Julia Justiss - The Tempting Of The Governess

The Colonel cocked his head at her. ‘Have I paid you anything yet?’

‘No, sir. I... I have a small amount of my own laid by.’

‘Then I shall see you reimbursed at once. Can’t have you drawing down your pin money buying necessities for the children.’

Her light mood faded as she recalled just how little money she had left. ‘No, that would not be wise.’

‘Very well. What was the total?’

After naming the sum, she tried to rally her suddenly sagging spirits. After all, she wasn’t going to be discharged, she would have important work to do, making her charges feel comfortable in their new home—and maybe, if the Colonel really wanted to do better by them, she might figure out a way to coax him to interact more with them.

The orphaned girls so desperately needed a permanent, protective presence in their lives. She could only sympathise, as she yearned for one, too—but at least she had Sara in London to turn to, should matters become truly dire.

After counting out what he owed her, the Colonel closed the desk drawer. ‘Very well, Miss Overton. You will let me know if you encounter any difficulties with Mrs Wallace—or if you feel the girls are in need of anything else.’

Might as well start now. ‘There is...one more thing. You are their last remaining close relation, you told me. I’m sure they would adjust more quickly, feel less frightened, lost and alone, if they could get to know you better.’

Immediately, that forbidding look came over his face, the same look she’d noticed before when she’d mentioned him seeing more of the children. ‘As I believe I already told you,’ he said, his tone noticeably cooler, ‘I’m busy and away from the house on estate business all day, almost every day.’

‘Do you know what Elizabeth said to me in Bristol? What convinced me I would have to apologise and try to retain my position?’

The increasing grimness of his expression warned she was once again risking an abrupt dismissal. Too certain he needed to hear the child’s comment to back down, she met his gaze unflinchingly.

For another fraught moment, she thought he meant to tell her he had no interest in childish confidences and send her away. Instead, with a wry grimace, he said, ‘I suppose you are going to tell me, whether I want to hear it or not.’

After biting her tongue to keep herself from responding to that provocation, she said, ‘Once we had made our purchases and were preparing to leave town, Elizabeth asked if I would be taking them back to Somers Abbey—or if I was going to leave them in Bristol with someone else. Please, Colonel, if you could just let me bring them in to see you occasionally, so they might start to feel they can rely on you and be reassured that you won’t simply pass them along to—’

‘Enough, Miss Overton,’ he interrupted, a sharp look of—surely it wasn’t pain ?—crossing his face. Standing abruptly, he walked to the bookcase and halted there, his back to her. Though she ached to say more, she made herself remain silent and waited.

Finally, he turned back to her, his expression tightly controlled. ‘I will do as much as I can. I rely on you to reassure them.’

She knew better than to press him further. At least he hadn’t ordered her out of the room this time. ‘Very well. Thank you, Colonel.’

‘No, thank you, Miss Overton. For helping me “discharge my responsibilities”.’

So he did feel he should do more for them. She had the grace to feel a little ashamed at pushing him so hard. ‘That was unfair. I am sure you are quite capable.’

He sighed. ‘This time, I sincerely hope to be.’

With that enigmatic utterance, he nodded a dismissal. Giving him a curtsy, she left the room.

Late that night, Olivia tiptoed into the quiet nursery to check on the girls. As she’d hoped, her two charges slept peacefully, their small bodies covered from head to toe in thick flannel nightgowns and tucked in under heavy woollen blankets.

She smiled, remembering Elizabeth’s awe when she’d first donned the nightgown. ‘Oh, miss, it’s so soft!’ she cried, rubbing her small hands down the material. ‘Sophie, we shall finally be warm!’ Giggling, she’d hugged her little sister, then looked back to Olivia. ‘Thank you so much, Miss Overton!’

‘I may coax you into liking England after all,’ she’d said, then settled them into bed and told them a story—having discovered, when she’d given the schoolroom a closer inspection that evening, that its cupboards contained neither toys, nor slates for writing, nor books she could read to them.

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—