A Bewitching Governess

by Patricia Rice

  “This is a house only emerging from mourning. Our party will be quiet, just neighbors and family. Hargreaves’ hunting party is a little too. . . raucous for a house with children.” There, she’d been polite.

  Hamilton glowered. His granddaughter plucked at her gown.

  Simon needed the support of his neighbors. She tried to remain cheerful. “Do either of you play whist? I was hoping we’d have a small card room. And Mr. Blair has hired musicians. It’s good to play the old year out and the new one in.”

  “Will there be a first footer?” Miss Hamilton asked eagerly after the tradition of a first visitor after midnight bringing luck and prosperity. “Perhaps Viscount Hargreaves might appear then. That would be gallant of him.”

  Do not judge, Olivia, she warned herself. Just because she despised the coward with all her heart and soul did not mean Lawrence Hargreaves was a bad man.

  Horns blared and carriages rattled outside. Horns?

  Mrs. Dunwoody rose excitedly. “Oh, we have visitors. Isn’t that coach magnificent? Are they royalty?”

  Olivia stood to look out and nearly choked on laughter.

  Her cousin Phoebe had arrived to save the day. Or the uncomfortable situation.

  The lady blared a hunting horn out the open coach window.

  Fourteen

  Hearing shouts of laughter and the noise of trunks being dropped, Simon emerged from his study. The new footman was a sturdy young man. He carried a stack of boxes up the stairs, leading a line of servants hauling more luggage. Simon wasn’t entirely certain which servants were his. Maggie led the procession—he assumed to the guest room prepared for the new arrivals.

  Approaching the parlor, he recognized voices and entered the room grinning. His cousin Drew nearly blocked the doorway with his lanky height. Simon pounded him on the back. “Welcome! I can’t believe we dragged you from your work.”

  The dangerous creature Drew called wife laughed. Today, Lady Phoebe looked almost normal with her thick chestnut hair tucked up under a perfectly proper lady’s hat. Her travel dress lacked hoops and whatnot, but it was covered with a long duster, so he couldn’t tell if she hid ferrets or snakes in her pockets.

  She kissed Simon’s cheek. “How good to see you again! You haven’t slain any dragons with your dirk lately, have you?”

  “Dirk?” Olivia raised delicate eyebrows. Next to her outgoing cousin, Lady Hargreaves seemed quiet and unobtrusive, but she made herself heard well enough.

  Simon tried not to tease her too obviously with a grin. Having guests would play havoc with his plans for the evening. He needed practice at circumspection.

  “I’m not the one who slays dragons,” he asserted. “The lady exaggerates.”

  Pushing past his cousin, he greeted the old man gracing his parlor for the first time. “Sir Harvey, good to see you, sir. And your lovely granddaughter. Miss Hamilton, it’s a pleasure. I trust you’ve been properly introduced?” He was doing his best to learn his manners.

  “We have,” Sir Harvey said stiffly. “We were just paying a call and should be on our way. Good to see the house lifting its mourning. Tragedy strikes the whole community.”

  Letitia’s death certainly had, but Simon didn’t think his neighbor had noticed. Perhaps he’d been wrong about the old fool. He shook his hand and escorted the pair toward the exit.

  “You have a kitten in the drapery,” Lady Phoebe cried as they passed. “Is that a new form of decoration?” She advanced on the windows in search of a creature invisible to Simon.

  Refraining from rolling his eyes, he hurried his neighbors out before the lady produced cats, rats, and bats, as she was wont to do. He didn’t need the reputation of harboring a coven of witches, although he saw nothing wicked about cats. Sir Harvey might be a little more particular.

  “Look at you, being all the proper gentleman!” Drew cried as Simon returned to the parlor—where the women were standing on the sofa in order to retrieve a kitten from behind the draperies. “Last time I was here, you were blootered and raving and the house was a mud swamp awash with animals.”

  Simon winced at the wary gaze Olivia cast in his direction. The lady had made it clear she did not like drunkards, and he wasn’t done with seduction yet. He punched his cousin’s arm in retaliation. “Last time ye were here, I was a raving lunatic hunting for a killer. And the housekeeper had quit. What dragged you out of the city to visit our humble home?”

