by Hawke, Jessa
His hands stilled. “I do not know.”
Olivia's blood ran cold. He did not know? And yet, what exactly had she been expecting? The man was a widower for heaven's sake, and all the work she had done for him and his children might have been enough to press against the barrier of the guilt he might feel for loving again, but it was hardly enough to punch a hole through. She stepped away from him and stared him right in his dark eyes. She knew what she had been expecting. What every woman expects who knows the man she loves feels the same way back. But it was too painful to voice aloud, too painful a vulnerability to lay out on the great table between them, open and throbbing like a wound.
“Why not?” she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.
He ran a hand through his unruly locks and they looked wilder than ever. He looked, for all the world, like a vastly tortured soul, and it was only when she caught sight of the circles beneath his eyes that she wondered if perhaps the sleepless nights he had been having had something to do with her, not only the incoming Lord David. She leaned a small wrist against the table, for she did not feel very steady and she had a feeling his answer would knock her down entirely.
“What would happen to the children?” he asked her, his voice angry. He was angry at her and yet he was not. He was clearly quite upset with himself. “What would happen to the children if I told them how I feel? They would feel as if I were replacing their mother, and I could never do that to her memory.”
She looked up at him from beneath the fall of her lashes. “And how do you feel?” She sounded much braver than she felt, she knew.
He turned his tortured eyes on her and briskly walked over to grasp her wrists in his large hands. “You know how I feel,” he said, and kissed her hard on the mouth. She almost gasped, for there was no air in that kiss, no room for breathing or thinking.
“Tell me how you feel.”
“I love you.”
“Then why can you not say it to them? I love you more than I could have ever loved another man, for all your care and your beauty, and your strength. I love your children and I would not ever want to replace their mother. I only want to bring them joy.”
“But they have become accustomed to you as their governess. How can I uproot their lives by springing this change on them?” he asked, and the minute he let loose the phrase, they both knew it was the worst thing he could have possibly said.
“I am nothing more than the governess and I never will be, will I?” asked Olivia, and before the duke could reply, she wrested her wrists from his hands, spun on her heel and left. He called out once behind her and that was all.
That had been nearly a week ago.
Olivia had hardly slept since then. Images of that night, tiny moments caught still, flashed across the pained surface of her mind every time she shut her eyes. And it was not only then. Every time she attempted to teach Katherine something or show Elizabeth how to remedy her mangled stitches, she would remember how the duke tasted against her lips and lose all of her concentration. The worst part of the whole situation was that there was nowhere left to run; she had tried, once, and she had ended up even worse off than when she had started. What could she do? She could not return to London knowing that Katherine, Elizabeth, and Buxley would be raised by another woman and she could not bear to think that another woman would one day take her place in the duke's heart. What was left?
Every day seemed bleaker than the last by the time Lord David arrived. She was caught in a prison she had not noticed she had built with her own two hands. Amidst the furious flurry of Worchester Abbey, Olivia felt like an island standing still amongst the waves; it felt acutely like she was being hit by them on all sides, unnoticed, melting, and lost forever to mankind. As luck would have it, the morning of Lord David's arrival called the duke away to Manchester on emergency business. Spurred on by her innate sense of politeness and the fact that the duke was gone from her sight for a brief while, it was Lady Olivia who welcomed Lord David to Worchester Abbey. She had not known what to expect, but the sight of this younger, more active version of the duke left her almost speechless. Lord David stepped from the coach and simply stunned her. Gone were the lines in his face that she had become so accustomed to on another visage, gone were the small sprinkles of gray in the dark wave of his hair. And most important were, of course, his eyes. Oh, those eyes! They held none of the misery of a dead wife, none of the weight of responsibility that had proved to be such an obstacle in the way of Olivia and her duke. Lord David greeted his brother's governess with all the enthusiasm of a man meeting a very attractive woman for the first time.
