by Diane Farr
Olivia was astonished to see that tears were actually welling in her cousin’s eyes. With an exclamation of remorse, she rose and went to embrace her loyal companion. “Oh, Bessie, I am sorry,” she said ruefully. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you. I just wish you trusted my judgment a little more. I am not completely hen-witted, you know, and I am no longer a green girl.”
“Yes, you are,” said Bessie fiercely. She gave a defiant sniff and pulled away from Olivia, hunting in her pocket for a handkerchief. “You are entirely too trusting. You believe everyone is good at heart and all’s right with the world. But not everyone is good at heart, Olivia, and there is much that is wrong with the world.” She dabbed at her eyes and sniffed again.
“I know it,” said Olivia quietly. “Believe me, Bessie, I have no illusions about Lord Rival. Do you remember Captain Hatfield, the summer I turned eighteen?”
“Who could forget?” exclaimed Bessie. “I thought you would never recover.”
“Yes, but I did,” said Olivia firmly. “It was the hardest lesson I have ever learned, but I learned it well. Lord Rival is just such another: all charm and no principles! I won’t give my heart to a fortune hunter again. Once is enough for that mistake.”
“A fortune hunter.” Bessie’s eyes went round with horror. “Well! I’ve heard any number of scandalous tales about the man, but I never heard that.”
Olivia instantly regretted her remark. “I may be mistaken on that point,” she said lightly, crossing to the wardrobe to survey her gowns. “But those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, you know! I have formed a habit of assuming that any man who shows an interest in me is dazzled by my purse.” She pulled out a modest morning dress of jaconet muslin and inspected it, frowning. “Is this the best I have? Why, in heaven’s name, don’t I own anything pretty? I can’t bear it. I’m going to London this very afternoon. Do you care to come with me?”
“You should take Edith. She’s pining for an outing.”
“Very well. She’ll have to be veiled, of course, for one never knows—it would be dreadful if she were recognized on Bond Street, and in my company! We’d have Ralph on us within the week.” She sighed, and held up the muslin again. “In the meantime, I shall have to make do with this.” She tossed Bessie a mischievous smile. “Lord Rival may arrive at any moment.”
She was hiding a pleasant bubble of anticipation when she walked placidly down the stairs and into her parlor. It wouldn’t do to show it, of course, but really, Lord Rival’s presence in her house would be quite exciting. Something about the man made her feel so . . . alive. She would meet with Culpepper first, but Rival would soon join them to discuss the terms of Mr. Beebe’s bequest. It would be difficult to listen to dear old Culpepper while expecting Lord Rival to walk in, she thought, smiling a little.
As she entered the parlor, however, she checked on the threshold. Culpepper was nowhere to be seen, but to her consternation, Lord Rival was already present. He rose and bowed, an appreciative gleam in his eyes as his gaze traveled lazily over her.
Olivia was acutely aware that they were alone together. Merciful heavens, the man was handsome! He seemed to fill the tiny room, towering over her in a way that made her feel . . . peculiar.
“Where is Mr. Culpepper?” she asked faintly.
He grinned. “Every time we see each other, one or the other of us is expecting someone else. I haven’t seen Mr. Culpepper. Was I not announced?”
“No.” She felt herself blushing. “I came down because I thought Culpepper was waiting for me; he is almost always early for our appointments. Oh, I beg your pardon! How do you do? May I send for some . . . tea, perhaps?” She took one step over the threshold, but halted again, as nervous as if the room contained a wasp.
“I am not usually a tea drinker, but I think I would be glad of it this morning.” His expression darkened. “I am by no means reconciled to this infamous annuity. By the end of the morning I may be ready to hand both my bequests over to the Fairfax School.”
She had to think for a moment before she understood him. “Surely you don’t wish to give us your cat, do you? My dear sir, it would be cruel! Tom is accustomed to a bachelor household.”
“That animal’s convenience has already been too much considered, in my estimation,” he said tartly. “Friend Beebe has much to answer for! I hope, wherever he is, he is paying dearly for the tribulations he has inflicted on me. I barely slept a wink last night.”
