The Tempting Of The Governess. Julia Justiss

she’d given the schoolroom a closer inspection that evening, that its cupboards contained neither toys, nor slates for writing, nor books she could read to them.

      Predictably, when she’d asked Mrs Wallace about it, the woman had replied icily that until last week, the schoolroom at Somers Abbey had been unoccupied for the whole of her tenure as housekeeper, so she had no idea if the household possessed such items. ‘Since you have such good rapport with Colonel Glendenning, perhaps you should ask him,’ she’d said snidely, obviously not at all happy that Olivia’s earlier talk with the master hadn’t resulted in the rebuke the housekeeper had expected.

      Biting back the reply she would like to have given, Olivia hung on to her temper. Much as she’d like to give as good as she got with the woman, it would make life more pleasant, especially for the children, if she could find a way to establish a more cordial relationship. ‘Perhaps I shall do just that,’ she’d said brightly and left it at that.

      Though it was now a bit later than she’d intended, the task of putting away the supplies she’d obtained in Bristol and the storytelling having taken longer than anticipated, she still had time to visit the library. Encouraged by her employer’s friendlier reception this afternoon—he hadn’t entirely retreated, even when she’d pleaded with him to see more of the girls—she’d decided to ask him about the schoolroom supplies. Most likely, once the Colonel and his brother were grown, all such items had been packed away, perhaps consigned to the attic. If the Colonel had some idea where they might be located, she could go in search of them first thing tomorrow.

      Thinking it best to be cautious, she went quietly to the library on her own, without asking Mansfield to announce her. She’d heard that army officers serving in India were hard drinkers and the Colonel’s appearance this morning certainly seemed to confirm that. It probably wouldn’t be prudent to approach him about anything this evening if he were already in his cups.

      The problem of how she would manage to open that heavy oak door without announcing her presence was solved by her finding it had been left ajar. Peeping inside, she saw the room was unoccupied.

      Before she could turn away, disappointed, she noticed that the desk chair was pushed back and the desk itself boasted a fully lit brace of candles, a book and a whisky bottle sitting beside a half-filled glass. All of which suggested that the Colonel had only stepped out of the room for a moment and meant to return shortly.

      She’d wait for him.

      She walked in, intending to take the chair in front of the desk to which he’d invited her earlier. But just as she was about to seat herself, she noted one more object on the desk, sitting in the spot most brightly illuminated by the candelabra. Curious, she bent over it to take a closer look.

      It was a miniature portrait in a gilded frame, she realised. Without thinking, she picked it up and angled it so that, from her position in front of the desk, the candlelight fell fully upon it.

      A small boy with ash-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes smiled up at her. A small boy whose features reminded her strongly of—

      ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ an angry voice demanded.

      Startled as much by the voice’s ferocity as the profanity, she looked up from the miniature to the incensed face of the Colonel pacing towards her, back to the portrait and up again. ‘You—you have a son?’ she gasped.

      Reaching her, he ripped the small frame from her hand. ‘Had a son,’ he spat back. ‘Quite legitimate, I assure you, so you needn’t go all faint and maidenly on me. How dare you creep in here and snoop among my private things?’

      ‘I was not snooping!’ she cried indignantly. ‘I wished to speak with you, the door was open and the room appeared as if you’d only left it for a moment. I intended just to wait for you.’

      ‘Isn’t it anguish enough that he lies thousands of miles away, his little body trapped underground in a small wooden box with nothing but a stone angel to keep him company? Must I tolerate having indifferent strangers gazing upon his face?’

      As he looked down at the portrait, his breathing went ragged, his jaw worked and tears sheened his eyes. ‘His beloved face,’ he whispered.

      Horrified by what she’d inadvertently discovered, agonised by his agony, Olivia stood speechless, her mouth open in shock.

      Before she could dredge up a reply, with his eyes still locked on the portrait, the Colonel made a swishing motion with his free hand. ‘Leave,’ he said, his voice raw. ‘Please, just leave me.’

      Picking up her skirts, she ran from the room.