Olivia was too nervous to chuckle at this description of Glengarry.
Lady Agnes laughed though. “If only dear Max were here, he’d make short work of that one. Sharp tongue Max has. I do hope he hasn’t applied it in the wrong place.”
Olivia patted Agnes’s arm in sympathy. Max was her only son. “How long has it been since you’ve heard from Cousin Max?” she asked, as if she hadn’t a care in the world—
While her insides turned to ice and her spine crawled knowing the scoundrels she needed to vanquish were only a few yards away.
“Well over a year,” Lady Agnes said sadly. “I know he’s out there. I simply assume it’s on the other side of the world so he can’t send word.”
“Max is young and gallivanting as young men do,” Lady Gertrude said curtly. “It’s here and now that matters. That shorter fellow is evil incarnate. I have just the tincture for that.” She snatched the wine a maid handed her and sailed off.
“Oh dear.” Lady Agnes glanced around nervously. “Well, there’s nothing for it, dear. We all must do what we can. Is that a strengthening potion your young viscount is drinking?”
Olivia glanced to Hargreaves. “Please don’t doctor his drink. The milk seems to be helping.”
“Milk, huh.” The lady glanced up at Olivia and shook her head. “Your mother never did have much sense. Milk.” She snorted again and walked off in the direction of Emma and Phoebe.
Simon appeared at her elbow before she could feel abandoned. “Hargreaves is greeting them like a proper host,” he murmured, placing her hand on his arm. “When would you like to surprise them with your presence?”
Olivia sent him an admiring glance and felt a little courage seep through her. “Noticed that, did you? They may suspect you will be sitting down with them but not me. How much of a fit do you think they will pitch?”
“None, if Drew and I and Hargreaves are there to seat you. The sheriff’s deputy just arrived. Let me introduce you to him first. He may be here of his own accord. He’s a local fellow.”
Simon waited until Hargreaves and his guests had reached the round card table in the room’s center before he led her around the edge of the crowd to the deputy. “Lady Hargreaves, I’d like you to meet Thomas Mackle, one of our fine officers of the law. Mackle, may I present Lady Hargreaves, the widow of the late viscount.”
The young deputy wore a dour expression but contorted his lanky height into a bow over her hand. “My pleasure, my lady. My aunt believes you’ve returned to save Greybridge from dire straits.”
“Your aunt?” Now she placed him, and Olivia took his hand between hers. “Minerva Mackle? I don’t know what I’d do without her notions. And how is your Uncle Bert?”
His expression lightened at being recognized. “Grumpy as always. I understand he has some right to be. If the Hall closes, it will take half his business with it. The others around here have little use for his woolen goods.”
“Mr. Blair will,” she assured him. “He’s hiring staff. They all need uniforms and he buys locally. Let us pray that the Hall isn’t lost yet, though. If you gentlemen will escort me, I’d like to be introduced to Lord Hargreaves’ guests.”
As they crossed the room, Simon hailed a late arrival. “Sir Harvey, welcome. Where is your lovely daughter?”
The knight had actually accepted their invitation? Whose side was he on? Refusing to care, she offered him a smile as the older man bowed over her hand and made excuses for his daughter.
With Simon looking like a handsome prince at her arm, Olivia had enough confidence not to care about the old bigot. She inhaled to calm her nerves and donned her best hostess smile as they approached the card table. It was the viscount who looked stiff and uneasy as he made the introductions to his so-called friends.
Both Glengarry and Ramsay barely acknowledged her.
“Who else is joining us at the table?” Ramsay demanded, returning his attention to the viscount. “Mr. Blair and the deputy?” He practically scoffed as he said it.
Simon stiffened at her side but blessedly held his tongue.
Disregarding Ramsay’s question, Glengarry demanded, “We need an oil lamp on the table.”
“No,” Olivia said firmly, making her presence known. “The candle and the overhead lamps are sufficient. There is too much risk of fire with oil on the table.”
