Scandalous Summer Nights

by Anne Barton

  Olivia removed her bonnet and handed it to the maid. “How did she look?”

  Hildy tilted her head thoughtfully. “Her manners are fine, but her dress has seen better days. I don’t believe she moves in the same circles as you and Lady Rose. Do you know her?”

  “I know of her, but we’ve never met.”

  “That’s very odd.” Hildy frowned. “Why would she seek you out?”

  “I wrote to her. We have more in common than you might suspect.” Olivia checked her reflection in the looking glass above the washstand, took a deep breath, and smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her skirt. Now that the time had come to meet Sophia face-to-face, it occurred to her that she should have given some thought to the matter of how best to break the news to her. “This meeting will probably take a while.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  “No, thank you, Hildy.” When the maid began to wring her hands, Olivia gave her wrist an affectionate squeeze. “There’s no need to worry.”

  “You’ve already done a bit of walking today. Why don’t I fetch Miss Rolfe and have some dinner sent up here for the two of you?”

  “I shan’t leave the inn.” And before her maid could protest further, Olivia gave a little wave and made her escape.

  The taproom was not crowded, and she had no difficulty spotting Sophia. She sat alone at a corner table, dark curls peeking from beneath her straw chip bonnet. Her head was bent over a book and the glass of ale in front of her appeared untouched. Olivia approached and cleared her throat gently. “Miss Rolfe?”

  Blue eyes, startling pale, looked up at her and then blinked. “Yes. You must be Lady Olivia. Please, join me.”

  She slid into the chair across from Sophia and, having decided as she walked downstairs that the best course of action would be to reveal the truth quickly rather than unnecessarily drawing things out, began to launch into her explanation. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure you are curious to know exactly why I’ve—”

  Dear God. She stopped, her throat tight and her thoughts scrambled.

  Sophia’s serene expression—from her kind eyes to her patient mouth—were the very picture of Papa.

  “Are you all right?” Fine dark brows knitted in concern.

  Olivia looked away until she was relatively sure she wouldn’t burst into tears. “Yes, I apologize. I just wasn’t expecting…”

  Sophia opened the front cover of her book and placed the sketch of her mother holding her on the table between them. Her lower lip trembling, she asked, “Where did you get this?”

  Olivia swallowed. “From your father.”

  Sophia sat up straighter, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “You know him?”

  She nodded. “I’m afraid he died a few years ago. But yes, I knew him. He was my father also.”

  Fingertips pressed to her temples, Sophia said, “But your father was…”

  “The Duke of Huntford.”

  “No. That cannot be. My mother said that my father was a customer at the bookshop.”

  “Perhaps he was.”

  “Surely she would have mentioned it if he were a duke.”

  “Unless the duke was married.”

  Sophia covered her mouth with her hand and then let it fall to her lap. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “I am twenty-three. So we are…?”

  “Sisters.” Half sisters to be more precise, but it was hardly the time to split hairs.

  “Forgive me, I… I need a moment to… make sense of this.”

  “Of course,” Olivia murmured, thinking that they could both use more than a moment.

  “How did you come to possess this sketch?”

  “It is a very long story, and I will tell you everything that I know, which may be frustratingly little. However, first I think I shall speak to the innkeeper and request that our dinner be served in the private dining room.”

  And so, fortified by a hearty meal and a few glasses of wine, Olivia shared the raw and terrible truth about their father’s suicide, the note he’d left for Olivia, and what little she knew about his affair with Sophia’s mother.

  Sophia explained that upon her mother’s death, she’d received a rather substantial sum that her father had provided for her care and upbringing and that her mother had been too stubborn to spend. Sophia had poured most of the money into improving the bookshop, which was her mother’s legacy and Sophia’s livelihood.

  It was impossible not to like Sophia, even if she did have striking good looks, an enviable slender figure, and an abundance of intelligence. She listened to everything calmly and, in turn, shared the few details that she had gleaned from her mother. Slowly, they began to put the pieces of their lives together.

