The Silent Governess

by Julie Klassen

  His expression darkened. “Yes.” He hesitated, thought better of whatever he was about to say, and instead straightened. “I do appreciate the care you are giving my young cousins, Miss Keene. I am sure their stepmother does as well, if she has not said so.”

  “Thank you, my lord. It is my pleasure.” She realized anew that Audrey and Andrew had lost both mother and father. Poor lambs! No wonder Lord Bradley felt so deeply for them.

  He pursed his lips, then said quietly, “I find it interesting that you address me as ‘my lord’ when you know better.”

  Her heart pounded to hear him speak of the secret they never discussed. She said, “You call me Miss Keene.”

  He considered this. “A sign of respect, perhaps?”

  She nodded, feeling warmth flood her body.

  “How odd it is,” he mused. “Carrying on . . . pretending everything is as it once was.” He inhaled deeply, then stepped to the door. Once more he hesitated. “And for whatever it is worth, I thought your playing well. I am sorry you were so rudely dismissed.”

  She felt her ears heat at the recollection. “Think nothing of it. No doubt Miss Tugwell was right.”

  “Well, good night, Miss Keene. And happy Christmas.”

  A few minutes later, Olivia closed the door to the sleeping chamber quietly behind her, wondering how late Audrey would remain downstairs with the guests. Expecting the dark nursery to be empty, she started at the sight of a shadowy figure within. Had Lord Bradley not taken himself back down to his guests as she had thought?

  But it was Felix’s voice that rumbled through the darkness. “You know, Livie, when I came up here a few minutes ago, I could have sworn I heard two voices—in secret tête-à-tête. I waited in the shadows to see who would come out after my cousin and am confounded to find it was you.”

  Heart pounding, Olivia shrugged and shook her head.

  “Not your voice?”

  Olivia stared at him, nerves jangling.

  Felix stepped closer. “Sticking to the mute bit, hmm?”

  Olivia nodded.

  His voice took on a silky sweetness. “So, if I were to, say, take your hands”—he pressed her hands in his—“you could not ask me to let you go?”

  She stood stone-still, her whole body tensing.

  “And if I wanted to hold you”—he pulled her against him, a surprisingly strong arm grasping her about the waist—“you could not refuse?”

  She tried to pull free but could not break his grip.

  “And if I were to kiss you . . . you could not protest?” He backed her against the wall, his voice a husky whisper now. “Don’t protest, sweet Livie. Please. It is Christmas, after all.” He leaned near, aiming for her mouth. She turned her face away, and he pressed a hard kiss against her neck. Olivia struggled, and finally, pulling one arm free, punched him in the eye.

  Felix howled and cursed, releasing her to cover his face with his hands. “Livie!” he cried, incredulous.

  She was already striding quickly from the room. His voice, calling after her, took on a pleading tone, “You needn’t have done that. I was only teasing you. Don’t go making a fuss!”

  Was he afraid she would march straight to his cousin and report his behavior? Perhaps she should. She wondered briefly which man feared the other more. But who would believe her word against Felix’s?

  She would take Lord Bradley’s secret to the grave, but if Felix Bradley dared touch her again, she would remain silent no longer.

  Chapter 15

  We had 12 dances & 5, 6, or 7 couples. We then had a game of Hunt

  the Slipper and ended the day with sandwiches and tarts . . .

  I must not omit saying that the little ones dressed up as usual and

  sang Christmas Carols.

  —FANNY AUSTEN KNIGHT, CHRISTMAS EVE, 1808

  On Christmas morning, Olivia arose and ate a leisurely breakfast in her room while Becky, all apologies for disappearing the night before, bathed and dressed the children on her own. Olivia wondered where her mother was spending the day, and lifted her teacup in a silent Christmas salute.

  She again eyed the dark blue gown hanging on the back of her door. She would wear it, she decided, and stood to dress. The gown fit her well, though she was more slender than Mrs. Howe.

  She guessed the woman had been thinner before her lying-in with Alexander. To make the gown her own, Olivia wore her new lace tippet—a Christmas present from Mrs. Moore—as a collar.

