Olivia turned to Constance. “There is Mary. I must dash and say hello as I completely ignored her at the family dinner the other evening.” She pointed to the other side of the hall. “There, in the corner. That is where I would like to sit.” Overlooking the ballroom so she had the advantage of seeing before being seen. “I shall return in a trice.”
Olivia did not wait for Constance’s acknowledgement and headed down the steps toward Mary. She finally caught up to her by the third colonnade.
“Mary, how do you do?”
Mary narrowed her gaze. “Olivia. A little late to be offering salutations is it not?”
“Mary, forgive me. I did not mean to overlook you the other night. I have not seen Bunny in several years. Surely, you remember how close we are.”
“Yes, but you did not leave much time for me to spend with her. She left after only a quarter hour. How could you, Livvy?”
“You will be pleased to know Bunny and Rupert are staying in Town through Christmastide and I have invited her for luncheon Thursday next. Constance and the girls are arrived and now as it is all of us, I will send you an invitation as well. And you may visit as long as you like.”
Mary smiled. “Very well, then. I forgive you.”
“Tell me, Mary,” Olivia asked. “Where is Catherine? I had lunch with Joanna the other day and she related Catherine was very ill and removed from Dunbury Manor. Is she all right?” Olivia moved her cousin over to the dark side of the garden stairs.
“Catherine is not ill,” Mary whispered. “She is angry at Henry. They quarreled. She says she has left his employ.”
The last time Olivia had seen them together, they were dancing at the Berringbourne’s summer party, and very happy. If Catherine gave Henry up willingly, there was something drastically wrong with her – Henry had everything a woman could ever want.
“Where is she?” Olivia asked. Catherine had lived at Dunbury Manor for the last seven years as the girls’ governess. Where would she go?
“Staying at the family house in Tunbridge Wells,” Mary said. “She refuses to come to London. Catherine states she does not wish to meet Henry in Society.”
Curious, Olivia asked, “How long has she been there?”
“Several weeks, I think. Since Guy Fawke’s Day.”
Olivia nodded. Nearly two months. They must have done more than quarrel for Catherine to stay away from Henry. She pushed the thought aside. “Do come over and say hello to Constance.” Olivia took Mary’s arm and steered her toward Constance and the girls. Penny stood with Ariana and Bella.
“Look who I found.” Olivia propped Mary in front of Constance and walked toward Penny. “Hello, dearest,” she said.
Penny looked through her as if she were an apparition. “Hello, Aunt. How do you do?”
“I could ask the same of you.” Olivia had never received such a cold greeting from Penny before. “Is your mother here?”
Penny smiled. “I have no idea. Perhaps you could check the register.” She turned her back and spoke to Ariana.
Olivia stood stunned. Penny had just given her the cut direct. In a ballroom full of people. Olivia turned toward Constance seeking solace, but Reginald lingered at her side. How could Penny treat her this way? What had she done to deserve such derision? Olivia couldn’t stay there another second. She glanced at the steps leading out of the Great Room.
Henry Wade, Marquess of Dunbury stood at the top with three of his nieces. Olivia raced through the crowd.
A decade earlier, Henry had been fighting in India when his father died and his brother gained the title. Unfortunately, his brother died two years later, but Henry remained in India. A few years after that, word came of his second eldest sister being lost at sea with her husband on a trip from the West Indies. It was not until his eldest sister Esme’s death three years ago, that Henry came home from the fighting.
Henry inherited six nieces, along with the Marquisate, two manor houses, and a town home in London. The girls lived at Dunbury Manor on the western edge of Town – Kensington Palace, their closest neighbor.
“Hello, ladies.” Olivia greeted each of the three girls in turn and then looked at Henry. “Hello, my lord.” He would make all the hurt Penny inflicted disappear.
Henry brought her fingers to his lips. “Good evening, Olivia. You look magnificent tonight.” He brought her hand to his arm. “Ladies,” he said to his nieces. “I bid you a fine evening.” He led Olivia down the three steps to the main floor.
