The Earl’s Forbidden Governess (Preview)

Chapter One

“Miss Winslow! Miss Winslow, oh you simply must wake up!”

Catherine Winslow bolted upright in her bed, her emerald eyes wide with alarm. She blinked a few times before finally taking in the sight of Charlotte Ashdown, who was bouncing on the edge of her bed. The girl’s chestnut braid swung wildly—narrowly missing Catherine’s nose. The sun was only just starting to rise outside the window.

“Charlotte,” Catherine said, stifling a yawn. “What on earth…” Her question, however, was promptly cut off by an excited squeal.

“You will never believe what I overheard,” Charlotte said now, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she tugged at Catherine’s sleeve. “According to Cook,” she continued, shifting to sit down on the bed. “Lord Blackwood was seen leaving Widow Hartley’s house at an ungodly hour this morning. And in quite a state of… disarray! Cravat off to the side and trousers unbuttoned, if you know what I mean.”

Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm at the implication. “Charlotte Ashdown,” she admonished. “That is hardly appropriate conversation for a young lady!”

Charlotte, ever the rebel, merely laughed. “Oh, pish posh,” she exclaimed as she waved her hand dismissively. “I am already eighteen, Miss Winslow! I’ll be married soon—surely I am old enough to discuss the… intricacies… of adult relationships.”

Catherine shook her head with a laugh and swung her own legs over the side of the bed. “I assure you, you are not,” she said firmly. “Now kindly remove yourself from my chambers so I might dress, you impossible young lady. We shall make sure to discuss your eavesdropping habits during your etiquette lesson today.”

Charlotte pouted, but still complied—flouncing out of the room with a dramatic sigh. Catherine shook her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips despite her exasperation. The Ashdown girls were certainly a handful, she mused—not for the first time in her years of working as their governess. Still, she adored them all the same.

Of course, Catherine too was only human, and she could not help but let her mind wander to Charlotte’s salacious gossip. Lord Blackwood was indeed a handsome man—with piercing blue eyes and a roguish smile that had set many a heart aflutter all across the city. And Widow Hartley, well, Catherine had heard whispers about her rather liberal interpretation of the mourning period.

“Stop it,” she chided herself as she tied her dark brown hair into its usual loose bun. “You are as bad as Charlotte.”

Still, she made her way to the kitchens quickly, where she looked at Cook curiously.

“What is this I hear about Lord Blackwood and Widow Hartley?” she asked immediately, and the matronly woman pressed a hand to her heart.

“Me daughter saw it with her own eyes,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Can you believe it? The woman’s husband is hardly cold and there she goes, entertaining Lord Blackwood! Anna said he was looking quite worse for wear. But wait…”

Cook frowned and looked at Catherine curiously. “Where did you hear?”

Catherine lifted a brow, a smile playing about her lips. “I heard from Lady Charlotte,” she said pointedly, and Cook’s face flushed.

“Oh, Lord have mercy on me soul,” she exclaimed. “The little girl heard me, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Catherine said, her brow lifted. “And she was quick to tell me that she is in fact no longer a little girl at all. She’s about ready to marry.”

Cook merely shook her head and Catherine laughed. “Just… be mindful where you gossip?” she advised gently. “We don’t want Lady Ashdown to blame us for her daughter’s innocence being compromised.”

“You’re right, of course you are,” Cook said with a laugh. “Thanks for the warning.”

Catherine winked at her with a laugh before making her way to the parlor, where Charlotte and Sophia were already standing in front of canvasses.

“You are later than us,” Sophia accused with a grin. “Shame on you, Miss Winslow. You taught us never to be late.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Catherine explained. “But I must say, Sophia—your watercolors are coming along beautifully.”

She lifted an impressed brow as she admired the delicate landscape the younger Ashdown sister had produced. “You have a real talent for capturing light.”

Sophia beamed at this, and her amber eyes shone with pride. “Thank you, Miss Winslow,” she exclaimed. “I have been practicing every day, just like you told me.”

“Oh, those paintings are lovely, Sophia,” Charlotte said. “And Miss Winslow is just blatantly refusing to compliment me today because of the gossip I told her…”

“What gossip?” Sophia asked at last, but Catherine shook her head.

