by Hawke, Jessa
“I am 'lisbeth,” lisped the round-cheeked child, her eyes wide and green and tilting up at the corners. Lady Olivia did not know when she had encountered a child quite so lovely, and at her simple hello, Elizabeth rushed right to her and enclosed her with her small arms. Lady Olivia's heart managed to break wholly and utterly as she thought what the last few years must have been like for a child so small; the duke, for all his obvious adoration of his brood, could not have been overly physically affectionate with them. Olivia snuck another peek at him. He was so utterly English.
As she hugged the little girl back with all of her might, Lady Olivia felt a shift take place inside of her. It was remarkable, but she suddenly felt as if she would do very well in this home, and perhaps her presence could inflict some change. It all went surprisingly splendidly until later that week.
Perhaps she should have been suspicious of so uneventful a week, but Olivia simply saw it as fortune finally smiling down on her. The girls seemed so lovely, and so receptive and insightful to their lessons that Olivia found it a pleasure to be in their company. Lisbeth especially always seemed ready with those green eyes to smile and hug. And yet the evenings in Westchester Abbey always seemed to drag on for Lady Olivia. It was on a particularly stormy night after the rain had come down in torrents on the soft grass outside that she found herself staring out of her windows. The house had a darkness to it, as if there was an emptiness that the years had not been able to fill. It was inevitable that it would be on this night, long after Mrs. Huxting had tucked away the children into their overstuffed beds with clean sheets that Olivia would at last be alone with her thoughts.
They ventured on Ben Soothley briefly, for he was becoming a distant memory, a slash of pain on the surface of a past she no longer cared to remember. She wondered if the duke had any inkling of her past, if it had managed to follow her all the way to this charmingly shabby house, and if he did, did he think her foolish? It occurred to her that his opinion was becoming increasingly important to her. So far, from what she had seen of the man, he was distant, remote. The only time life came into his eyes was when the girls would come down for a late luncheon organized by the inestimable Mrs. Huxting or Buxley would pull yet another caper. So far, he had left frogs in her bed and torn up several of her books. Growing up with an eccentric aunt with far-flung friends had prepared her for much more than a boy who had too much energy and too much time. A quick talk with Mrs. Huxting and the stable master had set a structure in place for Buxley that was far more effective than anything the duke himself had organized.
Initially, he was furious.
“Who exactly do you think you are, Lady Knightbridge, to make my son into a stable hand?” he had raged, his smooth and weary exterior suddenly ruffled and animated.
“Lady Olivia, thank you. With all due respect, Duke, Buxley needs structure outside of the schoolroom—”she began, but the duke would have none of it.
“My son is not a commoner!” he shouted.
Olivia struggled to keep her composure. Really, the arrogance of the man! “And nobody would think of him as such. But titles and lands or not, Buxley is still a growing boy and he needs to expend his energy outside of mathematics and geography. The brain is not the only muscle he has to exercise. Let him work his arms, his legs. I think it will do him a world of good and in a week, you will tell me how correct I am,” she told him, and watched him reel back in complete shock. Being as inexperienced as she was with men, it was the first time she had seen the effects of her unorthodox upbringing on a member of the upper class. Given his credit, the duke said nothing, simply turned and walked away. He continued to say nothing even as Buxley's behavior began to improve vastly; the boy simply had no extra energy to work his mischief around the house, and he seemed to acquire an innate sense of duty that was evident to one and all.
Ah, the duke. So isolated in his—
A warm pair of tiny arms encircled her legs, nearly giving Olivia a heart attack. When she looked down, it was none other than Lisbeth, who was clutching her with a grip so tight and an expression so terrified that Olivia immediately sank to her legs to be on the girl's level.
“Darling, did the storm scare you?” she asked. Lisbeth nodded, and Olivia unlocked the vice grip from her dressing gown. “You know, thunder is when the gods of old come out to play. Sometimes they do not realize what a ruckus they make.”
