The Silent Governess(68)
A knowing gleam sparked in Felix’s eyes. “Have you some lady in mind, Uncle?”
“Ah. That is my affair, is it not? Now. If you agree—and your mother and sister as well—to handle this quietly and avoid a scandal, then I will continue to provide a generous allowance which will give you the life of a gentleman you desire, and allow you to win the hand of any number of ladies of quality.” He stood before his nephew and looked him directly in the eye. “If you do not agree and scandal erupts, then you shall not have one shilling from me until after my death and the legal case to follow. Do you agree or not?”
Felix swallowed once more. “I agree.”
Lord Brightwell nodded his acknowledgment. “Good. Now. I may very well remarry, but at my age I cannot afford to lay all my eggs, as it were, in that basket. There is every chance you shall be the next Lord Brightwell, and if so, I want you to be well prepared to live up to the name. So—” He drew himself up and commanded briskly, “First, there will be no further improprieties with the servants. Second, you will finish your coursework and obtain your degree. And third, you shall begin your education in estate management and parliamentary affairs—in the library, Saturday week, nine o’clock. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, my lord.” Felix looked up at Lord Brightwell in wonder. “I must say you astound me, Uncle. I had not thought it of you.”
“What had you thought?”
“That you would put me out. So I would not be tempted to . . .”
“Hasten my demise?”
Again Felix’s face reddened. “Just so.”
“I would never believe it of you, my boy, regardless of the schemers your mother and sister turned out to be. You may not be the most clever boy, nor the most prudent, nor the most gentlemanlike, nor . . .”
Edward cleared his throat.
“Right! But you have a good heart, and I have every hope that with proper education and mentoring you will be a credit to the family yet.”
“And my sister?”
“I am sorry to tell you Judith has already left us.”
“Left?”
“Yes, she has remarried and is even now on her wedding trip.”
Felix gaped. “When was this?”
“Two days ago, I understand. By special license.”
“Why was I not told?”
“You shall have to ask Judith that, when she returns from Italy. I did not forbid her to contact you, if that is what you are tempted to think.”
“Who on earth did she marry?”
“George Linton.”
“Linton? Thunder and turf, you must be joking! That dolt?”
“That dolt, indeed, with his handsome four thousand a year. It seems Judith was not content to wait for you to make good on your promise to provide for her.”
Felix shook his head. “I’ll be hanged. And not a word to her own brother. And what of the children?”
“They are all still here at present. After the wedding trip, Alexander alone will reside with the happy couple. It seems George Linton is willing to take on the one child, but not three.”
Felix frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I,” Lord Brightwell said. “But Judith has decided to leave Audrey and Andrew here in my care. If you object, and prefer to engage some qualified person to house and care for them near you at Oxford, to provide for them yourself and see them properly educated, you are welcome to do so.”
Felix pulled on the hem of his waistcoat and shifted his weight. “I am fond of them, of course,” he faltered. “But I cannot afford . . . and truly, they are no relatives of mine. Not even my sister’s, are they? Will not Dominick’s mother take them in?”
“It seems the elder Mrs. Howe is stricken with such severe gout and tenuous finances—her words, you understand—that she will not be able to do so, much as she might wish it. She will not object to my raising them as my wards, with the stipulation that I bring them to visit her on occasion.”
“Your wards?” Felix repeated.
“Yes.”
Felix regarded his uncle with something akin to begrudging respect. “Taking in another’s children again, are you?” he said drolly.
Lord Brightwell’s eyes twinkled. “Yes,” he drawled. “I seem to make a habit of it.”
Chapter 48
HAINES George, for stealing a gun and a powder flask,
the property of James Hickman;
and a rabbit, the property of Henry Simcox.
Three calendar months for 1st Offence; One calendar month for 2nd
—NORTHLEACH HOUSE OF CORRECTION RECORDS, 1850 (TRANSCRIBED BY PHIL MUSTOE)
When the Crenshaws’ footman handed her Lord Bradley’s card, emotions flared like Chinese rockets through her body—panic, fear, hope. She was tempted to refuse to see him but knew she could not do so. Not after his letter of apology. For what if Lord Brightwell was ill? Or something had happened to one of the children?
