The Silent Governess(12)
She doubted she would remember all the names, but as Nurse Peale had warned her, she “need not get chummy with the staff.” Except for holidays, or when the children ate with the family, Olivia would take her meals in the nursery with only Nurse Peale, the nurserymaid, Becky, and the children.
Olivia attempted to direct a smile toward the table in general, but her face felt stiff and she was fairly certain her lips did not manage more than a quiver. Mrs. Hinkley sat and everyone bowed their heads while Mr. Hodges began the prayer. Olivia had been dismissed.
“I met the new under nurse last evening,” his cousin Judith announced as she stepped into the library. “Have you seen her?”
Edward was instantly wary. “Yes.” He slid the life-changing note beneath the cigar box on his father’s desk.
“Most unusual, do you not think? That Mrs. Hinkley should engage such a girl, I mean.” Judith bit her full lower lip. “Something isn’t right there.”
He stilled, pulse accelerating. He wondered what Judith had heard or guessed, but asked only, “What are you implying?”
“Only that there must be more going on than meets the eye.” She seemed delighted at the prospect.
“I don’t follow.” He felt himself frowning. “Do you mean, because she cannot speak?”
“Of course. What did you think I meant?”
He did not respond to that. “Are you concerned about leaving the children in her care?”
“Not at all.” She gazed above him, musing. “But it is interesting, is it not? Never been in service before. Doesn’t speak a word.” She returned her gaze to him. “Who wrote her character, do you know?”
“I do not.” He hesitated. “I am surprised at you, Judith. You have never taken an interest in the servants before.”
“You have never engaged a mute before, have you?” Her round blue eyes suddenly lit up. “Perhaps she is not mute at all but only pretends to be.”
This snagged his interest, though he tried not to show it.
“What if she only pretends to be mute or dumb, or whatever the word is, so she need not reveal her secrets? She might be the daughter of some powerful lord who is bent on forcing her into an arranged marriage.”
“Such marriages are no longer legal, Judith. As you well know.”
“La! Fathers still wield a great deal of pressure—that I do know.”
“All right. If she is nobility, why have we never seen her in London?”
Judith pursed her lips. “Locked in the tower, perhaps? Or . . . I know! She doesn’t speak English!”
He leaned back in his chair. “I have seen her write perfectly good English, and she understands everything said to her.”
Judith ran her finger along the table globe on his father’s desk. “Then perhaps she speaks with an accent, and is afraid that if she spoke she would give herself away. She is a” —Judith twirled her slender hand with dramatic flair—“Prussian princess, escaping a cruel husband.”
His interest lagged. “What nonsense, Judith. You read too many novels. I have always said so.”
She sighed. “Ah, well. You are no doubt right.” She poked through the dish of candies on the desk and changed the subject. “Did your parents depart without incident?”
“Yes, right on schedule.”
“I was so sorry to miss their party. I intended to return in time but was delayed at Mamma’s.” Judith helped herself to a ginger drop. “Ah, Italy . . . Dominick and I took our wedding trip there, you know.”
“Did you? Yes, I believe I do remember that.”
“You were at Oxford at the time. Left us right after the wedding breakfast.”
Dominick Howe had died only two years later, Edward recalled, from injuries received during the Peninsula War.
Judith sighed once more. “How I should love to visit Italy again. I do envy your parents.”
“Don’t. This trip is more about convalescence than pleasure. Though Father hopes that, should the climate improve Mother’s health, they might take in some of the sights.”
“It is their first time in Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Did they not take a wedding trip?”
He inhaled, pursing his lips. “I do not know. A bit before my time.”
She raised one perfect blond brow. “You have never asked?”
“No.”
She studied him through narrowed eyes. “You certainly haven’t much curiosity, cousin.”
“Whereas, you, dear cousin, have enough for the both of us.” He rose and the two left the library together.
“Would you be a dear and bring Alexander down to me?” she asked, pausing before the drawing room door. “I cannot face all those stairs at present.”
“Of course. I thought to see how the children were getting on at all events. Shall I bring all three? Perhaps I might give the older two a riding lesson, if you do not mind.”
