by Julia London
Dear God, how naïve.
But Olivia supposed that Alexa must be feeling some of that, the promise of something new, the hope of a bright future, particularly after the emotional turmoil she’d suffered through.
And Olivia had no doubt that Alexa would have a bright and happy future with Harrison.
Just like she’d thought she would have with Edward.
“Fool,” she muttered under her breath and got out of bed. She walked to the windows and pulled back the drapes, looking out into the early morning light. She tried to recall the moment or the event or even the day that marked the beginning of her disillusionment. Was it when she’d discovered Edward’s thirst for whiskey? Or when she’d realized how indifferent he was toward her, even blaming her for it? Was it when he’d casually informed her that she was tedious, or when he demanded to control her, wanting to know where she was and whom she saw? Was it his utter lack of desire for her? He’d never wanted anything but to rut on her like a pig and put his seed in her, then leave.
When Olivia told her mother, Lady Hastings had begged her to be more enticing in bed. But try as she might, Olivia could never seem to entice him to anything but anger.
Was it perhaps when she’d realized that he had a mistress? Oh, how devastatingly obtuse she’d felt! They’d only been married a little over two years when they were invited to the home of the rotund Major Barrow along with a dozen couples for a long weekend of shooting. From the beginning, Olivia had felt as if there was something everyone was hiding from her. There seemed to be no end to the averted looks, or to the whispering that stopped when she entered the room. The only person who didn’t seem to whisper was Mrs. Bronson, who had come with her husband, Mr. Bronson.
Olivia rather liked Mrs. Bronson. She’d been lively in conversation, speaking of the latest fashions in London, who she had dined with, and who was expected to shine in the upcoming Season. And she’d seemed very intent on Olivia.
At last, Mrs. Barrow had taken mercy on Olivia and had pulled her aside. “My dear . . . do you not understand who Mrs. Bronson is?”
“Who is she?” Olivia had asked innocently.
“For heaven’s sake! She is a particular friend of your husband’s.”
She’d said “friend” in such a tone that Olivia had suddenly understood. She’d been humiliated. There she’d been, chatting it up with Edward’s mistress all weekend while everyone had watched.
In all these years, the one person who brought any warmth into her life was Harrison. He was always ready with a smile, a wink, a jest. He was on hand to play cards with her when there was nothing to do on long winter evenings. He was there to help her plan the social evenings she and Edward had hosted, to ensure that Everdon Court was ready when members of Edward’s family arrived for extended stays.
Harrison had always been there to save her.
Olivia turned away from the windows with a cluck of her tongue, annoyed with herself. She marched across the room and picked up her brush and began to rake it through her hair, wincing when it caught a tangle.
It wasn’t as if Harrison had died, for heaven’s sake. He was marrying her sister and he would still be very much in her life. There was no point in moping about it. Olivia had suffered through too many years to be dragged to the bottom of her despair now.
She was suffering from useless desire, from pointless mourning. She would put on her best face and she would soldier on, just as she’d always done.
How best to defeat her doldrums? A small smiled curved her lips. She would invite Miss Bernadette Shields of Harkingspur Grange and Lady Martha to Everdon Court. No one could make her laugh like Bernie. And she always included Lady Martha in her teas, for the poor dear was so shy, she’d have no society at all were it not for Olivia’s invitations from time to time.
But the true reason Olivia wanted to invite the ladies to Everdon Court was because Edward could not abide them. He could not abide the company of anyone whom he hadn’t himself selected for Olivia, but neither could he deny her friendship with these two particular ladies, as their fathers were influential in the shire. If Edward wanted to give the appearance of being a benevolent little king in this corner of England, he would have to allow Olivia their company.
And they, unwittingly, would help her endure the loss of Harrison. She would have Brock send a messenger to them directly after breakfast.
Mrs. Lampley sent Rue from the dowager house to the main house for fresh linens. “You cannot use so much lye, Rue,” she chastised the girl with a shake of her head. “It eats the linens whole if you put in too much.”
