‘Now, of course, Julian will inherit Lucien’s estates. With Max’s guidance we hope he might resist the temptations which were the ruin of his father and grandfather. His father’s weakness was gambling, his grandfather’s was useless causes.’ She gave a bitter laugh, adding, ‘Thank God the estate was entailed so neither Lucien nor his grandfather could gamble that away. Our grandfather sold everything of value he could lay his hands on to raise funds for the failed Jacobite uprising of 1745. Now Max struggles to maintain Elmwood’ – With a sweep of her arm she indicated the house and beautifully manicured gardens, the fields falling away on all sides – ‘while he leases out his own much more humble estate. He needs to make a good match.’
She nodded at Olivia, her smile warm again. ‘I will be up later to help you select your gown. You would look just as well in either colour. Certainly Max will think so. Your unexpected arrival has been a lovely diversion and I hope we shall be friends. Now, please excuse me, I must speak to Cook.’
She didn’t even wait to see how her words registered with Olivia, slipping the basket over her other arm before running lightly up the stairs and through the doors which opened on cue.
Struggling to recover her composure Olivia turned back to the garden. She swept her eyes across the beautifully kept lawns, her vision blurring as she thought of that night a little over two years ago when Lucien had been away hunting and of the terrible storm during which her baby had been delivered.
Dear God, why had she not considered the implications of her actions before she came here? Before she met Max?
‘Ma’am?’ The housemaid’s voice issued down to her. Olivia turned to see that she continued to hold the door open, her expression enquiring.
She dropped her eyes, mumbling, ‘I must have lost my handkerchief during my walk.’
Retracing her footsteps she returned to the bench by the rose arbour. Some minutes later Charlotte appeared at the foot of the hill, taking a seat beneath a poplar tree while the boys played nearby with Max’s King Charles Spaniel, Pansy.
Julian was trying to knot its ears upon its head but it kept rolling over before scampering in circles around the children.
Olivia stared. It was hard to breathe as she watched his innocent play. He was such a delightful child: dark, like Lucien, but eventempered, sunny-natured.
How she longed to have him back, to be his mother once more, and how it tore at her heart to know he would not thank her for wrenching him from his happy home. She could see he thrived.
She blew her nose loudly, remembering the way the boys had laughed and shrieked with delight as Max had played with them yesterday.
She did not see Max until he was nearly upon her.
‘Olivia?’ He seated himself beside her.
She kept her head averted though she did not remove her hand when he took it and rested it on the seat between them. She needed to enjoy his touch a little longer.
There was a pause before he said, ‘Amelia told you about our guest this afternoon.’ It was a statement, not a question.
She nodded. Rather than try to exonerate himself he said, ‘I was looking forward to her visit … until you came along. You have rather complicated matters.’ He gave a rueful laugh, adding hastily, ‘I mean only to the extent that it would have been more fortuitous if I’d met you before Amelia made preparations for Miss Hepworth’s house visit. She returns in a few days for the ball.’
‘Amelia intimated you’ve already fixed your interest with the young lady.’ Olivia stared dully ahead, her hand limp in his, her heart like a stone in her chest. ‘That she comes with a fortune to match her pretty face.’
It did not seem out of place discussing the matter in such bald terms. She and Max had come a long way in a very short time yet she knew Max’s defence made no difference. She had no choice but to leave.
He spoke carefully. ‘It is true I paid her particular attention during the week we were in Bath together. Miss Hepworth’s mother is ambitious for a match between us and Miss Hepworth, herself, appears not to be averse.’ Though Max’s voice was matter-of-fact his expression was worried as he looked at her. He added, ‘I have never spent any time … alone … with Miss Hepworth.’
Olivia felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she brought her head around to face him. ‘Do you think I am a fortune-hunter?’
His laugh seemed to drain the tension from him. To her surprise he hugged her against his side. ‘If that were the case you would have chosen your target more carefully.’
‘Elmwood is a very beautiful property.’
