Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless
“You’ve done what?” Edward said, his tone increasing in volume so it was remarkably close to a shout.
His father did not seem perturbed. In fact, he grinned a little more.
“I’ve asked your friend Lord Carson to invite the Duke and Duchess of Marymount and their daughters here for a visit. He’ll be coming as well. Only for a few weeks.” His father blinked innocently at him. Even though Edward knew that blink wasn’t innocent at all. “I thought you might enjoy seeing your closest London acquaintances since you insisted we leave so suddenly.”
Edward couldn’t speak. Or he could, but then it would be to rail against his father, when he knew Mr. Beechcroft was only doing something he thought was good. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it would be like to see her again. To see her launch herself at Bennett all over again, all of it made even worse now that he knew what her mouth tasted like. How she felt in his arms.
“And since the doctor has said I am much improved, I thought it would be a delightful diversion. I will certainly take those walks the doctor recommends if I can take them with Lady Ida. She has the most interesting ideas on all sorts of things. If I had had a daughter, I would imagine she would be very like Lady Ida.” His father smiled. Edward was grateful to at least one of the duke’s daughters, then.
“Coming here. Bennett and the duke and duchess and Lady Ida and Lady Pearl and—” And her. “And Lady Olivia,” he finished.
“Yes, all of them. I am going to leave it up to you what entertainments we offer to the young ladies. I will take the duke shooting, and then we can have a hunt.”
His father punctuated his words with a nod, placing his hands over his stomach in apparent satisfaction.
I am not satisfied, Edward wished he could say. You have invited them here, her here, and she is the last person I want to see. Mostly because she is the first person I want to see, and yet she is not for me. No matter what you might think.
But his father was only following his own internal reasoning, and likely it seemed to all make sense inside Mr. Beechcroft’s brain: an attractive eligible young lady appeared to be intrigued by Edward, and so the two of them must be put into the same general vicinity so things could progress.
That was how Mr. Beechcroft thought about industry and workers, after all. And that strategy had worked in his business, at least.
But this was the business of the heart, to use his father’s phrasing.
“When do they arrive?” Edward was surprised to discover his voice sounded almost as it always did. If a bit more strained.
“A week or so, perhaps. Lord Carson wasn’t certain about the arrangements.” Mr. Beechcroft shrugged, the nonchalant gesture belying the crafty look in his eye. “I told him we would be here, no matter when they came. Since I have to stay here under the doctor’s care, as you told me.” His blasted father then had the temerity to grin slyly, as though he knew just how he had bound Edward up with his own worries.
Not for the first time, Edward stood in awe of his father’s prowess as a skilled negotiator. Albeit now he was negotiating with his son’s future, and Edward suspected that the results would not be to Mr. Beechcroft’s liking.
Nor to his—seeing her married to his best friend, having to watch as they exchanged vows, had their first kiss (although not her first kiss, after all), bore children, spent holidays and social events with one another.
Thank goodness he would be able to sequester himself in the country so that there was no possibility Bennett could invite him to any proper event. Though he knew Bennett—and Lady Olivia, for that matter—would refuse to bend to Society’s strictures and still invite him.
Damn it all. And not only was she about to invade his tenuous peace, but his father had orchestrated it.
“Lord Carson will no doubt enjoy seeing you in that shepherdess costume we packed,” Olivia’s mother said, beaming as she looked at her daughter.
They had spent three days preparing for the trip to the country, Olivia being called on to manage everything from deciding whether or not they had to bring the silver (“You know how I hate stirring my tea with a tablespoon”) to how many changes of clothing they all needed (“No, we don’t need our warmest clothing. It is spring, after all”).
She had been run ragged as Pearl played with the kittens and Ida looked on, unamused.
And now they were in the carriage, heading to the marquis’s country estate where Lord Carson would be waiting.
Waiting to tell Olivia he’d changed his mind? That he wanted to marry her after all?
What would she say?
