Predictably, when she’d asked Mrs Wallace about it, the woman had replied icily that until last week, the schoolroom at Somers Abbey had been unoccupied for the whole of her tenure as housekeeper, so she had no idea if the household possessed such items. ‘Since you have such good rapport with Colonel Glendenning, perhaps you should ask him,’ she’d said snidely, obviously not at all happy that Olivia’s earlier talk with the master hadn’t resulted in the rebuke the housekeeper had expected.
Biting back the reply she would like to have given, Olivia hung on to her temper. Much as she’d like to give as good as she got with the woman, it would make life more pleasant, especially for the children, if she could find a way to establish a more cordial relationship. ‘Perhaps I shall do just that,’ she’d said brightly and left it at that.
Though it was now a bit later than she’d intended, the task of putting away the supplies she’d obtained in Bristol and the storytelling having taken longer than anticipated, she still had time to visit the library. Encouraged by her employer’s friendlier reception this afternoon—he hadn’t entirely retreated, even when she’d pleaded with him to see more of the girls—she’d decided to ask him about the schoolroom supplies. Most likely, once the Colonel and his brother were grown, all such items had been packed away, perhaps consigned to the attic. If the Colonel had some idea where they might be located, she could go in search of them first thing tomorrow.
Thinking it best to be cautious, she went quietly to the library on her own, without asking Mansfield to announce her. She’d heard that army officers serving in India were hard drinkers and the Colonel’s appearance this morning certainly seemed to confirm that. It probably wouldn’t be prudent to approach him about anything this evening if he were already in his cups.
The problem of how she would manage to open that heavy oak door without announcing her presence was solved by her finding it had been left ajar. Peeping inside, she saw the room was unoccupied.
Before she could turn away, disappointed, she noticed that the desk chair was pushed back and the desk itself boasted a fully lit brace of candles, a book and a whisky bottle sitting beside a half-filled glass. All of which suggested that the Colonel had only stepped out of the room for a moment and meant to return shortly.
She’d wait for him.
She walked in, intending to take the chair in front of the desk to which he’d invited her earlier. But just as she was about to seat herself, she noted one more object on the desk, sitting in the spot most brightly illuminated by the candelabra. Curious, she bent over it to take a closer look.
It was a miniature portrait in a gilded frame, she realised. Without thinking, she picked it up and angled it so that, from her position in front of the desk, the candlelight fell fully upon it.
A small boy with ash-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes smiled up at her. A small boy whose features reminded her strongly of—
‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ an angry voice demanded.
Startled as much by the voice’s ferocity as the profanity, she looked up from the miniature to the incensed face of the Colonel pacing towards her, back to the portrait and up again. ‘You—you have a son?’ she gasped.
Reaching her, he ripped the small frame from her hand. ‘Had a son,’ he spat back. ‘Quite legitimate, I assure you, so you needn’t go all faint and maidenly on me. How dare you creep in here and snoop among my private things?’
‘I was not snooping!’ she cried indignantly. ‘I wished to speak with you, the door was open and the room appeared as if you’d only left it for a moment. I intended just to wait for you.’
‘Isn’t it anguish enough that he lies thousands of miles away, his little body trapped underground in a small wooden box with nothing but a stone angel to keep him company? Must I tolerate having indifferent strangers gazing upon his face?’
As he looked down at the portrait, his breathing went ragged, his jaw worked and tears sheened his eyes. ‘His beloved face,’ he whispered.
Horrified by what she’d inadvertently discovered, agonised by his agony, Olivia stood speechless, her mouth open in shock.
Before she could dredge up a reply, with his eyes still locked on the portrait, the Colonel made a swishing motion with his free hand. ‘Leave,’ he said, his voice raw. ‘Please, just leave me.’
Picking up her skirts, she ran from the room.
Chapter Six
Not until she halted halfway down the hallway to catch her breath did Olivia hear it. The short, harsh sound of a strangled sob.
Hardly daring to breathe, she hurried further away. A man as commanding as her employer would hate having anyone—especially an outsider—overhear behaviour he would surely consider ‘weak’.
Though she’d discovered very little beyond the fact that he’d lost a child—and obviously also a wife—as she walked back to her chamber, her heart ached for him.
Suddenly, his reluctance to have any closer contact with his wards made perfect sense. She couldn’t imagine the depth of grief one would suffer upon losing a child. But she did know having other children occupy the house couldn’t make up for that loss—and might well make it worse.
Now that she thought back on it, there had been other clues. Rather than dismiss children as tedious and beneath his notice, and simply order her to take charge of them, as a military man might, he’d said he would ‘do as much as he could’ for them. Then there was the way his expression grew shuttered each time she’d suggested he involve himself more with them. The distressed look on his face when she’d called him ‘uncaring’.
No matter how or when his death had happened, the Colonel obviously still grieved for his lost son—a grief that caused immense pain. While she had in her charge two small girls, also grieving, who desperately needed the affection of a faithful, dependable protector.
