by Ava Stone
“What did the doctor say?” Rowan asked as he crossed the room and sat down in the chair beside her. His forehead crinkled with genuine concern, but the furthest thing from Olivia’s mind right now was her blasted ankle.
“Oh, um…I’m going to be fine, actually. He thinks I should be right as rain by tomorrow morning.” She wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but perhaps if she told the lie often enough it would come true.
“I’m very glad to hear it.” Rowan turned to Marcus. “I think you ought to go find the others in the dining room.”
“All right!”
Well, blast. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her, was he?
“Aren’t you hungry, Mr. Findley?” she asked, trying to appear as innocent as possible.
He leveled her with an intimidating glare. “Not in the least.”
“Oh, well...” She had to get him to leave her alone. As much as her body longed to be near him, she knew she’d tell him everything if he stayed around much longer. She couldn’t risk it. “I’m famished, myself. Would you mind bringing me a plate?”
There. That ought to do it.
“Certainly, Mrs. Edwards.”
He stood and started across the room. Olivia felt triumphant. This would at least buy her a little more time. But then he veered off to the right and marched up to the bellpulls. Darn him.
“Someone will be here presently to take your order, I’m sure.” And then he sat back down beside her. “Now, where did we leave off? Oh, yes, I think you were about to tell me whether or not Marcus is actually my son.”
Olivia’s heart raced and she felt all at sea, floundering for a way to deny the accusation without giving herself away. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I could take you to my uncle’s portrait gallery in his London townhome,” he said. “Show you a portrait of myself as a boy. Or of my father, perhaps. My uncle. Any number of my male relatives that bear similar features to Marcus.”
“I can’t see what good that would do. So you have similar features. Brown hair and brown eyes are common enough. What would it prove?”
Clearly Rowan was tiring of her lame arguments. “Admit it to me, Olivia.” It was the first time he’d used her given name, and it did something strange to her belly. The way it rolled off his tongue, the way his lips wrapped around the vowels. Good heavens, her resolve was weakening by the moment.
“There is nothing to admit,” she said, with as much of a biting tone as she could muster. She’d always been soft-spoken, so it wasn’t easy.
“You’re lying.”
She wished she could get up and walk away. Blast this blasted ankle!
“How would you know?” she retorted. “You know nothing of me, except…”
A sly smile spread across Rowan’s lips. This was the first time either of them had mentioned that night, but clearly it held the same fond memories for him as it did for her. “So you remember?”
How could she forget? She had a constant reminder of Rowan. She nodded, but said nothing.
“Marcus is six.” It was a statement, not a question, but Olivia nodded anyway.
“His birthday is coming up,” he continued. “January, is it?”
Olivia knew what he was doing. All roads led to the truth—there was no escaping it now. She nodded.
“I seem to remember a particularly balmy April evening at the Winslow ball. A beautiful young redhead begging me to…well, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to speak of such things, but rest assured—”
“Fine!” she shouted, unable to tolerate any more memories or leading questions. But could she actually admit it? Could she actually say the words, after all these years, after all this time of telling Marcus that his father was Mr. John Edwards, could she admit it to Rowan—to herself—that he was truly Marcus’s father?
She was about to open her mouth to say the words when Clara appeared in the doorway.
“You rang, ma’am?” she said, dipping a little curtsy.
“Mrs. Edwards would like a plate of food, please, Clara,” Rowan said, with not a small bit of irritation in his tone.
“Right away, sir.”
Clara disappeared, and Olivia opened her mouth once more to speak, but was once again cut off. This time by Lady Swaffham, who flounced into the room in a flurry of crimson silk.
“Rowan, there you are!” she exclaimed. “Keeping Mrs. Edwards company, I see.”
“Yes,” he replied with a tight smile. “We wouldn’t want her to suffer from boredom, now, would we?”
“Certainly not!” Lady Swaffham took the chair opposite Rowan. “We’ll be in presently to start the parlor games, Mrs. Edwards. Rowan, you ought to eat while you still can. Half the food is gone already.” She turned back to Olivia. “Sleigh riding works up quite the appetite.”
Olivia gave the woman a slight smile. “I’m certain it does. Oh, and thank you both for looking after Marcus this morning. He would have been devastated to miss the outing.”
“Of course, Mrs. Edwards.” Lady Swaffham stood and grabbed Rowan by the hand. She used all her might to pull the reluctant man from his seat and then started to drag him from the room. “Come, Rowan. I won’t have you starve today.”
Olivia threw her head back and closed her eyes as they exited the room. She’d have to come clean soon, but at least she didn’t have to do it right this minute. Perhaps a blizzard would come and prevent her from ever having to do it at all. One could only hope for catastrophic weather conditions.
After a dizzying afternoon playing his cousin’s parlor games, Rowan had just about had enough. He wanted to get Olivia alone again as soon as possible. Or at the very least, he wanted to be alone with his own bloody thoughts.
This was all so new to him, and though he wanted Olivia to admit what he already knew was the truth, he also needed to figure out how he felt about the whole thing. Did he want to be a father? Did he want to be with Olivia?
