The Silent Governess(65)

Croome’s eyes were mere slits now, and he gave his head a slow shake. “Got you in on it now, has she?”

Edward shrugged but bit back a grin when the old man accepted the bundle.

Edward followed him inside. A musty smell greeted him—damp, but not vile. The main room was relatively tidy, and only one dish and cup stood waiting to be washed on the sideboard.

“Does not look so bad,” he said, surveying the room. “Where is the problem?”

Laying Mrs. Moore’s offering on the table, Croome limped over to the far wall and pointed up to a ceiling water-stained and cracked.

Edward followed. Sinking to his haunches to lay the heavy tool case on the floor, he paused, his attention snagged by the bookcase standing against the wall.

His eyes roved over the three tiers crudely pieced and stained in his favorite shade. He had not laid eyes on it in a half-dozen years, but he knew it instantly.

Behind him, Croome muttered, “Saved it from the bonfire. Couldn’t stand to see it wasted.”

Edward nodded, chest tight.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Croome said brusquely. “I do hope yer skills ’ave improved since then.”





Chapter 46




The objects of the present life fill the human eye with a false

magnification because of their immediacy.

—WILLIAM WILBERFORCE

When the Crenshaws’ footman held forth the silver letter tray, Olivia recognized Lord Brightwell’s scrawl on a letter directed to her. Pleased to hear from him, she peeled open the seal and unfolded the single sheet. Her breath caught. For the words within were written in a different hand—a bold, masculine hand. His.

Her aunt Georgiana stepped into the room, pulling on her gloves. “Olivia my dear, are you ready?” she asked.

Olivia closed the note. “Forgive me, Aunt, but I have just received a letter. Would you mind very much if I stayed here? You go on without me.”

“Are you certain, my dear?”

“Quite certain.”

Reluctantly, her aunt agreed to pay morning calls without her.

Olivia hurried to her room and, with shaking fingers, unfolded the letter once more.

My dear Miss Keene,

There is so very much to tell you, I barely know where to begin. Except to say how profoundly sorry I am for how I have treated you. For the foolish accusations, and for what must have seemed a rejection of yourself when I objected to my father’s plans to acknowledge you as his daughter or at least his ward. Please know I hold only the deepest respect and admiration for you. Although the motives which governed me may appear insufficient, I had a very good, albeit selfish reason for not wanting the world to believe you my sister. I will say no more about this herein, except to ask you to forgive me if you can.

I long to share with you, of all people, the facts which I have learnt since your departure. But I dare not do so in a letter, should it be misdirected. Therefore I write in vague terms which I know you, clever girl, will understand.

I have not learnt all I wish to know, but a great deal has recently come to light. I hope I might one day be able to tell you all in person. In the meantime, I pray that all goes well with you.

Again, I offer you my deepest apologies. And will only add, God bless you.

Edward S. Bradley





Her heart squeezed, even as questions began spinning through her mind. She read the signature once more and saw that his title was notably absent. What had he learned? What did it mean?





Johnny Ross stood before the desk, hat in hand. Beside him stood the maid Mrs. Hinkley had told Edward about, now noticeably with child. Hodges and Mrs. Hinkley awaited his verdict at the back of the room. Lord Brightwell stood behind Edward, still content to leave such decisions to him.

“I know we are not to marry while in service, my lord,” Ross said. “But Martha here is expecting, so . . . we did.”

“Are you the father?” Edward asked and instantly regretted it. He had thought another man responsible, but it was none of his business, and he certainly had not meant to mortify the young woman. He obviously had, however, for she bowed her head, a blush creeping up her neck. Even Ross’s face burned red.

Behind Edward, Lord Brightwell cleared his throat. Edward opened his mouth to retract the question, but Ross answered before he could.

“No, my lord. But I love her just the same.”

Edward noticed the young woman surreptitiously take the groom’s hand in hers.

Ross continued, “Mr. Hodges said I am to be dismissed, unless you say otherwise. I was wonderin’, my lord, if you might see your way to givin’ me a character. Otherwise another post will be awful hard to come by.”

Edward stared at the groom, stunned by his unexpected nobility. “No.”

Ross looked down at the floor.

“No, you shall not be dismissed,” Edward clarified, turning toward the earl. “That is, unless you disapprove, Father?”

