Chapter Text
Melissa King had been warned about Lord Langdon.
Not by Miss Evans.
Miss Evans had been very careful.
She had written three pages about the children, another two about the household, and precisely one sentence about their father.
Lord Langdon is a gentleman of excellent family and considerable means. You will find him somewhat reserved.
Mel had thought that was an unusually diplomatic way of describing a man.
Everyone else had been less diplomatic.
She had heard enough whispers to know that Lord Langdon had been a difficult man to know. That his marriage had not been a happy one. That his wife had died giving birth to their youngest child. That he had spent a long while afterward making himself scarce from Society.
And that, more recently, he had stopped drinking.
Mel had never understood why people said that last part as though sobriety were a character flaw.
Still, she had no particular interest in rumors.
Rumors had never paid her bills.
So when the Langdon carriage disappeared down the long drive and left her standing before a house that was considerably larger than any place she had ever lived, Mel reminded herself that she had come for employment.
Nothing more.
The front door opened.
A footman greeted her, took her valise, and announced her arrival.
Before he could finish, something small and fast came hurtling around the corner.
Mel stepped back.
A little girl skidded to a stop in front of her.
She was three, perhaps, with dark curls escaping from the ribbon that was supposed to hold them back.
She stared up at Mel.
Mel stared down at her.
"Hello."
The little girl said nothing.
Then she reached out and touched the button on Mel's coat.
"Pretty."
Mel glanced down.
"Thank you."
The girl considered this.
Then she turned and shouted toward the staircase.
"Papa!"
Mel barely had time to wonder whether this was good or bad before a man's voice answered from somewhere above.
"Penny."
The little girl ignored him.
"Papa!"
A moment later, Lord Langdon appeared at the top of the stairs.
Mel's first thought was that he was younger than she expected.
Her second was that Miss Evans had been even more diplomatic than she realized.
There was nothing particularly frightening about him.
He was simply... imposing.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired. Dressed in black, though not in mourning; the color suited him too well for that. His expression was tired in a way that made him look older than he was, but there was something unexpectedly gentle in the way he looked at the child standing before Mel.
Then his eyes moved to her.
And stopped.
For just a moment.
Mel wondered if she had something on her face.
"Miss King?"
"Yes, my lord."
He came down the stairs.
Penny immediately reached for him.
He picked her up without breaking stride.
"I'm sorry," he said. "She was meant to be in the nursery."
Penny put both hands against his cheeks.
"Miss King."
"I see that."
"She's pretty."
Lord Langdon looked at Mel.
Mel felt herself blush.
"Thank you."
Penny nodded, apparently satisfied that the matter had been settled.
Lord Langdon looked faintly amused.
"You have made an impression."
"I seem to have been inspected."
"Thoroughly."
A boy appeared on the staircase.
He was older than Penny, six perhaps, and had the cautious expression of someone who had learned not to trust new adults too quickly.
He looked at Mel.
Then at his father.
"Is she the governess?"
Lord Langdon glanced at Mel.
"I believe so."
"You don't know?"
"I have not yet decided."
The boy frowned.
Mel smiled.
"Then I suppose we shall have to see whether I am suitable."
He studied her.
"Do you know Latin?"
"Some."
"I don't like Latin."
"I don't particularly blame you."
The boy's expression changed.
Just slightly.
Lord Langdon looked at her.
Mel realized she had surprised him.
"Most people tell me I must like it."
"Most people are probably very fond of Latin."
"I think they're lying."
The boy looked at his father.
"She can stay."
Lord Langdon's mouth twitched.
"I'll take that under advisement."
The formal interview lasted perhaps fifteen minutes.
Mel suspected that was because Lord Langdon had already made up his mind before she arrived.
He had read Miss Evans's letter. He had read her references. He knew where she had worked and why she had left. He asked about her education, whether she was comfortable living in the country, whether she had experience with younger children.
The questions were practical.
His manner was courteous.
There was no flirtation in it.
No impropriety.
If anything, he seemed determined to keep a careful distance between them.
Mel appreciated that.
It made the rumors seem even more ridiculous.
Eventually he set her references aside.
"You come very highly recommended from Miss Evans."
"She was very kind."
"She was."
He leaned back slightly.
"You worked with the Pembroke family for two years."
"Yes, my lord."
"And the girl has now aged out of your instruction."
"She turned fourteen."
"So you are looking for another position."
"Yes."
He was quiet.
Then:
"I'm surprised you would want to come here."
Mel looked at him.
There it was.
Not the question.
The thing beneath it.
His reputation.
She folded her hands in her lap.
"I don't pay very much attention to rumors."
His eyebrows lifted.
"No?"
"No, my lord."
"You've heard them."
"Some."
"And they haven't concerned you?"
Mel considered him.
"I thought it best to meet you first."
Something in his expression shifted.
It was almost a smile.
"That may be the first sensible thing anyone has said to me in weeks."
She smiled.
"I am glad to be of service."
His eyes stayed on her for a beat.
Then he looked away.
"You understand that this is not the easiest household."
"I gathered."
"My son is stubborn."
"I noticed."
"Penny is..." He paused. "Penny."
Mel laughed softly.
"She is three."
"That explains nothing."
"It explains quite a lot."
He looked at her again.
And this time, he laughed.
It was brief.
Quiet.
But it was the first time Mel saw his face without all the careful restraint.
He looked younger when he smiled.
Human.
She looked away.
"I should like to meet the children properly before you decide," she said.
"You already have."
"That was hardly proper."
"No," he agreed. "It wasn't."
There was another crash somewhere upstairs.
Lord Langdon closed his eyes.
"Tanner."
A second later came a little voice.
"It wasn't me!"
Mel pressed her lips together.
Lord Langdon stood.
"I think that concludes our interview."
By the time Mel left Langdon House that afternoon, she had been offered the position.
She accepted.
She told herself it was because the salary was generous.
Because the schoolroom was excellent.
Because Miss Evans's recommendation had been sincere.
Because Tanner seemed bright, if difficult, and Penny had already decided Mel was the most interesting person she had ever seen.
She did not tell herself that she had liked the children's father.
That would have been ridiculous.
Lord Langdon was her employer. He was a Viscount. He was a widower.
He was a gentleman whose name appeared in the papers often enough that Mel knew better than to imagine herself anywhere near his world.
She had never been foolish about such things.
Her parents had left her no dowry.
They had left her an education, and she had always understood the difference.
A governess could have a comfortable life. A governess could be respected. A governess could even be loved by the children in her care.
That was enough.
It would have to be.
As Mel climbed into the carriage, she looked once more at the house.
Penny was standing at an upstairs window.
The moment she saw Mel, she waved.
Mel smiled and waved back.
Behind the child, a tall figure appeared.
Lord Langdon.
He did not wave.
He simply stood beside his daughter, watching the carriage.
Mel looked away first.
She had no idea that, upstairs, Lord Langdon remained at the window long after the carriage had disappeared.
And she certainly did not know that Penny had already asked the question that had been quietly occupying his thoughts all evening.
"Is Miss King coming back tomorrow?"
Frank looked down at his daughter.
"Yes."
Penny smiled, satisfied.
"Good."
She tucked herself against his side, already content with the answer.
Frank looked out through the window at the empty drive. He found himself waiting for morning, too.