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“At least you can earn your keep. The vicar told us that you have a fine mind, and that your father saw to your education. I suppose I can find you a position with one of our better families in London.”
London. Olivia thought about her impressions of the city on her single visit some years ago. Row upon row of town houses. Carriages clattering along narrow, dirty streets. Vendors, and parades of people, and parks filled with nannies and children. She had returned to her quiet country home and breathed a sigh of relief. “I cannot go to London. I prefer to remain here.”
“It is out of the question. As your mother’s only kin, I have no choice but to take you back.”
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a modest cottage. “Pack your things, girl,” Agatha said sharply.
“Now?”
“Of course,” Agatha snapped. “Did you think we would make another trip just to fetch you later?”
“Will you come inside?” Olivia struggled to remember her manners. “And perhaps have some tea while I pack?”
Agatha’s reply was curt. “No, girl. Now move quickly.” She folded her arms across her ample bosom. “We are eager to return to London. We’ve suffered quite enough discomfort.”
Olivia was relieved that her aunt had refused her invitation. She was in desperate need to be alone. To gather her thoughts. To fill herself with the scents and sights and sounds of her home. To allow her heart a moment to grieve.
As she closed the door and leaned against it, her eyes filled with fresh tears. How she loved this place. For as long as she could remember, it had been her home. A home filled with love.
She touched a hand to the shelf that held her parents’ precious manuscripts. She had instructed the vicar to see that their papers were given to the university.
Perhaps to others the St. Johns had seemed odd. Always walking about the countryside, sketching the wild creature, observing and recording in a journal. But scholars had held both husband and wife in high esteem. As for Olivia, she adored them both, and had enjoyed nothing so much as the time spent in their company.
Hearing the impatient stomp of the horses, she hurried to her room and began to pack. There was little enough to take with her to London. Two serviceable gowns, one gray, one blue. A shawl, a bonnet, a parasol. As for the rest, she knew the widow Dillingham would distribute them among the needy of the village.
On a sudden whim she walked to her parents’ room and carefully folded the small, embroidered coverlet that lay across the foot of their bed. Her mother had made it before her wedding. Olivia pressed it to her face, inhaling the scent of her parents that lingered in the folds.
“Are you ready, girl?” came her uncle’s irritable voice.
She raced back to her own room and picked up her valise. As she stared around the little cottage, she had to swallow the lump that was threatening to choke her. How could she leave all that she held dear? How could she just walk away from her memories, her childhood, her life?
She glanced at the two crude rocking chairs, fashioned by her father’s hand, placed side by side in front of the fireplace. She could hear, inside her head, her mother’s voice. “The mind is a wonderful gift, Livvy. In it we carry all of life’s treasures. All the laughter, all the love. And so long as they are tucked safely away in our mind, they are always there when we need to take them out, to remember, to savor...”
“Come along now,” her uncle called sharply.
Olivia lifted her chin higher and strode out to the waiting carriage. The driver helped her inside and stowed her valise. As soon as her uncle settled himself beside his wife, they began to move.
She turned her head, drinking in her last glimpse of her beloved home. As they rounded a bend she strained until, at last, the little cottage slipped from view. She glanced up. Seeing her aunt’s penetrating stare, she bit her quivering lip until she tasted blood. She was determined that these two people would witness no further sign of weakness. But as she closed her eyes against the pain, she began to recall some of her treasured memories of her life with her gentle parents. They were not gone, she consoled herself; they Would live on forever in her mind.
Chapter Two
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord.” Mistress Thomton swallowed twice while Lord Stamford looked up from the ledgers on his desk.
“What is it?”
“It’s about the lad.”
“What about him?”
The housekeeper shrugged. She’d been rehearsing this for days. But now that she was facing that dark, penetrating stare, words failed her.
“Well?” He was clearly exasperated. “Is he ill?”
“Nay, m’lord. But he...he has no one to look out for him,” she blurted.
“Then order a servant to see to it.”
“I have.” She saw him pick up his quill, and began talking faster. “I’ve told that saucy, dizzy-eyed baggage Edlyn to watch out for him. But she does no more than is necessary. And with her household duties as well, ‘tis easy to forget about one small boy. Especially one as quiet as that. And if I may say, m’lord, it isn’t good for a young lad to spend all his time in his room. He seems to have grown pale and...sickly.”
