by Ava Stone
Olivia jerked her head up to look at Mrs. Stilton. “You knew?”
“No, not for sure. Until now.”
Olivia closed her eyes. She really would be the worst gambler in the world.
“Don’t fret about it, dear.” Mrs. Stilton sat down on the sofa, which creaked and sagged with her weight. Not that the woman was overly large, but she was plump, and the sofa had certainly seen better days. “Marcus doesn’t seem to notice the resemblance. Does Mr. Findley know?”
Olivia nodded.
“And does he plan to do anything about it?”
Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice choked. “He doesn’t know. At least, that’s what he said.”
“You don’t think he’d try to take Marcus away from you, do you?”
“Away from me?” Olivia’s heart raced. This was a possibility she’d never imagined. But what if she was right? What if he only cared about Marcus in all this? No, he would never. He’d kissed her, and…
And what? They’d done more than kiss before, and he’d left her without another thought.
She rubbed her sweaty palms along her dress. Blast, she was shaking like a leaf now.
“Do you think he would really do that?” she asked Mrs. Stilton.
The old woman shrugged and pushed up from the sofa. “It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. I’m going to wake Marcus—he ought not to sleep so late.”
Olivia pushed the frightening thoughts of losing Marcus from her head and called after Mrs. Stilton. “He got so worn out sledding with Mr. Find—”
“Olivia.” There was franticness to Mrs. Stilton’s voice, and it set Olivia’s heart to racing again. “Oh, good heavens.”
Olivia got to her feet as quickly as she could, heedless of the pain, and rushed into the bedroom. Mrs. Stilton was already stripping Marcus of his nightclothes, and it was obvious the child was burning with fever.
“Dear God,” Olivia muttered as she limped to the washbasin. Her stomach pitched. How had she not noticed he was feverish this morning? His cheeks had looked rosy, but she’d assumed it was a result of hours in the cold and snow yesterday.
She collected a fresh washcloth and then picked up the heavy bowl. The water sloshed onto the floor with every step she took until finally Mrs. Stilton came to her rescue. They sat on either side of the bed and attempted to cool Marcus off with the cloth, but every minute felt like a lifetime, waiting for him to come to. Olivia knew it might take time, but what if…
No. She shook her head of the morbid thought. He was fine. He would be fine. They just had to focus on getting him cool, no matter how long it took.
Rowan strode into the sweet shop that afternoon, excited to see Olivia again and curious as to how she was faring with her lame foot. If it had been up to him, she wouldn’t have been allowed back to work, but she’d been determined last night before he left for Hamlin Abbey. Surely her employer would allow her to rest when she needed, but perhaps she worked for a tyrant. One never knew.
The bell chimed above his head, and a thin, gangly woman emerged from the back only a moment later.
“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice nasal and grating.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Edwards, actually,” he said.
The woman sighed and shrugged her bony shoulders. “I’m afraid Mrs. Edwards is no longer employed here, sir.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rowan stared at her, confused. “She told me only last night she’d be here this morning.”
“Told me the same, yet here I am, all alone. No Mrs. Edwards to be found.”
A sense of foreboding washed over Rowan, causing a deep crease in his brow. But he wouldn’t worry until he knew the facts. He’d simply go to their cottage and find out what was the matter.
He tipped his hat to the woman and walked out the door. His horse stood tethered at the end of the street, and once he’d mounted the animal, he took off toward Olivia’s cottage, trying desperately not to think the worst. It wouldn’t do any good. Surely she’d just decided her foot wasn’t healed enough to go back to the shop today.
He was at the cottage door in no time, banging and calling Olivia’s name. After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Stilton. The older woman hadn’t been the picture of health before, but today she looked downright haggard.
“Mrs. Stilton,” he said, his breathing belabored. “Is she all right?”
She reared back a little, obviously confused. “Of course she is,” she replied, to which Rowan heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank God.”
“It’s the boy who’s fallen ill.”
