With a whoop of joy Olivia plunged both arms into the dark space beside Molly’s body and brought up a handful of gold coins.
Too many to hold. Raising her hands to the light she closed her eyes and listened to the dull chinking noise they made as they slipped through her fingers and hit the flagstones. The enormousness of her discovery was difficult to comprehend. Her brain throbbed with wonder, disbelief and finally settled upon reality: the repercussions. It did not matter that the treasure did not belong to her. They would bring her joy, nonetheless.
Dropping the coins upon the lid of Lucien’s grandfather’s crypt she again plunged her hands into the dust and darkness. Dust comprised only a thin layer. There had been no attempt to hide the coins. The sarcophagus was filled with them.
Dizzy with hope and joy she had to sit down, gazing in wonder at the gold in the flat of her palms.
‘Max’s birthright,’ she murmured. It was hard to breathe through her excitement, to gather her thoughts. Her discovery changed everything.
After a while her thoughts settled. She knew what she must do. This afternoon she would accompany her aunts to Bath. It served as a good halfway point. Refreshed, she would continue the next morning to Elmwood.
Elmwood was two hours’ carriage ride beyond Bath. Elmwood – where Max would be waiting.
Hope blossomed once more.
Returning most of the coins to the crypt she closed the lid, keeping five which she would present to Max.
She might have unwittingly denied him his birthright but she was about to atone with more than just a public avowal of the truth.
Her interest on her shame would be ensuring his gilded future.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HUGGING HER NEWFOUND knowledge to herself as the carriage rattled towards Bath and her aunts dozed in each corner, she could barely contain her excitement.
Oh, she was used to keeping secrets. For more than two years she had kept the greatest secret of all: a secret that would condemn Julian to an uncertain, if not perilous, future.
But this secret offered her salvation. A future with Max.
Sagging against the corner cushion of the carriage with a sleeping Julian across her lap her mind spun with possibilities.
Max would be able to indulge any whim or fancy he chose, whether it was experimenting with wool growing or standing for Parliament.
Even Amelia would welcome her with open arms. Miss Hepworth might come with a fortune to match her pretty face but Olivia had discovered Max’s fortune.
And Max loved her.
Her instincts told her so, just as she now considered it entirely possible Max had not received the letter she had written him. She had to believe this.
The more distance Olivia put between the dower house, especially as they passed the manse where Nathaniel lived, the more she felt her old spirit returning.
It wasn’t just the gold. She had done it: she had thrown off the yoke that made her as much Nathaniel’s whipping post as she had been Lucien’s.
Whatever happened, she and Julian would survive. Her son would survive with his spirit intact because she had shown the strength needed to make it so, albeit thanks to the brutal kick which had killed Molly.
Careful not to disturb the sleeping child in her arms, she leaned forward. Aunt Eunice was stirring, straightening her lace cap as she blinked open her eyes.
‘Aunt Eunice,’ she whispered, another surge of excitement coursing through her, ‘I do not intend seeing Nathaniel ever again!’
‘But there are just weeks until the wedding!’ Aunt Catherine, who had just woken, herself, sounded close to tears. ‘What happened was a terrible accident. Think of your reputation, Olivia!’
‘What of it?’ Olivia managed to keep her voice from wavering though it was true. She would be branded a jilt; more ammunition against her for those who believed Lucien’s slurs.
Dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of lace, Aunt Catherine sniffed. ‘All we want is your happiness, Olivia, but how can any woman be happy if she is not received in society? Despite this morning’s accident Nathaniel has been good to you—’
‘Because it profited him!’ Aunt Eunice’s voice was harsh.
‘I shall not marry him and I shall never change my mind,’ Olivia said firmly, even as visions beset her of a vengeful Nathaniel using every dirty trick at his disposal to wrest from her all that she held dear. But with Max in possession of the truth Nathaniel’s power was void.
The boy was stirring. With a yawn he pulled out his thumb and his eyelids fluttered open. Olivia waited tensely for him to recoil when he realized where he was but he did not. Instead, he settled himself more comfortably on her lap, rubbed his eyes with one grimy fist and offered her a smile.
Her heart somersaulted. Love, like molten liquid surged through her veins. She hugged him against her, kissing the top of his head and breathing in his warm, little boy smell.
