Olivia refused to be drawn. ‘Lucy’s good sense will tip the balance,’ she hedged. She wanted no more part in this conversation. ‘What more can I do? Besides, you know Lucy better than I.’
‘I fear an elopement is in the cards.’ Taking Olivia’s elbow, Mariah drew her into the crowd so they would attract less attention. ‘Her aunt Scrivener was here yesterday,’ she said, ‘roundly haranguing her for every sin in the book: loucheness, frivolity, obstinacy. Just the thing to whip up true rebellion in Lucy’s heart.’
Stopping on the edge of the dance floor, Olivia followed her gaze.
She wondered if she had looked that young, like Lucy, barely out of the schoolroom, eyes bright with infatuation as she clung to Mr Petersham’s arm.
‘It’s clear she admires you enormously.’ Mariah broke into Olivia’s reverie, cool green eyes watching her intently.
In a low voice Olivia defended herself. ‘I have counselled Lucy against following my deplorable example.’
‘You cannot turn back the clock, Olivia.’ There was an edge to Mariah’s tone, a hardening of her gaze. ‘You can’t and my Lucy can’t.’ Olivia closed her eyes briefly and a tremor ran through her. Mariah spoke the truth.
Struggling to maintain her composure she replied in measured tones, ‘What is done cannot be undone. But Lucy’s behaviour cannot be put at my door.’
Mariah grew angry. ‘Look at you, Olivia. You are magnificent in any sense of the word. No wonder Lucy holds you up as her model. She cannot see how you have suffered, for Lord knows I have heard it from your aunts. You do not need to pretend for me.’ She put her hand to her pearl choker. ‘To the ordinary eye you appear quite unscathed. You have a title, beautiful clothes, the freedom to move about at will—’
Olivia gaped. Is this how she appeared? With not a feather to fly with, her few clothes had been so mended and stitched to keep up with current fashions she had wondered if she would be mistaken for a lowly companion or chaperon fallen on hard times.
Apparently not.
‘But Cousin Mariah, I have said everything in my power to deflect Lucy from following an undesirable course.’ She was shaking. ‘I flirted shamelessly with Mr Petersham earlier this evening and Lucy thought I did it merely to avert your scrutiny.’
‘You can do more.’
Olivia had only heard such stentorian tones from Aunt Eunice.
‘Really, I don’t know what—’
Mariah sent her another kindling look.
‘You have not even begun to utilize your powers of attraction, Olivia, to prove to Lucy that Mr Petersham is as fickle as we’ve all been at such pains to tell her he is.’ Realizing that the strength of her grip had made marks, Cousin Mariah caressed the bruised white flesh of Olivia’s arm above the glove. Her smile was brittle. ‘If you believe in honour and atonement, Cousin Olivia, there is something I would ask of you.’
Miserably, Olivia stood by her aunts, her pleasure in the evening’s gaiety entirely evaporated.
She didn’t have to do this, she told herself. The day Lucien died was the day she should have been able to stop acting against her better judgement.
She managed a smile at some inanity Aunt Catherine directed towards her before the aunts resumed their animated conversation with an old acquaintance.
She had only just freed herself of Nathaniel’s yoke. He’d used blackmail to bend her to his will, but she’d proved herself stronger than that. Now Mariah was appealing to Olivia’s nobler instincts, pressuring her to perform an act of charity designed to save her impetuous young daughter from falling into the same trap that had all but ruined Olivia’s life.
Swamped by her own helplessness, Olivia plucked at the embroidered silk of her reticule and tried to draw strength from the fortune it contained. What should she do?
Mariah’s eyes were upon her. At her side, Lucy, pink-cheeked and radiant was gushing, ‘Cousin Olivia! Mr Petersham has asked me to stand up with him twice already!’
With a smile for Lucy and ignoring Mariah, Olivia pretended to turn her attention to her aunts’ conversation.
Her limbs felt heavy but she would do it. She had no choice if her conscience was to be clear. A clandestine kiss in a dark corner observed by Lucy was all that was required. How many men had kissed her when Lucien had been alive?
Revulsion soured her mood further while the memory of her seven long years as Lucien’s wife galvanized her courage. If she refused Mariah’s request and Lucy eloped with Mr Petersham, Lucy would be ruined and Olivia would be culpable, in part, through her inaction.
