by Julia Donner
Evie pinched back a grin. “It might have been easier if you hadn’t come right back at them with your stand on slavery. Did you follow through on that dream with Reverend St. Clair?”
“Another heartbreak and dream not fulfilled. When Percy died, the funds he’d taken with him disappeared. In regards to your legal difficulties, I have no influence, but I expect the Asterlys would be of service.”
“It goes without saying. They are beyond all that is kind. But you must tell no one my secret. Not for another year, at least.”
“But if my math skills support me, he will not have attained his majority by then.”
“No, Ollie, but he will be old enough, you see.”
“Oh. I understand. He’ll be too mature to elicit the attentions of the vile uncle.”
“Precisely. Old enough to fight him off. But Ollie, you must promise to tell no one. Not that you would intentionally, but you are unfailingly honest. It must not slip out during a conversation.”
Olivia smiled at her friend’s anxious expression, “I’ve changed a great deal since school days. I still speak without thinking on occasion, but not so vehemently. I can keep your secret, and will help in any way I can, but must admit that I have little wherewithal. But perhaps you would like me to ask Sir Harry to intercede regarding Mr. Bates.”
Evie’s gaze slid away. She curled her lips inward, a nervous habit so familiar and endearing that Olivia had to blink back tears. She clasped her friend’s hands tighter and gave them a comforting shake.
“Evangeline, you like Mr. Bates! If that is so, why did you act so reticent at dinner? You looked as if he threatened you with an act unmentionable.”
Evie tugged a hand free to hide a grin. “I don’t think I’d mind…you know…with him.” She giggled at Olivia’s mock horror and added, “I wasn’t afraid of him, Ollie. I was afraid of being noticed. Everything done by the former Eligibles draws attention. I am not his usual conquest. It’s known that Mr. Bates prefers the company of…how shall I say…not virtuous females?”
It felt so wonderful to be at one with her friend again that she had to tease, “When did you become a collector of gossip?”
“Mr. Crimm took me aside. Oh, I would never ask him. One day he started telling me in a round-about way all manner of things about Mr. Bates. Don’t you think that odd?”
“From all I’ve heard about Crimm, he is the keeper of all manner of secretive information. If he spoke to you with such forwardness, he must be concerned that he knows something that you should. It doesn’t explain why he would speak to you in familiar terms.”
“As to that, I wasn’t always a companion here. When I first came, I worked as her ladyship’s dresser.”
Olivia felt her eyes widen. “You worked as a servant?”
“And proud of it, Miss Mainstay! Because of that, I provided for my son.”
“I’m sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean to denigrate the wonderful thing you’ve done. It’s that all I could imagine was your parents whirling in their graves. You haven’t told me your son’s name.”
“Edward, like his father.” She glanced again at the clock. “Oh, we must go down. They’ll be starting the music without us.” She looped her arm through Olivia’s, saying, “And please do not worry about Mr. Bates. To be honest, as much as I fear being recognized, I am quite gratified to receive the attentions of a famous duelist.”
“Not to forget all that flowing black hair and the deviltry in his eyes! The color is so remarkable. Almost as pretty as Harry’s!”
They giggled like the schoolgirls they used to be as they hurried down the stairs and composed themselves into ladies of dignity and proper comportment as they approached the music room.
Before they were in earshot of the footmen, Evie whispered, “Are you sure about taking up with the most dashing gentleman in England? He’s always been kind in his dealings with me, but his reputation…oo-lah!”
Keeping her face straight, Olivia pinched Evie’s slender forearm. “Oo-lah, yourself, dreaming about a bad, dangerous sort like Mr. Bates. You’ll have to learn to shoot if you think to keep him.”
As they swept through into the music room arm in arm, Evie whispered back with a twinkle in her eyes, “That’s the thing. I do know how to shoot!”
The aroma of coffee and cinnamon greeted them when they entered. The gentlemen had already joined the ladies for after dinner refreshments. Olivia inwardly cringed from the understanding that they’d been waiting for her return. There was still no sign of her father, another embarrassment to conceal.
