by The Rival
“Entertaining, as always. It seems that my daughter has become quite attached to the countess.”
“I had hoped that by now she might become attached to my son,” Stanhope said pleasantly.
Sir John continued to sip his cognac as if nothing were amiss, but he took the bait. “Which son?”
“Her betrothed, of course.” Stanhope smiled widely. “Garrick may be eccentric, but many ladies find him quite attractive, I can assure you of that.”
“So I have seen,” Sir John said, not easily. “Apparently, my daughter finds him quite terrifying.”
“I shall speak to him about that.” Stanhope scowled. “His manners will improve, I promise you. Miss Layton will come to dote on him in time.”
“I suppose this brings me to the subject at hand.” Sir John sat up straighter, setting his snifter on the low ebony side table. “I no longer care that Caedmon’s manners are somewhat brusque.”
Stanhope remained at ease, holding the snifter negligently in one hand. “Oh?” But he was alert. The duel of wits had begun in earnest.
“Let us not beat around the bush. You have been inseparable from Lionel since his return. He is living with you in your home. You have introduced him everywhere as your son. Am I correct in assuming that he is your long-lost firstborn?”
Stanhope finally set his glass down, on a separate table. “I have yet to make such a declaration formally.”
“Will you?”
“I do not feel I have to advise you of that.”
Sir John stood up—and so did Stanhope. “My daughter is affianced to the Stanhope heir. If this man is indeed Lionel De Vere, your firstborn and heir, then she is currently affianced to whom? Garrick or Lionel?”
“She is plighted to Garrick.”
“So you deny Lionel’s authenticity?”
“I do not.” Stanhope stared, a slight, not particularly pleasant smile fixed upon his face.
Sir John did not smile at all. “Then clearly she is engaged to the wrong man.”
“I brought my son to your attention as a candidate for your daughter’s hand. You agreed. Garrick De Vere was accepted. I do not think she is engaged to the wrong man.”
“But I engaged my daughter to the Stanhope heir, by damn!” Sir John finally exploded.
“Did you?” Stanhope was cool. “I am afraid you did not read the marriage contract thoroughly. There is no mention of the Stanhope heir there. Miss Layton was affianced to Garrick De Vere, the viscount of Caedmon Crag, and no other. There has been no mistake.”
Sir John was red. It was a moment before he could speak. “You damn well know what my expectations were. The viscount of Caedmon Crag is the Stanhope heir! At the time of the contract, Lionel did not exist. Yet you will not allow the engagement to be broken—and re-formed betwixt Susan and Lionel?”
Stanhope palmed Sir John’s shoulder, changing his tone. “Come, John. We should not argue over a marriage that is beneficial to us both. Garrick needs a woman like Susan, which is why I chose her, and you could not do better for her—that is an impossibility. Do not forget that you are marrying into one of the half dozen premier families in the land. This is a good union for our families; do not toss it lightly aside.”
Sir John shrugged him off and stared. He remained flushed. “When I assumed Garrick to be your heir, I agreed to the union. We both know that no one else would affiance their daughter to him—given his sordid reputation. So I quite understand why you continue to insist upon this union—you shall find no other bride for your disreputable son. But Susan shall now lose a title. I cannot agree to this.”
Stanhope grabbed his arm before he could whirl and leave. “For an intelligent man, you do not think clearly. You see, we are both in the same boat.” His eyes were hard. “No man of my station will allow a brewer’s daughter to wed his heir, I can assure you of that.” He smiled, hoping his meaning was clear. He knew everyone among the peerage, and no one would ever cross him—he would make sure Susan remained a spinster if Sir John broke off the engagement.
Sir John paled. Clearly he understood. Then he jerked his arm free from Stanhope. The earl watched him storm from the room.
Stanhope smiled. Sir John was no fool. He would not break the engagement, and Garrick would, by damn, come to heel.