  “The train,” Phoebe cried, jumping down from the sofa holding one of the twins’ escaped kittens, although how the devil she’d known it was hidden there was beyond Simon’s ken.

  “I’ve never been on a train!” Phoebe continued. “It was exciting. And Drew hired a fancy coach to haul us from the station so we looked really important for your neighbors.”

  “And for the music,” Drew added solemnly. “You promised us musicians and dancing. Phoebe brought her hunting horn.”

  Simon snorted. “And did you bring your kilt? I doubt there’s enough whisky in the house to make you drunk enough to dance.”

  “Do the Blairs even have a tartan?” Drew asked of the air. “Will the Celtic Society grant us one if we ask?”

  “If anyone’s a blithering idjit, it’s you, cuz. There’s no laird in our family tree.” Simon held out his hand to help Olivia down from the sofa.

  She accepted his aid gratefully. Unlike Phoebe, she wore petticoats that interfered with leaping about like a gazelle. He admired her dainty shoes as she lifted the skirt with her other hand. Marriage wasn’t an option, but bedplay remained a temptation.

  “I also brought a contraption to clean the chimneys for the new year,” Drew said solemnly. “It’s in the trunks. I’m guessing if we’re not lairds, we can experiment at being chimney sweeps.”

  Ignoring the talk of cleaning and mechanics, Phoebe demanded, “I want to see the children. Have they forgotten me?”

  “The nursery is expanding,” Olivia warned, squeezing Simon’s hand before releasing it.

  The subtle communication thrilled him. He hoped it meant that she had plans so they could be together. He suspected she meant it as a warning to back away.

  “Come along, and I’ll explain,” Olivia told her cousin, sweeping toward the exit. “The girls should be up from their naps.”

  Which meant Enoch and Aloysius were where?

  Simon allowed his host duties to distract him as he led Drew back to his study for a warming nip of whisky. Boys needed to adventure and explore, right?

  Olivia breathed a sigh of relief at finding all three boys in the nursery, muddy, chilled, and chattering like magpies. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Emma, who grinned, then waited expectantly.

  After introductions, Phoebe exclaimed over the boys, hugged the twins and let them tell her all they had learned since they’d seen her last, then wisely promised them treats if they settled down quietly until she had time to change.

  She handed the kitten to a nursemaid and pushed both Olivia and Emma into the hall. “Tell me,” she demanded. “I know mischief when I see it.”

  “You’ve created enough of your own to know.” Olivia led the way to the suite she’d assigned to her cousin. “Do we have time to talk before Andrew comes to check on you?”

  Phoebe laughed. “We’ll chase him away. Let me remove some of these clothes while you call for tea. Miss Montgomery, may I call you Emma? You have the look of a Malcolm. Who is leading whom astray here?”

  “Emma is Letitia’s sister. We’re monitoring the situation at Hargreaves Hall. From the state of the boys’ clothing, I’d say you did more than monitor?” Olivia asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Emma settled beside the grate to warm her hands, smirking like a cat in cream. “A little bit,” she admitted, waiting while Olivia sent for tea, and Phoebe draped hat and coat over furniture.

  “The Hall? Hargreaves Hall? Whatever for?” Phoebe asked in surprise. “Surely you’re not. . . ?” At the look on Olivia’s face, she grinned. “You are.
You think you can win it back?”

  “Mr. Blair has asked his solicitor to look into it,” Olivia said primly, taking a chair. “The solicitor explained that Scotland does not have wills because all the land belongs to the Crown, that the deed would be tied to a trust agreement and would not have been filed until after Owen’s death—which it wasn’t because the earl’s lawyer said there was none.”

  Phoebe settled into a wing chair before the fire, wincing but not commenting at the tale.

  Olivia continued, trying to state facts and not her fury. “If we could find a copy of the original trust, it would be simpler, but Mr. Blair’s solicitor says if no court of Chancery was brought in to decide the disposition of the property, then there may be some chance it would have ruled in Bobby’s favor, not mine. But once Owen’s son died, we don’t know what would have happened, so it’s all very complicated without the trust.”

