“Oh! That is rather a dramatic occurrence. Can I assist you, in any way?”
She watched emotions flit across his face, too fast for her to interpret what he was thinking. Then, without warning, he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. It was a kiss full of desperation, of desire and uncertainty. The kiss of a man seeking something solid to hold to, in a turbulent sea. She returned it in kind, her own uncertainties fuelling her need for closeness.
Long minutes passed before they drew apart, flushed and unsure still.
“I think, my dear lady, that what we just did is the only way in which you can er, help me. I must deal with this myself, much though I am unprepared for it.”
Olivia nodded, understanding both his pride, and his need to find some control in the situation.
“Edward, I am also to leave here in the morning. I am going to Hemsbridge Park for a few days, to see the Dower House, and to assess what will need to be done. I am taking some of my things with me, to leave there in preparation. I had thought my errand onerous – but it is far less so than yours. I wish you Godspeed on the roads, and a peaceful time dealing with your brother’s funeral. I hope that there are no unusual circumstances which might bring trouble with the will, or other disturbance for you.”
“As I am the only remaining close relation, I do not expect any complexities – although, I am not aware of er, what sort of wealth my brother might have amassed, or of how he might wish it disposed.”
“Perhaps it will be a pleasant surprise, as much as anything resulting from death can be.”
Edward laughed, a somewhat brittle sound.
“Perhaps indeed. Truthfully, I do not know how I will go on. I was never trained for this, for it was not expected that I would ever have to bear the title. It will be somewhat of an adventure, I suspect.”
“One which you will deal with admirably. I have every faith in your ability, Edward. And... Perhaps I can help. For many years, I assisted my husband with the running of this household, and of some of our estates. What I may not know of estate management, you will find that Sterling knows. I am more than willing to pass on whatever knowledge you may find helpful.”
She saw some of the tension leave him, and knew that she had guessed aright – he was worried about the skills he would need, so different from those he had spent his life studying.
“Thank you, Olivia.”
He reached for her, and drew her to him again, at first just holding her close, as if taking comfort from her presence, then he tilted her head up, and kissed her. It was a slow kiss, full of a deep and abiding passion, that set her on fire. In that instant, she wanted to take him to her bed, to have the experience of his love, physically, before circumstance separated them for weeks. She said nothing of it, but treasured what she had in his embrace.
When he drew back from her, he smiled, a little rueful and uncertain again. She lifted her hand to caress his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss it. In a way, that gesture affected her even more than the passionate kiss had.
“Olivia...” he paused uncertain, as if unsure if he should speak. Then he shook his head slightly. “I should go. Both of us must be ready for early departures, and I would not distract you, or keep you from your rest. I will, of a certainty, call upon you as soon as I return to London.”
Olivia wondered what he had been tempted to say, for it was clear to her that he had not said what he had begun. Perhaps she would never know.
“Very true Edward. I will also call, once I have returned, to see if you are back, or not. I do suspect that I will return before you do, though.”
They rose, and he pulled her against him for a moment, before bowing, and leaving. She stood, motionless, as he left the room, feeling oddly bereft.
TWO WEEKS LATER, EDWARD returned to London, feeling as if he had aged ten years. Not that there had been any difficulty – no one had been distressed by the will, which left everything to Edward, save some gifts and annuities to long term servants of the family, none of which Edward objected to in any way. But seeing his brother, cold and dead, brought home to him just how fragile life was, and he felt his own mortality in a way that he had not previously.
And that led him to think on the matter of heirs. Already, those of the local gentry near Camberton Chase had hinted, none too subtly, that he should marry again, as fast as possible, mourning notwithstanding. He had refused to consider it. But their words struck home.
What could he do? He would not marry just to breed, he was determined of it. If he married, the thought had come to him, the only woman he could imagine marrying was Olivia. And she was of an age with him, which meant, almost certainly, that she would not be able to bear him a child.
He was still quite certain that he should not marry any woman – he did not wish to fail again. And he would not ever ask a woman to marry him, without telling them the truth of his first marriage – which would be a truth enough to turn any sane woman aside from him. He did not know what to do. But he knew that he wanted to see Olivia, as soon as politely possible.
He determined to see her the following day, and took himself to bed – in what had now become his rooms. Whilst he was away, Jamison and his housekeeper had moved his possessions into the master suite of the house, the rooms which had been his brother’s. It would take some time for him to find that comfortable, but he supposed it was the appropriate thing to do.
The following afternoon, having taken far more care with his attire than usual, he found himself knocking on Olivia’s door, hoping that she had, indeed, returned from Hemsbridge Park. All of the longing for her, which he had repressed whilst away, rushed to the surface, leaving him almost shaking with the need to touch her.
Waters opened the door, and greeted him with a smile, then led him to the library, where Olivia was, as usual, sitting with a book in hand. She rose as soon as he stepped through the door, and came to him. For a moment he hesitated, but her smile reassured him. He drew her into his arms.