Rowan’s blood seemed to turn cold in his veins. “Marcus?” he clarified, because he surely must have misunderstood. The child was fine yesterday—so full of life and excitement. How could he be ill?
Mrs. Stilton nodded gravely.
“May I?”
The old woman stepped aside to allow him entry. Rowan burst into the tiny space and went right to the bedroom, where Olivia lay on the bed stroking Marcus’s fevered brow.
She was surprised to see him—that much was obvious by the way her blue eyes rounded to the size of saucers.
“Rowan,” she said, her tone a little breathless. “What are you doing here?”
“I went to find you at the shop but was told you no longer worked there.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as the words hung in the quiet room. He’d known they were struggling, but perhaps it was worse than he’d thought. He wanted to set her at ease, but this wasn’t the time. Marcus needed a doctor. Rowan looked around the dank space. Perhaps the boy needed an environment more conducive to healing, as well.
“We should take him to Hamlin Abbey. We’ll send for the doctor once we’re there.”
Now Olivia was crying in earnest. Out of fear or gratitude, Rowan couldn’t be certain, but there wasn’t time to ask.
“I’ll ride back to Hamlin Abbey to fetch a carriage. I’ll send for the doctor then. I won’t be more than a half hour.”
He started to go, but then turned back to the sobbing Olivia. Without thinking, he rounded the bed, sat on its edge, and then pulled her into his arms. She wept against his shoulder as he placed a kiss to her forehead, then he pulled back.
“Look at me, Olivia,” he said, and his heart nearly broke in two when she raised her sapphire eyes to him. “He’ll be fine. You have my word.”
Before the urge to comfort her overtook him again, he sprang to his feet and set off for Hamlin Abbey.
Waiting for Rowan to return could only be described as pure torture. Hadn’t it been thirty minutes yet? Hadn’t he promised he’d be back within the half hour?
Olivia kissed Marcus’s burning forehead for the hundredth time that morning. It wasn’t getting any better. His fever was raging out of control, and Olivia felt helpless.
Mrs. Stilton hobbled back and forth around the cottage, swapping out the compresses or taking the bowl outside to cool the water in the winter air now and again. No one spoke, though. They carried on taking care of Marcus in worried silence.
Finally, the rattling of a carriage sounded from outside. Relief flooded through Olivia. She knew it didn’t guarantee Marcus’s recovery, but having him at Hamlin Abbey would make her feel much better. Besides, there were people there to help take care of him.
And there was Rowan, of course. Despite the fact they hardly knew one another, he was the greatest source comfort to her in this uncertain time. They had a bond through Marcus, and she knew that even though he’d only just discovered the boy was his son, Rowan cared for him. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
A moment later the door burst open and Rowan stormed into the cottage.
“Into the carriage,” he ordered. “I’ll carry Marcus.”
Olivia didn’t say a word. She simply limped out of the room toward the front door, threw her cloak about her shoulders, and drew the hood up over her head. Mrs. Stilton offered her support and they both trudged awkwardly d
own the path to where the carriage waited. Olivia climbed inside and scooted all the way to the far door, promising to send word to Mrs. Stilton about Marcus.
The woman retreated to her own home, and Olivia leaned forward to see Rowan emerging from the cottage. Marcus was wrapped in nearly every blanket they owned, so it was impossible to even see him.
Rowan climbed easily into the carriage, despite his awkward load, and as soon as he door shut, the carriage lurched into motion. It was a quiet ride to Hamlin Abbey, which proved to be a great contrast to the commotion they met with once they arrived at the estate.
Lord and Lady Swaffham met them at the door, and started barking orders to their staff, who all scurried about, eager to do their bidding.
In the end, Marcus and Olivia ended up in the Yellow Room, as her ladyship thought the color might inspire Marcus to heal more quickly. Olivia hoped that would be the case, but he’d have to open his eyes to see it first.
Please, Marcus. Open your eyes!
A knock came at the door, drawing Olivia’s gaze from the window.