The crowd parted and a low hum filled the room. Olivia smiled. As much as she sometimes despised playing by Society’s rules, on nights such as this, with a handsome, fascinating man on her arm, Olivia reveled in her success. She was beautiful, wealthy, and in command of her life and future. On nights like tonight, Olivia felt invincible and Penny’s arrogance was forgiven.
Henry took her hand and kissed her palm. “Come, let us dance.” He swept her into his embrace and twirled her around the parquet floor.
Olivia had no idea where Henry had learned to waltz, but whoever had taught him had been a fine teacher. Olivia felt as though she were a cloud floating in air. Her heart beat fast and a slow flush crept over her entire body. She shouldn’t feel this way. She was in love with John. However, Henry would always be her first love.
“I heard you and Catherine had a row,” Olivia said. “I thought you looked very well together the last I saw you.”
Henry nodded and clenched his jaw.
“Have you told the girls you are going to Spain?”
“No. I thought to wait. Less hysteria.”
“Have you told Catherine?”
“I have not.”
Olivia stared at Henry’s rugged features. He had lived a long life in those battlefields, and the scars he wore ran deep. Time would never erase them. Olivia leaned up and kissed Henry on his cheek.
“What was that for?” Henry gazed into her eyes.
“Old times.” Olivia smiled at memories of the future she had sometimes envisioned for her and Henry. But now she had John, and Henry, contrary to what he may think, had Catherine. “Your heart is engaged elsewhere.”
Henry laughed. “And what about your heart? All this fuss over John Quiggins? Do not mistake me for a fool, Olivia. It was written all over your countenance. You’re in love with him.”
Olivia nodded. She loved John. She wanted to marry him. She could not keep him as her butler any longer. They were grown men and women, not puppets on a string pulled by the confines of war or Society.
“Alas, what of poor Gillyford?” Henry asked.
Olivia nearly stumbled. Was it all over Town? “Where could you hear such a foolish thing?”
He swirled her off the dance floor. “My dearest Olivia, it is the news of the Season. Old Gilly has been telling everyone you are going to be the next Marchioness.” He led her toward the doors to the terrace.
She snorted in an unladylike manner. “I will kill him with my bare hands.”
“Your uncle, it seems, is very pleased with the match.”
Was he teasing her? Olivia glanced at the smile that played at his lips. She smacked him lightly on the arm with her fan. “You are a wretched man.”
“Come now, Olivia. There must be a part of you that wishes to marry again. And Marlborough approves.” They walked outside.
“As if the great Duke of Marlborough could persuade me to marry Gillyford. I am not a green girl prepared to follow blindly to do my family’s bidding. I was fool enough to do it once. Now, I love who I wish and will marry who I love.”
Henry leaned against a column. “Did you love Fitzhugh?”
Olivia tilted her head. “I grew to love him. But it was a different kind of love. And not nearly as much as I always loved you.”
“And John Quiggins?”
“John is…” Olivia looked at Henry. “John is freedom.”
“Freedom? I do not understand.”
“Freedom from the constraints of Society. Free to laugh when I
wish, to eat when I like, to walk when I choose… but most especially, free to love who I desire.” Even after all the years they had been separated, Henry remained intoxicating. Olivia took a step closer.
Henry led Olivia to a quiet corner on the terrace, and kissed her. He looked into her eyes. “I’m leaving on Saturday morning.”
“Yes.” Olivia nodded. Her breath came in little gasps.
“I want to be with you before I go.”
She took a step back from Henry and felt the wall behind her. She had to fight the headiness of her desire for Henry. Kissing Henry was one thing. Sleeping with him was entirely another. She could never cheat on John.
“Do not look so shocked,” Henry said. “We are not children. I am only claiming what is rightfully mine.” He backed her into the corner. “We never had our chance at happiness, Olivia. With this last mission to Spain, we may never have another.”