It was an altogether confusing time for the young governess. The pain of rejection intermingled with the piqued interest towards the stranger—not so strange—in what had become her home, until Olivia was forced to lock herself away in her room for a full day straight to set right the thoughts that had become so very jumbled together. A new day had just risen when Olivia, who was looking out at the lush green landscape before her, heard a rather urgent knock on her bedroom door. Wrapping her dressing gown more firmly around her, she opened the door to find Lord David shooting her a very mischievous look.
They both knew the inappropriateness of his calling on her when she was in her bedchamber alone, but Olivia found herself unable to stand on propriety when she caught sight of his boyish smile.
“Forgive this most reprehensible intrusion,” said Lord David with a twinkle in his dark eyes, “but I was wondering if you would care to join me for a ride this fine morning, Lady Olivia.”
Had the duke's eyes ever twinkled?
The warmth of the sun was marvelous on her face, and her horse was strong and steady. Olivia found that she was much enjoying Lord David's company, as well. There was a lightheartedness about him that was extremely appealing, and Olivia was beginning to form an idea of how the duke must have been when he was just a drop younger. Lord David had just regaled her with a fantastic story about his voyage to the states when Olivia found her mind fixating on the uprooting phrase the duke had used.
“He writes about you all the time,” said Lord David suddenly, breaking through the deep cloud of her heavy thoughts.
“What?” said Olivia, caught temporarily off guard.
“He writes about the governess that brought light back into the lives of my nieces and nephews all the time,” said Lord David again, simply, and with a gentle smile. “And now that I have met said governess, I must say I have never met a lovelier woman.”
“Oh Lord David, you are a terrible flirt!” she cried, but her heart was bleeding with a warm wash of pain.
“I, a flirt? Never, I assure you, Lady Olivia,” he answered, but with a cheeky grin. That staunched the flow of pain just a touch.
Inch by inch, her spirits rose over the course of the week; the duke had been detained in Manchester far longer than he expected, but he wrote to his brother, saying he hoped David was at least being kept entertained by his family. Lord David was indeed being entertained, but it was in a far different corner than the duke might have expected. He had laid his eyes on a far more delicately wrought prize, and he intended to walk away a winner. He was charming Lady Olivia for all she was worth, and in her vulnerable state, Olivia was letting him. It seemed to her that he was the funniest, kindest person she had met in a long time, and she felt lighter for the first time in a long time. She did not, however, consider David as anything more than a temporary distraction until the day she received Mildred's latest relay.
My dear (wrote Mildred in her bubbly hand),
I wanted you to hear this from me and not from some horrible society matron on your next visit to London. It appears that the estimable Lady Soothley, nee Freeworth, is bringing a devilish bundle of joy into the world. At the very least, this is what is being whispered at Sootherley's, although I simply do not see how anyone could procreate with that simpering Satan's creature.
Dear Mildred. Loyal to a fault, which is what Olivia thought a split second be
fore she put down the paper and began to heave dry nothings onto her bed.
What the devil was going on with her? She had found someone, discovered there was a man beyond Ben Soothley, there was life, for heaven's sake, beyond the man who had tossed her aside like a used nappy. So why on Earth was her heart beating so fast she could swear it was about to break free from her chest and roam the countryside? Olivia simply could not calm down. She got down on all fours like an animal and clutched the edges of her bed with her hands, shuddering and shaking for what seemed like an eternity. Cynthia Freeworth, pregnant? Who cared, who cared?
But apparently, she cared.
It took a while for Olivia's pulse to settle, and when it did, she lay on her back in her gown, completely spent. She still trembled, but at least if someone were to come into the bedchamber in that moment, they would think her tired, not simply mad. She rolled over on her side and considered the last year of her life. Worchester Abbey had taken her away from one set of problems and introduced her into a new one, and it seemed that despite the change of life, the new path she was taking, her old life simply did not want to let her be. What was it about her that seemed to attract the misfortunes of life so strongly?
