“I was only looking to see if your knuckles were white. You were holding my arms with impressive force.”
Her mouth formed an O, and her blush deepened. He found her reaction quite charming.
“I am sure their impression will last several hours,” he said, lifting one corner of his mouth in a half grin. “At least, I hope so.”
He gave in to his impulse then and kissed the back of her hand. Warm and soft, as he’d imagined.
Audrey clapped, and Andrew came to a sliding stop beside them. “Is that a part of the dance too?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” Edward said, reluctantly releasing Miss Keene. “When you are much older.”
Audrey sat on a little stool in the garden, easel and watercolors before her, tongue poking between her lips as she concentrated. While the girl worked on a likeness of the arbor, Olivia walked back and forth a few feet behind her, Latin text in hand, now and again pausing to offer encouragement or suggestion.
Andrew sat cross-legged on the grass, capturing beetles in his hand and listening idly to Olivia as she attempted a Latin lesson.
A door in the churchyard wall squealed open, and Olivia started. Mr. Tugwell appeared in the narrow arched doorway. “Good day, ladies. Master Andrew.” He bowed. “Was that you I heard declining Latin verbs, Miss Keene?”
Olivia’s face suffused with heat. “I am sure my grasp of Latin is nothing to yours, Mr. Tugwell. I hope I did not disturb you.”
“By no means. You have a lovely speaking voice. You know, I remarked upon it to Bradley when first you came. For I had met you once before that unfortunate . . . mmm, mishap stole your powers of speech. And from our brief meeting I knew you must be a woman of education and refinement.”
“Did you indeed? Then I thank you. Lord Bradley, it seems, did not credit your assessment.”
“No. He is a man to draw his own conclusions, and sometimes, I fear, all too quickly.”
She grinned. “I believe he might say the same of you.”
“You are no doubt right. Though I may be too quick to judge charitably and he harshly, I think mine the lesser flaw, if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkled.
“I quite agree with you. But to hear Lord Bradley tell it, you have often paid a high price for believing the best of people.” She tilted her head and asked, “Perhaps you might relay such an instance?”
Mr. Tugwell tucked his chin. “Ah, you will join him in mocking me, I see.”
“Not at all, sir. But it does arouse one’s curiosity, naturally.”
“Very well. If you consent to take a turn with me about the garden, I shall.”
Olivia smiled and rose, encouraging Audrey to keep on with her painting and assuring both children she would return in a few minutes.
“I do hope such a tale will not discourage you from trusting people, Miss Keene,” he began.
“I shall endeavor to keep an open mind.”
“Good. Now, how shall I choose but one instance? Let me see . . . Of course I have had the odd problem at the almshouse. I thought the old gent on crutches really was a former soldier down on his luck. Stole every stick of furniture from his room and left only his crutches behind to spite me!”
Olivia laughed and quickly pressed a hand over her mouth.
“Then there was that young maid—a pretty lass, so Edward warned me especially against her. But I did trust her and there went a twelvemonth’s worth of wine for the sacrament. Then, of course, there is my sister, but it would not be charitable to continue.” He winked at her in a most unparsonlike manner.
Olivia grinned. They took another turn around the garden, Audrey and Andrew ever in view at its center, and Olivia asked the vicar more questions. As Charles Tugwell shared about his work at the almshouse, Olivia felt drawn to help. Might it not make some small amends for her failings, bring good from all the bad that had brought her to this place?
In his study, Edward stared at Miss Keene incredulously. “You would like to spend your half day where?”
“In the almshouse. Mr. Tugwell said I might be of use.”
“Mr. Tugwell invited you?”
“Yes. Surely you could have no objection? I understand the two of you are friends.”
An unfair but clever tact, he thought as she continued.
“You do trust Mr. Tugwell, do you not?”
Did he? Trust Tugwell with his secret? Perhaps. Trust him with Miss Keene? The man had fathered five children in six years. No, he did not trust Charles Tugwell with Miss Keene.
“I thought his sister assisted him.”
“She does what she can, but with the boys and a house to manage, she hasn’t much time. Miss Ludlow helps as well, when she can get away from her shop. But there is always more to do. Your mother, I understand, was quite a patroness of the place.”
“Yes, she was.” Feeling a lingering ache over her loss, Edward stared off into the distance and said no more for several moments.
“You might . . . come along if you like,” Miss Keene said.