“Nonsense. I looked in on him last night. I found nothing wrong.” He returned his attention to the ledgers.
“There’s something else, m’lord.”
He waited, without looking up.
“The lad appears bright enough. But he needs to be educated.”
“You’re right, of course. Perhaps a monastery...?”
“Nay, m’lord. Why, he can’t be much more than four or five years.” She waited, hoping to be given an exact age. When Lord Stamford didn’t bother to respond, she added, “That’s much too young to be sent away.”
His tone was growing impatient. “Then what do you suggest, Mistress Thornton?”
“A nursemaid, m’lord. One who can be both nurse and teacher. It seems the most likely solution.”
“A nursemaid.” He seemed to weigh the thought for a moment, then nodded. “A governess. See to it.”
“But how, m’lord?”
He turned the page in the ledger and adjusted a candle for light. “However that sort of thing is done. Tell the servants to ask around. Perhaps someone in a nearby village or shire...”
“Most of them know little more than Edlyn, m’lord.” She thought a moment. “I have a cousin in London. Perhaps she could ask...”
“Excellent suggestion. See to it, Mistress Thornton.”
The housekeeper watched as he returned his attention to the accounts in the ledger.
A short time later, as the plump housekeeper made her way below stairs, she fretted that her duties seemed to increase with each passing day. Ever since Lord Stamford had returned, life had become extremely complicated.
London
Olivia descended the stairs of her aunt and uncle’s sumptuous house and followed the directions that had been given her by Letty, an elderly upstairs maid.
‘I knew at once who ye were, miss.” Letty’s smile was the first genuine smile she’d seen in days.
“And how would you know me?”
“Why, ye’r the image of yer mum when she was yer age.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Oh, yes, miss. She was so fine and sweet. All the servants missed her when she went away to marry her professor.”
“You mean my mother lived in this fine, big house?”
“Indeed. You didn’t know?”
Olivia was stunned. “She told me very little about her childhood. I sensed there were things that caused her pain.”
“She and her sister...” The servant thought better about what she’d been about to say and finished lamely, “...were very different.” She glanced aground uneasily. “You must go now, miss. You would not care to keep Lady Agatha waiting.”
“Thank you, Letty. I hope we can talk again later.”
“Aye, miss. I’d like that. Ye remind me of yer mum, ye do.”
“Thank you, Letty,” she called over her shoulder. “That’s the nicest thing you could have said.”
This was Olivia’s first chance to actually view the house, since her aunt had insisted upon confining her to the guest room with orders to remain there and even to take all her meals there. Olivia was more than willing, since their arrival had been a most unpleasant affair. Agatha had railed against the cold, driving rain, the lateness of the hour and even the fact that her sister and brother-in-law had inconvenienced her by dying at such a time as this. It had taken all of Olivia’s strength of will to hold her tongue through her aunt’s angry tirade.
If their journey was unpleasant, their arrival in London had been even worse. An elegant young woman in a pink gown that must surely have been made for a princess, had greeted her parents, not with a hug, but with a complaint that she was missing much-needed sleep. And when Olivia had been introduced to her cousin Catherine, the young woman’s manner had become even more abusive. Her features had become as twisted and bitter as those of her mother. Except for a curt nod, she had spoken not a word before going up to her room and leaving Olivia to fend for herself.
But it was a new day. Birds could be heard chirping outside the windows. Sunshine had chased away the clouds. Olivia decided to blame the short tempers on the unexpected turn of events. After all, if she was distraught over the loss of her parents, Agatha must be equally distraught over the death of her only sister. Surely after a few days of rest both Agatha and her daughter would have softened their attitude.
Olivia paused outside the dining room, breathing in the wonderful fragrance of freshly baked bread. From the sideboard steam could be seen rising from a silver tray heaped high with thinly sliced beef. A maid paused beside the table, ladling something from a silver urn.
With a wide smile upon her lips, Olivia brushed down the skirts of her simple gray gown. But as she took a step forward, she caught sight of a tall, sun-bronzed man striding across the room to embrace Agatha.
“Wyatt!” Agatha jumped to her feet, all warm smiles and eager embraces. “Oh, when did you arrive? Let me look at you.”
Olivia pulled back out of sight and leaned against the wall. It seemed wrong somehow to intrude upon this homecoming of her aunt and uncle’s only son. Though her stomach grumbled over the lack of food, she decided to hold off her arrival until the family had a moment alone.
