The Silent Governess(27)
“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.
“We have not met?” he asked softly.
“No, my lord. I saw you and your wife from a distance the night I . . . the night before you left, but that is all.”
“May I ask where you come from?”
She hesitated. “To the north and west of here. Near Cheltenham.”
He watched her, slowly shaking his head in disbelief or some unfathomable wonder. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and made a poor attempt to sound casual. “Miss Keene, may I ask about your . . . your family?”
She felt the old pain in her stomach, and twisted on her chair. “What would you like to know?”
“What your parents are like, where they are from . . . ?”
She latched on to the first part of his question. “My mother is a wonderful woman.”
The earl’s face brightened. “Yes?”
“She is kind and lovely. Intelligent and patient. She loves to laugh. . . .” Olivia hesitated, trying to remember the last time she had heard her mother laugh.
Lord Brightwell nodded, clearly eager for more information. But why? Olivia wondered.
“Go on.”
But tears had filled her eyes and she bit her lip to hold them back.
The earl said quietly, “You miss her.”
“Very much,” Olivia whispered.
“And your father?”
She swallowed, lowering her gaze. “He is clever in his own way. Quick with numbers. Ambitious. Forthright.”
“But?” he prompted.
She took a shaky breath. “He is . . . changeable. Often angry.”
“Does he . . . ill-use you, my dear?”
“No, never.”
“Your mother?”
She looked down at her hands. “He sometimes lashes out at her with harsh words—accusations and threats. But never with his hands, until . . .”
“Until?”
She looked away from his earnest eyes and changed the subject. “He was not always so. But now . . . now I am afraid there is not much warmth between us.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Still, I never meant—” She stopped herself.
“Never meant what, Miss Keene?”
She saw the compassion in his eyes and was tempted to tell him the whole story. “Never mind.”
He handed her his handkerchief. “Pray forgive me, Miss Keene. I did not mean to upset you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You are the one suffering the deepest loss.”
Tears brightened his eyes. “Yes, a great loss. My wife was dear to me indeed. But there was a time when there was not much warmth between us either.”
She wiped her eyes. “I struggle to credit it.”
“It is true, but I confide it only to give you hope. Perhaps your father may warm to you in time, Miss—May I ask your Christian name? I am quite certain Edward never told me.”
“My given name is Olivia, but most people here call me—”
“Olivia?” he breathed, visibly stunned.
“I know. I suppose it is rather lofty for a girl in service.”
“Olivia . . .” he repeated. His eyes held both triumph and anguish. “Your mother, she . . .” He faltered. “Is her name . . . Dorothea Hawthorn?”
Olivia stared at him dumbly. “No.” She slowly shook her head. “It is Dorothea Keene.”
They stared into one another’s eyes until Olivia whispered, “How do you know my mother?”
He shook his head in wonder. “I thought it must be so when first I saw you. I thought I was seeing a ghost. Or an angel. Dorothea’s daughter. I can hardly believe it. How is she? When did you last see her?”
“It is above two months now.”
He nodded. “Were you still under your parents’ roof before you came here, or did you have a situation elsewhere?”
“I had a position, but I lived at home.”
“Then, may I ask, why did you leave? Did something happen, or did you merely come seeking a situation?”
She hesitated. “I . . . I cannot tell you, my lord. You must forgive me.”
Concern shone from his face. “But . . . she is well, I trust?”
Tears burned in her eyes once more. Her whisper was as hoarse as when her voice had first returned. “I do not know.”
“Do you wish to return home? Edward would allow it, if I—”
She shook her head. “I cannot go back.” Anxious to divert the conversation, Olivia asked again, “How are you acquainted with her? You never said.”
“Do you not know?” Lord Brightwell’s pale eyes twinkled. “She had a post here herself.”
Olivia shook her head.
“Dorothea was governess to my half sisters—much younger than I. She was all the things you said—lovely, kind, clever.” He looked as if he were about to say something else, then hesitated.
“I would like to talk further with you. But . . . considering the unfortunate circumstances, perhaps that discussion should wait.”
Thinking of the funeral to come, Olivia nodded her solemn agreement. Questions trembled on her lips, but she held them back. She was not perfectly certain she wished to know the answers.
A dark cloud hung over Brightwell Court over the next days, rendering the place bright no longer. Judith Howe returned to full mourning attire of dull black bombazine and crepe. A horde of men in black coats, black hats, and armbands descended on the place like a flock of crows. Mr. Tugwell called in several times as well, pressing hands and murmuring condolences to family and servants alike.
In preparation for mourning, Judith Howe ordered a new black frock for Audrey from Miss Ludlow’s shop. In the meantime, Olivia added several inches of black lace around the hem of Audrey’s sole black dress, to accommodate the girl’s added height since her father’s death. She also removed the shiny buckles from Andrew’s black shoes and replaced the gilt buttons on his dark coat with simple black ones.
The children would not be attending the funeral itself, but were asked to join the assembled company beforehand. When Olivia led the children downstairs to deliver them to the drawing room, she heard the low rumble of somber conversation from within, where mourners ate cold meat and pie and shared remembrances of the past and wonderings about the future.
In the corridor, Felix stood, wearing the black gloves and scarf of a pallbearer. He greeted her and the children with a solemn bow, his flirtations and winks for once blessedly absent. From Nurse Peale, Olivia had learned that Felix and Judith had spent a great deal of time at Brightwell Court as children—though their parents had not—and it was clear he felt the loss of his aunt keenly. The tentative, woebegone expression he wore made him look very like the little boy he must once have been.
Olivia, of course, would attend neither the service at the church nor the funeral. But from the nursery window, she watched the slow cortege of hearse and mourners make its way to St. Mary’s and, afterward, the long procession of mourning carriages pulled by horses draped in black velvet, with black feathers on their heads, leave the drive on their way to the Estcourt family vault.
Olivia heard the church bells toll six times—to indicate the passing of a woman. Then after a pause, one peal for each year of Lady Brightwell’s life. The slow regular succession of peals struck Olivia’s heart, and she prayed comfort for Lord Brightwell and Lord Bradley long after the last echo died away.
Chapter 18
When one of the maids was found to be pregnant,
although Parson Woodforde did not re-engage her at the end
of her annual hiring, he gave her an extra 4s. “on going away,”
to supplement her wages.
—PAMELA HORN, INTRODUCTION TOTHE COMPLETE SERVANT
Sitting with his father in the library on a quiet January evening, Edward once more read the brief, threatening note his father had first shown him on the eve of the ill-fated trip to Italy.
I know your secret. Tell him, or I shall.