Miss Goldsleigh's Secret

by Amylynn Bright

  “I hardly feel like I’m worthy of your good faith. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you or Lord Dalton for all you’ve done. I have tried to assure your son that I intend to account for every farthing.”

  Lady Vivienne squeezed her hand. “I don’t expect my daughter-in-law to repay anything, and I don’t believe Henry expects his marchioness to repay him either.”

  “You still expect Henry to go through with this?” Olivia’s eyes grew in disbelief.

  “Certainly.” Vivienne nodded with assurance. “You did not?”

  “I’ve met the kind of lady you expected your son to marry.” Olivia thought of his ex-fiancée the beautiful, sophisticated Lady Francesca, and knew she could never compare to the perfection of the other woman. “I have no intention of insisting Lord Dalton carry on this charade. I told him as much.”

  “I see.” Lady Vivian was cryptic in her tone and expression. “What did Henry have to say to that?”

  Olivia shifted in her seat to turn more decisively towards the marchioness. “He refuses to listen to reason. I hope you’ll be able to make him see the folly of even considering an alliance with me. I have a plan for a way out.”

  Lady Vivian’s expression was indecipherable. “Why don’t you go ahead and divulge this plan.”

  Olivia took back her hand and placed it in her lap where she fiddled with her dress. “I will have to go if I can ever hope my cousin will leave your family alone. I don’t think he’ll continue to plague you if I’ve disappeared.” Lady Vivienne didn’t add any remarks, so Olivia plodded on. “Before I came to stay here, I was trying to save enough funds to book passage to America, but the ticket’s very expensive. Maybe if I could get to France, I could lose myself on the Continent.” Lady Vivienne raised an eyebrow, but once again didn’t utter a word. Olivia lowered her gaze to stare at her hands in her lap. The admission she needed to make now was beyond embarrassing. “I don’t have the funds to purchase the ticket.”

  “Ahhh, I see.” Lady Vivian nodded.

  The next admission was harder. “I am afraid to make Warren travel with his broken arm.”

  “And you’d like to leave him here. With us.”

  Olivia couldn’t answer. She tried to control the sob that bubbled up from her chest and settled in her throat, but it escaped in a pathetic, gasping breath. She swiped the tears from her cheeks, angry with herself that she couldn’t keep control of her emotions.

  “I suspect your brother won’t like being left behind.”

  Olivia opened her mouth and shut it again. She closed her eyes and willed a calming breath. “No, I’m sure he won’t. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think his health must take precedence no matter how much it hurts.”

  “Who are you afraid of hurting? Who do you fear will suffer the most, you or Warren?” Lady Vivienne asked, her expression still inscrutable.

  Olivia’s tears flowed more freely at the painful thought of leaving her brother behind and venturing out into the world completely alone. Granted, Warren was a child, but he was company, and she loved him immeasurably.

  Olivia wiped the tears from her cheeks with a determined swipe of the heel of her hand. “Warren will be angry, but he’ll come to see the wisdom in my leaving.”

  “But I don’t know that I will,” Vivienne told her. “Honestly, I can’t see any wisdom at all in sending you out into the world by yourself and penniless. In fact, that sounds like the height of stupidity. If my son even gave an ounce of thought to your plan, I’d cuff his ears, marquess or no. He gave his word in a ballroom full of people. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t pretend none of this ever happened. You’re already in the gossip columns, and my family can’t stand another broken engagement.”

  Why was nothing ever easy? All of these complications were killing her. “Really? Already? I can hardly fathom anyone would care.” The fabric of Olivia’s skirt was a wrinkled, disheveled mess.

  “Wouldn’t care? Surely you’re kidding.” Lady Vivienne stood from the sofa and paced towards the bellpull, where she gave it a yank. “You’re talking about hundreds of people with little to do but meddle in other people’s lives. Last night was the height of excitement. I dare say we’ll receive more visitors today than we have in weeks simply because everyone will be hoping to be the first to hear something new about the situation. A good bit of gossip will assure entrée into all the best drawing rooms, Olivia. If they don’t get a story from us, they’ll make something up.”