Lisbeth broke out into the crackle of a smile. “Come. I will take you to your room and you will sleep and dream of the gods playing, and how large they are and how small you are, and how you are always, but always safe.” It was a long trip down the hallway, and a sudden noise alerted them both. A peek down the grand staircase revealed a dripping wet Katharine, who was sneaking in from goodness knows where at a very late hour. Unable to help herself, Olivia cried her name aloud.
The girl looked stricken and trapped, like a deer in a trap. “Do not worry your precious self about where I was,” she snarled, and Olivia was taken aback by the venom in her voice.
“Don' talk that way to Mis' 'Livia!” cried Lisbeth, clutching Olivia's hand tightly and fiercely. If she had not been so shocked at Katherine's reaction, she might have smiled at the show of bravery her small savior was showing right now.
“Oh what do you know, you little brat. You'd hug anyone,” said Katherine.
“Katherine!” gasped Olivia. She quickly secured the now crying child to her room and comforted her quietly. When she came back out, Katherine was attempting to scurry off into her own bedchamber, but Olivia caught her by the wrist and took her back to her own quarters.
“How can you speak to your sister that way? And where were you, the stables? You have gotten mud all over your dress.”
“Do not concern yourself of where I was tonight.”
“I most certainly will concern myself, young lady! I am your governess and I cannot have you tramping about at all hours of the night, most likely catching cold—”
“You are not my mother.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “I am aware of that. However I do not see how that affects what I am currently saying to you.”
“I heard all about you, Lady Olivia,” sneered Katherine. “You and that ridiculous story with Mr. Soothley, how he married Lady Cynthia and led you on all the while. And now here you are, so desperate to make something of yourself that you are willing to endear yourself to a child in order to secure a husband.”
Olivia was in shock. Katherine has seemed so sweet, so innocent. It seemed that no matter how far away she got, she would never be able to escape that dreadful story of the engagement that botched her life, and now, it appeared that she was being punished for it. “Katherine, what in heaven's name are you speaking of? Who is this husband I am trying to secure?”
The girl's eyes flashed. “My father, of course. Mr. Soothley was too low on the totem pole for a titled lady like yourself, so you decided to get someone with a name and land behind him, did you not?”
In that moment, Lady Olivia Knightbridge felt herself grow up. For sitting across from her, the bottom of her gown dripping with mud and wetness, was a girl just ten years younger than herself who was hurting so badly that all she could do was lash out at someone she thought was taking her remaining family and protection away from her. She could see it in her eyes, in the way her bottom lip quivered to keep from crying as she spat out the hateful words that she herself did not quite believe. And it was obvious as the day Olivia was born—in this moment, she could not allow the child to sting her. She had to step outside of herself and take the other point of view. If she wanted Katherine to trust her, she would have to put her feelings first.
Olivia sucked in a deep breath and sat down on the edge of her new bed gingerly, as if completing a delicate balancing act. “Your mother was lovely to you, wasn't she?” she began, but it was wrong.
“Do not dare speak of my mother, you fortune huntress!” hissed Katherine. Olivia held up a hand.
“Ben Soothley was the first
man who noticed me when I came out on the ton,” she said, and was surprised to find that she was not entirely removed from the story like she had hoped. “And Lady Freeworth was my first friend. I had hoped that the search for a suitable match and friend would not take me long, for the only company I had growing up was my aunt, and it was lovely to be around young men and women for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing, or how to properly behave. I had nobody to teach me.” Olivia looked down at her hands. “I never wanted sympathy, not even after I found out. I realized later that Ben had been courting us both because Lady Freeworth's parents did not approve of the match.”
Despite herself, Duchess Katherine's face wrung in sympathy. “They used you? Both of them?”
Olivia nodded, feeling something choke the back of her throat. “I never cared about his title or his money—I was so blinded by his charm and his interest in me; perhaps I did not want to see the truth. People do little foolishness sometimes.”
