Stephanie James

by Love Grows in Winter

  “Lord Philip,” she began.

  “Philip,” he interrupted. “There is no need for the ‘lord’ bit. As you pointed out, we are past propriety.”

  “Philip,” she amended. “I think that we should begin discussing the understanding you mentioned earlier.”

  • • •

  Philip’s mood fell. He had allowed himself to hope for a moment after she had laughed that Olivia had finally begun to accept him as a friend. “Of course, Miss Winter,” he said somberly.

  Olivia sighed. “If I am to use your given name, then you are allowed to use mine as well, I suppose.”

  Philip’s mood rose again.

  “Of course, Olivia,” he said happily.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Back to the understanding,” she said sternly.

  “Of course,” said Philip. Good Lord, what a stubborn woman she was.

  “As I have stated more than once, I do not like you,” she began. “You have upset my life and ruined parts of it. I would greatly appreciate it if from now on you would keep away from me.”

  “Olivia,” said Philip. “I know our relationship did not have a very good start, but I think we can at least be friendly acquaintances.”

  “I do not believe we can. I do not like you,” she repeated. “You are the most disgracefully arrogant man I have ever met in my entire life.”

  “Come now, Olivia, we hardly know each other.”

  “That is precisely my point!” she bellowed. “We hardly know each other and already you have caused more damage to my life than anyone else I have ever known. I want you to keep away from me forever.”

  Philip clenched his jaw. He rarely lost his temper, but this woman seemed to have a natural talent for causing it to flare. “I will do no such thing,” he said, trying to remain calm. “I spend every couple of days at Whistler Manor, and even though the time I spend at your home may decrease once your father and I are established in business, I will still visit. It would be much easier if we could learn to get along.”

  “No,” she shouted, apparently not caring if Mr. Stanley heard everything she said. “I do not wish to know what other kinds of misery you can bring upon me as an acquaintance. Stay away.”

  “Olivia,” Philip said. He didn’t know how much longer he could contain his temper. She was being so damned irrational. “I tell you it will be impossible for me to do so. I refuse to alter the manner in which I conduct business with your father to avoid you completely. We are better off learning to get along.”

  “I said no, and I meant it,” she hissed. “I do not like you. Keep away from me.”

  Without warning, Olivia kicked Emily into a run and took off like a shot. Philip forced his own horse into a run after her. “Stupid, thick-headed woman,” he muttered to himself as Stephen bounded through the field behind Emily, and her idiot rider.

  Chapter Seven

  Olivia narrowed her eyes against the wind blowing over her face. She looked back to gauge Lord Philip’s position. He was far behind with Mr. Stanley trailing, but they were getting closer. Her grip on Emily’s reins tightened and she willed the animal to move faster. Slowing down now would almost certainly result in capture. She had to get over the hill. Then she would be free.

  Just over the hill there was a bridge. And beneath the bridge was a piece of riverbank that was just large enough for her and Emily to hide. At least she hoped it was still large enough for the two of them. Olivia had used the hiding place many times in her adolescence to escape her brother Richard and his pranks. But since her brother’s departure from Whistler Manor to Cambridge, she had hardly been in need of its sanctuary.

  But she needed it now — desperately, in fact. Escaping Lord Philip’s company was her single biggest desire at present. Oh, the arrogance of that man! How dare he first pledge his loyalty to her wishes but then rescind his promise when what she wanted did not agree with him. It was disgraceful, just disgraceful.

  It mattered not if what she wanted was an inconvenience to him. It was, after all, his turn to endure the hardships of their acquaintance. Since the very first day Lord Philip Ravenshaw had set foot in Dorset, Olivia had been the one who had been inconvenienced by his presence. It was her life that had been ruined beyond recognition, not his. Had he not ridiculed her in her own home the night of that first dinner? Had he not accomplished the task of eliminating her freedom? Had he not seen to it that she dress in a silly habit and ride sidesaddle? It was his fault, all his fault. Therefore, as the gentleman at fault, he should feel inclined by propriety and a general sense of fairness to agree to her wishes no matter the terms.

