“I’m going to my room now,” I said. Dragging the beautiful cream throw behind me, I walked from the drawing room, in my stockinged feet, since someone had removed my shoes.
“Let her go,” I heard my husband tell one of them. “I will see to her later.”
I didn’t do anything but keep walking until I heard George barking his head off through the closed door of The Blue Room.
Miss Crislock was walking down the corridor toward me, waving a delicate white hand. “My dear, what are you doing? I was just coming down to see you. I heard that you had fallen. What happened?”
“Just a small tumble down the stairs into the Old Hall. I’m quite all right now, Milly. Everything is just fine. I am just here to get George.”
“I suppose George must have sensed that you were near—you know how acute his hearing is—and so he will raise the dead if you don’t open that door quickly.”
I opened the door to see George standing right in front of me, and in his mouth he held a small yellow mitten.
I went down on my knees in front of him, the beautiful cream throw falling to the floor around me, and began the game of “give it to Mama,” to which George locked his little teeth firmly around the object. In this instance, I was afraid he would tear the glove, which looked quite well made and expensive. I cajoled and offered him more bacon for his breakfast tomorrow morning if only he would give me that glove. Finally, I managed to distract him, clicking my fingers together over his head, and he unlocked his jaws. I got the glove. It wasn’t an adult glove. It belonged to a girl.
But who? There were no children here, were there?
I said over my shoulder to Miss Crislock, “Milly, I am truly all right. Why don’t you find Mrs. Redbreast? Tell her that I am not mad. Yes, convince her that I am quite harmless. I have this feeling that she and Brantley run things around here.”
“Certainly, dear. It’s true, isn’t it?” Miss Crislock patted my shoulder and left me, her lovely pale blue eyes narrowed. What else could I tell her? Reassure her? I couldn’t even reassure myself.
Once in my bedchamber, I realized the last thing I wanted to do was leave it. I felt safe in here, even with all those bar holes in the window casements. I thought and thought about what had happened. I couldn’t think of a single thing to explain it. When Amelia awoke, I would snag her. Surely she would recall something.
I stayed in my bedchamber for the next hour, until George jumped on the bed and sat himself right down on my chest, his nose an inch from mine. He wuffed.
“You need to go outside, don’t you? Well, I feel more alive than otherwise, so let me put some shoes on and we’ll be off.”
Thankfully, I saw no member of the family as I let myself out of the drawing room French doors that gave on to a small back garden whose brick walls were covered with flowering roses, at least they would be in the spring.
I threw George’s favorite stick across the garden, and he was off, yapping until he realized he needed all his breath to run after that stick.
I went over and sat down on a bench that was covered with a lovely white-painted arbor. Ivy threaded through the overhead wooden slats.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the clean chill air. The sun beat warmly down on my face. I began to feel a bit on the achy side, effects from my fall, no doubt. Aches I didn’t mind, but the wretched mystery with Amelia was driving me mad. I would learn the truth. Surely Amelia had to remember more than she was telling. The thought that everyone believed that she had simply fallen to sleep on the floor of an empty room was ridiculous.
I opened my eyes when George hit his stick against my knee. Once he was off again, I closed my eyes, only to be startled down to my toes by a nearby rustling noise. After that strange experience with Amelia, I was actually ready to scream my head off. I opened my eyes, ready to take to my heels as fast as I could, but there was nothing mysterious or frightening there, just a pretty young girl of perhaps eleven or twelve standing a few feet away from me. She was small, dainty as a little princess, her hair a rich blond with just a hint of red in it. Her eyes were a lovely combination of a light blue and a dark gray.
“He’s wonderful. Who is he?” She was pointing at George, who, with the stick clamped firmly between his jaws, was trotting back to me.
“His name is George. He’s a Dandie Dinmont terrier. I agree with you. He’s quite the most wonderful, most beautiful dog in all of England.”
George stopped dead in his tracks about three feet from the girl. He dropped the stick and began wagging his tail.
“I think he likes you. What is your name?”
“Oh, I’m Judith. Who are you?”
“Did you perchance lose a lemon-yellow glove?”
“Oh, yes. Miss Gillbank has scolded me for being so careless. I don’t know where I dropped it, though.”
“In The Blue Room. George found it and brought it to me. I’m Andy. I now live here.”
“Why? Who are you? That is a rather odd name, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps, but it quite suits me. I’m the Countess of Devbridge. The earl and I arrived just yesterday evening.”
“How very odd,” Judith said, fell to her knees, ignored me then, and held out a small white hand to George.
George obligingly sniffed her fingers then took a step closer. She turned to look at me. “May I throw his stick?”
“Certainly, if you wish.”
I watched her hurl the stick as far as she could. She was strong. That stick nearly hit the far garden wall.
George danced on his back paws and hared off.
I watched Judith jump to her feet and applaud him. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Do you visit Devbridge Manor very often?”
She turned to me. She looked puzzled. At the same time George crashed into her with the stick in his mouth. She went down, laughing, dirtying her gown, and not caring. She was having a fine time. I said nothing more until George had been petted to his heart’s content and went off to find a bush.