Lord Brightwell hesitated. “Ah . . . no, Edward. Whatever you think best.”

Ross beamed. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you!”

Even Martha gave him a shy smile, and Edward could not help but think of Alice Croome and wonder what she had looked like while carrying him.

Once the details and lodging arrangements had been discussed, the staff took their leave.

Edward shut the door behind them and turned to face Lord Brightwell with steely resolve. “Who was my father?” he asked quietly,

The earl began, “The girl never told anyone, so—”

“Who was he?” Edward persisted.

For a moment Lord Brightwell looked pugnacious, as if formulating another excuse, but then sighed. “I thought you might have guessed by now.”

Frowning, Edward shook his head.

“Have I not always insisted you are a Bradley?”

Edward blinked and felt a chill run through his body. “Sebastian—Uncle Bradley—was my father?”

The earl nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

Edward’s mind whirled. He was a Bradley after all. Still illegitimate. Still rightful heir to nothing save shame and his adopted father’s unmerited love.

He thought back to all he knew about Sebastian Bradley, dead these six or seven years.

He was aware, of course, of the long enmity between Lord Brightwell and his brother. Though Oliver was eldest and their father’s heir, he had not left Sebastian to fend for himself, as perhaps he should have. He had set him up in a London house, furnished it, supplied him servants, a carriage, and horses. Most of which Sebastian had lost gaming or owed to debt collectors. Oliver, in turn, lost all respect for the younger man. Nor was uncontrolled gambling Sebastian’s only sin. He had taken advantage of more than one young woman in his day, requiring sums to be paid and arrangements made.

The earl had confessed himself surprised when Sebastian announced his engagement to a respectable woman. He had even come to Oliver, hat in hand, and proclaimed himself a changed man. And Oliver had wanted to believe him.

Soon after his own marriage to Marian Estcourt, Oliver invited his brother and sister-in-law to visit Brightwell Court, which they did that summer and again in the fall, bringing with them their baby girl, Judith, and her nurse.

But that autumn visit was to prove the last for Sebastian. He was permitted at Brightwell Court no longer, though his wife and Judith, and eventually Felix, were still welcome. The reason was not specified. A falling out of sorts was assumed, some disagreement or one too many gaming debts to pay off . . . something.

Now Edward realized there was more to it than that.

“I came upon Sebastian one night, coming up from below-stairs,” the earl began. “His face was scratched and his clothing disheveled. He seemed startled to see me, but quickly recovered. I asked what he was doing belowstairs, and he made an excuse about looking for something to eat, though he could easily have asked a servant to bring him a tray. I also asked about his face, and he said it must have gotten scratched in the wood or some such. I did not believe him.

“When he had taken himself up to bed, I went down to the kitchen, and there came upon Croome’s daughter, sitting near the dying fire, face in her hands, thin shoulders quaking.

“I own I wanted nothing more than to turn back, but I was compelled by duty to speak to her. I hoped I was wrong in my suspicions. That Sebastian really had scratched his face in the wood.

“The girl jumped when she saw me. When I asked her what the matter was, she only gaped at me, apparently stunned or shaken. I took a step closer, lifted my lamp to better see her face, and asked if she was unwell. How wide her eyes were, I remember, and through them, I thought I witnessed some inner struggle, though perhaps my memory is now colored by later revelations.

“Thinking to encourage her, I said that I was acquainted with her father—a most trusted man. But at the mention of Mr. Croome, new tears filled her eyes. She assured me she was well, that she had been sad over some trifling matter but was better now. It was not a very convincing performance.

“I left the kitchen with a heavy heart, telling myself I had done my duty, had given the girl every opportunity to accuse my brother, but she had not. Perhaps nothing so terrible had happened. If it had, why had she not told? Was she so frightened of her father—afraid he would blame her for any wrongdoing? Perhaps the girl was a known flirt.

“With these paltry justifications, I dismissed the scene from my mind. Only later, when Croome came to me—devastated by his daughter’s fallen state—did I realize Sebastian was the person she had feared, for her father clearly doted on the girl and believed her the very picture of innocence. I wondered if Sebastian had threatened to have Croome sacked should she tell. Sebastian had no authority to do such a thing, but a maid would have no way of knowing that, would have no reason to think the lord of the manor would believe her over his own brother.