  Stepping into the nursery, she saw Becky struggling to arrange Audrey’s hair, so Olivia brushed and pinned it herself. Audrey wore a new long-sleeved pelisse over a printed muslin frock. Andrew wore his Sunday pantaloons, waistcoat, and new green coat.

  Olivia escorted the children down to the breakfast room, where they were to join the adults before church.

  After the tussle of the previous night, Olivia was relieved to find Felix conspicuously absent. Miss Harrington was not present either, though she was staying at Brightwell Court for several days.

  Upon the sideboard rested a Christmas box for each child.

  Opening it, Audrey’s eyes grew as wide as the coins. “Two guineas.”

  “We are rich!” Andrew exclaimed, lifting his guineas high.

  “Alexander has his as well,” Judith explained. “But as he tried to eat them, I shall keep them until he is older.”

  Lord Bradley laid a hand on each child’s head and added warmly, “From Lord and Lady Brightwell. Left especially for you before they departed.”

  “Ah . . . Christmas in Rome,” Judith sighed. Then she turned to Olivia waiting by the door, the children’s coats in her arms. She surveyed her figure, head to toe. “You look very well today, Miss Keene,” she said.

  Self-conscious, Olivia smiled and dipped a curtsy.

  Lord Bradley surveyed her as well, but his expression was inscrutable. Olivia was relieved the woman did not announce to Lord Bradley and the hovering Osborn that Olivia wore one of her castoffs.

  Felix stumbled in with rumpled hair and a hint of orange whiskers on his chin. The young man looked worse for drink from the night before. Olivia knew the look—greenish pale complexion, hollow eyes. She also noticed his bruised eyelid, which she could attribute to drink as well, at least indirectly.

  Judith greeted her brother pleasantly. “Good morning, Felix. Mrs. Moore made mincemeat pie, your favorite.”

  “All I want is coffee.”

  “What happened to your eye, Felix?” Lord Bradley asked.

  “Oh.” Felix stole the briefest glance at Olivia. “I, uh, ran into an unexpected obstacle in the dark.”

  He poured coffee with less than steady hands. “I shall be my old self after coffee, a few more hours’ sleep, a bath and shave. I won’t manage church, I am afraid.” He stirred sugar into his cup. “I would not wait for Miss Harrington either. To hear her father tell it, her little feet do not hit the floor until twelve most days.”

  Breakfast completed, Mrs. Howe, Lord Bradley, and the children rode in the carriage the short distance up the lane and around the high wall that separated Brightwell Court from St. Mary’s. Glad to be allowed to attend, Olivia walked beside Doris along with the handful of other servants who could be spared from their duties.

  Once inside the vestibule, Olivia followed Dory up into the gallery to sit with the other servants. She had never sat in a gallery before. At home, she and her mother sat on the main floor of the chapel with the small clutch of congregants who came out for Sunday services. Her father not among them.

  Doris patted her knee and they settled in for the service. There was a feeling of camaraderie there in the gallery, the silent smiles shared among servants from different houses, who saw one another on occasional Sundays and rarely any other time. There were also winks and good-natured elbows in the side of a fellow groom or housemaid. Doris, she soon realized, attended only to flirt with menservants she would otherwise not see. The girl was fellow-mad.

  Down below, on the second pew from the f
ront, Olivia saw Lord Bradley, flanked by Audrey and Andrew. Beside Audrey, Judith stood in a black mantle and smart black hat with a half veil of silver gossamer lace. Alexander was too young to be quiet for church and had been left home with Nurse Peale. Olivia wondered how Andrew would manage to be still so long. How unlike his usual self he looked fidgeting in his Sunday coat, brown hair slicked down. Audrey, however, stood sedately and gracefully in her bonnet and gown, her gloved hand in Lord Bradley’s. They looked like a family—husband, wife, children. Would they be one someday, once Judith’s mourning was past?

  Mr. Tugwell kept his sermon surprisingly brief, saying only thoughts of the sumptuous feast awaiting him could still his tongue on such a glorious day. He reminded the congregation that he and his good sister were once again holding an annual open hearth, and all were invited to drop in for a buffet meal.

