“Are you quite all right, Lord Philip?” said an elderly voice.
Philip looked around and saw a small old lady with black feathers in her gray hair. “Oh, yes, Lady Chatsworth,” he said. “I am quite all right.”
The lady did not appear to be satisfied. “Are you quite certain? I do not believe I have ever seen you quite so … so, nervous.”
“Yes, well, I — crowds make me nervous from time to time.”
Lady Chatsworth lifted an eyebrow. “Crowds which contain a certain young lady, perhaps?”
“Pardon?”
A sympathetic look came over the old woman’s face and she patted his forearm. “Never you mind, dear. You are better off.”
What the devil was the old bat on about? “I am sorry, Lady Chatsworth, but I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, yes, yes, quite right, indeed, young Ravenshaw,” she said, patting his arm again and winking as though she were a co-conspirator. “You shall not hear me speak of it … though if you ask me,” she added quickly, “she is a right little idiot for choosing Norland over you.”
“What?” asked Philip, stunned out of his wits. Had he really just heard what he thought he heard? But before he could ask Lady Chatsworth just exactly how she had found out, his name was announced to the ballroom.
“Lord Philip Ravenshaw!”
For a moment, as his name was announced, Philip felt every eye in the room on him. Was he imagining seeing sympathetic looks on their faces? How many more of them knew about Charlotte? And, most importantly, just who had let the story slip? The mystery of how the story had come to be in circulation amongst society would have to wait as Philip had a much more pressing matter to tend to: he had to find Olivia.
He wandered around the room, searching the dance floor and amidst the clusters of talking people, but she was not there. She could not be absent, Philip knew. To refuse to come to a ball which was taking place in the same residence in which she was staying would be an unforgivable insult to her host.
“Oh, Lord Philip!” cried a female voice.
“Lady Charlton,” said Philip, bowing customarily. “How lovely to see you this evening.”
“It is lovely to see you too, my lord. You remember my daughter, don’t you? Lady Agnes?”
Philip suppressed a groan. And so it began, a long line of mothers attempting to foist their daughters upon the first eligible man who would have her. Interestingly enough, Philip noticed that the line before him of mothers with daughters was significantly longer than it had ever before been. And he had a very strong suspicion that his sudden popularity had quite a lot to do with his success in business. What vultures women of society were.
“Oh, Lord Philip!” cried yet another female voice.
Philip turned to see Lady Denham with her daughter Lady Lillian following close behind her. “How lovely to see you,” she said.
“And you Lady Denham,” said Philip, again bowing customarily as he spoke. “I trust you are in good health?”
“Oh, yes indeed,” she said. “My Lillian is looking well tonight also, don’t you think?”
Philip saw Lady Lillian blush at the comment. Lady Denham was severely lacking in grace and tact, which might have been somewhat funny in an endearing sort of a way were she not also cruel and mean.
“Why yes, I do agree,” said Philip, faking a dreamy sort of tone. “In fact I was hoping — no, wishing I would see you tonight, Lady Lillian.” He bowed deeply. “Please allow me to kiss your hand.”
Lady Lillian, who was noticeably trying to suppress laughter, raised her gloved hand so that Philip might take it. “Indeed you may,” she said.
Philip kissed the back of her hand dramatically, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Lady Denham was beside herself with excitement.
“And now,” said Philip as the music changed, “you simply must honor me with a waltz.”
“I would be delighted,” said Lady Lillian. “That is of course if my mother approv — ”
“Yes of course I approve!” interrupted Lady Denham, pushing her daughter towards Philip. “Go on then and dance!”
Moments later when they were out of earshot of her mother, Lady Lillian allowed herself to finally laugh. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you for that,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” said Philip, smiling. “It was the least I could do.”
“I am not even out in society and already she is parading me around to all the bachelors. Really, it is all quite embarrassing.”
“One sympathizes,” said Philip. “But certainly not with the gentleman. They should feel privileged to be in your presence, Lady Lillian.”
She giggled. But Lillian was not the only one giggling at the moment.
Just across the way was Olivia, laughing at something Mr. Southerland had said. And while she was laughing, Southerland seized the opportunity to step closer to whisper something more intimate, something which caused Olivia’s eyelids to blink seductively and a pleased little smile to spread across her face.
Philip watched the scene as he continued their waltz, jerking his head round to keep a constant eye on Olivia and Mr. Southerland … but mainly Mr. Southerland, who was still finding little ways to touch Olivia. When the waltz ended, Philip had had more than his fill of the scene. He dropped Lady Lillian’s hands right as the music stopped and left her standing in the middle of the dance floor. It was a very rude thing to do, but in this moment Philip did not care.
“That slimy bastard,” he said, completely audible to all the couples he cut through, but again he cared little. He had to put a stop to Southerland’s nonsense.
But as he winded his way thought the throngs of people separating him from Olivia, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm.
Chapter Eighteen
“Philip, darling!”
Philip groaned. “Good God, Charlotte, where is your husband?”