Olivia put her hand on his chest. “Henry Wade, do not say that. The thought of it makes me weep.” To lose John and Henry would be unfathomable.
Henry guided her gently, just behind the open door. His lips never left hers. A large plant blocked their view from the other side of the terrace.
Henry wrapped his arms around Olivia and kissed her nose. “I want you, Liv. Come home with me tonight.”
Olivia bit her cheek to keep from crying out. An image of John, and then Catherine flashed in her mind. “What about Catherine?”
“Catherine refuses to see me. I have sent several letters. It is over with Catherine.” Henry’s lips sought hers and then wound their way along her throat to the base of her ear.
Olivia nearly swooned. To be with Henry, just once… had been her dream for nearly forty years. Would this truly be her last chance? What about John? She could never make love with another man. Could she?
Henry’s lips ravaged hers once more. Olivia could not control her yearning. Decades of unfulfilled dreams lingered in the kiss. And then John’s face appeared. She pushed Henry away. “I cannot. Not tonight.”
Henry groaned. “Tomorrow then.” He kissed her once more. “I cannot leave you never knowing.”
It tore at her heart, but Henry was right. They had never had their chance at happiness, and they might never have another after he left for Spain. “All right then, tomorrow.”
Henry placed his hand along her throat and kissed her long and hard. When he broke away, he looked stricken.
“Henry, what is it?” Olivia asked.
“We will need to find another entrance and have you straightened before we rejoin the others.”
“Why? What have you done?” She looked down at her gown. It sat askew on her body, its corseted form twisted to her left side. Her breasts were nearly exposed from their silken constraints and one of Olivia’s shoulder straps was torn.
She glanced at Henry aghast, yet quietly delighted by what had transpired between them. “Help me.”
Henry stifled a laugh. He placed his hands around her waist and tugged on her gown. It slid to the right. He ran his hand up her arm and wrapped the ripped lace of her gown over her shoulder, and tucked it into her chemise strap. He smiled. “Forgive me. I shall pay for the alteration.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“You truly make me want to be wicked,” Olivia whispered. “But we must return to the ballroom.” She pushed at his chest. “Tell me, how do I look?”
“As if you have just had a naughty tryst with a man who is not your husband.”
Olivia laughed. “Well, they cannot very well fault me for making love to you, now can they?” Olivia had waited nearly forty years to feel Henry’s lips on hers again. She didn’t care what Society thought.
“I dare say not.” Henry held out his arm. Olivia placed her hand in the crook of it, and walked with him back into the ballroom. Again, the room quieted and then just as quickly, erupted in a cacophony of sound, like surprised starlings in a meadow.
Henry and Olivia danced. Henry and Olivia walked around the room twice and spoke only to each other. Henry and Olivia dined by themselves. Olivia blushed at Henry’s fawning like a girl of twenty and didn’t care who saw her. She was reliving their lost past. It was as if they had never been apart.
Olivia and Henry were outside on the dining room terrace sipping lemonade, when Constance arrived, out of breath.
“Olivia, I’m glad I found you. May we take the carriage? Ariana’s leg pains her.”
“Yes, of course.” She glanced at Henry. “However, I will go with you.”
“What?” Constance and Henry both said.
Olivia turned to Henry. “Darling, tonight has been simply wonderful. But I must go. It is late and I have several things to attend early.” She wrapped her hand around his arm, leaned up, and kissed him on the cheek. “I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Henry called for their carriage, waited for the women as they gathered their coats, and escorted them out. Henry obligingly helped Ariana and then Constance into the coach.
He took Olivia by the hand, leaned in and whispered, “Until tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Olivia accepted his hand as he helped her into the coach and then shut the door. He gave two raps on the side, and the carriage lurched as the horses took off.
Constance sniffed. “Well, you certainly made a display of yourself tonight.”
“Mama, please,” Ariana said. “Cousin Olivia did no such thing.”