“Olivia, may I come in?” It was Rowan, though she could barely hear him through the solid wood door.
She jumped to her feet, forgetting about her sore foot, smoothed out her dress, and attempted to dry the tears on her cheeks. Although, she’d been crying for the better part of the day, so she was certain she wouldn’t be able to fool him. Last she looked, her eyes were crimson and puffy.
“Come in,” she called back and the door swung open to reveal Rowan, dressed for traveling. “Are you going somewhere?”
He stepped tentatively into the room. Olivia’s heart lurched. Something was wrong—she could sense his discomfort. Had he come to tell her he was leaving and never coming back? Was it too much for him? The thought of a wife and child? Olivia understood, she supposed. How many nights had she laid awake in bed, wondering if the fear and worry she felt for Marcus would ever go away? She would never think of Marcus as a burden, but being a mother came with a great deal of responsibility that sometimes she wished she didn’t have to shoulder alone.
“I have to go to London,” he said, and his tone was full of regret.
Olivia fought the desire to sob. He was leaving.
“When will you be back?” Could he hear the fear and sadness in her voice? And if he did, did he know it was for him?
“I-I don’t know for certain,” he replied, staring at her with concern in his dark eyes. “Hopefully before Christmas.”
Olivia nodded. She was sure if she spoke, she’d burst into tears.
“You’ll be well looked after here—you and Marcus both. The doctor should be here any minute, and you have Clara to tend to your needs. Anything you should need, all you have to do is ask.”
Apparently, this was all supposed to make her feel better. Well, the bit about the doctor did, but aside from that, what she really wanted was Rowan. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he was never going to leave her again. That they would be together for always, and raise Marcus in a home full of joy and laughter.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Olivia shifted from foot to foot, desperately wanting to tell him what she was feeling, thinking, but knowing that it wouldn’t do any good. His mind was made up, clearly. She wasn’t going to force him to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Olivia, I…”
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice coming out choked and strained. “We will be fine.”
They stood there another long moment, staring at one another. And then, suddenly, Rowan strode across the distance between them, and gathered her in his arms in one swift movement. Olivia resisted the urge to weep against him, and instead attempted to savor this moment. She wanted to lock this feeling in her mind, remember what it felt like to have his arms wrapped tightly around her. He finally pulled back, kissed her forehead and then retreated from the room, leaving an emptiness in Olivia’s heart.
Rowan hated leaving Olivia like that. He wanted so desperately to tell her what he was up to, but he couldn’t risk getting her hopes up. She was so fragile as it was. What if he couldn’t procure the Christmas present he hoped to bestow upon her in time? Or at all, for that matter. There was no way of knowing whether or not her parents would invite him in and listen to his story. Or even if they did listen, they might still turn him out into the street again. But he had to try.
He’d heard they were in London for the holiday, which was convenient for Rowan. He needed to procure a marriage license. And perhaps a trip to Hamlet’s for a ring was in order as well. A sapphire one, to match her eyes.
Rowan couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips on this chilly Tuesday morning. Normally a trip to London would include lots of drinking and gambling with his friends—pastimes he thought he loved. Yet all he wanted to do was attend to this quick business and get back to Olivia and Marcus.
Damn. He’d need a gift for Marcus too, wouldn’t he? That was, if he made it through this fever.
Rowan’s heart twisted and the thoughts stole the smile from his face. He prayed taking him to Hamlin Abbey had been the right thing to do. But how could he go through with his plans if he wasn’t assured the boy would be well taken care of?
He couldn’t have. So surely he’d made the right decision.
His conveyance rolled to a stop in front of a row of townhouses not far from Berkeley Square. Rowan hopped down to the street, found the number he was looking for, and didn’t hesitate a moment before stomping through the muddy street to get to it. He would have been lying if he had said he wasn’t a bit nervous. He’d never asked for a woman’s hand in marriage before, and these were even stranger circumstances than anyone might ever anticipate.