  Maids showed up in response to the summons, and Lady Vivienne gave them a series of instructions which Olivia didn’t pay much attention to. Olivia knew everything Lady Vivienne said was true. But what the marchioness wasn’t aware of was so much worse and made Olivia believe that if she stayed, she’d only hurt the family more in the long run.

  Vivienne resumed her seat next to her. “So tell me, Olivia, if my son and I are willing to take all the risks, then why aren’t you interested in marrying my Henry?”

  “That’s not it at all.” Olivia shook her head. After sharing several kisses and caresses with Lord Dalton, she was most definitely interested in pursuing marital relations with him. The skin on her upper chest and throat blushed hot. She clutched at the abused material of her dress to keep her hands from fluttering around her cheeks.

  I wish I could let everything go…

  “I thought not.” Vivienne patted Olivia’s forearm with understanding. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other, and I recognize an attraction when I see one. This engagement may not have come about the conventional way, but here it is, and we can all make the best of it. You’re a lovely, sweet girl. You’re brave and honorable with an intelligent head on your shoulders. Regardless of my less-than-charitable reaction yestereve, I’m happy to welcome you as my daughter-in-law.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mother,” a deep voice resonated from across the room, “because I booked St. George’s for two weeks from tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wedding planning erupted around her.

  Following Lord Dalton into the room, Evelyn glided in, her face beaming with…pride? “I told you I’d get you a society marriage this season.” Evelyn pulled her into a tight embrace. “Silly me. I’d never even considered turning you towards my nephew.”

  “I didn’t plan this.” Olivia pulled away and protested yet again. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  Evelyn eyed her with curiosity. “I know. No one thinks that, Olivia.”

  How did everyone in this house think so much better of her than she thought of herself?

  Penelope and Cassandra soon entered the ever-shrinking parlor. Though they were bleary-eyed from being roused so early in the morning after the late night, the excitement of planning a wedding also shown in their eyes. A light breakfast of tea and cinnamon cakes was set out on an improvised sideboard. Eventually the entire household wandered into the parlor, including her brother, who took the news of his sister’s engagement to Lord Dalton with obvious delight. Olivia mused that now Warren’s hero worship could continue on unabated. Perhaps that would lessen the blow when she left.

  When she left.

  Everything was so muddled now. Yesterday her course had seemed clear, obvious, and now, well, now everything was confused. The blasted man had kissed her again and didn’t even have the courtesy to fight with her afterwards. She cursed the tingling sensation that drifted over her at the sensory memory of that last embrace. No one could be expected to keep her head together when gods who walked the earth kissed attempted murderesses into utter and total stupidity.

  Between bites of breakfast, the Cavendish ladies solidified a plan to curtail any unflattering gossip. Vivienne didn’t appear to be concerned about negative whispering, or at least that was the attitude she told the rest of the ladies they were to project to anyone raising an eyebrow in their direction.

  “Enough of that nonsense.” The Dowager Marchioness, Lord Dalton’s grandmother spoke up. “The wedding is barely two we
eks away. London can forget anything so long as there’s a good party.”

  Evelyn agreed wholeheartedly. She’d sent word to the modiste, Madame Bolivant, and the dress was already underway. The ladies gathered round a table, and planning began in earnest. Olivia settled mutely on a settee in the middle of the flurry, stunned into silence at the sheer amount of activity that went into planning a society wedding. Stacks of paper, list after list of guests, what would be served at the wedding breakfast, flower arrangements, and all manner of minutia which never would have occurred to Olivia, were passed around the table, and each lady commented.

  As far as Olivia could tell, she didn’t even need to be present for the planning of her wedding. She looked towards the doorway wistfully, wondering if there was any way she could sneak out undetected. Which would make you an unworthy, ungrateful wench.

