“And here I thought you had all grown fond of me,” Harrison muttered.
“We are fond of you, sir.” Otley put his hand on Harrison’s shoulder.
Smithson shrugged. “We are simply more fond of Miss Livvy.”
Harrison laughed helplessly, and, if he was willing to admit it, a little desperately. “What should I do, gentlemen? I put myself at your mercy.”
The scholars bent their white heads together.
“Christmas, sir. Miss Livvy always loved Christmas. We believe we should take it to her.”
“Take the rock to her—as a gift?” It was hopeless. Couldn’t they see? He’d ruined it. Harrison felt despair like a giant rat eating at his entrails.
“No, sir, Christmas.”
“Yes, we should take her mistletoe and boughs of holly . . .”
“And a Christmas ham!” Quinn announced.
“No, a goose. She likes goose,” Martinbrook said.
“We could have both,” Lark suggested, then gave Harrison an abashed look.
The scholars were still a little wary, grateful that Harrison had voided their dismissals, but they clearly had not completely recovered.
“I don’t understand how taking her a Christmas ham—or goose—will make any difference at all.”
“But you, we . . . together, we are her family. That’s what she wants.”
“What she’s always wanted, sir.”
“Yes, yes, it’s the reason she waited for you.”
“She wants a family to fill the house with laughter—the family she’s made over the years. Why do you think she kept such good care of your estate?” Quinn’s tone was admonishing.
“We could wassail.”
“Oh, yes! We will go to the door and sing, and she will be obligated to open it.” Nathan almost giggled.
“But wouldn’t we need a troupe?” Harrison objected weakly. “And what if we go to the trouble and she refuses to come to the door?”
“We are seven, plus you, your lordship. I’m sure Molly, her husband, and old Herder would go. And Joan and Susan—and Bertie. We might even convince Stanley to make a special Christmas biscuit—he loves creating things.”
“But he’ll need a new hat.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
How could he protest? If the scholars thought there was a chance . . .
“Yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Olivia heard the sound of revelers gathering outside, and she dragged herself to the door. Pier had insisted on the green silk, and Joan had been equally insistent on twining a pearl and diamond strand, a gift from Sir Roderick, through Olivia’s hair. Though the cottage had been bustling all morning, not a single soul appeared to be present now that the wassailers had arrived. Oh, well.
She stood listening for a moment, the sounds of Christmas tempting her to celebration. She breathed deeply, ready to pretend to be welcoming, and opened the door. But instead of the neighboring villagers singing, it was Harrison, his deep baritone caressing the notes as if they were her heart.
She was entranced, through one song after another, until at the end, Mrs. Pier had to step forward and usher them all in. Olivia embraced the Seven and greeted the abbey staff with sincere welcome. Bertie, already taller, flung himself into her arms. She was still holding the child when Harrison stepped forward.
“Might I come in as well?”
Olivia felt as if she couldn’t breathe, the pain, the longing was too great. But she wouldn’t let him see. “Of course. There are refreshments in the drawing room.” And then she escaped with Bertie to the center of the room, where the scholars and the staff would protect her.
* * *
Harrison followed Livvy into the center of the room. Taking Bertie out of her arms, he handed the boy to Mrs. Pier. In the next instant, all the scholars and staff had escaped to the edges of the room, where they stood whispering nervously.
Olivia tried to escape as well, but he grabbed her hand. “I’ve come a long way, with seven mad men and a gaggle of maids. I won’t keep you long.”
The look on her face was pained, but she acquiesced. “Go on.”
“I’ve been named to the retinue of the ambassador. There are rumblings in the Crimea, and some expect war between the Greeks and the Turks within the decade. It will be important for the Home Office to have ears abroad.”
Olivia stiffened. “I will not return to your estate to manage it in your absence.”
“No, I’ve hired an estate manager for that, or rather you did. Herder’s son-in-law is an able man, and with his head for figures and obsession with the commodities market, the estate will do well. I’ve even agreed to help fund some of his own investments. It’s an arrangement that suits us both.” Harrison found himself at a loss for words. As usual, when dealing with Olivia, all the sentences Harrison planned seemed to fade like fog before the sun. “It’s unclear how long I will be gone—perhaps some months, perhaps some years. Otley has agreed to manage the scholars while I am gone.”
She turned her face to the window, looking into the night. “Why did you come here, Harrison? To let me know that in your absence, I may go about in London without fear of encountering you on the street?”
“I came to say . . .” His hands trembled, and he hid them behind his back. At least she wasn’t looking at him; perhaps he could get through this if she kept her back to him. Behind her at some distance, the Seven had clumped together, watching them. Lark raised his magnifying glass, and Partlet adjusted his monocle. Nathan and Martinbrook pushed their fingers forward in encouragement, while—as Otley looked on kindly—Quinn and Smithson mouthed, “Go on.”
She looked full in his face, her lips still that inviting fullness, her eyes still the deep brown that made his stomach ache with longing.
“I’ve been a fool.” His words came quickly, stumbling over each other as he tried to explain. The great orator reduced to dribs and drabs of speech. “For years a fool. My father was right. I needed a home. But he was wrong that I needed the estate. That was his home, his safe spot in a world gone mad.”