As for Lionel, well, that was another subject entirely.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Five very long days had passed since he had last been at Ashburnham. It had been the longest five days of his life. He could no longer tolerate either his brother or his father; the pair seemed inseparable as they hunted and rode their way back and forth across the country. Worse, he knew he was expected to call on Susan Layton at Ashburnham. Stanhope had made himself clear on that particular matter, but his feelings for Olivia made that impossible. And he could not stand the thought of Arlen remaining in residence at Ashburnham with her.
He did not know how she was faring. He worried about her constantly. He had sent her a note three days ago, and he knew it had been delivered, but there had been no reply. Had Arlen discovered the brief missive? Had he put Olivia in more danger than she already was?
He would soon have the answer. Olivia and Arlen had already arrived at the Hall, as had the Laytons, for supper. His chest was tight. How could a man be both miserable and happy at the very same time? He was torn. He could no longer stand to be in her company with Arlen present. He did not trust himself to behave with discretion. But at least he would see her. He had to see her. The evening would be bittersweet. But it was better than nothing at all.
Garrick gave himself one final glance in the looking glass before going downstairs, hoping to appear composed. Everyone was present when he entered the salon. His eyes found Olivia instantly. She stood beside Susan Layton and her mother, looking far too pale and anxious. Even though Garrick had known that the Laytons were to be present, he grimaced. But more important, he wanted to spare Olivia any further distress, and it was obvious she was anxious about the evening. He would keep his distance from her, admire her from afar. She had purposely avoided looking at him, too.
He bowed to Lady Layton. “My lady, I am so pleased that we are having this evening together.” As he straightened, he did not allow his gaze to wander to Olivia, but he was acutely conscious of her presence.
Lady Layton smiled, but not with her usual warmth. Something was amiss. “My lord, good evening.” She was polite, but not very friendly.
Garrick dismissed it, now facing his fiancée. “Miss Layton.” He bowed over her hand. He had little choice but to look her in the eye and force a pleasant smile to his lips. “I apologize for being neglectful of late. I am afraid I have been preoccupied these past few days.”
Susan nodded, her expression obviously fearful, nor did she smile. She could not even manage “Good evening.” She said nothing, avoiding his eyes.
Garrick turned to Olivia. And their gazes locked.
He felt the impact of her gaze, like a blow that went right through him. For one moment he could not speak, did not dare to try, certain that his voice would quaver with the depth of his emotions. “Lady Ashburn.” He bowed and finally tore his gaze from hers.
She wet her lips. Two bright spots of pink marred her cheeks. “My lord.” Her voice was thick.
Garrick took one glance across the room and saw that Arlen was staring at them, but so were Lionel, Sir John, and Stanhope. Arlen’s gaze was blatantly hostile. He knew. Garrick had not a single doubt. His first faux pas of the evening already made, Garrick resolved not to let his passion for Olivia reveal itself again. He walked over to the men. “Am I late?” he asked.
“Hardly,” Lionel said easily. “Mother is not yet down.”
Arlen turned his back on Garrick, facing Stanhope. “It has been some time since I have been to the Hall, but I must say, you have kept up the grounds quite well. It was a beautiful drive.”
Garrick received a scathing glance from his father before the earl replied. He nodded at Sir John, but the e
lderly knight seemed perturbed and distant. Lionel stepped closer, into the breach. “Have you been in hiding, Garrick? I have not seen you all day.” He smiled.
Garrick went on alert. The truth was, his mood had been so foul that he had kept to himself all day long. He suspected a barb was on its way. “The weather warranted a quiet day of seclusion. I chose to read in my rooms. How was your day?” He stared, not giving a damn, already knowing that Lionel and Stanhope had spent the afternoon at cards. Their laughter had echoed in the halls.
“Quite the same. Father and I did play some whist, to help get by. Did you not arise very early this morning? Surely you have not been brooding since the crack of dawn?”
“And why ever would I brood?” Garrick said calmly, but inwardly he was alarmed. He had been up since dawn, and he had been brooding, but Lionel was no Gypsy fortune-teller. He could not know.
