Miss Lydall was off limits. Gideon’s warning was clear, though Thorn had not made up his mind if he would respect his brother’s wishes. “Care to recommend another lady?”
His brother released a snort of disbelief.
“You can approach her first as me,” Thorn said, crossing the short distance between them. “If you behave like an arse, I will certainly be the one who gets slapped for it.”
“It is tempting,” Gideon said, his expression lightening as the tension in his shoulder’s eased. “Though, I believe I will reserve that bit of revenge for another evening. It pains me to admit it, however, you are correct. I have been neglecting my duties as the guest of honor of these festivities. If I return to Mother’s side before the fireworks end, there’s a chance she may have not noticed my departure.”
“Care to wager on it?” Thorn asked, capturing his brother’s jaw with his right thumb and fingers and affectionately squeezing his chin before he released him.
“Only a drunken fool would consider that bet,” Gideon said, hooking his arm around Thorn’s neck. “Very few things escape her notice.”
“I agree. She will expect an apology and an explanation.”
Gideon added a little slack to his hold until his arm rested companionably across Thorn’s shoulders. “I can provide both. I will simply blame you for my absence.”
“A delightful plan,” Thorn said, more amused than offended. “It took you all of three seconds to come up with it.”
“Well, to be fair, whenever Mother is vexed at me, I always blame you.” His brother grinned, and it was contagious. Thorn found himself matching it.
“Excellent.”
“There’s no reason to discard a solid plan when it always works,” Gideon said. “Come on, you can join me. Seeing us together should soften the marchioness’s disposition.”
“I suppose I can grant you this small favor,” he said. They both of them fell silent as they followed the gravel path that led to the lake.
Thorn listened to the music and allowed his thoughts to drift to Miss Lydall. In front of the Greek folly, her movements had been graceful and relaxed. She had danced up to him with a coy smile teasing her lips, and he knew that he was going to kiss her.
“Thorn?” his brother said in a quiet, thoughtful voice.
“Something on your mind?”
“Olivia—” Gideon began.
Thorn closed his eyes and let his arm slip away from his brother’s shoulders. “I suppose you want me to apologize for kissing her.”
“No,” was his brother’s curt reply. “I suppose you had your reasons. Just refrain from kissing her again.”
Would it count if I kissed her as Lord Kempthorn?
“I will do my best to resist the lady’s charms,” he replied dryly.
Gideon sent him a questioning glance, but he appeared to be satisfied with Thorn’s answer.
He was quite certain he was not telling the truth, but what was one more lie shared between brothers?
* * *
Lost in thought, Olivia had reached Lady Felstead’s back gardens before she recognized her surrounds. Several cheers rang out from the nearby guests who had decided to watch the fireworks display from the numerous benches positioned throughout the gardens. Closer to the house, the servants had set up additional tables and chairs. She could continue up the path to the terrace or remain in the garden and find a quiet alcove to watch the fireworks.
I could join Lady Felstead and her friends.
Olivia knew the older woman would find a place for her, but she dismissed the idea. It was too risky. She could run into Lady Grisdale, who was still displeased that their hostess had overruled the countess’s decision to send her home. There was also Lord Kempthorn. Even when her back was turned, she could feel his disapproval whenever his gaze settled on her. Sitting next to his mother would only earn his annoyance.
In truth, she was not in the mood to verbally fence with the Netherwood twins.
Olivia stopped in front of a large fountain with a circular base and a half-naked marble maiden rising from the center of the shallow pool. Water poured from an oversized seashell the maiden had braced on her hip. Olivia stared up at the marble face to admire its beauty, but her thoughts were turned inward as she thought about her friendly exchange with Gideon and the joy she felt when they danced together.
The last time she had danced with him, she had been a girl.
She grimaced. “Why did you have to ruin it all with a kiss?” she asked, voicing her lament into the surrounding darkness.
“A kiss with the stars overhead sounds exceedingly romantic.”
