by Sara Bennett
“This room hasn’t changed at all,” she said, gazing about her in surprise.
“Nothing has changed, as you’d know if you visited more often.”
She flared up like a firework. “How could I visit you after what you did?” she burst out, her voice shaking, rising to her feet. “And now I am glad I didn’t. I thought after last time you had learned your lesson but you haven’t. You haven’t changed at—at—”
“Mother, sit down. Please.”
Her knees gave way and she sank heavily into her chair. Nic reached to take her hand, but she immediately stiffened and turned her face away, refusing to speak or look at him until he moved away. With a weary sigh Nic did so, sitting down opposite her and watching her profile.
“Why have you come to see me, Mother? What do you want?”
“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” she said in a low, wavering voice. “Not this time. This time, Dominic, you will do what is right. This time, you will marry Miss Monteith.”
Nic stood up and poured himself a drink. He took his time. The clink of the glass against the decanter, the gurgle of the liquid, the first sip, and the lingering taste on his tongue. He allowed himself to get over the shock of his mother’s words and the strange tingling joy that had filled him when she spoke them.
“Miss Monteith is a beautiful young woman from a respectable and wealthy family. She can have her pick of husbands, Mother. I am definitely not a suitable candidate.”
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You have ruined her, Dominic, that makes you a very suitable candidate.”
“I can’t marry her. Surely you can see that? The whole thing is complicated enough without making it worse.”
“You’re young, titled, and wealthy. Your blood-line goes back to the Norman conquest and you have a fine estate. What else could a woman want when she marries, especially when her own family are so much less distinguished than yours? I don’t pretend I didn’t hope for better…the daughter of a duke, perhaps, or even minor royalty.”
“Mother…”
“You think the past will be a stumbling block, Dominic, but you wouldn’t be the first man with a past to marry and make a new beginning.”
“The Monteiths will refuse permission. How can it be otherwise?”
“The benefits will outweigh the difficulties where her family are concerned. They would be very foolish indeed if they denied you permission to marry because of a long-ago scandal.”
“You make it sound inconsequential, Mother,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Olivia doesn’t know. What if she finds out? What if she couldn’t forgive me? I can’t take the risk.”
She looked at him, her dark eyes compelling. “What risk, Dominic? I don’t understand you. She will be gaining a fine name and a title, and a grand home. You will have a beautiful wife on your arm, and in time an heir. Why should that be a risk? What does it matter if she finds out, or what she thinks? You will have your roles to play in public, and I’m sure she will play hers no matter how she might feel behind closed doors. That is part of the marriage contract, and Miss Monteith has been brought up to keep her true feelings well hidden.”
“I agree that would be so if this was one of those cold and soulless marriages. A mating of convenience. But that’s not what I want. You loved my father. You often said yours was a love match. Why should I have anything less?”
Now when she looked at him she was really looking at him, properly, for the first time since his father died, and Nic wondered what she saw to make her mouth curl into a smile.
“Dominic, happiness in marriage is elusive. Who knows, you may find it. I did, and for that I consider myself more fortunate than many of my peers. But if you’re waiting for a love match, then you’re more of a fool than I thought you. People of our class and position cannot expect to marry for love. Imagine the chaos if we did? Every second duchess would be a parlor maid!”
Nic laughed. “And every second duke would be a groom. You are speaking of lust, Mother, not love.”
She waved her hand impatiently, as if the conversation was beginning to tire her. “Dominic, you know what you must do. What your father would tell you to do, if he were here. Marry Miss Monteith.”
She was right, of course she was. He would have to marry Olivia Monteith; even a rake accepted when something was inevitable. But the strange thing was, despite all his protests…
Nic didn’t mind at all.
Chapter 18
When Olivia arrived home she fell into her bed and slept through the night deeply and dreamlessly. She woke the next morning to find Estelle’s smiling face bending over her, the maid eager to hear all the details of her adventure.
“The ball, miss. Please tell me what was it like. Abbot has spoken of it but he never tells me the things I really want to know. What are the women like? Are they very beautiful?”