That was how Mariah regarded the matter.
Fingering the key at her neck a burst of excitement outweighed her present trials.
Elmwood. Elmwood was only two hours away.
Surely Max would still want her when she was returning more than she had taken away? Surely tomorrow’s reunion would compensate for tonight’s trials?
As she scrutinized her reflection in the empty ladies’ withdrawing room a little later, she bolstered her flagging confidence with the thought of seeing Max again.
Satisfied by what she saw, she stepped back, smoothing the unaccustomed full skirts of her scandalous costume. Her eyes were bright and her skin still lustrous with none of the blemishes of age one might expect in a woman beyond her first flush of youth. She tilted her chin and fluttered her lashes. Her eyes flashed an invitation.
Tomorrow she could be herself, but tonight she had one final duty to fulfil: hoisting Mr Petersham by his own petard. A duty Cousin Mariah believed would change her daughter’s life.
‘Cousin Olivia?’
Mariah’s voice floated from the passage and Olivia felt cold dread fingering her entrails. She was waiting for her, the noise of the ball filtering through the door at the end. With heavy heart Olivia turned to answer her summons.
‘You will not fail me?’ Cousin Mariah’s mouth was a thin line as she drew Olivia back into the throng. ‘In less than three years Lucy will have her entire fortune at her disposal.’
‘Rest assured, Cousin Mariah,’ she said wearily, ‘that I shall persuade Mr Petersham three years is too long to wait when other rewards might be forthcoming faster.’
Mariah’s green eyes flashed their gratitude. With a faint smile she laid her hand upon Olivia’s arm. ‘Deliverance and atonement, my dear,’ she said, giving her wrist a squeeze before she left her.
Immediately Olivia was struck by the fear that Mr Petersham would fail her. Was she not too confident in her powers of attraction? This reservation was swept away as warm breath tickled her ear and Mr Petersham’s voice, low and suggestive, asked, ‘How many gentlemen have told you you’re far and away the most beautiful woman in the room?’
‘Too many to count, Mr Petersham.’
He grinned as they stood for the moment, alone, in an uncrowded corner of the ballroom.
‘Your dry humour, Lady Farquhar, sits better with me than the endless chatter of a besotted schoolroom miss.’
Slanting an amused look at him beneath her lashes, Olivia remarked, ‘I thought what a handsome couple you made when you addressed Lucy tonight. I hope you will not break her heart.’
Mr Petersham gave a short laugh. ‘You have not a reputation for being tender-hearted. Besides, Lucy is a willing participant in the marriage mart. I am curious as to your participation,’ he went on, caging her hand upon his arm as they made a leisurely progress. ‘A widow surely grows bored and lonely in time.’
‘I have too handsome a fortune to grow bored and I can assure you, Mr Petersham, I am never lonely.’
She said the lie as a challenge; recognized that he interpreted the subtext that she made herself available for dalliance on occasion.
And that right now she was contemplating him.
‘You are a remarkable woman, Lady Farquhar,’ he murmured, drawing her towards the dance floor. ‘Very different from your cousin, Lucy, who I fear would make a dull bedfellow. Come! A quadrille?’
She could not deny
the intoxication she felt as she preformed her moves though she wished Mr Petersham were not holding her so tightly.
Elation filled her. Dancing made her feel alive. She must put aside the horror of what Mariah required her to do. She was on a mission to save Lucy. A mere kiss when she had been forced to do so much worse in her life? It was nothing.
Dear God, rein in your temper, or you’ll snap the stem of your champagne flute, Max exhorted himself as he gazed at the couple upon whom surely all eyes were fixed. By the saints in Heaven, she was dazzling. No wonder Lucien had needed to possess her. For this was the Olivia who had set his dissolute cousin’s pulses racing. Not the demure, grieving widow she’d pretended to be when she’d made his acquaintance. Not the sincere, responsive damsel in distress who had avowed her love for him. The trouble was, Max was as susceptible to Olivia the dazzling beauty as he was to the maligned widow and damsel in distress.
He swallowed, uncomfortably conscious of his desire as he surreptitiously stared over Miss Hepworth’s shoulder while trying to concentrate on the young lady’s chatter about her pony.
