The House of Broken Hearts by Judy Colella (i want to read a book .txt) 📕

The coachman had already removed the girl’s trunk from the roof of the carriage by the time the man decided to step forward and execute a polite if brief bow. “Welcome to Grey House,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am Julian Lanford. I believe you’ve already met my big brother, Giles.”

Obviously, the girl thought, or I wouldn’t be here. Aloud she said, “I have. I am Giselle Moreaux.”

“Yes, the new governess.” His stare changed to one of more intimate interest and he gave her a somewhat crooked smile. “Now I begin to wish I were of a similar age to my nephews and niece that I, too, might benefit from your tutelage."

This time, she did look away, her blush deeper than before. “You are very flattering, sir.”

He laughed and offered her his arm. “Please – allow me to escort you into your new home.”

Amazed at how he had suddenly changed from annoying to completely charming, she murmured a tentative thank-you and gingerly laid a hand on his blue sleeve. They walked toward the front door at an easy pace, giving her time to give further consideration to both her surroundings and situation. “How lovely your home is!” She smiled and breathed in the heady fragrance of lilac while suppressing an urge to run back to the carriage; things were promising to become very confusing, and she had no idea how she was going to cope with this highly attractive young man. Naturally, nothing could ever happen between them. She was, after all, in the employ of his brother, and such behavior would at best be unacceptable.

As they reached the front door, a little girl came pelting out with what seemed the intention of running down the four steps. Upon seeing the two heading up toward her, she stopped, looking uncertain.

“Jocelyn Lanford, where on earth do you think you’re going?” demanded someone behind the child. A second later, a stern-faced woman emerged from inside, and the little girl spun around, brows drawn together with outrage.

“I – I don’t want a governess, Mrs. Trellain!” She crossed her arms, turning her back on her uncle and someone she clearly wished elsewhere.

Before the woman could respond, Giselle removed her hand from Julian’s arm, crossed her own, and said, “And I don’t want to be a governess.”

Jocelyn faced her once more, her frown deepening as she came off the top step to peer more closely at Giselle. “You don’t?”

“No, I do not. I was perfectly happy and living a very easy life, but my parents were killed, I was left with nothing, and now I must work as a governess in order to survive. I know how awful it is to lose a parent – both, in fact – so I can certainly understand why you don’t want me here.”

The little girl came down the second step. “Did you cry a lot when they died?”

“I did. I still do, sometimes. Few people understand how I feel, and that makes it worse somehow.”

Jocelyn nodded and sat down. “I lost mommy, and I still cry at night, even though some people tell me to stop being such a baby!” She turned her head to glare at the woman still standing at the top of the stairs.

“You’re not being a baby, you’re being human. It hurts when the people or person you love most and feel the safest with are taken away from you. But since I still cry about it myself, I guess that makes me a baby, too.” She walked up the intervening stair and sat beside the girl, sighing. “What should we do?”

The younger girl shrugged, looking morose but no longer belligerent.

“Look.” Giselle opened her valise, which she’d been carrying with her free hand, and took out a portrait miniature of her parents. It had been painted by the son of a family friend, a pleasant young man who was beginning to gain some small fame as an artist. “These are my parents.” She handed the miniature to Jocelyn, who peered closely at it for several minutes.

“They were very handsome people,” said Jocelyn at last, her expression solemn. She handed it back. “May I show you a portrait of mommy?”

“Of course – that would be very kind of you.”

Jocelyn suddenly smiled and her already sweet features lit up, making it clear she would one day grow into quite a beauty. She stood and extended a hand to Giselle, who got up at the same time, taking the proffered little hand in her slender, gloved one.

Returning the little girl’s smile, Giselle walked into the house, giving a quick nod of acknowledgement to the woman whose own expression displayed unabashed amazement. Behind them, Julian seemed to realize he’d been completely forgotten. With a shrug and a rueful grin for the housekeeper, he followed Giselle and Jocelyn in, Mrs. Trellain right behind him and speechless still.

Before Giselle’s eyes could adjust to the darker interior, she was already halfway up a massive, sweeping staircase that dominated a vast foyer. At the top, Jocelyn tugged her toward the right hallway leading off the stairs and brought her to a door that had been decorated with sprigs of pretty purple dried flowers.

“This is my room – come in.” She opened the door and pulled Giselle inside, then shut and locked it behind them. “Mrs. Trellain is so nosy,” she explained.