There was one bright spot, however, and that was the fact that Lord David was so charming that he helped filled the hours of her day with a little more levity than her nights held. One morning, they decided to ask Buxley for his advice and took the two best horses in the stable out for a ride, picnic baskets packed by the multitalented Mrs. Huxting banging against their shins the entire ride down to the glen.
“You know, it is most remarkable how I ever decided to leave Worchester Abbey,” remarked David as they sliced cheese to pair with their fresh green grapes.
“You grew up here, then?” asked Lady Olivia, enjoying the tang of the cheese with the slightly acid bite of the grapes.
“Yes,” he murmured, looking at the sun winking through the trees above them, then at her slyly through the corners of his eye. “I always found it so dreadfully remote and dull. But perhaps if I had had a governess like you when I was growing up, I might have stayed.”
Olivia felt her cheeks heat with the words. She considered Lord David, a newer, younger make of the duke, and decided that she liked it. The duke would never pay her such compliments. It was simply not in his style; he was shyer, and spoke so infrequently. She could not see the harm in making your feelings so known. And although there was a twinge of something not quite right in the pit of her stomach, Lady Olivia Knightbridge allowed herself a smile at Lord David's flirtation.
The afternoon lengthened beautifully as they talked for hours. It seemed that they could speak about everything—all the books she had ever read, all the exotic things she had enjoyed growing up. Lord David was allowing her to realize that her eccentric education was appreciated by more than just the children. “In the states, you know, there are ladies just like you, with your breadth of knowledge and education, who are setting up homes for the mentally ill and undocumented immigrants, giving them a purpose in life,” he was telling her.
“You must be joking. You are telling me that I could be a working lady and not work with children?”
“There is far more longevity for a mind like yours in such a progressive country,” he told her.
“A mind like mine?” Olivia's breathing suddenly changed, and the air became charged with something sparkling.
Lord David turned a pair of melding eyes on her face and she was caught by that look in his eyes, a look she never expected to see from another man in her entire life. “Yes,” he said slowly, reaching across the blanket and gently picking up her hand in his. “A mind sharp and bright,” he told her, delicately tracing the bones of her hand with his finger, singeing her with his touch, “A mind warm and bright and merry... a mind for love.”
Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. Perhaps it was the sunlight, the delectable dessert, or her recent pain, but she was suddenly considering a whole new possibility for her life that would have never occurred to her even a week prior. Could it be?
Her mind jumbled when Lord David pressed his lips to hers. What was happening with her life? Allowing herself to be kissed by two men from the same family? Everything mixed together—the fine lines on the eyes of the duke, the softness of David's lips, until they were one and the same person, and her heart was pounding from all of the confusion. Perhaps, said a little voice inside of her, she could not have one, but still remain close to the life she had chosen if she had this. And this was kissing her most pleasantly and passionately; she could feel her body respond, even if a little part of her brain remained switched on, directing an inner monologue that was most unlike her.
When Lord David pulled away, he had the look of a large cat that had just finished his dinner. The thought was almost enough to push Olivia away when she caught a vulnerability in his eyes and realized she was judging him too harshly. Perhaps it was possible that Lord David had had no designs in mind, and had simply tumbled into this as accidentally as she had. His next words confirmed her thoughts.
“Olivia,” he breathed, and reached down to plant a kiss on each of her hands. “My brother has always accused me of being impulsive, and perhaps I am, but I do not care. I have never met a woman like you. Perhaps this is unorthodox, but I want you to know that I did not bring up the states as a mere coincidence of conversation.”
“You did not?”
Lord David shook his head, and it pained her to see how much he looked like the duke. A clever facsimile, an illusion, a trick of optics and light. She shook off the offending thoughts and tried to focus on what he was saying. “I have purchased two tickets for the Queen Elizabeth.” He reached into the satchel by his side and pulled one out. “I want you to come to the states with me.”
“You are not waiting for the duke to return?”
