“If they were pleased with your work, I’m sure they will give you a letter of reference, so you may find another position in London.”
Olivia doubted they would, but she smiled. “It is just time for me to move on. Go someplace else.”
The woman nodded.
Olivia reached into the side pocket in her simple dress and removed two envelopes. “Mrs. Garson, will you do me a favor?”
“Yes, of course, dear.”
She handed her the first envelope tied with a green ribbon. Helen’s favorite color. “I wish you to take the money in here and buy Helen a stone with her name on it.”
The woman blinked at the envelope as Olivia placed it in her hand. “Of course, I will go to the mason in Leeman tomorrow and order one.”
“Thank you. Will you have him carve a wreath and etch ‘beloved sister’ on it?”
As she nodded, Mrs. Garson’s lower lip slightly trembled.
Olivia handed her the second envelope. “And this is for coal to help heat the orphanage this winter and to buy the children a special treat of oranges.”
The woman took the envelope and peeked inside. She gasped. “Where did you get this? Are you the secret benefactor who has been sending the orphanage money?”
Without answering, she wrapped Mrs. Garson in her arms. The woman’s thick arms embraced her in a tight squeeze, just like they had the morning they’d buried Helen.
The matron’s warm breath touched Olivia’s ear. “Every time I heard one of those wretched men had been robbed, I thought God was punishing them. Now, I think I know the truth, but they will still have to answer to their maker when death comes. God bless you, child, and safe travels.” The woman kissed her cheek, bringing a fresh rush of tears to Olivia’s eyes.
She picked up her suitcase and walked away.
* * *
As dusk settled over the sky, the steamship grew smaller and smaller as it sailed away from the dock at Southampton. Before departing, Anthony had slipped the captain a sizable sum to see the ship’s passenger list. Olivia’s name wasn’t on it, but he’d stood on the dock and watched the passengers board in case she’d used an alias.
Over the last several hours, Anthony had checked every ship leaving the port and come up with nothing. He presumed James hadn’t found her either or he would have sent word.
Where are you, Olivia?
Feeling almost hopeless, he pulled his gaze away from the steamship to where several stevedores unloaded crates from an American vessel named the Charleston. The ship had docked this morning. The captain had said he would not be leaving port to sail back to America until next week.
His gaze drifted over the other ships in port. None would be leaving tonight. Maybe tomorrow Olivia would show up. He would take lodging at the Sail and Anchor and return to the docks before daybreak.
* * *
Anthony rolled over on the lumpy mattress, then gave the flat pillow a thump with his fist before setting his head back onto it. He couldn’t sleep. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning with the possibility that he would never find Olivia. That he’d let the one woman he truly loved slip through his fingers. He’d made a bollock of so many things in his life, but not telling Olivia that he loved her was far greater than any other blunder.
Could Olivia have changed her mind about going across the pond? Perhaps she’d decided to go to France and crossed the Channel at Dover. He couldn’t discount the possibility that she might have taken lodging for a day or two, so she might rest before journeying across the Atlantic. Even on a steamship it would most likely take over a week. And if she booked third-class passage, she would be subjected to a diet that might consist of nothing more than reground bread and rancid-smelling water from old casks. The thought of her drinking putrid water in her weakened state made his hands clench.
Anthony scrubbed a hand down his weary face and his eyes drifted closed.
* * *
The sound of the taproom and boisterous voices pulled Anthony from sleep. His gaze pivoted to the window where muted light peered through the dirty panes of glass.
Damnation. He’d meant to be on the dock before daybreak. He threw off the bedding and stood so fast, he cracked his head on the low ceiling.
Bugger it. Keeping himself stooped so he wouldn’t bang his skull again, Anthony made his way to the lone chair, snatched his trousers off it, and tugged them on.
A minute later, he was making his way through the already crowded taproom that smelled like a mixture of tobacco smoke, strong ale, and bacon. Sailors were already at the bar and tables downing tankards of ale.
He weaved through the crammed room.
“You wish for breakfast, sir?” a serving girl, carrying two platters of food, asked as she strode by him.
“No, thank you.” Anthony stepped outside into the salty air and hurried toward the ships.
In front of him, two sailors chatted as they entered the docks.
“I’m not looking forward to the long journey home today. The eel I ate last night at the Sail and Anchor has left me queasy.” The man’s accent clearly indicated he was American.
“I told you it smelled off.” The older, more grizzled sailor shook his head as if he couldn’t believe the other fellow had foolishly eaten it.
“Are you journeying to America?” Anthony asked.
Both men turned to stare at him.
“Yes,” the American who looked a bit green replied.
“You looking for passage? I think the captain has a few bunks left?” The older sailor arched a bushy gray brow.
“Which ship?” Anthony asked.
“The Albany,” the younger seaman replied.
“Where is it docked?”
The older sailor pointed to a sailboat with a wooden hull. When he’d asked about the vessel, he’d been told it was having one of its masts repaired and wouldn’t be sailing for several days.
“It’s now ready to sail?”
“Sadly.” The younger sailor clutched at his stomach.
“Did a woman board?” Anthony held his breath.
