?” 

“Look. I deeply appreciate Miss Raven, but she is too strict. She doesn’t understand the concept of freedom and I certainly do not believe she is the kind of person I need.” 

“What are you talking about? Miss Raven is the finest chaperone there is. Do you not remember how hard it had been to procure her from the agency? Now you want to dismiss her because, what, she wouldn’t let you sneak away.” 

Sophia adjusted her sitting, her sparkly blue eyes looking straight at Edmund. “See, it is not only about sneaking away. Miss Raven does not know how to enjoy the little things in life. Last night I wanted to go outside and stare at the stars because the sky was quite bright. She did not let me. She mentioned something about beetles and scorpions stinging me from the grass. She takes too many precautions.” 

“So far what you have managed to tell me ,” Edmund responded, reaching for a hand towel on the table, “is that she does her job well.” 

“She does it too well.” Sophia responded. “With that mindset, I will not be able to enjoy the things girls my age enjoy. I won’t be able to have a proper dance without wondering if her lurking eyes are looking at me from somewhere. I won’t be able to run in the rain without her lecturing me on the myriad of ways I could get a cold from it. She is too stringent, Edmund, and I think I could do with a chaperone who would not be breathing down my neck so hard.” 

Edmund let his sister’s words sink in, wiping his mouth completely. “I still think you are being quite naive. Miss Raven is excellent at what she does and so far she has managed to protect you from harm. You wanting someone else just goes to show how naive you are being.” 

Sophia nodded, the sadness on her face obvious. Edmund’s face softened but not enough for his sister to notice. He watched her grab her handkerchief and turn around. 

“I shall head to my room, if that is quite alright with you.” 

“Sophia—”

“It is alright, Brother. I understand you perfectly. You don’t want me to grow up and be happy. You just want me to grow up and be—well, you.” 

With those words, Sophia gave him a mild curtsy and made her way out of the dining hall, leaving Edmund to his thoughts and the lingering effects of his sister’s bold statement. 

Was she right? Was he making her grow into someone like him? And even if he was, why would that be considered a bad thing? He was helping his sister out like any responsible brother would and if she was too naive and immature to see that, he couldn’t be blamed… could he? 

Yet the sadness on Sophia’s face lingered in his mind long after she had left. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he needed to put more thought into it and at the very least, consider a change of chaperone.