She’d responded that she didn’t want any man, any marquis, any wretched London rake, and especially not him, and that she intended to die a spinster. Then she’d turned on her heel and marched away. She’d felt disgusted and dirty for a week.
How could she look in the eyes of Lord Fenwicke’s wife? Goodness, even thinking the man’s name made Olivia feel all clammy and cold.
Lord Hasley’s fingers still curled around her arm, but his touch was gentle, nothing like Lord Fenwicke’s painful grip. Neither of her sisters seemed to have noticed her agitation, thank goodness. Now, Lord Hasley squeezed gently and then removed his hand. “Miss Donovan? What do you think?”
She tried to smile at Serena, but she was certain it came out as more of a grimace. “It is a good idea. Neighborly relations are important.”
“Very true,” Lord Hasley said.
“Are you acquainted with Lord and Lady Fenwicke, my lord?” Serena asked.
Olivia turned to him, curious as to how he’d answer. In truth, a description of the extent of his relations with Lord Fenwicke would go far in helping Olivia firm her opinion about Lord Hasley.
“Lord Fenwicke is an acquaintance,” Lord Hasley said, “but not a friend. Stratford and I have known him since our school days.”
“And his wife?”
Lord Hasley nodded. “I met her in London two years ago.” He smiled, but it was a tight smile that didn’t make his dimples appear. “She was a very charming, very lovely young lady.”
“But you haven’t seen her since?” Jessica asked.
“No. It’s been almost two years to the day.”
“But that’s all right, isn’t it?” Jessica asked. “At least we won’t be a group of complete strangers bombarding the poor lady’s privacy.”
Nerves jumped along Olivia’s spine. The woman probably wouldn’t instinctually hate her, and of course, chances were that she knew nothing of what her horrid husband had said and done to Olivia. That had happened in London, far from here.
“It’s settled then.” Serena rose from her seat as a footman whisked away her plate and coffee cup. “We’ll leave in half an hour, and I’ll take some of those lovely tarts Cook made last night for her.” She smiled. “She’s just a little older than you are, Jessica. You never know, she may turn into a wonderful friend.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely?” Jessica clapped her hands at her chest in anticipation. Out of all the sisters, Jessica was the most outgoing. She made friends wherever she went. “A friend for us all.”
Max loitered in the library, scanning the rows of old books while he waited for the ladies to come downstairs for the walk to Brockton Hall. He liked this room. It was large for a library, and spacious. Rows of books covered three of the walls from floor to ceiling. The fourth held two deep-set tall and narrow windows on either side of a very comfortable-looking chaise longue. Four old chairs, all of different designs and colors but all large and soft, were scattered around the room, welcoming anyone who desired to lose themselves within the pages of a book.
Max ran his fingers along the spines of a row of books at his eye level. There was no orderliness to the shelving of these books: Pamela was beside The Science of Horticulture, which was shelved in turn beside The Truth of the Christian Religion, Book Three.
The door opened behind him, and Max turned to see Lady Stratford smiling at him. She wore a light gray dress that complemented her eyes. “Jessica and Olivia should be down in a minute or two.” He nodded and she tilted her head at the bookshelf. “What book were you looking at?”
“Oh, none in particular.”
She laughed softly. “It’s difficult to find books in here. I intend to organize them someday, but there are so many, it seems a daunting task.”
“It’s a wonderful library,” Max said. He knew he’d be spending more time in here.
“Thank you.” She came up beside him and pretended to look at the shelf Max had been scanning when she’d walked in. After a moment, she said, “I was surprised to see you with Olivia yesterday.”
“It was pure chance that we happened upon each other in the wood.”
That was a lie. He’d been waiting by the spring because the stable boy had told him she would probably go in that direction, and Max had had this inexplicable desire to be alone with her for their first meeting.
“The wood is quite vast,” Lady Stratford said softly. “Sometimes I worry about Olivia going off by herself, because if she were to get lost, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. And yet…” She paused significantly. “You two found each other.”
“It’s odd how the world is sometimes far smaller than it appears,” Max said, shrugging.
“Indeed. Well, we all worry about Olivia going off alone, but we allow it.”
Max raised a brow. Allow it? Olivia was a grown woman. Why wouldn’t her family allow her to go for a walk within the confines of her brother-in-law’s estate?
When Lady Stratford met his gaze, alarm bells rang through him. Her expression was a clear warning. It said, Don’t trifle with my sister. We are all looking out for her.
He shouldn’t be offended that the countess thought he’d consider trifling with Olivia. The lady probably knew a little of his past, which, as with many men of his age and class, involved quite a bit of trifling.
He forced a friendly look onto his face. “You must care for your sister very much.”
“All of us do,” Lady Stratford said. “Olivia is special. She might be the most guileless, genuine person you or I will ever meet, Lord Hasley.”
He raised his brows. “That’s high praise indeed.”
“Don’t take it from me.” Lady Stratford’s stern look softened. “I’m sure you’ll discover it for yourself during your stay here.”