Olivia tried to conceal her astonishment as she turned her head and recognized the lady.
“Lady Arabella, where—I had not realized anyone was paying attention to me,” she said, greeting the lady with a curtsy. The young woman mirrored her actions. “How are you this evening?”
Olivia had been first introduced to Lady Arabella Brant last season, since they were the same age and their hostess had thought two unmarried young ladies could find something in common. Initially, she had had a few doubts. To be fair, it was not Lady Arabella’s fault that Olivia always felt like a plain, uninspiring dunnock when she stood next to the delicate blonde who possessed a beauty that would inspire artists and poets. She had expected her to be as vain and unkind as Lady Millicent, however, she had discovered the young woman to be friendly and well versed on numerous subjects. Her older sister, Lady Tempest, had married Lord Fairlamb—Lord Kempthorn and Gideon’s cousin. That had caused quite a stir in London because the lady had been practically betrothed to another gentleman, and the feud between the Brants and the Rookes was longstanding and oftentimes violent. Or so she had heard. She had not paid attention to the gossip until she had been introduced to Lady Arabella.
“I am splendid.” The other woman’s hazel eyes sparkled with merriment. “And so are you if you are kissing strangers—”
“Oh, he was not a stranger,” Olivia corrected. In an attempt to change the subject, she asked, “Why are you not at the lake with most of the other guests?”
“I was for a while, but I thought my sister and her husband might enjoy a quiet moment without me underfoot,” Lady Arabella said airily. “However, what I was doing is less interesting than you and your mysterious suitor. I want to hear all the details.”
She frowned. “He is not my suitor, and there is nothing to tell.”
“If there was a kiss, then there is definitely a tale to share.” Lady Arabella took Olivia’s hand and pulled her away from the fountain to a small alcove where she had a direct view of the fountain. “Sit and tell me everything. I will begin. Have I met him?”
Gideon was family to Lady Arabella, albeit by marriage. Olivia assumed her friend had been introduced to him at some point since his return to England. If not, Lady Felstead had introduced her to him when she had arrived at Malster Park.
“Yes.”
Lady Arabella considered her next question. “You said that your suitor was not a stranger. Is he one of your neighbors?”
Olivia gave her an exasperated look. “He is not my suitor. And, yes, he is someone I am acquainted with in the parish.”
“Is he handsome?” her new friend asked, her right brow arched in a clever, knowing manner that Olivia could have never duplicated even if she practiced in front of a mirror for a solid year.
“No, he is quite ugly,” she managed to deliver in a serious tone.
“I do not believe it!”
Olivia’s lips twitched in response to Lady Arabella’s disbelief. She lasted another fifteen seconds before she started giggling. “Of course I consider him handsome. I would have not permitted him to kiss me otherwise.”
Lady Arabella’s eyes widened. “So, he was the one to kiss you first.”
“Do you think me so forward as to kiss an unsuspecting gentleman?” Olivia straightened her shoulders and tilted her face upward to admire the latest round of fireworks.
“I cannot believe your opinion of me is so low.”
“I did not mean to—” Lady Arabella began hastily before she noted Olivia’s smirk. She laughed and leaned against her friend. “So it was an exceptional kiss?”
“I barely noticed,” she replied, rising from the bench. “And I will not be kissing him again.”
It was a promise she intended to keep. Gideon was her friend, but the gentleman was as much of a rake as his twin. Unlike the women who had fallen in love with him, she had no interest in adding her name to his collection of broken hearts. Good grief, what had he been thinking? He had just come back into her life. She was not going to lose him again over a kiss.
“Why not?” Lady Arabella asked.
It seemed unfair to place her friend in the awkward position of defending a new member of her family. Olivia shrugged as the other woman stood and walked to her side. “The gentleman is a charming scoundrel. He kissed me on a whim.” She scowled as a darker thought occurred to her. “Or on a bet. I do not see him as the type who would be content to settle down and marry a baron’s daughter.”