“Aye, mu’um,” Rue said.
Rue was rarely out of the dowager house, as she was too fearful of being accused of doing something wrong. She ambled up the path, taking her time, happy to be in the sunlight. When she reached the kitchens of Everdon Court, no one was about. There was a plate of muffins on a wooden table, amid some pottery bowls and a sack of flour. She helped herself to a muffin.
“Rue!”
The girl was so startled she dropped the muffin. Miss Foster swept in, her apron full of eggs. “What in blazes do you think to be doing? Do you see anything on that table that invites you to help yourself?”
Rue looked at the table.
“No, you do not,” Miss Foster answered for her. “Pick it up.”
Rue bent down and scooped up the muffin. She didn’t know what to do with it and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron.
“Do not think to come into my kitchen and do as you please! That may be the way of Miss Lampley’s kitchen, but it will not be tolerated here!” Still holding the corners of her apron, Miss Foster leaned across the table, pinning Rue with a look. “Those muffins happen to be for Lady Carey. She is partial to them.” She leaned back and began to put her eggs in a bowl. “I expect her appetite will be increasing very soon, if you take my meaning.”
“Hungry, is she?” Rue asked through a mouth full of muffin.
“Oh, she’s hungry, all right,” Miss Foster said, and chuckled. “Hungry enough for two.”
“I am hungry like that when I forget to break my fast. By the afternoon, I think I might faint away.”
Miss Foster sighed impatiently. “Not because she forgot to eat, you little simpleton. She is eating for two.”
Rue blinked. That was precisely what she meant. Sometimes she felt as if she ate enough to feed two people.
Miss Foster clucked her tongue. “A baby,” she whispered, and smiled broadly. “Have a care that you don’t repeat that to anyone, do you hear? The marquis is away and it wouldn’t do to have that sort of talk going round.”
Rue frowned a little. She had heard Miss Lampley say that the marchioness was barren. Perhaps she’d meant something else entirely.
“Do you intend to stand about all day? What do you want?”
“Linens,” Rue said.
“Linens! Do I look as if I have a key to the linen closet? Go and find Mrs. Perry and stay out of my kitchen.”
It was a half hour before Rue returned to the dowager house, having taken her sweet time wending along the servant’s path back to the dowager house. When she stepped into the foyer, she almost collided with Mrs. Lampley. “Oh! Beg your pardon,” she said, dipping a curtsy.
“What are you curtsying to me for?” Mrs. Lampley said, and took the linens from Rue’s hands. “Chamber pots need emptying. What is that?”
“What?” Rue asked.
Mrs. Lampley nodded her gray head at Rue’s lap. Rue looked down; the rest of her muffin had been smashed and had stained her apron pocket. “I’m sorry!” she cried as Mrs. Lampley frowned at the stain. “How was I to know her ladyship needed a muffin to feed two people!”
“What? What are you prattling about?”
“Miss Foster said the muffins were for her ladyship, for she was eating for two, and I wasn’t to have one.”
Mrs. Lampley blinked. And then a smile slowly lit her face. “Well, well, well.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Al
exa was too nauseated to eat when she awoke and decided instead that she needed some fresh air. She walked down to the dowager house to collect a few things, since she had no intention of staying there while Edward was away.
The day was beginning to turn gray and smelled of more rain, which didn’t please her. The journey to Scotland would be difficult enough without bumping about in a coach on rutted roads. She put her hand to her abdomen, thinking of the child she carried.
Perhaps she might persuade Harrison to wait a few more days.
At the dowager house, she stood on the front steps and knocked the mud from her boots. As she did, a messenger rode into the small circular drive. Alexa paused and looked curiously at him. “G’day, miss. I’ve a letter for Mr. Tolly,” he said.
“Wait here,” she said, and walked inside.