‘Julian, sweetheart,’ she whispered, ‘Mama’s not marrying Reverend Kirkman.’
‘Marry Uncle Max?’ With his thumb firmly in his mouth the words were indistinct but understandable.
Olivia gave a weak smile as she closed her eyes against the scrutiny of her aunts.
Would it be enough? Fear rubbed at her earlier confidence. Would revealing to Max the whereabouts of his grandfather’s lost fortune be enough to restore what had once existed between them? Max regarded principle and morality more highly than material goods.
‘A mighty fine sentiment, young man,’ Aunt Eunice said approvingly, ‘and one I endorse sincerely.’
Olivia held Julian more closely. ‘If he will have me.’
‘Of course he’ll have you!’ Aunt Eunice cut in sharply. ‘He’s as moonstruck as any green boy, that’s clear enough!’
Aunt Catherine put her head on one side. ‘He is Lucien’s cousin, of course, and you do not know him as well as you know the reverend—’
‘What does that signify, Sister,’ interjected Aunt Eunice, ‘when Mr Atherton displays all the heroic qualities needed to set a female’s heart aflutter as well as kindness and common sense?’ She paused, sending Olivia a narrow look. ‘You’ve not had a falling out on account of something other than Mr Kirkman, have you, Olivia?’
Olivia dropped her eyes. ‘I have not heard from Max since last week when I elaborated on’ – she drew her breath in through her teeth – ‘my sins.’ Faintly, she added, ‘Nathaniel interrupted and although I wrote Max a full explanation I’ve heard nothing.’
‘Then it’s because he never received the letter.’ Aunt Eunice’s tone was comforting in its conviction. ‘Doubtless that conniving, underhand clergyman intercepted it.’ She patted Olivia’s knee. ‘Mark my words, Olivia, Mr Atherton wears his heart on his sleeve and is not the kind of man to let a mere misunderstanding stand in the way of true love. Once he knows you’re no longer bound to Mr Kirkman he’ll be on the doorstep upon the instant to beg your forgiveness and to make you an offer.’
*
‘Dearest Olivia!’ Cousin Mariah, resplendent in Pomona green and gold, ushered them into the drawing room of her fashionable townhouse in Laura Place. ‘I was so hoping you would come. And you’ve brought the boy!’ The peacock feather in her handsome gold toque swayed as she clapped her hands. A servant appeared and, after directing that the sleeping child be spirited away to a nice warm bedchamber, she waved them all to seats, settling herself amidst a noisy rustle of silk skirts. ‘Your aunts have told me all about you! Marriage to a pillar of the church, no less! Your wisdom will be of great benefit to a certain younger member of this household.’ Her expansive smile was followed by a look of deep concern. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Young Lucy has lost her head to a good-for-nothing so I am counting on you, my dear, to impart the salutary caution required. Your aunts assure me you have learned your lesson.’ Barely had she been admitted to the lavishly furnished drawing room than the sense of being welcomed once more into polite society evaporated. Olivia, the temptress, the scheming
seductress, would never be allowed to die.
She saw Aunt Eunice and Catherine exchange looks before asking warily as she settled herself on the Egyptian settee, ‘What else, pray, have you told Lucy about me?’
‘That Lady Farquhar was the most captivating debutante the year she was presented and that she turned down at least a dozen marriage offers before she married Lord Farquhar,’ came a breathless voice, as a young girl bounced into the room.
‘Meet Lucy,’ said her mother, adding in disapproving tones as she plucked at the sleeves of the girl’s dress and smoothed a wayward chestnut curl, ‘That’s no way for a young lady to introduce herself. What must Cousins Eunice and Catherine think of you, not to mention Lady Far—’
‘Please, call me Cousin Olivia,’ Olivia begged, allowing herself to take comfort in the heavily censored description Lucy had obviously been given; though it appeared Olivia had already been held up as a warning to her lively cousin.
‘You’re every bit as beautiful as Mama said you were,’ Lucy went on, irrepressibly, taking a seat beside her as refreshments were served. ‘I’m hoping you can teach me a thing or two, Cousin Olivia, as my first season wasn’t a great success, was it, Mother?’
