“You named her Olivia,” the earl said, almost plaintively.
She winced as if in pain. “Very foolish, I know. But in truth I had always loved the name, and had planned it for my daughter since girlhood.” She stole a sheepish glance at the earl. “And yes, I was fond of the name for other reasons as well.”
Dorothea fixed her eyes on Olivia’s hand clasped in Lord Brightwell’s and her eyes filled with tears. “Good heavens . . .” She swallowed and ducked her head. “I had just learned I was with child when I left Brightwell Court,” she quietly acknowledged, cheeks flushed. “And Simon married me, knowing it. I could think of no other alternative. My family would not, I knew, have anything to do with me if they learnt of my disgrace. I could not support myself, and moreover, I wanted my child to be born in wedlock. Legitimate.” Dorothea looked into Oliver Bradley’s eyes, and time seemed to slow down. “But I miscarried that child soon after the wedding.”
“Then why did he despise me!” Olivia burst out, feeling suddenly very young indeed.
“Oh, Olivia. It was not your fault.” Her mother’s voice shook. “He was terribly jealous, and I made it worse by going back to Brightwell Court after the miscarriage. I should not have done so. I went only to see with my own eyes that he was well and truly married, gone from me forever.”
Dorothea addressed Oliver, tears in her eyes. “I saw the two of you in the garden. Saw you embrace her. Kiss her. That was all I needed. It killed me and set me free at once.”
The earl’s eyes glistened. “I never knew you were there.”
Dorothea returned her gaze to Olivia. “I returned home the same day and threw myself in Simon’s arms, determined to make a new start. But then someone told him I had been seen on the eastbound coach, and he accused me of meeting a lover that day.” She inhaled. “I assured him I had not. And for a time, I thought he believed me.”
“But even he thinks Lord Brightwell is my father!”
Tears glistened on Dorothea’s cheeks. “If only we had not gone to the Roman ruins that day.” She shook her head. “Ruins, indeed.”
“I thought if it were true, it might explain . . .” Olivia began, but tears closed her throat.
Lord Brightwell added, “I asked Olivia to allow me to publicly claim her as my ward, even knowing we could not be certain she was my daughter. But Olivia steadfastly refused. She must have known somehow, in her heart.”
“Oh, Olivia.” Her mother shook her head, contrite. “This is why I did not reveal myself when Lord Brightwell first called here. I thought perhaps you would be happier with him, instead of reuniting with me and my sordid lot.”
“Olivia has been heartbroken over you,” Lord Brightwell said. “I could never take your place.”
Olivia felt tears streaming silently down her face.
“I am sorry all of this has befallen you, Olivia. Sorry most of all that you should think so ill of your father.” Her mother cupped her chin. “Life was not always so bad, was it? We all got on reasonably well at times, when your father was sober. . . .”
Olivia felt numb. Her mother continued to speak, but the words grew indistinct.
Instead she heard the clink of glasses, the low rumble of men’s voices, and her father’s deep voice saying, “That’s my clever girl.” She felt the warmth of his praise wash over her again. An opaque web clouded her vision, and her mother and Lord Brightwell blurred. How long had it been since she’d thought back on the evenings around the fire, number games at the kitchen table, or listening to her father sing? Too long. Yes, there had been bad times. And she had tallied them like figures in a column, not remembering to factor in the good. She had doctored the books.
Suddenly Olivia felt embarrassed at having presumed on the earl’s kindness. Yes, she had told him her reasons for doubting. But she had let him hope, had let their relationship grow.
Beside her, Lord Brightwell still held her hand. If anything he held it tighter. But Olivia could feel herself pulling away. Edward’s face appeared in her mind. His expression full of disdain. How pleased he would be to know she had no claim on the earl after all.
Olivia wiped her eyes, realizing she had another confession to make. “When we feared the worst, Mamma,” she said, “I opened that letter in your little purse. Lord Brightwell and I delivered it to your mother and sister.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened, and her countenance paled. “I wish you had not done so.”