  But he had not. He had refused her demands on the spot, claiming that keeping away from her forever would be too difficult. And perhaps it would be, Olivia acknowledged, but that was beside the point.

  Olivia understood full well that she would eventually have to be in the company of the man for some such reason or another. She was not entirely that unreasonable or stupid. He could not very well avoid her, for example, at the dinner table if her father chose to invite him to dine, but he could choose not to linger in the drawing room and leave immediately afterwards. He would doubtless have to visit Whistler Manor on various occasions for business, but he had no reason to speak to her if their paths should cross or even to seek her out to say “hello”. It was to have been in such moments that Olivia expected Lord Philip to make a concerted effort to stay away from her. She had simply meant for him to stay away unless he absolutely could not avoid it.

  Why couldn’t he understand that? Why couldn’t he simply agree?

  Because he is not a true gentleman, Olivia thought bitterly. Such an arrogant man as Lord Philip undoubtedly cared little for the feelings of others. He was an aristocrat. Olivia had been well convinced during her time in London that aristocrats were reared to show true consideration for no one’s feelings or needs apart from their own. They are all evil at the core, Olivia thought. They are all the same.

  Lord Philip could not feel; he was just a shell of false concern and practiced manners. There was absolutely nothing behind his deep blue eyes worth knowing. The only pleasant part of the man was the look of him. But even that had disturbed Olivia. She remembered only too clearly how quite aware of him she had been. She did not like that her mind had betrayed her and noticed the beauty of his features and form. And she certainly did not at all like the way it made her feel — overly warm and quite unlike her normal self. She would do well to remember that Lord Philip was a scoundrel. Such a man was not worthy of her attention or her company. Olivia wanted nothing more than to be free of him. And if she could make it over the hill, she could accomplish just that.

  When she finally passed over the crest of the hill, Olivia spotted her bridge and felt a tense knot in her chest unravel, spreading relief over her body. She looked back to see if Lord Philip was in sight. He was not, which meant that he was undoubtedly blinded by the hill and unable to see her. Seizing the opportunity, Olivia steered Emily to the left side of the little stone bridge, and then down the slope of land that led to the riverbank. When Emily’s hooves hit the water, Olivia searched to see if her once treasured hiding place was still intact. Much to her relief, it appeared to be completely unchanged.

  There were quite a few more vines hanging like a veil from the arch of the bridge than she remembered, which only pleased her more thoroughly. They would aid in further concealment, and the more concealed from Lord Philip she could be, the better. She guided Emily through the thick green curtain and pulled the animal to a stop once they were underneath. A frog jumped from the bank into the water, creating a sudden noise that startled Emily.

  “It’s all right, my friend,” Olivia whispered as she smoothed her hand over the animal’s neck. “All we need do now is wait for that man to cross over the bridge. Then we will be free.”

  Emily calmed and lowered her head to the water to drink. Olivia strained to hear any sign of Lord Philip and Mr. Stanley over the gulping sounds of her hors
e. As the seconds passed without a sign of both men, Olivia felt that relieved knot in her chest begin to coil once more. She started spinning scenes in her head of Lord Philip slipping past her awareness and surprising her. But such fears were unlikely. Lord Philip did not know of this place. “He shall never find us, Emily,” Olivia said to her horse, more to calm herself this time than the animal. “Yes, all we have to do now is wait. He’ll pass right over us.”

  And so they waited together, two fugitives escaping a tyrant. A tyrant whose horse had just reached the bridge.

  • • •

  Philip pulled Stephen to a stop before he crossed the dilapidated stone bridge. He scanned the landscape, searching for any sign of Olivia and Emily, but found nothing. Not a distant figure, not a trail in the tall grass that was moving in waves with the wind — nothing. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest and his throat burned from breathing too hard against the wind. He had to find Olivia. It was his fault she was out riding alone. She had been out riding alone quite often before, true, but she had ridden away angry this time.

