She frowned at him. “Really?”
He nodded.
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged. “I thought I’d give it a try. I might learn something. And…” He paused, then gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m in need of a new diversion.”
“Are you lacking in pleasurable diversions?” she asked, throwing the last of the bread toward the geese and brushing the crumbs from her hands.
“I am.” A shadow passed behind his eyes, but when she blinked, it was gone.
“I’ve heard that’s a common problem in England amongst gentlemen of a certain class.”
“Have you?”
When Olivia and Jessica had spent the month at their aunt Geraldine’s London house this summer, their aunt had gone on and on about the canker on society that was young men of their class. “Yes. You see, my sisters and I were all raised on the island of Antigua. It’s a very different place from England.”
“I’d heard your family was from the West Indies. I imagine it’s very different there, indeed.” Mr. Buchanan turned over the burlap bag and scattered his remaining grain. Then he brushed off his own hands and collected the rifle, which he slung across his back. He raised his brows at her and held out his arm. “May I accompany you back to your brother-in-law’s house, Miss Donovan?”
She nodded. She’d cut her walk shorter than usual, but she was intrigued by this gentleman. In any case, it was time to leave the spring and the geese, which were finishing up the bread crumbs and within moments would be pestering them for more.
Side by side, they turned and walked down the unkempt path from which Olivia had come. Mr. Buchanan held Olivia’s arm firmly tucked within his own, his flesh solid—hard, even—against hers. It was… disconcerting.
Men had held her arm before in her life, of course. Her brother-in-law, for one, was very sweet with her, and even though no one ever brought up her frail constitution to her face, he always put great effort into ensuring she was taken care of.
But this was different. This wasn’t a family relation, this was a man she’d only just met, and in rather odd circumstances. If this had happened in London and someone who didn’t know her had seen them, it would have been enough to spark gossip—probably even talk of an engagement. Of course, her sisters wouldn’t blink twice when they saw her coming out of the woods on the arm of a stranger—they knew her.
But anyone else in the world probably would blink. Several times over.
“So tell me about them,” Mr. Buchanan said.
She gave him a blank stare.
“The differences between Antigua and England,” he clarified.
“Oh, goodness. There are so many.”
“Well, let’s start with the obvious. The visual. How is Antigua different from England in the autumn?”
“There are no colors,” Olivia said softly.
He raised his brows. “No colors?”
“Well, there are colors,” she amended. “The blues of the sky and of the ocean, for one. The sky is only subtly different from the English sky. A shade crisper, I’d say. But the ocean is very different. It’s such a bright, shimmering blue. Utterly clear and fathomless.”
“Hm.” Mr. Buchanan slid her a glance, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, and then seemed to think better of it.
She took a breath and continued. “All in all, quite different from the grayish color of the English waters I’ve seen so far.”
“I imagine so,” Mr. Buchanan said. “I’ve heard much about the seas of the West Indies. I’ve heard the waters are clear. Are they warm, too, like they say?”
“Oh yes, much, much warmer than English oceans.”
They rounded a copse of trees and stepped onto the ragged lawn. Olivia tensed. Now was the time they would be seen.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to pull her arm out from his. The afternoon had turned chilly, but her arm was warm where his flesh pressed on hers, and that warmth seemed to radiate up to her shoulder and through her body.
Nevertheless, when she saw a figure walking toward them from the direction of the house, she did slip her arm from his. She smiled up at him—goodness, he was tall. Probably a foot taller than herself. “Thank you for walking home with me.”
He smiled down at her, warmth filling those sparkling eyes of his. “It was my pleasure, Miss Donovan.”
The grass was tall here, and Olivia lifted her skirts a little so she could walk through the most difficult clumps without soiling her dress. Beside her, Mr. Buchanan clasped his hands behind his back—no, she wouldn’t notice the way that made his coat pull so tightly across his broad chest—and walked along at her side, studying the figure growing closer with every step they took.
“Do you know who it is?” he asked.