Marcus had cleared up the part about Mr. Edwards, so Rowan no longer had to worry about cuckolding her husband. He’d been gone for four years now, and by the looks of it, he’d left very little for Olivia and Marcus in the way of security and provisions.
Rowan sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman. Damn, what was happening to him? He was a confirmed bachelor—a playboy—he had no desire to change, and yet…here he was, hiding away in the library, thinking of what it would be like to have a wife, a child, a family.
No. No, no, no, no, no. There had to be another way. He could provide for the boy, make sure they were taken care of. Promoting them to a better living standard wouldn’t make even a dent in his coffers. He didn’t have to go off and marry the woman to take care of her and the child.
He took another drink of his brandy and then set the glass on the table. With a sigh, he let his head loll back until he was staring up at the ceiling above. Why couldn’t he get that night out of his head? Every time he thought of it, a certain part of his anatomy acted most indiscreetly, and he’d been damned uncomfortable ever since Olivia walked back into his life.
The door creaked behind him. He sat up straight and craned his neck around the chair to see who had invaded his privacy. He’d expected it to be his cousin, but instead, Olivia and Marcus stood there awkwardly in the doorway.
Rowan stood. “Hello,” he said, unsure of what else to say.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Olivia said, her voice soft and apologetic. “But Marcus wanted to say goodbye.”
“Oh, of course.” Rowan crossed the room and knelt down in front of the boy.
“Will I see you again?” Marcus asked, and Rowan was certain his heart had never done what it did just then. It twisted and lurched and, damn it all, a lump rose to his throat.
“Well, that’s up to your mother.” They both looked up at Olivia, who pursed her lips. Clearly, she wasn’t fond of the idea, but she’d seem cruel not to let Marcus see Rowan again.
And if Ro
wan was being honest, he wanted to see Marcus again too. He’d been excellent company on the sleigh ride that morning, especially for a jaded, old man like Rowan was becoming. Seeing the snow-covered countryside through the eyes of a child was like seeing it for the very first time himself. A giddy feeling had stolen over him, and Rowan wanted to feel that again.
“I suppose that would be all right,” Olivia finally acquiesced.
Rowan smiled and turned back to Marcus. “Do you know how to ride, young man?”
“Oh, please, no!”
Rowan met with Olivia’s panicked blue eyes, and then turned back to Marcus, who was clearly blinking back tears.
“Mama won’t let me,” he said, and then he leaned in to whisper, “That’s how my Papa died.”
“Oh, I see.” Rowan stood up to his full height, feeling caddish. “I didn’t know.”
Olivia shook her head. “How could you have?” She put her hands on Marcus’s shoulders. “But just the same, I’d like him to stay on the ground, if you don’t mind.”
This wasn’t the time to argue with her, but the boy would have to learn sometime. It wouldn’t be fair for him to not know how to ride. “Certainly. We’ll think of something else to do together, then.”
“Well…good day, Mr. Findley.” Olivia gave him a half smile, which he returned with a half smile of his own.
“Good day to both of you.”
By Sunday morning, Olivia was going positively out of her mind. She still couldn’t put much weight on her foot, and despite her declaration that she would be back up and working by Friday, here she sat in her tiny little cottage for the fourth day in a row. It was torture, simply put. Especially with Marcus, who was so full of energy he was quite literally bouncing off the walls.
“Mama, can we please go out today?”
Olivia stared into the sweet face of her little boy, wishing so badly that she could take him to church as she always did on Sunday mornings. But she’d already tested her ankle this morning with painful results. She’d never make it all the way to the parish.
“Why not ask Mrs. Stilton if you can join her for service, darling?”
Marcus leapt at the idea. Clearly he didn’t care who took him out, as long as he got to go out.
“All right, Mama!”
He raced out the door before Olivia had a chance to tell him to put on his coat. At least he remembered to shut the door behind him. Even at that, the cold wind snaked its way to her, sending a shiver up her spine.
Within moments, Marcus was barreling through the front door again exclaiming that Mrs. Stilton was taking him to church. Olivia had never seen him so excited to go to Sunday service.
Olivia should have been relieved when Marcus left, but after a few minutes alone, she missed him. They were rarely apart except when she was at the sweet shop, but even then she was surrounded by people or had work to attend to. But sitting here alone, confined to this blasted chair, the loneliness started to sink in.
Perhaps it wasn’t just loneliness in this quiet moment, but a longing for companionship that went much deeper. It had been four years since Jack died. In some ways it felt far longer than that, and in other ways, it felt like yesterday.
She shook her head. Goodness, she was being maudlin these days. She had no one to blame except Rowan Findley. None of these thoughts had ever occurred to her before he sauntered back into her life. Blasted man. And now he thought to take Marcus riding with him. On a horse!
Olivia tsked and picked up the Bible that sat on the small table beside her chair. If she wasn’t going to attend service that morning, she could at least read the scripture. Anything to get Rowan Findley out of her head.