At that moment, Jessica and Olivia entered. Jessica was dressed like her personality, in a vibrant red. Olivia wore a more sedate striped ivory walking dress with lace trim. The urge to trace that delicate line at her neck made Max’s fingers tingle. What he wouldn’t give to touch that pale, perfect skin above her breasts… and lower.
Max took a deep breath. The countess was looking at him. Watching him. He’d have to be careful with that one. Even more, he’d have to be careful with himself.
One day at a time. He’d be here in Sussex for a month, at least. There was no need to turn his interest in Olivia Donovan into more than what it really was. He would enjoy the time he had here and then return to London and get on with his life.
The countess led them outside and down the front drive to the main road. Max kept quiet, listening to the ladies—mostly Jessica and the countess—talk. Soon enough, they turned off the road and onto a wide rutted path that Lady Stratford said marked the edge of the earl’s property. They passed a sheep farm, and the countess stopped to exchange a friendly word with her tenants, leaving them with a package of her cook’s famous lemon tarts.
When they returned to the path, Max found himself beside Olivia, following Lady Stratford and Jessica, who were engaged in an animated discussion about the wool business.
He smiled down at Olivia. “Not interested in wool?”
She gazed at him, her blue eyes seeming impossibly clear and bright against the smooth, uniform background of her pale features.
“Oh no, I am,” she said quickly, then looked down, hiding her expression behind the brim of her bonnet.
When he remained silent, she looked up again, smiling ruefully. “I just wanted to walk with you for a while. Do you mind terribly?”
Max’s chest tightened. Good God. She was… Max couldn’t even come up with a word to describe her. “Delightful” seemed an understatement of grand proportions.
Ever since he’d agreed to it, he’d regretted that idiotic bet he’d made with Fenwicke. It didn’t matter what happened between him and Olivia Donovan this autumn. He had signed the wager Fenwicke had written in a moment of furious weakness, and he’d strike the moment out of existence if he could.
It looked like he was going to owe Fenwicke a thousand guineas on the first of the year. No matter what happened between Max and Olivia in the upcoming days, it had already become something that Fenwicke’s involvement would soil. Despite Max’s hot-headed actions and words that night in London, now that he was calmer, now that he knew the lady, he knew he would do everything in his power to completely dissociate Fenwicke from Olivia Donovan.
It would be one of the few wagers between them that Max had lost. For the first time in his life, Max found that he didn’t even care.
He glanced at Olivia to see her looking at him with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t mind you joining me at all,” he said gravely. “I’m glad you decided to walk with me. I was beginning to feel lonely.”
Her face crumpled into an expression of agitation. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to make you—”
He raised his hand, cutting off her words. “I was jesting, Miss Donovan.”
“Oh… oh, dear.” Her lips twisted prettily. “Sometimes I can be far too literal.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said. “Next time, I’ll be sure to warn you in advance when I’m not being entirely literal.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Please. Call me Max.”
She looked up at him again, frowning. “I would like to do that, but wouldn’t it be considered quite improper?”
“Not if you reserve it for when we’re alone.”
Her gaze flicked to her sisters, who’d stretched the distance between them. “Like now?”
“Like now,” he agreed softly. He wanted to touch her again. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable—she was having a difficult enough time using his name, for God’s sake. So he kept his hands at his sides, more rigidly than was natural.
She was too lovely. So soft and gentle. She reminded him of a white rose petal. She made him want to gather her up and hold her close to him, not allowing anyone else to touch her, to mar that delicate beauty.
He glanced down at her and saw a smile tipping the edges of her lips. So beautiful, her lips. Such a deep pink. He wanted to run his thumb over the plumpness of her lower lip, feel its suppleness against his skin.
He inhaled through his teeth. Best not to think too much about touching Olivia Donovan. That was likely to get him into an embarrassing state, particularly since the day was warm so he’d slung his coat over his forearm after they’d left the sheep farm, and his waistcoat didn’t completely cover the front placket of his breeches.
They rounded a bend and Fenwicke’s house came into view. It was smaller than Stratford’s, but unlike Stratford’s, it was in perfect repair, with freshly painted gables and fronted by a perfectly manicured sweeping lawn.
As they approached, a heavy feeling settled through Max, and he looked at Olivia. She’d gone even paler than usual, and her plump lips had pressed into a thin, straight line. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that Fenwicke’s wife was a very different person from the man himself. That she could befriend her neighbor without worrying about what Fenwicke had tried with her, because Fenwicke was very rarely in Sussex, and when he was, it was usually for short periods of time—certainly not enough time to mingle with the neighbors.
Watching her from the corner of his eye, Max wondered exactly what had passed between Olivia and Fenwicke. The two were like oil and water. It seemed obvious that Fenwicke’s greasy charm wouldn’t have worked on her.
Ahead, Jessica and the countess had slowed to allow Olivia and Max to catch up. When they did, Jessica gestured at the house. “Quiet, isn’t it?”
“I wonder if she’s home,” Olivia murmured.
“I’m sure she is,” Lady Stratford said. “I’ve heard she rarely goes out.”
They approached Brockton Hall, the sisters clustering closer together and casting wary glances toward the house. They reached the graveled drive and stepped up into the entryway. Lady Stratford lifted the immense bronze door knocker, and the four of them listened as the sound resonated within the house.