Evie paired off to take Lady Asterly’s place serving the guests. On the other side of the room, Harry welcomed her with a grin and came swiftly across the floor, where rugs and carpets had been rolled up to provide a smooth surface for dancing. Silk’s rich slither sounded when Harry lifted his arm to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Did you have a nice coz with Mrs. Merrick? I missed you, and would be put out with her, if not for the fact that she’s a dear little thing. So shy and unassuming, yet giving the impression one should grovel in her presence. How does she do that? A princess in disguise?”
Olivia covered a jolt of worry for Evie by quickly saying, “We had a marvelous few minutes of reminiscing.” She leaped to another subject. “What a magnificent pianoforte!”
“It’s a Pleyel. Gorgeous tone and the action made specifically to Lizzie’s liking. She had it shipped over from Paris. You’ve known Mrs. Merrick for some time?”
“Since seminary days, until we both married quite young. We were inseparable at school. She always took my side whenever the tattle became too overwhelming.”
He’d taken her to the pianoforte and looked up from sorting through the music selections to ask, “What do you mean, tattle?”
She felt severely pulled in so many ways—riding a slender-sharp edge of anxiety all week. There had been tension before the introductions this evening, dealing with Harry and the constant lure of his attraction, the elation from finding her sweet friend, nervousness about singing in front of others, and now, the revelation that Harry had never known the reason her father disliked her.
Where was her father? Why must he act so rudely?
From nerves stretched to breaking, she placed the tips of her gloved fingers on the piano’s glossy surface. Without realizing it, she glided across the slick wood with a nervous, rubbing motion until she noticed Harry’s narrowed gaze following her caress of the elegant scrollwork. She abruptly dropped her hand and hid it in the folds of her gown.
“Will you open the lid?” she asked to avoid talking about the never-healing scar.
He set aside the music and moved closer. “What is it, Olivia? What did I say to put you so out of countenance?”
She gave her head a little shake and looked up into the anxious, dark blue of his eyes. “I thought you knew. I assumed it was an on-dit so old that it held no interest for anyone.”
When Harry waited for her to continue and placed his hand over her fisted fingers, she took a step closer to him, turning her back to the guests. “My mother had an affair.” She could only manage a half-hearted smile of apology. “I am the result.”
Comprehension replaced his worry. His expression softened. “Oh, Livie, is that all? I know that must have provided any number of difficulties, but for my part, I was in terror that you were plotting to do away with Prinny.”
Olivia squinted at his playful smirk. “I have no quarrels with His Highness, and you can be a bit of a beast when no one is looking, Harald.”
He lowered his voice to a deep and mysterious timber to suggestively say, “But you already knew that. Remember when—”
She peeped an odd squeak of protest to cut him off just as Lady Asterly sat at the bench and flexed her long, graceful fingers. “Misbehaving again, Harry? I nearly threw something at you across the dinner table. Poor Mrs. St. Clair. Now you’re stuck with his sneaky ways. What would you like to sing? Harry says that you have a wonderful contra
lto.”
“Have you heard from my father, Lady Asterly?”
“A note was sent apologizing that he is detained and will try his utmost to arrive before the evening is out. Did any of the selections appeal to you? Harry, your instrument case was set on the deal table.”
Olivia watched him walk away and leaned forward to whisper, “He actually plays the flute?”
“Quite splendidly. He and my husband had a doting mother. She taught them to dance and entertain.”
Harry returned with a flute held in a casual grasp, as confident and relaxed as if it were another appendage. His talents seemed endless. Nervousness made the smile she gave him feel weak and crooked.
She looked down to answer Lady Asterly. “Do you have The Curragh of Kildare?”
“Somewhere, I’m sure, but if you do not need the words, I can follow you.” She played a chord. When Olivia gave her head a little shake, Lady Asterly lowered the key until Olivia smiled.
When Olivia looked at Harry, he said, “I prefer to hear you sing this one.”
She felt pinned by the fixed attention of everyone in the room when he left her alone at the piano. She used the few moments it took for him to take a seat with the others to collect her scattered thoughts. Evie, beaming with pride, bolstered her courage.
