by Mandy Goff
“Yes.” The word had the slow pace of question. “I’m not trying to be a bother, but are you certain you are feeling well?”
“I’m certain.”
Anna chewed on her bottom lip. “I saw that man storming away. Had he said something to upset you?”
Quite the opposite. “Oh, no. He simply had somewhere to be.” Somewhere far, far away from her, she figured.
“Oh. Well, that’s all right then,” Anna said.
Olivia wondered what Anna planned on doing if Olivia had insisted Lord Huntsford was the cause of her troubles. Hunt him down? Give him a shy, but stern, lecture?
Olivia was obviously not thinking soundly.
She cleared her throat and looked at Anna, who was still peering at her curiously. “You won’t mention what you saw, will you? To your cousin…” She hated to ask, but if Finley caught word…well, that didn’t bear considering.
“I don’t talk to Julian unless I must,” Anna confided.
“I appreciate your silence.” Olivia reached out and gripped her hand in gratitude.
Anna smiled, and Olivia thought how pretty the girl looked when she was happy. “I must return to Mama, before she comes looking for me,” she said with a hint of an apology in her words. “But I hope to see you again soon.”
Olivia bid her goodbye. And on legs that were still shaky from her confrontation with Lord Huntsford, Olivia returned to the box. Marcus noticed his friend’s absence and looked at her with raised brows.
She shrugged as though to say his disappearance was a mystery to her as well. It was easier. She didn’t want to lie to her brother, so it was best not to speak at all.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt worse about the way she’d treated someone.
She knew, as soon the words had come tumbling forth, that what she said was going to hurt the marquess. She knew the implied accusation was untrue. Neither of the two had prevented her from saying it.
But she had to do something to keep him away, she reasoned. Lord Huntsford seemed determined to integrate himself into her life. And while she didn’t necessarily understand his motivation, she was all too aware of what would happen if Lord Finley grew any more suspicious.
She wouldn’t put it past the baron to take out a front page announcement in the Times with a printing of her mother’s letter in order to publicly disgrace her family.
She watched in the mirror as Sarah fastened the set of sapphires around her neck. The matching earbobs were next.
“You look lovely, my lady,” Sarah said.
“Thank you,” Olivia said, but she knew she sounded distracted. Too much seemed to hang in the balance, and one gentle sway could bring everything crashing around her.
She would do anything to prevent the secret from being revealed. But she still knew she had to make amends. Her nagging conscience would accept nothing less.
Marcus had informed her that he was hosting a dinner party, a rather uncharacteristic move, with several influential members of Parliament and their wives. Her brother was petitioning for reforms for those forced to slave away in workhouses, and he needed every available vote to help the reforms pass.
Olivia’s duty was to be charming and sociable. The mission didn’t seem overwhelming until she walked into the parlor and noticed the marquess standing with some men, talking.
She hesitated inside the door. Lord Huntsford looked directly at her, but she was unable to read his expression. At least he didn’t give her the cut directly—turning his back and refusing to acknowledge her attendance.
Perhaps he’d like to. Maybe Marcus’s presence was the only thing preventing him from doing exactly that.
She couldn’t approach him, not that she was considering being so bold, because an elderly woman with elegantly coiffed, silver hair and dazzling jewels atop a blindingly bright yellow evening dress approached her first.
“Lady Olivia?” the woman whose dress was an insult to subdued society queried as she came within hearing distance.
Olivia nodded, worrying over whether she was supposed to know who the impressive figure before her was.
Marcus appeared at her elbow then, and Olivia could have breathed a sigh of relief.
“Olivia, allow me to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Leith. Her husband is one of our greatest supporters.”
The duchess rapped Marcus on the knuckles with her fan. “As am I, dear boy,” she chided.
Marcus bowed his head. “Of course, your grace, my apologies. Please permit me to present my sister, Lady Olivia.”
Olivia curtsied deeply, already admiring the woman and her husband for backing the controversial reforms her brother was proposing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace.”
The duchess’s smile was sincere and put Olivia instantly at ease. “As it is to meet you, Lady Olivia. I’ve heard much about you.”
Olivia gave Marcus a questioning look.
He seemed as flummoxed as she, but someone called to him from across the room. With a bow and a plea for the duchess’s pardon, Marcus went to attend to his guest.
The Duchess of Leith quickly returned to their previous conversation. “My nephew speaks highly of you,” she clarified. “Of both you and your brother.”
Olivia couldn’t have been more lost in the conversation than if the woman were speaking Portuguese.
“Your nephew?” she questioned.
“Nicholas.” The duchess pointed into the crowd of people conversing on the other side of the room. “The Marquess of Huntsford.” Her tone became increasingly unsure. “The handsome one in the corner…”
Olivia was speechless.
The duchess furrowed her brow. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression he is a friend of the family.”
Olivia recovered neatly. “Of course, forgive me. I wasn’t aware Lord Huntsford was a relation.”
