The maid curtseyed, then ushered Nicola out. As soon as the door closed behind them, Mrs. Brougham gestured to a chair.
“May I sit, your ladyship?”
Olivia nodded.
“It’s not my place, but I’d advise you to take care with that young woman. She displays a degree of overfamiliarity most unbecoming, given your difference in rank.”
“Do you disapprove of my having a friend. Mrs. Brougham?” Olivia said.
“Of course not, my dear, but Miss Faulkes must understand the respect due to you as the countess. She’s nothing but the daughter of a tenant who acts above her station.”
“But I was once—”
Mrs. Brougham placed a hand on hers, but, rather than the stifling demands of friendship, Olivia sensed only maternal concern.
“I know of your origins, my dear,” Mrs. Brougham said. “But you’re a countess now and must recognize the difference in rank between yourself and those around you. I’m not saying that you cannot be friends with Miss Faulkes.”
“Whatareyou saying, Mrs. Brougham?”
“That you must take care in whom you place your trust. Do not be deceived by an overly friendly face. A new bride entering into a house of strangers can trust only one person.”
Olivia cocked her head to one side. “Her housekeeper, I suppose?”
Mrs. Brougham smiled. “No—her husband. And until anyone else has earned your trust, I’d advise you to be cautious. I understand the necessity of Master Charles’s going to London, but he ought to have taken you with him.”
“The necessity?” Olivia said. “You mean financial?”
The housekeeper had the grace to blush. “He was insistent on proceeding with the repairs to the buildings as soon as possible. I only pray that he doesn’t drive the estate into bankruptcy. His father almost did, on three occasions, though for reasons of profligacy rather than generosity.”
“Generosity?”
“It’s not my place to speak of it, but Master Charles has insisted that he pay for the repairs himself. He’s even ordered twenty head of cattle for the Baldwins’ farm and won’t take a penny from Mr. Baldwin. He’s not like his father, for certain. I told him the garden needs work, not to mention this house, but he insisted on giving priority to the tenants.” She eyed Olivia. “He’s a good man, your ladyship.”
“Why do you feel the need to tell me he’s a good man?” Olivia asked.
“Because he’d never tell you himself. All his life he’s been a disappointment to those whose good opinion he’s sought.”
“He has no need of my good opinion, Mrs. Brougham.”
“Does he not?”
“He’s a man. He’s master here. He can do what he wishes.”
“Had he followed his wishes, he’d never have returned here,” Mrs. Brougham said. “He’d have found a way to settle the debts and remain on the Continent, handing over responsibility of the estate to Jacob, who would have inherited. But he chose not to. Instead, he’s returned, to a home that gave him nothing but unhappy memories, and brought a wife.” She gave an indulgent smile. “Though he may deny it, he’s accepted the responsibility of the Devereaux name, and we’re all mighty glad of it. I know he’s a little…difficultat times, but he’s just as daunted by the prospect of making a life here as you, though he doesn’t show it.”
She patted Olivia’s hand. “Well! I’m sure you’ve better things to do than listen to my ramblings. Shall we discuss the household accounts? I could send for Ethel to bring you another pot of tea. You’re looking a little pale.”
Oliva nodded, another ripple of nausea flowing through her.
“Tea it is,” the housekeeper said. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, earlier—it was out of concern for you.”
Despite Nicola’s professions of friendship, Olivia found more to trust in Mrs. Brougham’s more measured advice. The older women carried an air of Eleanor about her, and for that, at least, she deserved Olivia’s trust.
“Thank you, Mrs. Brougham,” Olivia said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“And I you,” came the reply. “As is Master Charles, even if he cannot say it.”
She exited the parlor, and Olivia sank back into her seat and placed her hand over her belly.
