The Silent Governess(52)

Olivia studied the outside of the second letter, noting the elegant seal and the fine stationery. She did not recognize the hand. Who else could be writing to her? Mrs. Hawthorn crossed her mind, but she quickly chastised herself for the foolish hope.

She pried open the seal and unfolded the letter, immediately looking at the signature. It was from her grandmother.

Dear Miss Keene,

Please forgive the delay. This is my fifth attempt at composing this letter.

I have given your visit a great deal of thought. In fact, I can think of little else, save occasionally fretting over what may have befallen Dorothea. You may think it cold of me to think of you instead of mourning my daughter, but you see, I mourned her loss more than five-and-twenty years ago, when she wrote to tell me she had married a man I could never approve of, nor accept.She said she knew she could expect no further relations between us and decided to spare me the trouble of severing ties myself. Still, I confess I have always held out hope that she would contact me again one day, to let me know where she was living and, if nothing else, that she was all right. Receiving such a letter from your hand was quite a shock.

When my daughter Georgiana returned from her shopping trip, she found me sitting where you left me, that letter still in my hand. She drew from me the events of the day and was quite vexed with me for not having asked you to stay long enough that she might have met you herself.

I regret not receiving you more warmly, my dear. Please, will you do us the honour of calling again?

Mrs. Elizabeth Hawthorn





Seeing the woman’s name in her own hand caused Olivia’s heart to contract as it had not done before she had met Mrs. Hawthorn. Elizabeth. Her own name was Olivia Elizabeth. Had her mother named her for her father and grandmother?

Another script, this one free and loopy, wrote an addendum beneath the precise formal hand:

Please do come, Olivia. Imagine! I have a niece!

Your Aunt,

Georgiana Crenshaw

(Mr. Crenshaw says you are most welcome.)

Olivia felt herself smiling, already drawn to this effervescent aunt she had never met.





Edward and Lord Brightwell made their way to the drawing room to greet Felix, who had returned to Brightwell for a weekend visit. Judith had arrived before them, evidenced by her voice sifting into the corridor from the open door.

“How go things at Oxford?” she asked.

Edward entered the room in time to see Felix shrug. He took up the refrain. “Yes, Felix, how go the studies?”

“Studies? Oh, is that what I am to be about at Oxford? I thought I was there for rowing and singing and impressing the ladies.”

“Well, that too, of course,” Edward said good-naturedly.

Felix selected a cigar from the wooden box on the sideboard and slipped it into his coat pocket. Then he helped himself to the decanter of port.

Lord Brightwell seated himself and asked Felix to pour him a glass as well. “Felix, I am happy to sponsor you at my old alma mater, but I did hope you would apply yourself.”

Felix sighed and handed the earl a glass. “I am afraid I must disappoint you, Uncle. It seems success is beyond my reach. I have a mind to quit the whole business.”

“What?” Edward exclaimed, trying but failing to keep the edge from his voice.

Felix threw up his hands. “Does it really matter? No one has ever expected much of me. Don’t tell me you depend upon my having a brilliant career in the law, or the church, or politics or some such thing. It is ridiculous.”

“No, it is not,” Edward said.

“Why?”

“Why?” Edward faltered and felt Judith’s curious glance. “Because . . . well, you never know what the future might bring, and well . . .”

His father joined in, “And Bradleys have always excelled at university. Even your father.”

Edward was surprised to hear Lord Brightwell mention his long-estranged brother.

“My, we are all feeling charitable today, are we not?” Felix said. “Even my father, who is never praised here in his childhood home, was more intelligent than I, it seems.”

“Your father was clever indeed,” Lord Brightwell said. “But this is not about intelligence. You have perfectly good brains, my boy, you just lack . . . well . . .”

“Self-discipline,” Edward offered.

“Ambition,” Judith added.

Acrimony dripped from Felix’s lips. “Well, thank you all very much.”

“How bad is it?” Lord Brightwell asked, with an anticipatory grimace.

One hand on the mantel, neck bowed, Felix stared at the fire. “Not only will there be no honours, but I am on the cusp of failing out.”

Lord Brightwell gaped. “Never say so!”

“I am afraid it is quite true, Uncle. I have come to grief at Oxford. I see no point in returning for the rest of the year and wasting more of your money.”

