by Julia London
“I shall marry her,” Mr. Tolly said clearly.
Olivia’s heart lurched in her chest and her gaze flew up. Mr. Tolly had appeared at Alexa’s side, and he exchanged a look with Olivia as he leaned down and took Alexa by the arm. He hauled her to her feet, forcing her to stand. Olivia stumbled to hers, gaping at him. He was mad—mad!—to offer such a thing, but Mr. Tolly had firm grip of Alexa and was looking at Edward, his eyes slightly narrowed, the muscles in his jaw clenched.
Edward laughed. “You will marry her, Tolly? Come now, I thought better of you! You cannot demean yourself to marry her—she is ruined,” he said, as if explaining why Mr. Tolly should prefer whiskey to gin. “I understand that perhaps you have some sentiment for the child, as you yourself are a bastard. But you’ve pulled yourself up to the top of the trees, Tolly. This one will merely drag you down to the bottom again.”
“No, Mr. Tolly,” Olivia said quickly, her heart pounding. “It is a truly noble offer, but—”
“Noble,” Edward snorted. “It is half-witted.”
“I won’t marry him!” Alexa wailed. “I will not! You cannot force me to it!”
“Miss Hastings!” Mr. Tolly said, and put his hand under Alexa’s chin and forced her to look up at him. “Please listen to me,” he said, his voice softer. “For now, we shall say we are to be married, and we will seek to devise a plan that protects you and the Carey family from scandal.” Alexa started to shake her head, but he dipped down a little and looked her in the eye. “Be strong now, lass,” he said kindly. “Now is the time you must think of the child you carry and be strong.”
Alexa’s hand fluttered to her abdomen. She seemed to consider what he said as she sniffed back her tears. She conceded by sagging helplessly against him, looking as if the slightest touch would cause her to collapse into pieces.
“Tolly, you astound me,” Edward said, almost cheerfully. “I do believe there is little you won’t do to protect the good Carey name. One might think you were one of us. But in this case, I think you are a fool. Alexa Hastings will do as well in an Irish convent as she will do as a wife to you.”
Mr. Tolly looked as grave as Olivia had ever seen him. “If you will permit me, my lord, I shall address this unfortunate complication so that you may turn your attention to more pressing issues.”
Edward eyed Mr. Tolly skeptically for a long moment, but Mr. Tolly steadily held his gaze, not the least intimidated. Edward finally shrugged and turned away. “Do as you wish. But keep her out of my sight. I don’t care to be reminded that I have a slut wandering about Everdon Court. Take her down to the dowager house until you find a place to put her.”
As if she were a piece of broken furniture.
Mr. Tolly wheeled Alexa about, moving her briskly to the door.
Olivia tried to follow, but Edward stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Lady Carey,” he said sternly. Olivia closed her eyes for a moment before she turned back to him. “I did not give you leave.” He settled back against the desk, his arms casually folded over his middle. “Go on with you now, Tolly,” he said dismissively. “Take her from my sight.”
Olivia glanced over her shoulder at Alexa, but it was Mr. Tolly’s gaze that met hers, and she thought that she saw a flash of anger in his eyes.
The door shut behind Mr. Tolly and Alexa, leaving her alone with Edward.
Edward gazed at Olivia for a long moment, his eyes wandering over the peach-colored gown she wore, lingering on her décolletage in a manner that made her skin crawl. “How is it,” he said at last, “that your sister may spread her legs to God knows whom in Spain and conceive, and yet you cannot?”
The question did not surprise Olivia, but it nonetheless snatched her breath as it always did. He spoke to her as if there were some defect in her, yet he never considered that he could be the reason they had yet to produce a child.
“I asked you a question, madam.”
“I cannot say.”
“It seems to me if one sister is fertile, the next would be as well.”
Olivia swallowed. “I do not think it necessarily follows. We are all individuals, no two alike.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “And then again, perhaps it is because you take some elixir to abort my seed. Brock said some old crone called on you recently.”
