After the War Is Over by Jennifer Robson Page A

In Wells, that is.”
    “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
    “No, it’s only me. I was, ah . . . I was adopted. So it’s only the three of us.”
    What had just come over her? She could so easily have said she was an only child,
     and left it at that. Her closest friends knew the truth, of course, though she’d never
     discussed the precise circumstances of her adoption with anyone other than her parents.
     Some stories were simply not meant to be shared.
    “And what does your father do?”
    “He’s a prebendary at Wells Cathedral.”
    “That sounds ecclesiastical.”
    “It is. He’s one of the canons there.”
    “Why not stay in Wells? Find some charming young cleric to marry?”
    “I—I . . .” she stammered, taken aback by the directness of his question.
    “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked.”
    “No, it’s a sound enough question. I went to quite a good school in Bath, and Father
     tutored me as well. When my headmistress suggested I sit the entrance exams for Somerville,
     we were all rather surprised. But once I had the idea in my head, I couldn’t let go
     of it.”
    “Have you liked being here?”
    “I’ve loved it.”
    “So why apply for this position? Surely you can aspire to something higher. Be honest—I
     won’t fault you for it.”
    She folded and refolded her napkin and tried to think of how to respond. “I . . .
     well, I can’t find anything else, to be perfectly honest. I’ve been looking for a
     position for months now.”
    “Would you mind working as a clerk or typist? Surely you could find a position of
     that sort without too much difficulty.”
    “I wouldn’t, but it seems rather a waste. I had hoped to, well, to do something with my education. Silly as it may sound, I thought I could help to right
     wrongs. To make a better world.”
    “That doesn’t seem especially silly to me. Do you honestly think teaching a thirteen-year-old
     girl is something you’ll enjoy?”
    “I do. Would I make the sort of governess she wants to have?”
    “You would. Likely because you’re the sort of woman she hopes to become.”
    “You don’t need to flatter—”
    “Not a bit of it. You’re intelligent, educated, and independent. That’s what she wants
     for herself. And that’s what I’d like to show her she can become, providing of course
     you decide to take on the position.”
    “Are you offering it to me?”
    He looked her straight in the eye, surprising her with the strength of will she glimpsed
     behind his cheerful-Charlie good looks. “Yes,” he said.
    “How many other women have you interviewed?”
    “None. You were the first to apply, and I can’t imagine for a moment that anyone could
     surpass you. When can you begin?”
    He seemed so certain of himself—of her. “I don’t . . . I mean, I hadn’t thought of
     it,” she said.
    “Why don’t we say the beginning of July? That will give you time to finish up here
     and pay a visit to your mother and father.”
    “What about your parents? Won’t they need to meet me first?”
    “Leave them to me.”
    He beckoned the waitress, settled their account, and steered Charlotte outside. “Do
     you mind if I leave you here? I’m late for my Greek tutorial.”
    “That’s quite all right, but—”
    “Let me know how you get on in finals. I’ll send you your train ticket to Penrith—that’s
     where we’ll be in July, at my father’s house in Cumbria—and I’ll also advance the
     first quarter of your salary to help with your traveling costs. I thought eighty pounds
     a year? Ninety? Yes, ninety seems right.”
    “But that’s at least double what I’d thought to be earning. Are you quite certain,
     Lord Ashford?”
    “Enough with the ‘Lord Ashford.’ Call me Edward. May I call you Charlotte?”
    “I don’t think that’s advisable, given that I’ll be under your employ.”
    At that his eyes brightened. “So you’ll do it? Splendid. I must go, but I’ll send
     everything along soon.