‘My pride and joy, though, as I have told you, a property I only hold in trust.’ He brought his face close to hers. ‘But I bear no resentment at having one day to return to my own lands.’ His grip on her hands tightened. ‘I have thought a great deal lately about finding a wife whose sentiments were in harmony with my own. One who loves Elmwood but who is not so attached she would not be equally content with my smaller, humbler domain.’ He chewed his lip. ‘Or a small, humble farmer whose ambition is simply to breed the best wool in the county.’ Olivia couldn’t let him go on. Not in this direction when her own desires followed his but her guilt tore her asunder. She longed for a quiet life. She yearned for a kind, uncomplicated husband who would love her without making excessive demands, and love her son.
Gently, she withdrew her hand. ‘Amelia tells me your cousin gambled away much of the family fortune and that you need to make a good match to maintain Elmwood, much less your own estate.’
The words tasted like ashes yet she had to draw from Max his feelings on the subject.
Reclaiming her hand, he stroked her palm with his thumb. ‘I know nothing about you or your past, Olivia.’ He looked suddenly boyish, almost shy. ‘I just find you utterly enchanting. If you are about to tell me you learned since nuncheon that you’re about to come into a large fortune, there’s no denying I’d be delighted, for you do realize that I wish to court you.’ He brought her hand up to his lips. ‘The fact that you bring nothing signifies nothing.’
Olivia tugged her hand away. Rising, she looked down at Max.
‘Please, don’t—’
‘Adrian’s a bear and I’m a rabbit—’
Careering up the lawn with his cousins in hot pursuit, Julian threw himself at Max’s feet.
Max held Olivia’s look, then laughing, rose and scooped her son up into the air just as Adrian arrived, roaring at his cousin’s heels.
‘We will talk about this later, Olivia.’ Max reached down to give her shoulder a quick squeeze. The tenderness in his expression made her heart somersault. Lowering his head to her ear while his nephew squirmed under his arm, he said, softly, ‘If you have nothing, Olivia, it stands to reason you need someone to look after you. Might I dare hope you could come to care for me? That you would, at least, permit me to pay you my addresses?’
Slowly, against her best intentions, Olivia nodded. She had always acted upon instinct but how could she tell him the truth? That she would soon be far away and had no intention of receiving his addresses.
The sweetness in his expression made her heart contract until Adrian lunged, tackling his obliging uncle to the ground.
Reaching down to stroke Julian’s curls, Olivia feasted her eyes on him and Max for one long, last look before she turned and walked back to the house.
She was unprepared for the loud and urgent knocking on her bedchamber door before it was thrust open to admit Max. Leaping up from her seat at the dressing table her hand went to her throat.
She had never seen him look like this. For a moment he reminded her of Lucien and she shrank back against the edge of the walnutinlaid table.
‘Is it true?’ His voice was harsh. He strode across the Chinese carpet and gripped her shoulders. The action was forceful, but the surprisingly gentle caress of his hand across her cheek made her close her eyes and lean into him. She felt the steady race of his heartbeat, heard the suppressed emotion in his voice as he rasped, ‘Amelia says you�
�re leaving. Why?’
Olivia winced, stepping back and turning her head so he could not see her own pain and guilt.
‘You know why,’ she whispered. Trying to inject lightness into her tone as she toyed with the silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table, she asked, ‘Did you enjoy your afternoon?’
Olivia had not been present for the tea party. She had pleaded a megrim.
‘Miss Hepworth has returned to her home under no illusions as to how matters stand between us.’
When she did not reply he turned back from his contemplation of the garden. ‘I am not on the look-out for a fortune.’ Closing the distance between them he cupped her cheek and his voice was gentle.
‘It’s you I want.’
She did not move, though she had to steel herself against the tumultuous beating of her heart and the overwhelming urge to raise her face to be kissed.