For a moment, Max thought that no one would come to the door, but then an aged servant answered it. When Lady Stratford explained to the frowning man who they were and the reason for their visit, all he said was “Just a minute, if you please,” before shutting the massive door in their faces.
The sisters looked at one another and then at Max, who shrugged. “Let’s wait and see what happens.”
They waited several minutes. Max was losing patience, and Jessica was pacing back and forth across the front landing when the door opened again.
The old man didn’t meet any of their eyes. “Lady Fenwicke will see you now.” Turning, he made room for them to enter. They walked into a spacious entry hall, and the man closed the door behind them, then shuffled into a dimly lit corridor. “This way, please.”
He led them in to an elegantly decorated drawing room with elaborate, expensive Oriental furnishings and heavy, dark-colored velvet draperies. A young woman stood beside the richly carved and spotless white marble fireplace.
If he hadn’t known this was Lady Fenwicke, Max wouldn’t have recognized her. She’d gained a good two stone, her vivacious dark eyes had gone flat along with her complexion, and even her dark hair seemed to have lost all the richness it had held just two years ago.
She smiled at them, but the smile didn’t bring any light to her eyes.
A heaviness settled over Max. He knew that some would say that this was the result of any marriage, but one only had to look at the Countess of Stratford’s glow to disprove that. No, this was the result of being married to one Leonard Reece, the Marquis of Fenwicke.
Lady Stratford seemed to have taken on the role of their speaker, but Max didn’t mind. He was content to stand behind the ladies and allow them to do the talking.
“Good afternoon, my lady. I’m your neighbor, Lady Stratford. These are my sisters, Miss Olivia Donovan and Miss Jessica Donovan. And this is our guest, Lord Hasley.”
She didn’t seem to remember him. No recognition flickered in her eyes as her gaze passed over him. He’d only met her a few times before, but people usually did remember him, due to his position in society if nothing else.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I am Beatrice Reece.”
She invited them to sit and called for tea. Lady Stratford gave her the lemon tarts, which she appropriately gushed over. Everything was all politeness and propriety, but there was something about Lady Fenwicke that just seemed… absent. Max glanced at Olivia. Her gaze was forthright and friendly—not that he’d ever seen it any other way—but there was the slightest crease between her brows.
Tea was served, and Max sat back and enjoyed the scorching, bitter taste of his. The sisters all took generous lumps of sugar for their tea, and Lady Fenwicke took sugar and cream in hers, but Max noticed that after she’d prepared it to her liking, she placed it beside her and didn’t touch it.
The ladies discussed their plans for autumn and winter, briefly skimmed the topic of their past in the West Indies, and told Lady Fenwicke about their absent sister, Phoebe, who Max had met last evening. For her part, Lady Fenwicke hardly spoke but asked the sisters questions and offered them more tea and cakes. A proper hostess. Still, something in Max panged for her. She just seemed so damned unhappy.
Jessica dabbed her napkin to her lips. “That almond cake was simply delicious, Lady Fenwicke! I’ll have to tell my sister’s cook to ask for the recipe from yours.”
“Thank you, but I must confess that I made the cakes myself.” Sucking in a breath at her blunder—a lady of her status should never admit to doing somethi
ng as common as cooking!—she looked down at her lap.
There was a short silence, then Lady Stratford said in a kindly voice, “Oh how lovely. You are a talented cook. I do hope you’ll give my cook the recipe.”
Olivia took her first bite of the cake and added her appreciation, and Max ate his cake in silence. He liked these three sisters. It was heartwarming how they attempted to make their hostess comfortable.
“Do you like to cook, then, my lady?” Jessica asked. “Is it a hobby of yours?”
He also liked how forthright they were.
“I do,” Lady Fenwicke said quietly. “I like it very much. It is… it is a great solace to me.”
“I understand completely,” Olivia said. “Going for long walks is my solace.”
“Reading is mine,” Lady Stratford added.
“And mine is dancing. Oh, how I love to dance,” said Jessica, beaming. “Our sister Phoebe does, too. We used to dance together for hours and hours in our parlor back in Antigua before she came to England last year.” She turned to Max. “What’s your solace, my lord?”
That took him aback. His solace? Solace hadn’t been a concept he’d considered for years. Perhaps ever. “Well. I can’t think of anything.”
“It must be hunting,” Jessica said. “Since you’re here to hunt with my brother-in-law and Captain Langley.”
“No, that can’t be it.” A mischievous grin lit Olivia’s features. “Lord Hasley has confided to me that he’s a poor hunter.”
“Perhaps horses, then,” the countess said. “Many men take solace from their animals. I know Jonathan does, at times.”
“No,” Olivia said, sliding a glance at him. “Not horses, either. Don’t you remember? Lord Hasley told us this morning that he wasn’t the horse connoisseur that Captain Langley and the earl are,” Olivia said.
“Ah, that’s right.” Lady Stratford gave Olivia an appraising look, then set her teacup down. “Thank you so much for the tea and the lovely cakes, my lady. I didn’t mean to march in like this today, but I’ve very much wanted to meet you.”
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 4