A Bewitching Governess

by Patricia Rice

  “But if they have no right. . .” the young teacher protested. “We can set the law on them.”

  Olivia patted his shoulder. “Only after they kill me, and you have them hanged. What charge would you bring against them now? Criminal trespass won’t lock them up for long.”

  The teacher’s mouth hung agape.

  Older and wiser in the ways of the world, the minister looked more concerned. “Are you certain it’s that bad? Mr. Glengarry occupies the highest circles here. And Mr. Ramsay is the earl’s man.”

  “Last night, seeing and hearing what I did, I was convinced they would have shot Lady Hargreaves if they could have found her,” Simon said, keeping his voice even. “The lady is not inclined to hysterical statements.”

  “We believe they’ve been poisoning Lord Hargreaves,” Olivia murmured. “We had to rescue him. Thank heavens the storm passed by us.”

  She gave Simon a sideways glance that said more than he wished to interpret. He did not blow away storms, if that was her meaning. Grumpily, he let the other men run with the conversation. Small towns operated on theory and suspicion and gossip. What he needed was evidence—but he couldn’t even produce the crime.

  “I still cannot approve, my lady,” the young teacher said, apparently continuing their earlier conversation. “Gambling is a sin, and the viscount has reaped the wages of it.”

  “Must everyone suffer for his sins?” Olivia asked. “I am not asking you to play poker.”

  “What is poker?” Simon grumbled, hating ignorance.

  “It is a more dangerous form of Brag,” she said crisply. “Poker stakes run higher and one can’t win by counting cards. There were American handbooks on poker on the desk, so they’re aware of the game. My father learned it from sailors and taught it to a number of heavy gamblers, so it’s known in those circles.”

  “And you know this dangerous game and want to play it with criminals?” Simon asked in as much exasperation as outright horror.

  She didn’t appear in the least discomposed. “I’m simply asking for a neutral place where we can hold a small card party, similar to the one we held here on Hogmanay. I don’t want those villains in this house, and the viscount would not be safe at the Hall.”

  Oh no, she was not. Simon took the lady’s hand and placed it on his arm, then nodded at the two men. “I need a few words with the lady if you don’t mind.”

  Olivia looked indignant as he swept her off, but the gathering was breaking up. She didn’t need to hostess anymore. Simon signaled Aunt Maggie and left her to clear the place.

  “You cannot stop me, Simon,” Olivia whispered in between giving her farewells to the Willinghams. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re asking for trouble is what you’re doing.” He steered her toward his office. “Scoundrels do not play fair.”

  “And you think I do?” she asked with a brittle laugh. “It will be a matter of which is the best cheater, and I have a gift they don’t. I am not letting them have the Hall, and there’s an end to it.”

  “You are not sitting down at a table with two killers and a shorn lamb!” he roared, closing the office door behind them.

  “You would like me to sit down and cheat at a table with a man of the cloth and a schoolteacher?” she shouted back. “Of course I’ll sit down with villains! Hargreaves and Glengarry are supposedly gentlemen. It’s all perfectly innocuous.”

  “It’s gambling and cheating!” he roared, wishing he could shake sense into her.

  “It’s better than murder and theft!”

  And because he’d contemplated those as well, Simon could do no more than lift her off her feet and kiss her.

  That felt right, so he did it some more. She even quit protesting after a few moments and kissed him back.

  Twenty-seven

  Olivia gasped as Simon locked the door, then lifted her to his desk. She was still furious with him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he pulled her so tightly into his embrace, she scarcely had room to breathe. And when his mouth descended again, she gave up thinking entirely. It was impossible to argue with a man with a kiss like honey from heaven.

  The heat between them blazed into a conflagration, and he had his hand inside her bodice before she realized it had come undone. Her skirt and petticoats spilled over the side of the desk, so he could not come close enough to ease the ache he created when his hand made love to her breasts.

  A knock at the door interrupted, of course. She shoved at his massive shoulders, and Simon reluctantly stepped back to bellow at whoever dared interrupt him, apparently sending them scurrying.

