by Amy Corwin
“Nothing that should concern you,” he answered tersely. He flicked his wrist out of her grasp and studied the complex folds of her bodice.
“He wanted to kill me. To hurt you,” she said, crossing her arms over her bosom.
His frown deepened. “I apologize, but I must remove that garment.”
“Really?” she asked sweetly. “And what happens after you wrap those ridiculous bandages around me? Do you expect me to walk through the streets partially dressed? Speak with the coroner and Constable Cooke? I’m curious how you will explain to my brothers your behavior in taking truly unforgivable advantage of me, as well.”
“I will assist you to dress. Afterwards.”
“That doesn’t seem quite proper to me.” Her head tilted to one side, her eyes bright with amusement. “And I question your skill as a lady’s maid.”
“Trust me, Lady Olivia. I will ensure you will have no cause for concern — at least about your apparel. And your shawl can hide any errors.”
“Perhaps.” She thought for a moment. “Very well, I will consent to your demands to brutalize my person, but only if you explain what Mr. Belcher meant. After all, you see me in a very weak and vulnerable state. I should think you would have the grace to answer that one, small question.”
He searched her pale face and gleaming eyes, filled with sympathy and a vulnerable emotion he’d hoped he would never see there. “You know what he meant. You — he wanted me to lose you, because he thought I loved you.”
“And you do not?” A hint of disappointment filled her soft voice.
“I—”
“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted harshly. “Not now. Please.”
“Yes, then. I loved — love — you. I’ve loved you since the first time you walked into the room and interrupted my lessons, demanding to be included. I loved your determination and laughter and the light in your eyes when you first crossed swords with me.” He cradled her head in his hand, her soft hair curling over his fingers. “And I loved your stubborn refusal to remain locked outside.”
When she smiled at him and touched his cheek with soft fingers, he pulled her closer and pressed a kiss against her warm mouth. Need filled him, and his grip tightened until he felt her palm pressed lightly against his chest.
She caught his gaze, and although her lips retained her tender smile, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “However, there was a caveat in your voice — an unspoken but. You loved your wife, and still love her, more.”
“No.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers briefly, wanting to hold her against him and feel the deep beat of her heart. “No. I don’t know that I ever loved her — I was too young when we met to understand the difference between passion and love. She was so beautiful — I was enamored with her smile — and she knew how and when to bestow it to achieve the greatest effect. She was vivacious and demanding. Alive in a way few women are. And then.…” He shrugged. “She needed more than I could give her. Complete adoration — all my attention.” His mouth twisted. “And she hated fencing. Particularly when I engaged in it.”
“Oh, my poor dear.” Lady Olivia stroked his cheek and laughed, though her eyes shown with dismay. “Caught between love and the sharp point of a fencing foil.”
He caught her hand and kissed the soft palm. He would do anything to wipe away the anxiety and pain in her eyes.
A low moan from the corner behind the desk made him lift his head. “However, this is not the time, nor the place, to discuss this.”
“And Miss Denholm awakens.” She crossed her arms once more over her bosom. “She can assist me while you go find the authorities, I hope, for the last time. They must be quite sick of urgent summons to visit this address.”
He smiled at her, and took hold of one of her hands. “It might be selfish of me, but I hope you have not developed an aversion to the thought of reopening your academy.” He glanced around, the smothering darkness lifting from his heart. “This building is sorely in need of restoration. But it has good bones and an adequate design for your original purpose. I would not see you give up your dreams.”
“Then we must hope this third tragedy does not close it for good.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After bandaging Olivia’s ribs so tightly that she could scarcely breathe, Cynthia took Olivia’s elbow and dragged her home, ignoring the outraged demands of both Mr. Idleman and Mr. Greenfield for a complete accounting of what had occurred. Cynthia released her into Latimore’s care and, wincing whenever anyone spoke, she refused to wait for a physician and departed, gray-faced and obviously suffering from an aching head.
When Latimore saw Olivia, he immediately sent one of the footmen for the physician and sent her upstairs in the custody of a very stern-faced housekeeper.