“If you like.”
He bowed and stepped into the hall.
She called after him, “And do observe the new under nurse while you are there.”
He turned back, brows raised. “And what shall I look for? A royal brooch she has forgotten to hide away? An indentation on her ring finger?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Mock me if you will, Edward. But in time, I shall discover her secret.”
Olivia had just finished plaiting and securing a ribbon in Audrey’s hair when the door to the nursery creaked open. Young Becky was out dumping the children’s bathwater and Nurse Peale was still dressing little Alexander.
“Cousin Edward!” Andrew tossed his ball aside and ran across the room. Lord Bradley dropped to one knee as the boy launched himself into his arms.
He chuckled. “Good morning, Andrew. I take it you slept well.”
“I dreamt I was a kite!”
Lord Bradley smiled good-naturedly. “You certainly fly about like one.”
Audrey walked toward him as he rose but stopped several feet away, eyes both shy and admiring at once, tugging at the end of her plait and biting her chapped lip.
Lord Bradley smiled at Audrey, bestowing the attention she so obviously sought. “Good morning, Miss Audrey. Don’t you look lovely today. I like your hair.”
“Our new nurse did it.”
He hesitated. “Did she indeed.”
His eyes roved the room and met Olivia’s where she stood in the doorway to the sleeping chamber. She dipped a curtsy. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer before returning to Audrey.
“Well, I’ve only come to see how you all were getting on.” He laid a hand on each child’s head.
“We are ever so happy, now Miss Dowdle has gone,” Andrew said. “No schoolroom for us! No lessons for us!”
Olivia bit her lip.
“But Miss Livie did have us read our prayers before breakfast,” Audrey said. “And one of Aesop’s Fables.”
“Oh, which?”
“ ‘The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.’ ”
One fair brow rose. “What an interesting choice. Do you recall its moral?”
“Frauds and liars are always discovered eventually,” Audrey answered. “And pay accordingly for their deeds.”
“Something I do hope each of you will remember.” Again his gaze flickered to Olivia, and she felt herself flush self-consciously.
Andrew grinned. “Livie made Audrey start over when she tried to skip a whole line. Audrey thought she mightn’t know, but she did!”
Audrey ducked her head.
“Well, do not become accustomed to life without lessons,” Lord Bradley said. “For your mamma will no doubt engage another governess soon.”
Andrew groaned.
“Now.” Lord Bradley clapped his hands. “Who wants to ride today?”
Both children chimed in with great enthusiasm.
“Very well.” He looked up, his smile disappearing, his eyes focusing somewhere over Olivia’s head. “Please dress them in their habits and bring them to the stables at ten.”
Olivia nodded, but inwardly, she sighed. As Lord Bradley took little Alexander down to his mamma, Olivia began the process of undoing all the bows and fasteners she had just done up.
At ten minutes before the appointed hour, Olivia ushered her young charges down the stairs and out the rear garden door. Or rather, her young charges ushered her. Audrey took Olivia’s hand, as though directing a blind person instead of a mute. Meanwhile, Andrew bounded across the damp lawn, his little legs full of energy. He turned around, running backward to gauge their progress. She would have liked to urge him to be careful but, of course, could not.
He tripped over a tree root and would have toppled to the ground had not the auburn-haired man she’d seen at breakfast leapt forward and caught him. Olivia pressed a hand to her chest in relief and smiled at the groom.
His smile widened in return. He was nice looking—not too tall, but broad-shouldered, with fair freckled skin and brown eyes. The groom she had seen at the hunt, she now recalled.
“I’m Johnny Ross,” he said. “And you’re the girl who can’t speak. Miss Livie, was it?”
She nodded.
“You can hear, though?”
She nodded again, trying not to grin. Of course she could hear—did he think she could read minds?
“Lots of fellows might like a girl who can’t talk.” He added hastily, “Not me, I mean, not that I mind if a girl can’t, but I don’t mind if she can do either.” Flustered, his face reddened to match his freckles.