  “What do you think, Olivia?”

  “I’m sorry, I was woolgathering. What was the question?”

  “For the flowers, I was thinking…” Penelope prattled on.

  Olivia tried to listen, really she did, but her mind kept sliding unbidden into Dalton’s arms and their last kiss. She smiled and nodded at all the questions. She didn’t care about flowers or wedding breakfasts or even the gown. She wanted to be convinced marrying Dalton was the smartest, best thing for her to do. Maybe she was thinking too hard, resisting too much. Perhaps it was time for her fairy tale. Did handsome men really rescue damsels from ogres?

  The whole sordid story reeked of melodrama.

  She ought to write it down and see if she could commission it to a bookseller. Then she’d have enough money to run away to America. She smirked at the irony of that.

  As if conjured by her thoughts, Lord Dalton appeared in the doorway. Her breath caught as his eyes sought her out, and as soon as his gaze found hers, he smiled at her. Her lips tingled in her anticipation of another of his sultry kisses.

  “Henry,” Evelyn called out, noticing her nephew, “what do you want? We’re busy planning the wedding.”

  “So I see.” Dalton surveyed his women. “How are the plans coming?” His gaze slid over to Olivia again, swept over her breasts and settled on her lips.

  “The guest list has been assembled,” his mother informed him. “We’ll start on the invitations shortly.”

  “Excellent.” He nodded. The women all stared at him for a beat or two. Clearly out of his element, he added, “I placed the advertisement in the papers.”

  Vivienne marked something off her list. “Good.”

  Dalton noticed his sister, Daphne, sitting with her arms crossed sullenly over her chest. Since Olivia had been in her own head most of the morning, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. “What’s the pout for, butterbean?” he asked his sister.

  Helen piped up helpfully, “She’s mad because I knew before she did.”

  Daphne squinted hard at her younger sister but addressed her words to her mother. “It’s not fair. I’m three years older than her.”

  “That’s what you get for sleeping so late.” Cassandra was haughty, acting the wise older sister.

  Daphne turned her dagger eyes to her older sister. “No one asked you, Cassie.”

  “All right,” Vivienne cut in, “that’s enough.”

  “But, Mother,” both girls chimed in together, then each headed off into their own arguments, hoping to sway their mother. Before long, everyone was talking with raised voices and no one was listening.

  Olivia leaned back in her chair, her back pressing into the silk upholstery, wishing she was anywhere but there. The room burst into a chaos of harsh words and tears, and more than one tongue was stuck out at a sister.

  She sought out Dalton’s gaze again. They were the only two people in the room who weren’t speaking, or yelling or gesturing wildly. He tilted his head towards the doorway and raised his eyebrows in invitation. Olivia looked around her at the near riot and then looked guiltily at the door. These women were generously giving of their time and energy to save her hide, and she shouldn’t run out on them.

  She bit her bottom lip and met Dalton’s gaze again. He mouthed the words, Come with me. That ended the debate. As unobtrusively as possible, she rose from her seat and inched away from the others towards the door. Dalton grasped her hand and snuck them both out undetected.

  “Run away with me.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back as he led her briskly away, putting as much space between them and the parlor before anyone could notice they were missing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Henry guided her down the winding halls at a fast clip. Olivia held up her skirts with one hand, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “Where are you taking me?”

  “What difference does it make? Eden.”

  Henry paused at the French doors, opened them wide and bowed to her, throwing his arm to the side to usher her out to a garden.

  “Yes, Eden,” Olivia agreed, a smile in her voice.

  Hidden by tall brick walls on three sides, flowers ran riot. The colors were stunning in their contrast, greens and oranges, yellows and purples, blues and reds. They were all intermixed and in no discernable pattern. This was a garden tended by someone who loved wild things.

