Chapter Thirty-Two
He’s home!
Olivia stood, flanked by the housekeeper and the steward, at the end of the line of servants, awaiting her husband’s arrival.
As soon as she’d heard the sound of hooves in the distance, her heart lifted. Then the carriage emerged through the trees like the sun breaking through a cloud after a long winter.
Had he been counting the days until he could see her again?
And…might she see him smile?
She placed a hand over her belly. Would he be pleased, or angry, when he discovered that she was expecting his child?
Her eyes misted with tears once more and she wiped them away.
What was happening to her? Lately she’d suffered bouts of melancholy that had gripped her for no reason.
She’d been taking Dr. Cheam’s tonic, which had reduced the nausea, though this morning she’d expelled her breakfast. But she assumed that was due to the anticipation of her husband’s return, for a little voice whispered in her mind that a part of her still feared him.
“Lady Devereaux?” A warm hand took hers. “Are you well?”
“I-I’m just a little apprehensive, Mrs. Brougham.”
The housekeeper patted her hand. “That’s understandable, ma’am. But he’ll be pleased to be home. He never liked London that much, and he’ll be delighted with what you’ve done.”
“Will he?” Olivia said, her confidence waning. “It’s his home, and I have no right…”
“You have every right, my dear, and if he doesn’t appreciate the efforts you’ve made, then I’ll bend him over my knee and give him the strap.”
Olivia smiled at the thought of the housekeeper wrestling her huge master to the ground.
“Mr. Carlton can hold him down while I administer the punishment,” the housekeeper said. “What say you, Mr. Carlton?”
The steward nodded. “Anything you say, Mrs. Brougham. It doesn’t pay to disagree with you.”
Olivia suppressed a smile as the steward gave the housekeeper a look of devotion.
“There!” Mrs. Brougham said. “You’ve a little color on your cheeks now, ma’am. I feared you were going to swoon earlier. I don’t suppose you’re…”
Her voice trailed away as the carriage drew to a halt. A footman climbed down from the back and opened the door. Olivia’s heart fluttered as a huge hand appeared on the window frame. Then the world before her blurred and she caught her breath and tilted sideways.
A strong arm caught her waist.
“I’ve got you, Lady Devereaux,” Carlton said. “I said you’ve been working too hard.”
“Sweet tea, that’s what you need,” Mrs. Brougham said. “I’ll have Ethel take a pot to the morning room before luncheon.”
Olivia nodded her thanks, her heart rate increasing as she caught sight of her husband.
He swung his legs out of the carriage, then climbed out, unfolding his huge frame with some stiffness.
His valet followed, leaping out of the carriage, before he stopped to brush his hands along his master’s wrinkled sleeves.
Charles shooed him away, frowning, then turned toward the house, his eyes darkening as he fixed his gaze on her.
She motioned a greeting.
Welcome home.
He tilted his head to one side, studying her hands, but made no attempt to respond, then lowered his gaze to her waist. Carlton released her and stepped back.
“H-have I done it wrong, Mrs. Brougham?” Olivia asked.
“No, my dear—you were perfectly clear in your hand signs.”
“Then why isn’t he…”
Her husband’s frown deepened, then he moved his hands.
“I-I don’t understand,” Olivia said. “He’s doing it too quickly. Charles, what are you trying to say?”
He stopped, hands in midair, turned to his valet, and gestured again. John let out a huff and responded, his movements more measured and precise. Olivia recognized some of the gestures that Mrs. Brougham had been teaching her, two words…
Wife, and deceive.
“Are you accusing me of deceit, Charles?”
He gestured toward the steward.
“Lord Devereaux, I can assure you that your wife and I have not—”
Charles slapped his fist into his palm, and cold fingers clawed at Olivia’s stomach. “Exactly what sort of deception do you think I’ve been engaged in, husband?”
Charles gestured again, and Mrs. Brougham let out a huff.
“Foolish boy!”
“What did he say?” Olivia said. “John—won’t you tell me?”
John opened his mouth to reply, and the housekeeper stepped forward.
“Pas devant les domestiques, Mr. Richards,” she said.
“Which means what?” Olivia asked.
Mrs. Brougham clapped her hands. “Return to your duties, all of you,” she said. “Ethel, take some tea to the morning room. Colin, have luncheon ready in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”
The servants dispersed, whispering among themselves.
“Enough of that!” the butler said. “Anyone caught gossiping, I’ll dismiss them immediately without a reference.”
The servants replied with a chorus of “Yes, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Lord Devereaux,” Carlton said, “it’s not what you think.”
Charles’s gaze darkened further. He made a series of gestures, then nodded to his valet.
“Lord Devereaux wishes to know what you believe he thinks has been happening, and…” John hesitated, and Charles glared at him. “He wishes to know why you…”
Charles gestured again, and Olivia recognized, once again, the sign for wife. Then he nudged John, almost knocking him off balance.
The valet let out a huff. “Lord Devereaux wishes to know what you and his wife have been up to, spending large sums of money, having led the bank to believe that the expenditure had his approval.”
Olivia’s apprehension turned to indignation.
“Lord Devereaux, your wife and I—” Carlton began, but Olivia interrupted.
“It’s my money to spend as I see fit, husband, or do you think me incapable of managing my money due to my sex?”
Charles’s eyes widened, then he shook his head.