“Nothing your ears should hear yet,” she said lightly and turned to Charlotte. “But I do believe your Latin translation is complete?”

Charlotte held a book out at her with a dramatic sigh and Catherine glanced at it, then smiled proudly. “You have finally mastered the ablative absolute!” she cheered. “That is really impressive progress, Char.”

Charlotte grinned brightly at that, and Catherine gave her hand an encouraging squeeze before lifting a book off the shelf.

“Of course, today, we have another important thing to discuss. Etiquette.”

Charlotte groaned, but Catherine paid her no mind—quickly delving into a lesson about etiquette and making sure to spend an inordinate amount of time regarding eavesdropping.

As the clock struck four, signaling the end of their lessons, Charlotte breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“Oh, stop,” Sophia admonished her sister. “This was interesting.”

Charlotte merely shook her head and Catherine laughed. “Enough, both of you,” she said with a shake of her head. “Now, go—it is time for tea.”

The girls left, laughing and giggling, with Catherine in tow.

“Miss Winslow,” a voice called out, and Catherine turned on her heel.

“Yes Sarah?”

The young maid looked at her with a gentle smile. “Begging your pardon, Miss Winslow, but Lady Ashdown requests your presence in the parlor.”

Catherine’s brow furrowed at this. Lady Ashdown, kind and gracious as she was, hardly ever summoned her. In fact, she’d spent most of her time working while entrusting Catherine with her children.

Catherine instinctively knew that something was off—and her mind raced with possibilities. Had she done something wrong? Were the girls’ parents unhappy with their progress?

She took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her simple brown dress before rushing to the parlor and knocking softly on the door.

“Come in,” Lady Ashdown’s warm voice called, and Catherine hesitated. She didn’t sound angry.

When she entered the parlor, Lady Ashdown looked at her with a soft, gentle smile—though it was not without a hint of something else. Regret perhaps?

“Ah, Miss Winslow. Please have a seat,” Lady Ashdown said and gestured to the chair across from her. Catherine’s knees trembled as she moved to sit, and she looked at the older woman nervously.

“Is everything alright, Lady Ashdown?”

Once again, the older woman smiled—though this time Catherine noticed that it did not quite reach her eyes. “Everything is… well… it is as it should be,” she said softly. “You see…. Sophia and Charlotte have reached that age where they must begin to think about their debut into society. Charlotte is eighteen already. Sophia will be soon…”

Catherine nodded slowly and swallowed. It felt as though there was a large rock settled in her stomach. She had a feeling she knew just where the conversation was headed.

“As such,” Lady Ashdown continued, “we feel as though their education has reached a point where a governess is no longer… necessary.”

The awful words hung between them heavily. For Catherine, it felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs. “I… I see,” she managed to choke out, trying her level best to not sound as though this affected her.

Lady Ashdown leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Catherine’s knee. “My dear girl,” she said softly. “Please do not think for even a moment that this is a reflection on you. You have been an exemplary governess, and we are so grateful for your dedication to the girls. They… they truly adore you.”

Catherine nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “Thank you, Lady Ashdown,” she said softly. “It has been a pleasure to teach and get to know them.”

“Now,” Lady Ashdown said, her tone brightening. “I have some news that I hope will soften this blow. You see… I took the liberty of making some inquiries on your behalf.”

Catherine’s brows shot up and she looked at Lady Ashdown curiously. “Inquiries, my lady?”

Lady Ashdown nodded, and a warm smile settled around her lips. “Indeed. It just so happens that an acquaintance of my husband, the Earl of Wessex, is in need of a governess for his young sister.”

For a moment, Catherine was speechless. The elusive Earl of Wessex was one of the most talked about figures in London society. According to all those who have ever seen them, the man was incredibly handsome.

“He oozes charisma and virility… he looks like the archetype of a romantic hero, with his thick, dark hair and broad shoulders…” She’d heard about him already, and she shook her head slightly. To be offered a position in this man’s household was not something she’d ever dreamed of.

“The Earl of Wessex?” she repeated softly, and Lady Ashdown nodded.

