Excentryke's Musings

Title: Governess
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Twilight Saga / Forsyte Saga (2002)
Pairings: (one sided) Young Jo/Bella, Soames/Bella
Word Count: 3k
Rating: PG
Warnings: classism, mentions of mistresses, time travel
Summary: Bella finds herself in late nineteenth century London and the object of lust of the master’s son.

Author’s Note: The Forsyte Saga (2002) is now on Netflix.  I remember watching the series as a teenager back in 2002 and pretending to be sick so I could stay up (even though I had school in the morning).  I adore Damian Lewis as Soames Forsyte.  He makes the character so real and relatable even though he’s not the best of human beings.  The Forsytes (2026) should be coming out on PBS Masterpiece this Spring, and I thought I’d celebrate by writing a short fic.  Bella takes the place of Helene as June’s governess. Note to new readers: June Forsyte is Young Jolyon’s biological daughter in the novels and 2002 series.

Governess

He was sketching her again.  Bella was worried.  Even she knew this shouldn’t be happening.  He was the son of the master, he was married, he had a child, and he was sketching her, the governess.

Bella leaned over little June and pressed a cool, wet towel to her forehead.  June still had a fever.

Standing up, she smoothed out her skirts.

Bella was the governess in the home of Old Jolyon Forsyte who had made his fortune in the tea business.  It was his son, Young Jolyon, or Jo, who was sketching her.  Bella could lose her place if there was any implication of wrongdoing.  Bella would never even think of it.  She knew her place.

When she was forced into 1870s Italy through a secret tunnel beneath the Volturi castle, she had very few options.  She had gambled at low stakes poker games until she had enough to buy a dress in the current fashions, and then had forged letters of reference that she had used in London to gain this position once she had crossed the continent.

Her plan was to eventually go to America and find Carlisle Cullen and seek his help.  She didn’t have enough money for passage yet.

Besides, she was fond of little June.  She quite liked being a governess and teaching June to be a lady.  She was a sweet child.

Young Jolyon was proving to be a problem, however.

She looked over to where he was sitting across the room.  He was most definitely still sketching her.

Drawing a breath, Bella told him, “I believe Miss June is well in my care.  You and Mrs. Forsyte can go out to Miss Winifred’s engagement party with no fear for Miss June’s health.  I have it well in hand.”

Young Jolyon looked up from his sketch, surprised.  “Are you certain, Miss Swan?”

“Quite certain,” Bella answered succinctly.  “It is only a slight fever.  No need to worry.  I will stay with her.”  She moved to the end of the bed and made sure to catch his eye.  “Mrs. Forsyte shall surely enjoy her night out.  I know how much she will was looking forward to it.”

He hesitated.  “Are you quite certain, Miss Swan?”

“Quite certain,” she assured him.  “It is only a middling fever.  Quite treatable.  You must trust in my expertise.  This is why you hired me.”

Chastened, he nodded.  He stood and set down his sketchbook.  “We are so pleased with your work, Miss Swan.”  He took several steps forward toward her so that he was in her space.  She could smell the scent of his cologne.

Placing her hands together, Bella moved back to June’s side.  “I am so pleased to hear it,” she responded, glancing back at him.  “I do so like my place here.”  The last bit was said as a subtle warning.  “Mrs. Forsyte is a good mistress.”  Pressing the cold cloth against June’s forehead, she then combed her fingers through June’s hair.

Young Jolyon dithered for a few moments but left.

The sketchbook remained in the room.

Bella eyed it.

She heard movement below stairs.

Waiting until she heard her masters leave, Bella switched the water out and replaced the cool cloth on June’s head.  She sat for several long hours beside the child’s bed, the lights dimmed low so she was unable to read a book. 

Bella did not mind.  This was part of the job description.

Little June breathed easily.

How Bella wished she had access to baby Tylenol.  That would bring down the fever within ten minutes and then June would be well.

At the chiming of the clock at ten, Bella stood and checked on June again.

Bella worried the high collar of her dress and, curiosity overcoming her, she went to the sketchbook.

Young Jolyon had no real profession.  Born into an upper middle class family that had made extraordinary wealth the generation before, he spent his days at the club and his evenings attending family dinners and parties.  He fancied himself a bit of an artist.  His pictures were pretty watercolors that Old Mr. Jolyon would never hang in the hallway as he considered them “poor things.”