She’d learned that trick from her father as well. The lack of a lamp was a safety feature against men who became angry and slammed their hands down hard enough to spill the oil. Glengarry snarled but didn’t object.
She could feel her guests growing restless, so she dropped Simon’s arm to claim a chair. “If everyone has had a bite to eat, shall we take seats, gentlemen? Who would like to take the first round? I’ve always found a table of five to be the most interesting. What do you think?”
The newcomers were still looking past her to Simon, as if she would evaporate shortly.
“Do we have five?” Hargreaves asked, gesturing to indicate that his friends take chairs.
Olivia opened her inner eye just a little. The viscount still revealed shades of weak gold, but the yellow had more clarity and depth. He was gaining assurance—or this was a milieu he understood.
“I’ll stand back,” Simon said. “But my cousin is eager to play.” He gestured for Drew to join them, as planned.
“Four is fine,” Glengarry said impatiently, taking a seat and producing cards from his pocket.
Simon pulled out the padded chair she held and gestured for Olivia to take it. “My lady.”
His low seductive tone warmed her, and she accepted the chair with a bright smile. Ignoring the expressions of the two renegades, she held out her hand. Jameson rushed over to offer a basket of cards in sealed packages. “They’re all good English decks. Do you prefer the ones with the advertisements or the designs, gentlemen?” she asked before laying both types on the table.
Only then did she allow herself the pleasure of watching their stunned reactions.
Ramsay cursed and glowered.
Glengarry recovered from his shock to quickly assume a bored expression. “We’re not playing whist for pins, my lady.”
Olivia tried not to cackle as she dropped Simon’s bag of coins on the table. “Good gracious, no, gentlemen. Do you know the variation called Jack Pots? It’s perfect for five players. I’m eager to try it now that I have company that understands the game.”
Simon still despised cards and the necessity of this game, but he was proud of how Olivia managed the scoundrels. He could almost relax knowing she was in her milieu while he performed his tasks. He backed away and left the lady to handle her enemies.
“Those two are the revolutionaries the viscount fears?” the deputy asked in disgust as Glengarry argued for control of the deck.
“Not this pair,” Simon replied curtly, leading him away. “They’re frauds and cheats, out to line their own pockets. Hargreaves wants honest witnesses to prevent the cheats from stealing the Hall. The real concern is what happens if he wins his vouchers back. I’ve been warned that my home is in danger. I’ve moved everyone out, but if the villains realize that, they might come here next. Or torch the Hall.”
Simon showed the law officer the crumpled warning note while he scanned the room for danger.
A couple of the ladies were leading their reluctant spouses over to the camera where the photographer had set up her equipment. Servants circulated with trays. Hill leaned his sturdy frame against the wall by the stairs, sipping from a tankard, looking casual while preventing anyone from straying upstairs. All looked well.
Mackle returned the note. “You have your men at the house? It sounds like I’d be more useful there.”
“Not unless you’re carrying a rifle. The house can burn. It’s the ladies and the bairns here who need safeguarding. If anything happens, I want the fight fair and legal, because I’ll crack heads before I let them kill another innocent as they did my wife.”
The deputy nodded dubiously. �
�And you have your entire household here? Very well, you want to explain how this card game works? I might as well learn something while we’re waiting.”
Simon couldn’t bear to stand idle and watch. He walked the perimeter of the room while he explained the basics of the game to the young officer. Keeping a close eye on the players in the center of the room, he noted Olivia’s eccentric old ladies hovering. They looked innocent, although he suspected they were no such thing. He saw Ramsay offer a flask to Hargreaves. Simon tensed. But the young viscount was fixated on his cards and shook his head.
The flask mysteriously tilted and spilled its contents. Ramsay tried to straighten it, but the flask practically flew backward and hit the floor. Simon glanced to the top of the stairs and caught a fleeting glimpse of bare feet. Enoch? He should go up after him, but he didn’t dare abandon Olivia.
A maid retrieved the fallen flask but instead of returning it to Ramsay, she made off with it. Drawing down his eyebrows, Simon watched the maid surreptitiously deliver the container to the old lady with the pince-nez and rouged cheeks.