Rue and Mrs. Lampley emerged from the drawing room when Alexa called. Mrs. Lampley bobbed her head and quickly went the other way, her arm full of linens. Rue, bless her, looked as she had every time Alexa had seen her—as if she didn’t know what she was to do with herself. She stared wide-eyed at Alexa. “Oh!” she said. “It’s you, miss.”
If Alexa was to be mistress of this house, she intended to make a few changes, beginning with a butler or a footman—someone who knew how to properly handle people coming and going, and wasn’t forever surprised by it. “There is a messenger outside with a letter for Mr. Tolly,” Alexa said. “Will you fetch him?”
“A messenger!” Rue cried, apparently delighted by the news. “I’m to give the messengers coin when they come,” she added, and hurried to a small alcove just off the entry. Not noticing the small footstool at her feet, she stretched up to the tips of her toes, her hand scarcely reaching a bowl on the top shelf. She managed to get two fingers in the bowl and then held the coin up triumphantly to Alexa on her way to the door.
“I have your coin, sir!” Rue called out proudly to the messenger, and went out.
Alexa rolled her eyes. She untied her bonnet and set it aside, and was removing her cloak when Rue bounded back, holding the letter aloft.
“Where is Mr. Tolly this morning?” Alexa asked.
“I think he’s gone off already,” Rue said, frowning a little as she thought it over. “But I’m not to say he’s gone for a pint.”
“A pint! Rue, for heaven’s sake!” Harry said, appearing on the stairs above them in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He started down. “I’ve not gone off, and neither have I gone for a pint.” He smiled at Alexa as he reached the ground floor. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir,” Alexa said, and forced herself to smile sunnily.
Harry looked at Rue again, eyeing the letter. “What have you got there?”
“A letter! A messenger brung it,” Rue said. “I give him the coin, just as you said.”
“Just as I said, eh? Then we must mark this day on the calendar, Rue. That is splendid news,” Harry said, and held his hand out for the letter.
A beaming Rue placed it in his hand.
“Would you like some tea?” Harry asked Alexa. “Seems rather damp out.”
“Terribly damp,” she said. “Yes, thank you.”
“Am I to fetch the tea, then?” Rue asked.
“You are to fetch the tea,” Harrison said, and gave Alexa a small shake of his head as Rue scampered off. “Come into the study.”
Alexa followed him into the study and accepted his offer to sit in one of the chairs at the hearth. “Excuse me a moment, if you will,” he said politely, and broke the seal on the letter.
Alexa watched him read it, a slight frown of concentration on his brow. His hair looked as if he’d combed it back with his fingers, and his trousers—buckskins—fit him very well, indeed. He was quite handsome, really; well built and strong, and not too thin.
Moreover, he had been polite and kind to her in spite of all the difficulties. Perhaps, Alexa mused, she had made the best decision after all. Perhaps she might really come to love him.
She glanced around at the room as he read. It was sparsely furnished, like the rest of the house, and there were so many books! They were stacked on his desk and on the table between the two chairs. There was a wall of bookcases, too, stuffed full of them. She couldn’t imagine the desire to own as many books as this, or the expense of obtaining them. It seemed that one or two would be enough. An atlas. A Bible, of course. Perhaps an historical or scientific book. What more was necessary?
Harry sighed heavily and Alexa turned her head as he tossed the letter onto his desk. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He stared at the large window a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then he seemed to remember that she was there and smiled once again. “I hope you rested well,” he said as he took the chair beside her.
“I did, thank you.”
He absently drummed his fingers on one knee, clearly distracted. “I think it shall rain.”
Lord! Is this what they would speak of in each other’s company? The weather? How rested they were? “Is everything all right?” Alexa asked.
“What?” he asked. “Yes, everything is fine.” His fingers stopped drumming. “And with you, as well?”
“Fine,” she said, feeling exasperated now.
“And how does the day find Lady Carey?” he asked.
“I did not go down for breakfast. I was feeling a bit ill.”
Harry’s gaze flicked to her abdomen a moment. “Recovered now?”