Lady Arabella placed her hand on Olivia’s shoulder to stop her from walking away. “You are fond of him.”
“More than he deserves,” she admitted, giving her a wistful half smile. “However, there is no reason to worry about me. I am not so foolish as to give him my heart.”
“I think I know the name of your mysterious suitor.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “I told you, Lady Arabella, he is not a—”
“Is it Lord Kempthorn?”
Olivia’s mouth fell open in surprise, and her hand absently tugged on the edges of her borrowed shawl. “Lord Kempthorn? Your skills at deduction have failed you, my friend. I would not have that cold, arrogant man if you trussed him up and shoved a damson in his mouth,” she said with a breathy laugh. “My throat is parched and I could do with a glass of punch. Would you care to join me as I return to the house?”
“Yes, I would,” Lady Arabella said. “It will give me another chance to guess the name of your gentleman.”
“He isn’t mine,” Olivia reiterated.
“Hmm,” was her friend’s response.
* * *
As Thorn and Gideon walked along the edge of the garden path, Thorn spotted Miss Lydall in the distance. She and Lady Arabella strolled arm in arm, and the two ladies were laughing. When had she become friends with Tempest’s younger sister? It was another connection to his world that he had been unaware of, he realized with some consternation.
“What is it?” Gideon asked.
Thorn had no intention of mentioning Miss Lydall to Gideon. “Nothing. Shall we visit with Mother or do you want to light some fireworks with father?”
Excitement glinted in his brother’s eyes. “What do you think?”
“It seems a bit unfair to allow the marquess to have all of the fun,” Thorn replied.
To his thinking, handling and igniting fireworks seemed safer than kissing Miss Lydall again.
Chapter Eight
Treversham House
Three days after the Felsteads’ fete, Olivia was spending her afternoon inspecting the household accounts in the small breakfast room. When she was finished, she was planning to reward herself with a walk in the garden so she could read Mr. Chauncey’s letter. She had met the gentleman last spring, and they had exchanged several letters since they had left London. If the handsome gentleman had intentions of a romantic nature, he was taking his time about it. In his last letter, he had expressed a desire to see her again when he was in Town, so she was hopeful. She heard a soft knock and someone opened the door.
“I beg your pardon for the intruding, Miss Lydall. Lord Dewick requires your presence in the library.”
“Thank you, Martha,” Olivia said, adding another item to the household ledger. “You may tell my father that I will join him once I have finished.”
The maid hesitated at the threshold. She was young, about sixteen years old and new to her position, so she was eager to please her employer. “His lordship anticipated this would be your reply so he also wanted me to impress a sense of urgency to his request.”
“With Mrs. Henders tending to her ill daughter, someone must see to her tasks,” Olivia muttered under her breath as she dipped her pen into the small pot of ink and finished her notation. She set the pen aside and reached for the pounce pot and sprinkled the page. “Very well. I can finish this later. You may tell his lordship that I have received his message and I am on my way.”
She picked up the ledger and tipped it so the loose pounce slid back into the pot.
“I mean no disrespect, miss, but if you were on your way, wouldn’t you be following me to the library?” the maid asked.
Olivia sighed and stood, while giving the ledger a final shake. “I suppose you are right. Carry on with your duties, Martha. I will head to the library.”
The maid curtsied. “Very good, miss,” she said, and quietly slipped out of the room.
Olivia tucked a narrow silk ribbon in the crease of the ledger and closed it. She brushed the residual pounce from her fingers and then placed the lid on the inkpot. It was a rare occurrence for her father to be home in the afternoon, but the rain had caused him to delay his plans for the day.
She stepped out of the breakfast room and into the main hall. Until the fateful day that Lady Grisdale married Lord Dewick, she was the mistress of the household. Built in the early 1770s, Treversham House was a long building with a Pantheon-like façade featuring an Ionic portico and blind bows above the main entrance and windows. The house was not as grand as the Gothic-style Malster Park, but she adored the simple, understated elegance of its design.
