Chapter 18
Not even a day after the loss of Matilda, Watson realised he had allowed things to go entirely too far. Unable to bear the thought of leaving his daughter with both his own grief and hers still so raw, he spent the day trying to make things as learning and fun packed as the governess might have done were she still there.
Yet nothing seemed able to raise their spirits and all seemed to remind them of the beautiful woman they had allowed to walk out of their lives.Amy did not allow this,he reminded himself guiltily,it was all down to me.
And by dinner time, Watson could barely take the grief that was written so plainly on Amy’s face. He spent most of the time with his head bowed, eating in silence. With just the two of them at the table, it felt wrong, and the empty seat where the governess usually sat only seemed to be growing larger and more ominous with each passing meal.
Finally came the question that was practically unavoidable. Amy seemed to have been trying to keep the governess’ name from her lips all day but it seemed that was ended now as she slammed her cutlery down on her plate, causing Watson to almost jump right out of his skin. “Papa, I cannot believe that you will stand for this. It is quite clear that you are as unhappy with Matilda’s leaving as I am!”
Watson was astonished by the maturity in his daughter’s tone. He opened his mouth to speak but Amy cut him off, surprising him even further as she added, “All this time, I was so sure, so hopeful that after your clarity when it came to Lady Florentia that you would see what was right in front of your nose.”
“Pardon me?” Watson exclaimed, feeling utterly shocked and almost as if he were being scolded.
“Everyone in this house can see just how close the two of you have become and I may be young but I am not foolish, Papa,” Amy snapped at him, scowling so deeply that Watson almost felt as if she were trying to burn him with her gaze. “So, what are you going to do about all of this?”
“What can I do?” Watson asked, feeling heartbroken once more, “She is gone.”
“Was I foolish to assume that one day Miss Percival might actually become my mother?” Amy questioned and Watson’s breath caught in his throat.Mother, not stepmother,he thought, wondering whether he might be reading too much into it.
“Would…would you have liked that?”
The pointed look on Amy’s face suddenly told Watson all that he needed to know. “I would have loved it,” she told him. “Matilda is the only person who has ever made me feel like a human rather than an animal to be ordered about or a doll to be dressed up, to be seen and not heard.”
Watson sighed at that, knowing all too well that she was right. “But what of the Ton?” he hissed under his breath, not meaning for his daughter to hear.
“Father, when have you ever truly cared what those pompous fools think?” Amy demanded, and again, Watson knew that she was right. All he had ever been truly worried for was the reputation of his daughter, not his own, and yet so far that had done nothing but make them miserable.
“I should have proposed to her when I had the chance,” Watson sighed deeply and lowered his head, feeling defeated.
“There is nothing to stop you correcting that mistake, Papa,” Amy pointed out and a flame of hope almost instantly lit in Watson’s chest.
After a couple of tense days putting his affairs in order, Watson accompanied by his daughter who refused to allow him to go alone, finally stepped out of his carriage in the yard outside the Percival residence. Though the countryside house was much smaller than his own, it was exquisitely grand for a businessman with no proper title and as they approached the door was opened up by a butler who appeared to recognise the carriage and Quintin who had knocked upon the door to announce their arrival.
“Mr Mulgrave, was Mr Percival expecting you?”
The butler glanced uncertainly at Watson and Amy before bowing as if he sensed that he ought to.
“Lord Worthington and Lady Amy are not expected ,though we humbly request an audience with one Miss Percival who we believe to be in residence here,” Quintin explained with a smile and as if on second thought he quickly added, “Are Mr and Mrs Percival well?”
When he glanced over his shoulder at Watson, the Duke knew he was thinking exactly the same as he had been, about whether maybe Matilda’s story about a sick relative was actually true.
“All members of the family are well, sir,” the butler responded with another bow. “Please, follow me through to the drawing room and I shall send a maid to find Miss Percival. I do believe she is in the gardens.”
Watson had believed the carriage ride to be anxious but waiting in that warm and airy drawing room was even more so and he struggled to stop himself from pacing as they awaited the beautiful governess. When she arrived quickly followed by the maid who had obviously been sent to fetch her, the woman’s beautiful hazel eyes opened so wide that they looked like they might burst from her skull.
“Watson!” She exclaimed, “I mean, Lord Worthington, Your Grace.”
She dropped down into a curtsey and Watson was about to cross the room to pull her back to her feet when Amy beat him to it. She hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Matilda’s neck. The sobs that whacked her body were enough to tell her she was crying happy tears. “Oh, Matilda, we have missed you!”
The woman squeezed Amy in return, looking as if she did not want to let go for fear she might disappear the moment that she did.
“What are you both doing here?” she asked when Amy finally released her.
“We were in the area visiting some friends, and Lady Amy suggested we ought to pop in and check that you are well,” Watson said, feeling slightly guilty at how easily the lie fell from his lips. Though Amy offered him a scowl where Matilda could not see, she did not correct him.
It was at that moment that a beautiful golden spaniel came barrelling into the room through the open patio door behind them. Amy exclaimed excitedly as the dog started to bounce up around her skirts.
“Oh, Cheddar! Enough!” Matilda scolded the dog and stepped forward to grip hold of his scruff to pull him away. “It looks to me as if Cheddar could use a walk. Perhaps you might fetch his lead?”