Lady Olivia's Undoing

by Anne Gallagher

  Lady Olivia’s Undoing

  Anne Gallagher

  Smashwords Edition

  Shore Road Publishing

  PO Box 333

  Bethania, NC 27010

  U.S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2014 © Shore Road Publishing by Smashwords

  All rights reserved

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  The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole in part, in any form by any print, electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of any copyrighted materials in any form. To do so is a violation of the author’s rights.

  Cover portrait by John Singer Sargent – Mrs. William Crowninshield Endicott Jr. 1903

  Chapter One

  London

  19 December 1811

  “John, do come to bed,” Olivia said, patting the place beside her. “It is half past midnight and there can be nothing more you must attend, sort out, or look after. The servants are abed, the fire is stoked, and I for one am exhausted. Come now, and tell me what troubles you.” At his raised brow, she said, “I can see by the lines in your face that something has you overset. You have been distant and drawn all day.” Something must be terribly wrong. John was always so amiable.

  John sat on the bed in his trousers and shirt, his cravat loosened. His jacket and vest lay folded over the back of the chair in the corner, shoes and stockings under it. He shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Livvy.” He took her hand in his.

  Her stomach did a little flip. Olivia sat up. “Pray what is it?” The soft flickering of candlelight played with the shadows on John’s face.

  “There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will just come out with it.” He sighed. “I must away.” He patted her hand absently.

  “Away? Now? It is the middle of the night.” Olivia pushed at the covers and wiggled closer to John.

  “No, dearest, not tonight, but soon. Mayhap the end of the week.”

  Olivia didn’t need to ask. His tone spoke volumes. There was another assignment from the Foreign Office.

  “Where are you going this time? Tell me they are not sending you to France again.” John and the Earl of Greenleigh had gone Paris on several occasions. Olivia hated when John went there. Upon his return, he always smelled of cheap wine, the ocean, and doxies. Olivia couldn’t fault him for it though. Even at six-and-fifty, John remained in service to his King and she was proud of him for that. Still, France. It was such a dirty place.

  John pulled a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and toyed with it before he said, “The Foreign Secretary desires me to go to Spain.”

  “What?” Olivia climbed off the massive four-poster bed. “No, John. I will not have it. Tis too dangerous.” She started to pace. “I will go in the morning and tell him you cannot possibly leave England for that God forsaken place.” John had seen battle during the First Coalition against France, and the horrors he had told her about were once enough for any man. The stories she had heard about Spain now were twice as dreadful.

  John rubbed his eyes. “Liv, ‘tis no use. I have already spoken to him. I am needed, and therefore I must do as he commands.”

  “Nonsense,” Olivia said. “Let him send someone else.”

  “Livvy,” John paused. “He is. I am to go with Henry Wade.”

  Olivia stopped her pacing. Henry. Hearing his name was a dagger through her heart. What a cruel twist of fate. The only two men she had ever loved besides her late husband Fitzhugh – Henry, a young girl’s folly, and John, a grown woman’s passion – were now leaving for the same mission.

  She turned to John and whispered, “You cannot go.” Olivia sat on the bed next to him. “How long will you be away?” She gripped his fingers and brought them to her lips. “Oh, John, I cannot bear for you to leave me. What shall I do without you?” He could not leave her. He could not. It was unthinkable.

  “I have written to Westerly Manor. Summers is well pleased to butler for you once again.”

  Olivia rose from the bed and began to pace. “That is not what I meant. Hang the house. It can fall down around my ears for all I may care.” She stopped in front of him. “What am I going to do without you?”

  John held a calming presence in Olivia’s life. She was not the same person she had been. John was a man who, for all his humble beginnings, was her equal in passion and intellect. He took care of her whole life so completely, Olivia never felt neglected in the way she had with Fitzhugh. Fitzhugh had servants to do his bidding; he’d never think to give her a bouquet of flowers himself, or ask to sew a loose button on his shirt. She trusted John implicitly, from the house and horses, to her heart and soul.

  John stood and touched her cheek. “You will carry on.” He walked to the window, opened the curtains, and stared at the empty garden.

  “Yes, I shall carry on. With my heart broken wide open again. Waiting, wondering, worrying if you will ever come back to me. Your adventures in France were torturous enough. I cannot bear the thought of you going to Spain.” She grabbed the end of her nightrail and wiped her eyes. “John, I shall die if you do not return.” He could not leave her again. Paris had been ghastly, but Belgium had changed John. He had become hard and resolute, almost implacable on certain subjects. And now it seemed his position in the Foreign Office was another topic forbidden to discuss. Did he not care one whit for her feelings at all?