Exhaling on a sob, she whispered, ‘With the right wife you could achieve all your dreams, Max.’ She had not meant to but need was making her act against her better judgement. Her hand reached up to twine behind his neck. Closing her eyes she ran her fingers over the rough short hair there. It was torture, knowing this would be the last time, but she could not help herself. ‘You have ambitions, you need to make Elmwood prosper. Your agricultural experiments require money. None of that is possible unless you marry well. I am not a good match. I struggle to get by, living in the small cottage my husband left me, and my aunts’ charity.’
She willed him to understand, and to let her go. ‘I have nothing to offer you, Max. When the first flush of euphoria fades you’ll quickly resent me.’
‘So much for your opinion of my constancy,’ he remarked, wryly.
With a sigh, he strode towards the window. Leaning against the sill he twisted his neck to look at her. His eyes were dark with longing. Olivia nearly wept. His feelings accorded so well with hers yet was it not the truth that Max would positively despise her if he ever discovered how she had blighted his life, his prospects? Without even realizing it, she had nipped in the bud every ambition he might ever have harboured.
‘These things will not bring me the happiness you would, Olivia,’ he said simply. When she did not reply he added, frankly, ‘We’ve only just met but I’ve never felt like this.’ He straightened and his hand went to his heart. ‘Can you truly deny what’s here? I can’t, and I won’t let you either, unless you tell me right now I am nothing to you. I’ve never met a woman who makes me feel I can do anything, achieve anything; who makes me feel so alive. I felt it from the start. I knew you were the one for me even before you’d even washed the mud off your face.’
Her laugh was cut short by a sob.
‘I … I feel it too, Max, but I also know my fears are not as groundless as you believe. You’ve never asked about my late husband.’ She took a deep breath. At least here was an opportunity to admit part of the truth.
Max said nothing but his look was of patient enquiry. How different from Lucien whose frustration would only escalate into anger.
Carefully, she put down the brush. ‘We committed a terrible sin for which he never forgave me.’ Yes, her words were registering. His brow was furrowed … but there was no condemnation. She felt a jolt. He looked as if he had already absolved her; as if he could never believe her capable of anything worse than a schoolgirl’s misdemeanour. How unlike Lucien. For a moment she contemplated telling him what really stood between them.
Then she thought of The Rev’d Kirkman and her resolve faltered.
Reverend Kirkman, Lucien’s long time confessor, Olivia’s advocate. The man to whom she owed so much.
He knew too much, too.
And he wanted Olivia. She swallowed painfully … for his wife.
She brushed away a tear. The flame that burned so brightly between her and Max was doomed to flicker and die. At least her part truth now would give her an opportunity to leave with dignity.
‘He was within days of marrying an earl’s daughter. Her dowry was substantial but then … passion banished reason and he eloped … with me.’ Olivia closed her eyes and drew in a rasping breath.
When she opened them again, Max’s look of disdain reminded her so much of Lucien she covered her face with her hands. Except that Max was looking as if her explanation for denying their love was as waterproof as a leaky sieve.
‘So your future husband blamed you for the fact he persuaded you to elope.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Is that why you think there can be nothing between us?’
‘There’s more,’ she whispered.
If only this were the worst of it. If only she had a clean conscience. It was torture standing here before a man worthy of any woman’s affections. Eight years on she could finally trust her feelings, but it was too late. She’d sealed her fate when she’d thrown in her lot with Lucien.
She hung her head as she continued, ‘I had no dowry. Nothing to bring to the marriage. I was an orphan, my father drank himself to death and my mother died when I was very young, leaving her two older sisters to bring me up. I realized, early, that my beauty would have to count for everything.
‘I was seventeen and, despite my poverty, proud and vain. I enticed my husband with everything I had – except the one thing he really wanted: my virtue. When I wouldn’t give him that he married me and, fool that I was, I thought I had won him.’
Desperately she wanted to feel Max’s arms around her, in forgiveness, absolution. But she also knew that was too dangerous. Not when she knew she had to give him up.
