Elizabeth gently touched her wrist. “Mather. Or—pardon me, Holladay.” She laughed. “Olivia, I should call you—for we’re to be sisters now.” Her brows arched, a silent statement of amazement, to which her smile lent a wondering quality. “I never doubted for a moment that you had a sound reason to take those letters. But you know me well enough, I hope, to believe that I would have helped you. Or don’t you?”
Olivia found herself blinking back tears. “I do. I should have. But Bertram . . .” She took a ragged breath. “I did not want to draw trouble on you, ma’am.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “No, no, sisters do not call each other ma’am.” A mischievous expression crimped her mouth. “I do hope you will feel free to draw trouble onto Marwick, at least? I cannot say I would find him the easiest man to marry.” She gave a mock shudder. “But he’s certainly able to handle a few villains. Say . . . are you certain you don’t wish to change your mind? We could steal away to Waterloo, you know—it’s never too late to flee!”
Olivia smiled. “He is quite fearsome, isn’t he? At first glance, at any rate. But I do believe that’s part of his allure.”
“Hmm.” Elizabeth eyed her. “Very well, we will stay. But I must ask—you have seen the morning’s papers, haven’t you?”
She nodded. News of Bertram’s resignation occupied the top headline, along with the information that he had been spotted boarding a steamer bound for New York. “Yes. It’s no surprise.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “It will keep the journalists busy for a week at least. But you must know . . . it’s only a matter of time before the rest of it makes the papers, too. The editors are beating their brains to find a way to print those letters without coming up against the obscenity laws.”
Olivia sat down. “We’re ready for that,” she said quietly.
“But aren’t you afraid,” Elizabeth said gently, “of the repercussions for you? The two of you, I mean.”
Olivia shrugged. Alastair had made a point of visiting his club yesterday. Nobody, he’d said, had dared not meet his eyes. “A man who would willingly distribute letters that paint him as a cuckold is a man who might do anything. That is not a man to cross.”
Elizabeth nodded, frowning. “Yes, I’m certain Marwick will find his way back into politics without difficulty. But the social consequences, my dear . . . You’ll be the center of a million stares! At least for a time. I’ll do everything I can to smooth your path, of course, but it will not be the easiest time to announce a marriage . . .”
Olivia laughed. “You mean, people will talk. They will gawk and whisper. But they would have done it anyway. In the eyes of the world, I’m a bastard, a woman who was in service. Our marriage will be a mésalliance. People would have stared regardless.”
“And will you be able to bear it?” Elizabeth hesitated. “I have endured that kind of attention. It’s a heavy weight to bear the way others stare. . . .”
Smiling, she repeated what Alastair had said to her recently: “All that matters is how we look at each other. How I look at him.” She blushed and looked down at her hands, at the pearl bracelet he’d given her. He was right, she realized wonderingly: it did match her skin.
“Well.” Elizabeth sat back; she looked impressed. “I never would have guessed you had a taste for scandal, darling.” She grinned. “But I did remember how well you look, when turned out properly.” She waved Olivia up and turned her by the shoulders to face the mirror. Together they gazed at her reflection.
She barely recognized the look of herself—glowing, alight. The gleaming cream brocade made her pale skin look rosy, and set off her scarlet hair.
But she did recognize the way it felt to look beautiful. It matched the way she felt when Alastair looked at her. She finally matched in the mirror what she saw reflected in his eyes. “Shall we go?” she asked softly. Suddenly she could not wait any longer.
Arm in arm, she and Elizabeth made their way down the scrolling staircase. The servants had lined up to watch, and she almost did not let herself look into their faces, for fear that some sneer would ruin this moment. It had been very unsettling and confusing for them to receive her again, not as a member of the staff but as their future mistress.
But she steeled herself, because Elizabeth was right: the days ahead, until the scandal died, would take courage. And she did not lack it. The Kingmaker had assured her so. So here was an opportunity for practice.
But what she saw, when she looked up, were smiles and nods—and a single scowl from Vickers, who ducked his head when she met his eyes. She glanced past him and found Cook beaming at her, clutching a basket, tilting it now to display—
Startled, she came to a stop. Why was Cook showing her a load of dirt?
Cook arched a brow. “Truffles,” she said pointedly. “For your wedding breakfast, ma’am.”
Olivia remembered suddenly a certain bucket of dirt she had once discovered in the kitchen and had tossed away, thinking it part of the filth that abounded in the unkempt household.
“What is it?” Elizabeth whispered. “Second thoughts? Shall it be Waterloo, after all?”
She felt a wisp of annoyance—very fitting for a sister-in-law. And then she laughed. “I am not jilting His Grace,” she said.
“Drat. Very well, I’ll behave.”
And they recommenced their passage without further interruption, into the formal drawing room, where Alastair stood with Michael at his side.
There was a time when he never stood in the light. But sunlight poured in through the windows now, painting him in gold. She followed the pull of his sapphire eyes across the carpet; his hands closed over hers, firm and steady, hands that would be hers to hold until the end of her days.
The chaplain began to speak. She barely heard him. It was only the two of them here in the light. And when it came time to kiss, she turned her face aside and whispered into his ear, “There’s one thing that troubles me.”
He pulled back, frowning. “What is that?”
“I found out who stole the truffles.”
His frown deepened. “What? How?”
“Rather ask who. It was me. I threw them out, thinking them rubbish.”
He laughed and took her face in his hand. “I suppose I’ll have to sack you as my housekeeper, then. How fortunate you found another position.”
And then, as Elizabeth and Lord Michael applauded, and the servants began to cheer, he kissed her. And she kissed him back, though her mind did wander again to the truffles, for Doris was right: who would eat a food that looked like that?
“Pay attention,” he murmured. And then he kissed her again very persuasively, and all thoughts of Doris and truffles and dirt faded away, leaving only him.
© Shelley McGuire
MEREDITH DURAN blames Anne Boleyn for sparking her lifelong obsession with British history (and for convincing her that princely love is no prize if it doesn’t come with a happily-ever-after). She spends her free time collecting old etiquette manuals, guidebooks to nineteenth-century London, and travelogues by intrepid Victorian women. Fool Me Twice, her eighth novel, is preceded by The Duke of Shadows, the winner of the Gather.com First Chapters Romance Writing Competition and enjoyed worldwide in eleven languages; Bound by Your Touch and its sequel, Written on Your Skin, chosen by All About Romance for its first inaugural book club meeting on Twitter; Wicked Becomes You, an RT Book Reviews Top Pick included on the Woman’s World list of Best Beach Reads for Summer 2010; and three consecutive RT Book Reviews Top Picks—A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal, At Your Pleasure, and That Scandalous Summer.
Visit www.meredithduran.com or catch up with her on Twitter and Facebook.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Meredith-Duran
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ALSO BY MEREDITH DURAN
The Duke of Shadows
Bound by Your Touch
Written on Your Skin
Wicked Becomes Y
ou
A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal
At Your Pleasure
That Scandalous Summer
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Meredith Duran
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First Pocket Books paperback edition April 2014
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Cover illustration by Alan Ayers
Hand lettering by Dave Gatti
ISBN 978-1-4767-4135-2
ISBN 978-1-4767-4138-3 (ebook)
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About Meredith Duran
Fool Me Twice Page 31