After a calming breath, she nodded at Lady Asterly to begin the haunting tune. Her delivery felt shaky but that enhanced the sad tale about a maid longing for her lover. She couldn’t look at Harry’s brilliant gaze and focused on Evie’s sweet grin and almost came undone when her friend whisked away a tear.
Relief washed through her limbs all the way down to her soles when the song was so well received. Harry rejoined her at the piano, as requests for other favorites were called out. When the noise subsided, a mocking voice sliced through the others.
“Mrs. St. Clair,” Mr. Bates silkily inquired, “will you do us the honor of Greensleeves?”
Olivia looked to Harry. He lifted the flute to his lips, adjusted the pitch with the piano, and waited for Olivia’s signal.
He played beautifully, of course, his gaze never leaving her mouth as she sang the traditional ballad of obsessive love for an unobtainable woman. She again kept her attention on Evie but was unable to curb a curious glance at Mr. Bates, who glowered at Evie’s back.
She sang one more piece with Harry, then begged to give others a chance to play and sing before the dancing started. She sat down with Harry as a harp was rolled forward, and when she looked up, discovered her father newly arrived under the doorway arch. Quentin Goodfall had come with him, confirming her earlier intuition that this would be an evening conjured up in hell.
Chapter 20
The chill of a premonition settled in Olivia’s stomach and pulled her spine taut. While Quentin glared at them from across the room, Harry took her hand and stood. “We should greet your father now that he’s finally deigned to bless us with his boundless good will. Does he ever smile? And who is the grim fellow tag-along?”
Olivia didn’t answer. Her heart thudded. The evening was about to unravel. At her father’s entrance, Harry’s usual sweetness in demeanor changed. The tone of his voice now had the sharp edge of brittle treacle. The mood of the assembled would shift with Harry. They would follow his tack. He had that effect on people and groups. She must make him aware of what he was doing. He probably knew quite well what he was about, and would not relent, unless Lady Asterly indicated that his behavior would not please her. There was nothing she could do about Quentin. If her father didn’t succeed in putting everyone’s teeth on edge, then Quentin’s boorish ways would complete the wreckage.
Harry stood behind her as she curtsied in front of her father. Lord and Lady Asterly joined them. The introduction to her father went well enough until it came to Quentin. She sensed Harry’s reaction, the bristling of his outrage when she said his name. She couldn’t disagree that it was the height of ill-breeding to foist a preferred suitor into an intimate gathering. Why had her father done this? His distaste for her was one thing, but outright provocation?
Harry glided to her side. The graceful move somehow filled the space around them with the subtle suggestion of menace. He raised a diamond-encrusted quizzing glass and inspected Quentin from black, buckled shoes to his old-fashioned, tied-back brown hair. Her father also preferred to keep his straight, silver hair in a queue, but he wore his with a decided elegance that fit his austere personality. Quentin looked belligerent, fusty, out of place, and proud of it.
Harry shifted his attention to her father, dealing Quentin a sleek, silent insult with the total dismissal of his presence. Dropping the quizzing glass to half-mast, Harry gave her father a thin smile and tipped his head in a slight bow of greeting. The hint of impertinence did not escape her father’s notice.
Asterly’s warning about Harry drifted through her frantic thoughts. She didn’t know who was more incendiary at the moment, Harry with his cutting smirk or Quentin with his rage-darkened face and white-knuckled fists.
Lady Asterly moved to divert disaster by smoothly saying, “Sir Harry, I believe Lady Triverton would appreciate your name on her card. If you would attend to that, please. Asterly, perhaps you could show the gentlemen the card and supper rooms? Olivia, I have many guests asking to speak with you. Come along. Take my arm.”
There was no other choice but to comply with the hostess, but Olivia did protest in a whisper as they crossed the room. “Is it wise to leave Harry with Mr. Goodfall?”
“Why ever not? Harry can hold his own, and I’ve asked him to attend to Lady Triverton.”
“But your husband warned me about Harry’s temper.”
“Did he? How odd. I’ve never seen Harry vexed. He wasn’t at all polite a moment ago, but then, introductions can be stressful for some. I’ve never done well. Still have difficulty meeting new people.”