Olivia stretched and yawned. “Yes, well, most of them. I can understand why gentlemen want to go and look at them. I can understand why Nic wants to go.”
Estelle tilted her head to the side. “You’re not jealous, miss? I think, if it was me, I’d be jealous.”
Olivia smiled. “No, I’m not jealous, Estelle.”
How could she be jealous, after the way Nic had made love to her? He had shown her with every touch of his fingers and every brush of his lips that she was important and desirable to him. No, Olivia definitely wasn’t jealous.
“I’m glad everything went as you hoped,” Estelle said.
“Thank you for your help, Estelle,” Olivia replied. “I am very grateful for your kindness.”
“Well.” Estelle gave her a glance that was almost shamefaced, but Olivia was too weary to notice. “I’m just glad it all went well for you, miss. You must love Lord Lacey very much.”
Olivia closed her eyes, unable to stop smiling. “I think I do love him very much.”
“And if you love someone,” Estelle’s voice went on, “you accept them as they are. Even if they’ve made mistakes, or done something…well, something you feel is wrong. Don’t you, miss?”
“Yes. I suppose so.” A puzzled crease appeared between Olivia’s brows. “Estelle, is there something the matter?”
Estelle hesitated, as if she might speak, and then smiled and shook her head instead. “Goodness me, no, nothing is the matter. You’re tired, miss. I’ll let you sleep a little longer.”
Olivia sensed there was more to her maid’s behavior, but she was happy to let her thoughts drift. The joy of being with Nic was like a warm glow inside her and she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, believe it meant nothing to him. They could make a life together, be happy together. No matter what he’d done, or the secrets he might be keeping from her, she trusted him. She wanted him.
And she was quite certain he wanted her, too.
Theodore Garsed tucked his napkin into his dressing gown and surveyed breakfast. All his favorites, and cooked to perfection. What would he do without his chef? Life would be so dull, barely worth living. There was one good thing about being a gentleman of leisure, he could make certain he was never denied all the good things in life.
Besides, he needed to restore himself after his brother Alphonse’s arrival last night. Theodore didn’t like to admit it, even to himself, but there was something unsettling about Alphonse. When they were children he’d been able to ignore it, pretend his brother would grow out of it. The thing was, Alphonse was always very attached to him, and, awful as it sounded, sometimes his brother’s affection for him made him uneasy. There were times when Alphonse’s efforts to please him took on a particularly bizarre quality—for instance, when Alphonse had shot and killed the bird that Theodore complained had woken him at dawn when he was longing for sleep. He still recalled Alphonse tossing the limp body on the breakfast table, smiling and so pleased with himself.
Theodore looked down with a frown and realized he’d finished most of his meal without even tasting it. He reached for some ripe, juicy figs, determined to savor them, wh
en one of his servants interrupted to inform him Mrs. Henderson was there to see him.
Mrs. Henderson was a genteel widow whose husband had died in debt, and now she scraped by as best she could, living in rooms above the haberdashery. Her daughter, Laura, was an attractive girl, and despite her financial problems, Mrs. Henderson had managed to have her taught the niceties of ladylike behavior. Theodore admired Laura, and at one time had even toyed with the idea that she might make him a good wife, but that was before he made the acquaintance of Olivia Monteith.
Unfortunately, he realized now, he’d allowed his interest in Laura Henderson to become too marked, and Mrs. Henderson’s hopes were raised. Even when he turned his sights to Olivia, she still hadn’t given up on making a match between Theodore and her daughter.
So when he was told she was there to see him, Theodore’s immediate thought was that she had come to read him one of Laura’s letters—the girl was currently staying with a cousin in Somerset. He wished he wasn’t so gentlemanly—if he was a cad like Lacey, he’d tell Mrs. Henderson he had no interest in her daughter’s gushing letters and ask her to stop calling on him. But Theodore knew he was too polite to do that, and his hope was that, once he was married to Olivia, Mrs. Henderson would finally give up.