“Yes, the captain took on several female passengers.”
“Damn foolish if you ask me.” The older seaman scowled. “Women are bad luck.”
“Cap don’t believe in that nonsense,” the younger seaman said.
“Thank you!” With ground-eating strides Anthony moved toward the ship, experiencing a glimmer of hope.
* * *
As Olivia and the two other female passengers settled into their tiny cabin, Ella Smythe grumbled. “I don’t see why we must remain cooped up in this tiny room for the whole trip.”
“The captain said some of the older sailors are suspicious about having a woman on board.” Mrs. Finnigan, a middle-aged woman, who wished to join her family in New York, slipped her suitcase under one of the bunks.
Ella Smythe peered at Olivia. “You’re awful quiet, duckie. Leaving your family behind, are you?”
Family? The word seemed as foreign and distant to her as the Orient. “No. I’m hoping to find a job in New York City.”
“A job? Ha! I’m hoping to find me a husband who lives on Fifth Avenue.” Ella grinned.
Mrs. Finnigan clucked her tongue. “Not all Americans are rich like you read in the newspapers. My daughter, her husband, and their three bairns live in a two-room flat.”
“I ain’t intending to live in no tiny flat.” Ella wrinkled her nose and patted the blond bun at the back of her head.
“Well, I wish you luck.” Mrs. Finnigan’s gaze drifted over Ella, who was quite pretty, but Olivia had a feeling that the pink on the blond woman’s cheeks and lips had been enhanced with cosmetics.
Ella strode to the porthole. “Oh, now ain’t that a handsome gent talking to the captain on the dock. Dash shame to be locked in this dreary cabin while he’s on board. A woman could run her fingers through those wavy locks.”
With her back to the room, Ella didn’t see the shocked look on Mrs. Finnigan’s face over the woman�
��s brazen words.
Ella pivoted toward Olivia. “Come see, duckie. This man will put a smile on your face.”
Olivia doubted that.
“Come on, now.” Ella grabbed Olivia’s elbow and tugged her toward the small round window.
The gentleman faced away from them. Olivia’s gaze drifted from the top of the man’s head of thick dark hair, then down his back to his polished boots. His build, the color of his hair, and his height seemed so much like Anthony’s that her stomach gave a little flip.
“Wait until he turns back around.” Ella grinned.
Olivia held her breath.
The man turned and glanced at the ship.
Anthony? She must be hallucinating or going mad. It could not be him. Had something happened? Was he here to warn her?
“You look as white as a ghost.” Ella’s brow creased. “Do you know him?”
Olivia darted to the door.
Mrs. Finnigan gasped. “Where are you going? The captain said we’re not supposed to leave the cabin.”
Ignoring the woman, Olivia wrenched the door open. As she made her way to the deck, her heart hammered in her chest. Fear and excitement intertwined, leaving her utterly confused. She passed an old gray-haired sailor.
“A woman!” He grumbled and uttered a word she’d heard Atticus say more than once. It definitely didn’t sound welcoming. “Off the ship, missy, before we sail!”
Once on deck, several sailors working on the masts peered at her.
One smiled, showing a mouth of black teeth.
Another frowned.
One whistled.
Holding the skirt of her dress up, she ran to the ship’s railing.
Anthony glanced up. A smile lit up his face, and all the tension building within her dissipated like morning fog under the full force of a summer sun.
He pushed past the captain and started up the gangplank.
If her heart beat any faster, she feared she’d collapse. Suddenly feeling unsure, she stood almost frozen.
As if he was unsure as well, his steps slowed. It was as if someone pushed everything around them into a slow, dreamlike state.
Anthony stepped in front of her. “Olivia. My God, I cannot believe I found you. I had almost given up hope.”
“Anthony, why are you here?” Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his answer.
“Because I realized something.”
“What?” The single word came out breathless.
“I thought I could let you go, but I was wrong. Good Lord, woman, I love you. I always shall. And if you leave you will take a rather sizable piece of my heart with you, leaving a hollow gap in my chest that I fear I might never recover from.”
Anthony’s face blurred behind the tears pooling in her eyes.
He cradled her face between his warm palms. “Don’t cry, love. Just tell me that you love me as well.”
She sniffled. “I do. Desperately.”
“Then marry me at St. George’s?”
She bit her lower lip. “You want me to marry you?”
“More than anything I have ever wanted.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
She’d barely had time to comprehend what had just transpired when Anthony lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her long and quite thoroughly.
Epilogue
It had become a ritual that one day a week, Anthony and Olivia would go to Gunter’s and order ice treats. Over the last year, Olivia had tried every flavor, but strawberry remained her favorite. It had also become a ritual that they follow up with a ride to the British Museum. Occasionally they went in, but on most trips they remained in the carriage and chatted about social events they would be attending or Anthony’s flourishing business. Word had gotten around that her husband was a genius when it came to improving the flow of production in a manufacturing environment. New businesses and old businesses all vied for his input. She acted as the business manager and handled the scheduling and accounting.