  Sophia ate the last bite of pie—how on earth was she so thin?—and set down her fork. “Tell me about your brother and sister.”

  “They are your brother and sister as well. If you are able to stay for a few days, you shall meet them. Rose is quiet and wise, like an old soul in a young woman’s body. Owen is fiercely protective. But since marrying Anabelle, he is less apt to brood and growl.”

  “In your letter you mentioned that Owen discovered you in a compromising position?”

  “Yes, he broke down a door.”

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “There are certain things a sister does not wish her brother to see—things I imagine he was not particularly pleased to see either.”

  “And now you and—James, is it?—must marry. Do you find the situation distressing?”

  Olivia was grateful that Sophia didn’t assume that she’d hoped to be caught. Of course, she could understand how one might draw that conclusion, especially since she’d chased him to the Lakes. But still, a bit of sisterly loyalty was bolstering.

  “For years, I’ve dreamed of marrying James. Now that it’s about to happen, I wish I could stop it.”

  “You do not love him, then?”

  Olivia paused, debating how much she should reveal to this relative stranger—even if she was family. But her need to confide in someone won out. “I love him more than I ever thought possible.”

  “Then why don’t you wish to marry?” Sophia’s nostrils flared slightly. “Is it his station? Does he lack the necessary wealth?”

  “No! I don’t care about either of those things.” Relief flashed in Sophia’s pale eyes. “But I don’t want him to marry me out of a sense of duty, and I don’t want him to stay in England with me while he wishes he were participating in digs in Egypt. When he’s older and looking back on his life, I don’t want to be his biggest regret. He deserves this chance to chase his dream. Everyone does.”

  “Ah. I see. I don’t suppose you could convince Owen to postpone the wedding until after James returns from his expedition?”

  “No. I believe the only circumstance that would prompt him to call off the wedding would be James’s death, or mine.” Olivia fingered the stem of her empty wine glass. “James is equally determined to marry quickly—in his eyes, honor demands it.”

  “That’s all well and good, but you should have some say in the matter, too.”

  “Owen would say that I forfeited that right on the night I climbed into bed with James. I am stuck.”

  “Unless…”

  Olivia’s ears perked up. “Unless what?”

  “Unless you did not show up to the wedding.”

  “I could never leave James at the altar. That seems, I don’t know… drastic. And cruel.”

  “Perhaps. But if he truly believed that you didn’t want to marry him, he might feel free to go on his expedition. My point is, there are always choices.”

  Interesting. Uncle Humphrey had said something similar.

  “And each choice has its own consequences,” Olivia said, more to herself than to Sophia.

  Her half sister was correct. Olivia had always taken charge of her own fate, and though that tendency often got her into trouble, at least she was making he
r own decisions. She stood and paced the length of the small, private dining room. “If I were to run away before my wedding,” she began slowly, “the timing would have to be perfect. I’d need a window of several hours—preferably more—in which I could get a head start.”

  “Agreed. You’d have to leave early one evening and travel throughout the night.” Sophia’s cool, matter-of-fact manner was both impressive and slightly frightening.

  “I’d need a safe, secret place to hide out,” Olivia continued. “James would almost certainly come looking for me, as would Owen.”

  Sophia tapped a slender finger on the wood table as she considered this. “That is problematic—especially where your fiancé is concerned. If he were to travel all over the countryside looking for you, he’d miss out on the expedition anyway.”

  “True, and that would be a tragedy twice over. I’ll have to make him believe that I don’t wish to marry him.” She looked down at the ancient ring he’d given her and then added, “I’m not certain I’m that accomplished an actress.”

  “If you doubt your ability to convince him in person, you could leave a note.”

  “That seems a bit cowardly.”

  “Yes. But you’d be doing it for him.”