The mistress indulged Young Jolyon’s sketching as she saw it as a harmless pastime.  Mrs. Frances Forsyte had been born to a barely aristocratic family, but had brought gentrified blood and a bit of money to the Forsytes.  She was eminently respectable.

Bella carefully opened the sketchbook.  The first picture was of June.  She turned the page.  The next was also of June.  And the next.  And the fourth.  The fifth, however, was a rendering of Bella looking off to the side.  Bella had never known she wore that expression.  The next was also of Bella.  Then Young Jolyon had sketched her hands.  Bella recognized the unmanicured but neat fingernails.  Then the next was also Bella, reading a book.  At least there was one of Bella and little June together.  However, the book was full of sketches of Bella.  The last one that Young Jolyon had been working on was Bella leaning over June’s bed, June nothing but a pile of covers. 

Young Jolyon was clearly infatuated with her.  She had no idea how to stop it.  He was clearly bored and had nothing better to do but fixate on his daughter’s governess.

Bella knew that men in Young Jolyon’s position dallied with the servants.  She had just hoped that her position as governess would protect her.

Thinking, she hid the sketchbook under the bed.  No one would think to look for it there.

She went back to June’s bedside and felt her forehead.  June was perhaps a bit cooler.

Bella ended up falling asleep in the chair with her head pillowed on her arms against the bed, a lone candle on the table.  She woke up to the sound of the front door opening, and she sat up quickly, stretching.  Quietly, she checked on June and sighed in relief.  The fever had broken.  Taking the cloth from June’s head, she placed it in the bowl of tepid water and made to leave the room.

She met Mrs. Forsyte on the stairs and gave her a warm smile.  “The fever has broken and Miss June is sleeping easily,” she informed her mistress.  “You can go in and see for yourself, Madam.”

Frances sighed in a relief.  “I shall not look in on her if she is sleeping.”

“Of course, Madam,” Bella agreed.  She stood aside and allowed Frances to pass before continuing downstairs. 

It seemed the gentlemen had gone into the drawing room, most likely to have cigars.  On her way back upstairs, Bella was called in.  She smoothed out her skirts and entered.  Old Jolyon was lighting a cigar at the fire.  Bella was slightly afraid he would set his whiskers alight.  Young Jolyon was sitting in an armchair in his waistcoat, regarding her with a sparkle in his eyes, and a Forsyte whom Bella had seen once or twice but whose name Bella did not know was also present.  He was about Young Mr. Jolyon’s age, with ginger hair pushed back with pomade.

“Yes, sir,” Bella asked, looking at Old Jolyon.

“How is the little girl?” he asked, tossing his light into the fire.

Pressing her hand into her corset as she took a deep breath, Bella smiled.  “I can happily report that her fever has broken, just as I predicted.  Miss June is now sleeping peacefully.”

“There, Jo,” Old Jolyon said, turning to his son.  “I told you nothing to worry about.  Miss Swan is entirely competent.  She had more than excellent references and she has proved herself at every turn.”

Bella maintained a tight lipped smile on her face as she turned back to the two younger gentlemen.

Young Jo looked down at his cigar, embarrassed.  “Of course.  I never meant to call Miss Swan’s talents into question.”

It was the other Forsyte, however, who drew Bella’s attention.  His shocking blue gaze was focused entirely on Bella, a question in his eye.  “And where do you come from, Miss Swan?   What are your credentials?”

Bella was not prepared to be questioned, but she had her answer ready.  “I served in the house of Lord Aro Volturi in Volterra, Italy.  He had two children, Jane and Alec.  They were quite adorable but quite the handful,” she said this with a bit of humor, thinking of the vampire twins who had attempted to torture her.  “I was there for three years until they no longer needed a governess.”

“Italy,” he repeated.  “Then you speak Italian then.”

“Lord Aro insisted on only English being spoken in the Volturi Household,” she informed him, with a false humility.  “He wished to be an English gentleman.”

“Ah.”  His blue eyes shone brightly.

Young Jolyon looked at his Forsyte cousin with a questioning look.  “This is not like you, Soames, to question the governess.”

Soames broke eye contact with Bella and she immediately felt bereft.

