The Silent Governess(23)
But where was Andrew? Had he already gone upstairs?
Olivia turned back to the corridor and saw him. Curled up on the padded bench upon which the Tugwell boys had piled their coats, fast asleep. Poor lamb was exhausted. She lowered herself to her haunches before him. “Andrew?” she whispered, forgetting for a moment that she was not to speak. The boy didn’t rouse. She gently stroked the brown hair from his forehead. She hated the thought of waking the child, but he was too heavy for her to carry up so many stairs.
“Shall I carry him?” a voice asked.
Startled, she looked up. Lord Bradley stood above her. She had not heard him step into the corridor. Had he heard her speak Andrew’s name?
She nodded and silently mouthed, Thank you.
With gentle ease he bent and lifted the boy and carried him toward the stairs. Olivia followed.
On their way up to the nursery, Lord Bradley’s breathing grew laboured, but he bore the child without pause. When they reached the sleeping chamber, Olivia hurried to assist, pulling back the bedclothes as he laid Andrew on his bed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, this time aloud.
“A great many stairs, that,” he said, unashamedly resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“I am sorry. I should have tried—”
“No, of course you should not have. I am only sorry to be so woefully lathered. I shall have to take more regular exercise, I see.”
Olivia removed Andrew’s shoes, wondering where Becky was, but somehow glad the girl was not present just then.
She was surprised when Lord Bradley remained. “I shall see to him, my lord. I am sure you wish to return to your party.”
He blew out a breath between his cheeks. “Not as much as I ought to.”
He helped her remove Andrew’s pantaloons and coat. His miniature neckcloth had long since been discarded somewhere. “Let us leave him sleep as he is,” Lord Bradley whispered.
She nodded and loosened his shirt at the neck. The billowing white shirt, now untucked, resembled a nightdress at any rate. She pulled up the bedclothes under Andrew’s chin. Still Lord Bradley lingered. He bent low and brushed the boy’s forelock, much as she had done downstairs. How would it feel, she wondered, to be so gently touched by him? Or to stroke his fair hair with her fingers?
“He is very like his father,” he said softly.
“Is he?”
“Yes. The dark hair, the cowlick, the impish face—all very like Dominick.”
“You knew him well?”
“Fairly well, yes, though he was six or seven years older than I. Our London house was near to his, and we spent a great deal of time together during several seasons. Dominick was ever kind to me—even before he knew I had a beautiful cousin he might one day marry. He was in love with his Jeannette then and married her when he was still quite young. He was brought very low when she died. I admit I was surprised he rallied so quickly and married Judith only eighteen months later. I should not recover from such a loss so quickly.”
Nor would I, she thought. “But then, he had two children who needed a mamma.”
His expression darkened. “Yes.” He hesitated, thought better of whatever he was about to say, and instead straightened. “I do appreciate the care you are giving my young cousins, Miss Keene. I am sure their stepmother does as well, if she has not said so.”
“Thank you, my lord. It is my pleasure.” She realized anew that Audrey and Andrew had lost both mother and father. Poor lambs! No wonder Lord Bradley felt so deeply for them.
He pursed his lips, then said quietly, “I find it interesting that you address me as ‘my lord’ when you know better.”
Her heart pounded to hear him speak of the secret they never discussed. She said, “You call me Miss Keene.”
He considered this. “A sign of respect, perhaps?”
She nodded, feeling warmth flood her body.
“How odd it is,” he mused. “Carrying on . . . pretending everything is as it once was.” He inhaled deeply, then stepped to the door. Once more he hesitated. “And for whatever it is worth, I thought your playing well. I am sorry you were so rudely dismissed.”
She felt her ears heat at the recollection. “Think nothing of it. No doubt Miss Tugwell was right.”
“Well, good night, Miss Keene. And happy Christmas.”
A few minutes later, Olivia closed the door to the sleeping chamber quietly behind her, wondering how late Audrey would remain downstairs with the guests. Expecting the dark nursery to be empty, she started at the sight of a shadowy figure within. Had Lord Bradley not taken himself back down to his guests as she had thought?
But it was Felix’s voice that rumbled through the darkness. “You know, Livie, when I came up here a few minutes ago, I could have sworn I heard two voices—in secret tête-à-tête. I waited in the shadows to see who would come out after my cousin and am confounded to find it was you.”