  Olivia nodded. “I would. The other advantage of leaving a note is that I could assure my family that I was safe. I should hate to worry them needlessly.” It was a harebrained plot to be sure, but it wouldn’t be the first one she’d undertaken. Nor, most likely, would it be the last.

  “I’ll need to think it over, but thank you for offering your perspective. After the shock I’ve given you today, I should be comforting you. Instead, you are counseling me.”

  “I simply think we women deserve to have a choice when it comes to deciding our futures, and I am willing to help you in any way that I can.”

  “You’re very kind, Sophia. Fortunately, I don’t need to make a decision tonight.”

  “Indeed. It’s been a long day and we—”

  The door to the dining room burst open, allowing the noise from the taproom to pour in, and both women gasped as Owen’s broad shoulders angled through the doorway.

  Her brother really did have the most uncanny timing.

  “I have it,” he said, whipping a folded paper from his breast pocket and slapping it against his palm.

  “Good evening to you, too,” Olivia said. “I presume ‘it’ would be the special license?”

  “It would. You will marry three days hence.” Her stomach dropped to the floor. Three days.

  Owen’s gaze landed on Sophia and he narrowed his eyes as though something about her was familiar. “Have we met?”

  Sophia turned to Olivia, who gathered her own wits and said, “My brother seems to have forgotten his manners. Allow me to introduce him—Owen Sherbourne, the Duke of Huntford.”

  Owen bowed and looked expectantly at Olivia. Sophia clutched the arm of her chair in a death grip.

  Ah, well, there was no use in prolonging the inevitable.

  “Owen, allow me to present Miss Sophia Rolfe. Our sister.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next evening, James walked into the inn’s taproom, eased onto the stool next to Huntford’s, and leaned an elbow on the bar. The duke stared straight ahead, but his jaw twitched—he knew James was there. The handful of farmers and tradesmen chatting at the tables behind them were some comfort. If the duke murdered James, at least there would be witnesses.

  “Welcome back to Haven Bridge, Huntford.” James nodded at the innkeeper, who poured him a glass of ale.

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice of destinations, but I’ll admit the village has a certain charm. I expect that the arrival of my family will double the population.”

  “Are many of them coming, then?”

  The duke shrugged. “I had to let two cottages down the road in order to accommodate everyone. They should arrive tomorrow. I informed them that the wedding’s happening Sunday morning, whether they are here or not—and I’m not bluffing.”

  James stroked his chin. “My mother is planning to arrive tomorrow also.” Hopefully Ralph would make the trip as well.

  “Anabelle is cross with me,” Huntford continued. “She says that Olivia must have a proper wedding dress and that she is the only one who could possibly create it. She’s probably sewing in the coach as we speak.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of her.” Anabelle was not your average duchess.

  Huntford’s eyes softened. “She’d do anything for Olivia.”

  “As would I.”

  The duke looked sideways at him.

  “I mean it,” James said. “I’ll admit that a month ago, marriage was the farthest thing from my mind. But the more time I spend with Olivia, the more I realize what a fortunate man I am. There’s something else you should know.”

  Huntford’s glare warned he was in no mood for news of the bad variety.

  “I’ve canceled my trip to Egypt.” James had regretfully written a letter to the expedition’s organizer that afternoon, so there’d be time to offer the spot on the team to someone else. It hadn’t been a hard decision, choosing between Olivia and the expedition—he knew it was the correct course of action. But he was still adjusting to the idea that a chapter of his life had come to a close before it had even begun.

  “Good.” Huntford nodded approvingly. “You made the right decision, even if Olivia doesn’t realize it. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be time for that kind of travel… later on.”

  “Absolutely,” said James, with all the confidence he didn’t feel. They both knew that this had been his one chance. His shot at adventure had slipped away.

  Huntford grunted, and they sat in silence for a few moments, as though the few sentences they’d spoken had used up their store of words for the time being. And yet, things were easier between them. Not quite like they’d been before, but Huntford was thawing.

