The Silent Governess Read online

  “Come, now,” Edward said. “You are as clever as the next fellow and will have your degree in due course. There must be something you are interested in.”

  “I am interested in a great many things. But none with prodigious remuneration. I suppose I had my heart set on remaining a gentleman, as my father and his father before him.”

  “And why not?” Judith said blithely.

  “Because, as you well know, Jude, Father left us with very little but debts to live on. Uncle is generous indeed, but I cannot expect him to support a wife and children as well.”

  “Wife and children?” Judith straightened, suddenly alert. “My goodness, Felix, are you engaged? I had not the slightest notion you planned to marry soon.”

  Her brother flushed deeply. “No. Not engaged. No plans as yet. Only . . . hopes.”

  He smiled almost shyly at Miss Harrington. “I have not yet had the good fortune of meeting the perfect woman, as has Edward.”

  Miss Harrington’s delicate complexion glowed pink while Edward grew uneasy.

  Felix slapped Edward on the shoulder, then added with bravado, “But Edward won’t be the only Bradley to marry well. Upon my soul he won’t.”

  Olivia sneaked away to leave the bag of wheat on Croome’s doorstep. As she turned to leave, she saw him bent low at the far edge of the clearing, laying a wreath of yew boughs on the ground. She wondered what he was about but, recalling his temper, decided not to interrupt him.

  When she returned to the nursery, she was surprised to find Lord Bradley sitting on the settee beside Alexander and his new blocks.

  He looked up when she entered. “I had no notion you could carve as well as sew, Miss Keene. Your talents are legion.”

  She frowned and, after glancing about to make certain no one else was in the nursery, whispered, “I am afraid you overestimate me, my lord. I carved nothing. I thought you did.”

  “I carved simple numbers and letters on each. And now they have animals carved into them as well. This H block has quite a detailed hound on it.” He picked another block at random from the stack. “And the B has a bird of some type.” He lifted the block toward her. “What do you make out?”

  Olivia walked near and took the block from his outstretched hand, examining the skillful carving. To her, it looked very like a partridge.

  The thought of animals brought the old gamekeeper to mind. “You don’t think Mr. Croome . . . ?”

  “I would be exceedingly surprised.”

  Olivia nodded. So would she.

  Lord Bradley rose and cleared his throat. “Well, thank you again for all your assistance.” He withdrew a folded bank note and extended it toward her. “Here is a little something for your trouble.”

  She ought to have been grateful but instead felt oddly deflated to be offered payment for what had been an act of friendship. To be reminded once more of the true nature of their relationship—that she was simply another servant in his employ.

  “No thank you,” she said, and turned away.

  Olivia spent the afternoon helping the children fill Christmas boxes for the servants, which they would disperse on Boxing Day tomorrow. Then she took Audrey and Andrew down to the dining room, where the family gathered for Christmas dinner at the early hour of four o’clock.

  After the meal, all of the servants were invited in to share a glass and toast the season. How strange it felt to stand in the dining room with Mrs. Moore, Doris, Johnny, and the others, as invited guests. Croome was not among them. Nor did anyone seem to miss him.

  Audrey and Andrew sang carols once more, this time without accompaniment. As they sang, Olivia felt Johnny’s eyes on her but did not look his way. She did peek at Doris, who winked at her. Martha, she noticed, watched the children with tears in her eyes.

  When they finished, the menservants dipped into their coat pockets, and the women into their apron pockets, and the children collected the proffered coins. Perhaps seeing her confusion, Mrs. Moore leaned close and explained in a whisper that this money would later be given to the poor. Olivia wished she had known. She would have brought down one of her last remaining coins, still tacked inside the little purse. Olivia hoped her mother did not miss the money. Did her mother miss her?

  This was the first Christmas the two of them had spent apart, but Olivia feared it only the beginning of many lonely Christmases to come.

  Where was she?

  Olivia lifted her glass to her mouth. She had no taste for wine, but she hoped the action would conceal the trembling of her lips.

  Chapter 16

  In your manner to your servants, be firm and kind,

  without being familiar.

  Never converse familiarly with them, unless on business,

  or on some point connected with their improvement.

  —SAMUEL & SARAH ADAMS, THE COMPLETE SERVANT

  Twelfth-night festivities over, guests gone, and the house quiet once more, Edward sat down to enjoy his coffee and newspaper in peace. Hodges came in as stealthily as ever and held the letter tray before him.

  Edward picked up the single piece of post and thanked the butler, who disappeared as silently as he had come. Glancing at the letter, Edward recognized the handwriting and noted the unfamiliar postal markings. The ink was smeared, but he believed it read, Roma.

  Across the table, Judith eyed the letter over her teacup. “How exotic-looking. Who is it from?”

  “Father.”

  Nibbling daintily at her toasted muffin, Judith regarded him with eager eyes. “I do hope they are enjoying their time abroad.”

  He hoped it wasn’t bad news. With hands suddenly damp and clumsy, he broke the sealing wax and unfolded the letter.

  My dear Edward,

  I am grieved to inform you that your mother has left us—left her suffering and this world for brighter shores. She died peacefully in her sleep, with me holding her hand. I am returning home directly and should arrive by the tenth, God and tides willing.