“And you hope to find that home abroad?” Olivia’s voice was sad and tired. It broke his heart.
“No, Livvy.” He reached out, then stopped, unsure of her reaction. “My home isn’t a place. It’s you. From the moment our eyes first met. It’s always been you.”
“You don’t mean that. I remember that night all too well. I saw anger and hatred, not love.”
“I was angry. I’d been duped, drugged, and kidnapped, then told my father had found me ‘the perfect wife,’ one who would dutifully help me keep my estates and bear me children, all so I could begin the cycle of loss all over again.” He held out his hand, but she waved it away. “But then, I met you. I stormed into that room, knowing I would hate you. I’d even considered how—without my father knowing—I might quietly throw you out on your ear. But you lifted that firm chin of yours, as if you were a princess, and smiled at me. My heart was yours from that moment, Livvy. Always yours.”
She folded her arms below her bosom, as if comforting herself, shaking her head no. She didn’t believe him, and he was going to lose her. He spoke more quickly then, desperate to help her see.
“I should have known then what kind of woman you were. That firm chin, that smile, should have told me, and if not those, then I should have seen your strength in your refusal to be bullied. But my father said ‘perfect’ and I heard drab and manageable. And even so, I found myself falling in love with my dutiful, happy-to-be-bound-to-the-estate wife, and I ran. Because I’d promised myself to marry a strong, adventurous, capable woman, and then my father gave me a governess, who was sweet and kind, and completely wrong for me.”
She brought her hand to her mouth, holding back a sob, and stepped back from him, shaking her head. But she hadn’t refused him yet, and he pushed ahead.
“You see, I didn’t know my father—I’ve only recently discovered his
work for the Home Office from the journal you transcribed for me. But he knew me, and when he said perfect, he meant I would find you daring and adventurous, in a way that would speak to my soul. He meant that you were strong and brave, a woman who could outwit me, but he also knew you were kind and gentle, a woman who would never let me settle for an estate, unless I could give that estate a heart.”
Tears filled her eyes, as she shook her head from side to side. Her eyes never left his, daring him to come closer. He breathed deeply and let the breath go slowly.
“It took me a long enough time to see it, an embarrassingly long time for a man reputed to be the Home Office’s best spy. You are the only woman I’ve ever desired, whether you are disguised as a governess or a gypsy or a wife or a spy. Whatever guise you wear, I will always love you.”
She held out her hand to him, and he took it. And they stood for a long moment just looking into each other’s eyes.
“Kiss her, boy,” Martinbrook whispered loudly.
“Yes, kiss her.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
And he did.
And the whole room cheered.
After a long time, after the scholars had gone to bed, and Bertie had received his new puppy, a blond hunting dog who immediately dogged his every step all the way to the nursery, Olivia and Harrison sat quietly before the fire.
Olivia nuzzled his neck. “By the way, that delegation . . .”
He stopped her mouth with a kiss. “I won’t go if you don’t wish me to.”
“You can decide, but Mentor—I mean Joe—has offered me a position of my own.”
He pulled back to look her in the eyes, but once more they were inscrutable. “Doing what?”
“He would like for me to get to know the other wives in a foreign court, become their friend, listen.” She looked at her fingers, playing with the top button on his shirt.
“The other wives?”
“Of course I would have to be a wife first.” She looked up once more, her eyes no longer inscrutable, but filled with love and desire.
“Of course.” He slipped out of her arms, ignoring her cry of objection, and walked across the room to his waistcoat, abandoned some time ago. When he returned, her face watching him quizzically, but he slid down on one knee before her, and held out a ring of diamonds encircling a large central ruby. “I commissioned it new. The diamonds come from the ring my father bought for you, but the ruby is from me, a symbol of my heart. Olivia Fallon, will you marry me?”
She threw her arms around his neck, saying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”
And he kissed her again, one kiss for each yes, and again, one kiss for each year of their not-marriage, and another ten dozen kisses, just for good measure.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“You seem to have lost interest in An Honest Gentleman.” Flute took his favorite seat before Charters’s desk.
“Perhaps. We have discovered the identity of the other writers. If we need to, we now have influence over them. I prefer to lead those horses with a light hand,” Charters replied.
“What of Lord and Lady Walgrave? I hear he’s been named to the retinue of the ambassador.”
“I’m inclined to consider that account settled. My residence as a scholar allowed me to remove my name from Wilmot’s list of traitors—or whatever that list proves to be. Seeing the other names on it, I’m inclined to believe it was nothing more than the addled brain of a dying man.”
“That woman Calista showed up while you were gone yesterday. She stood in the street, yelling your name. Your anagrammatical one.”
Charters blanched. “All of it.”
“No, just the one word, spacing out the four syllables like a chant. She’s quite mad.”
“I suppose we’ll have to do something about that.” Charters picked up his pumice stone and began to scratch it across his fingernails in sharp hard motions.