  At last, the duke said, “I see your eye has healed. Mostly.” He took a large gulp of ale and clunked his glass on the bar. “I should have hit you harder.”

  James snorted. “If you had, you’d be attending a funeral instead of a wedding.”

  Huntford arched a brow. “Exactly.” After draining his glass, he said, “Olivia’s ankle seems to have improved.”

  “Yes.” But James was concerned that something besides her ankle plagued her. She’d seemed distant when last he’d seen her, and he suspected something more than pre-wedding nerves was to blame. “How does she seem to be faring?”

  “As well as can be expected. It’s a shock of course.”

  James nodded, even though he rather thought the shock of their sudden engagement should have worn off by now, especially after the afternoons they’d spent together at the river.

  Owen rubbed the stubble along his jaw. “She seems to be coming to terms with it better than I, but then, she’s had a little more time to adjust to the idea.”

  “Of marrying me?”

  “No. That we have another sister.”

  James almost choked on his ale. “What?”

  “Ah. She didn’t tell you. I suppose she considered it a family matter.”

  But he and Olivia were going to be a family—at least the start of one. “Another Sherbourne sister?”

  “Aye. And she’s here.”

  Good God. No wonder Olivia had been acting so strangely. “Does this have anything to do with your father’s letter?”

  “It does. Buy us another round of drinks, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  James listened as Huntford shared what he knew about the letter and his newfound half sister. He imagined Olivia reading the letter for the first time. Family was everything to her, and her father’s revelation must have shaken her world. “I need to see her,” James said. “I need to talk to her.”

  “I invited her and Sophia to join us for dinner—Hildy said they declined.”

  “Isn’t that odd?”

  “They’re probably discussing womanly topi
cs,” the duke said. “Getting to know one another.”

  But James wasn’t at all sure. He checked his pocket watch. “I should return to Humphrey’s cottage. His elderly housekeeper could use some assistance with tidying the main rooms in preparation for my family’s visit. We’re losing the battle to books and cats.”

  “Your family? Who’s visiting besides your mother?”

  “Hopefully my brother—Ralph.”

  “Wait. You have a brother? Why haven’t you ever mentioned him?”

  “Ralph has palsy, and I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good brother to him. But that’s about to change.”

  Huntford nodded thoughtfully. “I look forward to meeting him.”

  “And I can’t wait to introduce him to you.” He slid off his stool. “When you see Olivia, would you tell her that I’d like a few moments of her time tomorrow?”

  “I can tell her,” Huntford said noncommittally. “But brides have strange ideas about seeing their groom before the wedding. After Sunday, you’ll have plenty of time together.”

  “Right.” James wondered if he could scale the wall outside of Olivia’s window.

  “One more thing, Averill.”

  James looked him in the eye.

  “Don’t even think about attempting a midnight visit to my sister’s room.”

  Damn it. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  The next morning, Owen moved Olivia and Sophia out of the inn and into one of the cottages that he had let. She was to share a room with Sophia, since she hadn’t met anyone else yet. Owen, Anabelle, and their sweet daughter, Elizabeth, would take the second bedroom. The third was for Olivia’s sister Rose, and Anabelle’s sister, Daphne. Her husband, Benjamin, was unable to make the trip. The other cottage was for Aunt Eustace and a few other great-aunts who’d heard about the wedding and insisted on making the trip in spite of their gout, digestive ailments, and other assorted complaints.

  It would be cozy, to be sure, and Olivia was warmed by the outpouring of familial support, but guilt gnawed at her insides. They were all coming to witness her wedding.

  A wedding that she’d recently decided wasn’t going to take place.

  The coachman placed Sophia’s and Olivia’s bags in their room, and the kindly woman whom Owen had hired to act as housekeeper opened a window to let in the breeze. “Just let me know if there’s anything you need, my dears,” she said. “Luncheon will be ready in an hour or so.”