by Julia London
“No,” Rue said, sniffing back a tear.
Harrison cocked his head to one side. “Will you try to remember it now?”
“Yes.”
“Now listen carefully, Rue. I am about to tell you something that is not to leave this house. Do you quite understand?”
She’d nodded.
“Miss Hastings is with child. I am going to marry her so that the child will have a name.”
“Miss Hastings!” Rue had cried. “You had your way with her, too?”
“For the love of God,” Harrison had said, and pointed to the couch. “Sit, you foolish girl. And for God’s sake, for once, will you listen?”
He had no idea if Rue had listened or not, but she was in the salon this morning, her gown pressed and a small mishap patched. She was also holding a handful of wildflowers that, she announced, she’d picked yesterday. But she’d neglected to put them in water, judging by their appearance.
“We are ready to begin, sir,” the vicar said.
Harrison nodded. A strange shiver ran down his spine. This is not a prison sentence, he told himself. With time, I might come to care for Alexa. The distance he felt toward her now wasn’t Alexa’s fault. It was that his heart was firmly entrenched in Olivia’s.
He hoped that, at the very least, he would be a good father to Alexa’s child.
“Linford, fetch Miss Hastings if you please,” he said.
Who is to say we’ll not have more children? Harrison liked the thought of that. He’d always wanted a large brood. Perhaps Aunt Olivia would come and visit.
That was absurd. Of course Olivia would visit, and he would feel the pain and misery of being so close and yet unable to touch her. To hear her laugh and know that it was not for him. No matter how he tried to paint a rosy little portrait, it always faded in the light of Olivia’s beautiful face, her dancing blue eyes, a strand of white blonde hair teasing her cheek. She was the woman he loved. She was the woman he wanted. How in the bloody hell had he come to this moment?
There was no turning back now. So Harrison clasped his hands tightly behind his back and sought the strength to do what he had to do.
Alexa was staring at her reflection in the mirror when Linford came for her. She was wearing a sunny yellow ball gown she’d had made in Madrid that Rue had helped her alter, one she had planned to wear during the Season in London this year. It was pretty, and it made her look a lot more cheerful than she was.
But she was not a blissful bride.
Alexa followed Linford down to the salon, ready to say her vows. But when she stepped across the threshold, and saw Harry standing with those he’d assembled to witness their marriage, she felt something hitch in her heart.
“Alexa? If you please,” Harrison said, gesturing to his side, as if he wanted it over and done so he might begin the work of burying it beneath the mountain of regret that he’d so clearly piled onto his shoulders.
She approached him slowly, feeling entirely at odds with herself.
Harrison frowned. “Are you all right?”
All right? How could she be all right? She absently put her hand on her abdomen and gave him a shaky little smile. “I am well, thank you. Perhaps better than I have been in some time.”
His brows rose with surprise. “I am glad to hear it. If you will stand here, we might begin.”
Alexa did as he asked, and curtsied to the vicar. “My lord reverend,” she said, and leaned around Harrison. “Mr. Fish, thank you for coming. And you, Rue—thank you.”
“I brung you flowers, miss,” Rue said, thrusting a sad little bouquet at her.
Surprised and touched, Alexa took the bouquet. “Thank you.” She noticed that her hand was shaking, so she gripped the bouquet tighter and lifted a smile to the vicar.
“Miss Hastings? Mr. Tolly? Shall I proceed?” the vicar asked.
“Yes,” Harry said briskly. He was a man resigned to his fate.
The vicar moved Rue and Mr. Fish in a bit closer, to stand on either side of Alexa and Harry. “Dearly beloved,” he began, his voice taking on a grave tone, “we are gathered together here in the sight of God . . .”
Alexa watched the vicar’s throat bob as he spoke. This felt almost a dream. She glanced at Harry, and it struck her—what felt wrong was that Olivia should be standing here, not her. She was standing in Olivia’s place.
“First, it was ordained for the procreation of children . . .” the vicar continued, and looked directly at Alexa. Of course if one was to have a child, one must be married. Of course she had to marry Harry for the sake of her child. Wasn’t that what the vicar meant?
“Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin and to avoid fornication . . .” he said, his voice rising a little.
Ah yes, the perils of fornication. Alexa knew them better than most, and had felt the depth of that anguish. Not because she’d done it, but because she still couldn’t think of the moments she’d spent in Carlos’s arms without feeling the ache of missing him. She glanced at Harry again from the corner of her eye and wondered if he felt anguish. How could he not? He loved Olivia, just as Alexa loved Carlos. How deep is your ache, Harry?
It should be Olivia standing here. Not her. But Olivia wasn’t carrying a child. Alexa was.
“. . . into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” The vicar looked at Mr. Fish, who kept his gaze on the ground. He then eyed Rue, who furiously shook her head and stepped back.
The vicar then looked at Harrison. “Mr. Tolly, wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her for as long as ye both shall live?”
Alexa felt all emotion draining out of her.
“I will,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly clear and strong. He even managed a bit of a smile for Alexa.
Poor man. She felt numb.
“Miss Hastings,” the vicar continued, “wilt thou have this man as thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him for as long as ye both shall live?”