  “Dearest, calm yourself.” John walked over to the bed and folded his arms around Olivia. “I shall try, with all due haste, to finish this obligation and come back to you as I have in the past. You will see.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

  “But what if you do not?” She choked on a sob. “What will become of me?”

  “You will find someone else,” John said.

  A fleeting image of Henry crossed her thoughts. Olivia shook her head. She tore herself out of John’s arms and faced him. “I will never love again. Never. You are my last chance at happiness. You are the last man that I will ever love.” A life with Henry would always remain a young girl’s wistful desire. Henry loved Catherine now.

  John looked to the ceiling. “I have been blessed with the most stubborn woman God has ever created.”

  Olivia stared at him, her body trembling. “I want to marry you.”

  “Liv.” John rubbed a hand over his short grey hair. “Do not be absurd.”

  “I am not absurd. I want to marry you. Now, tonight. Before you leave. Let us away to Gretna. I will call for the carriage.” She walked to the bell pull. Marriage was the only way she could bear his leaving. Spain. The thought of that hell sent a shiver up her spine. John might never return.

  “Dearest, you are not thinking clearly.” John stayed her hand before she tugged the rope. “We cannot marry.”

  “We can, and I am being perfectly rational in my thinking. I love you. You say you love me. You are going to Spain on a dangerous quest, the like
s of which I may never see you again. I will feel much better about your going off if I am Mrs. John Quiggins. It will give us both something to look forward to when you return.”

  “And what would that be?” John asked.

  “Time. I want to love you forever. I meant what I said. You are the last man I will ever love.” She had given up Henry’s love for her family’s wishes. Olivia had grown to love Fitzhugh over the course of their marriage. But John…she had loved John from almost their first meeting and couldn’t think of the rest of her life without him.

  John smiled. “This last year together with you has been the best year of my life.”

  “Yes, but now there is no guarantee we will have anymore.” Olivia reached for his hand, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. “John, I remain steadfast. I want to marry you. I will go myself, and seek the special license from the Archbishop. We can be married before you leave.”

  John kissed her fingers. “Olivia, darling. We cannot marry. Not now, not ever. You are distressed and not considering the consequences. What will happen to you if we were to marry? You will be laughed out of Society. The great Olivia Leighton, Duchess of Caymore… married to a butler? Dearest, please. You do not know what you are saying.”

  “I do know what I am saying,” Olivia said. “And you are not a butler. You are a Colonel in His Majesty’s Special Forces posing as my butler. I love you, John, and I want us to marry. Tis the only way I will survive your absence.” She cocked her head and stared at him. A stray thought hit her like a bullet between the eyes. “Unless you do not wish to marry me.”

  “Livvy, please. In all my years, in all my situations, you are the only woman to whom I have ever declared my heart. But that is not the issue.”

  Olivia wrenched herself away from him. “Then what is the issue, John? Why do you not wish to marry me?”

  “I am protecting you, Liv. I am protecting your name and your title. We are walking a precarious rope as it is. Do you not think the scandal sheets would have your name blasted across every front page if they found I shared your bed? It is only a miracle they have not done so already. If you married me, you would become a laughingstock in Society and I will not have that. Do you understand? I will not have it. I could not bear for you to be humiliated because of me.”

  “Then we will leave. Right now, this very instant.” Olivia strode to her armoire, pulled out a few gowns, and threw them on the bed. “We will away to Gretna, marry, and be gone from England. You will not have to go on this mission, I will not have to endure the censure of Society, and we will live happy and contented lives.” She reached for the drawer in her dresser that held her stockings. Sobs tore from her chest. What would happen to him? They had been blessed he had returned from France. From reports she had heard, Spain was assuredly a death sentence. Somehow, if she were Mrs. John Quiggins, his absence would be easier to bear. Their bond would be strengthened, their love shared across the continents. He had to marry her.

  John placed his hands on her shoulders. “Come now, Olivia. Come.” He kissed the back of her neck. “You are hysterical and there is just no need for it. Where is my level headed Livvy?” He turned her to face him. “Dearest, we will see this more clearly in the morning and we will discuss it at length. All right?” He kissed her gently on the lips. “All right?”

  Olivia nodded and leaned her head into the middle of his chest. She breathed in the smell of him. His arms wrapped around her back. She choked on fresh tears.

  John led her to the bed and helped her under the covers. He returned the gowns to the armoire, shucked his trousers, shirt, and cravat, and laid those on the chair. The mattress dipped as he climbed under the blankets. He blew out the candle and reached for her.

  She nestled in his arms and laid her hand on his chest. “I love you, John. I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

  “And I love you, Livvy.” He kissed her nose. “Now go to sleep. I have a feeling it is going to be an exceedingly long day tomorrow.” His fingers played with the ends of her hair.

  Olivia lay in the dark listening to John breathe, a single thought racing through her mind. John was leaving for Spain. She may never see him again.

