The Silent Governess(20)
He stepped away, and the perfect autumn day felt suddenly quite chilly.
Lord Bradley leaned against the stable wall and gave her a shrewd look. He rapped his knuckles on the hidden door, producing a hollow knock. “I understand you have discovered the secret room here.”
She looked up at him sharply.
“Yes, I know of it. I was underfoot as a lad when our old steward built it. I imagine he wanted a closet to nap in, or perhaps for some private assignation. It is perfectly suited for it, do you not think?”
He watched her closely. No doubt saw the blush warming her cheeks.
“Andrew mentioned last night that you hid in the stables with the groom. You were in here together, were you not?”
“Only for a moment,” she whispered, wondering if he would retract his offer of a half day.
“And what, pray, did you do during that moment alone, in the dark?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“Perhaps you assume I share your own ill-intentions.”
“Touché.” He held up a consolatory hand. “Forgive me, Miss Keene. I meant no harm.”
“I had better return to the nursery.” Dropping the brush, she turned and strode away, chilled and flushed at once.
Chapter 13
The estate carpenter frequently made toys for the children
in the nursery, furniture for the house, as well as carrying out repairs.
—UPSTAIRS & DOWNSTAIRS, LIFE IN AN ENGLISH COUNTRY HOUSE
On the first Wednesday afternoon in December, Olivia left the children under the care of Becky and Nurse Peale, donned her cape and gloves, and let herself out the rear door. Though the early December day was cold, the sun shone invitingly.
Walking around the manor toward the gardens, she saw Lord Bradley in coat and hat disappear once again behind the outbuilding near the gardening shed. Curiosity tugged at her, and she followed him around the building.
There Lord Bradley stood beside a tradesman as he packed his bag of tools. Both men stood for a moment, eyes trained on a small clear window as though a work of art. Then the tradesman lifted a hand in farewell and turned to go. The new window was certainly in better condition than the rest of the timber-framed structure, whatever it was. Wondering how she would be received this time, she whispered, “My lord.”
He looked at her with mild surprise. “Miss Keene. What is it? The children all right?”
“Yes, my lord. It is my half day.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “That was the glazier just here. Replacing this window.” He stepped to the door.
“What is this place?” she asked.
He hesitated at the threshold, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Come in and see for yourself.”
She wondered if it was proper, but curiosity—and the longing to speak with the only person with whom she was allowed to do so—overrode her sense of propriety. She followed him inside.
“It is just a little carpentry shop,” he said. “A workroom.”
Sun shone in through the new window, illuminating a one-room interior of unfinished wood. A lamp glowed on the worktable, which held a large drape-covered object atop it. A small stove in the corner heated the space. Tools hung neatly from pegs on the walls, and planks of various sizes were stacked beneath. A chair, mid-repair, sat in one corner. The place smelled of wood shavings, smoke, and him, and she thought the fragrance quite pleasant.
Lord Bradley removed his coat and hung it on a peg. She was further surprised when he tied a leather apron around his waist.
“Our former steward did quite a bit of carpentry.” Lord Bradley looked about him. “I used to come out here with him as a lad and tag along as he went about his duties. I had a small part—and many slivers—in the outbuildings, the arbor, and of course, the present stables of which you are so fond.”
He gave her a knowing look, but she quickly averted her gaze.
He sighed. “Then Matthews died and I went away to school, and the place fell into disuse.”
“It does not appear abandoned.”
“I have cleaned it out and made repairs.” He picked up a carpenter’s plane and began stroking it across a pale piece of wood. “Matthews’s tools were still here . . . like buried treasure for a man like me.”
“What are you making?”
He shrugged. “Christmas gifts. A cricket bat for Andrew. Blocks for Alexander. Though a couple seem to have gone missing.” He nodded toward the drape-covered object. “And something for Audrey. Attempting it, anyway. It must remain our secret, if you please, for I am dreadfully out of practice, and I don’t wish to disappoint them if unsuccessful.”
Another secret to keep . . . She looked with interest at the draped project. “Might I at least peek?”
He started to shake his head, then hesitated, regarding her with a gleam in his blue eyes. “You know, I could use an accomplice.”