“Already done. We had a carriage of goods heading south, so I sent her—drugged, of course—to Matron. Told ’em her name was Olivia. Figure if she’s not mad now, she will be within a few months of being called that every day.”
Charters began to laugh, a low rolling sound that began in the depths of his belly.
“Flute, you are a worthy partner. I’ll be going to the abbey periodically to ensure that no one notices any difference in my research habits, at least until the end of my fellowship. Matron’s establishment is on that road—I’ll check in on . . . Olivia . . . from time to time.”
“What were you doing out there anyway?”
“Ah, Flute, you will be so pleased.” Charters pulled out a piece of paper and began describing his plan.
Epilogue
It was the day of the wedding.
Harrison wanted no more questions about the validity of their marriage. Being—his friends at the Home Office joked—stolid and thorough, he insisted that the banns be read in the three parishes adjacent to the abbey as well as at Westminster. It was an irregular practice, but one that the ministers of each parish indulged, given the circumstances. Their friends at the World also published the banns, so that by the end, few people in Sussex or London, or perhaps even the whole of England, did not realize that Lord and Lady Walgrave intended to become once more Lord and Lady Walgrave. The ton briefly raised a collective eyebrow, sniffing at the possible scandal. But the presence of the Prince Regent at an engagement ball held for the couple by the Duke of Forster and his lovely fiancée, Lady Sophia Wilmot, quelled any further rumors.
As Sir Roderick would have wanted, the ceremony—officiated by Southbridge and the local bishop—was held in the family chapel, a situation that allowed Nathan to indulge his musical preferences, drawing inspiration from traditional church music, ballad tradition, popular opera, and the hymns of the Wesleyan revivalists.
Forster, Lady Wilmot, and her two children, and the members of the Muses’ Salon took up one side of the church, along with various members of Parliament and the Home Office. The other side was filled to overflowing with those Olivia had cared for as Lady Walgrave. In the first pew, Bertie (without Kit) sat between the Piers and old Herder. The second pew was reserved for the Seven, who for three weeks had practiced a surprise wedding gift.
As Livvy walked down the aisle, unexpected music met her from every corner of the chapel as the Seven played her a processional composed by Nathan and played on a series of bowls of varying pitches. It was strange and strangely beautiful . . . a gift from her family.
In a shadowy nave at the back of the church, the well-dressed man watched the woman he’d last known as a scrawny girl of five become a countess, again. Then he slipped away, leaving the revelers to their feast.
Love the Muses?
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JILTING THE DUKE and CHASING THE HEIRESS,
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Dear Reader,
I thought you might like a little more information on the background to Olivia and Harrison’s story.
The British Abolition Movement
and Olaudah Equiano
By the last quarter of the eighteenth century, the British were heavily reliant on the slave trade for commodities such as cotton, tobacco, and sugar. But for many, those luxuries came at too high a moral price. In 1772, abolitionists tested the legal standing of slavery by bringing the case of a runaway slave before the King’s Bench. Chief Justice William Murray, the first earl of Mansfield, ruled that British common law did not allow slavery in England or Wales. The ruling did nothing to stem the slave trade or to abolish slavery in the colonies.
In this context, Olaudah Equiano, a former slave living in England, published his 1789 Narrative of the life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, The African. Considered to be the first slave narrative, Equiano’s Narrative was an immediate bestseller, going through at least eight editions before his death in 1797. Forcing the English to confront the cruelties of slavery
, Equiano’s narrative recounted his life as a slave, describing his childhood in Africa, his capture by slave traders, and his eventual purchase of his own freedom. Once free, Equiano settled in London where in 1792 he married a Cambridgeshire woman, Susannah Cullen (d. 1796). The publication of his book made Equiano—known as The African—a celebrity.
In 1807, Parliament abolished the slave trade in the British empire, meaning that no one could buy or sell slaves. But abolition of the trade did not also abolish slavery. Those holding slaves outside of England and Wales were allowed to keep their “property.” The institution of slavery itself wasn’t abolished until 1833. Slavery then was part of the backdrop of Regency life, even though slaves were not allowed in England itself.
I wanted a character who represented this fraught social context. So I looked to Equiano’s daughters, Anna Maria (1793–97) and Charlotte (1795–1857). Left an orphan at two, Charlotte was reared by abolitionists. She inherited her father’s fortune in 1816 and married a Congregationalist minister in 1821. Unwilling to interfere with her historical story, I resurrected instead the earlier daughter and renamed her Constance. Hints of her abolitionist background appear in her willingness to help a fleeing woman.
Women in the Book Trade
In Jilting the Duke, Lady Wilmot was an author, and in Tempting the Earl we see her book finally published. In Tempting the Earl, I wanted to represent women’s importance in the book trade. What better solution than to make Equiano’s daughter a bookseller? In Tempting the Earl, Constance also points to the complicated nature of race, fame and identity when she names her bookstore The African’s Daughter.
I hope you enjoyed Olivia and Harrison’s story, and that you have read the other books in the Muses’ Salon series: Jilting the Duke (Sophia and Aidan’s story) and Chasing the Heiress (Lucy and Colin’s story).
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