He didn’t know what they were doing or if it could be called cheating. The deputy hadn’t noticed a thing but asked a question about bluffing.
Deciding if Ramsay could try to get the viscount drunk, old ladies could poison the scoundrels, Simon turned his regard to the Malcolm photographer who was aiming her camera at the room instead of her clients. Her skin was the brown of an Indian servant, but her visage took on the aspect of a determined warrior when she aimed her camera.
Damn, he wished Letitia were here to see this. She could explain it to him.
A draft ruffled his hair, then spiraled upward, swinging the overhead lamps and ringing chimes. He heard Clare’s cry and made a hasty apology to the deputy.
“Keep an eye on the table, will you?” Simon asked gruffly. “I need to check on the bairns.”
He took the steps two at a time and found the twins in their nightclothes crouched near the railing, watching the party below. “What are you doing down here?”
“Mama is saying good-bye,” Cat said sadly. “She wants us to thank Miss Liv and tell her to look after us.”
“You made up that last part,” Clare whispered. She turned bright blue eyes up to Simon. “Mama wants Cat to help her pass, and Cat doesn’t want to. So Mama says she’ll watch us tonight.”
Simon swept the two urchins into his arms and carried them toward the attic stairs. “You should always listen to your mama. She must be tired watching over you though. I’m here. I’ll watch. Tell your mama we love her, and we want her to be happy.”
He didn’t have to believe in ghosts to hug the weeping girls while fighting his own tears. Letitia would forever own his heart, but if she departed, would his heart be open to Olivia? The thought terrified him more than arsonists.
In the larger room adjoining the makeshift nursery, he found everyone still awake. Evie crowed over the twins. Daisy and the new nursemaid clucked over the naughty escapees. The boys tried not to look guilty, but he figured they’d led the girls astray in the first place. Simon scanned the room and counted heads.
“Why wasn’t anyone watching over this lot?” he demanded.
“They was asleep,” the new nursemaid said in puzzlement. “We left Mrs. Brown nursing her babe and watching over them while we took turns having a bit of supper and going downstairs to help.”
“Where’s Emma?” He’d caught Letitia’s sister downstairs and specifically ordered her to watch the nursery. “Shouldn’t she be with them?”
Daisy shook her graying head. “She’s young and there’s young men about. We told her and that nice young Mr. Bertram to go have some fun.”
The footman was no longer guarding the hall?
Simon cursed under his breath. He led the children back to the other bedroom where they’d set up cots and straw mattresses. No sign of Lily, although her infant slept in its cradle. His gut churned.
He turned to the boys. Even little Joe looked guilty. “Did you see Mrs. Brown leave?”
“She’s all angry red,” Cat said before the boys could speak.
“She was watching out the windows,” Aloysius said gravely. “We told her we’d watch for her, but she’s afraid, I think.”
“Does red mean afraid?” Cat asked. “I want Miss Liv.”
Simon didn’t know if red meant afraid as well as passionate, but he was damned well afraid too. “I’ll ask Miss Liv, but she can’t come up right now. Aloysius, you, Joe, and Enoch are the eldest. I need you to be responsible and keep the girls in here, where Miss Liv can find them. If you’re afraid for any reason or have questions, send whoever is in the other room to find me. I’m right downstairs. I’m not going anywhere, all right?”
They all managed to look mutinous as well as worried. Heedless of his fancy clothes, Simon got down on his knees and hugged the little girls, then gestured at the boys to join them. “This is important,” he told them, holding out his arms to encompass all the children. “I need you to trust me and Miss Liv. I need to be able to find you right here if I need you. Do you understand?”
“We can’t help if we can’t see what’s happening,” Enoch said rebelliously.
“I can’t help if I’m minding you,” Simon warned. “I need to be downstairs right now. Instead, I have to be here telling you what you should already know. I can’t be in two places at once, which is why I need the lot of you here, keeping guard. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”
“Mama says she’s not leaving yet,” Clare said softly. “She says Enoch should mind you or she’ll swat him.”