The embrace became a kiss, and the kiss became something more, deeper – a silent declaration of his feelings, clearer than words would ever be. When they drew apart, she led him to the couch.
“Edward, I am so glad to see you! Tell me – was it terrible? Funerals are such depressing things.”
He smiled at her, for a moment beyond finding words. Then he swallowed, and allowed the pleasant familiarity of afternoons spent in her company to soothe him.
“It er, er, was not so very bad. But it did remind me of how fragile life is. The will was unexceptionable – the only surprise was just how much er, wealth my brother had assembled. I will have no trouble maintaining the er, er, estates. What was, in er, some ways, far worse than the er, funeral and the reading of the will, was discovering just how much I er, have to learn. How much work there is, in running an er, estate, even with managers to assist. I fear that my er, er, research may never have my full attention again!”
She tightened her fingers on his.
“My dear Edward, I am quite certain that with the assistance I can provide, and with good men of business, you will weather this storm. I do not see you as a man who will let a challenge stop him.”
He almost laughed – for, in a way, she was right – challenges rarely stopped him – except the challenge of being a successful husband. At that, he had failed spectacularly.
Chapter Eleven
The next few weeks passed in somewhat of a blur, with Edward becoming accustomed to being Viscount, and Olivia continuing the rearrangement of her possessions, and ensuring that the necessary work at the Dower House would be done before Sterling and Amelia returned. But, most days, they spent at least part of the afternoon together, now, as often as not, discussing estate management instead of genealogical research.
The year was closing in, and it was now the first few days of November. Olivia had received a message – tomorrow, Sterling and Amelia would arrive home. All was in readiness – Olivia had moved out of the rooms which had been hers since h
er marriage, so long ago – those would now rightfully belong to Amelia, as they were part of the main suite in the house. And Sterling would finally move from the rooms he had been in for years, into the other part of the master suite.
She felt rather out of sorts, the stability of her world all askew. As always, she soothed her tension by burying herself in her research. She refused to think beyond the next day, about exactly when she should remove to the Dower House, and about how she would spend the Christmas season. For the first time, she would truly be alone. Each of her children had their own families now, and she, whilst welcome in their homes, suspected that she would feel out of place everywhere. So she refused to think on it, for fear of becoming maudlin.
When Edward arrived at her door that afternoon, she was deep in the study of the history of one particular family, books spread around her, and a ludicrously complex family chart by her side. They greeted each other with a kiss, as had become the common way of it – a kiss which, as usual of late, left her warm, and desiring more. But she could not bring herself to ask for such a thing, and Edward always drew back, never going past passionate kisses.
She drew him to the desk and pointed out what she had been working on. Immediately, he became absorbed in it, as he always could, so easily.
“My dear Olivia! You have found a link here that I have searched for, for years. The implications are large, for this entangles the de Quincey and the de Lacey family lines, far earlier than I thought had been the case!”
“It is intriguing, isn’t it? I have not yet worked through the implications, but it may well change the line of inheritance for at least one branch of the family that we thought extinct.”
“Indeed.”
They settled to working through it, and spoke of little else for quite some time. Olivia was, however, acutely aware of him – his warmth beside her, the way that his speech hesitation almost completely disappeared when he was with her, and working on what he loved and the way that he made her feel comfortable, and respected her contributions.
She sat back, studying the chart which depicted all of those long-ago marriages. Her voice was soft, thoughtful, when she spoke.
“I often wonder, when I look at it laid out like that, what the stories are, behind those simple lines linking people on a chart. What happened, that led some couples to have ten children, and some only one child? What led some to marry late in life, and some early? Surely, the answers to these questions would be as dramatic, in some cases, as any novel.”
Edward turned to look at her, an odd expression on his face. Almost, she thought, a look of pain. But surely not – what was there, in her words, to cause pain? He swallowed, his eyes moving away from hers a moment. It was as if he stared into that distant past she had been imagining. She waited, uncertain. He turned his eyes back to hers, and the pain she saw in them shocked her. She reached for his hands, the urge to comfort him, to take away that pain, irresistible.
“Olivia... I... there is er, er, something, something from my own er, experience, that allows me to, er, perhaps understand what may have er, happened in some of those long-ago er, cases. I have come to realise that er, er, people do not change much, over the er, centuries. The things that we care about, the er, er, emotions that we feel, they are much the same.”
“Yes, it does seem to be so – the tales which were written centuries ago all have the same themes as those written now. But... what is this experience of yours, that you mention?”
Again, he swallowed, as if unsure that he should speak.
“There is much about me that you er, do not know, Olivia. That few people know, for I have er, intentionally kept it so. I have been tempted to tell you, many times, but... it is not something that I am er, er, proud of. Your words, now, about these people we study – they made me realise that I should speak. If I do not, if I leave this to fade into er, obscurity, then one day, I too, will be a name on a page, with no story to er, explain me. And I find that I do not want to be er, reduced to that. So, I will tell you. And, if you turn from me as a er, er, result, so be it. Whatever you may feel about me after I er, speak, I trust you to faithfully record my truth in the er, histories.”