Max’s voice made her raise her head. ‘And he spent the next seven years making your life a misery because his brief lust overcame financial considerations. And as I obviously resemble your late husband you clearly think that if you accede to my wants I, too, will spend the rest of my days punishing you when Elmwood needs repairs, or I find myself without the funds to snap up the local borough in order to satisfy my political ambitions.’
Though he managed to inject a touch of humour into his tone, the edge of indignation made Olivia squirm.
Turning towards the looking glass she covered her face with her hands and whispered, ‘Let me go, Max. At least for long enough to prove this is no youthful infatuation.’
He was at her side in an instant, pulling her against him in a fierce embrace. Olivia shuddered at the hard strength of him. Lucien, too, had once had a body of steel.
But there had been no kindness in his heart.
‘Go, then,’ he said, cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him, ‘since it’s so important you prove to yourself you’re no seductive siren enticing me against my better judgement. But promise to return to Elmwood in a month. I already know that my determination to make you my wife will not have changed.’
Her head reeled and she sagged against him. He had let her go. With dignity.
Yet he truly had wanted her for his wife. She nearly wept at the irony.
‘Thank you, Max,’ she whispered, relief making her light-headed.
He held her upright, his hands straying over her body, stroking her back, twining in her hair.
‘There’s just one thing more,’ she whispered. Her mouth was dry. It was pure stupidity yet she couldn’t help herself: she had always been a slave to her body. ‘Kiss me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘YOU HAVE BEEN punished enough, Olivia.’
With characteristic precision The Rev’d Kirkman replaced the fine, bone-china tea cup upon its saucer. Mesmerized, Olivia watched as he rearranged it until the handle was at perfect right angles to himself.
Then he looked at her, smiling. Expectant. He knew she was well aware of what this portentous meeting was intended to produce.
Aunt Catherine knew, too, and had been an eager conspirator, ensuring his favourite cake presided over the beautifully set table in the summerhouse. She’d fussed over Olivia like a mother hen that morning, producing what she considered the most appropriate gown for receiving a man who, nevertheless, had been a constant
visitor for the past year.
The reverend leaned back, his gaze raking Olivia’s dark-blue gown with its high-necked lace collar and demure cut. He nodded, approvingly. ‘I had wondered what you might choose to replace mourning clothes.’
Olivia felt her face burn. ‘You surely could not suppose I’d wear anything from’ – she lowered her gaze – ‘before.’ He knew she had little enough money to keep up with current trends.
‘Those days are behind you, Olivia.’ He spoke briskly. ‘Today marks a new chapter. Having made a careful study of Mr Atherton’s character, I want to tell you that I have composed a letter that will, I trust, find its mark. Mr Atherton is a man of high moral integrity. He served with great distinction on the Peninsula and has lived an exemplary life since returning to manage Lucien’s estates. Lucien’s low way of life, I’ve heard tell, caused him great disgust, although I believe at one time the cousins were often together in Town.’
He was paving the way towards his proposal as Olivia had imagined he would, yet direct mention of Max, especially his upstanding character, made her wince. Mistaking the source of her longing, her despair, he said, ‘You will, of course, recall the terms in which Lucien couched his wishes with regard to Julian.’
How could she forget? Julian was to remain under the guardianship of his uncle until Lady Farquhar could convince Max Atherton she was ready to acquiesce to a rigorous code of moral conduct devised by a husband of exemplary moral character. A pillar of the church who would wash away her sins.
He gave her a few moments. To squirm? Or as final reflection that Nathaniel Kirkman was just that man?
‘My dear.’ He extended his hand across the table and obediently she placed hers within it. ‘The time has come to put an end to your suffering. You know I can return Julian to you, and you know, also, that the strength of my feelings overcomes any aversion to your’ – he drew out the pause – ‘shame.’
Olivia closed her eyes and shuddered. To what was he referring? The countless humiliations to which Lucien had subjected her, or…? Her throat went dry as she forced her brain to revisit the past. Not for the first time doubt tormented her. Could he suspect, or even know, the truth of Julian’s parentage?
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