“Very well, show her in,” Theodore said. “If she will call at such an ungodly hour, then she can watch me finish my breakfast.”
“May I bring another plate and cup, sir?”
“No, you may not. Oh, all right. But only a cup. She will not share my toast.”
Moments later Mrs. Henderson came in, smiling, her cheeks aglow. “Mr. Garsed, it is so good to see you,” she twittered. “But then you are always good.”
The compliment soothed Theodore somewhat and he answered more mildly than he’d meant to. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“Yes, I did.” Belatedly Mrs. Henderson schooled her face into a troubled expression, but her small dark eyes were as bright as a raven’s. “Some dreadful news has been passed on to me, Mr. Garsed, and I just knew I must bring it to you straightaway. You are always so good in these difficult situations. You always know what to do.”
Theodore wondered what on earth she was talking about. “Dreadful news? I hope your daughter is well, Mrs. Henderson?”
“Yes, oh yes, Laura is perfectly well, sir. No, this isn’t about Laura.”
Theodore swallowed a sigh. “You’d better tell me then, Mrs. Henderson.”
She leaned toward him, and he noticed with unease that her fingers were clenched on her reticule like a bird’s claws on its perch. “My friend Mrs. Brown has been unwell, sir, and because of her ill health her sister, Miss Dorrington, the vicar’s housekeeper, has come to stay with her. Last night Mrs. Brown was particularly unwell, and she slept poorly. Well, as you know, she lives in the house at the far end of the village, and after Miss Dorrington had settled her, she happened to hear a commotion outside, and went to look out of the window.” Mrs. Henderson took a breath. “And when she looked out, what do you think she saw, sir?”
“I have no idea, Mrs. Henderson, please enlighten me.”
“Something most peculiar!”
“Did she indeed?” Theodore did his best to stifle a yawn, hoping she’d get to the point soon.
“Yes, Mr. Garsed, she saw a woman climbing into a coach.”
“What is so peculiar about that, Mrs. Henderson?”
“The coach had been waiting at the side of the road for some time, just sitting there. Eventually two people came out of the park—Castle Lacey’s park—and it was the woman who climbed into the coach before it drove away. Miss Dorrington cannot swear to it, sir, but she is nearly certain the two people she saw were Miss Monteith and Lord Lacey.”
Theodore put down his cup with a clatter. “How—how odd,” he managed. Olivia climbing into a coach in the middle of the night? And he happened to know that Olivia had returned last night from her visit to her friend in London. There was something wrong. He wished Mrs. Henderson would go away so that he could work it out.
“I thought I should bring it straight to you,” Mrs. Henderson said, her beady eyes fixed on his face. “It seemed the sensible thing to do. I know you are a friend of Miss Monteith’s.”
“Yes, it was the sensible thing to do, Mrs. Henderson, thank you. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind keeping this to yourself until I discover the exact circumstances?” And he gave the woman a hard look.
“Of course, Mr. Garsed.” She fluttered her hands. “Although I must say I was surprised to hear of Miss Monteith behaving in such a reckless manner. My own Laura would never—”
“Yes, yes. I would be grateful if you’d tell Miss Dorrington to keep this to herself, too. Just until I discover what it means. I’m sure there must be a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure there must be,” but she wore such a smug expression that Theodore knew she was wishing for the opposite. He could only hope the woman held her tongue long enough for him to discover the facts; he didn’t expect her to keep such a juicy piece of gossip to herself beyond today.
What on earth was Olivia thinking? It must be a misunderstanding. A simple mistake that would be soon sorted out, and then they would all laugh about it.
But as Theodore sat before the remains of his repast, his appetite quite gone, he was unable to decide on any innocent explanations that would account for what he had just heard about his future wife. Despite himself, his thoughts returned to the day he’d left Lord Lacey hurt in the woods, and he remembered how he’d secretly hoped that would be the end of the matter.