“You’re thinking about it again,” Pearl said in a quiet voice, leaning in so that neither their mother nor Ida could hear. “You don’t know he’s changed his mind. You don’t know how you’ll feel if he does change his mind. You don’t know anything.”
And that was the problem. That, for once in her life, Olivia didn’t know anything. Not a thing. She didn’t know how she felt about Bennett, she didn’t know how he felt about her, she didn’t know whether or not she would get married before Pearl, she didn’t know what she felt about Mr. Wolcott. Edward.
Although she did almost sort of know. And that was something she couldn’t even admit to herself.
She felt so topsy-turvy as to be almost seasick.
“But why would he arrange this if he didn’t want to marry me?” Olivia asked Pearl for perhaps the hundredth time. “What other reason could there be for him to have his family leave London and go to the country if not to propose?”
Pearl rolled her eyes. Not that Olivia was looking at her twin to confirm that, just that she heard the huff of air that always accompanied Pearl’s eye rolls. And then there were her words. “Not everything is about you, Olivia. Lord Carson is very engaged in politics and the government and Father does have some say in things, even if what he says are mostly grunts.” And then Pearl giggled, and that made Olivia laugh too, and she forgot—for the moment, at least—all about whether or not Lord Carson was going to make her most ardent wishes of a month ago come true.
Even though those were not the wishes she had now.
“Well thank goodness we’ll be there soon,” the duchess said, sounding as aggrieved as if she’d spent ten days traveling in a farmer’s hay-filled cart rather than two days in a carriage upholstered in silk. “I am fatigued to death of all this bouncing around. You’d think they would have smoothed out the roads or something, how is this even civilized?” And then she glanced around at her daughters, all of whom were in varying degrees of trying not to laugh. Even Ida.
The duke had taken a separate carriage, since the ladies took up all the room in one. But he would have done that even if there had been plenty of room—it was clear he did not like spending time with the ladies of his family, which begged the question as to why he had brought so many of them into the world.
Now that Eleanor was married and Della had run off and was in disgrace, that number was down to three, but adding in the duchess made it seem more like twenty-three.
“I wonder, Olivia, if we shouldn’t have brought the linens after all. You know how sensitive I am to scratchy bedsheets.” The duchess gave a vigorous nod. “Bedsheets are truly the most essential item for any person living in the world today.”
Olivia grimaced, thinking of all the things that families who weren’t ducal would put above non-scratchy bed sheets—food, heat, lodging, clothing. The true essentials.
“And tea. If we didn’t have tea we would be savages,” the duchess continued. “How else would we be able to communicate with one another?” As though the imbibing of tea was the essential element of communication.
“So you’re saying that the only things people truly need in this world are quality bed linens and tea?” Ida asked, her tone sharply sarcastic.
Their mother smiled in approval at her youngest daughter. “That’s exactly what I am saying!” she said in a delighted to
ne. “I never think you are paying attention to me, dear.”
“So says the woman who doesn’t even know how we take our essential beverages,” Pearl murmured to Olivia, who smothered a giggle.
It had been a long-running bet as to when—or even if—the duchess would finally prepare one of her daughter’s cups of tea the way the daughter actually preferred it.
The closest thus far was Ida, who took her tea with nothing in it. But at the last minute the duchess had added a lemon, and all of the sisters had had to stifle groans of disappointment.
“Oh, I don’t always pay attention to you, Mother,” Ida replied, and Olivia held her breath, wondering just what Ida was going to say—her sister was nearly as liable to say something shockingly direct as their mother, only in a more intelligent fashion “But it has gotten too dark for me to read any longer. When will we be there, anyway?”
Olivia looked out of the carriage window, squinting to make out a long line of trees in the distance. “It looks as though we are on property, not on the road any longer. Judging by the way the trees are managed.” She had to say she approved of the symmetry; trees left to their own devices were more likely to be wayward.
“I would imagine Mr. Beechcroft has enough money to purchase proper bedsheets,” their mother continued.