“Yes, Edward Montague,” she said. “He is looking for someone to educate his sister, Emily. She is a bit younger than my girls. Fifteen or sixteen perhaps? I am not sure. Quite bright too, apparently.”

“Lady Ashdown, I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “This is incredibly generous of you.”

Lady Ashdown waved away her thanks with a soft laugh. “Nonsense, my dear,” she said firmly. “It is the least I could do after all you have done for us. But I must warn you…” She looked around, as if she were concerned about being overheard. “You ought to be quite… guarded. From what I hear, life at Wessex Manor can be quite… stimulating.”

There was something in Lady Ashdown’s tone that made Catherine’s cheeks flush, and she pressed her hands to her face. “My lady!” she let out, scandalized, and Lady Ashdown laughed.

“Oh, pish,” she said, looking an awful lot like Charlotte in that moment. “The entire city knows that the man is impossibly good looking, and he has quite the rakish reputation.”

Catherine shook her head. She was certain Lady Ashdown was not implying whatever it sounded like.

“When would I be expected to start?” she asked, pushing the inappropriate thoughts aside.

“In a fortnight,” Lady Ashdown replied with a mysterious smile. “I hope that gives you enough time to make your preparations?”

Catherine nodded slowly. Of all the things she knew had to be done, she was most affected by the awful thought of saying goodbye to this family—they were far more of a family than she’d ever had before. “Of course,” she let out at last. “Thank you, Lady Ashdown. For everything.”

Catherine left the parlor slowly. Despite the good news of a new job waiting for her, her heart ached a bit more with every step she took. She was going to miss the Ashdowns terribly. Of course, a small part of her was quite curious about the Earl of Wessex. After all… she was only human.

The next two weeks passed in a blur of tearful goodbyes and frantic preparations. Of course, Sophia and Charlotte were as devastated as she was to say goodbye. The girls alternated between clinging to her desperately and peppering her with questions about her new position—and her new employer.

“Oh, Miss Winslow,” Sophia sighed dreamily as she settled onto Catherine’s bed while the latter packed her books away. “Just think! You’ll be living in a grand manor, surrounded by elegance… it’ll all be so beautiful.”

Charlotte grinned brightly, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “And don’t forget the Earl himself. I’ve heard he is terribly handsome—broad shouldered and muscled. And you are beautiful too—just think, what if he sweeps you off your feet and…”

“Charlotte!” Catherine admonished quickly, though she could not quite hide the blush that crept up her neck. “That is inappropriate speculation! The Earl of Wessex is to be my employer, nothing more. There will be no sweeping anyone off their feet and most certainly no romance.”

“Of course, Miss Winslow,” Charlotte replied quickly—her tone entirely too innocent to be believed. “But you must promise to write to us and tell us all about the glamorous parties and gentlemen you encounter.”

Catherine shook her head and laughed despite herself. “I promise to write, but I am afraid my letters will be disappointingly devoid of dashing gentlemen and glamorous parties. I am going to work—not find a husband. And I will certainly not be attending any parties.”

“Miss Winslow,” Sophia asked now, her eyes wide with innocence. “Don’t you want to marry?”

Catherine hesitated. “Well,” she said at last. “I am already one-and-twenty, and besides… I never really had a family of my own, so… I suppose it was easy not to long for my own.”

Sophia frowned. “But you are so beautiful, Miss Winslow,” she explained. “You ought to marry and have beautiful children too.”

Catherine shook her head, a sad smile playing about her lips. “Those are foolish thoughts for a governess to entertain,” she said softly. “Romance has no place in my life—not even at Wessex manor.”

With that, the conversation was finished, though judging by the whispers between the sisters as they left her bedchamber, she was certain that the girls did not quite agree with her.

Perhaps it was the conversation they’d had, perhaps the fear of the unknown… but when Catherine finally managed to find herself in a fitful sleep, a mysterious man loomed over her. Without fully seeing him, she knew without any sliver of doubt that it was the elusive earl.

“You are beautiful,” the man muttered, his lips warm against her ear. Catherine gasped as he swept her off her feet, his hands traveling slowly over her soft curves.