“Show him up, please.”
The ensuing minute seemed an hour, but then she heard footsteps approaching all too soon. She swallowed and took several deep breaths to try to calm herself. To no avail.
When the door opened once more, Olivia rose unsteadily. “Lord Bradley. I . . . I did not expect you.”
He bowed. “I am certain you did not.” He looked down at his boots. “And I expected the footman to announce in no uncertain terms that you were not at home, whether you were or not.”
“It did cross my mind, I own.” Her chuckle sounded forced in her ears. “But I did not wish to cause a stir, when I am but a guest here.”
He looked at her through his golden lashes. “An honoured guest, I hope?”
Olivia bit her lip, then smiled. “Rather, yes. My mother as well. They have all gone into Cirencester together or I would introduce you.”
He nodded. They stood there awkwardly for a long moment. Finally he cleared his throat and twirled his hat in his hand.
“Oh! Forgive me,” Olivia said. “Do be seated, please.”
“Actually, I . . . I feel a bit like Andrew in the schoolroom. Too much energy to sit. Would you be so good as to walk with me? I saw a fine garden as I rode in.”
“Of course . . . I shall just find my bonnet.”
They strolled together through formal gardens enclosed by walls of mottled stone. The sun shone and the air was heavy with the fragrances of rose and lavender.
“You received my letter?” he asked.
“Yes. Though I saw your father added the direction.”
He nodded. “I beseeched him to tell me where you were since the day you left, and he finally gave way.”
Edward had been so nervous that he had not looked at her squarely, fully, until this moment. He stopped walking and stared. Her rose pink gown had a low square neckline which displayed delicate collarbone as well as a beguiling swell of femininity. A matching pink ribbon drew his attention upward to her long graceful neck. Beneath her bonnet, earrings dangled from small white earlobes, and gleaming coils of dark hair framed her face. Her lips shone and her cheeks blushed most becomingly. “What have they done to you?”
Her lips parted; her blush deepened.
“Forgive me, that came out very wrongly. I meant, well, you look beautiful. Always did, of course, but—I like your hair and . . . well . . . everything.”
She dipped her head. “Thank you. My aunt insists on having her abigail arrange my hair and dress me. Takes far too long, I fear.”
“Worth it, I assure you.”
Her hint of a grin bloomed into a smile.
As they walked on, hands behind their respective backs, he told her about all that had recently happened at Brightwell Court. And all that he had learned.
Olivia stopped, eyes and mouth wide. “Avery Croome is your grandfather!” She shook her head. “I am astounded and yet . . . I should have guessed.” She studied his countenance, her blue eyes sparkling. “Indeed I do see a resemblance.”
He said dryly, “I don’t know whether that is a compliment or not.”
“It would not have been a few months ago, but since I have come to know him, it is.”
As they walked on, he glanced at her, noticed from her furrowed brow that she was pondering still.
“That means Alice Croome was your mother,” she said. “And Mrs. Moore . . . has she known about you all along?”
Edward shook his head.
“No, I did not think so. Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“How did she react?”
Edward drew in a deep breath. “I am afraid I caused quite a stir belowstairs.”
“Oh?”
“Two maids spied me kissing her cheek.”
“No!” Olivia said, mock-scandalized, then laughed. “Pray tell me all.”
He complied, and they walked and talked for the better part of an hour.
When he finished his tale, she asked, “What will you do now?”
“An excellent question. What will you do?”
She took a deep breath. “Spend the rest of the summer here. Then go to Kent and teach in a girls’ school, as I have always longed to do.”
“But that wasn’t precisely what you longed for, was it?”
She shrugged. “Not precisely, no. I had dreamed of Mother and me opening our own school one day. But that must remain a dream for now.” She sighed. “I will content myself to assist another experienced schoolmistress and learn all I can in the meanwhile.”