Widow of Winslow and Peak

Chapter 3

Oh, my!

This is most unexpected.

Theodore has convinced his brother to become the legal guardian of the triplets?

My trepidation fades as I wrap my understanding around this new development.

I am not well acquainted with the elder Hawthorne son, but, Theodore is not wrong, I suppose. Lord Hawthorne's reputation is, indeed, spotless, sterling, and not in any way scandalous. All of London recognizes him as such a character. As do I.

Moments ago, Theodore criticized his brother for being "ridiculously boring," but I rather commend him for it. A boring character often suggests good character, and good character is attractive to me. I would wager, Lord Hawthorne simply prefers to be more of a social recluse than a social butterfly like Theodore. As far as I know, on the rare occasions that Lord Maxwell Hawthorne graces society with his presence, he has always been well received and well respected by our peers.

If a spotless, sterling, scandal-free man like him is to become my employer, then, perhaps, there is no need to harbor such a strong objection?

At this moment, I find myself warming up to the idea of becoming a governess. I am, after all, a two-time widow of twenty-and-six. My age is far from decrepit, but I am not getting any younger. My prospects grow slimmer by the day. A small voice inside begins to argue in favor of Theodore's ludicrous proposal: This will be good, honest work, the pay will keep food on the table, and opportunities such as this one are not easy to chance upon for a woman who bears my sullied reputation.

I find myself taking this offer into serious consideration.

Yet, I do not wish to be rash with my decision.

Amidst this age-old maze of tall boxwood hedges where my girlhood dreams were once shattered, I study Theodore with the wariness of an older, wiser, and more cynical woman. I intend to learn more about the responsibilities and parameters attached to this position before I make a commitment.

Quietly, I murmur, "Very well, Mr. Hawthorne, I am willing to reconsider your request—if you are willing to clarify a few points in regards to this employment opportunity."

He bows his head graciously. "But of course, Emily."

My expression darkens at his use of my Christian name. Again. Earlier, I had let it slide. I will not overlook it this time.

I insist, "Going forward, I would prefer to be addressed as 'Mrs. Peak' and not 'Emily.'"

Instead of respecting my wishes like a gentleman, however, the scoundrel chooses to flirt with me, "You will always be 'Emily' to me."

His cloying, saccharine tone makes my skin crawl.

Irritably, I snap, "If memory serves me correctly, Mr. Hawthorne, you never married me. Both of my husbands are dead. Therefore, at present, I am no one's 'Emily' but my own."

Smirking, Theodore challenges, "Perhaps, you would prefer it if I called you 'Miss Blythe,' then?"

My breath catches.

Not in a pleasing manner, though.

'Blythe' is my maiden name.

Hearing it pulls me back in time. Theodore used to call me 'Miss Blythe,' affectionately, lovingly, in the early days when he first started courting me. Back then, I was more than willing to eat up all of his lies and promises.

At present, hearing 'Miss Blythe' roll off his tongue only shames me.

My bosom churns with unrest and discomfort.