“You needn’t worry,” Olivia assured her. “Your mother and sister have welcomed me into their home. Aunt Georgiana’s husband as well. They are very kind, Mamma, and Grandmother regrets the long separation between you. I know they would welcome you as well.”
“Do you think so?”
Olivia had rarely seen her mother so uncertain. “Will you return to the Crenshaws’ with me? It will be quite a shock to them, I own, for we thought never to see you again, but a wonderful shock, I assure you.”
“I don’t know. . . . Perhaps you might break it to them, and if they still wish to see me . . . you could write and let me know?”
“Are you certain? You could come back with me now and see them in person.”
Her mother shook her head. “It is all too sudden. And I have my pupils here now. Perhaps another time?”
“Then, might I stay with you tonight?” Olivia asked. “Do you think the sisters would mind? It seems wrong to leave you so soon after finding you again.”
Dorothea smiled. “You may share my room. They cannot mind that.”
Lord Brightwell stood and suggested, “Why do I not send the carriage for you tomorrow, Olivia, to take you back to Faringdon. Or if you decide to stay here longer, you might send Talbot with a message for your grandmother so she does not worry.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Olivia rose, as did her mother. “You are always so thoughtful.”
Dorothea curtsied before Lord Brightwell. “I am truly grateful for your watch-care over my daughter.”
The earl bowed in return, but his farewell smile did not quite reach his eyes.
Olivia walked the earl to the seminary gate and there gently pulled her hand from his.
“What will you do now, my dear?” he asked.
She chewed her lip, then answered, “Spend time with Mother, of course, and learn what I can about my father’s situation. I have been invited to spend the summer with my aunt and grandmother, and after, I hope to take a teaching post in Kent.”
“But, Olivia, must you go so far away? Your mother will miss you, and so will I. And Edward.”
“Well,” Olivia faltered, and then pushed the thought of Edward from her mind. “I shall miss you as well. But I long for a new start.”
He shook his head. “I know this has been quite a blow for you, Olivia. But it changes nothing.”
“My dear Lord Brightwell, I disagree. We can no longer feign a relationship that we now know to be false. Your kindness has been my greatest solace these last months, and I will always be deeply grateful to you. But I must not depend upon you further.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for everything.” She quickly pulled away, fearing yet more tears.
“Olivia . . .”
“Please, tell no one of my plans.”
He looked incredulous. “But why?”
“I have but a few months before I leave for Kent, assuming they offer me a post, and I wish to spend every moment with my family.”
He winced, stung. Olivia felt the sting in her own heart and instantly regretted her choice of words.
He asked, “But will you not at least come to Brightwell Court and say good-bye to everyone?”
“Well . . . I . . .” Olivia could not bring herself to admit the truth: that she did not want to see Edward. The earl must have seen her awkwardness, and the reason for it evidently dawned on him.
“Edward will be away tomorrow morning,” he said quietly. “You might call in then, before you return to the Crenshaws’.”
Olivia looked into Lord Brightwell’s eyes and saw mournful understanding there. Her throat tightened. She whispered hoarsely, “Yes. Tomorrow morning will do.”
She waved as he climbed into the carriage, and the equipage drove away. Then she turned toward the seminary. As she did, a thought that had been lurking in the back of her mind darted to the forefront at last. She recalled her hope that the veiled woman had been her mother, come to find her. Now Olivia felt a chill creep up her spine like a slithery silverfish. Her mother had been within the seminary when they arrived. Who, then, was the veiled woman Olivia had seen . . . and what did she want?
Chapter 44
Scapegallows:
One who deserves and has narrowly escaped the gallows, a slip-gibbet, one for whom the gallows is said to groan.
—FRANCIS GROSE, THE 1811 DICTIONARY OF THE VULGAR TONGUE
Edward found the gamekeeper on his stoop, sitting in a puddle of sunshine, pet partridge at his heels, whittling knife and wood in his hands.
“I have learnt some distressing news, Mr. Croome,” Edward began somberly.
The old man shot him a hawk-eyed look. “I daresay I can guess who told ya. Whatever she said, I trust you’ll hear my side o’ the tale. Isn’t as bad as it appears.”