Besides which, wrongs were always righted, and misdeeds were suitably punished, which left her with a satisfied feeling after reading them. Not like in real life, where rights were often left unrighted, and people kept suffering.
But at least, she thought as she glanced into the basket, these four kittens wouldn’t suffer any longer. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Which she did.
“Did you pay no attention at all?” Bennett asked as he glared at Edward.
Edward couldn’t help but smirk at his friend. Bennett was so outraged, as vehement as he was on the Parliamentary floor.
“You’re asking if I paid attention during dancing lessons,” Edward said, emphasizing the last two words to show his disdain.
Bennett flung his hands up, hands that had been trying to put Edward into the correct position for the waltz just a few moments ago.
“Yes. You do know that polite society deems it important to dance, don’t you?”
“Ah, and that’s the problem.” Edward bent into a deep bow, spreading his arms wide. “Have you been introduced to Mr. Edward Wolcott, the most notable bastard of your acquaintance?”
Bennett rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to constantly rub the fact into everyone’s faces all the time, you know.”
Oh, but I do, Edward thought. Because if I don’t make reference to it, remove the sting of its mention from anyone who might say something, they will think they’ve hurt me when they mention my dubious parentage.
But he didn’t tell his friend that. Bennett knew precisely why Edward did what he did; he just didn’t understand how much it did hurt. The sidelong glances that had supplanted the outright fights his schoolmates had baited him into. Fights that Edward took pride in winning, even though winning meant he was called to the headmaster’s office after each fracas.
Which is where he had met Bennett, and Bennett had stuck with Edward ever since, no matter how many times Edward pointed out that the son of a marquis should not be friends with the bastard son of a financier.
Which led him to now, and the dancing that Edward was making a mess of.
“Why can’t I just speak with people about horses and hunting and the things I actually like to do rather than dance or make irritatingly banal conversation?”
Bennett did not deign to reply, instead holding his arms out. “Let’s try this again. I cannot believe that someone so athletic can be so terrible a dancer.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Edward grumbled. Mostly because he’d concentrated on athletics as a way to circumvent the cruel talk; he figured if he was stronger than any of his potential tormentors he could keep their comments at bay with the very real possibility of physical violence. And his strategy had worked; very few men dared to mention anything now, not after appraising Edward’s physique.
“I do know,” Bennett said as he adjusted Edward’s hands, nudging his feet into the right place and heaving several exasperated sighs, “that you loathe dancing. I am well aware, nearly as much as you, of how much you hate all this rigmarole. But I also know you have to do it. You told me what your father said.”
Edward felt his chest tighten at the mention of his father. Mr. Beechcroft. The man who, inexplicably, had loved and raised him as well as if he had been legitimately born. The man who wanted nothing more than to see his son take a position in society, a position that he himself could never take, thanks to his merchant upbringing. Edward wished it was enough that he had learned the business, and enjoyed doing it. His father wanted more for him though.
“Fine,” he replied in a grouchy tone.
“And if you cannot bear it for another moment, there is usually an unused library or another type of room where you can go to escape for a bit.”
Edward made a harrumphing noise indicating his thoughts on that idea. Running away from a problem was not his way; he usually did the opposite, running headlong toward it without considering the consequences.
Bennett, who was accustomed to Edward’s grumpiness, ignored his friend, instead instructing him on how to count out the rhythm of the waltz.
If only Bennett could teach him how not to see mockery in everyone’s faces when he attended his first society function.
But that would be even more difficult than his mastering the waltz. And he was currently smashing all ten of Bennett’s toes.
“Oh, how delightful!”
Olivia spoke to herself, since Pearl had disappeared in search of some refreshment, leaving Olivia to the side of the ballroom. Their mother was fanning herself in the chaperones’ corner, talking nonstop as was her usual habit. Olivia and her sisters had gotten to the point where they were able to communicate with one another through hand gestures so they knew what topic their mother was discussing without having to listen.
Olivia’s dance partner, a slight gentleman who had stepped on her feet at least six times, had made his bows and departed as soon as the music had stopped.
Was it, she wondered, because she had taken the opportunity to remind Lord Frederick of the essential steps of the dance they were engaged in? But surely he would welcome a gentle reminder of how he was supposed to move?
That settled, she glanced around the room, her gaze searching for Bennett.
The party was at the Estabrooks’ house, and she knew—because of course she followed his career avidly—that Bennett was hoping that Lord Estabrook would lend his support to one of Bennett’s ongoing projects.
She hadn’t followed closely enough to know just what he was hoping to accomplish. When she was his wife, she would of course be conversant with the issues that occupied his time. But until then, she had to admit that reading all the arguments for and against a concern made her eyes wander.
But being Lady Carson would make her into the type of person who would be engaged and fascinated by the things that made her yawn now.
She wrinkled her nose as she spotted Bennett at the edge of the dance floor speaking with Lady Cecilia, a girl Olivia knew of but had never met.