“I’m sending for that lazy Farmer,” Mrs. Keene said as she propelled Olivia into her bedchamber. “You shall go straight to bed. The doctor has been sent for — there is no need for you to leave this room until he has seen you and pronounced you fit.” She frowned and touched the dark, crimson stains on Olivia’s side with distaste. “Disgraceful — we shall all be murdered in our beds if this keeps up.”
“I really don’t think so,” Olivia murmured as she relinquished her shawl to Mrs. Keene and sat on the ladder-backed chair in front of her writing desk. “You may go.”
“Yes, Lady Olivia,” Mrs. Keene said by habit as she brushed the shawl and examined the soft cashmere for stains. Her frown deepened when she poked a finger through the hole sliced through the soft folds. She hummed and cast a dark glance at Olivia. “I can try to mend this, but I can’t promise it will be as lovely as it once was.” The stern note in her voice seemed to accuse Olivia of a terrible negligence with her clothing.
“I am sure it will be fine.” Olivia glanced at the door, wishing she would just do as requested and leave.
Her side ached miserably. All she wanted was to lie down and drift away to sleep. Every muscle in her body seemed to throb, and although she ought to weep with pain, she felt herself smile at the thought of Lord Milbourn’s warm lips pressed against hers.
Farmer soon arrived with one of her possets. She bullied and clucked over Olivia, forcing her into a nightgown and then proceeding to browbeat the poor physician, as well, when he arrived to clean and bind her wound.
“It is only a small scratch,” Olivia said as the thin, wiry physician put on a pair of reading glasses to peer at the array of bottles in his case.
He nodded and tsked, making small clicking sounds with his tongue as he worked. Despite her questions, he refused to comment one way or the other, as if discussing her injury would precipitate her into a fit of nervous prostration. The wound did require a few stitches, however, which she bore silently with a clenched jaw and eyes squeezed shut.
He actually had the gall to pat her on her head when he was done. “You will do now. Plenty of rest.”
He snapped his case shut and took Farmer by the wrist to pull her toward the door. The two of them whispered back and forth for several seconds, Farmer periodically casting anxious glances at Olivia, before closing the door after the doctor.
“There now, Lady Olivia, you just lie back and rest. I will take care of everything.” She glanced at the empty glass next to Olivia’s bed and picked it up, frowning. “Another posset is what you need.”
Since Olivia’s head was already whirling dizzily and her cheeks felt numb, she tried to refuse. But like the doctor, Farmer ignored her protests and dashed out. Olivia leaned back against her pillows. The tight bandages made it hard to breathe, and her side itched and ached. But she refused to use the laudanum from the small blue bottle the physician had left next to the pitcher of water on her chest of drawers. Farmer’s concoction was more than sufficient, and she already felt too hot and drowsy.
She closed her eyes and let sleep wash over her, dimly aware of the squeak of the door opening and then closing again.
Night came and went in a restless blur,
and the next day her family united to prevent her from escaping from her bedchamber. At one point, Edward threatened to take her key and lock her in if she didn’t stop trying to sneak downstairs. Farmer was more than happy to supply her with gossip, however, so her imprisonment wasn’t too onerous, particularly after she persuaded Peregrine to bring her both Sense and Sensibility and The Orphan of Tintern Abbey to while away the time.
The second day, she joined the family in the breakfast room despite Farmer’s threats and dire warnings. Latimore held firm in refusing visitors, so Olivia was left to her correspondence, sewing, and composing new menus for the coming week. A vague sense of disappointment caught at her like a kitten’s claws snagging her skirt, when she realized Lord Milbourn had not visited.
“Did Lord Milbourn leave his card?” Olivia asked Latimore as he handed her the morning mail.
“Lord Milbourn has not visited us today, Lady Olivia.” Latimore bowed and backed a step toward the door.
“Yesterday, perhaps? Surely he has been here to see Mr. Archer. After all, there must have been an inquest.”
“Yes, Lady Olivia. Both Mr. Archers attended the inquest. They may have met with Lord Milbourn during the proceedings.”