Olivia reached over and patted Ariana’s knee. “Oh yes I did, darling. A spectacle for all of Society to see.”
“What good is that going to do?” Constance asked. “Henry is leaving the day after next with John. You cannot play both sides of the coin, Olivia. Someone will get hurt and I do not wish it to be you.” She shook her head. “Olivia, I know you love John. He is a good man, and will be heartbroken over this. You cannot cavort with Henry just because it suits your fancy.”
Olivia sighed. She would never intentionally break John’s heart. “I have loved Henry Wade since I was twenty. And now, by the Grace of God, we have found a small window in time to be together. Constance, can you not understand?” Of course not. Constance was married to Reginald. “I will not miss this opportunity.”
“And what will you do when they come back from Spain? Proclaim your affection to the man who returns first? What if neither of them return, Livvy? What will you do then?”
“Throw myself off the Bridge.” Olivia stared out the window. “John thinks we shall be made a laughingstock if I marry him. Therefore, I win Henry by default do I not? He is better suited to my station. He is a Marquess after all. I’m sure Uncle Marlborough will approve the match. Finally.”
“Olivia,” Constance said. “Come now, I know your heart cannot be that callous.”
Olivia stifled a sob. “No, you are right. In the end I will get who I ultimately deserve. And if God wishes to be cruel, I could very well lose both of them.”
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Olivia sat at the long table sorting through invitations. The fire burned in the grate behind her.
A knock on the door and then John stepped into the room followed by another man.
“Your Grace,” John said. “May I introduce Rodney Manning, the new butler.”
“Come in, Mr. Manning. How do you do?” She picked up her spectacles, put them over her nose, and took him in. He seemed very stolid.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Manning nodded and smiled, then clasped his hands behind his back.
“How long have you been in the employ of the Marquess?” Olivia asked.
“Since before his lordship and the late Lady Anne were married. Nearly fifteen years.”
“Dear Anne,” Olivia mused. “She was such a lovely woman.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Manning nodded.
“Although, I do think Violet is just the thing for Haverlane and dear Jane. Do you not agree?” Olivia took off her glasses and placed them on the table. She rose, picked up a piece of paper from the long table, glanced
at it, and then handed it to him. “There are some things Quiggins knows that are my peculiar habits he might forget to mention to you. Of particular importance is that I like to keep the morning room heated during the day. I use that room for many things. And we only burn wood in this house. No coal. My at-homes are held in the formal front parlour. The yellow salon is reserved for family.” She pointed to the list. “Please take some time to look it over and if you have any questions, I’m sure Quiggins will be able to help you.” Olivia held out her hand. “Thank you very much for your assistance to me during my time of need.” She winked at John.
Manning shook her hand. “My pleasure, Your Grace.” He turned and walked toward Quiggins, who waited for him by the door.
Olivia called to him, “Mr. Manning, where does your mother live?”
“Lambeth, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mr. Manning.” He would do very well.
Olivia turned back to the table. There were two hundred invitations to be sent for her Boxing Day Ball. She had not had so many people at Caymore since Fuzzy had been alive and still dancing, and that had been nearly twenty years before. It was a shame John would not be there. She would love to be able to dance with him.
Olivia settled herself behind the table once more. She checked her list of errands and glanced at the invitations. She would take Andrew with her to the post. John would have Manning most of the day anyway.
She walked to the bell, pulled it, and then sorted through the invitations, piling them in neat little bundles.
John opened the door. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Oh, Jo—Quiggins, I should like the carriage, and Andrew to accompany me to the postal office.” She waved at the stacks of invitations on the table. “Do we have a box of some sort to carry them?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He nodded and left the room.
Olivia went upstairs. She changed her pelisse and then found her wool cape and threw that over her arm. It would be cold in the carriage. She picked up her fur coat as well and returned downstairs.
Andrew met her in the hall carrying a large wooden box. The invitations were tucked inside in neat little rows.
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