The Making of Baron Haversmere

by Carol Arens

  From what Joe could tell it had all worked out fine. The estate seemed to be thriving and the Cavills had adopted fourteen children and opened a school for orphans.

  ‘Victor says you were visiting his grave when we first met.’

  ‘Yes, it had been too long since I had.’ She shrugged, no longer smiling. ‘I resented him for a while even though I loved him and missed him desperately.’

  ‘I can imagine why. Roselina told me what happened with the estate and your other brother.’

  ‘I’m afraid my family is often the talk of the town.’

  ‘None of it deserved.’

  ‘It hardly matters.’

  ‘Olivia.’ He touched her chin, turned her face towards him because she had looked away. ‘It matters greatly when it steals your joy. Look around us. There is so much to be happy about. Sunshine, birds singing—you and I reading poetry and you not hitting me in the head with the book.’

  ‘I might do it yet.’ He knew she would not because her lips twitched, right at the corners. Anyone with such pretty dimples was not likely to assault him with a poetic masterpiece.

  If he was fancy with a pen, he would write about those dimples first. They were quite his undoing, made him feel like a weak-kneed boy wondering if he might kiss them.

  ‘I’ll make you a bargain,’ he said. ‘You let loose of that smile you are choking on and at our next lesson I will wear the blamed ugly hat.’

  ‘Oh...well...’ She covered her mouth, shook her head. In spite of the effort not to, she did laugh.

  But the agreement was that he should see her smile. With one hand he caught both of hers and drew them away from her face.

  If only she would do it more often. ‘You have the loveliest smile I have ever seen. And that is not flirtation—just a statement of fact.’

  ‘You can’t mean that.’

  ‘Since I’ve never said it to anyone before, I reckon I do mean it.’

  ‘I nearly believe you, Josiah.’

  That was something, he figured, since she hadn’t much cause to trust men in the past.

  ‘I don’t say what I don’t mean.

  ‘Do not,’ she corrected him, then stood up, smoothing the folds from her skirt. ‘Next time I see you it will be in that hat.’

  By sugar, she was still smiling when she walked away.

  ‘Olivia? How long has it been since you had fun with a man?’

  ‘Since Oliver was my prince.’

  Somehow it broke his heart that she did not even give it a bit of thought. Her brother had been her prince a very long time ago.

  ‘That is going to change.’

  She nodded, but so circumspectly that if he had not been looking for it he would have missed it.

  ‘Do not forget the hat.’ She winked, and his knees felt like slush.

  * * *

  What had she done?

  Standing in the garden room watching Josiah walk across the garden, she knew, of course. She had winked.

  The question was, why had she done it?

  Because he had made her laugh with his silly bargain? Or perhaps because it felt so wonderful to feel silly again?

  Honestly, she had all but forgotten how to. Even with her own child. When was the last time she had laughed freely at his youthful antics?

  Most of the time she reprimanded Victor for hiding under tables and climbing trees. She wondered if he truly knew his mother.

  How could he when she had all but forgotten who she was, or used to be? She was beginning to see the person she had turned into and did not like herself overmuch.

  Olivia Cavill Shaw had become dry as dust—drab and gloomy.

  Yet, watching Josiah saunter across the garden, not wearing the hat but scowling at it while he carried it under his arm, she found herself grinning.

  No one unbalanced her as this man did. The problem was, Dreary Olivia feared what he was doing to her. Gloomy Olivia warned her to be wary because the cowboy had every intention of returning to America. If she was not on her guard, he would take her heart back with him.

  As soon as he opened the terrace gate he spotted her, gave an exaggerated bow, then slapped the tall hat back on his head.

  He grinned and Light-Hearted Olivia gave Gloomy Olivia a shove. Lady Gloomy did not topple over, but she did step aside.

  ‘You look very dapper, Josiah,’ she commented, while opening the door.

  Indeed he did look like a gentleman, but he smelled robust, as if he carried the scents of prairie grass, cattle and campfires with him. Not that she knew what those things smelled like, but she was certain it was so.

  ‘I feel like an undertaker.’

  ‘You could never be that dour.’

  ‘I knew a jovial undertaker once.’

  ‘I don’t know, Josiah. It seems to me that would make the chap rather ghoulish.’ She indicated the table beside the lemon tree, which was set for tea.

  ‘When I was little I’d hide under my bed because I’d dreamed that he was nailing my coffin closed while he grinned and chuckled.’

  He pulled out her chair, then sat across from her.

  ‘I hope you are making that up.’

  ‘I’m not. Charming Wendell was what folks called him. For all his smiles, he didn’t have many friends.’

  She poured tea, then added the three cubes of sugar he liked in his. She added a dollop of milk to hers.

  Coffee was what he preferred to drink, black coffee, which she found interesting since he needed so much sugar in his tea. What she found even more interesting was that knowing this small thing about him gave her such satisfaction.

  Having pleasant feelings for a man was something she had not experienced in a very long time. For all that it was pleasant it was also unsettling.