“You ought to marry… have children…” he whispered, and she shook her head in protest. But his lips then traveled down the column of her throat, and she let out a whimper when finally, his lips met hers in a demanding kiss.

She woke with a start, just as his hand traveled toward her breast, her heart racing wildly in her chest, and a strange warm wetness pooling between her thighs.

Far too soon, the morning of her departure arrived. Where Catherine stood in the entrance hall of Ashdown manor, surrounded by her meager belongings, Lady Ashdown fussed over her: straightening her bonnet before pressing a small purse into her hands.

“For any expenses you might incur on your journey,” she insisted when Catherine tried to protest. “And do remember my dear… you always have a home here with us, if you should ever need it.”

Catherine blinked back tears, touched by the older woman’s kindness. “Thank you, Lady Ashdown,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Before she could make another move, two slender figures appeared in the foyer. Sophia’s eyes brimmed with tears when she stepped forward. “We will miss you terribly, Miss Winslow,” she said softly, and Charlotte nodded. “Promise you won’t forget us,” she added, her usual exuberance all but gone.

“Oh, girls,” Catherine said softly as she hugged them. “I could never forget you in a thousand years,” she promised.

Before she could say anything more, the carriage came to a halt in front of the manor and she left the weeping girls inside, her own heart aching as she made her way down the cobblestone pavement.

 

Chapter Two

The carriage rattled along the country road, jostling Catherine with each bump and rut. She peered out of the window, watching as the familiar landscapes of her life gave way to rolling hills she’d never seen before. The journey to Wessex Manor had already taken more than a day and her body ached from the constant motion. She was used to the city, and quite nervous about starting a new life in the countryside.

“Not much further now, miss,” the driver called over his shoulder, his gruff voice carrying over the clatter of hooves. “We should reach the manor by nightfall.”

Charlotte nodded, grateful for the update and she leaned forward. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins,” she said, trying her best to make her voice louder. “I am looking forward to stretching my legs properly!”

Mr. Hawkins chuckled. “Aye, long journeys can be a trial. But don’t you worry, miss. The earl’s estate is a sight to behold. It’ll be worth the discomfort, mark my words.”

At this, Catherine finally gave in to her budding curiosity. “What… what can you tell me about the earl himself? I am afraid I know very little about my new employer.”

Mr. Hawkins was quiet for so long that Catherine wondered whether he’d heard her. When at last he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “Well, miss, it’s not my place to gossip about his lordship. But I will say this… he is a fair man, if a bit… reserved. Keeps to himself mostly, these days.”

Catherine frowned slightly at this. The response was far too cryptic. She’d never known servants to refrain from gossiping about their employers. Just as she considered pressing for more information, the carriage hit a particularly large pothole, and she yelped as the motion nearly unseated her.

“Hold on, Miss,” Mr. Hawkins spoke, sounding almost relieved—perhaps, she thought, at the change in topic. “The road gets rough here.”

It was clear, Catherine realized as the day wore on, that Mr. Hawkins was not at all eager to talk about the Earl and she found her thoughts drifting to the life she’d left behind. She wondered how Sophia and Charlotte were faring, and if they’d soon be married. Her chest ached at the thought.

“Mr. Hawkins,” she called out quickly, desperate for a reprieve from her melancholy thoughts. “How long have you been working for the Earl?”

When the old man glanced back at her, a hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Oh, going on twenty years now, miss. I started as a stable boy when his lordship’s father was still alive. Worked my way up, so to speak.”

Catherine leaned forward, intrigued at this. “I suppose you’ve seen a lot of changes over the years.”

Once again, Mr. Hawkins’ shoulders stiffened, but he nodded. “Aye, that I have,” he said quietly. “The old earl… he was a jolly sort. Always had the house full of guests, threw the grandest parties in the county… But with the young Earl, things are… different. Naturally.”

Catherine frowned. “Different how?” she pressed, but Mr. Hawkins shook his head.

“It is not my place to say, miss. You will have to see and make up your own mind about things.”