“It’s one of my sisters.” But which one? Phoebe and her husband, Sebastian, were living in the caretaker’s cottage, so she probably wouldn’t be coming from the house. That left either Jessica or Serena. Soon, the watery sunshine sparkled gold over the woman’s hair as she carefully picked her way toward them, and Olivia smiled. “It’s Seren—” She sucked in a breath. Very few people knew Serena’s real name, and it was a well-protected secret. The world thought of her as Meg now. “It’s my sister, Meg. Lady Stratford.”
Mr. Buchanan nodded. “I’ve met her, but only twice, and both times it was in a formal setting. I’ve known the earl since we were boys, though.”
“Really?” She was genuinely interested. She had a difficult time envisioning her brother-in-law’s childhood. All she knew was that it had been a generally unhappy one.
“Yes. We went to Eton together. Afterward, we went our separate ways for several years…” He hesitated.
Olivia smiled. “Those were probably his ‘Years of Debauchery.’ That’s what Meg calls them.”
Mr. Buchanan raised a brow at her. “Is that so?”
“It is.” She sighed, and said softly, “He’s changed entirely, thanks to my sister.”
“I’ve heard about her influence on him. In fact, I’ve seen it in him.” Mr. Buchanan sounded thoughtful. “He’s a much happier man now.”
“I’m so thankful he and my sister found each other again.”
“Again?”
Olivia blinked several times. This was the problem with Serena’s new identity—it forced her to be slightly dishonest at times, and that made her terribly uncomfortable. She wasn’t a dishonest person by nature.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I’m afraid… well, that I’ve said too much. You’ll forgive me if I don’t say anything more, I hope.”
Mr. Buchanan slowed in his step. She looked up at him again to see him frowning, but not at her—it seemed as though he was frowning at himself, at something he was thinking. He caught her eye, saw that she was watching him, and his features relaxed.
“Somehow, I think I could forgive you most anything, Miss Donovan,” he murmured.
“Olivia, is that you?” Serena called.
She waved, and Serena hurried closer. When she was near enough, they all stopped, and Serena and Mr. Buchanan exchanged a bow.
“You must be Lord Hasley. Jonathan said you’d gone for a walk. Welcome to Stratford House, my lord.”
He made his thanks as Olivia gawked at him. Lord Hasley? My lord? Obviously, he wasn’t a simple mister, and he hadn’t bothered to correct her when she’d called him Mr. Buchanan. Her cheeks heated. Should she have known his title based on his name alone?
Serena bade him come into the house, where she’d show him to his room and offer him refreshment before dinner. Serena was in her element. She was so satisfied by her new life with Jonathan and as lady of her own domain, and now she was with child. Her sister’s happiness made Olivia feel warm and soft, like a gentle light glowed inside her.
Devilry glinted in Mr. Buchanan’s—Lord Hasley’s—eyes. “I heard you plan to serve goose for dinner tonight.”
Olivia’s mouth dropped open.
> “Oh, dear.” Serena frowned. “Yes, I did plan on it. Please tell me you haven’t an aversion to roasted goose.”
Lord Hasley smiled, his dimples flashing more at Olivia than at Serena. “Not at all. I’ll enjoy every bite. It’s your sister I’m concerned about.”
Serena’s confused gaze moved to Olivia.
“No need to be concerned, Lord Hasley,” Olivia said primly. “As long as they’re not personal acquaintances of mine, I’m sure I’ll be quite satisfied with roasted goose for dinner this evening.”
Shaking her head at his low chuckle, Olivia followed them into the entry hall, where Jonathan and another man waited for them with Jessica.
“Olivia, I’d like you to meet our good friend, Captain William Langley, who has come from his home in the north of England,” Jonathan said.
She curtsied to the man. He was tall—as tall as Mr. Buchanan, but not as wide in the shoulders. And she saw instantly that he had a serious nature about him. She understood that; she knew a little of his past with Serena. “Captain Langley,” she murmured. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”
“And you, Miss Donovan.” His voice was grave and sober, his eyes lacking the sparkle of Mr. Buchanan’s, and something panged in her chest. He’d been in love, once, with Serena’s twin, and had only found out recently that she had been lost at sea seven years ago.