If she could somehow bring them together, would that not be helpful for both guardian and wards?
Sara would tell her that reconciling the two wasn’t within the scope of her position and, knowing so little about either party, her interference might do more harm than good. Emma would say that, once again, she was going to stick her nose uninvited into a place where it wasn’t wanted. But she knew herself too well.
As she’d confessed to the Colonel, she was ‘managing’. Perhaps because she’d had to take over running her own household at such a young age, when her mother had become immobilised after the death of her father, she also felt a deep need to ‘fix’ things—houses, situations, people. That strong desire had driven her intention to forgo marriage and work with Sara on forwarding the great political reform measures that would bring more justice and fairer government to all of England.
The children were probably young enough to embrace any warmth or affection offered them. The Colonel, however, was a man grown, and a soldier at that. She doubted he would appreciate anyone directly acknowledging, or intruding upon, his private pain. She would have to proceed cautiously.
But after recognising so clear a need, in both him and the children, it simply wasn’t in her nature to stand by and do nothing.
First, she’d probably need to apologise again for her supposed ‘snooping’. But how to do that without dredging up again the whole distressing scene?
She was pondering that dilemma when she arrived back in her room, only then remembering that she’d not accomplished the mission that had prompted her to leave it—finding out the location of the nursery supplies.
Her shocking discoveries having left her too agitated to try to sleep, she might as well use the last few minutes of the workday to search out the butler and see if he might be able to assist her.
In the process, perhaps he might shed more light on his employer’s devastating losses.
* * *
Expecting that Mansfield would not yet have retired for the night, Olivia went first to the servants’ hall. The coo
k and the tweeny were still in the kitchen, washing and polishing pots and, thankfully, Mrs Wallace was nowhere to be seen. Hoping her impatience to learn more about furnishing the nursery would not have to wait until morning, she walked down the hallway and knocked at the door to the butler’s private quarters.
‘What is it now, Mrs Wallace?’ he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he opened the door. Seeing her upon the threshold, he checked. ‘Miss Overton?’
‘Yes, Mansfield. I apologise for troubling you so late, but might I impose upon you to answer a question? I’m searching for items that would be of great assistance to me in seeing the Colonel’s wards are properly cared for.’
She noted with interest that he did not immediately recommend that she take up that matter with Mrs Wallace, as she’d half-feared he might. ‘I’ll help if I can. Would you have a seat? By this time of night, these old bones need a rest.’
She walked past him into his small sitting room and took the chair he indicated before the hearth. ‘Thank you for seeing me, sir. Am I correct in assuming that you have served Somers Abbey for many years?’
He nodded. ‘Since I was a lad.’
‘So you have known the Colonel since he was a lad. Perhaps you can help me, then! I need to locate supplies for the nursery—reading books, toys, perhaps some additional furniture. There is almost nothing in the schoolroom now. It’s possible the items were discarded after the Colonel and his brother grew up, but it’s more likely they were only stored somewhere. If you don’t know what became of them, perhaps one of the female staff might?’
The butler shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea. Cook wouldn’t know, either, and the housemaid and the tweeny didn’t start working here until well after the young masters left the nursery. There is one other servant remaining from years past—a day worker, who doesn’t live in any more. Travers was lady’s maid to my late mistress. She stayed on as the interim housekeeper after Mrs Jeffers retired upon the mistress’s death, until Mr Charles, the Colonel’s brother, hired Mrs Wallace.’ Mansfield sniffed. ‘Mrs Wallace didn’t like Travers and forced her out of the house, but she still does the fine hand laundry and sewing work for the household. She didn’t deal directly with the boys when they were children, but she was close to my late mistress and might remember where the nursery supplies were put up.’
‘That would be excellent! She doesn’t live in, you said. Where might I find her?’
‘She has a little house down near Somers village. Brookside Cottage. Mrs Wallace tried to get her out of that, too, but for all his faults, Mr Charles wouldn’t have it. He knew how much Travers had meant to his mother. And now I’ve said more than I meant to.’ He shook his head. ‘The failings of an old man—gossipy as an old maid sitting round the fire!’
Not quite gossipy enough, she thought. He’d let nothing slip about his master. ‘Not at all! I appreciate the information so much. Now, I’ll leave you to your rest. Goodnight, Mansfield.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Overton. And—good luck finding the supplies.’
She was terribly tempted to ask what he knew about his master’s son, but as a long-term retainer, he probably felt a protective loyalty to the family and would baulk at revealing the Colonel’s private affairs to an outsider.
But, she thought, brightening as she walked to the door, he’d told her that the retired lady’s maid had been quite close to her mistress. Perhaps, while Olivia enquired about nursery articles, that lady might volunteer more information about the Colonel’s child.
Olivia certainly hoped so. Her employer’s anguished reaction tonight indicated he was unlikely to reveal anything further to her.