  Holding hands, they walked through the paths. Olivia’s free hand outstretched at hip level, palm out, feeling the tips of the purple foxgloves, the little bell-like flowers hanging from the tall stems tickling her fingers. Henry waited while she paused to smell the aroma from the carpet of creeping thyme. It released its scent with every footstep, its tiny white and lavender flowers seeming to cover the entire ground except where sweet, green clover rolled across the earth. The hypnotic hum of the bees working through the thousands of flowers, pollinating along their way, rose above the garden. The eastern wall was covered with ivy, the base dotted with irises, their faces lifted towards the sun. As he led her deeper into the wildness, they found peonies with ruffled petals that made giant hot pink and white pompoms, and she bent to take in their smell.

  “Oh, Lord Dalton,” she said, and Henry cursed her use of his formal title—still. “Is this your doing?”

  “I must give all the credit to my grandmother.” He couldn’t help grinning when he thought of his father’s mother squatting in the sunshine, her giant floppy hat shading her face, gloves on her manicured hands and a giant smudge of soil smeared across her cheek. “She’s been working in this garden since she became the marchioness after she married my grandfather at seventeen. She never wanted a perfect sculpted garden like the rest of the ladies of the ton.” Olivia smiled at him and nodded her understanding. “Ah, here is my grandmother’s favorite.”

  Henry gestured to the right at wine-red gladioli, some stretching as much as two feet tall. There were thirty or forty of them, and they were stunning in their majesty. “Gladiolus byzantinus,” he said, using the Latin name.

  “My!” Olivia breathed. He was certain she was as awed by the flowers as he had always been. “Why just the one color?”

  “Because they are the most beautiful, I guess.” Henry shrugged. “And they are unexpected.”

  “This whole garden is unexpected.”

  Henry slowly turned, taking in his grandmother’s garden. “I think she chose this particular spot because it’s far away from the main part of the house. She hides out here, you know.”

  Olivia smiled at him, a breathtaking display of beauty to rival the garden. “Who is she hiding from?”

  “All those silly girls.” Henry’s high voice and flippant hand gesture was a spot-on impression of his grandmother. “My sisters aren’t interested in gardening when there is socializing to be done.”

  “Is she here all those times they think she’s napping?” Olivia asked with a conspiratorial grin on her full lips. He knew how those lips would taste, how they’d feel.

  “If she’s missing, you can bet your pin money she’s holed up out here.” Henry’s hand itched to touch her. “I’m not sure any of them even know
about this place. I think the girls assume she naps twelve hours a day.”

  “Well, that’s only fair.” Olivia glanced around the garden as if she was looking for his grandmother now. Henry knew they were alone. Everyone else waded around the parlor, knee-deep in list making and planning. “You have your own lair to hide out from the world.”

  “I do.” Henry turned his body toward her. Hair came loose around her face, the wheat-colored curls framing her jawline and brushing against her neck. A neck that begged to be nuzzled. “Although it seems every time I turn around, there is a nymph in there digging through my papers or reclining on my sofa.”

  Olivia blushed, and Henry’s desire escalated, his breath quickening in response.

  “Let me show you my favorite place.” He retook her hand and led her down a different path. They wound past the haphazardly arranged flowerbeds with their glorious blossoms open and basking in the late morning sunshine, until they reached a giant willow tree in the far corner. Using his forearm, he raised the drooping leaves and branches, making a passageway underneath. Olivia smiled shyly while she ducked her head and entered the cavelike space under the willow branches. The area was surprisingly spacious and deliciously cool. With the branches hanging back down, no one could see inside. They were completely hidden.

  Henry followed her underneath. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her back flush with his chest. His groin twitched in anticipation.

  “Oh, this is sublime,” she whispered. The sense of quiet and secrecy under the tree compelled them to keep their voices low even though they enjoyed complete privacy.

  “I know,” he murmured into her ear, meaning more than the scenery. He exhaled against the exposed area of her nape, causing the tendrils gathered loosely there to flutter against her skin. “I used to build forts under here when I was a boy.”