“An accomplice?” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended, suspecting another reference to her “crime.”
He held up one hand in entreaty. “Poor choice of words. But . . . you were a little girl once, were you not?”
“I should think so, yes.” A little bubble of excitement rose in her chest.
“And you do sew?”
Her spirits quickly flagged. “You want me to sew?”
“Never mind.”
She sighed. “Forgive me. It is only that I have a fair amount of sewing most evenings as it is, helping Becky keep the children’s clothes repaired—especially Andrew’s stockings and the knees of his breeches. But if you need something mended . . .”
“Not mended. Created.”
“What?” She glanced at the chair in the corner. “A cushion for your chair, or . . .”
He followed her gaze. “Not a bad idea. But not for that chair.” He pinched an inch of air between his thumb and finger. “Could you make one say, this big?”
She looked doubtful. “For a mouse?”
He cocked his head to the side. “You disappoint me, Miss Keene.” His blue eyes twinkled as he pulled off the dustcloth from the large object on the worktable. “Have you no imagination?”
He revealed a three-story doll’s house, a scale model of a manor very like Brightwell Court. Olivia drew in a breath of wonder. “You built this?”
“Your confidence astounds me.”
“It is magnificent, truly.”
“Do you think Audrey will like it?”
“How could she not?” Olivia said, though in truth, she wondered if Audrey was growing a little old for dolls. Still, she believed any girl would marvel at such a gift.
She pulled out a drawing peeking out from under the house and unfolded the thick paper to reveal the whole—a detailed drawing of the doll’s house with measurements to scale. “You drew this as well?”
“Yes. So . . . will you?”
She dragged her gaze from the impressively drawn plan. “Hmm?”
“Help me make some draperies and cushions and bedclothes and such?”
She looked up at him, bewildered and touched that he would devote such time to amusing and delighting children who were not his own. “With pleasure, my lord.”
He smiled down at her, his lips softening as his gaze seemed to fix on her mouth. She drew in a breath and turned away toward the doll’s house. “Here is the nursery,” she said quickly. “But you have not included my room, though you have been there.” Her cheeks heated as she realized what she had said.
He stood beside her, bending near as they both pretended to study his handiwork. She felt his gaze on her profile, knew their faces were only inches apart.
A long curl of her hair came loose, a curtain falling between them. He slowly ran his finger along her temple and tucked the curl behind her ear. Her heart raced and her skin tingled at his touch. If she angled toward him, just a little, her lips might brush his. Did she want that? Did he?
The carpentry shop door creaked open and Olivia started. Beside her, Lord Bradley jerked upright. Croome stood framed in the threshold, eyes narrowed suspiciously, fowling piece in hand.
“Yes? What is it?” Bradley asked, somewhat defensively.
The man looked from Lord Bradley to Olivia. “I seen the door open to this ol’ place and thought a raccoon or a tramp must have got inside.” He pinned Olivia with a pointed look.
Lord Bradley replied, “As you can see, that is not the case.”
Croome glared at Olivia a moment longer, then slowly lifted his gaze to survey the room. “You using ol’ Matthews’s shop again?”
“Yes, as you see.”
Croome looked about at the neatly arranged tools, the sawdust, the work in progress.
“Have you some reason to object, Mr. Croome?” Lord Bradley asked with asperity.
The wiry brows rose. “Not my business, is it.”
“Precisely.”
“I’m setting rat traps in the outbuildings. Want one here as well?”
“Thank you, Mr. Croome.”
He trained his eyes on Olivia once more. “Mind you don’t get caught in it.”
When Miss Keene left the shop, Edward took a deep breath and attempted to regain his composure. He should not, would not, be attracted to her. He brought Miss Harrington’s image to mind once again, reminding himself that he would no doubt be seeing her at Christmas.
Christmas . . . His gifts would never be ready in time if he kept making a fool of himself over an under nurse. He was becoming as bad as Felix. He forced himself to return his attention to the blocks for Alexander. He had made ten of them, he was sure, with the numbers 1 through 10 rather crudely carved into one side and the letters A through J on the opposite. What had he done with blocks 1 and 2? They seemed to be missing. Being in close quarters with the woman had made sawdust of his brains. How had he mislaid them?