Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  “Stand back,” Garrick ordered, glancing at the butler and two footmen, who were now hesitantly approaching him with grave and shocked faces. “You three stand back as well,” he ordered in his most commanding tone. “Treve, guard them.”

  The setter faced the staff, growling, his hackles rising.

  They all froze. “My lord, this is intolerable. Lord Ashburn left me with the most explicit instructions,” the butler began. His eyes were wide and riveted on the crouched, growling dog.

  “Tell him the truth. I have broken into his home, and am now abducting both his wife and his child.” With those final, calm words, Garrick stepped forward, kicking in the door.

  The moment he saw Olivia he felt a vast relief, in spite of the anger that also flooded him. She still wore her silver dress, and it was torn and stained with blood; her face was discolored yet again, and her hands were red and swollen. Damn Arlen, he managed to think. She met his gaze briefly, already rushing forward, but not to embrace him. Yet the look she gave him said everything. Her gratitude, he thought, would be eternal.

  “Hannah! Hannah!” She paused before her daughter’s door, clinging to the knob, her ear against the wood. “Hannah!”

  “Mama?” Hannah cried from the other side.

  “Everything will be all right, darling. Lord Caedmon is here.” Olivia swallowed.

  Garrick trusted Treve completely to keep the servants at bay, and from the corner of his eye he saw that they were all appalled at the sight of Olivia’s face and hands. Gently he took her by the shoulder and pulled her back. She leaned heavily upon him. “Hannah, it is I. Lord Caedmon. I shall kick your door down. Stand as far away from the door as you can.”

  “Yes, my lord,” came the breathless, quavering reply.

  “Are you off to the side?” Garrick asked. “The door will fly in, and it could hurt you if you are in the way.”

  “Yes, I am by the window,” Hannah said.

  “She is out of the way,” Olivia said tersely.

  Garrick kicked again, as hard as before. The door flew in off its hinges, wood splintering loudly. The sight he was greeted with undid him: the small, blind child, cringing in the corner of the room. But before he could rush to her, Olivia had raced past him, a silvery blur. She embraced her daughter, rocking her, crying now silently. It was by far one of the most unnerving sights of his life.

  “Don’t cry, Mama. I am all right,” Hannah whispered, clinging to her mother.

  “Pack her a small valise,” Garrick ordered Olivia. He again glanced at the servants. “Willowby, is it not?” he addressed the butler.

  Still ashen, the butler nodded. His face was shining with perspiration. “You may call off the dog, my lord. We will not interfere.”

  “Treve, come. Good boy,” Garrick said. “Pack us up a lunch and dinner, for we depart in fifteen minutes.”

  Willowby did not hesitate. “Yes, my lord.” He looked again at the countess, his mistress, and her daughter. “My lady, I had no idea. I am so sorry.”

  Olivia, still on her knees and holding her daughter, nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. “Just do as Lord Caedmon requests, Willowby, and all is forgotten.”

  They traveled hard all that day and well into the night, until the two chestnut mares Garrick was driving were exhausted and nearly lame. There was very little conversation as they made their way south to Cornwall. As it got darker out, it also got colder, the soft, lush green landscape becoming more hostile and more remote, with rock crags appearing along the coast, pastures becoming rock strewn, and gulls wheeling high above them.

  Periodically he would glance back at the two occupants of his carriage. Olivia and Hannah huddled together beneath a cashmere throw, Treve with his head in Hannah’s lap. From time to time Olivia would cry, but soundlessly, tears marring her pale cheeks. He was acutely aware of her anguish and her pain. He knew she did not cry over Arlen, but for herself and her daughter, in fear of the future and the unknown. Then they both fell asleep, and Garrick was free to think.

  There was no going back. Olivia had run away with her daughter, and Arlen was a dangerous man. It was up to Garrick to protect her and Hannah and to provide for them both. And to do so properly meant that he must extricate himself from his betrothal immediately, even if Olivia were never freed by Arlen from the shackles of her own marriage.

  There would be no reasoning with Arlen. The three of them must flee the country.