“Oh, dear.” She ventured a few more steps into the room and tugged on the bellrope. “Did poor Tom keep you awake?”
“Poor Tom? Poor George, you should say! The infernal creature refused to leave my side. First I had to carry the brute through the streets of Mayfair in a covered basket, a journey that he enlivened by setting up such a din as I hope never to hear again this side of hell. We entertained half of London en route from Beebe’s home to my own. Had I been able to sell tickets, I might have made my fortune then and there. Thank God the majority of my acquaintance is out of town! I would have never lived it down, had any of them witnessed the spectacle.”
She looked reproachfully at him. “What was uncomfortable for you, my lord, must have been painful indeed for the cat. Only think how frightening, to be removed from one’s home and shut in a basket! I sincerely pity him.”
“Tom’s sufferings were as nothing, compared to my own,” Lord Rival informed her with asperity. “The instant I let him out of the basket, he ceased howling and attached himself to my person—with every indication of satisfaction, I might add. Made himself completely at home in the twinkling of a bedpost. You’d never know he had lived anywhere else.”
“But this is wonderful! He must have an affectionate disposition.”
Lord Rival looked disgusted. “Oppressively affectionate! I attempted to eject him from my bedchamber last night, and he pounded his furry feet against the door until I opened it. I put him out the window, and he wept uncontrollably. Since I value my neighbors’ goodwill, I was forced to allow him back in. He lay on the foot of my bed until morning—and deuced crowded I found it! A nasty, sneaking cat! Every time I fell asleep, he purred at the top of his lungs and pummeled me with his paws.”
“Do you dislike cats?” asked Olivia, dismayed.
“Excessively! They are sly, promiscuous creatures with not a loyal bone in their bodies. No morals whatsoever. You should see the way this Tom toad-eats me! Utterly shameless. He falls at my feet and looks at me with these great, cow eyes—flirting with me! Ha! He knows I hold the creampot.”
Olivia lifted an eyebrow. “He sounds an excellent choice of pet for you,” she said demurely. “You have so much in common.”
The tea arrived at this propitious moment, so Olivia escaped what would doubtless have been a wrathful reply to this sally. Culpepper hurried into the room directly behind the tea tray, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. They all drank tea and Culpepper delivered his report on the pertinent provisions of Mr. Beebe’s will.
Neither Olivia nor Lord Rival were able to finish their tea. Both cups were soon set down, forgotten, as they listened in growing vexation to what their supposed friend had inflicted upon them. Culpepper, in his dry, fussy way, outlined the basic terms of the bequest and regretfully informed them that, in his educated opinion, the paragraphs had been very well drawn and there was no easily identifiable escape from their requirements. Lord Rival must perform some useful function, either on the premises of the Fairfax School or elsewhere on the school’s behalf, and his actions must directly benefit the school. So long as he did so, the annuity was his, paid quarterly. But it was Lady Olivia’s responsibility to decree what task or function he must perform, to oversee the performance, and to pass judgment upon whether or not he had performed satisfactorily. Worse, this responsibility was ongoing, because the funds would not be released on any quarter day wherein she did not deem he had fulfilled his part of the bargain. Absent her express approval, the funds would revert to the school.
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br /> By the end of his report, Olivia was tapping her foot in irritation and Lord Rival looked black as a thundercloud. She had completely forgotten her earlier nervousness and her fear that it would be difficult to concentrate on Culpepper’s words with Lord Rival in the room. It was impossible not to concentrate on a problem of this magnitude.
“But this is intolerable!” Olivia exclaimed at last. “Am I to supervise Lord Rival? I haven’t time for such nonsense!”
“I am sorry, my lady, but those are the terms.”
A muscle was jumping in Lord Rival’s jaw. “She hasn’t the time, and I haven’t the temperament. Tell me, would I be an employee of the Fairfax School?” His voice was filled with repugnance.
“Well, no, not an employee,” said Culpepper, placing his fingertips together very precisely. “You would not even be an employee of Lady Olivia. Not in a legal sense. Although it appears the relationship would be quite similar.”
Lord Rival spoke through his teeth. “I would dislike that. Extremely.”