Lord David gave a small, exasperated laugh. “Olivia, do you understand what I am asking you?”
“Oh, I understand.” Olivia's voice was disappointed. “But I am not that type of girl, David.”
“Olivia, I am asking you to be my wife.”
“I am that type of girl,” she answered, and accepted the ticket being slipped into her palm. When she looked up at him, a small note of panic entered her bloodstream. “Oh, David, I cannot! It is too rash, too ill-advised, too sudden!”
David rose from the blanket, still holding her hand. “I am a fair man. The ship leaves at midnight two nights from now. Take your time to consider my offer. There is much to be offered in a new country...with a new husband. If you are not on the ship before it leaves, I will understand. But know that you will have broken my heart.”
Olivia's heart lurched straight into her throat. She held the ticket in her hand long after they had packed up the saddlebags and rode back to Worchester Abbey proper, long after he kissed her again, scrambling her thoughts. There was much to consider, and much that was being offered. A new life, a new person, and somehow, she would still end up the children's aunt. But what of the duke?
Olivia considered what was on the table. The duke, who was far away with no plans to make an honest woman out of her, was unwilling to take a chance with her. His brother was ready to take every chance with her. Could she do this to the duke and still look at herself in the mirror every morning? And was she dipping her pen in the same ink twice? Was she simply trying to substitute one person for another? It was like champagne and juice—they looked similar, but did not quite make you feel the same. Still, perhaps the heart could be fooled.
And she deserved something, deserved to have something made of her life. Was she truly designed to travel from family to family, breaking her heart each and every time? For Heaven's sake, even that which Cynthia Freeworth was starting a family of her own.
Olivia considered writing the duke an explanation, thought it was only right. She placed it on the desk in his study as she would plant a kiss, gently, lovingly, and with enormous trepidation. And although she had made her de
cision, with every gown she packed into her bags, secretly and by herself so nobody would know, she felt something tugging at her heels, planting her more firmly into the ground at Worchester Abbey. She dillied, she dallied, she put off all the preparations for her departure until it became increasingly clear that if she did not leave now, she never would.
She tore herself away. The coach she had hired was late, and thus, it was almost ten past ten o'clock before she managed to leave Worchester Abbey. Panic mixed with a relief she was desperately trying to ignore filled her every time the coach had to make a stop, extending the length of the journey. Her thoughts cycled one after the other, and at every stop, she changed her decision on whether or not to join Lord David.
“We have to replace one of the horses,” the coachman told her at one of their stops.
“Replace?” She felt the memory of the duke asking how he could replace the children's mother with her hit her and nearly doubled over as if she had received a physical blow. She knew how mad she must seem to her companions and the coachman. For the past two years, all she had been was a substitute for another woman. First with Ben, then with the duke. She realized that David's greatest upside was that in his life, she would be replacing no one. “Replace it faster,” she told the coachman firmly, and stepped into the coach to ride towards her destiny.
Destiny, it seemed, had other plans for the orphaned girl who had been so abused by her life. And all that Lady Olivia Knightbridge knew as she watched her destiny sail away into unknown waters that it had not been her destiny all along, that her destiny awaited her back on her home soil in the arms of three children she adored and a man she would simply have to chance again.
There was no remorse upon her return to Worchester Abbey.
* * *
What she found upon her return from the failed escapade was a broken remnant of a home that had just a day or so ago had been whole.
The situation was explained succinctly by Mrs. Huxting, who appeared to be having some difficulty keeping her emotions in check. Her hair frizzled around her head and one of the buttons on her gown was missing; for anyone else, this would have been a mere oversight or a sign of overexertion. When Olivia saw the housekeeper in that state, her heart sank, for it was a sign that troubled times indeed were upon them. As she stood with her dripping bags by her side in the grand foyer of Worchester Abbey, Mrs. Huxting explained that not long after Olivia had left, the duke had returned from London, monstrously ill.