He swiveled his head sharply and studied her face. Her cheeks were tinged with pink.
“To oversee my behavior, I mean,” she hurried to amend. “Make sure I do not say or do anything I ought not.”
With his secret, he wondered, or with Tugwell?
“You admire the man?”
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, closed, then parted again. “I . . . I certainly have a great deal of respect for such a selfless clergyman. And he has been very kind to me since I arrived.”
Far kinder than I have been, Edward thought with remorse.
“It is not as though I keep you prisoner here,” he said. Any longer. “You attend services now and see the man every Sabbath. Are you certain there is not some other way you would like to spend your half day? Perhaps visiting a friend, or even the market in Cirencester?”
“You would give me leave to do so?”
He swallowed. Took a deep breath. “I believe I would. I would send someone to accompany you, of course. Just to see you return safely. Perhaps even I, should no one else be available.”
She stared up at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes, and he felt as ensnared as a polecat in one of Croome’s traps. His gaze caressed the curves of her face, her smooth fair cheek, and pointed chin.
Her voice was hushed and warm. “I should very much like to go to the market in Cirencester, if you, or someone, might accompany me.”
He tried to nod but could not tear his gaze from hers. “I shall take you.” He was tempted, sorely tempted, to tell her how beautiful she was. How sorry he was for the way he had treated her. To ask her to forgive him. To ask her to—
“There are several things I should like to buy for the almshouse,” she continued brightly. “Mr. Tugwell mentioned a wheel of cheese would not go amiss and perhaps new gloves for the residents.”
Hang the almshouse and hang Tugwell, Edward thought. The spell broken, he nodded curtly and stepped back. “Talbot can take you,” he said, and strode away.
Chapter 33
The real discomfort of a governess’s position
arises from the fact that it is undefined.
She is not a relation, not a guest, not a mistress, not a servant—
but something made up of all.
No one knows exactly how to treat her.
—M. JEANNE PETERSON, SUFFER AND BE STILL
On her way to church that Sunday, Olivia walked a short distance behind the family, as was proper. As she entered the church behind the Bradleys and Howes, she noticed that many people smiled and quietly greeted them, while they ignored her.
Eliza Ludlow, however, grinned and patted the pew next to her. Gratefully, Olivia sat next to the woman.
Here it was again—she was not family and could not sit with them, but nor was her place in the gallery with the servants, though she would have been more comfortable there. As if sensing her unease, Miss Ludlow squeezed her gloved hand in one of hers and offered to share a prayer book with the other. What a dear she was.
After the service, Miss Ludlow walked down the aisle beside her.
“That spencer looks well on you, Miss Keene.”
“Thank you. I like this maroon kerseymere you suggested. Much nicer than the puce I wanted.”
“I am glad you are pleased with it.” Eliza Ludlow smiled and took Olivia’s arm. “I understand we may be seeing one another at the almshouse on Wednesdays?”
“Yes, if I can be of any use.”
“I am sure of it. Mr. Tugwell speaks very highly of your generosity and willingness.”
Olivia’s heart sank to see the look of raw longing on the kind woman’s face as she gazed across the chapel at the vicar, already shaking hands with his departing flock at the door. When they reached him, he smiled briefly at Miss Ludlow and then shifted his cherubic gaze to Olivia.
He took her hand in his. “Miss Keene. You are well, I trust?”
“I am, sir. I thank you.”
Olivia did not miss Miss Ludlow’s doe-eyed look swivel from Mr. Tugwell to her, nor the slight pinching of her smile as she registered the attention he paid the relative newcomer and the lingering press of hands. Was the man blind? Or did he choose to ignore Miss Ludlow, not realizing the worth of such a woman?
For her part, Olivia thought Eliza Ludlow a treasure. She had brown eyes, dimples, and a cheery, if mildly crooked, smile. Her dark hair was pulled back with a soft height, framing her face in a most attractive light. Eliza had not the across-the-room arresting beauty of a Judith Howe or Sybil Harrington, but a natural, sweet appeal. Miss Ludlow was also gentle, intelligent, charitable, and at ease with people. She would make a wonderful parson’s wife. What did Mr. Tugwell find lacking in Eliza to so completely overlook her? Olivia hoped with all her heart that Mr. Tugwell’s passing interest in her would not put a wedge between Miss Ludlow and herself. Friends were hard to come by in her position.