“Mr. Beechcroft?” Olivia said, feeling her stomach constrict. “You mean the marquis, surely?”
Olivia could see the duchess’s head shaking “no,” and then felt her mother reach across to pat her on the knee. As though she were a child.
“We are going to Mr. Beechcroft’s estate. Why would you think we were going anywhere else? You haven’t been listening to me either, Olivia.” The duchess turned to look out the window. “I see the lights of the house now, we should be there in a matter of minutes.”
Olivia sat back against the cushions, feeling her body stiffen in shock. Pearl took her hand and squeezed it, but Olivia barely noticed because of all the emotions coursing through her.
Mr. Beechcroft’s house. Which meant he would be there.
“Will Lord Carson even be there, Mother?” Olivia asked, hearing the tension in her voice.
“Yes, he arranged it. Honestly, Olivia, you cannot imagine we would go visiting Mr. Beechcroft just to see him. Have I not raised you properly at all? This is the moment all your dreams will come true! You’ll be engaged to Lord Carson and then I can focus on getting Pearl and Ida married.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” Ida said drily.
“Ida, did you know where we were going?” Had she just assumed things and everyone else knew otherwise?
“No, but I am pleased. Mr. Beechcroft is an excellent conversationalist, I am looking forward to resuming our discussion of books and ideas.” Ida did sound pleased, not aghast or startled or any of the things Olivia was feeling. Of course. Ida just saw the chance to continue her intellectual discussions—she wasn’t thinking about the physical interactions that might or might not happen.
Dear lord.
“And we are here! Girls, make sure you shake out your skirts as we exit the carriage. Not that Mr. Beechcroft is someone we have to concern ourselves with. But Lord Carson will be here, and we do have to worry about him.”
It would be fine. She would see Mr. Wolcott and they would be civil toward one another and Lord Carson would propose and she—she didn’t know what she would do.
She felt a suffocating squeeze suspiciously near her heart.
“Are you all right?” Pearl whispered as the coach slowed to a stop.
“No,” Olivia replied. “Not at all.”
It was the truth. She wasn’t all right. But she was Lady Olivia, champion of the oppressed, a duke’s daughter, a person who had literally been trained from birth to be gracious in awkward situations.
And this certainly counted as an awkward situation.
“Welcome!” Edward’s father said as the carriage door opened and the ladies began to emerge. Edward cursed himself for looking so eagerly to see her, but that didn’t stop him from doing so.
And there she was. Her face was set, almost angry, and he could see the flare of red on her cheeks even in the darkness.
What had happened to upset her so?
He felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside his chest. He wanted to go find whomever it was who had made her react this way and do something about it. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it would be fine, that he was there.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right, he most certainly didn’t have her permission, and he would likely be rejected if he even intimated that that was how he felt.
“You have an enormous house,” the duchess said, her voice indicating she was surprised.
“I do!” Mr. Beechcroft said in satisfaction. “I commissioned it when Edward first came to live with me. I wanted it to be the biggest house in the area, and it remains so, even after twenty-five years.”
Edward wished his father didn’t sound so proud, as though he were bragging. Which he absolutely was. It made him sound like what he was—a merchant who had so much money that people in a social status above his were forced to acknowledge him. To visit him at his country house.
And now Edward was doing just what he’d always thought proper Society did—judging people on their politeness, their fitness to be in company with. He was as misguided as Lady Olivia.
Another thing they had in common.
His father took the duchess’s arm to lead her into the house, chattering away about the amenities he’d had installed—the private water closets, the plumbing, the innovations in heating. Things the duchess likely did not care at all about.
He had to push that aside. He would not be ashamed of his father or who his father was. Especially since his father would not be here for much longer.
“Lady Pearl, Lady Ida, Lady Olivia,” he began, noting the concerned look on Lady Pearl’s face and how eagerly Lady Ida was looking at the house—likely anticipating how large the library must be if the house itself was so big. Not looking at her, in case her expression was still so raw, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself or her by demanding to know what was wrong. How he could fix it.