A hank of Enoch’s thick hair lifted as if someone yanked it. The boy’s rebellion immediately collapsed. “We’ll mind the babies,” he agreed reluctantly. His hair flew up again, and he added, “We’ll stay here, sir.”
Simon smothered a chuckle. He’d have to remember to yank the lad’s hair next time he disobeyed. “I’ll look for Mrs. Brown and see why she’s angry. The staff works hard minding you all the time, so don’t tease them. They deserve a chance to have fancy food and a chat. Aloysius, your aunt is down there, helping with the drinks, and Joe, your mother is working hard, helping ladies with their hems and whatnot. They need to know they don’t have to worry about you.”
If he kept them thinking this was simply a fancy party, he hoped they’d eventually go back to sleep.
He wasn’t certain he’d ever sleep again. He needed a wee dram to tamp down his energy. . .
No, he needed to find an angry harlot.
He reassured the servants in the other room, sent two back to watch over the children, and proceeded to check the upper story. It was a decent cottage, he conceded. Despite his disparagement, a few repairs and some money could fix it. The place was empty enough of furniture that he saw no hiding places.
He looked out the windows while he was at it. Light pooled outside the front of the house where the party was, but the back was dark and impenetrable. He ought to ask Cat if she saw colors out there.
He’d rather send his steward and the deputy out.
He could hear voices escalating as he took the last set of stairs down. He glanced to where his dirk should be—it was gone. His hackles rose, and he nearly broke his neck rushing down the final steps.
The lady photographer emerged from the kitchen, frowning. Drew’s professor and the deputy had gravitated to the card table, blocking Simon’s view of all but Olivia. She was the picture of glowing contentment as she studied her cards and ignored the shouting.
Trust her, she’d said. He itched at the notion of abandoning her to anyone who wasn’t him. He knew that was outrageous the instant he thought it. She was surrounded by friends. She had a gift that would warn her of danger, surely.
She counted on him to watch her back. And so he would. Pouring a glass of whisky to look as if he were having a good time, Simon began searching the room for his missing dirk.
The warning signal of multiple shotgun blasts and whistling firew
orks from the house resounded over the low murmur of the party. The villains were attacking his home.
Simon tossed back a good swallow and prepared for the performance of his life.
Thirty-two
The distant blast of what sounded like fireworks startled Olivia from Hargreaves’ argument with Ramsay over a missing ace. A moment later, Simon dragged the deputy away. Fear crawled down her spine as she realized only the professor still followed the game. The rest of the party ate, drank, talked, and had their photographs taken.
Worried, she studied Drew’s aura. His tension had spiked after the blast, but he played his cards as if naught was wrong. What was he not telling her?
Still stewing over Hargreaves’ intervention at his cheating, Ramsay slapped his cards on the table. Needing to control the table, Olivia ordered more drinks and tried not to worry about Simon. He’d had a whisky glass in hand, which made her uneasy.
Lady Agnes accompanied one of the maids delivering drinks. Olivia threw down a card while Agnes bumbled and whispered and bumped Sally’s arm, nearly spilling the tray. The glass delivered to Olivia didn’t sparkle or look like wine, so she assumed it was water, as she’d requested. Hargreaves’ concoction came in a tankard designed to conceal his milk. Drew’s whisky glass was still full but he accepted a glass like hers. Ramsay’s flask had been returned to him, but he and Glengarry threw back Simon’s whisky as if it were water. If Agnes had doctored it, they’d not know.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one in the family to practice deception.
She’d divided Simon’s coins so Hargreaves had some to play. She still held the viscount’s watch fob and stickpin as surety, but he was doing well. Keeping alcohol out of his hands helped.
“Oh my, dearie me,” Agnes murmured, clinging to Glengarry’s chair and bending over. “One of these pretty cardboard things has escaped. Do you think they have legs?”
A Bewitching Governess Page 26