“My ship arrived in port nearly a fortnight ago,” came the deep rumble of her cousin’s voice.
“A fortnight? Then why have you waited until now to come calling?” This was Robert’s voice, raised in challenge.
“I had business to attend to, Father.”
“Of course you did.” Agatha’s tone left no doubt that she would always side with her son. “If a man is to remain successful, he must put business affairs ahead of all others.”
“So you have always said, Mother. And I have become more successful than ever. Now tell me. What has happened while I was away?”
“Mother and Father had to journey to Oxford to bury Mother’s sister.” Olivia recognized Catherine’s whining tones. “And you’ll never guess who they brought home with them.”
Before Wyatt could respond she continued, “Our spinster cousin from the country.”
Olivia’s face flamed. Greatly distressed, she pressed her palms to her burning cheeks as the voice continued, “I warn you, Mother, I won’t have that plain, horrid creature wearing my clothes.”
“It’s only for a few days, Catherine, until I can have the dressmaker replace those pitiful rags she brought with her.”
“She can go naked for all I care. I’m not sharing my things with her. And why have you put her in the guest suite?”
“Where would you suggest I put her? In the servants’ quarters?”
“That would be too good for her. Have you forgotten, Mother? Ian and his family will be coming to pay a visit soon. I won’t have the Earl of Gathwick being introduced to her. I would simply die if my intended and his mother knew we were related to...to...that bumpkin.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, my princess. Nothing will ruin your chances with the earl and his family.” Agatha’s tone was soothing. “Your father and I don’t want her here any more than you do. I’ll find someone to take her off our hands, even if she has to muck stalls to earn her keep.”
Stunned and horrified at what she’d overheard, Olivia began to back away, determined to hide herself in the guest suite until she could pack her bags and flee this hateful place.
Bringing a hand to her trembling lips she turned away. But even as she raced along the hallway, the cruel laughter followed, mocking her.
Minutes later, in her room, she heard a voice from the doorway. “So, here’s our little mouse.”
Olivia looked up from the valise into which she was hastily stuffing her belongings. A tall man with sandy hair and pale blue eyes leaned against the open door, his arms folded over his chest.
“I figured, after overhearing all that business below stairs, that you’d be packing.”
“How did you know...?” Feeling her cheeks flame, she ducked her head and resumed her activity.
“I saw the hem of a skirt fluttering in the doorway. Who, I asked myself, but our little country cousin, would have tried to slip away without revealing herself?”
“You seem quite smug. Is that why you’re here? To accuse me of eavesdropping?” She folded her blue gown, the one she’d intended to wear tonight to sup with her aunt and uncle and cousins.
“On the contrary. I am appalled at my sister’s behavior. And I came here to make amends.” He walked up to her and extended his hand. “Hello, cousin. I am Wyatt Lindsey. Could we begin afresh?”
For the space of several seconds Olivia stared at his hand, then into his face. Despite the elegant cut of his clothes, there was a certain boyishness to his smile. She sensed that he was very aware of his charms, and accustomed to using them. “I... suppose we could.” She offered her hand. “I am Olivia St. John.”
He continued holding her hand a moment longer than necessary, until, flustered, she forcibly removed it.
He chuckled at the color that flooded her cheeks, though he couldn’t tell if she was flattered by his attentions or angry.
He was more than a little surprised by what he’d found. Pleasantly so. When Catherine had called their cousin a spinster, he had imagined a much older, plainer woman. Why this lovely creature was unmarried was a mystery. But as long as he intended to spend a few days here before returning to his country home, he planned to sample his pretty little cousin’s wares.
He nodded toward the valise. “Where are you planning on going?”
“I have no thought, other than that I must leave this place, where I am so unwelcome.”
“Perhaps I could...help you.” He touched a hand to a tendril of dark hair that had fallen loose from the neat knot at her nape.
At once she pulled back from his touch. “In what way can you help?”
He smiled. She was not going to make this easy. No matter. He enjoyed a challenge. He reached into his waistcoat and removed a rolled parchment. Unrolling it, he walked to the writing table and handed her a quill.
“First, you will sign your name to this document.”
Mystified, she moved closer. “What is it?”
“Nothing of any importance. It merely names me executor of your estate.”