There had been little alterations to the interior since her mother’s death. It was rather comforting to be surrounded by the furniture, rugs, and pictures that had been chosen and enjoyed by her mother. She was too young to have any memories of Lady Dewick, but there was a painting of her in the music room. Olivia shared her curly chestnut hair and her chin. Her mother looked too delicate and finely boned in the picture to have given birth to two sons and a daughter. Giving birth to Olivia had weakened her, and had made her vulnerable to illness that eventually claimed her life.
Olivia wondered if her mother’s painting would be removed from the music room once Lady Grisdale became mistress of Treversham House. It was, of course, a reminder that Lord Dewick had loved and mourned another lady. Perhaps she was misjudging Lady Grisdale, but the countess did not seem to be sentimental about the past. Her mother’s painting would be removed from the wall, covered, and hidden away until it was forgotten, she was sure of it.
Getting rid of Lord Dewick’s daughter would take a little more effort.
One of the wide oak planks beneath her feet creaked as she walked the short distance to the library. The floor had been recently washed, but it needed a thorough scrubbing and airing. Their housekeeper would oversee the task when she returned to her duties and Olivia and her father had left for London. Olivia frowned at the dirty smudges and paw prints near the library door. There was evidence of a trail that led to the front door. Someone had allowed her father’s dogs outside while it was raining, but no one had cleaned up the mess.
Olivia glanced around, but found herself alone in the front hall. Where was their butler, Hopps? He usually assigned one of the younger servants to look after the dogs when they were in the house. She raised her fist and knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
She opened the door and stepped into the library.
“Papa, have you seen, Hopps? Dancer and Trouncer have made a small mess in the hall,” Olivia said, striding by the large bookcases at the entrance and turning left.
She halted and gaped with surprise.
Her father was not alone. On her arrival, Lord Kempthorn and Mr. Netherwood rose from their chairs. Their cousin Lord Fairlamb was positioned near one of the large windows.
The greyhounds had been resting in front of her
father’s desk, but they lifted their heads when they saw her. Trouncer barked, and both animals were wagging their tails as they unfolded their lean limbs with the intention of greeting her.
“Good afternoon, my dear,” Lord Dewick said, giving her an apologetic look. “I confess I am responsible for letting the dogs back into the house. I realized, much too late, their muddied condition.”
Fawn-colored Dancer did a tight circle before he bound toward her with Trouncer behind him.
“Could one of you—”
The dogs reached her before any of the gentlemen could react. Dancer jumped up on his hind legs and braced his front paws on the front of her dress. Trouncer circled around her and furiously sniffed at her skirt. Olivia had no clue what scent had captured his interest. She had been in the kitchen earlier, so it was possible she brushed up against something that smelled like food to him.
“Dancer and Trouncer, come here,” the baron sternly commanded.
Neither animal listened.
“Uh, Dancer,” she said, gripping the dog’s paws so they were almost dancing. She would have laughed, but she was too busy keeping her face turned upward to avoid the dog’s enthusiastic tongue. “This is no time for kisses, you oaf.”
At the mention of “kisses,” Trouncer also jumped up, slipped, and dropped to the floor several times. On his third attempt, he remained on his hind legs and Olivia staggered back at the weight of both dogs pushing to unbalance her. “Some help, if you please!” she said, noting the Netherwood twins were moving toward her though she was too distracted to tell them apart.
In the background, Lord Fairlamb was laughing while Lord Dewick shouted at the dogs to heed his order.
“Behave! Both of you,” she said, taking another step backward and bumping into a pedestal that displayed a Chinese porcelain vase. “Oh dear!” She didn’t have the heart to glance over her shoulder.
The pedestal tipped and the magnificent vase wobbled from its perch.
One of the brothers made a sharp turn to the right and fell to his knees, catching the vase before it struck the floor. The dogs thought it was a new game, so they began to bark.
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