They had also started a charitable organization for All Saints Orphanage, and a month after their wedding, she and Anthony had traveled to Kent to inform Mrs. Garson and Vicar Finch. At one point during the meeting Anthony had asked to speak to Vicar Finch in private. She wasn’t sure what Anthony had said to the clergyman, but when they’d returned the man had looked sallow and ready to cast up his accounts.
Anthony had refused to tell her what had transpired, but she had a feeling it was a threat of some sort. Perhaps informing the clergyman that if he used a birch rod on any of the girls, Anthony would withhold the charitable funds, or perhaps do something even more dire.
“Deep in thought, darling?” Anthony asked from where he sat next to her, having already finished his ice treat.
“Yes, but good thoughts.” She slipped the last spoonful of her ice treat into her mouth and released a low moan of pleasure.
As she’d expected, Anthony’s gaze grew intense, and as soon as the glasses had been returned to Gunter’s, he instructed their coachman to drive by the British Museum, then he tugged the window shades down. Sometimes they didn’t talk about social events or business. Sometimes they showed each other with words and actions how much they meant to each other. Usually when in the carriage it was a quick coupling—unlike when they were in the privacy of the home they’d purchased in Belgrave Square. Then it was usually a slow event. She loved him, and she knew without a doubt that Anthony loved her.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asked, pulling her onto his lap.
She grinned. “Several times today.”
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
“I believe this is only the third time today.”
He laughed. “I’m slipping.”
She cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. As it always was with them, the noise outside receded as if they were the only two people in the world.
“Anthony.” She stroked a finger down his jaw, excited over the news she had to tell him.
“Yes, love.”
She watched his face, hoping it would reflect the joy she felt inside her. “I am with child.”
His eyes widened, then a broad smile lifted the corners of his lips.
“You are pleased?”
“Very much so. Lately, I have been thinking of children running about our home laughing and giggling. The girls with red hair like yours. Our family, Olivia.”
Our family. The thought made her eyes burn. Anthony’s face clouded behind the pool of tears that threatened to fall. But they were happy tears. She circled her hands tightly about Anthony’s neck and kissed him, and when he kissed her back, she believed she was the luckiest woman in the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book wouldn’t be possible without the help and support of so many caring and giving individuals. A shout-out to my wonderful editor, Esi Sogah, and the rest of the Kensington team. Thank you to Christina, Dylann, and Diane for beta reading this story when you were dealing with your own deadlines. Thanks to my agent, Jill Marsal. And a special thank-you to readers everywhere who enjoy romance books and support the authors who write them.
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NEVER MARRY A SCANDALOUS DUKE
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London, England
Lady Sara Elsmere released a taut breath and tried not to fidget. Any attempt at blending into the background of the Duke of Dorchester’s ballroom was a challenge when wearing a pink gown adorned with enormous silk peony flowers the size of a serving dish.
Father’s words replayed in her head. The gown gives you a youthful glow.
That statement was utterly absurd. Plain old poppycock.
In truth, the ball gown made her look foolish. Yet, no amount of arguing had changed Father’s mind. So, here she was, trying to disappear into the gold-flocked wallpaper and failing miserably.
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br /> She desperately wished Father would stop forcing her to attend such gatherings in hopes someone would make her an offer. The gentlemen at these social events had little interest in a twenty-seven-year-old entomologist who collected butterflies and laughed nervously whenever a man asked her to dance.
Sadly, her nervous laugh had started her first season. Excitement had swirled within her in anticipation of dancing. Then Sir Harry had approached, and with each step he’d taken to move closer to her, she’d felt more apprehension. Would she fall? Would she cause him to fall? The thought of making a complete cake of herself became insidious. By the time he’d asked her to dance, she’d begun to laugh. Not a girlish giggle that a man might find cute or endearing, but a high-pitched laugh.
Heads had turned toward her, and the more everyone gawked, the louder her laugh became. At her second ball the same thing had happened when Lord Gilbert asked to partner with her. An utter disaster. Her second ball during that season had been another utter disaster. The same thing had happened when Lord Gilbert asked to partner with her.
Quite understandable that gentlemen at these gatherings avoided her.
Scanning those waltzing, Sara caught sight of her sister being twirled around the dance floor with by some young buck. A bright smile wreathed her sister’s face, and her partner had the look of a man who thought everyone envied him.
Sara was sure many did envy the fellow. At just eighteen, Louisa had made her debut in society this year and instantly become the season’s incomparable. Every man wished to dance with her, and Sara could not blame them. Her sister was not only beautiful, but she sparkled and thrived under the spotlight.
While Sara collected butterflies, Louisa acted the social butterfly, flittering around with her grace and beauty drawing everyone’s regard. How two sisters could be such opposites befuddled Sara’s mind. And though at times she experienced a slight spark of envy that Louisa could mingle so easily, she did not truly begrudge her. No, she was happy for her sister. How could she not be when she loved her so dearly?
She searched the crush for her brother. Ned was probably in the cardroom with their host. She didn’t particularly care for Ian McAllister, the Duke of Dorchester. He was a scoundrel of the highest order—though the ton seemed more than willing to forgive his womanizing, especially when he was serving them an abundance of champagne and French cuisine.
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