Katherine was starting to look just slightly uncomfortable at her own foolishness.
“Frankly, I ran. I ran as far away as I could from London because I did not want to think about the fact that the socially appropriate thing to do would be to go back on the marriage market. That is not for me. If ever love comes into my life, I will welcome it, for that is what I have always wanted. But to go looking for it just for the sake of others around me? Never.”
The young duchess sat down next to her on the bed. “You seek a love match?” she asked softly, her hands in her lap. Olivia nodded. “Like my mother and father,” she breathed softly, and Olivia felt something catch in her chest. Could it be possible that she—no. She pushed the thought down and concentrated on the girl next to her, so vulnerable and so sad.
“Were they very much in love?” she asked her.
Katherine's eyes lit up. “Oh yes! I know that Buxley and Lisbeth will not remember as I do, but she and Father adored each other. They had grown up together as children, and everyone always said it was an unrivaled match. It is what I wish for myself one day, as well,” she confided in Olivia, all of her outer malice completely erased.
“I understand, dear. I wish you happiness, and I am sure you will find it,” she told her, and when Katherine turned her eyes on her, they were wet. “Darling, what is the matter?” she cried, and without thinking, gathered the girl into her arms.
Katherine went softly into the embrace; Olivia thought about how young she seemed in that moment, not so much older than little Elizabeth. Suddenly, she was tired. She squeezed Katherine's shoulders and the girl looked up at her, wet eyes shining.
“Oh, I could just die from shame from the way I spoke to you!” she cried. “And to poor little Lisbeth...”
“Darling, listen to me. Your sister will love you no matter how much you yell at her and no matter what names you call her. She is a wonderful girl.”
“Not like me?” Katherine's voice was tremulous.
Olivia smiled. “Very much like you. We all have days we are not proud of. But if we realize that about each other, then it makes it that much simpler to accept our own little flaws.”
“I like you very much, Lady Knightbridge,” whispered Katherine against her new governesses' neck.
“The feeling is mutual, dear heart,” answered Olivia. “And for you, just Olivia.”
Morning would come soon.
* * *
ONE YEAR LATER
Lady Olivia Knightbridge was an undeniably happy woman.
She was also in love with the Duke of Worchester and could not do a single thing about it.
She was not sure when it had happened, really. Somewhere amidst bringing life back into his home and the spark into his children's eyes, Olivia had begun to harbor something light, bright, and painful for the dark-haired, dark-eyed widower who had run of Westchester Abbey. It was remarkable and she would have never told him, not for a hundred years.
What exactly was stopping her, she could not say, but she knew that it had something to do with the three other most important people in her life at that moment. Katherine had blossomed from a scared little girl into Duchess Katherine, who was preparing for her own debut in fine society in the coming year. Olivia had arranged for a visit to London to her friend Mildred Kingsley once every two weeks for the pre-debutante, for she could think of no one better than the grounded young lady to teach her young charge the true ins and outs of the ton. She knew that with ladies like Cynthia Freeworth, if ladies they may be called, it would take a sharp mind like Mildred's to keep Katherine straight.
Lisbeth was still the absolutely charming child she had been, save for the fact that she had managed to cure her of that terrible lisp. It seemed as though the minor error in her speech had been brought on by a sudden attack of unexplained nerves after the death of her mother, and with a year's worth of elocution lessons, Lisbeth had morphed into sweet little Elizabeth. Her eyes had taken a year to lose that desperate hunger, as if everyone in her life was going to leave her constantly. She was stronger now, more independent, and still the most lovable child Lady Olivia had ever encountered.
But it was only in Buxley's case that Olivia knew just how serious her situation had become. He had experienced a growth in the past year that left him at least a head taller than his tallest sister, and he began to look like the oldest child in the family. When visiting him in the stables one day, a task that had left him stronger, leaner, and been a consistently positive portion of his life, he asked Olivia what would happen if she ever received a proposal from another man.