Confused, Olivia thought back to her recent callers and remembered Mrs. Gates, who had come on behalf of the charity they had begun for the poor. She was elderly, with a shock of gray hair that seemed as unruly as her wards. “If you are referring to Mrs. Gates, she is a patron of the parish workhouse,” Olivia said.
“She is a crone.”
Olivia struggled to keep her voice even. “She did not bring me an elixir. I want a child every bit as much as you do. You must know that I would never indulge in such tactics. I cannot bear to even hear you speak of it.”
Edward laughed and shoved away from the desk, coming toward her. “Do you indeed want a child, Olivia? For I do not see any evidence that you do. One might ask if you desire a child, then why on earth have you not borne one? Either you are incapable, in which case your mother lied to me, or you deceive me every day,” he said as he casually studied her face. “I tend to think the latter. I tend to think you want to vex me in any way you might.”
Anger began to bubble in her. “That is not true,” she said. “I never wanted anything other than to be a wife and mother.”
“Liar,” he said. “You are surrounded by riches and staff, yet you never bring me joy, Olivia. You burden me with the troubles of your orphaned sister and expect me to somehow make them go away, as if by magic. You tricked me into marrying you, and the one thing I have asked of you, the one thing I have required for all the generosity I have bestowed upon you, is to give me an heir. That is all I ask—an heir. And yet, you do not conceive. And when you do, you abort them.”
Olivia gasped; her knees quaked with the force of that remark. “How dare you say such a vile thing,” she said roughly. “Dr. Egan said that I have done no harm to my body. I am an obedient wife—”
“Obedient?” Edward said, surprised. He grinned. “Is that what you would call your performance in our marital bed? Obedient?”
“I cannot call it anything else,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
Edward’s nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw and walked to the sideboard, where he poured whiskey for himself.
Olivia’s belly churned with nerves, and she tried to focus on a painting above the mantel. It was of an ancestor sitting on a rock, staring at the artist while his dog gazed up at him. Olivia felt like that dog. She had to be ever vigilant, to watch everything Edward did.
“I don’t find you the least bit obedient.” Edward tossed back the whiskey. “I think you plot to remove my seed from your body.” He poured more.
The trepidation was making Olivia nauseous, but she was determined to hold her ground with him. “How can that be? You make me lie there for a half hour and watch me so that I don’t move. How could I possibly remove it?”
“Women have a bevy of tricks at their disposal,” he said, and turned back to her. His gaze began to wander her body as he moved closer. “Perhaps I have gone about this the wrong way,” he added thoughtfully. “Perhaps I am not seeking my marital rights as determinedly as I ought.” His gaze lingered on her bosom, and Olivia resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her arms. “Perhaps I have not been as forceful as is required.”
Alarm shot through her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, wife,” he snarled, “that perhaps I have been too gentle in my desires. Perhaps you would make a more obedient wife if I were a more insistent husband.”
Alarm quickly turned to fear and Olivia looked to the door, gauging her chance at escape.
Edward startled her with a caress of her cheek, and then a hand to her shoulder and neck. “If your sister can get a child in her, there must be some way to put one in you.” He pressed his thumb lightly into the hollow of her throat. “If it is your desire that
I do not turn your sister out, as I have every right to do, then you will find a way to give me an heir, Olivia. Do not think to defy me. Who will take you and your sister once I am done with you? Who? Your cousin in Wales with four mouths to feed? Your mother’s brother, who languishes at King’s Bench? The entire country will turn against you. No one will touch you and risk the wrath of Carey. Think on that when you take you elixirs and herbs,” he said quietly, then released her with a shove backward. “Now go. I have work to do.”
Olivia caught herself on the arm of a chair. She watched Edward walk to the sideboard and pour more whiskey, then quickly left the room.
CHAPTER THREE
Alexa Hastings would not stop sobbing. She was bent over the settee, her cries rattling the house, her shoulders shaking with the force of them. Harrison Tolly hadn’t the slightest idea what to do for her. He’d tried cajoling her, then bribing her, then simply demanding that she stop. Nothing worked. She would calm for a minute, apologize for the trouble, and then start up again.