“Frances speaks so highly of Miss Swan I merely wished to learn of her qualifications myself.  Winifred is to be married.  There will soon be young Darty’s running around.”

Bella glanced over at Old Jolyon.  He nodded at her and she knew she was dismissed.  She swept from the room, feeling Soames’s eyes once again on her.  Young Jolyon, too, was watching her leave.

Going up to her attic room, Bella thought she would likely rarely see Soames Forsyte ever again.

However, she was called down to the Drawing Room the next day and found Young Jolyon and Frances waiting for her.  “Yes, sir? Madam?” she inquired.  There was a beautiful display of roses.  She supposed the master felt guilty about something and had purchased them for the mistress.

Frances, however, indicated the flowers.  “These came for you.”

Bella startled.  “For—me?”  She stared at them and swallowed.  “Did Parfitt not inform the boy to send them to the servant’s entrance?”

Frances was clearly uncomfortable.  “I thought you said you had no family, Miss Swan.”

“I do not,” she answered in bewilderment.  “Did it come with a card?”

“I did not open it,” Frances told her, holding one out.  “I did not wish to invade your privacy.”

Bella hesitantly walked forward and took the card.  She stared at it for several long moments and then slipped it up her sleeve.  “I will inform Parfitt that if there is an unfortunate repetition of this occurrence, that he is to send the flowers to the servants’ hall.  I deeply apologize for disturbing you.”

Uncomfortable, Frances requested, “Please send your suitor a note and ask him to write instead of sending such ostentatious presents.  It is unseemly for a woman in your position.”

Bella turned to the flowers and swallowed. “Of course, Madam,” she agreed.  “If the card was signed, I will be sure to write.”  That meant the letter would go out on the tray and Mrs. Forsyte would be able to read the direction.  Perhaps Bella could pay George to take it for her if the address was in London.

She picked up the flowers and carried them out of the room. 

When she got back up to her attic room with the flowers, Bella slipped the note out of her sleeve.  The script was precise and masculine.  “I am sorry for the line of questioning.  You enchanted me.  SF.”  SF.  Soames Forsyte.  She had no idea where Soames Forsyte remotely lived.  Taking out a sheet of paper from the little desk in her room, she hastily wrote a note, explaining that Mrs. Forsyte did not like such ostentatious displays and recommended letter writing in the future.  She folded the letter and sealed it, writing his name on the front.  She thought for several long moments.  Uncle James and Aunt Juley lived in Blackburne Square.  She would send it there.

Rushing down to the servants’ hall she found young George and tipped him a farthing to take the letter over himself.  She hoped it got there.  Perhaps if it got to the wrong house, it would be sent to the correct one.

She was with June at her numbers when Young Jolyon came in and asked if she had seen his sketchbook.

Bella shook her head.  “Is it in the Drawing Room?” she inquired.

“No,” Young Jolyon answered.  He smiled at June distractedly and then left the room.

Bella hoped the maid didn’t look under June’s bed. 

Two days later, Bella received a letter.  It was set next to her breakfast plate and Bella looked at it in interest.  She then carefully opened it.  Soames Forsyte wanted to take her for tea on her afternoon off.  Was he mad?  She was practically a servant.  Refolding the letter, she put it in her pocket.

That very afternoon, Young Jolyon somehow had his sketchbook back and was in the corner of the room, sketching Bella again.  She wondered how he had found it.  She wondered which maid had found it for him.  That sketchbook would get her into trouble if Soames Forsyte did not.

She dithered a couple of days, but when Sunday afternoon came, she put on her hat and gloves and took a cab to SoHo, where she met Soames Forsyte.

“You’re going to get me sacked,” she told him outright, not bothering to touch her tea.  “I only came so I could impress that upon you, Mr. Forsyte.”  She took in his smoothed hair and his shocking blue eyes.  “I like my position.”

“I know you do very well with Mr. Jolyon,” Soames agreed.  “Please, drink your tea.”

“I am not here to drink tea with you,” Bella reminded him.  “I am here to dissuade you from contacting me again.  What is it with men and governesses?”

Soames paused and looked up at her.  “Has Jo been giving you problems?”  His voice suddenly sounded dangerous.  “He should not be hounding you.”

“No one has been giving me problems, but you,” she told him, making to stand.