  Your loving father

  BRIGHTWELL

  A spear of grief pierced him. His mother . . . gone. Had she been frightened of dying . . . or accepting of her fate? Thank God she had died peacefully, and with her husband by her side.

  Some adolescent part of him was relieved to have been spared the sight of his mother’s death, but the nobler part of his heart wished he had been there. To have heard any last words she might have said to him. To have told her he loved her. No matter the past. No matter what. To say, “Until we meet again.”

  He recalled their tender parting as she left for Italy. How glad he was that he had kissed her cheek and bid her a fond farewell, not guessing it would be their last. Almighty God, he prayed, please comfort my father.

  “Edward?” Judith asked. “What is it?”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Lady Brightwell has died.”

  Judith’s hand flew to her heart. “Oh, Edward! I am sorry.” She leapt to her feet and stepped around the table, laying a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and pressed it with his own.

  “Thank you.”

  After a moment, he stood and excused himself, wanting to be alone. He went upstairs, shut himself in his study and there read the letter once more. He noticed that his father had ended with his title. A title Edward had once thought would be his one day. And now it might all be gone. His future. His very name. But at the moment, he could not care. He laid his forehead on his fist and wept, for his mother, for his bereaved father, for himself—a lost boy losing the only mother he had ever known.

  News of Lady Brightwell’s death spread quickly through the manor. Olivia ached over Lord Brightwell’s loss of his wife. For Lord Bradley’s loss as well. She wondered how he was. Wished she might somehow comfort him. If she were to receive such news of her mother, she knew she would be devastated indeed.

  The following day dawned dreary and rainy, which seemed to echo the general mood of the house. In the afternoon, the melancholy children even succumbed to rare naps. Not all
owed that luxury, Olivia searched the schoolroom for another book for Andrew. Finding none to suit, she wrote the title she sought on a piece of paper.

  Mrs. Howe, dressed in dull black bombazine, entered the nursery, delivering Alexander back to Nurse Peale. Olivia politely held the note before her mistress with a questioning lift of her brows. Mrs. Howe assured her they’d had a copy of The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes in the nursery, but perhaps it had been returned to the library by an overzealous housemaid. Declaring her intention to return to her own room to nap as well, Judith stepped to the door.

  “Has she your leave, then, to go into his lordship’s library?” Nurse Peale asked.

  “Yes, yes.” Mrs. Howe waved her hand dismissively. “There is no one to disturb.”

  Lighting a candle lamp against the darkening rooms, Olivia made her way downstairs to the library. She knocked softly and, when no one answered, let herself in. The muted aromas of cigars, leather, and musty draperies greeted her.

  Lifting her candle high, she surveyed the room. Tall bookcases were fitted between draped windows and across the entire rear wall. At the front of the room stood an impressive desk, and two high-backed chairs faced a dark fireplace.

  Placing her candle on the table near the wall of books, Olivia began skimming the titles. She felt self-conscious and presumptuous about poking about the earl’s library but reminded herself she was looking for a book for the children.

  Suddenly the library door opened behind her, and Olivia whirled about. An older gentleman stumbled in with his own candle lamp, clearly exhausted and dressed in a rumpled suit of clothes. Setting down his lamp, he slumped into a chair and did not even seem aware that she was there. Lord Brightwell, she realized. For a long moment, Olivia found she could not move, could not take her eyes off the bent, blond-grey head, nor the agony etched in the wrinkled brow.

  Remembered images filled her mind. She saw the earl holding his wife, comforting her with gentle words, tenderly stroking her cheek and kissing her. She had never known a husband could so love a wife, and now he had lost her.

  Impulsively, Olivia ran to him. She knelt before his chair and gently took his limp hand in her own.

  His eyes flew open in surprise.

  “My lord,” she whispered, all vows of silence forgotten. “I am so sorry.” Tears blurred her vision, obscuring and then magnifying his reaction.

  He squinted hard; then his eyes widened, and his mouth parted in shock. Olivia read his thunderstruck expression as revulsion that a servant should address him. Touch him.

  She released his hand, her face growing hot, and lowered her eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered again, rising to her feet.

  “Miss Keene!” came a stunned gasp. Judith Howe stood in the threshold, hand on the door latch. “What in the world are you doing? Return to the nursery at once!”

  Head bowed, Olivia walked quickly toward the door, not missing the look of apologetic concern Judith gave Lord Brightwell. “I did not know you had returned, Uncle. I shall see that you are not disturbed further.”

  Olivia felt two sets of eyes follow her from the room.

  When the summons came the next morning, Olivia stiffened, but was not surprised. She had been expecting it. I acted on impulse, she silently defended herself. I meant no harm . What would Lord Bradley be angrier about, she fretted, as she took the stairs down. That she had dared speak with his father, or that she had spoken at all?

  She entered the study as bid, shut the door, and stood rigidly before his desk.

  Lord Bradley rose. “I wish to speak to you about my father,” he began evenly.

  Olivia lifted her chin, holding her head high.

  “Miss Keene?”