“I do not know. Perhaps you could tell me.” Lionel’s expression remained easy, but his gaze drifted in Olivia’s direction. “Perhaps, my friend, you should be more careful of what you do and how you do it.” He patted Garrick’s back and walked away.
Garrick was rigid. He had the uncanny feeling that Lionel knew he had received a note from Olivia that morning. But that was impossible, was it not?
Could he have seen a servant from Ashburnham deliver it?
Lionel had walked over to the women, bowing to them all, his eyes too blue and too warm, especially, Garrick thought, when he turned them onto Olivia. Garrick watched them chatting, and in that moment, aware of the charm Lionel was purposely exerting, he despised him.
“I am so sorry that I am late,” the countess of Stanhope said from the threshold of the room.
Garrick whirled, certain he detected a slur in her tone. She smiled at the assembly, striking in a pale blue gown with sapphires around her neck and dangling from her ears. She moved forward—and stumbled.
Garrick rushed to her, but not as quickly as Lionel, who had been closer to her. He stiffened as Lionel took her arm. “Are you all right, Mother?” Lionel asked with apparently genuine concern.
Garrick clenched his fists, but his gaze was upon his mother’s face. She had been drinking.
“I am fine. I tripped upon the rug. Good evening, Lady Layton, Susan.” The countess shrugged free of Lionel and moved forward with her customary grace. She held her head high and gave no outward sign that she was embarrassed by her near fall.
“We have been waiting for thirty minutes,” Stanhope interrupted. “Must you be so inconvenient?”
Eleanor stiffened, her smile slipping. Before she could form a reply, Garrick reached her and took her arm. “You look lovely, Mother,” he said. “I am so glad you took the extra time to make your toilette. It was worth the wait.” He smiled.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, dear,” she said huskily.
“May I escort you in tonight?” Garrick asked.
The countess nodded.
The moment broken, Garrick released her, and watched her join the ladies, who formed one animated group. Lionel was immersed in conversation with Sir John, while Stanhope conversed with Arlen. Garrick glanced once more at his mother, to make sure she was well enough, and then he walked away from everyone. Pausing at a large window, he stared out at the grounds. Dusk was falling. The sky had dimmed, and the sun formed an orange ball against the rolling horizon. Why was his mother drinking so heavily? He suspected Stanhope was the cause, but perhaps it was also Lionel. It made him so damn angry. The sooner this pretender was exposed, the sooner all their lives would return to normal—whatever that might mean.
He heard Arlen’s voice among the mingled conversation, and he grew angrier. The only reason he was present in Surrey, much less at this supper affair, he realized with bitterness, was that he was incapable of removing himself from Olivia’s vicinity. But that was going to change. It had to change. They could not continue this way. She must make a decision.
He felt her gaze upon his back, as if she knew, and he turned. Their gazes locked.
She detached herself from the ladies and slowly walked over to him. She moved with infinite grace. Her dignity, especially given the circumstances, was astounding. He was now motionless, his heart thundering in his ears.
She smiled, her gaze searching, but anxiety was also mirrored in her eyes.
“How are you?” he said softly.
“Fine.”
He began to forget that they were not alone. The entire room ceased to exist. “No. I mean truthfully. He has not hurt you?”
“Nothing untoward has happened since the other night,” she said, as low. “Thank you, Garrick.”
He was immensely relieved. “I did not know about this evening until I received your message.”
“I know.” She must have seen the question in his eyes, because she added, “I suspected as much.”
“Sometimes,” he said, his gaze certainly as intense as his tone, “I think you know me far too well.”
She wet her lips. “We are strangers, but sometimes I feel as if I know you completely, as if I have known you all of my life.”
Her words made his heart sing. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I feel exactly the same way.”
She smiled.
He smiled. And he thought about the few times they had shared. He thought about the way she touched him, kissed him, twisted beneath him, the way she felt. He thought about the night they had frantically searched the Hall together for Hannah, she in her nightclothes, he barefoot and half-clad. He thought about the sound of her laughter, the searching scrutiny of her extraordinary eyes. When he came out of his reverie with an effort, he realized that Lionel was speaking to Miss Layton and that he had maneuvered her halfway across the room——clearly to eavesdrop upon him and Olivia.