Huntsford’s aunt took Olivia’s hand in her own. “Don’t worry over that dear. Nick can be very secretive. It’s that trait that makes him good at what he does.”
What he does?
Olivia and the duchess were taking a turn around the room, walking slowly by the other handful of couples who were passing the time until dinner with conversation. Olivia had to force herself not to continue looking in the marquess’s direction.
Olivia wanted to ask the obviously open duchess more about Lord Huntsford’s mysterious line of work, but knew she shouldn’t express interest in the man. Fortunately, the duchess had already moved on to another topic. “My nephew told me you have spent most of your years in the country.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Please don’t ‘your grace’ me. I’d be honored if you’d call me Henrietta.”
Olivia assured her she would love nothing more than for the duchess to address her informally as well.
“So how are you finding your time here?” Henrietta asked, returning to the earlier vein of conversation.
“It’s been enlightening,” Olivia hedged. The last thing she wanted to do was offend her new acquaintance by insulting England’s capital city.
“That sounds like a polite way of saying you’re miserable.”
Olivia laughed. “You are very perceptive.”
“I’m old,” Henrietta countered. “When you get to be my age, dear, you’re lucky to have something to show for the years other than wrinkles and gray hair. I have been duly cursed with both, but I do have a bit of wisdom to show for them as well.”
“You are an inspiration,” Olivia said with another chuckle and smile.
“Perhaps you can tell Nicholas that. He needs to hear how valuable I am every once in a while.”
Olivia caught herself before she fell into the trap of discussing the marquess. “I know your support of my brother means a lot to Marcus.”
The duchess looked at her, clearly aware of the desperate change of subject. For whatever reason, Henrietta decided not to pursue the matter. “My husband and I are
always stirring up some kind of trouble for the ‘radical’—as they’re called—rights we want to help the working classes achieve. But for all their grumbling, people still try to garner our favor.” She shook her head. “It really can be most tiring.”
“I know Marcus keeps his head buried in his work. I’ve not seen much of him in the past several weeks. I think what all of you are doing is commendable.” And purposeful, she added silently. Perhaps after her marriage to Finley, she’d be able to take on some charitable pursuits. It would keep her out of her husband’s company.
The two conversed a few more minutes before the service for dinner was announced.
As soon as she entered the dining room, Olivia knew that her brother had tampered with the seating arrangements. She’d taken pains to ensconce herself with several elderly guests. And she’d placed the marquess as far from herself as possible.
Beside her brother…at the other end of the table.
Unfortunately, due to the new seating arrangements, Olivia was inconveniently situated across from Lord Huntsford.
Olivia glared down the table at Marcus, when what she wanted to do was fling a spoonful of food at his head. Her brother was too entrenched in his conversation with Henri and a gentleman she supposed to be the duke to even notice.
Lord Huntsford didn’t show any surprise or disdain at the adjusted seating. He didn’t display any kind of emotion at all. He had apparently resolved to ignore her. Something he did with remarkable dedication. Olivia decided not to push him.
She occupied herself by conversing with the man and woman on either side of her. And if her eyes shifted occasionally to the brooding man across from her, she couldn’t be held responsible for that.
By the time the dessert course made its way to the guests, she was nearly ready to throw herself across the table and ask for his forgiveness. She resolved to meet with him once everyone had disbanded.
There were a few things she needed to say to him, but asking him to accompany her out of the dining room—while not entirely scandalous—would certainly set Marcus’s friends to talking.
The deed of getting Lord Huntsford’s attention must be discreet. Which meant Gibbons couldn’t be involved. So she stopped a footman in the hall, asking him sweetly if he would deliver a message to the Marquess of Huntsford. The servant, a relatively new addition to the household staff, seemed eager to please his mistress.
“Try not to let the women hear you,” she cautioned.
The footman looked ready to salute her, and she had to smile at his eagerness. But she was overcome with a case of nerves. She wondered what Nick would have to say to her. He would still be angry, perhaps, but she needed to make amends. While she would never be able to be more than his friend—if she even had that luxury—his good opinion of her mattered. For some reason, losing it was more than she was able to bear…she wished she realized that before insulting him.
Olivia waited in the library, pacing across the floor, something she must have learned from Marcus over the years, and wondering what was taking the man so long.
What if Lord Huntsford had decided not to come at all?
Could he be so angry with her he wouldn’t give her a chance to explain?
“You summoned?” Nick asked shortly, striding into the library.
Olivia set down her copy of Twelfth Night, the one he had given her, he noticed. “Yes, I did.”
Nick seated himself in the chair farthest from her. “I’m surprised you’d want to meet with me alone…considering my background, that is.”
She winced. “I deserve that, of course.” She folded her hands in her lap. Nick assumed it was to hide the fact they were shaking.
He noticed anyway.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. And while his anger was due to her callous comment, he couldn’t help but pity her awkwardness. He wanted, immediately, to cross the floor between them and take her in his arms.
He resisted the impulse.
“So why am I here?” he asked, more kindly when it seemed as though she was going to say nothing more.