That revelation caught Olivia’s attention. “Extraordinary. You show no sign of nervousness or distress.”
“As in most things, practice, practice, practice. Ah, here comes Cassandra, Rave and Freddy. While we have a lovely chat, I’ll have Asterly keep an eye on Harry.”
Olivia nodded and tried to pay attention to the polite questions directed her way, but after a few, mumbled replies, she could no longer pretend that she was interested in anything but the event unfolding on the other side of the room.
Quentin had pursued Harry to the couch where the Trivertons sat. They greeted him with smiles, but paid no attention to Quentin, since Harry refused to acknowledge his presence, therefore, no introduction. Lady Triverton offered her dance card, and Harry signed with a flourish, using the tiny, tasseled pencil attached. He handed it back with a bow and started to speak to Lord Triverton, but Quentin grabbed Harry’s sleeve. The entire room went still.
Harry looked at the hand on his sleeve, then said something to Quentin that made Lady Triverton bite her lower lip and hide a grin behind her fan. Lord Triverton pressed his lips into a noncommittal line and turned his head away. A moment later, he took his wife’s hand to help her to stand, nodded a bow to Harry, and escorted his wife away from the couch.
Olivia had seen more than enough. It was time to stop this nonsense. Her father had turned away from a conversation and watched with open disgust at the scene unfolding. He sent her a scathing glare, one that let her know that he held her responsible for the vulgar display.
She moved to put a stop to the deteriorating to-do, and not a moment too soon. As she neared, she heard Quentin’s sneering taunt, “I’d heard you were near-sighted, Collyns. One supposes that’s what a fop like you would use for an excuse for not accepting an engagement of pistols at dawn.”
Harry’s teeth glinted, his smile unpleasant. “What are you bleating about, Goodbean?”
“Goodfall! Esquire. Will you meet me or not? Must I remove my glove and shock the ladies?”
“Your presence has already accomplished that, Badball. Name your seconds, as if anyone would stand by a lout who persists w
here he is so obviously not welcomed.”
Olivia was shocked to a standstill when Quentin tugged off his glove and swung it at Harry.
Chapter 21
Lady Asterly felt her heart sink as she watched Olivia come to a shocked halt, then finish her fuming advance on the combatants. “Oh dear. I believe the events of my tepid soirée are about to become the town’s next on dit.”
Gasps had echoed around the room as Quentin Goodfall took a swipe at Harry with his glove, and missed, when Harry simply leaned back out of its way. That was when he noticed Olivia standing stock-still nearby. Her apparent displeasure dampened Harry’s temper. He started to move to intercept her, but Goodfall again grabbed his sleeve.
Freddy leaned close enough to touch Lady Asterly’s shoulder and murmur, “I say, Lizzie, somebody should put a lid on that kettle.”
Countess Ravenswold chuckled. “More like, lift it off. Olivia looks ready to bubble over. What fun. Harry’s going to get his comeuppance.”
From his great height, Rave said, “She looks in a bit of a state. Not a good mix with Harry ready to murder that idiot. Perhaps someone should attempt to calm Harry. Cass, you’re good with him. Have a word.”
Lady Ravenswold gave her husband an incredulous look. “Not I. From the look of him, he’s reached the point where he won’t listen.” She poked Asterly in the ribs with the end of her fan. “You do something, Peregrine. You’re his brother.”
“Doubt it would do any good, Cass. You know Harry. Sweet as treacle until you push him the wrong way. Freddy, would you care to take a whack at him?”
“And get my teeth knocked out for my trouble? Let them battle it out. And Lizzie, what happened to that companion of yours?”
Distracted by the argument escalating on the other side of the room, Lady Asterly kept watching as she replied, “Mrs. Merrick declared herself indisposed. Oh, dear. Now Olivia appears to be letting her temper get the best of her intentions. And Harry, whatever he’s saying to Goodfall isn’t helping the situation. Gentlemen, I’m ordering you to lay hands on Harry and drag him from the room before he plants one on that stupid man’s nose.”