“So would I!” said Olivia swiftly. “But there must be a solution. There must be.” She rose and took a hasty turn about the room, then halted, snapping her fingers. “I have it. We shall simply draw up an agreement—a statement for me to sign, perhaps—guaranteeing Lord Rival his annuity. I shall give my approval for the disbursements in advance, and in perpetuity.”
Culpepper looked very severe. “No. You cannot. Such an arrangement would violate the clear intent of the will.”
“Very well, let’s try another.” Her chin jutted with determination. “May I delegate my authority to some proxy?”
“Perhaps,” said Culpepper cautiously. “Under certain circumstances.”
“Excellent,” she said triumphantly. “I shall delegate the authority to Lord Rival. Let him decide whether or not he has earned his ridiculous annuity!”
Culpepper clucked his tongue with disapproval. “No, no, no! Utterly unacceptable. My dear Lady Olivia, I beg you to take this matter a trifle more seriously. These wild ideas of yours are serving no useful purpose. Pray be seated, and let us contrive a little.”
She flung herself crossly back into her chair. “I say we let the annuity stand untouched. If I cannot decree that he has earned it in perpetuity, let me decree that he has never earned it, and never can. Let the funds revert back to the school. No, pray, hear me out! In their place, we could draw up an agreement here, this morning, for the school to simply pay Lord Rival eight hundred pounds per annum on the same terms as if he were earning it.”
Lord Rival looked incredulous. “What, pay me for nothing? Why would you do such a harebrained thing?”
Olivia rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Well, for heaven’s sake, it’s only eight hundred pounds! Let me take it out of my own purse, Culpepper. The time I would spend in supervising all this folderol is worth more to me than that.”
Culpepper looked pained. A rather ugly expression descended upon Lord Rival’s face. “I congratulate you, my lady,” he drawled. “Eight hundred pounds is not mere pocket change to most mortals.”
She flushed, realizing she had been far too frank. It had almost sounded as if she were bragging about her wealth. “I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. “I did not mean to say anything so—vulgar.”
Lord Rival’s eyes gleamed. “Never mind. The provocation was extreme. I’m ready to say something vulgar myself.”
Culpepper folded his lips primly. “Pray let us return to the subject at hand,” he said austerely. “Before we begin, I believe it would be useful to determine what sort of occupation, or function, might best suit his lordship.” He picked up a quill and looked expectantly at Lord Rival.
Lord Rival’s brows shot up. “Are you asking me?” he inquired politely. “I thought my occupation was to be left entirely to Lady Olivia’s discretion.”
Olivia frowned. “Don’t be absurd. I barely know you. How am I to guess where your talents lie?”
His teeth flashed in a wolfish smile. “All the world knows where my talents lie.”
Culpepper looked puzzled, but hopeful. “Then you do excel at something, my lord?”
“Oh, yes.”
“What is it?”
Lord Rival’s eyes flicked toward Olivia. She gave a tiny gasp and closed her eyes, praying that he would not say—
“Piquet.”
Olivia opened her eyes and breathed a little easier. Still, it was an outrageous answer. Culpepper looked completely taken aback.
“Did you say piquet, my lord?”
“I did.”
“Well. Well, well, well. Piquet.” Culpepper scratched his ear distractedly. “Really, my lord, I don’t think the young ladies need to be taught piquet. Have you any other skills?”
“Well, I am generally held to be an excellent shot. And I have a certain reputation in the boxing ring.”
Olivia had to bite her lip to keep her countenance. Culpepper looked visibly dismayed. “Pistols, my lord? And fisticuffs?”
“Perhaps he could patrol the grounds at night,” she suggested, her voice quivering.
Lord Rival shot her an amused glance. “Most evenings, I am otherwise engaged,” he said apologetically.
She choked. “Playing piquet.”
“Exactly.”
“Come now, come now,” said Culpepper testily. “There must something else you can do.”
Lord Rival assumed a modest demeanor. “There are those who admire my dancing,” he offered.
Culpepper brightened. “Ah. Dancing.” The quill sputtered across the page.