  Olivia shakily fastened her underpinnings. “You’ve the aura of a passionate man. I knew that,” she grumbled as he tried to reach for her again. She batted his hand away. “But if we must be at constant odds, we cannot do this.”

  “You are the one insisting on doing foolish, dangerous things!” Pure masculine stubbornness reflected in his expression and in his position in front of her, hands fisted at his waist.

  “I know you are simply frustrated and would never hit me, despite that intimidating stance,” she declared, wriggling to be certain her stays and everything were in place. “I know it because I can read your aura. Taking away my gift would be like taking away my eyesight or my sense of smell. It is that valuable to me.”

  She jumped down from the desk, even though he didn’t give way. If she’d been wearing higher heels, they’d practically be nose-to-nose. She put her palms on his chest and shoved.

  He took a step backward but continued to glare down at her. “Anyone with half a brain knows I’m a passionate man! You don’t need bloody witchery for that.”

  “But they fear your tempers and cannot see that your passion is the good kind, the kind that does no harm.” Trying to regain her usual unruffled calm, Olivia took a deep breath.

  Simon’s gaze immediately dropped to her breasts, and the longing rose in her again. She crossed her arms defiantly. “Your fury is directed inside. You do not lash out as others might.”

  “I throw men out windows and flip carriages!” he roared, not bothering to be discreet.

  “Because you never learned to direct your gift as Enoch is doing,” she admonished. “You take all your fury inside you until it builds and needs an outlet. When the unexpected happens, you can’t control it, harming yourself and anyone in your path.”

  “And you are not endangering yourself with your insane desire to gamble with scoundrels?” he demanded.

  “I am not,” she insisted. “I will remove myself from beneath your roof as soon as possible so you need not be concerned for my welfare any longer, but I beg your indulgence for a while longer. The viscount needs a healer’s care, and I need to find a place large enough for Evie and Aloysius and probably Lily and her son.”

  Calmer now, Olivia unlocked the door and fled before they could argue more. She didn’t dare look back.

  She hoped Simon hadn’t noticed she’d said healer and not physician. Emma had said she had an elderly great-aunt with a healing gift and a knowledge of herbs.

  Phoebe waited in the small room Olivia had adopted as her office. “I gather our host is not happy with your plan?”

  “He does not know our plan, and he’s not happy with it,” Olivia said in disgust. “Did Letitia never tell him he’s a stubborn arrogant ass?”

  A cold breeze blew across her neck. Olivia pulled up her shawl, then laughed as she realized there was no draft in this close room. “Sorry, Letitia. I need Clare to translate.”

  The breeze blew a paper scrap in a swirl, then vanished.

  “Letitia is here? She’s a power to be reckoned with.” Phoebe picked up the scrap and studied it in puzzlement. “It’s a receipt written to Letty’s Cottage. The address just says Greybridge.”

  “I found that in a drawer earlier and didn’t think it important.” Olivia took the scrap and studied it. “I’m not familiar with any such cottage, but if Letitia wants us to know about it, perhaps Emma coul
d tell us?”

  They hurried upstairs, where Emma attempted to preside over the nursery dinner table. Enoch and Aloysius were arm wrestling. The twins fed apple bits to the dolls. And Evie was hovering anxiously over the whimpering infant in its cradle.

  Emma looked up in relief. “Daisy and the new nursemaid had to run to the kitchen for a proper meal. I gather the staff is still cleaning up from the visitation?”

  “I believe Aunt Maggie is still dealing with guests, yes, sorry. I was distracted and not paying attention. You’re a gem.” Olivia hugged Emma. “I don’t know what Simon would do without you. You can’t marry until the children are grown!”

  Emma laughed. “Not a chance. Once spring comes, I’m back to my garden. He’d have to build me a conservatory before he could keep me here.”

  “He might need to consider your offer. It’s not as if anyone normal will work with his children,” Olivia said darkly, picking up Lily’s squirming infant and sitting in a rocking chair where Evie could climb up beside her. “At least he can pretend your plants are just a green thumb.”