  All because of him.

  What if her anger motivated her to ride faster than normal? How well did her horse know the landscape? What if one of the animal’s hooves sunk into an unseen hole and caused Olivia to be thrown off her mount? What if her head struck a rock as a result of such a fall? What if she was lying unconscious in a field somewhere at this very moment, bleeding from the head? He would never forgive himself.

  Mr. Stanley pulled to a stop next to Philip. “Any sign of her, my lord?” the old man asked.

  “No,” said Philip. “You know her, Mr. Stanley. Where would she have gone off to?”

  “I haven’t the slightest clue, my lord.”

  “Perhaps we should separate,” Philip suggested. “You go to the east and I’ll go to the west.”

  “And if she’s gone north, my lord?”

  “Then we shall meet in the northern part of the forest and search together,” Philip snapped.

  “Yes, my lord,” Mr. Stanley said, and kicked his horse into motion and headed east without another word.

  Philip scanned over the landscape once more before kicking his own horse into a gallop. Olivia had better be in some kind of mortal trouble, Philip thought to himself. If she were injured in any way, it would be the only reason which would keep him from throttling her quite thoroughly.

  • • •

  When Olivia heard Lord Philip ride off after Mr. Stanley’s departure, she waited until she could no longer hear the hoof beats of his horse before slipping out of her hiding place. She looked beyond the bridge and saw Lord Philip riding in the distance.

  “Idiot,” she muttered and turned Emily back to Whistler Manor. She rode Emily just as fast in the direction of her home as she had ridden away from Lord Philip. It would take Lord Philip and Mr. Stanley quite a while to realize that she was not in the east, west, or the north, but Olivia did not want to risk her chances. The men would turn around at some point and ride back to Whistler themselves. If she dared to dawdle, they would find her for certain.

  After a few minutes of galloping, Olivia spotted the roof of her home in the distance, but it was not her destination. She had not just outrun a despotic lord only to go back to her home and hide in her room. Now that she was free, she fully intended to enjoy her solitude in any way she chose. She searched for and found a small trail in the woods that was indistinguishable to anyone who was unaware of its presence. The trail led to a concealed portion of the river over which her beloved stone bridge was built. Though she did not much visit the bridge any longer, she visited this secluded part of the river often. It was a place of reflection — a much-treasured place of reflection of which only she knew. In the last two years of taking refuge at its hidden banks, Olivia had never seen another soul around it, and so she felt quite safe. More importantly, the location felt like it was hers alone.

  She slowed Emily to a leisurely pace on the trail only when they were both deep in the woods and away from human sight. The sun’s rays were streaming through the forest canopy in a way that made the location seem divinely sacred and special. She felt the warmth of the sun in patches as she passed through streams of its light. Olivia’s nerves finally began to settle from the hastiness of her escape, and the sight of the river aided in elevating her relaxation.

  When they reached the river, Olivia dismounted Emily, dropped the reins and walked to the river’s edge. Emily followed faithfully. Olivia knelt down near the water and ran her fingers through the liquid as Emily began to drink. The water was cool and, despite its river-brown color, quite clear. She could see fish swimming against the slow current in shallow water, pecking at the rocky bottom in search of food. She watched the fish for several minutes before realizing that Emily had left her side. She looked up to find her friend nibbling on a patch of green grass a short distance away. Emily would not stray far, Olivia knew. Even if she did, she would come back. Emily always came back; the horse was the only friend who had not yet hurt or betrayed Olivia, and so she trusted the animal completely.

  Suddenly Olivia realized she had grown quite hot as a result of her exertions. The weather was altogether too warm for a wool habit, so Olivia stripped off her heavy green jacket and threw it over a fallen log near the water. Instantly, she felt relief. The shirt she was wearing beneath the jacket was high-collared with long sleeves, but it was made of very thin fabric. The wind blew straight through the gauzy material.

