Even then, sleep eluded him. But lying awake was better than the dreams that delighted and tormented him.
The ones where Olivia lay under him, arms and legs wrapped around him as he entered her, making them one. Where he loved her long and slow until she shattered with ecstasy, calling his name. Where he watched her as she slept, her unbraided hair spread over his pillow, then dozed and awoke to a marvellous new day, with every new day marvellous, because he could lean over and gather her into his arms.
We might have been happy, his stubborn heart kept whispering.
But you were certain you and Lydia would be happy, he answered it back. And how terribly awry that went.
More importantly, he wanted Olivia to be happy. One only had to see the glow that came over her when she talked about London to know she belonged there.
Enough! Shaking his head, he pulled his mind free from those torturous, and ultimately fruitless, arguments.
He’d survived before. He would survive this. And he should content himself with the knowledge that having taken these painful steps would, in the end, make the future better for both his wards and Olivia.
That should make him feel better—but it didn’t.
‘Fool,’ he muttered to himself—only to have Pierre, who’d been looking out the window his cage had been placed in front of, turn to him and echo, ‘Fool! Fool!’
‘I wonder if you would have persuaded Sophie to talk,’ he said to the bird.
‘Sophie talk! Sophie talk!’
That remark stuck another little needle of pain into his chest. ‘Maybe I should cover your cage,’ he retorted.
After which, wisely, Pierre went silent.
* * *
He was about to rise from his desk and return to the stables when Mansfield rapped at the door. ‘Your friend, Mr Saulter, just arrived, Colonel,’ he said as he walked in. ‘He said he couldn’t stay the night, as he is on his way to London, but didn’t want to pass by without at least stopping in for a drink. Shall I show him up, or would you prefer to join him in the salon?’
‘Bring him up, Mansfield. And see if Cook can put together a tray. I doubt he would refuse a bit of meat and cheese with his wine before he resumes his journey.’
His spirits brightened slightly at the thought of seeing his old friend. Although he dreaded the explanations he was going to have to make.
* * *
Hugh rose to shake the hand Stephen extended as Mansfield ushered him in, then set the tray of meat and cheese on the desk before bowing himself out.
‘Good to see you again!’ he said, motioning his friend to a chair. ‘I trust you had a pleasant visit with your family.’
‘Very pleasant. Although a shocking reminder of how swiftly time passes. My sister’s boy, who was a plump toddler when we left for India, will be going up to Oxford next year! Seeing that, I was about to ask for a cane and an ear horn.’
‘We may have a few good years left,’ Hugh said with a chuckle. ‘Wine? And please, help yourself.’ He motioned to the provisions laid out on the tray.
‘Thank you, I will. And who is this fine fellow?’ Stephen asked, pointing to the parrot.
Preening, Pierre repeated, ‘Fine fellow! Fine fellow!’
‘A mistake,’ Hugh said flatly, trying to ignore the hollow ache in his gut. ‘An indulgence I was persuaded to buy in Bristol for my wards.’
Pierre cocked his head reproachfully. ‘Not a mistake. Not a mistake.’
‘That’s enough from you, or the cover goes back on!’ Hugh said, waving a warning finger at the parrot—who promptly turned his back and resumed looking out the window.
Laughing at that exchange, Stephen said, ‘How are those charming girls?’
‘Doing quite well, or so my great-aunt tells me.’
His smile turning puzzled, Stephen angled his head at Hugh. ‘Your great-aunt tells you?’ he repeated. ‘What does that mean? Has Miss Overton left you?’
Hugh sighed. ‘It’s...complicated.’
‘So explain.’
Trying to keep his expression and tone as neutral as possible, Hugh detailed his receipt of his great-aunt’s offer to take the girls, her arriving at Somers Abbey to sweep them away and the subsequent departure of Miss Overton.
Taking a long sip of his wine, Stephen observed, ‘You don’t look very happy about it.’
‘I admit, I miss them terribly. But I’ve known from the first that they should be raised by a well-placed female who can train them to run a genteel household and then see them properly presented and married. It’s just that, not initially having had any suitable relations respond to my letters, I had rather grown used to the idea of raising them here.’
‘And what about Miss Overton? Are you missing her?’
‘She’s returned to London. If you remember with what passion and enthusiasm she talked about her work there, you will know she is better placed now, too.’ He wasn’t about to reveal he’d suggested a marriage of convenience—and then rescinded the offer.
Stephen studied him. ‘You just...let her go, without trying to do anything about it?’
‘What would you have had me do?’ Hugh spat back, anger and frustration and misery sharpening his tone. ‘London is her proper milieu—not a struggling estate in the Somerset countryside! If I’m truly lucky, the proceeds from this year’s apple crop may finally clear the rest of the debts my brother left, but the estate is still far from prosperous.’
‘You think a lady who has lost her dowry and her position in life would care about that?’
‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted. ‘But...you know how things ended with Lydia.’