  “We’re searching for the documents,” Emma said cheerfully. “We have ascertained that there are so very few servants left at the Hall that we can certainly find windows and doors open at almost any time. And the drunken lords are usually passed out by dawn.”

  “Oh, my.” Phoebe poured the tea that arrived. “You intend to sneak into the Hall at dawn and search? Where would you begin?”

  “We will do no such thing,” Olivia said severely, squelching any plan Emma might be concocting. “I wish to drive the viscount and his drunken friends from the premises before searching. There is a hidden staircase I daresay Hargreaves hasn’t discovered. I believe we can set a few creatures loose in there to run about a bit. If I knew how to create an eerie howl—”

  “Drew could!” Phoebe cried. “He can invent anything. You really think they’ll believe they’re haunted?”

  Emma beamed. “I’ve asked Jameson to mention that the ghosts are restless. He was angry at some insult and agreed. Word will spread through the few servants left. I didn’t know about the hidden stairs!”

  “I didn’t bring my pets with me,” Phoebe said in regret. “But I’m sure I can find a few mice to scamper about. Squirrels would be better. And if we could find a badger. . .”

  “It might be easier to empty their wine barrels,” Olivia said dryly. “They’d leave once they ran out of drink.”

  “Do you really think you might find the trust agreement if we empty the house?” Emma asked worriedly. “I simply want the servants to be safe, but if you could actually take the estate away, that would be brilliant.”

  “I know Owen would have kept a copy. I have no way of knowing if it’s been destroyed. He had a hidden drawer in his desk and a strongbox behind a wall. I wasn’t allowed the time or privacy to look. My concern was for Bobby’s safety at the time. They agreed to return my dowry, so I had my own money. I didn’t care about the title, and I stupidly thought Lawrence would take better care of the estate than I could. I had no idea he would be so. . . so dishonorable and foolish.” Olivia sipped sadly at her tea.

  “You couldn’t have known,” Phoebe said. Tendrils of chestnut curls escaped their pins now that she’d removed her hat. “And now that you do, you’re taking decisive action. Sort of.”

  Remembering the muddy state of the boys, Olivia pinned Emma with a glare. “And what exactly happened while you were speaking with Jameson?”

  Emma’s freckled face beamed with innocence as she lifted her teacup. “I did nothing. You may wish to speak with Aloysius. If it helps, I don’t think he blames you for his mother’s death anymore, not entirely, leastways. He cornered the reverend and demanded the truth.”

  Olivia rubbed her aching temple. “I hope he was not rude. Willingham is an old and feeble man who has nowhere else to go. He has no choice but to do as told.”

  “Your former butler is in the same position,” Emma pointed out. “And Jameson still has the integrity to be outraged by the viscount’s behavior. A minister of the kirk should be the same. Willingham apparently hemmed and hawed enough that Aloysius no longer believes him.”

  Phoebe reached for a teacake. “This is becoming interesting. A wicked vicar?”

  “Not Anglican,” Olivia corrected. “Owen followed his mother’s church. He provided the living for Willingham as his grandparents had. At one time, I suppose there were enough servants and tenants to make up a congregation. But Willingham started tippling after his wife’s death. Owen kept him on, but I believe most of the tenants now attend the kirk in the village.”

  Drink had been the end of so many lives, Olivia thought in despair, knowing the men below had glasses in hand even now. She should not have invited temptation into her bed. But Simon’s grin was infectious, and his big hand holding hers. . . Life decisions were never simple.

  “So what did this Aloysius do and why would he blame Olivia for anything?” Phoebe asked.

  Olivia waited for Emma to respond, unwilling to say anything that might besmirch Owen’s memory.

  “Aloysius is the former Lord Hargreaves’ natural son by one of the tenant’s daughters,” Emma said with her usual bluntness. “There are those who say Aloysius should be the heir under our marriage laws, but if there is a trust, that would override it. He’s only nine, of course, and understands none of this. He merely knows his mother’s money stopped coming after his father died. After Willingham brushed him off, I think all three boys were up to mischief putting gravel where it might rattle and pouring out whisky bottles and just being naughty. They fell in the mud fleeing one of their escapades.”

