Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“No!” Nicola said, and Olivia winced at the sharpness in her voice. “Forgive me, I’m not supposed to say anything. Pa has never recovered, and he gets angry if I speak of it. You mustn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Jacob—please.”
Nicola wiped her eyes and sniffed, and Olivia took her hand. “Of course I’ll say nothing. Your secret is safe with me.”
“And yours with me.”
“What secr—”
“About not wanting a child.” Nicola glanced toward the door. “I can help,” she whispered. “My grandmother can brew a potion to prevent a child. She does it for the women at the brothel in the next town and won’t mind if I bring you some if you promise not to tell.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m only thinking of you,” Nicola said. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer the same fate as poor Lucy. I loved her so much, and…” She wiped her eyes. “I know we’ve only been acquainted for a little while, but I see you as a friend. A sister.” She let out a small sob.
“Very well,” Olivia said, “but I’ll not need it.”
Nicola’s eyes narrowed, the pale blue glistening like ice. “Has the earl not—”
She broke off as someone knocked on the door, then the housekeeper entered.
“Your ladyship, is now a convenient time to discuss the household accounts? I’m sure Miss Faulkes has plenty to be getting on with at Mill Farm.”
Olivia rose, glancing at the mantel clock. “Yes, Mrs. Brougham. Forgive me, I hadn’t realized how late it was. Nicola—would you mind?”
“Of course not, Olivia,” Nicola said, rising.
Mrs. Brougham frowned, then rang the bell. Shortly after, a maid arrived.
“Ethel, please show Miss Faulkes out. The rear entrance, if you please.”
The maid curtseyed, then ushered Nicola out. As soon as the door closed behind them, Mrs. Brougham gestured to a chair.
“May I sit, your ladyship?”
Olivia nodded.
“It’s not my place, but I’d advise you to take care with that young woman. She displays a degree of overfamiliarity most unbecoming, given your difference in rank.”
“Do you disapprove of my having a friend. Mrs. Brougham?” Olivia said.
“Of course not, my dear, but Miss Faulkes must understand the respect due to you as the countess. She’s nothing but the daughter of a tenant who acts above her station.”
“But I was once—”
Mrs. Brougham placed a hand on hers, but, rather than the stifling demands of friendship, Olivia sensed only maternal concern.
“I know of your origins, my dear,” Mrs. Brougham said. “But you’re a countess now and must recognize the difference in rank between yourself and those around you. I’m not saying that you cannot be friends with Miss Faulkes.”
“What are you saying, Mrs. Brougham?”
“That you must take care in whom you place your trust. Do not be deceived by an overly friendly face. A new bride entering into a house of strangers can trust only one person.”
Olivia cocked her head to one side. “Her housekeeper, I suppose?”
Mrs. Brougham smiled. “No—her husband. And until anyone else has earned your trust, I’d advise you to be cautious. I understand the necessity of Master Charles’s going to London, but he ought to have taken you with him.”
“The necessity?” Olivia said. “You mean financial?”
The housekeeper had the grace to blush. “He was insistent on proceeding with the repairs to the buildings as soon as possible. I only pray that he doesn’t drive the estate into bankruptcy. His father almost did, on three occasions, though for reasons of profligacy rather than generosity.”
“Generosity?”
“It’s not my place to speak of it, but Master Charles has insisted that he pay for the repairs himself.
He’s even ordered twenty head of cattle for the Baldwins’ farm and won’t take a penny from Mr. Baldwin.
He’s not like his father, for certain. I told him the garden needs work, not to mention this house, but he insisted on giving priority to the tenants.
” She eyed Olivia. “He’s a good man, your ladyship. ”
“Why do you feel the need to tell me he’s a good man?” Olivia asked.
“Because he’d never tell you himself. All his life he’s been a disappointment to those whose good opinion he’s sought.”
“He has no need of my good opinion, Mrs. Brougham.”
“Does he not?”
“He’s a man. He’s master here. He can do what he wishes.”
“Had he followed his wishes, he’d never have returned here,” Mrs. Brougham said.
“He’d have found a way to settle the debts and remain on the Continent, handing over responsibility of the estate to Jacob, who would have inherited.
But he chose not to. Instead, he’s returned, to a home that gave him nothing but unhappy memories, and brought a wife.
” She gave an indulgent smile. “Though he may deny it, he’s accepted the responsibility of the Devereaux name, and we’re all mighty glad of it.
I know he’s a little…difficult at times, but he’s just as daunted by the prospect of making a life here as you, though he doesn’t show it. ”
She patted Olivia’s hand. “Well! I’m sure you’ve better things to do than listen to my ramblings. Shall we discuss the household accounts? I could send for Ethel to bring you another pot of tea. You’re looking a little pale.”
Oliva nodded, another ripple of nausea flowing through her.
“Tea it is,” the housekeeper said. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, earlier—it was out of concern for you.”
Despite Nicola’s professions of friendship, Olivia found more to trust in Mrs. Brougham’s more measured advice. The older women carried an air of Eleanor about her, and for that, at least, she deserved Olivia’s trust.
“Thank you, Mrs. Brougham,” Olivia said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“And I you,” came the reply. “As is Master Charles, even if he cannot say it.”
She exited the parlor, and Olivia sank back into her seat and placed her hand over her belly.
What if she was with child?
Her husband didn’t wish it, despite what Mrs. Brougham said. However, whatever she might say to Nicola, Olivia wanted a child more than anything—someone to love without condition and to love her in return.
But could she weather her husband’s wrath—or worse, his disappointment—if she had a child?