Rowan wasn’t typically a church-going man, but he’d promised his cousin he would accompany them while he stayed at Hamlin Abbey. So here he was, sitting in a bloody hard pew, waiting for the minister to begin. He wondered what message he’d hear today. Would it be all Hellfire and brimstone? Or would it be a gentle message about loving one’s neighbor? Part of him was hoping for fire and brimstone—it would be far more entertaining.
The door at the back opened and Rowan turned to see who was coming through this time. Much to his surprise, it was Marcus. But where was his mother? And who was that elderly woman with him? His grandmother, perhaps? Not that it mattered; Rowan was simply curious.
He faced front again and his thoughts shifted to Olivia. Why wasn’t she here? Was it her ankle?
The minister started speaking finally. No fire and brimstone, much to Rowan’s disappointment. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his focus on the sermon. He bounced his knee up and down, drummed his fingers on the wooden pew and shifted his position about a hundred times in the course of a couple minutes. It wasn’t until Patience pinched his leg rather hard that he realized there was no point staying and disturbing everyone else.
As quietly as he could, Rowan edged out of the pew and scurried down the side aisle, hunched over in hopes he’d be less noticeable. Unfortunately, the door creaked loudly when he opened it, and a gust of icy wind accosted those in the back rows of the church. So much for remaining discreet.
He closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm. It was bloody cold this December.
As he began his walk towards town, it occurred to Rowan that he had no idea how to find Olivia. The sweet shop would be closed, so he couldn’t ask there. All he knew was that she lived near town, but where? Damn. Why didn’t he think this through better before he ran out of the church?
Oh, well. There was nothing for it now. He certainly wasn’t going back in there. He’d just have to find another way.
Olivia startled awake at the loud knocking on her door. Who in the world would be coming to call on a Sunday morning?
“Coming!” she called, and then remembered she could barely walk, blast it all.
Should she just invite them in, whoever they were? She was still in her nightgown, for heaven’s sake.
They knocked again.
There was nothing else to do. “Come in!” she yelled, and then pulled her thick wool blanket all the way up to her neck.
The door creaked and in the next moment, Rowan Findley poked his head into the house. Good heavens! Olivia’s heart sped to a gallop.
“Mr. Findley!” she couldn’t help but exclaim.
“May I come in?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for her approval. She couldn’t blame him. It seemed a dreadful day outside.
“What are you doing here?” She wasn’t trying to sound rude, but his presence was just so unexpected.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he carefully removed his hat and coat, draping them both over the back of her shabby sofa, and then moved close to the fire to warm his hands.
“I was…out for a walk, and thought I’d drop in.”
Olivia knew this couldn’t be true. How did he know where she lived? And why on earth would anyone be “out for a walk” on a day like today.
“Now who’s the liar?” she said, but she gave him a smile to let him know she was only teasing.
He smiled back, that roguish, devil-may-care grin he was so good at. “All right. Well, I was at church—”
“Church?” Olivia couldn’t quite imagine Rowan Findley in church.
“Don’t get too excited,” he continued. “I didn’t stay for very long. As a matter of fact, I saw Marcus come in with an older woman and figured you must be here, all alone, bored to tears. And I’m nothing if not good entertainment. Just ask my cousin.”
As much as Olivia didn’t want to succumb to his charms, she had to admit, he was rather entertaining. And hadn’t she just been thinking this morning about how very lonely she was? Was this God’s way of answering her prayers?
“Well,” she began, “I suppose I am rather bored. My foot hasn’t healed as quickly as I had hoped. I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to the sweet shop, and poor Marcus has had to take care of me these past few days. Not exactly how I envisio
ned our holiday this year.”
Rowan’s brow crinkled, as if he were thinking very hard, formulating some kind of plan, perhaps. Somehow, that made Olivia a bit nervous. But whatever he was thinking about, he didn’t voice.
“Well, now that I’m here, perhaps you can clear up this whole father-son matter?”
Olivia squirmed a bit as he took a seat on the sofa. She supposed she couldn’t put it off forever. He already knew the truth—but she needed to confirm it.
She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t think you could be bothered,” she began, to which Rowan furrowed his brow and cocked his head. “That is, you didn’t even know me. And I didn’t know you. It was…an accident. Entirely my fault, and I was willing to admit that. Besides, by the time I found out, I had no idea where to find you. I could have asked around, I suppose, but then my parents…well, they turned me out on the street. That’s when I came here, to this town. I hoped to stay with an aunt, but she wouldn’t have me either. That’s when I met Jack—he was a blacksmith and happened to be at my aunt’s estate the day I arrived. Unlike anyone of higher society, he didn’t care about my indiscretions. He loved me in spite of them, and he loved Marcus, too.”
“And did you love him?”
That was the question Olivia hoped no one would ever ask her. She’d gone nearly seven years without having to answer it—without ever having to voice the sad truth. But now Rowan stared at her, so intent, so sincere. He deserved to know everything. All of it. Every ounce of the truth.
“I loved him in my own way,” she said. “He was a good man. He took care of me, of Marcus. How could I not love him?”
Rowan shifted in his seat. “Let me ask another way, if I may?” There was a pause. Olivia knew what he was going to ask before he even asked it. “Were you in love with him?”