  ‘You look worried, Olivia. I will not tell Victor about him.’

  Oh, she hadn’t thought—but no doubt Victor would be fascinated, not repelled. Luckily Josiah would not know that her expression had to do with him, with her ever-slipping battle to keep her heart from taking a risk.

  ‘I appreciate that. Now, shall we get down to the business of the afternoon?’

  He still wore the hat. He dipped it at her as if it had been his Stetson.

  ‘You are doing splendidly. Except that you ought to have removed the hat when you first came in.’

  ‘Wish I’d known sooner.’

  ‘Sooner than the one moment we have been inside?’

  ‘It’s like wearing a pipe on my head.’ He snatched it off, giving it a scowl as he did.

  How could she not laugh at his offended expression even if doing so put her on treacherous ground? Too hard a giggle might shake her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. One slip and she would fall—

  On her feet was where. Squarely and solidly on her feet.

  ‘It will soon be time for you and Roselina to be seen in public again.’

  He lifted his teacup and, taking a sip, wagged his little finger at her. Then he winked. Was this a tic of some sort? He did it fairly often.

  ‘You must not do that in public. People will think you are a terrible flirt.’

  ‘But I am flirting, and blatantly expressing my appreciation of your effort on my behalf—and even more on Roselina’s.’

  ‘Perhaps appreciation would be better accomplished with a simple “thank you”.’

  ‘Thank you, Olivia. When will you begin to call me Joe?’

  He well knew she would not and there was no point in belabouring the issue. ‘The best place to get you and Roselina seen is at the opera.’

  ‘Went to an opera once. I fell asleep in spite of all the noise.’

  ‘Many people do not appreciate the music, but it is where one must go to see and be seen.’

  ‘Sure hope they do not see me snoring.’

&nbs
p; ‘We have two weeks in which to finish polishing you.’

  ‘How much more socialising will I need to do once I’m polished?’

  ‘There is always something to attend. But the most important will be another ball of the Duchess’s a bit later in the Season. A proper presentation on that evening is extremely important for your sister’s future in the marriage market. All the entertainments before this one are of a getting-to-know-you nature. It is known in society that this ball marks the point where suitors become serious. It is what we are working for here.’

  And after that?

  After that he would no longer need her. There would be no reason for him to visit daily.

  She rather thought her life would be a great deal more dull.

  Dull had always suited her splendidly. There was no risk in leading a dull life.

  * * *

  Stepping down from the carriage in front of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, Joe felt spit-shined and, with the blamed hat perched on his head, no less than seven feet tall. There was no doubt about him being seen.

  No doubt about Roselina being seen either. Taking her hand as she stepped out of the conveyance, he figured she was the prettiest flower in the bouquet of young beauties attending tonight’s performance.

  Of course, Olivia had yet to step out of the carriage.

  They were attending tonight’s show in the company of the Duchess of Guthrie and a few others. Apparently it was the custom to attend the opera as a group. They would share the Duchess’s balcony—from this vantage point they would be quite visible to anyone who cared to look.

  Olivia had informed him—warned, rather—that everyone would be looking.

  The last thing he was going to do was disappoint her after all her hard work in getting him to this point. No matter what, he would not doze off—or wink.

  Even though the carriage driver stood by to help, Joe ignored him and assisted Olivia down the steps. He wanted to touch her hand again even if it would be encased in a glove.

  ‘Is it normally this windy?’ he leaned close to ask.

  The front of the opera house looked like a scattering of spring blossoms with colourful skirts being tossed this way and that.

  ‘I imagine a storm is coming.’ Olivia had to go up on her toes and lean close to his ear to be heard over the gust buffeting them. Her breath was warm. It smelled slightly of cloves and spice from the meal they had taken at the Duchess’s before departing.

  He was trying to think of something else to ask so she would have to keep whispering in his ear, but the coachman was assisting the rest of the party down the cab steps.

  Ladies laughed, trying to press down their skirts against the wind howling along the ground while the gentlemen of the group ushered everyone towards the entrance.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like this!’ Roselina hung on to his arm while pointing to the opera house they hurried towards. ‘Those great tall columns all lit up from behind—and really, Joe, have you ever seen a building made of glass?’

  She was referring to the huge horseshoe-shaped structure beside the opera house.

  ‘It is called Covent Garden and, yes, it is made of glass.’ Olivia stepped up beside them, then slipped her hand into the crook of his other arm to steady herself against the wind.

  All of a sudden Joe felt like a king, all gussied up and escorting a pair of special ladies into what looked like a palace.

  Once inside they were ushered upstairs to a box with seating for ten.

  Her Grace took the seat in centre front as was her due as owner of the box and her rank as Duchess. She motioned for Roselina to sit on her right, then waved Joe to the seat on her left.

  Luckily Olivia swept into the seat beside him.

  ‘What do I do with the hat?’

  Noise from below rose up like a hum of bees so that Olivia had to lean close in order for him to hear the answer.

  ‘Is it an opera hat, do you know? If it is, it will collapse.’