  Phoebe produced their scrap of paper. “Do you know what Letty’s Cottage is? We think your sister is trying to tell us something.”

  “Mama wants Miss Livvy to stay with us,” Clare said, crumbling a buttered roll to feed to her doll.

  Olivia’s heart almost broke. She’d love to stay with the children. Unfortunately, that meant staying with a man who thought everyone should be normal. Maybe she’d ask him to define normal when he could blow carriages down hillsides. His bigotry made her furious all over again.

  Emma pressed a kiss on her niece’s golden hair. “Tell your mama to quit meddling.”

  “Her colors are fading,” Cat said matter-of-factly. “And Miss Livvy is brighter. Evie is all blue. What does that mean?”

  “It means Evie is loving and caring. Clear blue is a color that can be trusted,” Olivia answered. It meant more in Evie’s case, but she didn’t want to overwhelm Clare with details.

  She didn’t know whether to be sad or glad that Letitia was fading, slipping to the spirit world where she belonged. Malcolm tradition claimed Malcolm spirits could linger in this world—or maybe return to it—if they wished to inhabit unborn babes. Olivia hadn’t experienced that with Bobby, but judging from her precocious children, Letitia had.

  Olivia waited for Emma to explain about the cottage.

  Emma waved the scrap. “Letitia wanted to start a business selling herbs, jams, vegetables, things women in the village made or grew. And she hoped to rent out the upstairs to women who wished to live independently. She was thinking schoolteachers and the like.” Emma tucked the scrap in her pocket and said sadly, “She died before the cottage could open.”

  Excitement surged through Olivia. “Is the cottage still there? Did Simon sell it?” she asked, trying to tamp down her eagerness.

  “I doubt he’s given it a thought. It was part of one of the properties he bought. He has no use for it. So it’s sitting there, abandoned. The shop portion was almost ready but I doubt the living quarters are. What are you thinking?” Emma asked.

  “For the moment, I think it’s the neutral ground I need to bring together a card game. But if I can’t win back the Hall—” Olivia thought she really would burst with excitement. She glanced out the window, but it was already dark. A visit would have to wait. “Do you know where to find the key?”

  “With all Letty’s keys, in that cubbyhole you’re using,” Emma said, looking interested.

  “It’s dangerous for women to live alone,” Phoebe objected. “And if the scoundrels continue to inhabit the Hall, you’ll still be an obstacle to be removed.”

  “It’s only an idea at this stage,” Olivia said dismissively. “It’s just good to know I have alternatives. First, I must teach Hargreaves to play poker.”

  “Phoebe and I will need to return to the city soon,” Drew warned Simon after dinner. The women had departed for the drawing room, and the viscount had demanded dinner sent up. “She has classes and I have a dozen meetings lined up over the tenement rebuilding.”

  “It was a blessing having you here,” Simon said, sipping his whisky. “But I do not expect you to mollycoddle me. I’ve muddled along all these years. I can do it again.”

  “You had Letitia to keep you in line for the better part of them,” Drew pointed out. “And now you have a nursery full of children and a useless viscount on your hands.”

  Simon snorted. “Olivia means to take half the nursery with her. And we’ll both boot Hargreaves to the street eventually.”

  “He needs an occupation. I’ll take him back to the city with me and put him to work. He’d make a fine butler,” Drew said with a grin.

  “Or a doorstop. Do you know how to play poker?” Simon didn’t know where that question came from. It was purely ludicrous to use pieces of cardboard to defeat villains when a good dirk would do it.

  “Poker?” Drew asked in astonishment. “Why an American game no one knows if you’re to take up cards now? Start with Brag or whist. They’re easier to learn and the ladies play them.”

  “I wish to play with scoundrels, not ladies,” Simon asserted, angry with himself for giving in to temptation.

  The pure truth of the matter—he didn’t want Olivia to leave, not after she’d responded so eagerly this afternoon. That was justification enough to keep her from harm. He was above all else a practical man.

  A passionate one, she’d said. So, beating villains at their own game to protect a lady was what a passionate, practical man did.