With this, he turned his head back to the road, and the rest of the journey passed in relative silence, broken only by the occasional warning when they hit a particularly rough patch of road. Despite the whirling questions in the back of her mind, Catherine knew instinctively that Mr. Hawkins had said all he was willing to with regard to the earl and his household.

“Mr. Hawkins,” she tried one last time, her heart racing with nerves. “What is Lady Emily like?”

Mr. Hawkins looked back and for perhaps the first time, his face wore a true smile. “She is a dear,” he said softly, affection evident in his voice. “She is a fair young child with a beautiful heart. You will like her, I am certain of it.”

Catherine sat back, slightly heartened by this. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “We are approaching the estate now, miss,” Hawkins called out and her eyes flew open again. “You’ll be able to see the manor just around this bend,” the old man explained.

Catherine leaned forward slightly, eager for her first glimpse of her new home. As soon as they rounded the corner she gasped, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

Wessex Manor was more beautiful than any manor she’d ever seen… and yet, as they moved closer, she could not help but notice signs of neglect. Ivy crept unchecked up the walls and several windows appeared to be boarded up.

“Is… is it always like this?” she asked hesitantly, and Mr. Hawkins grunted. “It’s seen better days, I suppose. But don’t you worry, miss. It’s still a fine house—just needs a bit of care, is all.”

Catherine nodded, though as they pulled up to the front entrance, her apprehension grew. The grounds were overgrown and wild with weeds poking through the gravel drive. Mr. Hawkins remained quiet, and the carriage came to a stop. Catherine took a deep breath, her heart racing with anticipation as Mr. Hawkins climbed down from his perch and opened the door for her—offering a hand to help her off.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and she smoothed her skirts. “For the journey and… well, everything.”

Mr. Hawkins nodded and tipped his hat to her, a hint of concern in his weathered face. “Good luck to you, miss,” he said gently. “I hope you’ll be happy here. I just wish…”

He stopped short of finishing his thought and headed back to the carriage. Before Catherine could do as much as move, the heavy oak doors of the manor swung open, and a man emerged. He was tall and lean with short brown hair and a thin mustache. Caroline swallowed nervously when she noticed the deep frown between his brows.

“Miss Winslow, I presume?” he spoke, his voice deep, and Caroline nodded, wiping her hands against her skirt.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said softly. “And… you are?”

“Samuel Harper,” he replied and gave a curt bow. “I manage the household for his lordship. Welcome to Wessex Manor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Harper,” she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny and resisting the urge to fidget.

“You may follow me inside,” he said in an almost stern fashion. “I will see to your belongings.”

He did not wait for a response—instead, he just turned and walked inside. Catherine followed hesitantly, though she could not suppress a shiver as she crossed the threshold. The entrance hall was dimly lit, with only a few sputtering candles to hold back the encroaching darkness.

“I will show you to your quarters,” Mr. Harper said, his footsteps eerily echoing in the empty space. “I believe you are tired after your journey.”

“Thank you,” Catherine murmured, as she followed him up a grand staircase, her hand trailing along the banister. A thick layer of dust came away on her fingers and she frowned, wiping them surreptitiously on her skirt. It made little sense, she thought. Did Mr. Harper not say he managed the household?

As they walked, Catherine frowned at the silence that permeated the house. She’d grown used to the sounds of servants bustling about, but there was none of that—no clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, no murmur of voices or laughter. It felt as though the life had been sucked out of the place.

“Mr. Harper,” she asked at last, unable to contain her curiosity. “I don’t mean to pry, but… where is everyone? I would have expected a home of this size to have quite a large staff.”

Mr. Harper’s stride faltered for just a moment before he resumed his brisk pace. “There is no everyone, Miss Winslow,” he said at last. “The staff has been… reduced. Save for Mr. Hawkins who mostly does the driving for his lordship’s businesses, it is just myself… and now you.”

Catherine gasped, nearly tripping over her own feet in shock. “Just us? But surely that can’t be right. Who tends to the grounds? Who cooks the meals? Who…”

“I assure you, Miss Winslow,” Mr. Harper interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “that I am quite capable of managing the essential tasks. And now that you are here to see to Miss Emily’s education, we will manage just fine.”