With a jerk she half stood. A sharp pain in her side made her slowly reseat herself. “They went and did not tell me? What—” Observing the disapproval on Latimore’s face, she stopped. One didn’t discuss such matters with the servants. She waved her hand in dismissal. “You may go. However, if you see either Mr. Archer, please inform him that I wish to speak with him.”
“Very good, Lady Olivia,” Latimore intoned as he bowed again and eased out of the room.
Why did everyone insist on treating her like a fragile invalid? While it was true that quick or sharp movements hurt, she was nearly recovered, and she hungered for news.
And she longed to see Lord Milbourn. Had he forgotten her? Was that kiss simply a fleeting desire? He had admitted he loved her, hadn’t he? If he did, why hadn’t he come to see how she fared? Even if he harbored no deeper feelings for her, it was simple courtesy to ask after her health.
The normally sunny Ivory Drawing Room seemed cold and gray this morning and even the sky outside the large bow windows appeared dingy, with dark gray clouds blocking the sun. Sharp gusts of wind rattled the panes, sending eddies of cold air to swirl around her shoulders. Another storm seemed to be brewing.
She sighed and sorted through the letters Latimore had brought to her, thinking she’d even welcome Cynthia’s energetic company today. She felt forgotten and alone, like a little girl’s doll relegated to the attic after being outgrown.
Her gaze flickered to the window again, and she listened to the clatter of carriage wheels, horses, and the loud calls of street hawkers. Life was passing her by while she sat here, growing old and tired.
In the distance, her beagles yodeled and barked. She straightened and smiled. They, at least, still loved her. And neither Edward nor Peregrine could stop her if she decided to take her dogs for a walk.
Mindful of her side, she rose carefully to her feet. She was halfway to the door when Latimore reappeared.
“Señora Doña Luisa Benéitez de Velarde, Lord Milbourn, and Miss Bron, Lady Olivia.” Latimore bowed and held the door open while the three visitors brushed past him.
A silver-haired grande dame, dressed in heavy black silk and lace, entered first, her black eyes fixed upon Olivia. Her high cheekbones and stubborn chin gave her face strength and still retained vestiges of the beauty she must have enjoyed when she was young. She paused six feet away, her black lace gloved hands clasped at her waist.
With the ironic grin that never failed to catch at Olivia, Lord Milbourn followed, holding the hand of a small, dark-haired girl about eleven years of age.
“Lady Olivia,” — Lord Milbourn bowed and gestured to the lady on his left—”may I present Señora Doña Luisa Benéitez de Velarde and Miss Maria Bron?”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lady Olivia curtseyed, and nodded to the older woman and child.
“Charming,” Doña Luisa murmured, her sharp, black eyes taking in the details of Olivia’s ice blue morning dress.
“Señora Doña Luisa Benéitez de Velarde is my mother, and Miss Bron, my daughter,” Lord Milbourn said, completing the formal introductions. “They recently returned from our home in Barcelona.”
“I hope your trip was uneventful,” Lady Olivia said.
“Traveling is never as uneventful as one would wish,” Doña Luisa said in a dry voice. Her tone and sardonic expression were so similar to Lord Milbourn’s that Olivia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
The girl’s grip on her father’s hand tightened when Olivia glanced at her, and she frowned, lifting her small, pointed chin. Lord Milbourn shook his hand loose and then placed his palm against her narrow back to push her forward a step. Her lower lip thrust out in a silent pout, but she did execute a polite curtsey.
“Would you care to be seated?” Olivia gestured to the comfortable group of ivory silk couches clustered in front of the elegant fireplace.
A fire was crackling merrily on the hearth, and on this blustery, gray day, it was the most cheerful spot in the room. Doña Luisa nodded and glided over to the closest couch, where she sat, straight-backed, on the edge of the seat. Miss Bron followed and sat next to her grandmother. One small hand drifted over to grip one of the luxurious folds of Doña Luisa’s skirt, but the older lady gently disentangled the girl’s hand and placed it on the girl’s lap without glancing at her.