He knocked upon the door, and moments later a plump butler appeared on the other side.
“May I help you?”
Rowan took a deep breath. “I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Morgan.” He handed over his card and stepped into the foyer as the butler closed the door behind him.
“Wait here.”
As Rowan waited he took the opportunity to look around. The townhome was modest, yet clean. At least what he could see of it, which wasn’t much.
The butler returned a moment later. “Follow me, Mr. Findley.”
He did as he was bid and followed the man to a door just past the staircase. He opened the door to reveal a small drawing room where Mr. and Mrs. Morgan sat near the fire. They both stood to receive him, and once the pleasantries were out of the way, they invited Rowan to sit down.
“What is it we can do for you, Mr. Findley?” Mrs. Morgan asked. She had red hair, but it wasn’t nearly as rich or vibrant as her daughter’s. Of course, it was streaked with gray, so perhaps it hadn’t always been the case. She didn’t have as kind a face as Olivia, though. Her features were sharper, and her thin lips pulled into a straight line when she wasn’t speaking.
Mr. Morgan was a short, rotund man with a ruddy complexion.
“I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.” There was no sense beating about the bush.
Both their faces hardened, and Mr. Morgan’s nostrils began to flare. “We don’t care to talk about Olivia. You can see yourself out, Mr. Findley.”
“I understand the disgrace she brought to your name,” he said, his words coming out in a rush, worried they would kick him out before he got to say what he wanted to say. “But I’m going to make it right.”
“That Jack boy already tried to,” Mrs. Morgan bit out. “But a bastard is still a bastard. And a whore is still a whore.”
Rowan tried to remain calm, but with every ounce of his being he wanted to put a fist through that woman’s face.
“Jack is dead. And your daughter isn’t a whore,” Rowan said through clenched teeth. “It was my fault—I’m the one who got her with child all those years ago. But I want to make it right.”
“Whatever business you have with Olivia is your business.” Mr. Morgan stood and moved to open t
he door.
Rowan dug his heels in. He wasn’t going anywhere. “She needs her family. Marcus is ill with fever—it is uncertain if he’ll—” Damn! He couldn’t think about it, let alone talk about it. “Come with me, to Hamlin Abbey,” he pleaded, changing the subject. “They’re staying with my cousin until he gets better. I know it’s been a long time, and clearly your opinion of your daughter is unfavorable, to say the least, but Olivia needs you.” He paused and added, “And I’d like your blessing.”
“Our blessing?” Mr. Morgan repeated with a scoff as he lifted his bushy brows.
“I want to marry her—do what I should have done years ago.”
Silence fell over the room. Mrs. Morgan’s face relaxed the slightest bit, and Mr. Morgan sighed heavily. But in the end, he said, “You don’t need our blessing, Mr. Findley. Olivia is no longer any of our concern.”
It wasn’t until close to daybreak on Friday morning that Marcus’s fever finally broke. Olivia woke up to find her poor child drenched and moaning with his discomfort. She hated to wake Clara, but she couldn’t change Marcus and the bedclothes without her.
As they sponged him off and put on a clean nightgown, Olivia allowed the joy and relief to flood through her. He wasn’t in the clear yet, she knew that, but still…God had heard her prayers, and at least she had a bit of hope now.
Once Marcus was resting peacefully again, Olivia sat in the window seat, staring out at the snow-covered countryside as the sun came up on the horizon. She hugged her knees to her chest and thought of Rowan. Christmas was only a few days away now. Would he be back in time? Would he be back at all?
She glanced at Marcus and then back out at the snow. It didn’t really matter, did it? She had her most prized possession—her son. Companionship in the form of a husband wasn’t entirely necessary. She could get by—she’d done so this long, hadn’t she?
Yet, she couldn’t ignore the longing, the emptiness. It clutched at her heart like a vise, no matter what she tried to tell herself. She felt so alone in this world. Mrs. Stilton was her only true friend, but she wouldn’t be here forever.