  Garrick was grim, because his mind told him one thing, his heart another. How he wished to make a stand and fight for what was right! Unfortunately, he did not delude himself. He could not possibly best Arlen in a duel, which would be the honorable recourse. And Arlen’s death under any other circumstance would not be a victory, even though it would be satisfying after all that he had done. The scandal would brand Olivia and her daughter forever, while he would hang for murder.

  So they would run.

  Knowing Olivia now as he did, he wondered if in time she would come to despise him for denying her a legitimate future, for living with her in sin, for taking her off to faraway, barbarian shores.

  An inn appeared beneath a band of winking stars, the offshore breeze now gusty and filled with salt. The inn would do, he thought, halting the tired team in front of the somewhat ramshackle stables. A boy came running out to tend to the mares.

  Garrick stepped from the carriage, handing the boy two guineas, turning only to find Hannah still soundly asleep but Olivia watching him out of wide silver eyes. He had not realized she was awake. He attempted a smile and failed.

  “We can spend the night here,” he said. “We will be at Caedmon Crag by midday tomorrow.”

  Olivia nodded, shifting and extricating herself from her daughter.

  “Don’t wake her,” Garrick said before she could do so. He bent and lifted the child into his arms, waiting for Olivia to step from the carriage. More sea-cooled breezes swirled about them in a sea-laden mist. The few stars that had been visible earlier had suddenly disappeared. Strands of pale, moonlight-colored hair whipped around Olivia’s oval face.

  “What if he follows us here?” she asked.

  “He returned to London,” Garrick said, low. “It will be some time, I think, before he even learns of what has happened. I do not think Willowby will report this incident immediately. He will give us a bit of a head start.” He was lying to spare her more worry and distress. Time, he knew, was of the essence. But he had come to Cornwall for a reason, one he was loath to give up.

  Olivia nodded, her expression both grim and anxious. “But once he learns of this, he will chase us down. I know him. He will come to Cornwall, Garrick.”

  He met her eyes. “And we will be gone,” he said simply.

  “We?” Olivia whispered hoarsely. A tress of her hair caught on her mouth. She pushed it away.

  “I will take you wherever it is that you wish to go,” Garrick said, his heart drumming. “I cannot abandon you and Hannah now. I was thinking of America.”

  Olivia stared. “And will we run from him forever, you and I and Hannah?”

  “Is there an alternative?” he retorted, far more harshly than he had intended.

  Olivia suddenly shook her head, adamantly. “I do not know what to think. I am so confused. Yes, I have left Arlen. But you cannot simply run away from your obligations. You have family here, Garrick. I could not forgive myself if Lionel is proven a fraud, yet you do not honor your betrothal—and your duty to your father. And what about Susan?”

  “I intend to unmask Lionel,” Garrick said, “which is why I am here. He is a fraud, Olivia. And Susan will be relieved if I disappear, in effect breaking our engagement.” His tone was sharp. The problem was, he could not clearly envision the future, in spite of his intentions. He was afraid—afraid of Olivia’s integrity.

  “She will be hurt when she learns what happened tonight,” Olivia said tiredly. “There is no way she could not be hurt, not by your behavior, but by mine. And Arlen will undoubtedly have you charged
with our abduction. Dear God. There is no simple solution. I only want to be free.” She turned away, her shoulders sagging with her fatigue and with, he thought, despair.

  He fell into step beside her. “Free of me?”

  She faltered. “You know that was not my meaning,” she said softly.

  He derived little comfort from her words. Garrick followed her to the inn, acutely aware of his own dismay and fears. Arlen seemed to be the least of their problems in that moment. Should he ever be caught by the authorities, he would defend himself. It was Olivia’s attitude that worried him. Her morality might ultimately destroy them. He had just found her. He was not ready to walk away; he was incapable of it. But if she insisted on following some damnable code of ethics? Then what would he do? What could he do?

  A small voice inside his head told him he must stand and fight, as illogical and hopeless as it seemed, for a future so bright it must not be denied.

