by Diane Farr
George coughed. “My dear Olivia, I would marry at once if I were you, if only to end the mystery. Surely your husband will be good enough to break this conspiracy of silence and tell you something about your inheritance.”
Olivia’s delicate nostrils flared with scorn. “Since I will no longer own it, I will no longer care.” She pounded a fist fiercely into her palm, eyes blazing. “I will never marry. Never.”
George quelled his impulse to make another irreverent remark or flip suggestion. It seemed the wrong moment. Instead, he kept his expression sympathetic and turned the subject back to her father’s will. “Did you not say that Culpepper drafted all this?”
“Yes. But I am sure it was my father’s idea. He knew me well. Nothing could be better designed to drive Olivia Fairfax raving mad.” Her mouth twisted in a bleak smile. “I daresay I am more like him than I care to think! I was so enraged by it all that I left home at once and have never returned. Ralph was glad to see me go, so I removed to Chelsea with my cousin—and here I am to this day. The instant I received my first payment under my father’s will and knew what my income would be, I founded the Helen Fairfax School with my mother’s money. All of her money.”
“Ah.” He looked at her with interest. Her eyes were flashing silver fire, and her cheeks were pink with emotion. She looked magnificent. “So you live on the income from your father’s money, and manage your mother’s to your willful little heart’s content. And this is the secret of your obsession with the school.”
A short, unwilling laugh escaped her. “Yes. I’m afraid that is precisely it. I would like to tell you that my interest in its smooth and seamless operation is completely altruistic, but, I am ashamed to say, I take a perverse delight in how extremely well I run it! My motives are not entirely unselfish.”
He laughed softly. “You’re only human, Olivia. And whatever your secret reasons may be, you do run it well—and that is the most important thing. But why do you allow Culpepper to keep the books?”
“Frankly, I am too busy to do it, and he offered, and—well, I did not wish to hurt his feelings. And I do trust him. No, pray do not look so! We must give him his due. He always acts with sincere regard for my best interests.”
“Hmm. I suppose he reserves the right to determine what your best interests are.”
“He certainly tries, at any rate,” she admitted. “That is why I would be very glad indeed for your help in . . . ousting him.”
George leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “Be careful, Olivia! I’m only human, too. I might take a stab at determining what your best interests are—and you might like my ideas no better than you like his.”
Her eyes gleamed in response. “Oh, I feel almost certain that I would like your ideas, my lord.”
The tension in the room had undergone a miraculous transformation. Amusement lit Olivia’s eyes, where anger had burned just a few moments ago.
A slow smile crept across his face. “If you call me ‘my lord’ one more time,” he said provocatively, “I shall demonstrate one or two of my ideas right here and now.”
She lifted an eyebrow with mock disdain. “Is that a threat, my lord?” He held up a warning finger and she corrected herself, half-laughing. “George!” she said. “Well? Is it?”
“No.” He couldn’t resist the obvious retort. “It’s a promise.”
9
Silver spangles. Olivia had never worn anything so daring. The very sparkle that had enchanted her in the shop, and caused her to exclaim at the fabric’s beauty, made her feel decidedly nervous when she saw it draped round her form. The material clung. It definitely clung. And the tiny spangles flashed and glittered everywhere it clung, emphasizing her every curve.
She raised a fold of the gauzy stuff to her face and turned to the other women in the room. “Is it indecent?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes,” said Bessie.
“Not at all!” said Edith simultaneously.
The dressmaker was crawling about on the floor with her mouth full of pins and could not reply until she had extricated them. “It’s the high kick of fashion, my lady,” she said at last, her tone congratulatory. “And a pleasure it is to see you taking an interest in such things! If I do say it as shouldn’t.”
“Well, I’ve spent an outrageous sum on it,” said Olivia gloomily. “I shall have to wear it, if only to justify the purchase.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Edith staunchly. She was reclining on a sofa, but propped herself up on one elbow to see the effect of the gown being fitted on her sister-in-law. “And what’s more, it suits you. Your carriage is so elegant, and you are so wonderfully tall! I wouldn’t dare to wear such a gown, myself—”
“It draws the eye,” said Bessie critically. “The spangles catch the light, and the gauze hugs your shape. You might as well wear nothing at all! I don’t know what’s come over you, Ivy. You’ll have every man in the place ogling you.”
