So why did she want to continue on through the winter at Byrde Manor? Why not simply return to town with her family?
A hundred times she pondered that question. A thousand. The only answer she came up with was that Byrde Manor—without the outside pressures caused by people—was a truly wonderful place. The wild hills, the verdant valley, and the solid, reassuring old house. She found comfort in them all.
If only she could rid herself of the people with whom she must share them. That also was a source of new stress to her. In the past she’d always enjoyed the company of pleasant, sociable people. Now, however, she found everyone a trial.
But soon enough her guests would leave, she told herself. Neville Hawke, however, would not. Nor was his odious threat going away. Three days left to find a way to defuse the situation, and she was no nearer a solution than before.
Then on one morning a note came, addressed to her and carried by one of Woodford’s menservants. Olivia’s heart turned to lead.
Sitting across the breakfast table, Augusta spread jam on a scone. “Has Lord Hawke carved some time from his busy schedule to accept my invitation?”
Olivia looked up from the unopened envelope. Her hands were shaking. “You invited him here? For what occasion?”
Augusta smiled around the table at Sarah, James, and Mr. St. Clare. “My goodness, to hear her talk you’d think I’d invited the Prince Regent.” She glanced slyly at Olivia. “Tis a general invitation I speak of, dear. Lord Hawke knows he is welcome here anytime. Heaven knows, we owe him the same sort of entertainments he has twice provided to us.”
Just then Lord Holdsworth strode into the room. “What’s this I hear? Lord Hawke is coming over?” He pulled out a chair and sat adjacent to Augusta. “Did he say whether he has made a decision about that filly of his?”
Olivia stared down at the brief message. “No. Nothing about that. He asks that I meet him this afternoon at his solicitor’s office in Kelso.” She raised her head and glanced at her mother. “It’s to review the lease and sign it.”
James nodded. “I shall have to accompany you, Livvie, for I am legally the head of the family.”
Olivia looked at her fair-haired brother and frowned. “I don’t see why that should matter. You are not in any way connected to my father or his properties.”
“But I am your guardian until such time as you wed.” He refilled his plate from a platter one of the serving women held, immune to Olivia’s irritated glare.
“I hardly see the sense in that. You forget that I have reached my majority. Besides, in a month you will be gone from here and oblivious to anything that should occur at Byrde Manor.”
“So will you,” he retorted as he sprinkled salt onto his eggs. Olivia could have groaned. She shot a nervous glance at her mother. Would she reveal all now? But Augusta had a determinedly innocent expression on her face. Too innocent, it turned out, for when neither Olivia nor Augusta responded to his remark, James looked up.
It took only a moment for his eyes, as blue as their mother’s, to narrow in suspicion. “Is something going on that I should know about? Mother?” He focused on her. “What is it?”
“Well,” Augusta began, looking over at Olivia helplessly and shrugging.
Olivia lurched to her feet. “I shall be happy to discuss this matter in the study,” she bit out, glaring at James. “My study, not yours.” Then forgetting eggs, ham, and scones, she marched from the room.
In the aftermath James turned his probing gaze back to his mother. “What was that all about?”
Once again Augusta shrugged. But Sarah was not so reticent. “Livvie wishes to handle her own affairs. What’s so awful about that, I’d like to know?”
“And I suppose you will wish to do the same?” James replied.
“Indeed I do. What is the point in being a great heiress if you cannot do whatever you wish?”
Lord Holdsworth laughed. “And that, in a nutshell, is why women should never be allowed to inherit anything. Do whatever you wish!” he sarcastically mimicked, and again laughed.
Augusta frowned at that. Mr. St. Clare looked mildly embarrassed. James wisely caught Sarah by the elbow and gave her a cautionary squeeze. But it was a silent brother and sister who finished their breakfast while the others moved on to less controversial topics of conversation. And James made certain to bring Sarah with him when he left to search out Olivia.
“Is something upsetting Livvie?” he asked his little sister.
Sarah marched beside him. “She’s in love with Lord Hawke. Ooh, I hate that Archibald person! If Mother marries him I shall run away from home.”
“Wait. What? Olivia loves Neville Hawke? But they hardly know one another. Besides, beyond these leases she does not appear to want anything to do with him.”
The look Sarah gave her brother mingled frustration and condescension. “Are all men as dense as you? For if they are, I doubt I shall bother to marry one. And I do not intend to let you manage my properties.”
James could only stare at her. “If I had the time I would give you a good switching, brat. Sadly, however, I fear it is too late to do any good.”
Sarah stopped and, glaring at him, planted her fists on her hips. “Tell me this. As the ‘head of the family,’ can you prevent Mother from marrying that oaf, Lord Holdsworth?”
“He’s not an oaf.”
“You can’t do anything about it, can you? Can you?” She did not wait for an answer but stalked away, leaving a bewildered James staring after her.
He rubbed one palm back and forth against the back of his neck. The day had begun so well. Clear skies. A hearty breakfast. He’d intended to spend the morning fishing, the afternoon riding, and the evening drinking at Kelso’s finest pub. But now he had two angry sisters on his hands, and a mother whose innocent smile invariably covered some manipulation or another.