  At the close of service, Olivia stood and glanced once more down at Lord Bradley and the Howes, who were rising and gathering their things and smiling at their neighbors. Lord Bradley reached across the pew and shook hands with a man behind him. As the man turned, Olivia started. The man’s profile struck her as familiar. She had seen him before. The man glanced up into the gallery, and Olivia quickly turned her head, hoping her bonnet would conceal her face. She did not wish to be recognized—could not be recognized. Who was the man? She wanted to look again, but dared not. Someone from home? Someone from Withington visiting family or friends? Someone who knew Lord Bradley. . . . Olivia’s heart pounded, and she prayed the man would not be following them home for Christmas dinner.

  Feigning a search for something in her reticule, Olivia waved Doris on and managed to be the last person to exit the gallery. As she hoped, the familiar gentleman—along with most everyone else—was gone.

  At the door, Mr. Tugwell exchanged well wishes or a “Happy Christmas” with the last few members of his congregation as they filed out. Miss Tugwell stood at his elbow, handing out small bags tied in rag ribbon. How generous. She noticed Miss Tugwell eyeing each person as she offered a gift. When she surveyed Olivia’s new gown she whispered, “You haven’t use for wheat, I trust, Miss Keene?”

  Thinking of Mr. Croome, Olivia nodded and held out her hand.

  Augusta Tugwell ignored it. “Foolish notion in these times. When I think of the price of wheat!”

  Mr. Tugwell glanced over, eyes flicking from Olivia’s extended hand to the bag in his sister’s clutches. “Sister, Miss Keene is awaiting her gift.” He smiled at Olivia while Augusta Tugwell only sniffed and relinquished the bag.

  Edward found himself foolishly nervous while waiting for his young cousins to open their presents. He certainly hoped Miss Keene was correct and Audrey would like the doll’s house, though she was not a little girl any longer.

  “Mind your expectations,” he said. “These are only things I made in the carpentry shop. Nothing new from the London shops, I am afraid.”

  Miss Harrington sat with perfect posture in the armchair beside his. She looked refreshed and elegant in a primrose gown with a white fichu tucked into the neckline. Felix sat slumped on the settee, more clear-eyed and certainly better groomed than he had been that morning. Judith perched on the settee’s other end, little Alexander on the floor before her, sitting up of his own accord, but with his mamma nearby to catch him should he topple.

  Judith set Edward’s wrapped gift before the little boy, but Alexander seemed more interested in grabbing the silver buckles on his mother’s slippers. Judith tore away the stiff paper for him, revealing the set of blocks, each carved with a letter, number, and animal.

  “Look, Alexander. Cousin Edward has made such handsome blocks for you.” She held one up. “What a charming fox, Edward. I am impressed. Look, Alexander, F for fox. And this one has a D on it and a very fine duckling.”

  Edward stared at the blocks as Judith fussed over them, still as confused as he had been when, two by two, they had reappeared in the shop. He had carved simple numbers and letters on each. But now they bore detailed images of animals as well.

  Had Miss Keene carved the blocks as well as sewn all the cushions and draperies so skillfully? If so, she had never said a word. Somehow he could not imagine Miss Keene with a carving knife. But who else would have done so?

  “Did you really make those yourself?” Miss Harrington asked.

  Edward hesitated. “I had help with the carving.”

  Felix held up his hands. “Don’t look at me.”

  “An anonymous Christmas elf,” Edward said dryly.

  Without waiting to be asked, Andrew ripped the paper from his elongated parcel. “Stab me!” he cried, mimicking his uncle Felix.

  “Andrew, that is not polite,” Judith admonished.

  But the boy paid little heed. “A brand-new cricket bat! A ball too.” He lifted the ball as if to give it a good whack.

  Edward quickly stilled his small arms. “That is an outside gift, young man.”

  “Awww, but it is winter!”

  “We shall bundle up tomorrow and see how it cracks, all right?”

  Andrew dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet a bit sullenly. “All right . . .”

  “Is it my turn?” Audrey asked quietly, looking up at her cousin with shy eyes.

  Edward nodded, feeling his palms dampen as he watched the girl carefully begin to tug at the cloth covering her gift.