“Thank you for inviting us,” she replied, and he could hear the strain in her voice. “You do have a lovely home.”
“It is my father’s,” Edward corrected, then felt like an ass for being so sharp.
“Could we go inside?” Lady Ida said, her tone making it clear he was an ass for making them wait outside for so long.
“Of course, please.” And he held his arm out toward them, with Lady Pearl and eventually Olivia taking one each.
Lady Ida had already started up the stairs, her soft slippers seeming to march as she went.
“Bennett arrives tomorrow,” Edward said, speaking to Olivia. Wishing his friend wasn’t always prompt, but knowing it was inevitable no matter when he arrived.
“I see,” Olivia said, not sounding at all the way he would have expected her to.
“Mrs. Hodgkins has set up tea in the drawing room, if you would care for refreshment before retiring for the evening.”
“That would be wonderful,” Lady Pearl said. “Please thank her for us.”
Edward brought them into the drawing room, scanning the area for any signs of poor taste in design or anything that might betray his father’s origins. And then hated himself all over again for it.
Thankfully, the drawing room—like the rest of the house—was tastefully decorated, giving the duchess and the rest of her family no cause for thinking Mr. Beechcroft was vulgar. Beyond his own admittedly lower-class heritage.
“Duchess, will you pour?” Mr. Beechcroft asked, gesturing to the silver tea service laid out on one of the mahogany tables. The silver sparkled so much it seemed to light up the room, which was already lit with sconces and low lamps.
Lady Olivia put her hand over her mother’s as the duchess stretched her hand to the teapot. “I can do it, Mother. You should rest after our journey.
” And she didn’t wait for the duchess’s reply before beginning, fixing a cup for her mother and handing it to her, then looking expectantly at Mr. Beechcroft.
“Your tea, Father,” Edward prompted. “How do you take your tea?”
Mr. Beechcroft clapped his hands together, his eyes lit with pleasure. “Milk and plenty of sugar please,” he exclaimed.
Olivia smiled at him as she prepared his tea. What would it be like to have Mr. Beechcroft as a father? It would certainly be a lot more cheerful, she could say that. And he spoke to his child, didn’t just grunt from behind a newspaper. Edward was so lucky in that way. Although if Mr. Beechcroft hadn’t been who he was, Edward would have grown up in a foundling home, probably forced to wear something Olivia had sewn.
That would be a terrible situation, even without including Olivia’s inability to be a seamstress.
“And now let me serve you ladies,” Mr. Beechcroft said, putting his teacup down on the table beside him. A table, Olivia could see, decorated with tiny globes on axes, each delicately made and painted in a variety of vibrant hues.
“Those are lovely,” Olivia exclaimed, getting up from her seat to crouch in front of the table. “Where did you get them?”
She reached out a tentative finger to touch one, setting the globe to gently spinning.
Mr. Beechcroft blushed and ducked his head. “I make them, actually.”
“In one of your factories?” Olivia put her finger on England; there was probably enough room for two of her fingertips on their country, but not much more.
“No, I make them myself. By hand,” Mr. Beechcroft explained.
Olivia heard the whoosh of skirts behind her, and then Ida planted herself next to her sister, her intense gaze on the globes.
There were five of them, all in varying sizes and color schemes, all meticulously crafted.
“This is incredible, Mr. Beechcroft,” Ida said. Olivia blinked in surprise; she’d never heard such an approving tone from her sister before. “You’ll have to let me watch you make one.”
“Better than that, my lady,” he replied. “You’ll help me make them. I have not been able to interest Edward in my little hobby,” he said, glancing toward Mr. Wolcott, “and I do so love to talk while I work. The kittens are good listeners but don’t often reply.” And then he laughed at his own joke.
The Duke's Daughters_Lady Be Reckless Page 16