  “My lord,” a maid said, opening the first of two adjoining doors. Blond and buxom, she gave him a coy glance as she stepped aside. “This one’s fer yer sister,” she said, smiling at him.

  Garrick ignored her smile and her tone, which told him that she did not think Olivia his sister at all, and he carried Hannah inside and laid her gently in the middle of the big bed she would share with her mother. Olivia also came inside; the blond serving maid waited at the door.

  “I can find my own room, thank you,” Garrick told her.

  She shrugged. “But I thought to show it to you personally, meself,” she said huskily.

  Garrick walked over to her and handed her a few coins. “Good night.”

  Disappointment flitted across her face, and she said, “Mebbe you’ll change yer mind later, me lord. Just ask fer Maggie if you do.” She left.

  Garrick closed the door and turned. Olivia sat on the side of the bed beside her sleeping daughter, having removed her slippers. She was gazing up at him.

  “Do your feet hurt?” he asked softly.

  “Yes. Everything hurts. She is quite pretty,” Olivia said.

  Garrick studied her face. “Are you jealous?”

  “Yes. Frankly, I am.”

  He froze at her words, then he walked to her and sat beside her, cupping her face in his large hands. “She might be pretty, but you are beautiful, and extraordinary,” he whispered.

  Before he could kiss her, she said, “You are right. I am not ordinary.”

  He pulled back a little. “Did you see the ghost, too?”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. “A Gypsy once told me it was a gift. But it is not a gift. It is a curse.”

  He slid his hands from her face, down her neck and to her shoulders. “Tell me,” he said.

  She shrugged, sniffed. “I don’t want to know things. But sometimes, truths are revealed to me. Truths, and the future. I was about Hannah’s age when I first came into my gift. I saw my sister’s death.”

  “I am sorry,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  She smiled, but it was feeble. “I did not see the ghost Hannah saw at Stanhope Hall. But I felt an incredible sadness, Garrick. It was very powerful.”

  “I cannot think who might be lingering in the attic,” Garrick said truthfully. He saw a tear trickle down her cheek and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.

  “I also knew that a disaster would befall us if you and I allowed our passion to rule us,” Olivia said with evident agony.

  “That is not fair,” he began.

  “No. Do not interrupt. The warning was very strong. And look at all that has happened because of our feelings for one another. Both of our worlds have been destroyed. My future, and my daughter’s, is in jeopardy.”

  “So you would have denied us?” He was incredulous.

  “No. But Arlen is not a reasonable man, surely by now you understand that. He has always hated my gift. And feared it.”

  “Why?” he interrupted her. “Why does he loathe you so?”

  “In part, it is because my family and I deceived him. He is not a man to forgive and forget. He cherishes his grudges. He thinks I am cursed, and I believe, because he is so wicked himself, that he fears some kind of curse upon himself. He thinks Hannah is a curse.” Her tone caught and she gazed down at her sleeping daughter, touching her small, fisted hand. “Hannah and I have kept her ability a secret. She is much stronger than I am, Garrick.” Olivia shuddered. “I am frightened for her. Her ability to see and feel the truth and the future is far too strong for such a young child. What kind of life will she ever have? Will she suffer ostracism, as I have?”

  “She will have a wonderful life, with you as her mother, and one day, a home of her own,” Garrick responded, meaning it.

  “But who would have her? My family despised me for my abilities, just as Arlen despises her. I grew up alone. They feared me, avoided me. I had no friends. The other children were so cruel—like my parents, they feared and shunned me, too. I have spent my entire life protecting Hannah from the outside world—from the scorn and criticism of others.” Olivia shuddered again. “My parents have never written to me or visited me once they managed to marry me off. Is this not history repeating itself? What will Arlen do now? If he ever finds us, his animosity for Hannah will be even greater—of that I have no doubt.” She looked down. “What can Hannah’s future possibly be?”

  “You could not have stayed. We will assure Hannah a bright future, you and I.”