Bennett looked bored, although her conscience forced her to acknowledge that it was difficult to see his expression from this far away. But he had to be bored speaking with Lady Cecilia—Lady Cecilia was a debutante fresh from the schoolroom, and Bennett was a man, accustomed to matters of great importance, not where a gown was coming from or how many invitations one had received.
That type of flighty girl had been Olivia not so long ago, even though it felt like a lifetime. No wonder Bennett had always regarded her as though he were mildly amused by her. It was time for him to see her as she truly was.
Tonight.
Thus decided, she began the slow walk to where Bennett stood, skirting the edge of the room and smiling politely at the guests who nodded at her.
It wasn’t entirely proper for her to approach him, but she knew that once he heard what she had to say he would forgive her. More than that, he would agree to what she asked him, and neither one of them would have to spend any more conversation with people who bored them. Who didn’t share the same passionate interests in righting wrongs and justice and change that they did.
“Lord Carson?” she said as she joined Bennett and Lady Cecilia, the latter of whom raised her tiny, perfect nose at Olivia’s intrusion. “Might I beg a private word with you?”
Bennett glanced from one lady to another, his brow furrowed, but after a moment he nodded. “Of course, my lady,” he said. He bowed to Lady Cecilia. “You’ll forgive me? Lady Olivia is my sister-in-law’s younger sister, nearly family.”
Lady Cecilia shot a glare at Olivia, but her mouth curved into a sweet smile as she looked at Bennett. “Of course, my lord.” A pause, then Lady Cecilia spoke again. “When you are finished with familial concerns, I would like to ask your opinion on a few things.”
Olivia nearly emitted a noise that would have indicated what she thought, but that wouldn’t be fitting for the adult young lady she was now.
So she just returned Lady Cecilia’s smile an
d took Bennett’s arm, allowing him to lead her into one of the rooms adjacent to the ballroom.
“Mr. . . . Wolcott?” the lady said, her pause between the “mister” and the “Wolcott” an indication she knew precisely who he was. Especially since one of Bennett’s friends, a Lord Something-or-Other, had just introduced them.
Bennett’s friend glanced from Edward to the Pausing Lady, his look one of confusion. Edward appreciated that Bennett didn’t gossip about him, but giving this friend of his some word about why not everyone would want to meet Edward would not go amiss.
But that was Bennett. Seeing the good in everybody, and not recognizing that some people reveled in ignorance. Only one of the reasons Edward was grateful he was the one born a bastard, and not Eternally Optimistic Bennett.
“Yes.” Edward accompanied his reply with a bow. “I have just arrived in London, and my friend Lord Carson invited me to this function.” He might as well get the explanation over with, given that she was likely about to question him about just how he happened to be here with the likes of her.
“Ah,” she replied, visibly softening. Bennett had that effect on people.
Edward did not.
“And how do you happen to be here?” Edward asked, making Bennett’s friend’s face turn white and the lady gasp in outrage.
Damn. And he’d been doing so well. For at least fifteen seconds or so.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he continued without waiting for her to speak, bowing again and turning on his heel in search of one of those vaunted private rooms Bennett had promised. Anything but being open and exposed out here, like a frightened fox being stampeded by vicious dogs.
He had to admit to having far more sympathy for the animals he hunted right now. And also understood why they turned around and snarled rather than succumbing to the attack.
But he couldn’t snarl. He had to escape.
“Is Lady Eleanor all right? I know that Alexander was worried she was doing so much, what with the”—and then Bennett hesitated.
“Baby coming?” Olivia allowed herself the luxury of rolling her eyes at him. “Honestly, it is not as though we all don’t know what is happening.”
Bennett uttered a sort of strangled noise in his throat, then took a deep breath. “Yes, the baby.”
“Everything is fine.” She swept ahead of him and pushed a door open, one that was in one of the far corners of the ballroom. She glanced behind to see that Lady Cecilia had already found some other gentleman to converse with—so much for perseverance, she thought, wanting to toss her head in triumph, then gestured for him to precede her. “Go in. I want to speak to you.”
Now that it was the moment she’d been thinking about for so long, she had to admit to feeling nervous. Not that he wouldn’t agree, because of course he would, it was the right thing to do, plus she knew how he felt about her, even if he didn’t. It was that this meant that her whole life was about to change; she would be Lady Carson. She would finally be able to do all the things she wanted, no needed, to do.
And she would spend the rest of her life with him.
Just thinking about it made her calmer.
She closed the door behind them, leaning against it with her arms behind her back.
He raised an eyebrow at her action, but didn’t say anything. Wise man. Already knowing she had all the answers.
“What is it, Olivia?” he spoke brusquely. “It is not proper for us to be privately together, even if we are considered family.” Perhaps he was so swept away with his feelings, feelings he hadn’t acknowledged before, that he couldn’t speak properly?
She didn’t reply at first, just walked toward him and put her finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said, when he appeared to be about to open his mouth. “The thing is, I have something to say, and I want to say it without interruption.”