Heart pounding, Olivia shrugged and shook her head.
“Not your voice?”
Olivia stared at him, nerves jangling.
Felix stepped closer. “Sticking to the mute bit, hmm?”
Olivia nodded.
His voice took on a silky sweetness. “So, if I were to, say, take your hands”—he pressed her hands in his—“you could not ask me to let you go?”
She stood stone-still, her whole body tensing.
“And if I wanted to hold you”—he pulled her against him, a surprisingly strong arm grasping her about the waist—“you could not refuse?”
She tried to pull free but could not break his grip.
“And if I were to kiss you . . . you could not protest?” He backed her against the wall, his voice a husky whisper now. “Don’t protest, sweet Livie. Please. It is Christmas, after all.” He leaned near, aiming for her mouth. She turned her face away, and he pressed a hard kiss against her neck. Olivia struggled, and finally, pulling one arm free, punched him in the eye.
Felix howled and cursed, releasing her to cover his face with his hands. “Livie!” he cried, incredulous.
She was already striding quickly from the room. His voice, calling after her, took on a pleading tone, “You needn’t have done that. I was only teasing you. Don’t go making a fuss!”
Was he afraid she would march straight to his cousin and report his behavior? Perhaps she should. She wondered briefly which man feared the other more. But who would believe her word against Felix’s?
She would take Lord Bradley’s secret to the grave, but if Felix Bradley dared touch her again, she would remain silent no longer.
Chapter 15
We had 12 dances & 5, 6, or 7 couples. We then had a game of Hunt
the Slipper and ended the day with sandwiches and tarts . . .
I must not omit saying that the little ones dressed up as usual and
sang Christmas Carols.
—FANNY AUSTEN KNIGHT, CHRISTMAS EVE, 1808
On Christmas morning, Olivia arose and ate a leisurely breakfast in her room while Becky, all apologies for disappearing the night before, bathed and dressed the children on her own. Olivia wondered where her mother was spending the day, and lifted her teacup in a silent Christmas salute.
She again eyed the dark blue gown hanging on the back of her door. She would wear it, she decided, and stood to dress. The gown fit her well, though she was more slender than Mrs. Howe.
She guessed the woman had been thinner before her lying-in with Alexander. To make the gown her own, Olivia wore her new lace tippet—a Christmas present from Mrs. Moore—as a collar.
Stepping into the nursery, she saw Becky struggling to arrange Audrey’s hair, so Olivia brushed and pinned it herself. Audrey wore a new long-sleeved pelisse over a printed muslin frock. Andrew wore his Sunday pantaloons, waistcoat, and new green coat.
Olivia escorted the children down to the breakfast room, where they were to join the adults before church.
After the tussle of the previous night, Olivia was relieved to find Felix conspicuously absent. Miss Harrington was not present either, though she was staying at Brightwell Court for several days.
Upon the sideboard rested a Christmas box for each child.
Opening it, Audrey’s eyes grew as wide as the coins. “Two guineas.”
“We are rich!” Andrew exclaimed, lifting his guineas high.
“Alexander has his as well,” Judith explained. “But as he tried to eat them, I shall keep them until he is older.”
Lord Bradley laid a hand on each child’s head and added warmly, “From Lord and Lady Brightwell. Left especially for you before they departed.”
“Ah . . . Christmas in Rome,” Judith sighed. Then she turned to Olivia waiting by the door, the children’s coats in her arms. She surveyed her figure, head to toe. “You look very well today, Miss Keene,” she said.
Self-conscious, Olivia smiled and dipped a curtsy.
Lord Bradley surveyed her as well, but his expression was inscrutable. Olivia was relieved the woman did not announce to Lord Bradley and the hovering Osborn that Olivia wore one of her castoffs.
Felix stumbled in with rumpled hair and a hint of orange whiskers on his chin. The young man looked worse for drink from the night before. Olivia knew the look—greenish pale complexion, hollow eyes. She also noticed his bruised eyelid, which she could attribute to drink as well, at least indirectly.
Judith greeted her brother pleasantly. “Good morning, Felix. Mrs. Moore made mincemeat pie, your favorite.”