For some reason, Olivia found the small gesture heart wrenching. She flicked a small smile to the girl as she sat on the couch opposite. Lord Milbourn sat in a gilded chair next to his daughter. Before Olivia could say anything else, she heard the beagles yodel again and a shout.
Then the inevitable happened. The loud clatter of dogs racing over the marble floors and up the stairs, followed by the pounding of the footmen’s feet as they gave chase, echoed through the room.
“Oh, dear,” Olivia murmured. She gripped the right armrest and looked at Doña Luisa.
The older lady’s dark eyes glittered with amusement, and Miss Bron sprang to her feet and faced the door. Her lithe body was rigid with tension.
Slipping and sliding, the dogs scrambled into the room, tails wagging and tongues lolling out of their mouths. The animals took one look at the little girl and galloped across the gold and ivory carpet to encircle her, shoving their damp noses under her hands and pushing each other aside in their efforts to be the sole dog privileged to be petted by the stranger.
“I am so sorry!” Olivia flushed and rose to her feet.
Lord Milbourn chuckled and sat back, hooking one arm over the carved arc of the seatback.
Doña Luisa shook her head and smoothed the black silk over her lap with apparent unconcern.
To Olivia’s relief, Miss Bron giggled in delight and bent over, trying to hug and pet as many of the dogs as possible.
In the doorway, two footmen shifted from foot to foot, looking too embarrassed to enter the room.
“I suppose I should introduce the dogs.” Olivia dragged each dog back by its leather collar as she said their names, “This is Caesar, with the black spot over his eye, and these are Bathsheba, Brutus, Justinia, Octavius, and Titus. As you can see, they are completely without manners.” When she was done, she waved the footmen away.
They’d failed to keep the dogs kenneled, and there seemed little point in their staying. The two men left with alacrity.
After sniffing the carpeting, furniture, and the three guests, the dogs made themselves completely at home. The tan and white beagle, Titus, lay down at Doña Luisa’s feet, and from the way the lady shifted, Olivia suspected the dog was on, rather than near, her toes. Caesar and Brutus sat next to Lord Milbourn, leaning against his legs and staring up at him with huge brown eyes while he stroked their heads and fondled their long ears.
“I like them,”
Miss Bron said, staring at Olivia in challenge. “Especially Bathsheba.” She stroked the dog’s floppy, soft ears, and Bathsheba leaned against her, almost pushing her off her feet.
“The child is mad about animals,” Doña Luisa said. Her soft voice held almost no trace of an accent. “Her father is the same.” Despite the exasperation in her words, she smiled indulgently at her son.
Watching the young girl, Olivia desperately wanted to put an arm around her narrow shoulders and give her a warm hug. She looked so uncertain, and every few minutes, she would blink rapidly as if wanting to cry but too proud to do so. Dark smudges under her large brown eyes suggested that she hadn’t spent a quiet night, and it struck Olivia that Miss Bron was frightened. Her sidelong glances at her father made Olivia think she feared her father would send her away again, soon, or that he had threatened some terrible punishment if she dared behave improperly.
The thought broke her heart.
What, if anything, had her father told her about Olivia? Perhaps nothing at all, she realized with near despair. She felt a deep kinship with the child — they were both lonely and wanting the attention of the man sitting so carelessly near the fireplace.
On impulse, Olivia said, “Then she is yours — we have far too many dogs at the moment. However, if you take Bathsheba, you must take Octavius, as well, so they do not get lonely.”
Miss Bron glanced at her father, who nodded with a smile. Olivia looked at him, surprised at his easy acquiescence.
“What do you say, child?” Doña Luisa prompted her.
Miss Bron studied Olivia with a frown creasing the smooth skin of her brow. “You cannot make me like you, you know. Even if you give me a dog.”
“Miss Bron!” Doña Luisa said, a stern look hardening her face. Her mouth compressed into a thin line as she studied the girl.
Miss Bron’s chin tilted up, and her eyes flashed with defiance as she looked from her grandmother to Olivia.
“Of course, I cannot,” Olivia agreed complacently. “However, I am sure we can be friends. And I can provide you with a near endless supply of puppies, if you are interested in such things.”