Alexa hesitated. She looked at Harry, at his gray eyes. There was no emotion there, not even a flicker. It should be Olivia standing here. Not her. “I . . . say no.”
No one spoke for a moment. “Pardon?” Harry asked, as if he’d misunderstood her.
But Alexa was suddenly very clear. “I cannot,” she said, shaking her head.
“Alexa,” Harry said softly. “What are you about?”
“I realize this comes at a very inopportune time, Harry, but I . . . I do not love you,” she said apologetically. “I love someone else.”
His face darkened. “For God’s sake, Alexa,” he whispered hotly, “I think we have established that—”
“And so do you,” she whispered. “This is not the answer—there must be another way. For both of us.”
“But Miss Hastings, you carry his child!” Rue whispered loudly.
Alexa glanced heavenward, then looked sheepishly at the stunned vicar. “Not his,” she said. “Mr. Tolly was kind enough to pretend it, but I must be honest. The child is not his.”
“Good God,” Mr. Fish said, shocked.
“But you do carry a child. A fatherless child,” Harry reminded her.
“Yes,” Alexa said thoughtfully. “The child will bear my shame, there is no doubt. But will my baby also bear my compromise for the sake of appearances?” She was asking herself, really, although she knew the answer. And the answer was no. Her child might be a bastard, and never know its father, and be shunned in society. But Alexa would not destroy another person’s happiness just to give the
appearance that her child was not a bastard.
It all seemed so clear to her now.
The vicar and Rue both gaped at her. And Harry . . .
Harry sighed to the ceiling. “If you will excuse us a moment,” he said, and gripped Alexa’s elbow tightly, turning her about and marching her out of the salon to speak to her privately.
But Alexa had made up her mind and would not be swayed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
In the first days after Alexa and Harrison had left Everdon Court, Olivia found herself watching the clock on the mantel quite a lot.
She had nothing to occupy her at the dowager house, nothing to do with the many hours in the day but think of Harrison.
She thought of Alexa, too, and wondered how she was getting on, but in truth, Olivia had begun to understand that she was very angry with Alexa.
Alexa had taken so much from her. Even as a girl, Alexa had been the one to gain the attention and favors from their mother and stepfather. She was bubbly and pretty, and had been the one to go off and experience the world, while Olivia was made to marry so that she might look after her sister when the time came.
And now Alexa had Harrison. She had Olivia’s love.
Harrison had left a void in her life that was so deep, Olivia feared it would never be filled. His absence made everything around her feel so dull. Time was still, and minutes turned to years. The air was stale, and she felt short of breath. The silence, God, the silence—there was nothing, no sound, only the constant ticking of the clock. Olivia yearned for Harrison, ached to see the smile in his gray eyes.
Every day she awoke and braced herself for the emptiness to burrow into her. She tried to divert her thoughts, but nothing seemed to work. Needlework was pointless. She’d called on Bernie, but Bernie had seemed anxious. At first, Olivia didn’t know why her friend was behaving so strangely, but it had finally dawned on her—the rumors.
Bernie’s anxious cheerfulness was unusually grating. Olivia didn’t want cheerfulness. If she’d had her way, the whole world would have joined her in dragging somberly about with heavy hearts and downcast eyes.
She found no society at Everdon Court, either. The Careys had departed shortly after the funeral, and when David returned a few days later, he was in the company of many friends. Or so Olivia heard from Mrs. Lampley.
“Mrs. Perry is at sixes and sevens with them about,” she’d reported, shaking her head. “They gamble all night, sleep half the day, and won’t come round for supper when it’s served. And last night they had guests, if you take my meaning,” she’d added, waggling her brows at Olivia.
Olivia could scarcely suppress a little smile. Edward would have been furious.
Olivia was not invited to the main house.
Her dark humor deepened day by day. Olivia could find nothing to laugh about, nothing to amuse her. Nothing could ease her pain.
One morning, as she wandered about the dowager house searching for an occupation, Olivia opened the door to the study. Mrs. Lampley had told her it was where Harrison had spent most of his time, reading or working.
“He loved his books, he did,” she’d said.
Olivia had avoided this room. In addition to the bedchamber where he’d slept, this was where she would feel his presence most. But when she walked in, she wasn’t overwhelmed with his presence. He was missing from this room, just as he was missing everywhere else.
She looked around her; the shelves were mostly bare now. He’d taken his collection of books, and there was nothing on the desk; it had been dusted clean. There was really nothing at all to say that Harrison had occupied this room for years.
Except for a small stack of books on a side table near the window. Olivia walked over and picked up the one on top, her fingers tracing the spine. She opened the book. Camilla; or, A Picture of Youth.
She turned the page and was surprised to find a note tucked inside.
To O: This book is written by Fanny Burney. In all the years I lived in London, I did not see the world she describes. Her novel opened my eyes to a very different town than the one I knew. H.T.
Olivia blinked with surprise and slowly sank onto the chair.
She put that book aside and opened the next. Faust. Inside was another note.
While I found this tale to be highly implausible, I found it wildly entertaining. As I pen this note to you now, it feels as if I have made my own deal with the devil. You must read the book to understand what I mean.
