He turned to meet her somber gaze. “Miss Harrington, I think you should go. Enjoy yourself.”
Her cheeks paled, but she masked her disappointment well. “Do you indeed?”
“Yes, in fact, I am convinced of it.” He faced her earnestly. “Please. Do not forego anything on my account.”
She smiled bravely, but he did not miss the trembling of her chin. “Very well, I shan’t.” She turned away and looked up at the cloudy sky. “Now, I am afraid I must return to the house. My slippers are soaked, and it looks very much like rain.”
That evening after the children were in bed, Olivia sat with Lord Brightwell in the library. Edward was gone, she had heard—off to visit the Harringtons—and how the thought depressed her.
Silently, the earl withdrew a velvet box from his pocket and handed it to her.
She was instantly uncomfortable. “My lord, you should not—”
“It is something I gave your mother long ago. Something she returned before she left. I want you to have it.”
Swallowing, Olivia opened the hinged box and gazed at the lovely cameo necklace nestled within. “It is beautiful. Thank you.”
He pressed her hand. “Olivia, I have thought about this. I care about you, and your mother was a special person in my life. It would give me great joy to call you my daughter.”
Olivia flushed and lowered her head. Then she closed the box and looked up at him earnestly. “But we are not at all certain, and now . . . now we may never know.”
“I realize that, but I believe I owe it to your mother to care for you now that she is . . . gone.”
Something like panic rose within her. “Pray take no offense, my lord, but I have little wish to be anybody’s illegitimate daughter. Besides, I do not feel it would be right to proclaim I am your daughter, when that is far from definite.”
He grinned. “A proclamation. Excellent notion. I shall proclaim my intention to adopt you as my ward. We need not mention the blood tie if you prefer.”
“But . . . is not such a thing highly unusual?”
“Well, yes.” The earl chuckled. “I can just hear the cronies talking now, ‘gone and made a lovely young woman his ward, clever old fox.’ ”
“Oh!” Olivia exclaimed, flustered.
He leaned forward. “Olivia, should it matter what those old fools think? It matters not to me. We know the truth.”
“But we don’t,” Olivia emphasized.
“Olivia . . .”
“Do not think me ungrateful. I am more thankful than I can say for your many kindnesses to me, but you need not recognize me.”
“But I want to.”
A part of Olivia was deeply moved to be so warmly cared for when her own father had become so cold. But another part of her recoiled. It was not right.
“But what would your family think?” she asked.
“I do not care what Judith and Felix think. Their father did far more scandalous things, I assure you.”
“And your son? Do you not care for his opinion either?”
He nodded. “I do care what Edward thinks. When he returns, I shall have to ask him.”
“Ask me what?” Edward said, striding into the room in time to hear his father’s last sentence.
“Edward! You are returned early. We did not expect you.”
Edward shrugged, not wishing to discuss the Harringtons in Miss Keene’s presence.
“What did you want to ask me?” Edward repeated.
Miss Keene avoided his gaze and seemed to shrink in her seat as the earl explained his plan.
“You cannot be serious!” Edward exclaimed. “Why on earth would you? A ward, at her age?”
At his outburst, Miss Keene ducked her head, and his father reached over and grasped her hand. “Because, as I have told you, I believe she is my daughter.”
“But it is madness—she is a grown woman!”
“I realize that.”
Edward paced the library like a caged tiger. “Are you really so convinced she is your child?”
Lord Brightwell looked at Olivia’s bowed head, before returning his gaze to Edward. “More so than Olivia is . . . but it does not matter to me if she is or not.”
“How can it not matter?”
His father looked at him pointedly. Indeed, Edward already knew how little blood meant to the man.
Edward stewed in silence, his emotions quaking within him.
Miss Keene stood. “Pray excuse me,” she said and turned toward the door.
“Very well, my dear,” Lord Brightwell soothed. “We shall talk again tomorrow.”
Edward rose, but Olivia refused to look at him as she swept past, cheeks mottled red and white.
When the door closed behind her, his father sighed. “That was badly done, Edward. Badly done indeed.”