“God’s bones,” he muttered, starting toward the study. Some holiday this was turning out to be.
Chapter 22
Olivia tried to compose herself as she waited for James. She pulled out her initial draft of the leasehold agreement. She set a chair in place for him near her desk while she, herself, sat at the desk. “Head of the family, indeed,” she muttered as she straightened the desk pad and repositioned the pen holder and inkwell. Men and their insufferable attitude of universal superiority! They were all the same. James. Neville Hawke. Clive Garret, and before him, Mr. Prine and all the others whose offers she’d declined.
Then there was her father.
She blew out a rude breath. From lowly stable hand to Prince Regent, they were an aggravating, troublesome lot and there was no reason at all for women to put up with them.
But there was one reason, an irritating voice in her head whispered to her.
Olivia grimaced and her fingers began to drum an anxious tattoo on the polished mahogany desktop. Yes, there was that one, terrible, wonderful reason for men to exist, one she was hopelessly unable to forget.
But though she could not forget the exquisite pleasure she had found with Neville Hawke, Olivia refused to let it change anything. She could not let it change anything. So she suppressed the shiver of remembered passion that snaked up from her stomach. Except for performing their husbandly duty and siring children, men were, on the whole, a worthless lot. Like rutting stallions, they should all be kept separate from the mares.
That brooding thought still circled in her head when James strode into the room. He was dressed like a country squire in tall tramping boots, snug-fitting breeches, and a comfortably tailored tweed frock coat. Most irritating, he wore the confident air of a man who believed he, not she, was the one in charge. She narrowed her eyes in warning. “Should you ever deign to wed, I assure you, brother, that it will not be to any woman I consider worth knowing.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, but with an amused smirk.
She smirked right back. “Only that I will warn any woman I know well away from you and your medieval ways of reas
oning.”
He lowered his lanky frame into a chair, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands across his stomach. “Have I done something to offend you, Livvie? I cannot believe you are this angry with me solely because I wish to make certain Lord Hawke does not take advantage of you.”
It was only an accident of words, a poor choice on his part. But knowing he referred to the land lease did not prevent Olivia’s face from going scarlet. That he began to laugh and crowed, “So it is true. You do love him,” only increased her humiliation.
She leapt to her feet. “I do not love him! I despise him!”
Another poor choice of words. For James sobered and leaned forward, resting his elbows on her desk. “Love him or hate him, he plainly rouses more emotion in you than any other man has done. So tell me why you hate this man you are leasing your lands to.”
Just that fast did he take all the wind out of her sails. Olivia sat down with a little bump and stared at her brother whom she had always adored and trusted. How desperately she wished to confide in him!
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to do about him,” she admitted in a small, muffled voice.
He sighed. “I assume we are not speaking about these leases.”
Olivia shook her head. In three days Neville would tell James everything. Though she dreaded the thought, she knew it would be better for James to hear the truth from her—or at least a modified version of it.
Once more she focused on the desk pad, aligning it with the edge of the desk. She cleared her throat. “The thing is, he wishes to marry me.”
James nodded. “And?”
“And … I don’t believe he and I suit one another.”
“He seems like a good enough chap to me. A sporting man, but aware of his responsibilities. Even-tempered, too.” James shrugged. “But if you are not inclined to accept his offer, Livvie, so be it. As he is your neighbor, you should try to let him down as easily as you can. But that shouldn’t be a problem; you’ve sent any number of fellows packing in the past. Why do you fret over doing the same to this one?”
When she didn’t answer he reached out and caught her hand in his. “Are you sure you two do not suit? Or is it that you are afraid to wed?”
She pulled her hand away. “I’m not afraid to marry,” she vowed, though she was not entirely certain that was true.
“Then I confess, I do not understand what you mean when you say I don’t know what to do about him.’”
Olivia pressed her lips together. Just tell him and get it over with. She took a deep breath. “Will you promise to listen to what I say and not interrupt until I am done? Nor get angry?’
His brows lowered in concern. “What is this all about?”
“Promise me, James.”
“I’ll promise not to interrupt. As for my anger, I can promise nothing about that until I’ve heard whatever it is you’re apparently keeping from me.”
After a moment Olivia sighed and said, “Very well.” She folded her hands together on the desktop. “Lord Hawke wishes to marry me, I believe, for all the usual reasons. Our lands run together and there is a similarity in rank and fortune that makes a match between us quite sensible.”
“Not to mention age and appearance and interests in common.”
“You promised not to interrupt.”
“Sorry.”
Olivia tried to compose her flustered thoughts. “You are right in all you say. And to complicate matters, there is some … some attraction between us,” she confessed, knowing her face had again gone red.
James laughed. “I may be your brother, Olivia, but I am not blind. No right-thinking man in Christendom would not be attracted to you.” He peered intently at her. “Are you saying you find him attractive?”
After a moment she gave one curt nod. “I do. But,” she hastened to add, “that does not mean I wish to marry him.”
James stared at her with a baffled expression on his face. “Fine. Though it makes no sense, I suppose I can accept that. But that still does not explain what has you so bedeviled.”
Olivia let out a little groan. She was handling this badly. “All right, then. Here is the problem. He has kissed me.”