Edward frowned. “You will not quit, Felix.”

Felix stared at him, hard. “Why? Can’t stand to see a blight on the Bradley pride?”

“What about your pride?” Edward said. “A man does not quit what he has begun. Now go back to Balliol, pass the examinations, and obtain your degree.”

“To what purpose? I already told you I am not fit for the church or the law.”

Edward felt Judith studying him, awaiting his answer just as her brother did.

“You have a bright future before you, Felix,” he said, hedging. “I cannot say how it will come or what form it will take, but I would have you be prepared to rise to the occasion when it presents itself.”

Brother and sister still stared at him, brows furrowed. Lord Brightwell stepped in to the unsettled void and slapped Felix on the back. “Come on, my boy. You can do it. We are all of us behind you.”





Chapter 37




When you set yourself on fire, people love to come and see you burn.

—JOHN WESLEY

The next morning, Olivia and the children played hide-and-seek amid a lifting grey fog and the hoarse call of ravens.

While Audrey covered her eyes and counted, Olivia stepped behind the carpentry shop. She was surprised Andrew had not followed and hidden near her as was his wont. Perhaps he had seen Johnny or Lord Bradley and had run off to join one of them.

Audrey made a great show of checking the garden and arbor, then ran across the lawn in her direction. Smiling, Olivia retreated behind the shop wall.

“I found you, miss. I found you!” Audrey happily announced.

Olivia smoothed a lock of hair from the girl’s brow. “Yes, you did, my clever girl.” Unexpected tears pricked her eyes, as thoughts of her father came unbidden. “My clever girl” had been his pet name for her in happier times.

“I am sorry I found you so quickly if it makes you sad,” Audrey said, stricken.

“No, I am pleased you found me. Now, shall we go seek Andrew together?”

Audrey looked about her. “He isn’t with you?”

“Not this time.”

That was when Olivia heard it. The barked word “fire!” repeated again in a woman’s shrill cry. “Fire! Fire in the stables!” The laundry maid, Olivia guessed, who worked near the stable yard.

Olivia’s heart started. The stables? All that hay and straw. The poor horses! A dreadful thought struck Olivia’s chest like an iron mallet. Good Lord, no . . .

“Andrew!” she cried, and ran headlong across the lawn. Audrey followed behind, shouting her little brother’s name.

Reaching the stables, she called to the coachman, harried and single-handedly trying to herd the horses from harm.

“Mr. Talbot! Have you seen Andrew? We were hiding and—”

“No, miss. He isn’t here.”

Relief filled her. The coachman looped a rope around the neck of a grey gelding, and all but dragged the terrified animal from the stable. If only Lord Bradley would return from his morning ride!

“Audrey, run into the house and find Lord Brightwell,” Olivia said. “And ask everyone you meet if they have seen Andrew.”

The girl scurried to her bidding.

Johnny came on a run from the direction of the wood, a sheepish Martha trailing behind him.

“Have either of you seen Andrew?” Olivia called.

“No,” Martha said, eyes wide. And she ran off to look for him while Johnny rushed to help Talbot with the horses.

Something compelled Olivia to stay where she was. She heard a terrified whinny and then another. Bang! The stable gate exploded outward, kicked hard by the rear hooves of a large black horse. Lord Bradley had not gone on his ride as she had thought. Where was he?

Instinctively, Olivia ran forward, skirting the horse’s dangerous hind legs and stepping to its great head, trying to calm the horse as she had the day she had groomed it, with a firm hand and soothing words. The horse reared up and hit its head on the stable rafters, clearly disoriented by the smoke and too panicked to respond to her prodding.

Lord Bradley appeared through the smoke and whipped a hood over the horse’s head in one deft throw. “Major, walk on!” And with a great heave, he pushed the stubborn horse through the broken gate and out into the yard.

Over his shoulder he called, “Miss Keene, get away from here!”

“Not until I know Andrew is safe. He was hiding and we have not found him. Have you seen him?”

Pulling the last of the horses free, Talbot scowled, “I told you he weren’t here, miss. I checked the stables, the office, and the tack room.” The coachman threw up his hands. “Now, get out the both of you before the roof falls down upon us.”