Olivia shook her head. “Worthless. These are orphans, not debutantes.”
Lord Rival’s face fell ludicrously. “May I not teach the girls to dance?” he asked plaintively. “I’m told my waltzing is divine.”
Olivia lifted one eyebrow at him. “Really? I’ve heard it’s not as good as your piquet.”
“Yes, but my piquet game is truly extraordinary,” he told her earnestly. Olivia had to stifle a laugh behind her hand.
Culpepper tapped the edge of the quill against his chin. “Hm. I suppose there would be very little dancing required of these girls. Most of them will be apprenticed in some trade or other. They will become milliners and pastry cooks and things of that nature.”
Lord Rival looked regretful. “Alas, I am a poor hand at trimming hats. Or rolling dough, for that matter.”
“I daresay you haven’t practiced sufficiently,” Olivia suggested brightly. “Who knows, my lord? Untapped genius may lie beneath your useless exterior.”
He looked perfectly grave, but she saw that his eyes were laughing. “Nevertheless, I think it would save time if we focused on my tapped genius.”
“What’s the point of that? You seem to have developed a set of skills that are of no earthly use to anyone.”
One of his brows shot up. One corner of his mouth twisted slyly down. For an instant, he looked pointedly at her mouth. By the time his gaze flicked back to meet hers, she could feel a blush creeping up her neck.
“Would you say that all my skills are useless?” he asked blandly. “How disappointing.”
Olivia’s pertness deserted her. She dropped her eyes in confusion and stammered, “Certainly the—the skills you have enumerated this morning are somewhat—somewhat frivolous, my lord.”
“I see. Well, I haven’t listed all my skills.” He crossed one leg negligently over the other. “I wonder what gifts I possess that a set of young ladies might find valuable,” he mused, evidently pondering the question.
Olivia gasped. Her frightened eyes darted to Culpepper, but the solicitor looked merely attentive. She tried very hard to catch Lord Rival’s eye, but he was now gazing soulfully at the ceiling.
“I’ve never been especially good with children,” he began, “but once a girl reaches a certain age—”
“My lord!” she interrupted desperately.
He glanced back at her, cocking his head inquiringly and waiting with apparent politeness for her to finish
her sentence. She had only spoken in an attempt to stop him from saying something outrageous, however, and couldn’t think of another word to follow her outburst.
Fortunately Culpepper intervened, saying genially, “I, myself, never know what to say to a very young child. Ahem! I am sure Lady Olivia does not mean to denigrate your talents, my lord. But I must agree with her that the pursuits of a man of fashion are neither suitable, nor practical, for young females of the lower social orders.”
“Most of them are unsuitable for females of any order, young or otherwise,” Olivia agreed, recovering her tongue. “After listening to his catalogue of skills, I am ready to pay Lord Rival to stay away from the Fairfax School.”
“Now, now,” said Culpepper indulgently. “We have already agreed that such a course is not possible.” He began leafing through his pages of notes. “Although, I must say—with infinite regret—that it appears educating orphaned females is not really your milieu, my lord.”
Under cover of Culpepper’s paper shuffling, Olivia relieved some of her feelings by directing a glare at Lord Rival. He leaned in to her, his eyes alight with laughter.
“He’s mistaken, you know,” he told her, sotto voce. “I’ve educated many an orphaned female.” His teeth flashed in another of his impudent grins. “Your own parents are deceased, are they not? I would be delighted to offer you my tutelage. Who knows? You could become my star pupil.”
“Shameless!” she choked. “Will you please behave? There is nothing you can teach me—that is, there is nothing more I wish to learn! I mean—”
“Careful, Ivy,” he murmured provocatively. “Don’t throw away the chance of a lifetime. Your education seems, to me, to be lacking in certain areas. And here you have one of England’s foremost authorities, more than willing to share his knowledge with you.”
She shot Lord Rival a darkling glance, blushing hotly, and saw that his shoulders were shaking with laughter.
Culpepper looked up. “Did you say something, my lord?”
Lord Rival smiled. “Lady Olivia and I have merely reopened our discussion of—untapped genius. Especially as it relates to female education.”