He stood with her.  “Miss Swan—”

“Mr. Forsyte, I am your cousin’s governess.  What can you possibly want with me?”  She looked directly into his blue eyes.  Then she was struck and stood there just staring into his gaze.

“You feel it, too,” he whispered.

She blinked.  “I do not possibly know what you might mean.”

“Miss Swan—”

“Mr. Forsyte—”

He reached out hesitantly and touched her wrist.  “Please.  I am utterly enchanted.”

Her eyes flicked up again and held with his.  He gave her a small smile. 

“Please, just stay and have tea with me now that you are here.  This is your afternoon off.  Rest.  Enjoy the day.  Please, Miss Swan.”

Hesitantly, she sat down again.  Looking into her teacup, she brought it to her lips and tasted it.  It was cold.

Soames Forsyte settled himself and took her in.  “I must confess, Miss Swan, I know nothing about you, save that you worked in Italy.  Where do your people come from?”

“Oh.”  Bella blushed.  No one had thought to ask her that.  She didn’t quite know what to say.  She probably shouldn’t admit that she was American.  Her speech had softened and she sounded quite English now that she had been in England for several months.  “Down on the coast,” she lied.  “Just a little town that no one has heard of.  On the cliffs.”

“Do your excellent parents still reside there?”

Bella hesitantly looked at him.  “No,” she told him.  “They’re quite gone now.  It’s why I was pressed to go into service.  I have to take care of myself.”  Once she had thought to go to college.  She had a college fund.  She had no idea where she would go, but all such dreams were gone now.  Edward had made it quite impossible by running to the Volturi.

A look must have come over her face because Soames reached out and touched her wrist.  “Miss Swan?”

She came to herself and shook her head.  “Oh, nothing,” she promised.  “Just lost futures.”

He looked at her knowingly.  “You were not meant for a life of service,” he guessed.

“No,” she agreed quietly.  “I find myself quite suited to it, however.”  Her dark eyes flashed up and caught his blue gaze again.

Their eyes stuck. 

They really were the most wondrous blue color.

They were nothing like Edward’s eyes, even when they were golden with health.  They were so utterly human and they quite transfixed her.

Soames was just as transfixed as she was.

“Miss Swan—” he breathed.  “I simply must know your name—”

“My name?”  The question confused her.

“You take up my every thought, night and day,” he confessed, quite bewildered.  “When I am at the office, I find my mind wandering to you when I should be looking into legal matters.”

“You’re a solicitor?” she asked, interested despite herself.

“Yes,” he agreed.  “I am in practice with my father.”  There was a slight blush to his pale cheeks, which made him utterly adorable.

Bella smiled to herself.  “You Forsytes seem to be successful in whatever you put your minds to.”

“You are quite capable yourself, Miss Swan.”

It was Bella’s turn to blush.

“Please,” he begged, “a name.”

“Bella—” she whispered.

“Bella,” he repeated.  “Surely that is not an English name.”

“Isabella,” she admitted, “but everyone always called me ‘Bella.’  Not even Grandma Marie called me ‘Isabella’ even when she was angry.”

“Quite so,” he agreed, his eyes still looking into her dark gaze.  “‘Bella,’ however, is the name of a girl.  ‘Isabella’ is the name of a woman.”

Confounded, Bella wondered, “Do you think so?”

“Decidedly,” he agreed.  “Isabella Swan.”  A small smile formed on his delicious mouth.

Bella had to shake herself out of it.

Soames found her a cab when her afternoon was concluding.  Lifting her into the carriage, his hand warm in hers, he begged that he should see her again.

“You’ll get me into trouble,” she told him again.  “You are not the master, but you are the master’s cousin.”

“I shall write to you,” he insisted, tipping his hat to her.  He went up to the cabbie and paid him in a gentlemanly manner. 

Bella watched as the horses started off, smiling to herself.

She knew she shouldn’t get used to it.  Soames Forsyte was a man of quality and he probably only wanted one thing—a mistress.  She couldn’t let herself get taken advantage of, especially in the nineteenth century.  She had to keep her head down, earn enough for her passage, and find Carlisle Cullen—if only she knew where to find him.

The thought saddened her. 

It was a realistic prospect—a realistic prospect in a country and time not her own.

The End.