  “Will we?” She met his gaze. “In America? So you will turn your back on your family? In America, will we live together, out of wedlock, in sin, pretending to be man and wife? And when we arrange a marriage for Hannah, that will not be discovered? I am assuming, you understand, that Arlen will not hunt us down like animals. I’m not sure what to do, Garrick! And if he accuses you of a crime? That frightens me, too! I only know that I must not let him find me or Hannah, yet now you are in danger, too.”

  Garrick swept her into his arms and held her, stroking her long blond hair, letting her weep in fear and confusion. “I will do my best to protect you both,” he said. “We are going to have to manage one day at a time, Olivia,” he whispered.

  But she did not hear him. “If I could have, I would have stayed with Arlen,” she cried against his chest. “And kept the truth about Hannah a secret. Her future, then, would have been assured.”

  “But it did not work out that way. Arlen found out about Hannah’s gift, just as he found out about us. We cannot change the past, Olivia. And what about your happiness?”

  She looked up. “My happiness? How can I think about myself right now? I am a mother. I must protect Hannah. And now I have involved you. Now I am afraid for you, too.”

  “Do not fear for me,” he said. “And I mean it.”

  “So what will we do? We have no choice now but to keep on running away. And I cannot help but wonder if, you did not flee with us, Arlen might, in time, forget us and let us go.”

  He stared. It was a long moment before he could ask the question haunting him—the answer of which he dreaded. “Is that what you want? For me to send you on alone and return to my family?”

  “No. That is not what I want. But neither do I want this. Arlen will do something terrible—I am certain of it.” She was blanching. Perspiration dotted her forehead.

  He gripped her arms. “You have seen something!”

  “No. No. I have not.” She looked away from him, avoiding his eyes—tying.

  He was certain she had seen a future that was terrifying. He inhaled, trying not to guess what it might be—afraid to know. “Olivia. I did not lie when I said I cannot abandon you and Hannah. I am not about to allow the two of you to flee alone to America, without my protection. Is that clear?” he asked softly, inhaling the fragrance of her.

  “If you come with us, he will never cease trying to find us. That is what I truly think!” she cried.

  He had the very same feeling. That feeling—that knowledge—made him sick. “Then one day, a time will come for him and me to sett
le this in a timeless fashion.”

  “Oh, God,” she said, her eyes widening. Then, “Why won’t you tell me about you and Arlen?”

  He stiffened. “I will tell you when the time is right,” he said.

  “This has something to do with Elizabeth, does it not?” she asked, her tone bitterly high. “You were her lover, once?”

  She had heard the rumors. “Yes, it does have something to do with Elizabeth,” he said flatly, uncomfortable.

  “She told me,” she said, her gaze searching.

  He was dismayed. “I can imagine what she might have said. But Elizabeth is an unscrupulous, self-serving woman. And she is a liar when it suits her to be one.”

  “Did you love her?” Olivia asked, her tone strained.

  “No. I was a boy, Olivia, and she was very beautiful, and very seductive. I did not care about what was inside her head or her heart. I only cared about what she wanted from me. I hope I do not have to be more explicit.”

  Her face was grave. Her eyes remained searching. “I think I understand. And Elizabeth would have told Arlen what suited her most to tell—and he would never forgive you for being with his sister. Perhaps she fell in love with you—and that is why she hates you to this day.”

  He stared. A pause ensued. “Elizabeth loves only herself, and I am surprised you might think otherwise.”

  “Yes, you are right, but maybe, in spite of her vanity, she did fall in love with you as much as is possible for a woman like her.”

  “I had never considered that possibility before. Can we not let it rest? That was eleven years ago. I was fifteen years old.” He pulled her close. “It is so irrelevant—except for the fact that Arlen has hated me ever since.”

  “And that is hardly irrelevant,” she whispered. “But I wanted to hear it from you. It has been bothering me.”

  “I understand,” he said softly, embracing her one more time. “I hope you are not jealous of something so old and so tired—especially when you are so much more beautiful than she could ever be. You are the woman I want, Olivia. Has that not been clear?”