  “I am afraid I hadn’t enough paper for yours.”

  Slowly Audrey pulled the cover toward her.

  “Just give it a good rip, Aud!” Andrew encouraged. “Shall I?”

  “Leave your sister be, Andrew,” Judith said.

  Please let her like it, Edward thought. He almost wished sophisticated Sybil Harrington were not on hand to witness his failure, if failure it would be.

  Audrey’s eyes grew round and rather stunned as she took in the house, which came up nearly to her shoulders. “It is Brightwell Court,” she breathed. She looked at him, uncertain.

  His spirits fell. She does not like it.

  “Is it really for me?” she asked.

  “Yes, though if you are too old for dolls, I shall not be offend—”

  “Look!” Audrey cried, kneeling before the open stories, the many chambers, and even a grand staircase. “There is the drawing room, where we are right now. And up there is the nursery!”

  Edward felt the scrutiny of others and turned to find both Judith and Miss Harrington studying him with stunned incredulity.

  “How long did it take you to build this?” Judith asked.

  He waved aside her awe. “Oh, I have worked on it for several months, on and off, when I had the time.”

  Audrey looked up at her stepmother. “Look! It is the very settee you are seated upon. It even has a cushion!”

  Judith’s fair brows rose as she looked from the miniature piece of furniture to Edward. “If you tell me you made that as well, I shall not believe you.”

  “I had some help with the sewing and furnishings.”

  “The Christmas elf again?” Miss Harrington asked, one dark brow quirked high.

  He thought it wiser not to mention any names.

  Audrey looked up with wide eyes. “I painted this miniature landscape myself and never guessed what it was for!”

  After several more minutes of exclaiming over favorite details, Audrey stood before him and made a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, Cousin Edward. It is the finest gift I have ever received.”

  Judith looked mildly offended, opened her pink lips, then shut them again.

  Edward had not thought to outdo anybody. He simply wanted to please these children, these offspring of his friend, gone from this world. Did they not deserve some special happiness this day?

  He bowed to Audrey in his best courtly manner, and then took her hand in his and pressed it. “You are most welcome, my dear Audrey.”

  When he looked up once more, Judith’s expression had transformed into one of speculative approval. Miss Harrington looked from Judith to him, and
appeared not pleased at all.

  As the children began to play with the doll’s house, Felix turned to him and asked, “Remember that raft you built, Edward?”

  “Sink me, not that old yarn.”

  A mischievous sparkle lit Felix’s green eyes. “You see, Miss Harrington, the great Noah here built us a fine raft when we were lads. Big enough to hold the two of us and that terrier—what was its name?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “At all events, we put in near the Brightwell Bridge and the current bore us swiftly. Only when we passed the church, there where the river widens, did Edward realize he had neglected to fashion either rudder or oar!”

  Self-conscious, Edward chuckled and shook his head.

  “But the raft was seaworthy, I admit,” Felix continued. “Took us all the way to the Arlington Mill and would have taken us further had Edward not grabbed hold of a low-lying branch and pulled us into the mill leat.” He eyed his cousin. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

  “I remember the miller was none too pleased. That I do recall.”

  “Whatever happened to that raft, I wonder?” Felix said. “I hope Andrew does not stumble upon it or we should never see that wag pirate again.”

  “Don’t fear. I am sure that old thing has gone the way of most everything else I built in those days. Mother quietly disposed of it while I was at Oxford.”

  “Never say so! Such a work of art. Although after that excursion, I am quite sure you shan’t have a career in shipbuilding.”

  “Nor would I want one.”

  Felix leaned back in his chair. “You have no need of a career, of course. It is only I who must find some way to eke out my existence.”

  “You make it sound as if you shall have to earn a living from the soil or some such,” Miss Harrington said kindly. “Surely with a degree from Balliol it shall not come to that.”

  “No,” he said. “I cannot fancy Felix Bradley, yeoman farmer.”

  “Nor I,” Judith said.

  “What will you take up?” Miss Harrington asked. “Have you decided?”

  “I have not. I have no interest in the church. Detest the thought of fighting in a war. Haven’t a head for the law. . . .”