“He is off procuring a glass of lemonade for himself,” she said coolly.
“Oh, none for you then?”
Her jaw clenched this time. “I did not want any.”
“But still … why don’t you join him?” asked Philip, his tone a bit harsh as he looked over at Olivia, making sure she was still standing in the same place. She was. And so was Southerland, that wretched man. He turned his attention back to Charlotte, who Philip was quite sure he had irritated as he could see her nostrils flaring.
“Where were you off to in such a hurry?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“Why, Philip, you bolted across the ballroom like a shot. Whatever has you in such a rush?”
“I was on my way to see a friend.”
“Oh, I see,” said Charlotte, looking over Philip’s shoulder. “Are you off to speak with Mr. Southerland?”
“Yes,” said Philip, removing Charlotte’s hands from his arm … again. She really was becoming something of a leech. “I was.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows interrogatively. “And not the red-haired girl?”
“Who, Miss Winter? No, no. Not at all,” he said quickly.
“It has been quite some time since I have spoken to Mr. Southerland. Come now,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow once again, “let us go speak to him and that red-haired girl together.”
Philip did not know why (perhaps it was the way she had said “that red-haired girl”) but he had a sneaking suspicion this meeting would not go well at all.
• • •
At least she had had time to prepare for Charlotte’s arrival this go-around. Olivia had been watching Lord Philip out of the corner of her eye. She had seen him darting across the ballroom, closing in on her. Her whole body had tensed, and she had stopped listening to Mr. Southerland completely. Not that it mattered, of course, as the man talked about very few meaningful subjects.
And when she saw the black-haired girl snagged him … well, she had initially been relieved that he had been stopped in his tracks,
but then jealousy had set in. Though she had only seen Philip speak to Charlotte once, placing her hands all over Philip’s person seemed to be something which she could not help but do. Good Lord, why could that woman not keep her hands to herself? Olivia’s fingers clenched together at her waist. Damn that little tart’s title and social status, Olivia wanted to smack her — she wanted to punch her, choke her, kick her …
Good Lord, she was coming this way … arm-in-arm with Lord Philip.
“Miss Olivia?” asked Mr. Southerland.
“Hmm? What?”
“I asked if you would like to dance.”
Oh, Lord, she would love to … anything to get her out of meeting that black-hai — Charlotte again. But before she could accept, it was too late.
“Miss Winter,” said Philip. “How are you this evening?”
“Oh, Philip, you silly boy,” said Charlotte. “Should not introductions come first?” But she did not wait for Philip to introduce her. “I am the Countess of Norland,” she said, in rather a haughty tone.
“I am Olivia Winter.” Inside, Olivia’s stomach was twisting and knotting with anxiety. Why was this girl being so nice? Did she not remember who Olivia was at all?
“You look quite familiar,” said Charlotte, her eyes narrowing. “Have we met before?”
Oh God, Olivia thought. Please do not remember me, do not remember me, do not remember me, do not, do not …
“We may well have, my lady,” said Olivia. “But the occasion at which we did has gone from me at the moment.”
“Ah, well,” said Charlotte, casting aside the mystery. “Perhaps it will come to me. What an interesting dress, Miss Winter. Such a difficult color, maroon.”
Olivia chose to overlook the insult, though it did make her paranoid that the Countess of Norland remembered exactly who she was. Please don’t remember me, please, please, please …
“Lord Philip was quite anxious to talk to Mr. Southerland,” Charlotte continued. “It is why we came over, is it not, Lord Philip?”
“Uhh,” Philip fumbled, looking back and forth from Mr. Southerland and Olivia. “Yes.”
“You wished to talk to me?” asked Mr. Southerland, quite confused. “What about, Ravenshaw?”
“I, uh … thought you might like a dance with Lady Norland.”
“What?” Lady Norland, Mr. Southerland, and Olivia all asked at the same time.
“Yes,” said Philip. “She was just remarking to me how she would like to dance, but alas I have business to discuss with Miss Winter’s father.”
“Business?” asked Charlotte.
“Yes,” said Philip.
“And because you have business to discuss, you walked all the way across the ballroom, thinking I might like to dance with Lady Norland?” asked Mr. Southerland, trying to find a grasp on such a ridiculous story.
“Yes,” said Philip.
“How does Miss Winter fit into this scheme, Philip?” asked Charlotte.
“Well, she, uh,” Philip began, “She, uh … I figured she would know where her father is at the moment. Don’t you, Miss Winter?”
“Yes, I do,” said Olivia, confused like everyone else. “He sent word earlier this evening that he would be on his way around ten o’clock with my brother Richard.”
“Brilliant!” said Philip. What on earth was he getting at, Olivia wondered. Whatever his point was, at least he had distracted Charlotte from figuring out who she was.
“It is presently nine-thirty, Ravenshaw,” said Mr. Southerland.
“Oh,” said Philip and then a new song started. It was another waltz. “Miss Winter would you care to dance?”