  Olivia scooped up a handful of water and drank daintily from her palm. She collected another handful and drank again when the first proved to be insufficient. When she had her fill of water, Olivia lifted her wet hand to her brow and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated there. She collected another palm-full of water and flipped her long hair forward over her head. She poured the water over the back of her neck. Despite the coolness of the liquid on her skin and the breeze blowing through her shirt, Olivia still felt oppressively hot. She looked down at the water and thought seriously about submerging herself.

  Suddenly, Olivia remembered the painting of the goddess Diana she had seen in London. The woman had been bathing naked by a river in the woods very much like this one. Olivia certainly did not want to disrobe completely, even in the middle of the woods, but she could hardly resist dipping in at least some part of her body.

  A foot, she thought. One of her feet in the water wouldn’t hurt anything.

  She sat back on the grass and pulled off her left riding boot, followed by her stocking. The breeze that brushed through her hot toes was heavenly. She lowered her foot to the ground and clenched her toes around the grass. It was, Olivia realized, the first time she had ever set a bare foot on the natural ground. The thought and feeling was so invigorating that she promptly pulled off her other boot and stocking. She stood and began clenching and unclenching her toes around the soft grass. What, she wondered, would the esteemed and noble Lord Philip Ravenshaw, second son of the ninth Duke of Willingham, think of a lady standing barefoot on a riverbank? Without question he would launch into another one of his stuffy lectures about propriety.

  The thought of his outrage gave Olivia the courage she needed to raise her skirts just above her ankles and wade into the water. The cool relief that swathed her feet was more sublime than the breeze through her shirt or her toes. She had never before swum out-of-doors. Though she wasn’t exactly swimming, standing barefoot in the river was still overwhelmingly liberating. It was so liberating in fact that she raised her skirts higher and waded deeper into the river. God, what she would give to abandon all and submerge herself completely. Nothing was holding her from doing so but herself, she realized.

  But could she bring herself to do it? Was she brave enough? She certainly was not brave enough to swim in the nude like the woman in the painting. And she certainly could not swim in her heavy wool skirt and petticoats. She would sink right to the bottom of the river if the wool became wet. But her knee-length chemise should prove to be qui
te a sufficient bathing costume, she decided.

  Olivia waded back to the patch of grass where her discarded boots and stockings lay, and removed her wool skirt and petticoat. She stood before the water in only her chemise. Her heart was beating thunderously in her chest. She had never done anything quite this unbridled before in her life. It was not likely for someone to happen across her, she knew. No one came to this part of the river; it was hers alone to enjoy. And Lord Philip and Mr. Stanley would never find her; neither of them knew the landscape well enough to discover the trail. Once again, she was holding herself back.

  And for what: rules of etiquette that Lord Philip undoubtedly knew backwards and front?

  Well, damn that man and those silly rules! What had individuals like Lord Philip and those rules ever brought her apart from pain? Olivia would do just as she pleased, without regard for propriety.

  She waded into the water until she was waist deep. And then, after a fleeting moment of hesitation, Olivia Winter stretched out her hands above her head and launched the whole of her body forward into the water.

  She was free, and no one could tell her any differently.

  • • •

  Philip was beginning to panic … more so than before when he had imagined Olivia bleeding out from the head. She and her fast gray horse were not anywhere to be found.

  “Any sign of her?” he asked Mr. Stanley when they met back at the bridge.

  “None, my lord,” said Mr. Stanley. “Perhaps she has gone back to the Manor.”

  “Perhaps,” Philip agreed. “You ride back and see if she is there. I will continue to look.”

  But he did not find any sign of her after Mr. Stanley’s departure for Whistler Manor. He kept Stephen’s pace as a canter as he retraced his tracks, searching frantically for any sign of the girl he might have missed. Oh, damn that little chit! Her father should have taken a leather strap to her backside long ago for her deplorable behavior. Why was she so determined to be rebellious? Philip understood her difficulties and limitations with being female, but did she really have to be quite so negative about it? She should embrace her lot in life and make the best of it.