Serena and Jonathan led the two men off to their rooms, talking animatedly about their plans for the renovation of the house as they began to mount the sweeping staircase. Jessica pulled Olivia down the corridor leading to the drawing room. “Oh, Olivia,” she whispered, “isn’t Lord Hasley the handsomest man you’ve ever seen? Serena told me he’s a marquis and heir to the Duke of Wakefield.”
“Is he?” Olivia looked speculatively in the direction Mr. Buchanan—the marquis—had left with Serena and the other gentlemen.
If what Jessica said was true, Lord Hasley wasn’t just any lord. He was so far above a mister, it was almost laughable. He was a marquis, but that was only a courtesy title until he took his place as a duke, essentially just a step below a prince.
Imagine that. The heir to a duke had been squatting and surrounded by wild geese, and hadn’t seemed at all offended when she’d incorrectly called him Mr. Buchanan. A lofty man with a lofty title… yet he didn’t behave as though he were superior to anyone. Olivia knew from her experiences in London that that was a rare kind of lord indeed.
“Well?” Jessica asked. “Isn’t he just gorgeous?”
“Yes,” Olivia murmured. “Yes he is.”
Jessica stopped cold, her mouth dropping open. “Liv? Are you all right? You’re not ill again, are you?”
“What?” she asked distractedly. Then she turned to her sister. “No, of course I’m not ill.”
Jessica pressed her palm to Olivia’s forehead. “Are you feverish?”
“Not at all, silly! Why do you ask?”
“Because, dear sister, I’ve pointed out handsome men to you about a thousand times. But you’ve never—not once—actually agreed with me.”
Chapter Two
The doors to the breakfast room were wide open, and even though the floor needed sanding, the walls and table required refurbishment, and coal smoke had stained the hearth and part of the ceiling with sweeping black marks, the room had quickly become one of Olivia’s favorites. The reason for that was the wall of eastern-facing windows that allowed the bright morning sunlight to stream inside.
Today was no exception. Although it had rained overnight, the sun peeked out from behind gray clouds and sparkled over the rangy wild grasses of the eastern lawn. Jonathan had told them that once upon a time, the lawn had been spotlessly manicured with topiary bushes cut to perfection along a curving path that wended through the eastern acreage and around the back of the house skirting the woods. If Olivia squinted hard enough, she thought she could see the remnants of that path—a winding trail of weeds a shade darker than those that surrounded it.
Serena glanced up from her plate as Olivia and Jessica walked into the breakfast room. “Good morning.”
“You’re up early,” Jessica commented grumpily. Jessica was never pleasant company in the mornings until she’d had her sugared coffee—a habit she’d grown into long ago back in Antigua.
“It’s almost eleven,” Serena said, exchanging a knowing glance with Olivia.
Olivia scanned the dishes on the sideboard. She chose a thick slice of toasted bread and proceeded to smear gooseberry jam over it. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you up before noon since we arrived from London,” she said to Serena.
“I was…” Serena pressed her lips together and glanced down at her brimming plate before continuing, a pink blush staining her cheeks. Serena had never really been one to blush unless under extreme conditions, and Olivia found this new propensity charming. She just wanted to hug her sister to bits. “Well, I was quite hungry,” Serena finished.
That precipitated a grin from Olivia. “Ah,” she murmured. “Eating for two souls rather than one?”
Olivia smiled at Serena’s unintelligible muttered response.
Jessica glanced at the door. Confirming no one was close, she murmured, “Have you told Jonathan yet?”
“Not yet.” Serena bit her bottom lip. “I’m waiting for the perfect time.”
“I can understand that,” Olivia murmured. If she were in her sister’s place, she’d want to wait for the perfect moment to tell her husband the news as well.
Just then, Lord Hasley entered with a cheerful “Good morning, ladies,” and strode to the coffeepot, effectively ending any further discussion of Serena’s pregnancy.