  She met his gaze coolly, making a great effort to show no emotion.

  “Though one might never guess it from looking at you,” he said wryly, “my father seems to think you are quite a compassionate young woman. What did you say to him last night?”

  She stared at him, bewildered.

  “Yes, he told us you spoke to him. Judith assured him he must have been distraught—imagined it—because you are a dumb mute.”

  He pronounced the final words with relish.

  “Tell me what you said to make such an impression.”

  Olivia felt her brow furrow, as perplexed by the earl’s supposed reaction as Lord Bradley clearly was.

  “All I said was how sorry I was.”

  He raised a brow. “What else?”

  “Nothing.” Her mind scrambled to recall further details.

  An odd light crept into his eyes. “Then what did you do? Show me. Show me what you did, what you said, and how you said it.”

  She huffed in frustration. “But I cannot! He walked in and caught me unawares. The grief on his face was so devastating, his love for your mother so obvious, I was moved to act. It was an impulse. I did not think—”

  He stepped around the desk and leaned back against it, arms crossed. “Show me.”

  “But you are not—” She stopped suddenly as a swift ache swelled in her chest. How could she be worried about defending herself when his mother had just died? The only mother he had ever known. She knew what it was like to love and miss a mother. It was ever-present pain.

  Unbidden, tears filled her eyes. The man before her was pretending to be so hard, so aloof, but inside he was a boy who had just lost his mamma.

  Edward saw the transformation cross her countenance and stared, mesmerized. When her eyes filled with tears, his chest tightened and his own eyes burned. He watched silently as she approached and stood before him, eyes wide, face pale and pained. She placed her slim fingers on his hand and drew it into both of hers, enveloping it in her warm grasp.

  Edward drew in a shaky breath.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered, gaze locked into his. “I am so sorry.”

  Edward sank into her vivid blue eyes, finding beauty and empathy there, solace and peace. For a moment, he forgot his father, forgot his mother, forgot everything.

  When he did not move or speak, Miss Keene laid her soft cheek against his hand. As Edward gazed down at her lovely profile, his free hand lifted of its own accord, as if to stroke her hair. He barely resisted the impulse.

  “It must be so hard to lose your mother,” she murmured.

  He tensed immediately. This had been no ploy to seek her sympathy. He did not need a servant’s pity or attentions, no matter how lovely she was.

  He straightened and said sternly, “We were not speaking of me.”

  She quickly dropped his hand and stepped back, unable to meet his eyes, clearly embarrassed to find herself in such an intimate position—a position she had initiated.

  He would not reveal how her nearness affected him. Would not be overcome as his father had been. “I must say,” he began, hoping his voice would not waver and betray him. “I am very impressed with your acting ability. You might have a future in the theatre if you like. I can see why Father was taken with you, a woman half his age throwing herself at him.”

  “It was not like that.”

  “And you spoke to him!”

  “I could not help it, I—”

  “How many others have you spoken to?” Edward felt his anger rising but knew it had little to do with the fact that Miss Keene had spoken a few words to his father. It was his father’s reaction to her that annoyed him. And if he were honest with himself, his own reaction as well.

  “I am sorry—truly I am. But as Mrs. Howe said, your father was distraught. He may not remember clearly the events of last evening. He need never see me again and the whole business shall be forgotten.”

  “Au contraire,” Edward drawled. “He wishes to see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Chapter 17

  The undertaker would provide professional mourners or “mutes”

  dressed in black to stand about and lend dignity to the affair.

  —DANIEL POOLE, WHAT JANE AUSTEN ATE AND CHARLES DICKENS KNEW

  Olivia
smoothed the bodice of the dark blue dress with trembling fingers as she walked downstairs and across the hall to the library the next afternoon. Becky had taken the children outside for her, and Olivia would much rather have been with them than on her way to this appointed meeting with the Earl of Brightwell. What could the earl want with her? Certainly there was nothing to Lord Bradley’s innuendo. She shuddered. No. It could not be. He could not have so misread her sympathy.

  She took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  She stepped in and closed the door behind her, heart pounding. Would he reprimand her, or worse?

  The earl was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire, but he rose when she entered. “Please,” he beckoned. “Come here, child. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  Olivia swallowed and walked forward. As she approached, Lord Brightwell watched her closely, his face wearing that same stunned expression of the first night. Had he not asked to see her?

  He quietly bid, “Do sit down.”

  She complied and clasped damp palms in her lap.

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Keene, my son has told me of the circumstances of your arrival. You need not keep silent with me.” His voice was gentle, and she noticed his gracious choice of words.

  She felt a new stab of regret. “My lord, it was not my intention to eavesdrop.”

  He lifted a hand. “That is not why I asked you here. And though I am not certain I approve of his actions, I know Edward has the family’s best interests at heart. Miss Keene, when you spoke with me the other night—”

  “I apologize for my familiarity, my lord.”

  “Do not apologize, please!” His vehemence surprised her. “My own family has been treating me like a leper. Yours was the only true warmth I received all day.”

  Olivia felt tentative pleasure at his words and studied her clasped hands. Feeling his gaze upon her profile, she looked up to find him studying her.