Giselle stared around the room. It was lavishly decorated in lavender, powder blue, cream and gold. A border of tiny red roses had been painstakingly painted at the top of the creamy white walls, against which had been arranged gilded and inlaid pieces of furniture in a slightly smaller than normal size – perfect for a little girl. The floor was covered with a rich carpet of Persian wool, the blues, lavenders and cream in its design echoing the accent pieces throughout the chamber. Jocelyn’s bed was a fairy-tale confection of fluffy white and gold netting atop and flowing down the sides of the canopy held in place by intricately turned posts. The coverlet and pillows were of shiny, floral satin, the pattern one of jonquils, violets and blue roses. A toy chest stood open under one of the tall windows, and Giselle suspected it most probably remained that way since the collection of toys it held overflowed the sides.

Jocelyn had gone to the bed, pulled a gold-and-white painted box from underneath, and was beckoning Giselle to join her. They sat on the bed – which Giselle discovered to be incredibly soft – and the little girl opened the lid with near-reverence. Inside were only a few things, which surprised the older girl, but then she remembered that those items she herself held dearest were also small in number.

“This is mommy.” Jocelyn took out a small, gilded frame that contained a small portrait of a woman.

“May I hold it?”

Jocelyn handed it to her without a word.

The woman smiling at her from the petite canvass was breathtakingly beautiful. Her rich, honey-golden hair was piled softly on her head, shiny tendrils framing her face. She had eyes of cornflower blue that were enhanced by the similar color of her gown. A delicate necklace of gold, diamond and sapphire sparkled at the base of her slender, graceful throat, and the hand she had raised to the oval, lace-bordered neckline held a small bouquet of violets.

“How beautiful she was!” Giselle exclaimed softly. “She had very kind eyes, as well.”

“Mommy was kind to everyone.” Jocelyn was staring stoically at the portrait, but after only a brief moment more, her chin began to tremble, and before Giselle could react, the little girl had thrown her arms around her and begun to sob.

Giselle gathered the girl in a tender embrace and held her close, murmuring comfort into the child’s honey-golden hair. She rocked Jocelyn slowly, content to wait until the emotional storm had subsided. So intent on comforting the girl was she, in fact, that she missed the tiny sound of a key being turned in the door’s lock, and never saw the cold, hard eyes staring in at her – eyes that softened a moment later as their owner smiled for the first time in months.

Jocelyn, exhausted by her release of grief, told her new governess – who she admitted she liked after all – that she wished to take a nap and requested Giselle help her remove her frock and tuck her in.

“Sleep tight,” the older girl whispered. “I’ll send in your maid when it’s time to dress for supper.”

Jocelyn smiled, nodded, and turned over, asleep before she stopped moving.

Mrs. Trellain was waiting outside in the hallway, a look of respect in her eyes. “How on earth did you do that, Miss Moreaux?”

Giselle wasn’t exactly sure what the woman meant. “I…I don’t understand - ?”

“Well, you seemed to know exactly what to say to win her confidence. Her father has gone through five governesses in only three months, and none of them could achieve such a thing!”

“Perhaps because I’m not that much older than she is,” Giselle suggested, wondering if any of the other governesses had given the little girl’s feelings so much as a moment’s thought. As for Mrs. Trellain herself…”I also have lost parents, which might have something to do with it as well.” She gave a small shrug.

“Yes, that must be it.” Mrs. Trellain stood a bit straighter. “Your things have been brought up to your room – here, next to Jocelyn’s. Her brothers’ rooms are a little further down the hall. You shall meet them at the evening meal, since right now they are out riding with family friends.”

“I see. What are their names? Mr. Lanford only told me that he had three sons and a daughter, but very little else.”

Mrs. Trellain began walking toward the door to Giselle’s room, pulling a key from her apron pocket as she answered. “Well, the oldest is Granville – he’s fourteen. Then there’s Alaric, who turned twelve last week. And finally, young Winchester, who is nine. Jocelyn is eight, which she probably told you.”

Giselle nodded, controlling her expression. How on earth could they expect her to manage a fourteen-year-old boy? Surely he must be full of mischief and energy, and not having had any brothers – her only sibling had been a sister who had died shortly after birth – she wouldn’t know where to begin with him.

“Well! Here you are, and I hope you find the room, and the house, comfortable and to your liking. You may give the children their lessons in the Nursery, which I will show you once you’ve had some time to settle in and get your things put away. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Wh- yes! Yes, it will. Thank you so very much, Mrs. Trellain. You are most kind.” She gave the woman a sincere smile. “I am sure everything will work out well, but I do hope I may defer to you should I find myself somewhat, er, at a loss on some matter or other.”

This seemed to please the woman and she offered