“Quite.”
“Very good,” he said, and glanced at the fireplace once again.
“I think you are right. I think rain is coming,” Alexa said, watching him closely. “And I was thinking that perhaps we might wait until the rain has passed before we undertake a long trip.”
Harry nodded, but then glanced at Alexa. “Pardon?”
“It is a long way to Gretna Green,” she said.
“Having second thoughts?” he asked quietly.
“Not at all,” she quickly assured him. “But I find that I do not travel as well as I have in the past.” She put her hand to her abdomen.
He nodded and stood up. “I should think the ability to travel will only become more difficult for you. But I will consider it. You must not fret, Alexa. All will be well.”
She couldn’t imagine why he thought so. The situation was a terrible mess. She watched him walk to the desk, pick up the letter again, glance at it, then toss it down again.
“Will all be well with your Lady X?” Alexa asked.
That brought his head around. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lady X,” Alexa said again. “You seem rather distracted, and I thought perhaps that you are having second thoughts.”
His face darkened, and Alexa flushed. She had overstepped her bounds. Again. And unintentionally. “Perhaps it would ease you to know that I have no expectations,” she said, in a feeble attempt to smooth over her gaffe.
That seemed to amuse him somewhat, judging by his softly wry smile.
A loud crash of glass and metal startled them both. “Oh lud!” they heard Rue exclaim.
“What in blazes is it now?” he said. “I’ll be back when I have assured myself that it was only a tea service and that the house is still standing.” He walked determinedly out the door.
Alexa stayed in her seat a moment. Things seemed so strained between them. How on earth would she ever find her way with him? She sighed and leaned back. Her gaze fell to the open letter on his desk. Outside, in the hall, she could hear him admonishing Rue to be careful, that she might cut herself.
Alexa rose and strolled toward the desk. She glanced surreptitiously at the open letter. The handwriting looked to be that of a woman’s. She cocked her head and glanced at the signature. Lady Eberlin.
It was her! This was his Lady X.
Someone else had joined the chorus of voices outside; she could hear Harry’s calm, deep voice as two women argued over each other. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, Alexa leaned over the desk and scanned th
e letter.
And then she read it a second time.
When she walked to the window and blinked out at the gray day, she scarcely saw a thing. Her mind was whirling.
Good heavens. She was on the verge of marrying a man who was the legitimate heir to the Ashwood estate in Sussex, and, if Lady Eberlin could be believed, entitled to the title of earl.
Which meant she would be a countess. At the very least, an heiress.
Suddenly, she saw how she might endure her marriage to Harry. Suddenly, everything seemed possible.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It seemed to Harrison that everything that could go wrong in the next few days did. Wool that had been sheared and cleaned for market had been lost in transit. A bridge over a small river was lost in flooding. Harrison received notice that Lord Westhorpe owed arrears of more than two thousand pounds. And on top of it all, he was the only one who could make all the discreet arrangements that were necessary for the trip to Gretna Green.
As a result, Harrison did not see Olivia. She kept to the main house, and he kept to his post. While he believed that was the only way he could carry on, it was agonizing.
Visions of her danced around in his thoughts, making concentration impossible. Every woman’s voice, every feminine laugh, caused his heart to leap with the hope that it was her. He was disappointed over and over again. When he received the letter from Lady Eberlin—formerly Lady Ashwood—urging him to take his rightful place as heir to Ashwood, Harrison had toyed with the fantasy of stealing Olivia away and retreating there.
It was a ridiculous thought, he knew—they could not hide away at Ashwood. He was in love with a married woman, and she was married to a very powerful man. And then there was Alexa. He could not leave the foolish girl to her own devices. And he could not leave her child to suffer the same sort of upbringing he’d suffered.
But as curious as he was about Ashwood, Harrison had no intention of taking Alexa there. He had no intention of leaving Everdon Court. He’d never sleep again if he abandoned Olivia here with the marquis.