Olivia studied her toast, but from the corner of her eye she saw that the marquis was dressed in riding clothes—clothes that clung to his muscular frame in a most appealing way—and the same tall black leather boots he’d worn yesterday.
“Good morning, my lord,” Serena said. “I trust you slept well.”
He grinned at her. “Excellently, thank you.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Ah, I’ve missed the country air.”
“Has it been long since you were last in the country?” Jessica asked.
Having no excuse to remain at the sideboard, Olivia went to the table and took her seat to the right of Serena’s.
Lord Hasley hesitated, then smiled, although not quite as jovially as he had when he’d first entered the room. “Many years,” he said, his voice containing a subtle softness that made Olivia glance sharply at him.
He set his coffee on the table, and at Serena’s urging, returned to the sideboard to fill a plate with food.
“What do you gentlemen have planned for the day?” Serena asked. “I know Jonathan’s already at the stables.”
“Yes, and Langley’s with him. They’re discussing the earl’s stock.” With his plate piled high, Lord Hasley took the seat beside Olivia. “Since I’m not the horse connoisseur those two are, I told them I’d prefer to spend the morning with the ladies.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Jessica said saucily, “perhaps you might help me with my embroidery.”
Lord Hasley didn’t hesitate. “Alas, I forgot my own sampler, so I’ll be happy to assist you with yours, Miss Jessica.”
Olivia’s chuckle burst out of her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth when her sisters’ gazes snapped to her. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “That was funny.”
Lord Hasley chuckled too, easing her embarrassment, and Serena said, “I’ve an idea. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for the past several weeks, and I was intending to recruit Olivia and Jessica to help me. But your assistance would be welcome as well, my lord.”
“I am all ears,” Lord Hasley said, and attacked his poached egg with gusto.
Serena spoke between bites of black pudding. “Well, as you know, we’ve made Stratford House our home for several months now, and while I’ve met nearly all of Jonathan’s tenants, I’ve yet to meet some of the neighbors. Particularly our closest neighbors, Lor
d and Lady Fenwicke of Brockton Hall.”
Olivia fumbled with her piece of toast, nearly dropping it onto the floor, but Lord Hasley’s hand on her arm steadied it. She gave him a sidelong look, her heart pulsing wildly in her chest. His reaction—well, it was as if he knew. Yet surely he couldn’t. That was impossible.
But that night she’d seen him at Lord Hertford’s ball. Oh, goodness, he’d been walking with Lord Fenwicke. They’d appeared friendly with each other. Had Lord Fenwicke spoken of her? Had he told Lord Hasley what had happened between them?
Serena continued blithely on. “Lord Fenwicke is still in London, I believe, but Lady Fenwicke is in residence. She’s very young—I’m told she married Lord Fenwicke just over a year ago, and I hear she’s lived there since the wedding, but I haven’t seen her at all. It promises to be a fine day, so I thought we could all walk over to Brockton Hall and call upon the lady.”
“Well, that sounds like an absolutely lovely idea.” Jessica was all eagerness.
A sick feeling curdled in the pit of Olivia’s stomach, but there was no way she’d reveal that to her sisters. They’d worry. They always worried when she didn’t feel well.
She remembered Lord Fenwicke’s ugly smile. When they’d waltzed together, he’d pulled her body so tightly against his, she’d felt him not-so-subtly rubbing his erection against her belly. After the dance, he’d tugged her into a dark alcove, and she’d been so stupid and naïve for not dashing away from him before he’d taken her there.
He’d leaned into her ear and whispered nasty, horrid things to her. About how he’d tear her clothes off and lay her down. About how he’d take her so hard that she’d feel him for a week.
Then he’d pulled her against him again and his wet mouth slathered over her neck and his hand snaked down her bodice. She had pushed him off her, managing to hold back the scream threatening to reveal herself and Lord Fenwicke in a compromising position to half the London ton.
She’d turned to run away, but he’d grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Later, she’d found a ring of bruises around her arm. He’d said, “I’m a marquis, if you recall.” As if it was unthinkable that she would turn down a man of his status.
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 3