  ‘It’s a blamed nuisance that no one can see over it, is all I know.’

  ‘Hmm, it is rather tall. You had best remove it.’

  ‘Who is that who just sat down beside Roselina? He was not with us at dinner.’

  ‘The Earl of Grantly’s son, Viscount Mansfield. I imagine he saw her when we were coming in and is hoping for an introduction.’

  ‘Should I allow it?’

  ‘Our hostess will decide. But don’t worry. No one can set up a match like Her Grace can.’

  Until this moment the whole business of seeing his sister wed had been theory. Now there was a young man gazing at her frog-eyed and Joe was not certain he cared for it.

  Once she married, she would set up a home here—in London.

  The thought of not having her nearby hit him like a punch in the gut. It was very likely he would go years without seeing her.

  Pa was the one to make the yearly trips to London while Joe stayed home to tend the ranch. It had always been that way and he saw no reason for it to change. From all he knew, Pa enjoyed the few months he spent here.

  ‘She will meet many young men. He might not be the one she chooses so you can stop glaring at him.’

  ‘It’s not to do with him, more it has only just truly hit me that, when she marries, we will be separated by an ocean. We’ve only ever been separated by walls before.’

  The hum of voices from below buzzed in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out.

  But then warmth covered his hand. Hesitantly, Olivia twined her fingers in his. She drew their joined hands close to her side, then yanked her skirt over them.

  ‘I’m sorry for it. It’s such a hard thing to be separated from a sibling. At least when Heath comes home it will be to stay.’

  Even he knew publicly holding hands was not proper behaviour, even with gloves on. But by sugar, if no one knew it but the two of them, what did it matter?

  If he liked it—and he did if the quick flip in his stomach was anything to go by—and she was the one to begin it, he was going to hold on as long as she would allow it.

  All of a sudden he felt the longer this performance lasted, the better, which was a far different opinion than the one he had coming in.

  With his hand feeling right at home holding Olivia’s, he glanced down at the merriment going on below.

  Apparently it was true that folks came to the opera to see and be seen. Ladies and gents craned their necks this way and that, taking note of who was where and who they were with.

  He could not help but smile because looking down on it all gave a better vantage then looking up. No one down there would know he and Lady Olivia were touching fingers.

  Apparently the hat was good for something after all. If he shifted it just so, it more fully covered their discreet hand-holding. Even those sitting in the chairs behind them would be unaware of the indiscretion.

  The quite delicious indiscretion.

  The Duchess cast him a pointed, sidelong glance. Surely it could not mean she was knew what was happening under the hat.

  More likely, it had to do with the fellow sitting beside his sister.

  Did she know the young man to be a wastrel?

  He arched a brow at her in question. She arched one back at him before turning her gaze towards the stage. In doing so she smiled! Surely he had not imagined it, but he blamed sure could not figure it out.

  What was going on? At times women were a puzzle with a piece missing. He did not understand them.

  Who he did understand were young men. He would need to have a word with Roselina’s admirer and determine for himself if he was worthy.

  The theatre lights dimmed. Seconds later lights illuminated blue brocade curtains which swept open to reveal a woman standing in what appeared to be a pasture. Live sheep grazed happily about her. While she sang a sweet, lyri
cal melody to her flock a man dressed as a wolf could be seen creeping through the grass.

  Joe could not help but glance at the fresh-faced fellow sitting beside Roselina. He might look harmless, but he could be a predator in the opera brush.

  Even if he was the most noble of peers, Joe would still not warm to him. He might be the one to sweep Roselina away. He never had been able to understand why Ma encouraged her to marry a titled fellow in another country.

  He returned his attention to the stage and the shepherdess serenading her flock. As much as he could since the greater part of his attention was on how warm Olivia’s hand was.

  When his gaze swept the audience, he noticed one face was not looking at the stage.

  While the stage’s wolf was actually harmless, the one watching Olivia was not. The Marquess had not forsaken his pursuit of her. In all likelihood, his interest in her had increased since her rejection of him.

  Joe let his gaze slide discreetly over the man. He did not want Olivia to notice anything untoward.

  Perhaps he should not take the protection of this woman so personally. He ought to care for her well-being in the same way he would for any woman.

  But ‘any woman’s’ hand was not resting in his, so small and trusting.

  And trust did not come easily to her, he knew well it did not.

  So, yes, this need to watch out for her was deeply personal.

  It thrummed through him like a drumbeat, a primeval need to protect his woman. Although she was not his woman. He was simply holding her hand.

  Since as far as he knew there was no man in London to defend her, he took the job upon himself.

  While he might not be looking directly at Waverly, Joe knew the instant that the man turned his attention to the stage.

  Let him believe himself to be slinking through the grass, creeping and thinking to pounce upon Olivia Shaw. He could not know that he was the one being pursued.

  Chapter Eight

  With the opera over and everyone filing out of the box, Olivia was proud of Josiah for not falling asleep. Perhaps he had found it to be entertaining.