I said again, “Have you ever visited London?”
“Oh, no. Papa said I would only go to London when I was ready to find a husband. I can’t imagine traveling anywhere just to get a husband. Husbands are just boys who are grown up. And you know, boys are the very devil. Do you think that changes?”
“Probably not. Who are you visiting here?”
“I’m not visiting,” she said, cocking her head at me. “I live here.”
I had no clue what was going on here. “Who is your mama?”
The girl straightened up and then sat down next to me on the bench. She began brushing off the dirt stains and grass from her gown. She was no servant’s child. Her voice was well-bred, free of the heavy Yorkshire burr, and her clothes were of excellent style and quality. Her gown was a soft yellow, the sleeves and neckline stitched with fine lace.
I said nothing more, just waited.
Finally, she said, “My mama went to Heaven when I was born.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t look away from that beautiful little face, a very open face. What the devil was going on here?
“It’s all right. I don’t remember her. I was just born and don’t have any memory of what she was like at all.”
“Who is your papa?”
This time Judith looked at me like I was a complete half-wit. “He’s the Earl of Devbridge.”
I nearly fell off the bench.
Was she my husband’s love child? His wife had been dead for many more years than Judith had been on this earth.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said now in a very precise soft voice, “but how can you be the Countess of Devbridge? You’re nearly as young as I am. I heard Papa telling Miss Gillbank last night that you were here, but I hadn’t expected you to be so very young. I guess I thought you’d be more like Papa, but you’re younger than my cousins, Thomas and John. You’re younger than Amelia.”
What to say to t
hat? How to ask a little girl if she was a bastard? I gave it a diplomatic try. “Judith, who exactly was your mama?”
“She was Papa’s wife, of course.”
Well, that answered that. I was so stunned that I just sat there watching George as he went to sniff at his sixth bush. He still hadn’t decided where to relieve himself. He was a very particular dog, was George.
Why hadn’t my husband considered it important enough to tell me that I was his third wife, that there had been a second Countess of Devbridge? Two dead wives, I thought.
“Miss Gillbank says that my papa loved my mama more than he ever loved any other lady. I suppose that must include you, too, Andy, which is too bad. But you’re very young, so it can’t matter all that much, can it?”
I must have nodded or something, because she soon continued, “But I don’t understand. Why would Papa marry you if he still loves my mama so much? You’re even younger than Miss Gillbank.”
“Your papa married me because I own George, and he adores George. Don’t you? Just look at him, sniffing at every bush in the garden before making his selection. Shall we wager on which bush he finally picks?”
“He’ll pick the rhododendron,” Judith said, no hesitation at all. “I have a shilling. That’s my wager.”
I was thinking more along the line of wagering an apple or an orange. But there was her small hand, sticking out toward me.
“I’ll take it,” I said, and shook her hand. We sat there in rapt silence watching George sniff his way around the garden until he stopped at the only rhododendron bush, and raised his leg.
I sighed. “How did you ever guess he would pick that rhododendron? If there were a dozen of them, it would make sense because you would be playing what is called the odds. But there is only one rhododendron bush in this entire garden.”
At that moment we heard a woman’s voice calling, “Judith? Where are you, child? It’s time for your geography lesson. Oh, goodness, who is that ugly little dog wetting the rhododendron?”
Chapter Twelve
“He isn’t ugly,” I said, nearly going en point to defend George to the death. Facing me was a young woman, slender, quietly pretty with dark brown hair and rich deep brown eyes. She was dressed neatly in a pale blue wool gown. She was perhaps twenty-five, no older. She had a pointy chin that, surprisingly, was really quite attractive.
She gave me a charming curtsy. “My lady.”
“Miss Gillbank, I just won a shilling from Andy.”
It appeared that Miss Gillbank knew all about me. Unlike Judith, she wasn’t at all surprised that I was just over the edge of my twenty-first year. She gave a quick nod toward George. “I am not used to dogs. I did not mean to insult him. Perhaps he looks more noble now that I think about it.” Then Miss Gillbank said to Judith, “What is this about a shilling?”
“It was a wager,” I said, and wondered if I had just assisted in the corruption of an innocent.
Instead of recriminations or looks of disapproval, Miss Gillbank just shook her head and sighed. “My lady, this child has won at least five pounds from me over the years. Don’t wager against her if you wish to remain solvent. She’s very lucky. Also I fancy she is something of a sharper, though you would never believe it looking at that lovely little face.”
“I am beginning to believe it a talent, Miss Gillbank,” Judith said. “I shall have to ask Papa if he is a gambler.”
“He is, but he does not indulge very much in it,” she said.
“And I was the one to suggest it,” I said, for I myself had always to wager on just about anything that popped to mind. My grandfather had normally won our wagers, but not always. He was a gambler himself, but, he always said, “You wager more than you can afford to lose, you deserve to be shot.” A no-nonsense man, my grandfather. Some had believed that he was perhaps too set in his opinions. He was, but since I shared just about all of his beliefs and opinions, I thought those who dared criticize him were fools.