Garrick looked across the salon and realized that while everyone was conversing, all eyes kept drifting to the countess of Ashburn and himself. He was angry. He despaired. Had he not promised to keep his distance from her tonight?
But he failed to walk away. What he wished to discuss with her was far too important. “Olivia, I am leaving for a while. There is something I must do. But if you wish, I will bring Treve over tomorrow—and leave him with Hannah until I return.” His gaze searched hers.
Her eyes had widened. “Where are you going?”
“Are you alarmed? Do you fear Arlen?” he demanded.
She swallowed. “No … I … I don’t know.” She glanced worriedly around.
“I have to go to Caedmon Crag,” he said in a rush, aware that they were lingering far too long. “I don’t know when I will return, but I will return. This situation”—he glanced at Lionel—“is intolerable.” But he was also thinking about them.
She snapped open her fan. “You seek the truth.” It was not a question.
He nodded, his gaze unwavering on hers. “I must go. I am compelled. But I do not like leaving you behind.”
She flushed. The fan moved rapidly now. “There is no choice.” She glanced over her shoulder at Arlen, and Garrick followed her gaze. Arlen continued to regard them even as he spoke to the earl. His gaze was ice.
Garrick glanced at Lionel. He appeared immersed in whatever it was that Susan was babbling on about, but Garrick knew he was straining to overhear their conversation. “Olivia, while I am gone, you must make a choice.”
She paled.
He did not let her speak. “It is not fair to either of us—and you know it, too. I await a decision from you when I return.”
Her fan moved rapidly now, and two bright spots of pink colored her cheeks. “When do you leave? On the morrow?” she asked.
“Yes. If you need me, send word, and I will come instantly.”
Her eyes grew moist. “I know.” She hesitated. “I am afraid.”
His heart was wrenched in two. “Then take Hannah and come with me.”
She blanched. “That is not what I meant,” she said when she could speak. “I am afraid for you.”
He st
ared. “What do you see?”
“There is danger,” she whispered. “Danger for you.”
Again he glanced at Arlen, and then at Lionel. There was danger here, too. “The answer is there. I have to go.” He was certain.
“Yes,” she said. “The answer is there. You must go.”
Arlen stared.
The men were smoking cigars and sipping cognac in the billiards room. The high ceiling was painted red, the walls were paneled in oak, and the huge billiards table held center stage in the middle of the room. Various card tables surrounded it. Stanhope had just racked up the billiard balls, and Sir John was chalking his cue. Garrick stood with his arms folded, as usual, having removed himself from everyone. Arlen continued to regard him. Sir John glanced at him and asked him if he wished to play. Garrick shrugged and replied, “Why not?” Arlen watched him choose a cue.
“What an enjoyable evening, eh, Ashburn?”
Arlen realized that Lionel was smiling at him. “Very,” he lied. The evening had hardly been enjoyable. But he was damnably glad that he and Olivia had joined the Stanhopes for supper. He seethed inwardly but knew his face remained an implacable mask. Every time he had glanced at Olivia, he had found her peeking at Caedmon or Caedmon gazing at her. And whenever he had turned to Caedmon, it had been the same. The currents sizzling between the two of them were tangible. Not a single person at the Hall that night was unaware of the passion burning betwixt the two.
Now he was certain of it, too.
Arlen could not decide where to ship her off to. A convent in France, perhaps? Or to the remotest lodge he might find in Wales? Olivia had denied it, but he knew she was having a heated affair with the viscount of Caedmon Crag.
Garrick De Vere was cuckolding him again.
He desperately wished he were in town now, with Elizabeth. He had always been able to tell her everything. She was the wisest woman he knew, exceedingly clever, and her advice would undoubtedly be invaluable and worth following. She would know what to do.