Olivia fanned herself and whispered something in the ear of her handsome companion.
He had been on the verge of approaching her, bursting with expectation earlier this evening when his sister had thrust Miss Hepworth upon him.
Somehow a dance had been promised which had been followed by more conversation; it had seemed an eternity before he caught sight once more amidst the several hundred guests of the one woman who could stir his senses.
She was certainly stirring them right now. Breathless hope and anticipation had been replaced by white-hot anger as he observed the flirtation in her manner; the sly, colluding glance she slanted up at her companion beneath thick dark lashes.
What was she playing at?
Olivia’s betrothed was tucked up in bed at the Duck on Puddle two miles away. Her behaviour made no sense. This was the false persona Olivia had decried; the coquette Lucien had forced her to be for his entertainment. Her humiliations had torn Max’s heart in two yet here she was, behaving just as one would expect the notorious, brazen Lady Farquhar to behave – if one didn’t believe her version of the truth.
‘But I had to stop giving Misty apples because they gave him colic. And as a carrot isn’t nearly such a tasty treat, Mr Atherton, what do you think I should give him, instead?’
He jerked his attention back to Miss Hepworth’s earnest, pretty face. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘What do you think would be a nice tasty treat?’
He nearly answered that all he could think about were devouring Lady Farquhar’s luscious lips after he’d ripped her from the arms of her patently unworthy companion; that certainly fell under the heading of ‘tasty treat’; when Miss Hepworth was joined by a companion.
‘Look at them!’ He recognized the young girl having seen her earlier with Olivia’s aunts. In her distress she did not acknowledge him, clutching Miss Hepworth by the wrist and pointing to Olivia and her companion.
‘Cecily! You must come! I trusted her, but she has betrayed me!’ Miss Hepworth turned to hush the girl, blushing as she slanted a look in Max’s direction before introducing her distraught, chestnut haired friend.
‘Miss Lucy Snelling and I attended Miss Pinkerton’s Seminary for Young Ladies in Highgate,’ explained Miss Hepworth.
Max regulated his breathing as he listened to her soothe her friend’s injured sensibilities before sending her off in the direction of her mama.
Turning back to Max she coloured prettily as she murmured, ‘Mr Petersham has paid particular attention to Lucy during the past fortnight, however the arrival of her cousin, Lady Farquhar, appears to have set the cat among the pigeons.’
He should be admiring Miss Hepworth for her uncommon good sense. She would make an excellent wife. Every encounter with her merely reinforced this.
Unable to hide the thunder in his eye, he glowered at Olivia and her companion. ‘Hardly surprising,’ he muttered. He could taste the bile on his tongue. ‘I am quite well acquainted with Lady Farquhar.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘PERHAPS, LADY FARQUHAR,’ murmured Mr Petersham, ‘you’d care to admire the Roman busts Lord Glenton has displayed in the long gallery?’
Olivia was conscious of her fading bravado, felt it wilt her smile, felt the insidious progression of cowardice wrap itself around her vital organs.
She nearly said she would like nothing less, but how could she when Cousin Mariah was depending upon her?
As was Lucy.
She’d seen Lucy’s eyes upon them several times this evening: luminous and uncertain, her smile so eager to please when Mr Petersham addressed her. He’d danced with Lucy to keep up appearances, but he’d done nothing but mock the girl to Olivia.
‘She’ll look just like her mother when she’s forty.’
‘Mariah is very well looking, if a trifle stout. And she’s ten years older than forty.’
‘My point exactly,’ he’d said, stroking her cheek as the dance dissolved. ‘Whereas look at you. Your dewy looks belie your experience.’
Had he thought she’d take it as a compliment and smile?
Certainly she smiled. It was expected, and she’d always done what the occasion demanded. What Lucien demanded.
But fear and trepidation gripped her. Oh! For this evening to be over! She wanted to be in her carriage on her way to Elmwood. She wanted to be telling Max that she had found his family’s fortune and beg him to forgive her the deception that had brought about this impasse.
Girding her courage she said, ‘You have a honeyed tongue, Mr Petersham,’ taking his arm so he could lead her back to her aunts.