Olivia closed the book in her lap. The realization that Harrison had left her a parting gift in these books and these notes sent pain shooting through her. She gathered the books to her breast and bent over, sobbing. The feelings she’d spent so many years pushing down so that she could tolerate her life, finally flooded their shores, spilling onto these books that Harrison had touched and left for her. She sobbed until she could cry no more, and when the last tear was wrung from her, Olivia pushed herself upright then wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“Enough,” she said softly.
It was done. He was gone. He wouldn’t be back, and she couldn’t carry on like this, mourning and pining away without hope. Would she be a woman to waste away in her widow weeds? Or would she pick herself up and carry on? She had a life worth living, and it was high time she started.
It was with a new outlook that Olivia emerged Monday morning. The day was gloriously bright, the spring colors magnificent. She donned her best boots and a bright red scarf, picked up the novel Camilla, tucked it under her arm, and went marching into the kitchen.
“Good morning, milady!” Mrs. Lampley sang. “You’ve come up with the sun, it would seem.”
“Yes, indeed. I should like a luncheon basket, if you please, Mrs. Lampley. I mean to take a very long walk.”
“Now there is a lovely idea,” Mrs. Lampley said. “Not a cloud in the sky this morning.”
Olivia smiled and picked up a muffin. She took a bite of it. “Delicious.” For the first time in days, she actually noticed the taste of something.
“You’ll not believe it when I tell you I’ve had a letter from Rue!” Mrs. Lampley said as she lined a basket with a linen cloth.
“Rue!” Olivia repeated skeptically. “I suppose my sister helped her write it.”
“I hardly think so,” Mrs. Lampley said. “The letter is written very poorly and the handwriting atrocious!” She laughed as she cut cheese from the wheel and put it in the basket. “She said that Mr. Linford, the butler at Ashwood, helped her to spell some of the words.”
Olivia smiled. “She is well, I hope.”
“Oh, very. And quite excited that she was asked to witness the marriage between Mr. Tolly and Miss Hastings. She’s rather proud of that.”
Olivia couldn’t seem to draw a breath. She looked at Mrs. Lampley, who wore a cheery smile as she sliced through a loaf of bread.
“My sister and Mr. Tolly wed?” Olivia heard herself ask.
Mrs. Lampley’s knife stopped. “I beg your pardon, mu’um. I assumed you knew. I’d heard it from Mrs. Perry.”
Mrs. Perry! How would Mrs. Perry know, and not Olivia? “They married,” she repeated.
“Aye.” Mrs. Lampley withdrew Rue’s letter from her apron pocket and handed it to Olivia.
Olivia read the letter twice, as there were numerous misspellings and strange marks. But it was clear that Alexa and Harrison had set a date to wed—three days ago—and Rue was to be a witness.
They had been man and wife for three days.
Olivia sank onto Mrs. Lampley’s work stool, staring at Rue’s crudely written letter.
“Are you unwell, mu’um?” Mrs. Lampley asked.
“I am disappointed that I wasn’t there for the nuptials,” she lied.
“Oh, of course. Perhaps they sent word and it was lost.”
“Perhaps,” Olivia muttered. The kitchen, with its low ceiling and stone walls, was beginning to feel very close. “Well then,” she said, handing the letter back to Mrs. Lampley. “I think
I shall take that walk in the sun.” She took the basket Mrs. Lampley had put together and forced a smile. “Good day, Mrs. Lampley.”
“Good day, Lady Carey.”
Olivia walked outside and stood in the garden with hens pecking around her boots looking for grain. It was just as well that she’d not known; she’d been on the verge of collapsing under her grief as it was. She couldn’t imagine how ill with despair she might have been had she known the day, the hour, the moment he had pledged his eternal fidelity to Alexa.
It was done. It was over. He had married her sister, and of all the cruelties Olivia had ever been made to suffer, that had to be the cruelest blow. And worse, she’d delivered the blow to herself. She had insisted on it; she had sent him away, so she had only herself to thank for it.
Olivia was weary of it all.
She walked along the path down to the gate, hopped onto the bottom rung, and pushed it open, swinging out. She hopped down and shut the gate, and as she turned about, she saw two riders coming down from the main house. Olivia paused, adjusting her bonnet.
David and a gentleman pulled up alongside her.
“Lady Carey,” David said, removing his hat. “How does the day find you?”
“Very well,” Olivia said, remembering to curtsy to him, now that he was the marquis. “I had heard you’d come down from London.”
“May I introduce Mr. Eason?”
“Madam,” Mr. Eason said, bowing over his horse’s neck.
“Good day, sir,” Olivia said.
“Mr. Eason is the new steward,” David said, and put his hat on his head again.
“Ah.” She smiled.
David looked at his hand. “I had intended to invite you for to tea, Olivia, but as long as we are here, I should tell you that we—that is, my uncle and I—thought that perhaps you might be more comfortable at the Greystone House on the Ridgeley estate.”
Olivia’s heart sank. She looked at Mr. Eason, who seemed very uncomfortable. “Ridgeley,” she said.
David nodded.