“Why Edward, I cannot imagine anything that would make me turn away from you! I am glad that you trust me to record your truth – far better to capture what is, than leave an unexplained space, which people can fill from their own fetid imaginations. But do not speak of this if it is too painful – for I see that you are struggling with this.”
He looked away, then gripped her hands firmly, turning back to meet her yes.
“No, I must speak, now that I have er, begun. Olivia, I told you, before, about how I came to er, study the history of the great families, and that I had at least some support from my father in er, doing so. But I did not tell you the whole of er, what happened then.”
“Did your father impose some conditions upon you?”
“Not exactly, although it felt that way to er, me. He had allowed me to take my own path, even er, er, granted me an annuity and a small er, estate, so I felt very much er, obliged to act according to his wishes. And what he wished me to do was based on his own er, er, conception of what might make a man er, happy. I regret, so much, that I simply er, agreed, because he asked it. To do so was the worst er, er, er, decision of my life.”
“What did you agree to?”
“I married the woman he had chosen for me.”
EDWARD SAT, WATCHING Olivia’s face as he spoke the fateful words – the words that would lead to more questions, and the explanations which would reveal his failings as a man. Yet, even though fear coursed through him, fear that she might turn away, still there was a measure of relief in it. Thirteen years of silent contemplation of his failure had been a heavy thing to bear.
Olivia looked at him, her face full of shock.
“You married... but what... where...?”
“It was not a love match. Our parents were er, friends, she was the fifth daughter of an Earl, with few prospects, and I was the third son of a Viscount with nothing before him but study and teaching at best. Our fathers thought that er, we could be company for each other, and that would make for happiness. I did not know enough of the er, world to doubt his words.”
Olivia laughed, a sad, self-deprecating sound.
“For most of my life, I would have agreed with their sentiments.”
Edward nodded, remembering her words, when they had first met, her suggestion then that love was not necessary.
“Sarina was frail – a small, quiet er, person, who did not understand my interests, or care in the slightest for what I cared for. I did not understand her interests either. They were few – she would embroider for hours on end, and occasionally spend time in the garden – although she was not very successful at growing er, anything. We did not, we discovered, even really like each other. We had married to make our fathers happy, but in doing so, we had made ourselves miserable. We could not even talk to each other. We shared a bed and I tried to er, give her pleasure... but... I failed.”
He shuddered at the memory of it, and Olivia’s eyes widened as she considered his words.
“What happened to her? For...”
Olivia’s gesture encompassed the fact that there was no wife, and had never been a mention of one.
“When we had been wed but 6 months, she came to me one day, and told me that she was er, leaving. That she could no longer abide living with me. She was ill, and I did not know how to help, how to make her feel better, how to help her get well. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that she did not love me, did not like me, and that she could not er, envisage a world in which we might be happy together.”
“Oh my! That must have been devastating for you!”
“She left, as she had said she would. She retired to live in a quiet country cottage with the er, woman who had been her nanny. She was courteous enough not to make me a scandal – the man who had failed so badly as a husband that he had driven his w
ife away – yet I felt myself to be exactly that. We had not gone about in society much, so what had happened was barely noticed. Little more than er, nine months later, I received a simple letter. She was dead and gone. Her illness had never really er, released her, and in the end, she had succumbed. The old woman wrote to tell me that Sarina had er, wanted me to know that I was free.”
“But... when was this? For I would have expected that a man like you would have remarried...”
“She has been gone from this earth for near er, thirteen years now. Yet she still haunts me. If I had done better, been a better man, might she have lived? I have never been able to contemplate marriage again – what er, woman would want a man who had failed his first wife so utterly? And I could not bear the thought of marriage without love or liking – not after what I had experienced. Every time I see those names on our charts, where there are no er, children, or where there is only a single child, I wonder if their lives were like mine, if they found themselves bound to a person the simply could not understand, could not care for?”
“Oh Edward! What a terrible burden to bear! That you have gone on with your life, have done so well in your chosen field, all the while carrying that in your heart! You amaze me with your strength.”
Edward could not, for a moment, make sense of her words. He had expected condemnation – for a man was expected to care for the woman he had married, no matter what their differences. Yet she had just said... he reran Olivia’s words in his mind. Yes, she had just praised him... it was beyond his capacity to understand how she might see it that way.
“You judge me far er, more kindly than I will ever judge myself. I have been, this past month, forced to revisit all of this, to look squarely at my failings – for now that I have, so unexpectedly, inherited the title, already, there are those who encourage me to wed, and get an heir. I fear I cannot do it – not that I am incapable, but the thought of another er, loveless marriage, just to birth a child...”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 54