Stephen was silent for a long time. ‘Having no experience with wedlock, I won’t presume to give advice on what makes for a happy union. If you feel you can’t bring yourself to face the prospect of marriage again, I respect that decision.’ He paused. ‘You are very sure you do not want to make a push to win Miss Overton?’
He made himself nod. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
So sure he’d wrestled with the decision through every one of his many sleepless nights.
Stephen blew out a breath. ‘Very well. Much as I enjoy your company, old man, I didn’t make a detour on my way to London just to see you. I wanted to discover how matters stood between you and Miss Overton. Because if you have decided not to pursue her, I will.’
Hugh shook his head, not sure he’d heard correctly. ‘You’re going to what?’
‘Pursue Miss Overton. Granted, pleasure is easily had in India. But I’ve come to the point in my life where I want more than just release for the body. I want a companion—someone to preside over my table as well as fill my bed. A lady of taste and refinement, who can play Beethoven and discuss politics and handle children. In short, a wife. Now that I know you’ve released any claim on her, when I get to London, I intend to look up Miss Overton—and court her.’
The implications registered in a blast of anger and disbelief. ‘You can’t mean you’d try to entice Miss Overton into marrying you—and carry her back to India!’
‘A wife generally does accompany her husband,’ Stephen said, smiling.
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it!’ Hugh said furiously. ‘You wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to expose her to all those risks and dangers!’
Stephen’s humorous expression vanished. ‘After your dreadful experiences, I can understand your reluctance,’ he said quietly. ‘But even you must admit, not every English lady who goes out to India perishes. Indeed, every year the Fishing Fleet brings boatloads of single ladies from the homeland, all eager to find husbands on the subcontinent.’
What his friend said was true, but Hugh couldn’t banish his dread or his furious resistance to the idea of Olivia marrying—Stephen or anyone else. ‘Do you love her?’
‘For reasons of which you should be very well awar
e, I’ve held my emotions in check,’ he retorted. ‘I don’t intend to do so any longer. Granted, she isn’t a Beauty in the conventional sense, but in my experience, Beauties require a tiresome amount of coddling. Better far to wed a woman of sense, competence and proven talents. Once I arrive in London, I will seek out Miss Overton and I will use every means at my disposal to persuade her to accept my suit.’
Hugh had been listening in growing agitation, but at this, he cried, ‘You cannot mean that! Marry her, take her to India and I will no longer count you my friend!’
For a long moment, unsmiling, Stephen held his gaze. ‘I would be very sorry to lose your friendship. But if you have truly relinquished any claim to the lady and my choice was between her hand and your good will, I think you know which one I would choose.’
All Hugh could think was what a catastrophe this whole conversation had become. He could tolerate living without Olivia, knowing she was safe in London, where she might find some way of continuing to live out her dream of involvement in politics. But married, in India? Exposed to the dangers of childbirth, fever, heat, ravaging tigers, poisonous reptiles and insects?
Clasped in some other man’s arms, in some other man’s bed?
Even considering it made him want to wrap his hands around that man’s throat and strangle him.
If Stephen were truly planning to court Olivia, Hugh had better send him away before he said—or did—something violent. Whether or not he would be sorry for it later was debatable.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said abruptly. ‘You should be on your way to London.’
Rising from his chair, Stephen nodded. ‘I won’t ask you to shake my hand.’
‘A wise decision,’ Hugh spat out, closer to despising the man who’d once been his best friend than he would ever have dreamed possible.
‘You’re a fool, Hugh Glendenning,’ Steven said as he walked out.
‘You’re a fool, you’re a fool,’ Pierre echoed.
* * *
For a timeless interval after Saulter departed, Hugh paced the library in circles, a maelstrom of emotion raging within him. He wasn’t sure which notion disturbed and incensed him the most: Olivia exposed to all the dangers an Englishwoman faced in India—or Olivia married to someone else.
He already knew she wouldn’t accept a marriage of convenience. But he also suspected, even though he hadn’t intended it, his failure to follow through on his proposal had hurt her.
As he knew only too well, Stephen Saulter was a very charming fellow. A charming fellow who, he’d revealed to Hugh, now possessed a tidy fortune.
As she recovered from her disappointment in Somerset, she might well be vulnerable to the lures of a handsome, charming man. One who could tempt her with not just a return to her former status, but a position of respect as the wife of a rising official and a life of adventure far from England.
Much as it made him want to throttle Saulter to even consider such an outcome, Hugh had to admit his former comrade was a gentleman of excellent character. He had little doubt that, as Saulter got to know Olivia better, he would soon be able to pledge her a love untarnished by doubt, something Hugh had not been able to promise. Could Stephen persuade her to love him in return?
How could she when I suspect she loves me? an anguished voice within cried.
Why should she hesitate when you were unwilling to take a chance on a future with her—even if turning her away was for her own good? he answered it back.