James grinned. “Has he?”
“More than once.”
“Was it more than a chaste peck on the cheek?”
She pressed her lips together. “Yes.”
His grin faded a little. “How much more?”
She met his frank stare as directly as she could. “I believe it is referred to as the French manner of—”
“More than once?” His grin fled. “He kissed you so … so … Like that more than once?”
“Yes. But it meant nothing, so you needn’t glower at me. I knew you would get angry.”
For a moment he was silent. When he spoke, the words seemed reluctant. “Did he do anything more?” His face began to redden. “You know. Did he touch you … any place he shouldn’t?”
Olivia wanted to die. She wanted to lie and say that he’d done nothing beyond kiss her. That she’d done nothing beyond kiss him back. But she knew Neville meant to reveal all to James. So she needed to be honest.
“Yes,” she admitted. “And now it is his intention to use our indiscretion as a way to force me to marry him.”
James lurched to his feet and leaned on rigid arms over the desk. “Your indiscretion? Could you be more specific?” Then, “No!” He raised both hands and backed away. “No. I don’t want to know the details!”
Olivia stood as well. “Will you please calm down, James? We’ve done nothing to warrant—”
“Nothing!” His eyes bulged from his face. “Nothing, you say!” He began to pace, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Tell me this.” He stopped and again leaned over the desk so that they were eye to eye. “Did he force you or were you a willing party to those—to that—” He broke off, breathing hard, but his gaze never wavered from hers. “Well?”
In the face of his brotherly outrage it took all of her courage to tell the truth. “He … He did not force me. I admit it—”
“Sit down!”
She obeyed, then immediately regretted it. “You needn’t shout at me.”
He looked ready to shout again. But somehow he restrained himself, and after a moment he too sat. Long seconds elapsed as he took several deep breaths.
“I want to understand, Olivia. But I do not. How can you be willing to share such intimacies with the man—whatever they were—and to do so more than once, and not be willing to marry him?”
“I … I did kiss him more than once. But … but the other … That was only once. Besides,” she continued, rallying. “I think you do understand. Tell me, have you ever kissed a woman in the French manner?”
The look of consternation on his face was almost comical. “Well—What does that have to do with any of this?”
“You have. I know it and I’m certain you’ve done far more than merely that. Yet you’re not wed to any of those women.”
He folded his arms stiffly across his chest. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Perhaps not to you. But what about to those women?”
His jaw began to twitch. “You cannot compare those women to you. The situations are not the same.”
“None of them? Are you saying that not one of those women was an innocent girl of a good family?” When he did not answer but only glared at her, she leaned forward. “I have admitted to an attraction to Neville Hawke. But it goes no further than that. He … He is too like my father. Too wild. Too volatile. When I marry it will be to a man like Humphrey. Sweet and steady. So you see, I shall not be forced into marrying Lord Hawke. Not by him and not by you either.”
She stared at him and debated whether to tell him about Neville’s child, born to that village woman. But her remark about her own father and their stepfather, Humphrey, seemed to have struck home, for the deep furrows in James’s brow eased somewhat. His mouth, however, turned down in disapproval. “I suppose I can understan
d that. But I don’t like it. And under the circumstances I don’t think you should sign these leases. He will not be invited here again, and certainly you will not linger at Byrde Manor beyond the duration of our shooting party.”
“But I need those leases. Byrde Manor has been neglected long enough. The money he will pay for use of my fields will finance the repairs that have already been delayed too long.”
“I can advance you the funds you need.”
“No. I don’t want your money, not when I can raise the funds with this lease.” She shook the papers at him. “This will guarantee a recurring income. That’s far better than going into debt, even if it is to you.”
He pursed his lips. “All right, then. We can sign the leases. But you cannot stay on here alone, Olivia. Yes, Mother told me of your plans. Then, I thought it merely foolish. Now I see it as dangerous in the extreme.”
He was probably right. Still, Olivia did not want to admit it. In the two weeks she’d been back she’d fallen completely in love with her old home, and she did not want to leave. “Once he knows he cannot bully me into marriage, things will settle down. You’ll see. I’m glad you’re being so reasonable,” she added.
He fixed her with a scowl. “Reasonable? If I had my way you’d be wed to him tomorrow. But as you say, I cannot force you. I cannot make you mouth the words ‘I do,’ more’s the pity. Nevertheless, I shall be watching you, Olivia. You’re to stay strictly away from that man. And whether you like it or not, you will return to town with us.” He stood, towering over her. “As for meeting Hawke at the solicitor’s office, I will accompany you there.”
So saying, he left, and in the silent aftermath of their conversation, Olivia let out a relieved sigh. She’d defused Neville’s threat—at least with her brother. She just hoped James did not explode when the two men met face to face today. As for her mother, well, she would just have to see how things proceeded.
In the shadows of the upper stairway, Augusta watched her eldest daughter leave the study, just as she’d watched James depart. Her son had stalked away, angry and frustrated. Olivia, however, looked smug, as if she’d pulled the wool over her brother’s eyes. But not for long, Augusta vowed. Not for long.
The Matchmaker Page 26