“Oh, dear,” said Olivia faintly. “That will never do.”
Her dismay was automatic, but it was accompanied by a strange flutter of excitement. The shameful truth was, whatever dismay she felt stemmed largely from a fear that she would look foolish—not that she would overstep the bounds of modesty. In fact, if the effect of the new gown was sufficiently stunning, for once in her life she was ready to throw modesty out the window.
Olivia studied the edge of her reflection, which was all she could make out in the pier glass; if she moved closer she would discommode the woman pinning up her hem. She tried to picture what she would look like in a formfitting ballgown of spangled gauze, but her imagination failed. She had never worn such a thing in her life. Would she look attractive? Or merely grotesque?
“Where are you going in it?” asked Edith. Her voice sounded small and wistful.
Olivia met Edith’s eyes in the looking glass and shot her a sympathetic smile. “Vauxhall Gardens. I wish you could go, my dear. It’s hard on you, I know, to be a prisoner here.”
Edith gave an unconvincing laugh. “Oh, well. I’ve no desire to be seen with a swollen face and a limp. Being confined to the house is tedious, but I still prefer it to—” She caught Olivia’s warning look and stopped abruptly, seeming to realize that it might be dangerous to prattle about her marital woes in the presence of the dressmaker. Instead she asked, “Did you say Vauxhall? I thought it was closed for the season.”
“It is.” In response to a vigorous gesture by the little dressmaker, Olivia turned to her right. “It has been closed to the public for several weeks now, but this is a special occasion. It’s been known for some months that Russian royalty would visit London in September; the Regent requested that Vauxhall Gardens be kept in readiness, and reopened for this one evening.” She rolled her eyes comically. “Nothing less than a Russian grand duchess could get me to Vauxhall.”
Edith looked surprised. “Do you dislike it? Oh, how can you? I’ve only been there once, but I thought it was heavenly.”
Olivia smiled. “No, I mean that I’ve never seen it. It’s difficult to believe, I know! Pray recall what a sheltered life I have led. I never had a London Season, either—at least, not a whole one. Must I turn again, Jenny, or are we done?”
“That’ll do, my lady.” The dressmaker struggled to her feet and briskly removed the last of the pins from her mouth, beaming at Olivia. “It’s lovely stuff, ma’am. Be a pleasure to work with it.”
“I am glad. Pray help me lift this over my head.” As the dressmaker assisted her, warning her to mind the pins, Olivia peered through her arms and caught a glimpse of Bessie’s frown. “You still do not like it, Bessie?”
“No,” said Bessie bluntly. “It’s very pretty, I’ll grant you. And you’ll look lovely in it. It’s the party I object to, and the company you’ll wear it in. Well! I’ve said enough on the subject. It’s clear I’ll not change your mind.”
Edith’s drooping expression perked up as she glanced curiously from Bessie’s disapproving frown to the stubborn tilt of
Olivia’s chin. The dressmaker departed, the folds of shimmering gauze held reverently in her arms, and Olivia slipped into her wrapper. She tied the belt with a swift, efficient tug and turned to face her accuser. “I’ll give you one last chance to change my mind, Bessie,” she said. “I have a few niggling doubts of my own, so it’s only fair to listen to yours.”
Bessie puffed her cheeks in a sigh. “I seem to do nothing but scold and worrit, lately,” she admitted grumpily. “I know your patience is wearing thin. And I can’t say that I blame you.”
“But—?” prodded Olivia.
Bessie’s words poured out in a rush. “But it’s my solemn duty to warn you, Ivy, and I couldn’t live with myself if I saw danger coming to you and said nothing. There, then! I wish you wouldn’t go. Not with That Man. And if you insist on going, I wish you would take me along to bear you company, for what other purpose have I in this household?”