  “I can teach you the basics,” Drew said warily. “But the game is more complicated than learning the names of the cards. I’ve only played a few times for low stakes. I’ve a good mind for the cards and apparently what is called a poker face. I surmise that you are more likely to throw the table over.”

  “Show me,” Simon demanded, not acknowledging Drew’s correctness.

  He’d bring dirk, pistol, and cards to the table.

  Twenty-eight

  Wishing she really could be a governess and stay in the nursery, away from Simon, Olivia reluctantly descended the stairs the next morning. Apparently, the staff had refused to feed Hargreaves breakfast in his room. He was sourly contemplating the buffet when she entered.

  Drew and Phoebe were already at the table. Simon wasn’t to be seen or heard. Fine, that made life simpler.

  “I would like to visit Letty’s Cottage this morning. Would anyone like to go with me?” Olivia asked, filling her plate and hoping no one could tell how hard her heart pounded. Her new life rested on too many variables.

  She could only face them one at a time. Cottage first.

  “We will go with you.” Phoebe sounded grim and included Drew without asking.

  Smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world, Olivia faced Drew, who regarded them with suspicion. “The cottage may be a place I can rent. I have decided to stay in Greybridge.”

  Drew looked from her to Phoebe, snorted, and returned to his food, wisely staying out of it.

  “I have written my photographer friend to ask about chemicals. She’s a Malcolm, and may be able to tell us more about poisons,” Phoebe announced, as if cottage and photographer went hand-in-hand. She glanced at the viscount.

  Hargreaves gloomily sipped his tea as if the rest of the table didn’t exist.

  Olivia spoke to him sharply, forcing him to look at her. “We are going to all this effort for you. We will commence poker lessons when I return from the cottage. I’ve ordered an entire box of new decks that haven’t been manipulated by swindlers. I trust you’ve come up with something you can use as a stake. I don’t mean to exhaust my own funds for your pathetic hide.”

  “I know how to play poker,” he grumbled. “And all I’ve left to my name is my watch and fobs.”

  “Learning from a book is not the same as knowing how to play.” Olivia held out her hand. “Give me the watch and fobs and that diamond tie pin. I’ll not have you losing t
hem before I’m ready.”

  He looked mutinous. She wasn’t a new widow frightened of his title and position any longer. She glared back. “You stole my home, my future, and apparently the funds Owen meant for his son. You owe me so much I should have articles of indenture drawn up.”

  “You can’t do that,” he argued petulantly, unfastening his stick pin.

  “I’ll find out,” she taunted, as if he were a recalcitrant child instead of a nobleman. “And you owe far more than the Hall is worth, so if I dig you out of this hole, you’ll still owe me.”

  “You won’t be able to do it.” He finally sounded defiant. “You won’t even bring them to the table.”

  He hit on a sore point, but Olivia didn’t intend to let him see her weakness, not this time, not ever again. “I’ll bring them to the table even if it’s at gunpoint. And if that won’t work, I’ll burn the Hall down before I allow them to turn my home into a den of iniquity. They need to be afraid of me and not the other way around.”

  That sounded good, leastways. The rabbit still cowered in her heart, but she wasn’t afraid of Lawrence, who was more mouse than she was rabbit. She returned to eating her eggs as if she’d just asked him to pass the butter. Someone had to put the fear of God into the idiot’s soul.

  Phoebe hid a snicker. Drew finished his coffee and escaped, looking a little worse for wear. Simon must have kept him up half the night. Olivia reminded herself she did not like drunks. Despite being the most honest man she’d ever met, Mr. Simon Blair was an irresponsible, drunken bigot, and she would not give him a second thought.

  After breakfast, Drew insisted on driving the carriage to the cottage, following Emma’s directions. The property wasn’t far from Simon’s home, apparently part of the land he had purchased when he’d bought his house—possibly a dower house at some point. It stood just outside of the village.

  Olivia viewed the location with excitement. Within easy walking distance of town and Simon’s children, it was a perfect location if she couldn’t have the Hall. She unlocked the plank front door. The weak winter sun shone through the mullioned windows into the spacious room Letitia had apparently meant for a shop.