If there was something between Olivia and Wicked Nic…would he still want to marry her? Theodore knew that he did. If he saved her from a possible scandal, wouldn’t that make her the more grateful to him? He pictured the tears in her eyes, the trembling smile, as she realized he’d restored her honor. Her cool beauty would crumble in that moment of emotion, and she would weep. And he would be privy to that, he and no one else.
Of course I will marry you, she’d gasp. Oh, Theodore, I’ve always loved you, only I’ve been so blinded by that bad, bad man.
The vision shimmered, and quite suddenly another image replaced it in his head. Olivia in Nic’s arms, the two of them engrossed in each other, totally ignoring Theodore, while he stood alone on a windswept hilltop. Then it began to rain, ruining his neck cloth and his new jacket and his carefully brushed hair.
“Theodore? Whatever is the matter?”
Alphonse was standing before him, his eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw bunching, looking ready to strike down whoever had upset his elder brother.
If Theodore hadn’t been laboring under a severe shock he wouldn’t have said anything, but before he could consider the consequences the whole story came spilling out, tainted with bitterness and his sense of injustice. “It is perhaps unworthy of a man like me, but I find myself wishing that Nic Lacey would have another accident, and that this time he wouldn’t recover from it…”
Alphonse smiled. “Poor Theo,” he said, reaching to help himself to a fig. “Just as well I’m here, eh?”
Chapter 19
At half past ten that same morning Olivia discovered just how serious was her predicament. Miss Dorrington, who was staying with her sister in a cottage at the far end of the village, came to call on her mother, but Olivia thought nothing of it until Estelle sought her out and informed her that the two women had been closeted in the downstairs sitting room for well over the usual half hour, and she was worried.
“You’re worried? But Miss Dorrington is a harmless old gossip.”
“I took their tea in, miss, and Mrs. Monteith was as white as a sheet. I don’t know what that old biddy is saying to her, but it isn’t good.”
“Very well, I’ll go and see for myself. Thank you, Estelle.”
But Olivia had only just reached the landing when the sitting room door opened and her mother, accompanied by her visitor, came out into the hall, their voices too low to be heard. As Olivia des
cended the stairs her mother turned, and Olivia was startled by her bloodless face. Estelle was right, something was very wrong.
Miss Dorrington also turned and looked up at Olivia, and at once her narrow features tightened and she pursed her lips. “Miss Monteith,” she said, as if she begrudged speaking the words. She reached for Mrs. Monteith’s hand. “Good-bye, my dear.” And with the briefest of nods to Olivia, she was gone.
“Mama, what is it?” Olivia cried. “Please, Mama, what is wrong?”
She hadn’t seen her mother look like that in a very long time—not since Sarah died—and it shocked her very much.
“Olivia,” she whispered, then shook her head as if she couldn’t bring herself to speak aloud whatever it was she’d learned from her visitor.
“Mother, that dreadful woman is always gossiping about something or other. You know what she’s like. I can see she’s upset you—”
The door knocker rattled before she could finish.
Mrs. Monteith jumped, eyes wide, and put a hand to her breast as if to keep her heart from escaping. The servant who had only just let Miss Dorrington out, hurried to open the door again.
Theodore Garsed strode into the hall as if he owned it.
“Mrs. Monteith!” he cried, all smiles. “And Miss Monteith! I am doubly blessed.”
Olivia gritted her teeth. His jovial tones were out of place in this emotion-charged moment, but he didn’t seem to notice his hosts were not overjoyed to see him.
“Mr. Garsed, what a pleasant surprise,” Olivia lied politely.
“I thought I would take a stroll in the fresh air. Nothing like a brisk stroll to focus the mind. And I wanted to share my news—my brother, Alphonse, has arrived!”
“Indeed, Mr. Garsed.” Olivia didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; she wished he would leave.
But Theodore had no intention of leaving. He turned to her mother, taking her hand in his own, gazing down into her eyes as if he were a vicar offering comfort to the bereaved. It was very odd, and Olivia didn’t know what to make of it. “Was that Miss Dorrington I saw leaving just now?”