He spoke so quickly that Olivia had to stop and decipher his words. So confused was she by the whole scenario, and so eager to get away from Lady Norland and Mr. Southerland, that Olivia agreed instantly, practically yelling her acceptance over Mr. Southerland’s suggestion that he would like to dance with her.
“Did you really have business with my father?” she asked when they were on the dance floor.
“No. I wanted to speak to you.”
“Then why did you not just say so?” she asked. “Were you embarrassed to admit to wanting to speak with me in front of the countess?”
“Olivia, I was not embarrassed,” he said. “It is just — Charlotte is a terrible gossip.”
“See,” exclaimed Olivia. “I knew it. You don’t want everyone to know you are acquainted with me. And stop calling me Olivia. I have not given you permission to do so.”
“If I didn’t want everyone to know that I am acquainted with you, Miss Winter,” said Philip calmly, “then I would not have asked you to dance, would I?”
At this, Olivia was quite stumped … and it infuriated her. After all of her tears before the ball and lamenting that she could never have him, love him in the way she wanted and to be loved in return by him, why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Why couldn’t he just let her try to mend her broken heart in peace?
She couldn’t stand it any longer. Though she might be able to love him from afar knowing she could never have him, she couldn’t bear to dance with him, be this close to him and know it. She dropped his hands before the song ended and left him in the middle of the dance floor as she weaved through the crowd. A hiding place. She needed a hiding place. She knew she should go find Mr. Southerland and work on charming him some more. It had been going quite well earlier before Philip showed up with Lady Norland. But she didn’t want the company. She needed to be alone, or as alone as she could be in a room full of people.
She found a little spot behind a large floral arrangement in a corner. Crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, Olivia willed herself not to cry. She had shed enough tears for Lord Philip tonight, and though she realized she would probably shed more in the future, she didn’t want to cry in the middle of a ballroom.
She closed her eyes and leant her head against the wall as she tried to gain a hold on her emotions, when a familiar voice reached her ears.
“I remembered who you are.”
Olivia’s eyes snapped open and there before her stood Lady Norland, Charlotte, the black-haired girl. Her stomach sank to her feet. “Did you, my lady?” asked Olivia, trying her best to appear unaffected.
“I did,” replied Lady Norland. “You’re that horrible girl I met two years ago, the one with the dreadful father. Tell me, does he still make a fool of himself around his betters? Or has he learned how to converse?”
“I…uh…I couldn’t say, my lady.”
“And you,” Lady Norland continued. “I thought you would have learned your place long ago.”
“Well, I’m only here…I was…the duchess…”
Olivia fumbled for words. The smile on Lady Norland’s face grew more and more sinister the longer Olivia took to answer. Clearly she was enjoying the fact that she could still torment Olivia after two years. The tears were coming. She could feel it. She had gained a hold on her emotions a few moments ago, but then Lady Norland came along and dissolved all of Olivia’s self-control.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…
“What are you doing over here?” said a masculine voice.
Lady Norland’s face blanched and took on a fearful expression. “N — Nothing, my lord. I was…I was just about to join you.”
Suddenly Olivia was quite interested in this man, the man who had succeeded in frightening her, the woman who had tormented her for so long. He was an old, ugly man with quite a large midsection. His hair was greasy and clung to his head in thin, graying strands. Red splotches covered his round face, and pock marks dotted his nose and forehead. His lips were large, pale and wet, and looked cold and reptilian. Olivia thought he rather looked like an old toad.
The man grabbed Lady Norland’s arm with enough force to make her jump. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Do you realize how embarrassing it is to have my countess off flirting with other men?”
“My lord, I wasn’t — ” Lady Norland rushed to say.
“You were,” he interrupted, and gripped her arm tighter. Lady Norland winced. “I’m going to speak with the duke. I expect you to join me when you’re finished here, or there will be hell to pay.”
So this is the Earl Norland, her husband? Olivia thought with repulsion. She never would have thought Charlotte, with all her haughtiness would have married such a grotesque man.
He let go of Lady Norland’s arm. Olivia could see fingerprints on her skin before she began messaging her upper arm. She felt sorry for Lady Norland. Surely no woman deserved to be married to someone so cruel.
“What are you looking at, you little bitch?” hissed Lady Norland.
But then again…
A smile spread across Olivia’s face. “A woman who got exactly what she deserved,” she said.
Olivia shoved Lady Norland aside and walked along the dance floor. She knew it was wicked, but she felt wonderfully freed by what she had just seen. Lady Norland — Charlotte had been so positively cruel to Olivia on so many occasions, but now she was married to a horrible man who was clearly giving her more than a dose of her own medicine. Olivia pitied her. It was an interesting affirmation. She had feared the girl for so long, but now she felt only pity towards her. She was just a bitter woman, unhappy with the choices she had made in life. She wasn’t someone to fear any longer.
Olivia was still walking along the dance floor, thrilled by her newfound freedom when a new song began…and a hand grabbed hers and pulled her onto the dance floor.
“Just what do you think you are doing?” she asked with furled brows.
Stephanie James Page 21