“So that I might apologize.” She heaved a sigh, and her shoulders rose and fell with the breath. “I truly am sorry. What I said at the theater—” she stopped, struggling.
He took a breath, ready to end this torture for her. He didn’t need to hear the words; the remorse was evident on her face.
“—was uncalled for,” she finished.
He smiled, ready to absolve her of her guilt, but she wouldn’t let him.
“I hope you know I don’t think that,” she continued quickly. Her sorrowful eyes stared at him, and he couldn’t help but imagine they were beseeching him—for what, he wasn’t sure. “No one who has spent any time with you could delude himself into believing anything negative about you.” A long, shaky breath. “I was trying to hurt you,” she confessed.
This new information puzzled him. “Why?”
As she shook her head slowly, ruefully, some of the hair carefully piled into the top knot slipped free and caressed the sides of her face. “I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything.” Maybe she would tell him why one moment she seemed amenable to his attention, and the next she’d coldly rebuff him.
“We can’t be friends,” she said earnestly.
Was she worried Marcus would find something amiss about them spending time together? In truth, he wasn’t sure how her brother would handle knowing Nick was developing feelings for the enigma in front of him. But he highly doubted Marcus would have a problem if they were friendly with one another.
“We can’t be seen together much more than we already have.” Her voice was plaintive and seemed to catch with unshedtears.
Soon, the two of them needed to have a serious talk. She was hiding something from him—maybe from everyone—and he wanted to relieve the burden it had caused. But he could hear speculation from the other room about their whereabouts, so he was going to have to leave her momentarily.
She seemed to sense that as well. “I truly am sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
Olivia was stunned. “Just like that?”
He nodded. “Just like that. Does that surprise you? Surely you expected forgiveness when you called me here.”
“Well, I—ah—didn’t expect it so quickly.”
It was Nick’s turn to look confused. “Why should I make both of us suffer by drawing it out?”
She seemed to think hard about the question. “Is this one of your Bible lessons?” But the usual disdain in her voice when speaking of spiritual matters was gone.
“It’s one of many.”
She pondered that for a moment. “I don’t understand.”
He knew they were no longer talking about just forgiveness. “What would you like explained?” he asked slowly, afraid if he said the wrong thing she would close up again.
She turned her head to peer out the window, and he suddenly wished that he could erase the faraway, pained look in her eyes. “It doesn’t really matter. I couldn’t ever believe in that again anyway. I’ve…I’ve seen things…” she trailed off. “What things?”
She turned to face him then, and her eyes were suspiciously moist. “Awful things,” she whispered.
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off of her expression—the shadows and fear visible in her countenance. His heart hammered in his chest; he was afraid of what she would tell him—afraid that he wouldn’t know how to comfort her.
But mostly, he feared that Olivia would decide she didn’t trust him enough to tell him anything at all.
She wished she could call the words back once they had been spoken, but they hovered in the room of their own accord. Lord Huntsford studied her face as though it were a map that held the key to a valuable treasure.
Infinite minutes passed, and he said nothing. Olivia wanted to squirm under his scrutiny but forced herself to stay still. His gaze revealed nothing of what he was thinking. The weight was pressing on her again; she wa
nted him to laugh at her…call her a fool…insist that a sheltered miss couldn’t possibly have seen anything so awful as she claimed.
Then she could pretend he was right.
She could push aside the resurfaced memories of her mother—lying in a pool of her own blood. The pistol still dangling precariously in her lifeless grip. She could forget, at least for a while, the rising bubble of hysteria she felt upon stumbling on the scene. The insane urge to scream and scream and scream until her voice broke and nothing else came out.
She could act as if she’d never broken the glass window and disposed of the gun. If she could convince herself she’d not lied and kept secrets, perhaps she could understand and attain this thing that her brother and Nick seemed to have.
They were different from her. And for possibly the first time, she wished she could be someone else. That she could be as deluded as they.
When Olivia had abandoned hope of Lord Huntsford saying anything at all, he surprised her with his own confessional. “I’ve seen things, too.”
“What things?” she echoed his earlier question.
He stood up, moving into a seat closer to her. “Things that made me question how I could ever believe in justice and goodness again.”
She leaned forward, hoping he’d continue. How had he overcome his own dark shadows and moved into the light? Could she do the same?
“But I had to come to the place,” he continued, “where I realized life wasn’t always going to be the way that I wanted it to be, and I wasn’t always going to be privy to only the best the world has to offer.” He shrugged. “God promised me an abundant life. I could doubt it, or I could accept His word as truth. I’m not a theologian, and I had to decide for myself what kind of person I was going to be. My faith was ultimately greater than my doubt.”
She was going to say something but stopped when he held up his hands, splaying them open in the air as though trying to show her he had nothing to hide.
“My anger eventually faded. And here I am—as I am.”
He was still watching her, perhaps expecting some kind of immediate metamorphosis. She certainly didn’t have anything in that vein to offer. She desperately wanted to change the subject, uncomfortable with the truth of his words, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate.