  Olivia frowned. “We shouldn’t let them go back there again. It could be dangerous, especially if Aloysius is still angry.”

  As he certainly had every right to be if there was any chance he was heir to the Hall! Olivia hid her surprise at this new notion. She was no lawyer, but even Aloysius would be less dangerous running the estate than Lawrence.

  “So why is Lady Hargreaves still here?” Drew asked, settling into a comfortable leather chair with his drink. “You realize the women are upstairs plotting, as we speak.”

  Simon tried not to squirm under his younger cousin’s perceptive gaze. He’d have the devil of a time sneaking into the lady’s bed with Drew just down the corridor.

  “We’re of a mind to take the Hall from the thief occupying it,” he declared. “I’ve offered to buy the strip of wasteland I need, but Hargreaves has yet to acknowledge my existence. When the lady said she’d been cheated—”

  Drew laughed. “You couldn’t resist playing gallant knight. Do the children like her?”

  Drew had had the care of the bairns for the better part of the last year. Simon was grateful and owed him explanations, but not too many. “The bairns adore her much the way they do your lady wife. She’s a Malcolm. She encourages their curiosity.”

  “You know it is more than curiosity, don’t you?” Drew eyed him over his glass rim.

  “They’re imaginative,” Simon said defensively. “They’ll outgrow their notions. Enoch is fond of mathematics. And the girls already know all their letters. I’ll need to find a teacher for them after the lady leaves.”

  The thought of Olivia leaving was dismaying. He was a healthy man with needs the lady more than satisfied. But he had no heart left to offer a beautiful woman who could have the love of any man she wanted—especially if she reclaimed the Hall. He couldn’t keep her as his mistress.

  “You won’t find a normal teacher who will accept their curiosity, as you call it,” Drew warned. “I suppose you could send them to the aunts’ School of Malcolms when they are older.”

  “I’ll not be sending my bairns to those old besoms,” Simon protested. “They thought a bluidy duke’s castle was a safe place to hide wee children!”

  “And it was,” Drew said with a chuckle. “They were safe, and they had Lady Hargreaves to teach them. I’m finding the aunts a useful resource in relocating the tenants occupying those buildings we’re tearing down. Do not dismiss them lightly.”

  “Aye well, unless they can conjure a potion to make Hargreaves talk to me, I’ll
stay away. Do you think the ladies expect us to dress for dinner?”

  “Phoebe is likely to show up trailing a parade of mice. I don’t know about your lady.” Finishing his small dram, Drew rose.

  “She’s not my lady,” Simon protested. But he’d like her to be, in ways that he shouldn’t, he acknowledged.

  He had to quit letting his knob do his thinking. Instead of wishing his cousin back in the city so he could have Olivia again, he needed to put Drew to good use.

  “Can ye bide a while?” Simon asked, feeling as if he were running a blade over his own throat. “I’ve a mind to visit the viscount after the new year, and it might take an inventive mind to do so.”

  Fifteen

  Saturday morning, Olivia told herself that she should be grateful Simon had not attempted to enter her bedchamber last night. He would have to pass by their cousins’ suite to do so, and it was all very awkward.

  But she missed the ability to speak with him in private, to hear his rich laughter and watch the storms crossing his wide brow as she told him about the boys’ misadventures. And yes, she wanted more of the excitement and passion they shared in bed, but that wasn’t very proper to think about.

  She must concentrate on the larger matters at hand, not her private ones. This was an important holiday and everyone was waiting on her. She gathered up the juniper boughs they’d spent the morning cutting and distributed them among guests and staff. “Just brush them over the coals until they smoke,” she instructed.

  “That’s the way Mama does it,” Emma crowed, bouncing on her toes.

  Simon scowled at his evergreen branch. “Letitia did the same. It’s superstitious claptrap.”

  “So are the queen’s Christmas trees,” Phoebe said cheerfully. “It’s all pagan, but this is pure Scots, and part of the holiday. I’ll not be denied the opportunity to smoke out the past and cleanse the house for the new year.”