Sick with agitation, anger, grief and outrage, he threw himself back in his chair and picked up his glass—only to put it down again. In his current state of turmoil, even the wine was unappealing.
If he really wanted to save her from Stephen, India—and any other man—there was only one way to do that.
During those many sleepless nights, he’d long since admitted he loved her—how else would he have been able to let her go, if he hadn’t thought doing so was the best way to protect her?
But not until she’d left Somers Abbey had he realised how deeply he’d come to rely on her wry wit, serene presence and easy companionship. The idea of losing her completely and for good by marriage to another man was...intolerable.
Another memory occurred—one that eased his agitation slightly.
When he’d rescinded his offer, she’d argued with him, contending that she herself was primarily responsible for her own happiness. So perhaps...perhaps he could chance wedding her, if the whole burden of her contentment didn’t rest on his shoulders alone.
If he meant to claim her, he’d need to approach her before Stephen could succeed in charming her.
He would speak to the supervisors on the north field work this afternoon, pack two small bags tonight he could carry on his saddle and set out for London tomorrow on his fastest horse.
Although the idea of speaking about it aloud made his gut clench, if he truly meant to offer for her again, he would first have to confess the full truth about the end of his marriage to Lydia—tawdry facts that might have her send him packing before he ever got down on one knee.
But he would do it, for a chance to make her his. Though he still had doubts about his abilities as a husband, he had no doubt whatsoever that taking her as his wife would make him happy for a lifetime.
After the debacle of his first proposal, he only hoped he could convince her to give him a second chance.
Chapter Twenty
That same afternoon, Olivia sat in the small back parlour of her friend Sara Standish’s home in Hanover Square, putting the last few stitches into the gown for Sophie she’d fashioned from the Bristol-bought fabric Elizabeth had liked the most—a light blue wool check that would bring out the lovely hue of their eyes. She smiled, envisioning the sisters wearing it with their dark blue spencers.
Since there was no reason she could not remain a friend to her former charges, she had tried to concentrate all her emotions on remembering the delight of their company and anticipating seeing them again. She’d already sent them several cards, one bearing the sketch of an English terrier, like the one Lady Laversby had promised she would get them that night in the salon at Somers Abbey, and several others with drawings of London scenes. She hoped their guardian’s great-aunt had allowed the nursery maid, or new governess if she’d arrived, to read the notes she’d written on the back.
She’d tried to push to the very back of her mind the heartache of loving their guardian—a colossal mistake in judgement she would likely suffer from for the rest of her life. She’d vowed to simply not think of him—a pledge she’d not yet been very successful in fulfilling.
And yet, miserable as she felt when she recalled the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his rare laugh at some of the comments Pierre had made while she was trying to persuade him to purchase the parrot, the stimulation of his conversation, the thrill of his touch, she couldn’t regret loving him.
And she would never, ever regret the glimpse he’d given her into the bliss and power of passion.
The only thing she regretted about that interlude was the frustrating necessity to heed the voice of wisdom and stop short of experiencing the final act of possession.
Would she always feel like she was his, even though she’d never fully belonged to him? Even though he’d not been able to fight through the ghosts of the past to choose a future with her?
And now here she was, silly fool, thinking of him again.
Determinedly replacing the image of his face with one of Elizabeth as she played the ‘screaming game’, Olivia held up Sophie’s gown and inspected it. She might be terrible at embroidering and fine work, but she was an excellent seamstress, she thought with satisfaction. Now that both gowns were completed, she was ready to plan how and when she would travel to Laversby Hall to deliver them.
She suspected it would be better to simply arrive unannounced, rather than write for permission for a visit th
at might well be politely, but firmly, denied.
And she was going to see them, come what may. She might not be able to hold on to Hugh Glendenning, but nothing was going to exclude her from the life of his wards.
Perhaps during her visit, she thought, a sudden swell of hope rising, she could figure out a way to be useful enough to her hostess that she might be persuaded to let Olivia stay on at Laversby. If not as the girls’ governess, then perhaps as a music teacher, or an assistant and companion to Lady Laversby. Though the Colonel’s great-aunt had seemed in robust health, she was getting on in years. She might well need some assistance to keep up with two active little girls.
The permanent ache within her eased at the possibility of being able to remain at Laversby, where she might indulge to the fullest her love for the children who had stolen into her heart.
Where she might catch a glimpse of their guardian when he came to visit, as he certainly must, sooner or later.
Could she keep herself from running to Hugh Glendenning, if she did see him?
A deep pain lanced through her, sparking tears she brushed away with an impatient hand. For a man to whom she’d already practically proposed, there was no predicting how foolish she might be.
Still, if she were lucky enough to secure a position in his great-aunt’s household and wanted to keep it, she would have to be circumspect. Succumbing to her passion for him, as she had in the music room at Somers Abbey, would get her discharged without a character in short order. She’d lose the girls, too, and she couldn’t bear that.
Better to avoid him, when he did visit.
The Tempting of the Governess Page 22