I had never forgotten what he’d said about gambling. As I became older, there were always stories circulating about men who had gambled away their homes, their inheritances, even their horses and hounds, and most of them had shot themselves. I remember hearing about a woman who had killed herself because she had lost all her jewels and her husband refused to buy her more.
“What is a sharper, Miss Gillbank?”
“It is someone who gambles with such skill that everyone refuses to make wagers with him.”
“I don’t want to be a sharper just yet,” Judith said. “If you refuse to wager with me, then my pile of five pounds would never grow.”
“Then,” I said, “you will have to lose a wager upon occasion, to draw people back into your net.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Judith said. She turned to her governess. “Miss Gillbank, this is Papa’s new wife, Andy. I think she is very young to be married to Papa, but she said that Papa adores George, so I guess that makes it all right.”
“Hello,” I said, and offered her my hand. She looked at my hand, perplexed, then finally shook it. Did she believe I would treat her like a servant?
“Welcome to Devbridge Manor, my lady. I hope Judith here hasn’t shredded all our characters?”
“Oh, no. She has spent just about all her time playing with George.”
“George isn’t ugly, Miss Gillbank,” Judith said. “Perhaps you need to put on your glasses to see him better.”
Miss Gillbank eyed George, who, having finished his business with the rhododendron, was happily trotting back to three females he imagined to be here just for his pleasure. He picked up the stick in his mouth and waved it at us indiscriminately.
Judith immediately went to play with him. Miss Gillbank smiled as she said, “It is a great pleasure to meet you. His lordship spoke briefly to me last night. He appears to be very happy.”
I sat back down on the bench and motioned for her to sit as well, which she did. I said without preamble, my voice quiet enough so Judith wouldn’t hear me, “I had no idea my husband had a second wife and a little girl by that marriage.”
One of her very pretty arched brows went up. “Oh, goodness, learning such a thing would come as quite a shock. I am so sorry.”
“The fact that my husband chose not to tell me is hardly your fault, Miss Gillbank. I suppose I am merely thinking aloud. I simply do not understand why he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Perhaps you were so important to him that he feared losing you if he did tell you.”
That sounded all sorts of romantic, but really rather silly, and it didn’t ring true to my ears.
Lawrence had had a different reason, although I didn’t have a single clue what it could be. I smiled at Miss Gillbank and asked, “Why weren’t you at dinner last evening?”
“I don’t eat dinner with the family,” she said matter-of-factly, one eye on Judith.
“Actually, we had a fine time last evening. Perhaps you would enjoy yourself. I cannot imagine that it would be much fun for you to eat by yourself.”
“No, it is not, but I have become accustomed to it.” She gave me a crooked smile that showed her two front teeth overlapping just a bit. It was a charming effect. “A governess is a strange creature, neither fish nor fowl. I quite enjoy Brantley and Mrs. Redbreast, but they would be mortified at the notion of me dining in the kitchen with all the staff.”
“Would you please be so kind as to join the family this evening, Miss Gillbank?”
“Thank you, my lady. I should be delighted.” She paused a moment, looking toward Judith who was trying her best to pry the stick from between George’s locked jaws. He was pulling and growling, his hind paws digging into the grass for more leverage. It did him no good. Judith simply pried his teeth open and grabbed the stick. I smiled as Miss Gillbank said, “I do have one lovely gown. It is simply five years out of style.”
“It will be just fine. Perhaps soon we can visit York, and Amelia can take us to the best shops.” I raised an eyebrow and said, without think
ing, something my grandfather said would make me infamous if I weren’t careful, “I presume my husband pays you sufficiently?”
She didn’t take offense at that impertinence, just said, “Yes, certainly. I am a very well-qualified governess, my lady. I will have you know that my services are much sought after in these parts. I believe that just six months ago, his lordship was compelled to pay me even more because Mr. Bledsoe wanted me to come and instruct his six daughters.” She laughed and shuddered at the same time. “I actually believe that he also wanted to marry me. Then he wouldn’t have had to pay me any wages at all.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth, those rich brown eyes of hers appalled at what had come out of her mouth.
I just laughed. “That is an excellent story. I imagine you are right about this Mr. Bledsoe. He sounds quite officious.”
“Yes,” she said, and rose. “Judith, come along, poppet. It’s time we ventured into the Far East again.”
Judith called back something that sounded vaguely like Chinese.
“Isn’t she marvelous? That is ‘good day’ in Cantonese.”
“I see that my husband believes in educating girls. That is rather forward-looking. My grandfather was the same way. The only thing is, he preferred to teach me himself, and depending on how you look at it, my education is very specialized or bizarre.”
She laughed. “What makes it specialized?”
“I had a star named after me when I was eleven years old. Some night I will show it to you. It is a lovely star, brighter during the fall months here in England. It’s a star in Orion’s belt. I remember Grandfather hauling all his guests outside and bringing me to center stage to point out my star. It’s called Andrea Major.”
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