Dear Olivia,
I was pleased to write a reference to a Mrs. Judith Howe describing your superior suitability as a governess. I hope it will secure a situation for you that will be mutually beneficial to you and your pupils. I confess I was relieved to hear word of you, my dear, since you left so suddenly. I desponded of losing contact with you as well. Do you know
And there a word—where, she believed—was crossed out, quite unlike Miss Cresswell’s normally exacting hand. The sentence continued
when you might visit us?
That is odd, Olivia thought. Perfectly polite, but not one mention of her father’s fate, nor of her mother, though she and Miss Cresswell were longtime friends. Had Lydia Cresswell no reaction to her mother’s leaving? Or had she not left after all? At least if her mother were still at home, Miss Cresswell was sure to tell her about the reference request, and her mother would learn of Olivia’s whereabouts that way. When would she come?
At all events, Olivia was relieved the letter bore no word of condolence or censure. Surely Miss Cresswell would not write such a brief, polite letter had the worst happened.
Olivia began the afternoon lessons by posing questions from Mangnall’s Historical and Miscellaneous Questions, for the Use of Young People. Miss Cresswell had used the text a great deal in her classes, and Olivia had been relieved to find a copy on the schoolroom bookshelf.
“Now, Andrew, you will not know these answers yet, but do attend just the same please.” She cleared her throat and read, “ ‘Name the significant events of the first century.’ ”
“I am afraid I don’t know either, Miss Keene,” Audrey said.
“Very well. Let us consider some of them.” But before she could begin, Lord Bradley’s deep voice filled the void.
“ ‘The foundation of London by the Romans,’ ” he began, leaning against the back wall of the schoolroom. “ ‘Rome burnt in the reign of Nero, and the Christians first persecuted by him.’ ”
Olivia watched him, lips parted.
“ ‘Jerusalem destroyed by Titus, and the New Testament written.’ ”
“Bravo, my lord,” Olivia acknowledged. “High honours for you. You forgot Britain’s persecution of the druids, but, still, excellent.”
He bowed.
Distracted from her course, and disconcerted by his blue eyes studying her impassively, she returned her gaze to the book and read another. “ ‘Name some celebrated characters of the sixteenth century.’ ”
“Oh!” Audrey said. “I know. Christopher Columbus and . . . Martin Luther.”
“Very good, Audrey.”
Lord Bradley did not look as pleased. “But what about reformers Calvin, Melancthon, and Knox. Or the great navigators Bartholomew Gosnold and Sebastian Cabot, for whom Uncle Sebastian was named. And what of the astronomers Tycho Brahe and Copernicus?”
Olivia was beginning to feel piqued. “Well done, my lord, but you are not one of my pupils.”
“Indeed I am not, and gratefully so. Might I have a word with you?”
She stared at him, uncertain.
“Alone?” he added.
She swallowed. “Andrew, please write the alphabet, and Audrey, as many first-century events as you can remember.”
She followed Lord Bradley into the nursery, but Nurse Peale was snoring softly in her rocking chair, so he led the way out to the corridor instead.
“Miss Keene, are you trying to educate my young cousins or bore them to death?”
She gasped. “What do you mean?”
“Mangnall’s Questions? That is nothing but rote memory. You’ve got to teach them to think, Miss Keene, to develop their logic and discernment.”
“I plan to do that as well, my lord, but certain facts are essential and lay a foundation for future learning of politics, history . . . And Audrey is at a perfect age for memorizing facts. She is like a sponge.”
“And Andrew like a dried bone.”
“He is young, I admit, but I do give him other assignments that are more suited to his age.”
“I should hope so. A boy of his energies cannot sit all day listening to you and his sister rattle off fact after fact about dead men and advanced concepts that are so much Latin to him.”
“I understand your concerns. And, speaking of Latin, you will wish to engage a tutor for him soon. I do not claim to be an expert. Perhaps Mr. Tugwell?”
“Andrew is a bit young yet, do you not think?”
“Not if Mrs. Howe plans to have him educated at Harrow or Eton or the like.”
“I do not believe she has any definite plans as yet, Miss Keene. I rely on you to educate him yourself, to the best of your ability. For now.”