Olivia didn’t know how to respond to the embarrassment that crackled through the room. Clearly Olivia was the last person in the room, much less in Bath, who should advise Lucy on how a debutante ought to deport herself. Catching Mariah’s eye, though she directed her words to Lucy, she said, ‘I think perhaps I could teach you more about what not to do.’ Her attempt at sounding self-deprecating had the desired result. Mariah sent her an approving look as Olivia added, ‘And if you consider a season a failure simply because you didn’t find a husband, perhaps the real reason was because there were no suitable suitors for you. One can’t simply accept the first offer that presents itself just because the accounting is acceptable.’
‘Bravo, Cousin Olivia.’ Mariah offered her a plate of seed cake.
‘Lucy has got it into her head she must make a spectacular match this year as if to make up for last season.’
‘I’m sure I can make a match to please everyone.’ The young girl tossed her chestnut curls. Though she wasn’t pretty in the fashionable sense, there was a robust and engaging liveliness in her manner Olivia felt sure would appeal to some nice, steady young man. Not the sleek, dangerous rake her husband had been, but wasn’t that just as well?
‘Besides, I am far more agreeable to look upon now than I was last year,’ Lucy went on, daintily picking out the seeds of her cake before her mother hissed at her to mind her manners. Lucy glared at her. ‘You said those exact same words, Mama, if you recall—’
Mariah, relaxing her authoritarian bearing, threw her hands up in the air and everyone laughed.
‘It seems only yesterday Olivia was Lucy’s age,’ said Aunt Catherine with a fond look at Olivia.
‘I must confess,’ said Mariah, ‘I did, unwisely, tell Lucy that she’d bloomed in the past year and that—’
‘What’s wrong with giving a compliment?’ Lucy interrupted. ‘If it’s the truth, I mean. I’m sure it hasn’t turned Cousin Olivia’s head being told she’s beautiful.’ She took a mouthful of cake, adding, ‘I need compliments to remind me I’m no longer the plump, spotty ape leader I was last season.’
‘You have a very well-used looking glass which seems to be constantly reminding you, Lucy,’ said her mother. ‘Now enough of your chatter. I must press Olivia and her aunts to accompany us to Lady Glenton’s midnight masque, tonight.’
As Olivia opened her mouth to demur, Cousin Mariah held up her hand. ‘There is plenty of time to rest, for surely Lady Glenton’s marvellous annual event was the reason you came early?’
As revelry was the furthest thing from Olivia’s mind, she put up strong resistance. She needed rest so she could be at her most radiant when she confronted Max tomorrow. All her senses strained towards this most important, momentous meeting of her life.
‘Please, Cousin Olivia!’ Lucy begged. ‘Mama has a gown for you and now that I’ve seen you I’m dying to show you off.’
‘I’m very tired—’ Olivia began but Aunt Eunice cut her off. ‘You can sleep a few hours and have plenty of time to prepare yourself for midnight. What you need is gaiety, Olivia, something to take your mind off your … grief.’
Cousin Mariah leant forward. ‘I can think of no finer entertainment to end one’s mourning year,’ she said, decisively.
Reclining on the bed Lucy watched with avid concentration as Olivia prepared herself for the ball five hours later.
‘Poor Cousin Olivia,’ she sighed, ‘you must miss Lord Farquhar very much. I know Mama disapproved of him, but then, she disapproves of most men.’
Olivia hesitated as she pushed a pin into her curls. Carefully she said, ‘One must embrace the future rather than dwell on the past. And of course, your mama is right to be concerned that you meet the right man.’ A vision of Max with his kind smile and the cowlick he was forever pushing out of his eyes swam before her and her heart spasmed with excitement. ‘There are some wonderful and worthy ones out there. Find a good man to be your husband, not a dashing rake, and you’ll not regret it.’
‘The worthy ones are so boring.’ Lucy grumbled, before brightening.