He was studying her now as she wept, thinking that perhaps a wee bit of laudanum might do the trick, when Rue, the ginger-haired, round little chambermaid who served him at the dowager house where he lived, appeared at his elbow. She was another one he’d saved from the marquis. Rue was dull-witted; basic math was beyond her, as were most chores. Harrison had taken pity on her when Brock had dismissed her from the main house for her ineptitude. He’d looked into her young round face and realized she’d be quickly devoured by the world at large if there wasn’t someone to look after her. So he’d brought her here to the dowager house to be his chambermaid, and had quickly discovered that she might possibly be the worst chambermaid in all of England.
Mrs. Lampley, his cook and housekeeper, had also been saved from Everdon Court. She’d been married for many years to the gatekeeper, who’d died suddenly one night after supper. Carey had no use for Mrs. Lampley after that. He’d instructed Brock to find another gatekeeper and seemed to think nothing of turning out Mrs. Lampley and her young son. Harrison had brought them to the dowager house to cook and clean.
Privately, Harrison suspected he knew what had killed Mr. Lampley, as Mrs. Lampley’s cooking was passable at best.
Harrison couldn’t really say why he took in these misfits, but he supposed it had to do with his own humble beginnings. Twenty-nine years ago, he’d been born the bastard son of a professional paramour. He’d not even known who his father was until he was sixteen years old. He’d been an outcast from all of decent society most of his life until he’d made something of himself, and even then, it seemed as if every association was tainted by the circumstances of his birth. Harrison supposed that it gave him an affinity for those with no place in this world.
His friends warned that he’d end up with a kennel full of stray dogs if he weren’t careful.
“Caller,” Rue said, peering curiously at Miss Hastings.
“Caller? What caller?” Harrison asked.
“Dunno,” Rue said. “But he said to say it is urgent.”
Harrison suppressed a groan. He was up to his knees in problems and didn’t need another added to the mix. “Mind Miss Hastings, Rue. Make sure she doesn’t drown herself in her tears,” he said as he strode out of the room.
In the foyer, he saw no one about and wondered what Rue had done with him. But then he looked to the door and saw that it was ajar. Rain poured from the skies, but Rue had left the diminutive drowned rat of a caller to stand on the porch. Harrison brought the gentleman in, his wool coat and soggy beaver hat dripping on the entry floor.
“Yes?” Harrison asked impatiently.
“Mr. Tolly?”
Obviously, for who but he resided at the Carey dowager house? “Yes, who is calling, please?”
“Mr. Harrison Tolly?”
For heaven’s sake. “Yes,” he said, frowning. “Now that we have established who I am, perhaps you will be so good to tell me who you are and what this is about.”
“I am Mr. Theodore Fish,” the man said, bowing slightly. “I believe I may have some rather stunning news for you.”
Of course he did. What had happened to the mundane? What had happened to the simple problems of managing four Carey family properties, like rents not matching expenditures, or flour deliveries arriving late, or beef prices at an all-time low? What happened to the sort of problems that Harrison excelled at solving?
He sighed and wearily leaned a shoulder against the wall. “And what would your news be, Mr. Fish?”
The man seemed slightly perturbed. He undoubtedly wanted a better response for his announcement of stunning news—a gasp of surprise, a cry of alarm.
“Are you familiar with the name Ashwood?” Mr. Fish asked.
Well now, that was a bit stunning. Of course Harrison was familiar with that name, but he’d not heard it in years. He straightened up and eyed the man suspiciously.
“I take it that the name is familiar to you,” Mr. Fish said, a bit smugly.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what the devil is this about?”
“If I may, sir?” Mr. Fish said, with a not-so-subtle glance at the door. “The news is quite convoluted and requires more than a cursory explanation.”
Of all the months and the weeks and the days in the year, Mr. Fish had to deliver his stunning news today. Harrison glanced over his shoulder to the sitting room, where the sound of Miss Hastings’s sobs sounded like a performance of a three-act tragedy. He shifted his gaze to the Fish fellow again, taking him in from head to toe. “Yes, all right,” he said, reluctantly.