“I know.” Edward hated that he had injured her feelings, but he had his reasons for objecting.
“Olivia was already reticent to accept my offer. In fact, eschews any public proclamation. Your little snit has not helped my cause.”
Why would Olivia not want the protection, connections, and resources of the Earl of Brightwell? Edward wondered. Was she so loath to be thought illegitimate? If so, what must she think of him?
But he refused to voice the searing thought that caused his heart to lurch—for if Lord Brightwell acknowledged Olivia as his daughter, she and Edward would be half brother and sister in the eyes of the world.
Chapter 40
Governesses had a way of coping with status incongruity.
This most often took place in a form of escape.
—CARISSA CLUESMAN, A HISTORICAL VIEW OF THE VICTORIAN GOVERNESS
At least, Olivia told herself, she had her answer to what Lord Bradley thought of her becoming the earl’s ward. He thought her unworthy, would be ashamed of her—that seemed clear. She should not have been surprised, but witnessing his outburst had hurt more than she would have guessed, and she had blinked back tears all the way to the schoolroom.
She expected Lord Bradley to avoid her after that terrible clash. She certainly planned to avoid him. But two nights later, as she was writing a letter to the proprietress of the girls’ school in Kent—the friend of Mrs. Tugwell—Lord Bradley threw back the schoolroom door.
It was difficult to say which startled her more, the thunderclap of door hitting the wall, or being caught writing a letter she meant to send in secret. She jumped, and reflexively covered the letter with Mangnall’s text. The quill in her hand shook, and she quickly laid it down upon the desk.
His blue eyes darted from the quill to the book to her no-doubt-guilty face. His expression darkened. “Writing another already, I see.”
He strode to the desk, face grim, eyes sparking dangerously. “ ‘Extortus, meaning extortion,’ hmm?” he sneered, parroting her Latin lesson back to her. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”
Confusion and dread filled her. “What are you talking about?”
He unfurled a letter clenched in his hand. “We received this note in the post, or so I thought. It bears no postal date stamp, and Hodges has no recollection of how it arrived.”
“I wrote no note.”
“Here. Perhaps this will jar your memory.” He thrust the note toward her, and she took and read it. The harsh, vile words stunned her.
You tryd to hide yer secret, but I know what you did.Leave 50 ginny in the pozy urn on Ezra Sackville’s grave on olde Lady Day and none shall be the wizer.
“Oh . . .” Olivia breathed, feeling a smart punch to her stomach. She looked up into his face with concern, but at his contemptuous glare quickly angered.
“You don’t believe I wrote this,” she challenged, holding up the note.
“I don’t want to believe it, but how can I ignore the evidence of my eyes?”
She sputtered, incredulous. “It is not even in my hand!”
“Easily disguised.”
“And the abominable spelling . . .”
“Cleverly done, Miss Keene. I noticed that right off.”
“I did not, could not, write such a thing.”
“Your accomplice, then. The ‘he’ with poor spelling. For you are the only one who knew.”
“Obviously not. Surely there were people who learnt of it at the time. Your birth mother or one of the staff or family.”
“Someone who has held this information all these years only to reveal it now? I for one think that too great a coincidence.”
“I admit it—”
“You admit it?” he roared.
“I admit it looks bad, but I did not do it.”
He shook his head. “Has your time here been so intolerable? Is this your plan to exact revenge?”
“Revenge?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Your motive. And why not pry a bit of coin from us in the bargain.”
“Why indeed,” she blustered. “But more than a bit of coin. A hundred guineas might do for starters.”
He glared. “The letter says fifty.”
She lifted her chin. “I have just raised the figure. A hundred guineas seems a small price to pay to keep the world from knowing what you really are.”
He stared at her, momentarily stunned. He shook his head bleakly. “At long last speaks the true Olivia Keene. You really have made fools of us all.”
His words stung deep, and her anger moldered into shame. She rose unsteadily.
“Forgive me,” she choked out. “I had no right to say such a thing.” Her voice grew haggard. “But I tell you, I have nothing to do with this, nor have I ever breathed one word of your secret to another soul. Give me leave to go and I shall be silent forever.”