‘I met a woman once who was green with envy when I told her that my cousin was married to Lord Farquhar. She said she was a debutante that same year and all the young ladies swooned over him.’ Lucy kissed the tips of her fingers with a flourish as she rolled on to her back and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. ‘She said he had the wickedest glint in his eye and was by far and away the most handsome of all the eligibles.’ Hesitating, she added, ‘But she said that since her mama had warned her against him she was not disposed to court his advances.’ Lucy slid her appreciative gaze the length of Olivia’s daring dress: a Madame de Pompadour gown Mariah had insisted she wear for the occasion. ‘Of course she only said that to save face because he didn’t look twice at her.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Olivia, striving for a note between sounding too censorious, knowing that if Lucy was anything like she had been at her age any warning would be like a red rag to a bull, and too dismissive. ‘However, it’s one thing if the young ladies consider a gentleman eligible and quite another if their mamas do. The latter,’ she added pointedly, ‘is all that matters.’
Looking downcast for just a moment Lucy whispered, ‘I have a secret, Cousin Olivia.’
Disquieted, Olivia smiled her encouragement. Best to have any confessions out in the open. Lucy was such a fresh innocent it would be in everybody’s interests if the girl chose to make Olivia a confidante, particularly if the confession was of an unsuitable nature.
The girl became suddenly coy. Tracing the outline of the fleur-de-lis on the counterpane she mumbled, ‘A gentleman has made his especial interest quite clear. I want you to meet him.’ With a look of earnest entreaty she added, ‘He’ll be at the masquerade tonight.’
‘I’d love to meet him,’ Olivia said. ‘What does your mama think of him?’
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed Lucy smiled valiantly. ‘I don’t really know. He paid his respects so charmingly that I’m sure she was quite overwhelmed only I think she doesn’t wish to influence me.’ Taking in the mutinous set to Lucy’s mouth and the determined fire in her eye, Olivia decided Cousin Mariah had every reason to fear for Lucy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CLUTCHING JONATHON’S ARM, Amelia blocked her brother’s attempted escape towards the front door. ‘You need diversion, Max,’ she said, holding her ground at the bottom of the stairs, ‘and accompanying us to Bath is just the ticket.’
Halting reluctantly, Max sighed. ‘Quite frankly, Amelia,’ he said in clipped tones, ‘I could think of nothing less diverting.’
‘Max!’ Releasing Jonathon’s arm, Amelia hurried after him as he shrugged on his greatcoat in the hallway. ‘It doesn’t matter that you won’t enjoy it but you need some
thing to take your mind off Julian and …’ She didn’t say it and nor did Max allude to the fact that the name Lady Farquhar had been about to trip off her tongue.
Forbidden territory.
He stared at Amelia’s pursed mouth, her pale, peaked face framed with dark hair, and imagined Olivia’s vivid blue gaze and shiny coiffure the colour of newly ripened corn.
Longing ripped through him and he closed his eyes against the vision of the family he’d once believed would be his. But was Olivia an adulteress, a grand deceiver, and Julian, the boy he loved like his own, the result? An innocent usurper, but a usurper, nonetheless?
‘You need a wife, Max, and Bath is full of lovely gels who’d be eager to fill the post,’ Jonathan corroborated, as he watched Max pull on his riding gloves. ‘Why not join us for a few days? It’d do you good.’
‘Miss Hepworth is taking the waters with her mother,’ Amelia said brightly. ‘You were quite charmed by her the first time you met her and clearly she was struck by you.’ She fixed Max with an imploring look. ‘Whatever you might have said in parting can surely be undone.’ Max picked up his riding crop. Olivia’s fear of the clergyman was greater than her ability to trust Max the confession she owed him: that her immoral actions had cost him … everything! His initial shock and scepticism at Dorling’s allegations had turned to contempt for the woman he loved. For the past week he’d believed his wounds were mortal.
He was thoughtful as he turned up the collar of his coat. Miss Hepworth was young and pretty and innocent. Isn’t that, really, all he wanted in a wife?
His thoughts followed this train for but a second, obliterated by the memory of Olivia’s lithe body pressed against his and her passionate avowal: ‘I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, Max’.
A sentiment wholly in accord with his own.
He flexed his fingers, no longer paying attention to Jonathon and Amelia’s arguments. Hadn’t he accepted that Lucien’s cruelty was at the core of everything? The table dancing, the scandalous clothing. He shuddered … Lady Farquhar’s notorious butterfly.
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