Olivia had laughed. “Why Buxley, you know I have no gentlemen callers. My life is here, with you and your sisters now.”
Buxley patted the gray-spotted mare on her nose and she whickered softly, bending her gentle head to brush against his face. “I know you are now,” he said, reaching into the special pocket on his work breeches for some oats, “But what happens when Elizabeth comes out?”
What would happen, indeed?
Although she assured him that she would be with the Worchesters for as long as they needed her, Olivia had to admit Buxley made an excellent point. There would be a time when the youngest child would be grown; a quick mental calculation put her at the ripe old age of thirty three when that occurred, and a sudden cold sweat overtook Olivia unexpectedly. What came after the Worchesters? Would she find another family, and then another, until she was too old to be relatable as a governess anymore? Or, far worse, would she be forced to go back to London after all, seemingly defeated despite all of the progress and wonderful changes she had effected in the past year in the lives of others?
Perhaps she first realized it when the duke himself had suggested that she visit her aunt in London. Always one to stand on formality, he had arranged for Mrs. Huxting to call her into his study on one particularly rainy afternoon. There was always rain in these parts, and it was doing strange things to Olivia's mood. As she settled into the straight-backed chair across from the duke, Olivia felt a sense of foreboding. Was this where it all ended? Not certain what made her think of such a thing, Olivia still prepared for the worst. She tucked a strand of the wavy brown hair she always wore up now behind her ear and surreptitiously cast a glance at her employer.
His hands, square-tipped and strong, drummed against the mahogany of his desk; that was the first sign of nerves that Olivia had ever seen from him. Mrs. Huxting had stood behind her at the doorframe, silent and stoic as ever.
“It has come to our attention that you are not entirely happy here,” said the duke without preamble, and Olivia's heart jumped.
“Whatever makes you say that? And who has noticed this?” she asked, hardly daring to drag her eyes away from his hands.
“Why the children and I, of course,” replied the duke, genuinely surprised. “You have made us all so happy here, and we cannot stand to see you anything less than joyful with us.”
“So you are letting me go?”
She allowed herself to look up at him, and caught
sight of his eyebrows as they skyrocketed into his hairline. Concern creased his face, and it warmed it gently, as if she had somehow managed to stoke a fire nearby. She had seen that look cross his face often, but only when it came to his children.
“Lady Olivia,” he said, sliding a paper off of his desk and reaching out to hand it to her with his strong, capable hands. “I have written to you aunt to see when she would have a week or so to entertain you, and she has written me back that in a fortnight, she will be able to have you for the same amount of time.”
Olivia took the paper from his hands, opened it, and looked up at him in complete shock. A sudden burst of warmth and relief came over her and she realized how incredibly fortunate she was to be in the company of such a generous man.
“You look so relieved, Lady Olivia,” commented the duke, “I half-expected you thought I was giving you notice,” he finished with a small smile.
Olivia shook her head, not daring to say out loud that was exactly what she had been thinking. She took the coach to her aunt's and spent two wonderful weeks with her aunt and Mildred. Magically, she managed to remain sequestered enough that no news of Ben and Cynthia Soothley reached her, and she arrived back at Worchester Abbey refreshed and revived. She had managed to sidestep all of her aunt and Mildred's curiosities about the duke, although her aunt had given her many a knowing glance; she had managed to ignore those just as successfully.
When she returned, she was expertly waylaid by Mrs. Huxting and Buxley, who insisted she see the new colt Buxley had birthed over the fortnight she was away. It was a delightful sight, those slender legs buckling under the weight of newness, and Olivia found it completely charmed her, head to toe. But there was an air of conspiracy about the two, and the mystery was solved only when she was allowed to enter Worchester Abbey once more, to find it transformed.
Gone was the air of doom and emptiness. In the place of all of the dark curtains and draperies were beiges and creams; all of the broken bits and pieces were plastered and rebuilt, and Olivia began to see what Worchester Abbey must have looked like long ago, when everyone in it was happy.