“Not my sex, then,” she said. “Perhaps it’s my birth that gives you cause for concern? Perhaps you believe I’m not entitled to my own money, given that I’m a bastard.”
He slammed his fist into his palm, then gesticulated with sharp, angry movements. Olivia’s stomach heaved and she clapped her hand over her mouth. But her attempts to stem the swell of nausea were in vain. Her body convulsed and she darted to the side of the house.
“Lady Devereaux, come back!” John called. “Lord Devereaux wants you to—”
“I care not what he wants!” she cried. “I want him to leave me alone! I want you all to leave me alone!”
She darted around the side of the building into a secluded part of the garden, then bent over and retched.
She lost her balance and stumbled into the dirt, convulsing with nausea until her body ached.
But her stomach was empty—there was nothing left to expel.
At length, the nausea subsided, but a sharp pain throbbed behind her temples, and she groaned in pain.
Footsteps approached and she cringed, willing whoever it was to pass by. But they stopped.
“Leave me be,” she whimpered.
“Why would I do that, my dear?” Mrs. Brougham said.
“I-I can’t be seen like this. What will he think of me that he doesn’t already think?”
The housekeeper let out a huff. “He ought to be more concerned about what we all think of him.”
Olivia struggled to her feet, then burst into tears as she spotted a smear of mud on her skirts.
“Oh, Lady Devereaux! It’s only a little dirt. That’ll wash out, no trouble.”
“I-it’s not that,” Olivia said. “I-I can’t stop crying.
Even when I think I’m happy, I find myself crying over nothing…
when the pastry for that pie split yesterday, when I spilled my tea…
And back then, I wanted to cry so badly, though it would make him angrier than he already is. What’s the matter with me?”
Mrs. Brougham placed her arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “Sweet girl, did your mother never tell you?”
“M-my mother died giving birth to me. I was brought up by the schoolmistress. She taught me to read and write.”
“But not about marriage?”
Olivia shook her head. “Sh-she said I’d never find a husband because of my birth, so I’d have to work hard to support myself.
Am I always to be blamed for how I came into the world?
” She caught her breath to suppress a sob.
“M-my brother took me in, tried to turn me into a lady, but I wish he hadn’t.
It would have been better if I’d not been born. ”
“Hush, my dear, you don’t mean that,” Mrs. Brougham said, drawing Olivia into her arms. “You’re just a little overwhelmed, that’s all. Some sweet tea and a rest will set you right.”
“B-but it’s happening all the time.”
The housekeeper stroked Olivia’s cheek. “The late mistress was just the same, you know. It was how she could tell.”
“Tell what?”
“That she was with child.”
Olivia drew in a sharp breath.
Mrs. Brougham nodded. “How long have you known, child? Since you took your tumble down the stairs, I’ll warrant—when Dr. Cheam was called?”
“You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Surely Susie knows. It’s almost a month since Dr. Cheam’s visit.”
“I’ve not told her.”
“She’s been tending to your bedsheets. But then, she’s very young. Perhaps she’s not realized. But someone will notice—and soon. You wouldn’t want one of the chamber maids to know before Lord Devereaux, surely?”
“I-I’d rather Charles didn’t know.”
“He’ll find out eventually.”
“He won’t be pleased,” Olivia said, cringing at the memory of Charles’s written words. “H-he told me he didn’t want a child.”
“Does he think a child springs from a woman uninvited?” Mrs. Brougham let out a huff. “Men! They play as much a part in begetting a child as women—more so, for they’re always pestering a woman to engage in intimacy.”
Oh, heaven!
Olivia clamped her mouth shut as another tide of nausea rippled through her.
“Oh, forgive me, I’ve shocked you,” Mrs. Brougham said. “But you mustn’t set any store by what Lord Devereaux tells you.”
“He wrote it down.”
“Foolish boy! But I’ve lived long enough in this world to know that men are all talk. They’ll assert an opinion or make a promise merely to put an end to a conversation, with no intention of holding the opinion or keeping the promise.”
“All men?”
“Without exception. They’re the most insufferable creatures.”
“Wh-what about Mr. Brougham?”
“He doesn’t exist, Lady Devereaux. I’m neither married nor widowed. My address as Mrs. Brougham is merely a title afforded to housekeepers.”
“Why didn’t I know that?” Olivia said, shaking her head. “I’ll never learn it all—or be a proper lady.”
She let out another sob, and the housekeeper squeezed her hand.
“That’s enough of that, my dear,” she said.
“You’re mistress of Penham and deserve the respect that comes with the title.
You’ve done admirably in the short time you’ve been here.
In a matter of weeks, you’ve learned how to run a house, managed the works to the garden, learned several hand signs, and even taught Mrs. Groves to bake a passable pie!
Not to mention the gift you’ve purchased for his lordship.
In my ledger, that makes you far greater than any fine lady that Lord Devereaux might have brought here instead.
Now, why don’t you come back inside with me, and we’ll see about that tea? ”
Olivia shook her head. “I’d rather remain outside for a while.”
“But…”
“Am I not the mistress of Penham?”
Mrs. Brougham smiled. “That you are, and I’m glad of it. Very well, come inside when you’re ready and I’ll have a pot of tea waiting for you. That is, if I’ve not poured it over the numbskull of a husband of yours.”
She winked, then gave Olivia a motherly kiss on her forehead before she returned to the house.