“My dear Bessie! You are not a hireling. This is your home, and you are talking nonsense! When I first set up on my own, I needed a chaperon and companion—I was barely out of the schoolroom, for heaven’s sake! But that was years ago. Do not think me ungrateful, but—”
“Now, don’t prate to me of your advanced years,” Bessie scolded. “You’re a greener girl at six-and-twenty than Edith is at seventeen.”
“So are you,” said Edith unexpectedly. The combatants’ heads whipped round in surprise to see the invalid rise, wincing, to a sitting position. “I may be only seventeen, but I’m a married lady,” she announced. “And besides, I shall be eighteen in October.”
Since this speech seemed to leave Bessie and Olivia bereft of speech, Edith looked with satisfaction from one to the other. “I suppose if Bessie is objecting, you must be going to Vauxhall with Lord Rival,” she said wisely.
“Yes, but not alone,” Olivia said quickly. “Had he asked me to do anything so improper, I would have declined the invitation.” He had, in fact, asked her to do just that—but she decided to keep that tidbit of information to herself. After all, she had declined the invitation, she reminded herself virtuously. Until he modified it slightly. “Lord Rival’s party will include six persons, so I will not be made conspicuous.”
Bessie snorted. “In that gown, you’ll not blend in with the wallpaper.”
Edith stifled a giggle with one hand. “If it’s one of the Regent’s parties, there will be simply hordes of women in revealing gowns—ladies of birth, I need hardly say! If you’re afraid she’ll start a scandal, I can promise you she won’t.”
“Hmpf! And how many of the Regent’s parties have you attended? None, I’ll warrant. I hear he surrounds himself with toadeaters and courtcards—a wild, degenerate set! Young girls have no place among that lot.”
“I hope you don’t mean to imply that I am a young girl!” exclaimed Olivia. “What may have been unacceptable for Edith in her first Season is a different proposition for a woman of six-and-twenty.”
“Take care you don’t receive a different proposition!” said Bessie tartly, arms akimbo. “You never can tell, with Prinny’s set. A parcel of drunken roues, well past their first youth! Why, it makes my hair stand on end just to picture you loose in that crowd. A lamb among wolves!”
“I shall not be unprotected,” said Olivia with dignity. “Whatever you may think of Lord Rival—”
“What I think of Lord Rival won’t bear repeating!”
“—he will not allow any harm to come to me. Besides, it’s not going to be the Regent’s set, as you call it. This will be a huge gathering. I doubt if I shall so much as set eyes on the Regent, or the grand duchess, for that matter. I will be part of a private evening with a small party. I daresay nothing could be more tame.”
“It sounds perfectly unexceptionable,” pronounced Edith. “It’s the sort of thing anyone might attend.”
Bessie pounced on this. “My point exactly! We don’t know who will be there. Ivy dear, I don’t like to see you go off among a crowd of persons wholly unknown to us. Why, we are not even acquainted with the members of Rival’s party, let alone—”
“It’s not as bad as that,” Olivia insisted. “One of his party is actually a connection of ours, I believe. A third cousin of my mother’s. You must have heard of the Cheynes; a very respectable Lancashire family.”
Edith giggled. “That sounds dull enough! What can your objection be, Bessie? I was allowed to go to Almack’s with a party of persons I barely knew, and I was only sixteen at the time.”
Olivia bit back a laugh. Bessie looked as if she would like very much to say something. Olivia could easily guess what it was, and admired Bessie’s fortitude in keeping her lips pressed tightly together. Dear Bessie! She did not want to sully Edith’s innocent ears with a description of all the ways Olivia’s projected party would differ from a chaste evening at Almack’s. Olivia felt a certain sympathy for the position her cousin was in; it must be trying—even disturbing—to know someone as well as Bessie knew Olivia, and watch her suddenly change. She was all too aware of how out of character her behavior was of late.
“It’s only for one night, Bessie,” said Olivia coaxingly. “I promise I will not make a habit of it. Pray do not be angry with me! Lord Rival is an associate of ours now, you know. He’s been so gracious about taking over the school’s books—a task that galls him, I would think—that the least I could do was accept his invitation.”