Though he obviously felt a deep responsibility towards his wards, she could understand that it might be terribly painful for him to be around them, serving as they would as a constant reminder of the son he’d lost. In the course of her duties of caring for the girls, she would inevitably have to consult him. If she knew more about the circumstances surrounding his loss, she would be better able to talk with him about his wards while avoiding topics that might cause him further distress.
She would have to arrange to pay a visit to the village as soon as possible. But tomorrow, she needed to gather her courage and approach her employer one more time about the supplies for the schoolroom.
Rather than begin by apologising and open anew what was obviously an agonising memory, maybe it would be better to pretend their confrontation hadn’t happened. She hoped, when he was less upset, the Colonel would realise he’d accused her unfairly and wouldn’t take her to task again.
Although, she acknowledged, squirming a little at admitting the truth, she hadn’t intended to snoop, she really hadn’t had any right to pick up the portrait on his desk. And much as she longed to have more answers, she didn’t dare ask anything further about his son, unless he himself brought up the subject.
Which, she admitted, wasn’t very likely.
* * *
The next morning, Hugh rose early, feeling drained but calm. For the first time in a long time, he’d spent an entire evening without imbibing too much whisky. He had forced himself instead to live through a night of remembrance and anguish.
But Miss Overton, blast the woman, had been right. When his cousin had named him guardian of his precious children, he would have expected his boyhood friend to do more than simply oversee the girls’ finances. With their father no longer there to care for them, he would expect Hugh to step in and try to make them feel once more as safe and sheltered as they’d been before Robert’s untimely death.
No matter how painful it would be for him.
Nothing and no one could replace Drew. But it wasn’t fair for him to avoid his wards, just because the very sight of them brought back the searing agony of his son’s death. The girls had suffered losses just as great as his.
To make them feel safe and valued, as Robert would want him to, he would have to spend time with them. And to tolerate spending time with them, he had forced himself to finally face the loss of his son, a heartbreak he’d buried under long hours of work and large quantities of whisky for more than three years.
In the process of facing it, though, he shouldn’t have let his anguish lead him into losing his temper with Miss Overton, an unintentional witness to the scene. Scraping a hand across his face, he acknowledged the uncomfortable fact that he owed her an apology.
Could he think of a way to word it that would allow him to avoid mentioning Drew? However he expressed it, apologise he must and before the day was over.
Their confrontation had pushed him forward in carrying out his resolve. After the governess’s departure, he’d made himself inspect that portrait of Andrew, painted just a month before his son’s death. Forced himself to continue gazing upon that beloved face until the anguish boiled out, leaving him helpless as it unmanned him, making him want to howl with pain and sending a flood of womanish tears coursing down his face.
Those who said acknowledging grief and loss made it easier to bear were idiots. Afterwards, he hadn’t felt any less as though his heart had been ripped from his chest.
But he knew now he would be able to face his wards without worrying that the feelings he’d worked so hard to repress would suddenly emerge to confound him. He might still find himself weeping at night, in the privacy of his library, but he’d be able to tolerate the pain until he was alone.
It still wouldn’t be easy to see the girls—each meeting being a stark reminder of the child he had lost. He’d start with small steps. Maybe, as the Managing Miss Overton suggested—would he ever see her now without thinking of her as the ‘Managing Miss Overton’?—he would have her bring the girls to see him briefly each night, if he returned to Somers Abbey before they were put to bed.
He’d forbid himself to continue working as he had been, staying away from Somers Abbey until it was so late, he was fairly certain of missing th
em.
When he brought Miss Overton in to deliver his apology, he’d tell her of this change in her instructions.
He realised that he was lucky, and should be grateful, that the governess the hiring agency had dispatched had bonded with her charges so quickly and fiercely.
As an outspoken champion of their well-being, she would make a good buffer. He could ease himself into spending time with them gradually, confident that in the interim she would help him discharge his responsibilities by watching over them fiercely and faithfully.
Maybe, in time, seeing them in the place he’d once dreamed of bringing his son wouldn’t hurt so much.
Taking a deep breath, he rang the bell for Mansfield and instructed the butler to summon the governess. And then set his mind to considering how to phrase his apology.
Only then did the oddity of it strike him. Here he was, the man who almost never allowed his private feelings to show, being forced to apologise twice for revealing them in the space of just two days.
All because of the new governess. Shaking his head ruefully, he acknowledged that in the very short time she had been at Somers Abbey, Miss Overton had certainly disrupted the quiet, monotone tenor of his days—and prompted him to face something he should have confronted long ago.
He wasn’t sure whether he appreciated that or not.
* * *
Like a fresh breeze, a few minutes later, she entered briskly and dropped him a quick curtsy. ‘You wished to see me, sir? Which is fortunate, as there is something I wanted to speak with you about, too.’
‘Please, take a seat,’ he said, gesturing. ‘This time, I insist upon speaking first.’
Slipping gracefully into the chair, she nodded. Hugh was relieved to note that she wore her customary calm, seeming neither upset nor nervous about meeting him again after the episode last night.
The Tempting of the Governess Page 6