of a sudden, the sun shone through. Or having no hope, and suddenly being suffused with it.
She smiled at herself in the mirror and left the room, anxious to see Gordon again.
Instead of going into the drawing room to wait for Jennifer, Gordon remained at the base of the stairs. He felt strangely out of place in this Adaire Hall. Five years ago he’d known every inch of the place. He and Jennifer had haunted the upper floors, explored the attic, and as children, had taken over an unused room as their own private domain.
The countess had never fussed at him for being here. Or at the both of them for being hooligans in the house during rainy or snowy days. Instead, she would ask what they were playing at, and he would stop to explain.
He was only five when the earl died suddenly. All he knew about that time was that the countess took to her rooms and didn’t leave them for two years. It was Harrison who’d coaxed her out of her hermitage, but not out of kindness or concern. He’d been expelled from his father’s alma mater and sent home in disgrace.
Gordon had often wondered if the countess had put all three of them together in the schoolroom to force Harrison to behave. Jennifer loved reading and had a natural ability for recall, often putting the two boys to shame. He was better with numbers and mathematics. Harrison’s talent was in feeling slighted. As the new Earl of Burfield he made sure that everyone knew of his elevation in rank. Even as a child he’d been insufferable.
The countess had once been a beautiful woman. One side of her face was unmarred by the fire that had nearly taken her life. The other resembled a melted candle. He’d been fascinated by her scars as a boy, had wanted to reach up and touch her face, but had never done so. He had asked her, once, if it hurt.
She’d tilted her head and regarded him through her one good eye. He knew that she couldn’t see well enough to read, although she could discern shapes and colors.
“Not now,” she said. “It did in the beginning.”
She’d been his tutor in many things, giving him an education he hadn’t received from either of his parents. She taught him how to speak to people properly, to treat a woman with respect, and even corrected his table manners.
Evidently, he’d reminded her of her younger brother.
“He was as stubborn as you,” she often said. “Impatient, too. As if he couldn’t wait for life to start for him.”
“Does he live in Edinburgh?” he’d asked.
“No,” she said, sounding sad. “He’s gone to live in New South Wales.”
He’d patted her hand that day, feeling a compassion for her that had startled him.
Adaire Hall wasn’t the same without the countess. It was like the house’s heart had been extinguished.
He wished there was a way to tell her how much he appreciated everything she’d done for him, especially in educating him. He’d often wondered if she’d had to go against McBain’s wishes to do so. Had the man acceded to her request out of respect for her? Or simply because the issue hadn’t been important to him? For whatever reason, Gordon had received an education in excess of his position in life, and for that he would always be grateful.
He had reason to be thankful for her lessons in other subjects, especially in the past five years.
One day, the countess had been doing an inventory of the silver in the butler’s pantry and had called him over to the table.
“Do you know what this is, Gordon?” she’d asked, holding up a curious looking piece of silverware.
“It’s a knife.”
“It’s not just a knife. It’s a butter knife.”
She taught him how to identify various spoons and forks as well. He learned when one was used and how he was to use it. Because of her, he learned not to stuff his napkin in his collar or slurp his soup.
She’d never been unkind to him. Never once had she mentioned his station in life, or uttered a harsh word. Whenever she corrected him, it was done with grace and sometimes humor.
He’d grown to feel more for the countess than any other adult at Adaire Hall.
Going from the Hall to the gardener’s cottage had always been a jarring journey. He was learning how to have manners at the Hall only to return to the cottage to see that neither of his parents cared