Bessie’s thoughts were immediately diverted into another channel. “If he doesn’t care to do the bookkeeping, why, in heaven’s name, have you set him on to do it?” she exclaimed, her brow clearing. “I had to listen to Culpepper’s complaints for nearly an hour yesterday! I tried my best to calm him down, but he’s so deeply offended that I think he barely heard me.”
With a sigh, Olivia dropped into a nearby chair. “Culpepper is a sanctimonious, interfering old busybody, and it’s high time he learned his place,” she said crossly. “I had to remind him that I am mistress of the Fairfax School, and that he works for me. The end of it was that I dismissed him.”
Bessie cried out in horror, and Edith’s eyes grew round with awe. Olivia relented, laughing a little. “You needn’t faint, Bessie! He is still our solicitor. I only relieved him of his duties at the school.”
“Mercy on us!” Bessie sank onto the end of the sofa unoccupied by Edith, pressing one hand to her heart. “What a scare you gave me! I knew you couldn’t do anything so cruel. Dismiss poor old Culpepper! Why, he’s served our family for as long as I can remember. He can be irritating, at times, but—”
“Very! Did you know that he believes himself to be indispensable to the school? That females are too scatterwitted to keep records and monitor expenditures? His only comfort was that he was being replaced by a man! I wanted to box his ears.”
Bessie immediately ruffled up in sympathy with Olivia. “The nerve of him! Well! In that case, I hope you gave him a piece of your mind.”
“I did. Not that it had any appreciable effect.”
Edith’s forehead creased in puzzlement. “But—if Culpepper has been sacked, who is teaching Lord Rival?”
“I am,” replied Olivia—with far more aplomb than she secretly felt. The task had proved amazingly taxing, for reasons she could not quite put her finger on. She fancied she heard a shocked silence, and hurried into speech to cover it. “As I say, he’s been very good about it. Such mundane work cannot be his cup of tea.”
Bessie looked at her very hard. “Are you telling us that you—Olivia Fairfax—are turning the worst rake in London into a bookkeeper?”
Olivia smiled weakly. “It does sound improbable, I suppose,” she admitted.
Edith’s eyes were round as saucers. “Gracious! Is Lord Rival a rake?” she squeaked, bouncing upright. “How exciting! I mean—that is—” she broke off, stammering, as Olivia choked back laughter and Bessie bent a minatory scowl on her. “Well, I’ve never met a rake,” she said, with dignity. “Not a real one. My brother Fred fancied himself a dandy—until Papa bur
ned all his waistcoats and threw his quizzing glass in the river. But that’s not the same thing at all. Does Lord Rival have a quizzing glass?”
“I don’t know,” said Olivia, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “Perhaps I shall find out at Vauxhall.”
Edith looked envious. “I wondered why Bessie was so anxious to prevent your going off to Vauxhall with him! My mother surely would have forbidden me to do such a thing. A girl has to be very careful of her reputation, you know. But you are so old, I daresay it doesn’t matter,” she added naively.
“Not a whit,” Olivia agreed. “A woman as stricken in years as I am may go off with anyone she chooses, and no one can say her nay.”
Edith blushed. “I did not mean to call you old,” she said apologetically. “I merely meant that you are past the age of trying to catch a husband.”
Olivia smiled. “My dear Edith, I knew exactly what you meant. And I agree with you. Since my object is to stay single, it doesn’t matter what people say of me. There’s no law against a woman befriending a man, is there?” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her suddenly hammering heart. “I am an adult, after all. I can do whatever I like.”
She wondered, with some trepidation, to what extent this declaration of independence was true. Could she really do as she chose? Was it possible to break some of the sillier rules decorum imposed upon her? It was most unlike her to snap her fingers at the opinions of others, but lately she could feel her mutinous, reckless streak, a side of her nature she normally tried to keep hidden, festering beneath the surface of her well-ordered life—like a splinter that one cannot dig out however much one tries. She felt that it must either break out soon, or send her into a fever.