  John was as dear to her as if they had been married all their lives. As comfortable as her old slippers. John took care of her and made her laugh long and hard and deep at things that no one in her present social circle could ever imagine. He was everything that Society was not and made her realize there was more to life than parties and balls and gossip, more than charities and luncheons and the state of the aristocracy. John loved her – not because she was one of the richest women in London, not because she was Fitzhugh’s wife, not because of her familial ties to the great Duke of Marlborough. He loved her because of who she was inside – plain old Livvy Churchill, a girl fond of horses, teacups, and roses.

  Olivia could not bear to think of John not returning. How could she live without him? She rolled over on her side with her back to him. He flung his arm around her waist, and snuggled closer to her. His breath fanned her shoulder.

  She could not lose him. She would go to Whitehall in the morning, find out who was responsible for this foolish order, and demand it be rescinded. She was, after all, Olivia Leighton, Duchess of Caymore. As much as she had come to despise it at times, her title could be useful.

  Chapter Two

  The bed was cold. Olivia reached for John. He wasn’t there. She fumbled for the candle and the matchbox on the table beside her bed. Securing the flame behind the glass, she glanced at the small clock. Half four. Where was John? It wasn’t like him to leave her so early. The thought he had already left for Spain brought her wide-awake.

  Olivia pushed the covers off and found her discarded robe on the chair. John’s clothing was gone. She prodded the fire, added more wood, and stared into the embers as they licked the bark on the log and then caught. Olivia rubbed her hands against a ghostly chill.

  Footsteps thudded behind the wall. Olivia’s heart beat an unnatural rhythm.

  The latch clicked and John stepped out from behind the secret panel near the armoire.

  “Where were you?” Olivia asked.

  “Downstairs.” John’s face twisted. “Dearest, word has come from William.”

  “What is it?” They had been waiting anxiously for weeks to hear from Will and Penny about the new baby. John’s expression told her it was not good news. She held her breath.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia. The baby did not survive.”

  Olivia sank into a chair. “No. That cannot be. The doctor said she would be well. What happened?” Her heart hammered inside her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

  “I do not know. The rider only related that Penny’s baby, a boy, was stillborn and that Penny and William are on their way home.”

  “When did it happen?” Olivia had known something was wrong when she hadn’t heard from Penny, or Penny’s mother, Honoria, since Hallowmas. An answer to her letters had never been returned. Olivia hoped that the new baby had taken up everyone’s time. However, as the weeks passed silently, Olivia couldn’t bring herself to write again. She daren’t think about the alternative.

  “Six weeks or almost. The rider related Penny took to her bed and that William has been beside himself with worry. It seems he finally convinced her to come home.”

  “When do they arrive?” Olivia glanced at the clock again.

  “Today.” He handed her a letter. “Tis from William.”

  Olivia cracked the wax.

  Dearest Lady O –

  It is with heavy heart that I write to tell you we have lost our most precious gift. The baby, whom we named Fitzhugh, is with God. Penny still grieves and my mother-in-law suggested we come home to Caymore. She said you would know how to help Penny. I pray with all my heart, you will know what to do to bring my lovely wife back to me.

  Will

  Olivia crumpled the paper and threw it in the fire. Oh, God. Her dearest Penny.

  “What does he sa
y?” John asked.

  Olivia glanced at the rug under John’s feet. “Penny is not well. As can be expected. They named the baby Fitzhugh.” Olivia choked on a sob. “Oh, John, what shall we do?”

  John knelt at her feet and took her hands in his. “Dearest, we will love them as we always have done. In time, though one can never forget, their hearts will heal and a new baby will take his place.”

  “But what if that does not happen? What if there is no other?” She squeezed his hands tight, as if that would take away her pain. Throughout her marriage, Olivia had been barren. Penny’s baby, as the heir presumptive to the Caymore title, would have been the one Olivia had never had. But now…

  “Livvy, you cannot think such things. You are tired, and need to return to bed and sleep until you are rested. It will do you no good to be in a state when they arrive. William needs you to be strong for Penny. He needs you to help her.”

  “I could not sleep.” Olivia stood and stared blankly at the fire. The baby was dead.

  “Dearest, you must. Come now, back into bed. I will make you tea with a little brandy. It will help you relax.”

  “No, John, no brandy. Thank you, though.” She leaned into him for support as he helped her beneath the covers. Leaning against her pillows, she asked, “Will you not join me?”

  “I cannot, dearest. I must start the day. There is much to prepare before I leave.”

  “Oh, John, you cannot possibly go now. What shall I do without you? What will Penny do? You know how much she cares for you. She will take comfort knowing you are here for her. And William will need a strong shoulder as well. He looks upon you as a father.”