“Rue!” he called as Mr. Fish stepped deeper into the foyer and removed his coat. Rue scurried out of the sitting room in the dress that was too small for her. He really must find her suitable clothing. “Find a towel for Mr. Fish and then bring tea to the study.”
“To the study, sir? Not the sitting room?”
Harrison gave the young maid a pointed look. She had a soft heart, and as the sounds of Miss Hastings’s tears could be heard in the foyer, the girl wanted him to mend things. That’s what they all wanted from him—mend this, repair that.
“No, Rue, not to the sitting room. To the study,” he said evenly. “And you may tell Miss Hastings that she will feel better in her room with a cold cloth across her forehead.” He arched his brow at the girl. He did not exactly rule with an iron fist at the dowager house, and at times such as this, he rather regretted it.
The arch of his brow had the desired effect; Rue quickly looked down. “Yes, my lord,” she said softly and hurried off.
“Sir,” he corrected her. “And have Mrs. Lampley bring tea!” he called after her. To Mr. Fish, he said, “This way,” and gestured in the opposite direction.
Mr. Fish draped his cloak across the back of a chair and put his hat beside it, and glanced in the direction of the sound of Miss Hastings’s sobbing.
Harrison showed Mr. Fish into the study, his private retreat and favorite room. The dark wood trim made the green walls look vibrant to his eye. The shelves were lined with the books he’d been collecting since he was a child; works of fiction, poetry, studies of places he’d never been and people he’d never met.
Among his earliest memories, vague as they were, he could remember one of his mother’s so-called friends, a smiling gentleman in a wig and with long lacy cuffs giving him sweetmeats before ascending up the stairs to his mother’s boudoir. That same gentleman had taken a liking to him and had seen to it that Harrison had a tutor. Harrison’s tutor, Mr. Ridley, had been a lover of books, and had passed that love to Harrison. Harrison considered his books his companions while his mother was otherwise engaged and he was left to rear himself.
He directed Mr. Fish to a leather winged-back chair at the hearth, where a fire glowed. Water from Mr. Fish’s muddied boots and trousers pooled on the fine Aubusson rug Harrison had inherited from his mother’s house.
Mr. Fish noticed it, too. “I do beg your pardon,” he said. “It is
quite a deluge, and Everdon Court is rather far removed from the main roads.”
It was indeed. A grand estate sitting on a thousand acres of deep woods and tilled fields took a bit of effort to reach. “Think nothing of it,” Harrison said, and sat across from Mr. Fish, crossing one leg casually over the other. Rue bustled in with a towel, which she handed to Mr. Fish with a curtsy.
“Pardon, what else was I to do, sir?” she asked Harrison.
“Fetch Mrs. Lampley.”
“Ah,” she said, as if the sun had just shone through the window, and hurried out again.
“Much obliged,” Mr. Fish said, and proceeded to wipe the rain from his face and shoulders and hands. “Can’t recall a rain quite like this.”
“What’s this about Ashwood?” Harrison asked impatiently.
Mr. Fish folded the towel neatly in his lap. “It is rather extraordinary,” he said. “My advice is that you should brace yourself, Mr. Tolly, for there is reason to believe that the late Earl of Ashwood may have been some relation to you.”
Harrison couldn’t help but smile at the careful description. “If that is your way of stating that I may have been his by-blow, I shall spare you any theatrics and confirm that it is true, Mr. Fish.”
Mr. Fish’s eyes nearly leapt out of his head with surprise.
Harrison never spoke of it, and he did not like to be reminded of it. “If you have come all this way to tell me something that is quite well known to me, you have wasted your time. I was not personally acquainted with the man who sired me, but I am well aware of who he was.”
“Splendid,” Mr. Fish said, undeterred. “We discovered your lineage in the parish records in a London church. However, that is not the reason for my call, Mr. Tolly.”
“There cannot possibly be more.” Harrison knew all there was to know of his father, of his long-standing relationship with his mother. Much to his chagrin, there had been few secrets between him and his mother.