“I shall do my best, my lord, with what I have.”
He studied her. “What is it you lack?”
“Texts suited to his age, a blackboard for geography . . .”
“A blackboard?”
“A wall-mounted slate. The invention of a Scots headmaster, I understand. Though I imagine large pieces of slate must be in short supply.”
His mouth lifted sardonically. “Anything else?”
“A bit of patience on your part would be most welcome, I assure you.”
“That too is in short supply.” He gave her a long look, then turned on his heel, nearly colliding with Felix as he came up the corridor. She had not known he was again visiting for the weekend. Lord Bradley passed him without a word.
Felix watched him go, brows high, then turned to look at her. “He must think highly of you, Miss Keene, or he wouldn’t push you so.”
So Felix had heard Lord Bradley’s reproof. She doubted his interpretation.
“It is true,” Felix insisted. “My sister says you are an excellent teacher and very clever. Yes, I believe those were her words. Edward must see your potential and that is why he pushes you.” He added good-naturedly, “And why he basically ignores me.”
This caught her interest. “Does he?”
“Oh, do not mistake me. He is good to me. Just never satisfied. He is a dreadful perfectionist, as you must have realized by now. I have tried to dislike him but cannot quite stick to it. I should be terribly envious of him, and I suppose I am in some ways. . . . But I feel sorry for him at the same time. He has never really fit in, nor seemed happy. Not at Harrow, not at Oxford, not in London. Do you ever see him laugh?”
Olivia thought. “Sometimes, I think . . . with the children.”
“If so, then it is only with them. At all events, when that green bug bites me, I say, Felix, which would you rather be? Unhappy heir to an earldom, or a jolly untitled man with decent means and an endless stack of invitations?”
Olivia smiled at him, touched by the vulnerability in his eyes.
“Ahh, Miss Keene. What a gem you are, listening to me prattle on. You know it is quite unusual for a man to take a governess into his confidence. Into his bed, yes, but not into his confidence. Not that you wouldn’t be welcome in my bed—that is if you wanted to, which of course you don’t. Do you?”
Olivia shook her head firmly, embarrassed. But she could not bring herself to be too angry at a suggestion so humbly presented.
“Ah well, never hurts to ask, as they say.” He extracted a cigar from his coat pocket. “Now, you must excuse me. This cigar is demanding to be smoked, but my sister forbids me to do so indoors.” He turned, then paused to add, “It has been a pleasure as always, Miss Keene, though I fear I dominated the conversation just as abominably as I did when you were mute.”
The next morning, Edward gestured Miss Keene into his study and closed the door behind her. He began quietly, “Miss Keene, do be careful about my cousin.”
“Mrs. Howe?”
He frowned. “I meant Felix. I have noticed the way the two of you . . . talk . . . together.”
She lifted her chin. “I am allowed to talk now, am I not?”
He pursed his lips. “Yes, and you have obviously made quite an impression on him, but . . . ” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Take no offense, Miss Keene, but you are not the first governess he has . . . shown interest in.”
She lifted her stubborn chin. “Never fear, I did not flatter myself that I was. At all events, he seems a pleasant enough young man.” She hesitated. “Most of the time. You might treat him more kindly.”
“Kindly? Felix and I get on perfectly well.”
“He thinks you disapprove of him.”
“Disapprove of him?” Edward frowned. “He told you that?”
She nodded. “Though I ought not to have broken his confidence.”
Edward admitted, “Some of his habits and manners are not to my liking. But I don’t disapprove of him as a person.”
When she didn’t respond, he looked up and found her regarding him thoughtfully. “What?”
“Are you unhappy?”
Edward felt irritation surge. “Why would you ask that? Did Felix suggest it?”
She shrugged.
Edward detested the thought of Felix and Miss Keene discussing his character. And finding it lacking. “I may be a bit dour of late, what with . . . everything.”
“But even before . . . everything . . . were you really happy?”
He thought for a moment and felt a wave of pain threaten to spill into consciousness. He pushed it away. “What an odd question, Miss Keene. And quite inappropriate, do you not think?”