His eyes twinkled. She recognized his lust. It left her cold. Caressing her hand, he murmured as they turned their footsteps towards Lucy who stood, lost and lonely in the centre of the room, ‘I hope I may have an opportunity to prove to you just how accurate your words are. Perhaps in the gallery in ten minutes?’
The gallery in ten minutes. The thought made her ill with fear. She met his eye. Slowly, she inclined her head.
After greeting Lucy with fulsome compliments Mr Petersham departed to procure refreshments. Lucy, quiet and uncommunicative beside her, fidgeted, while Olivia, conscious of her cousin’s confusion, tried not to feel so traitorous.
‘Perhaps tomorrow we can take a country ramble, Lucy?’ she suggested. ‘The weather looks set to be fair.’
Lucy jumped. ‘Tomorrow?’ Biting her lip she added, ‘Yes, certainly.’ Olivia slid her eyes across to her discomposed cousin. So Mr Petersham’s honeyed inducements had carried more weight than Olivia’s cautions, she thought. And tomorrow was to be the day.
It was enough to banish the reluctance she felt at her part in Mariah’s plan. Wouldn’t any mother do all she could to ensure her daughter’s happiness was not blighted by a misalliance with a fortunehunter? Olivia’s credentials equipped her perfectly for the part; she knew it, but how she railed against what her experience had cost her.
‘You seem much taken with Mr Petersham, but I hope you have taken my cautions to heart.’
Lucy’s pale skin took on a fiery hue as she struggled for a guileless smile. She looked too young for this sophisticated throng. ‘He has been very civil to me.’
‘Civil?’ Olivia smiled, as she took Lucy’s arm and began a leisurely stroll amongst the knots of exquisitely attired revellers. ‘He is handsome but he is penniless, though I’m sure he thinks the title he one day inherits is compensation enough. Certainly he is charming, but I know his type.’
‘Then why do you enjoy his company so greatly?’ Lucy looked immediately embarrassed that she’d snapped out the words, and dropped her eyes from Olivia’s face to gaze once more about her. Olivia saw her lip tremble.
‘I enjoy testing my theories.’ Olivia patted her forearm and lowered her voice. She hoped Lucy would take heed of her sober tone. ‘I eloped when I was seventeen, Lucy. About your age. It was an act of n
aïve impulsiveness which I regretted every day of my marriage. I still regret it. I would hate you to make the same mistake for Mr Petersham reminds me very much of my late husband.’
‘You know nothing about him!’ Lucy ground out, her eyes glistening as she glared at Olivia. ‘Why, Mr Petersham, thank you,’ she added, with an unsteady smile as she accepted the glass of orgeat he handed her. Wiping her eyes she said in answer to his concern, ‘Cousin Olivia’s feather has just poked me. Otherwise, I’m perfectly well, thank you.’
‘How careless of me,’ Olivia apologized, skimming the length of the plume with her fingers as she slanted a knowing look up at him. She turned to Lucy, stifling her frustration at the girl’s refusal to see sense; her fear at what she had agreed to do to ensure she learned her lesson.
‘When you’re my age, you can add to your consequence with such fripperies and be just as thoughtless of those around you.’
The words belonged to a woman with no feeling, no conscience.
Had she ever been a woman like that?
She tried to remember what she’d been like as a seventeen year old. Thoughtless? Self-absorbed? Heartless?
Disgusted, she forced a smile for Cousin Mariah and her aunts who had just joined them.
Like an excited child Aunt Catherine was enquiring of Lucy whether she was enjoying herself.
Olivia put her lips to Cousin Mariah’s ear. ‘The gallery in ten minutes,’ she whispered.
*
When all things were considered, Miss Hepworth had the most charming little nose and a rosebud pair of lips, Max decided, grimly, as he led her in the stately steps of their dance. When he clasped her hands to dance down the centre of the room she gave a little gasp of excitement and her hazel eyes lit up. They were shining at him now as if he were the handsomest, most desirable man in the room.
Foolishly, he had imagined it was how Olivia thought of him. That his feelings were reciprocated with the same intense sincerity.
Now that his shoes had been filled, if only for this evening, it was some consolation to feel Miss Hepworth, with her great fortune, considered him a desirable catch.
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