He looked as though he wanted to argue, but instead he gave a brief nod. She withdrew her finger from his mouth, and took a deep breath.
“You and I met when I was just—what, fifteen years old?” She walked past him and put her hand on the back of one of the chairs in the room. She took a moment to look around at where they were—some sort of sitting room, it appeared, since there were small tables and chairs scattered about, with one sofa facing a fireplace, though there was no fire blazing at the moment. A good thing, since she already felt quite warm. Likely due to Bennett’s presence and what was about to happen.
“And I know at the time you saw me as someone still in the schoolroom,” she continued, continuing to pace around the room, forcing herself not to look at him because she was concerned she would forget everything she wanted to say because of all the love she had oozing through every pore. Or something.
“But I am, if you have not noticed, a woman now.” And she returned to stand in front of him, forcing herself to breathe naturally, looking him in the eyes.
His gaze appeared startled, and she wanted to reassure him that it would all be fine; they would sort things out and they could have their respective futures settled. Together.
But first she had to tell him how she felt.
“When I was younger, I said and did many things I am embarrassed about now,” she began. “I didn’t realize there was more to life than wondering what party you’d be able to attend next. When I first met you, I couldn’t even attend any parties because Eleanor wasn’t married yet.” She cringed to recall how selfish she had been. But she wouldn’t say all that to him—she wanted him to maintain his good opinion of her, after all. “And now that I have had the opportunity to be out in the world, I know that there are things I wish to change.” And not just things like allowing ladies to waltz all the time, if they wanted to, although that would be lovely. She meant things like making sure all people had enough to eat, and that children be given an education, and that there should never be the possibility of an animal suffering because of human neglect or irresponsibility or even willful action.
“Those are excellent sentiments,” Bennett said.
She beamed at him, glad they were in accord. “I know you feel the same way I do. I have followed your efforts in Parliament”—albeit not that closely—and then she paused, taking a deep breath before adding, “. . . Bennett.”
His eyes widened at that, and he blinked a few times. Overcome by his emotions? She smiled reassuringly. “We feel the same way about so many things.” She put her hand on his sleeve. His gaze went to where her hand lay, and she wished she was daring enough to run the fingers of her other hand through his hair. She wasn’t, not yet. Perhaps later, after everything was settled. “And since we are of such the same mind, I know that it only makes sense for us to get married. So we can finally be together.” She exhaled. “There. I’ve finally said it.” And she tilted her face up so he could kiss her.
And edged forward, since it seemed that he wasn’t going to. Perhaps he was unsure if a kiss would be welcome? She should let him know it would be perfectly welcome.
“You may kiss me, if you like. Since we are now betrothed.”
He still did not kiss her, and she felt a pang of regret. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back so that even if she wished to initiate a kiss, she couldn’t. He was too tall, and now his mouth was too far away from hers.
A slow uncomfortable feeling began to unravel inside her, and she felt her breath hitch.
“I am aware of the great honor you do me, Lady Olivia,” he said, his eyes still closed. Then he opened them, and she wanted to leap back at what she saw in his gaze. Was it possible he did not love her? “But I do not regard you in that way, and I think it best if we forget this conversation ever happened.”
Olivia froze for a moment as she absorbed the words. And then felt her face blaze as fiercely as any fire she’d ever encountered. “You do not regard me in that way?” she repeated, hearing the words fall out of her mouth even though she didn’t think she could speak. “You’re saying you are not in love with me?” She snatched her hand off his sleeve and
dropped it behind her back, her fingers wiggling in the air as though trying to find purchase. Because it felt as though she were falling off a very high cliff. “Not in love with me?” she said again, wishing he would step forward and take her in his arms and say it was all a mistake, he was testing her, but knowing that the likelihood of that happening was slim.
“Oh,” she said in a soft voice, looking anywhere but at him. Something caught her eye and she walked forward, past him, to snatch it up from the small table. It was a dome encasing a small yellow flower, one of those ornamental things everybody had as part of their everyday clutter.
It would suit her purposes well.
She raised it over her head, all of her pent-up emotion channeling itself through her upraised arm, flinging it toward the opposite wall, not close enough to possibly hit him, but startling nonetheless.
The object shattered into pieces, the noise of the impact the only sound in the room. It wasn’t loud enough to cause anyone to notice, not with the band continuing to play in the ballroom as though hearts weren’t currently being broken.
“Olivia, you should consider,” he began, but she shook her head before he could get more words out.
“Get out.” She spoke in a low tone, because if she raised her voice she would scream, and she couldn’t cause that kind of scene, not with being one of the duke’s daughters already with a penchant for causing trouble. Not to mention it would be horribly embarrassing—“Yes, Lady Olivia was proposing to me, and I was rejecting her, and then she threw a decorative object at my head.” If he said anything about it at all, which she knew, as a gentleman, he would not.
“Get out,” she repeated in a stronger voice this time.
Something in her expression must have told him not to press the issue, because he shook his head and walked past her and back out into the ballroom, closing the door behind her.
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