Catherine kept her doubts silent as they came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door. Mr. Harper searched his pockets for a key and unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal a bedchamber decorated in dark green.

“These will be your quarters,” he said and stepped aside. “I trust that you will find everything to your satisfaction.”

Catherine stepped inside with a nod. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. It is more than sufficient.” She turned back to face him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But… I don’t understand. Where is his lordship? And Lady Emily? I suppose I should be meeting them.”

A shadow passed over Mr. Harper’s face and he pursed his lips. “His lordship and Miss Emily keep to themselves,” he said at last, his voice neutral. “You will meet them when the time is right. For now… my suggestion is that you get some rest. Your duties will begin in the morning.”

Before Catherine could verbalize how strange this was, or request more information, Mr. Harper backed out of the room.

“Goodnight, Miss Winslow,” he said firmly, his hand already on the doorknob. “I will bring your belongings up shortly. Should you need anything, my quarters are at the end of the hall.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Catherine alone with her racing thoughts. She sank onto the edge of the bed slowly.

“What on earth have you gotten into, Catherine?” she whispered to herself and shook her head. Never before had she seen—much less experienced—a household quite like this. Why was the manor in such a state of disrepair? And why on earth did her new employer and his sister ‘keep to themselves’ as both Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Harper had explained?

She had a feeling that this job was going to be far more complicated than her previous position, and she jumped when a quick knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.

Samuel Harper stood on the other side of the door when she swung it open, her belongings in his arms.

“You are welcome to unpack now,” he said simply before turning away again.

Catherine’s words of thanks remained unspoken, and a chill ran down her spine as a gust of wind rattled the windowpane. She crossed the room quickly to draw the curtains, but paused—her hand remaining on the heavy fabric. In the fading light, she was certain she saw a figure moving among the overgrown hedges of the garden below.

Catherine blinked and leaned forward, but when she looked again, there was nothing but swaying branches and eerie shadows.

“My imagination must be running away with me,” she muttered as she quickly unpacked her few belongings before slipping in beneath the covers of the bed.

Exhausted as she was, sleep eluded her. Every creak of the old house, and every whisper of wind through the leaves set her already frayed nerves on edge.

It was almost time for the sun to rise when she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, the same old question echoing through her mind.

What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Catherine awoke early in the morning, having slept a meager couple of hours, and she sat up slowly, the unfamiliar surroundings causing her heart to race with a flutter of panic.

The Earl of Wessex, she realized. She was now working for him—her life had changed in the span of a couple of days. She glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. It was just past seven. Mr. Harper did not mention anything about breakfast or times. He’d only said that her duties would start in the morning.

She moved quickly to wash her face in the basin before dressing in a pale-yellow gown and pinning her hair into a neat bun. She’d barely finished when a sharp knock sounded at the door, and she looked up nervously.

“Come in,” she called, mentally chastising herself for the tremble in her voice.

It was Mr. Harper who entered, his face just as impassive as it had been the night before. “Good morning, Miss Winslow,” he greeted. “I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thank you,” Catherine lied, and he nodded. “Breakfast will be served in the small dining room in half an hour,” he said simply, and she nodded, despite having no idea where the small dining room was.

“I… will I meet Lady Emily then?” she asked, and Mr. Harper sighed.

“Lady Emily takes her meals in her room,” he said, pointedly avoiding her true question.

Catherine frowned at this. “I see,” she said. “And the earl? Will he be joining us for breakfast?”

Mr. Harper sighed and pursed his lips. “His lordship takes his breakfast in his study,” he said, his tone clipped. “He is not to be disturbed.”

“Oh,” Catherine let out, her confusion evident. “Mr. Harper, I wonder if I might ask…”

Mr. Harper, however, was already backing out of the room, his hand on the doorknob. “Half an hour, Miss Winslow,” he said firmly. “I will meet you here and show you to the dining room.”

As the door closed behind him, Catherine let out a frustrated sigh. It would seem, she thought frustratedly, that direct questions would get her nowhere in this house. She could not help but wonder if she’d ever meet the Earl at this rate. Everyone seemed almost fearful of discussing the man.

“What on earth,” she whispered, “did I get myself into?”