by Louise Allen
‘You must try for a little more poise and grace, Olivia. Your hurly-burly manner of going about things was bound to result in some damage to your gown. It is fortunate that it was only a sight tear at the hem.’
‘I am sorry, Mama, but there was such a crush of people…’
‘You should have stood your ground. You are a lady, it is up to them to make way for you, not for you, engaged to a viscount, to step back in that clumsy self-effacing way. You will have to learn to be more assertive when you are married, my girl.’
‘Yes, Mama, but…’
‘Do not argue, Olivia!’ Decima rolled her eyes at her own reflection. How did the woman expect the girl to behave if she browbeat her every time she tried to speak?
‘You should try for a little more presence. You could do worse than to copy Miss Ross.’
‘But she is older than me, Mama. She knows her way about in the world…’
‘She is an unmarried woman—I certainly hope she does not know her way about, as you so inelegantly put it, Olivia. I mean that she has poise and a certain something.’ Praise indeed! Decima suppressed a gasp of sheer amazement. Mrs Channing’s approbation was an unexpected honour.
‘Mind you,’ the matron continued forcibly, ‘she has so many faults to overcome that she must have had to learn to make the most of all her good points. And, of course, nothing could possibly win her a husband. Not with her height and those freckles. I wonder if I should recommend Delcroix’s Crème des Sultanes to her? I hear it worked wonders for Mrs Pettigrew’s youngest.’
‘Oh…perhaps she might take it amiss?’ Olivia ventured, earning an unseen, but vigorous nod of agreement from Decima. She should have known better than to expect unalloyed praise from that source!
There was a further flurry of activity from the other side of the screen and then the sound of the door opening and closing. Decima gave her hair a last tweak and stepped out from her concealment to find Olivia, alone except for the maid who was on her knees finishing off the thread. ‘There you are, miss, that should hold.’
‘Oh, no!’ Olivia was scarlet with embarrassment. ‘Oh, Miss Ross…Decima…I had no idea you were there! Oh, dear…’
‘It is entirely my fault,’ Decima said, trampling down her embarrassment in an effort to quell Olivia’s distress. ‘I should have made my presence known as soon as your mama began to speak. And, in any case, she spoke most kindly of me.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘My freckles? Perhaps I should try her thoughtful recommendation.’ But Adam likes my freckles, the rebellious voice murmured in her ear. All the more reason for getting rid of them then, she thought firmly.
‘Decima?’ Olivia asked hesitantly.
‘Yes?’
‘Might I…might I come and speak to you, in confidence?’ Olivia was flushed, her head bent, her fingers twisting together.
‘Of course.’ This would be the ideal opportunity to talk frankly to Olivia about focusing all her attention upon Adam and not allowing her ‘friendship’ with Henry to develop, but it was hardly a duty Decima felt ready for. ‘Why not call tomorrow, about three? I am sure everyone else will be out, so we can have a comfortable talk.’ Her heart sank. It would be nice if doing the right thing was easy.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Y ou do not love Lord Weston at all?’ Decima regarded Olivia’s miserable face with horror. The younger woman must have misread her expression for one of condemnation, for she began to sob quietly, wringing her hands into the fine muslin of her pretty morning gown in her distress.
‘I want to be dutiful, and I do not have to love him, do I?’ she faltered. ‘Mama says no gentleman would expect such a thing in any case and I am foolish and wicked to think about it.’ She stifled a hiccup in her handkerchief. ‘I think he is very kind…at least, he used to be, but I am so silly, Mama says, no wonder he seems strict with me now.’
Oh, lord. Decima cast a hasty glance at the drawing-room door to make sure it was firmly closed and did her best. ‘I know that love is not considered a prerequisite for a happy and fulfilling marriage,’ she began carefully. ‘Between gentlefolk, and especially the aristocracy, I believe it is the exception rather than the rule. But there must be mutual affection and respect, I am sure—do you not feel those things for Lord Weston?’
‘He was very kind to me before we became betrothed.’ For some reason Olivia blushed scarlet. ‘And, of course, I respect him because he is so intelligent and has such a great position.’
‘Well, then, I expect this is all nerves and you will be very happy when you are married.’ Decima thought she sounded like Hermione. But what else could she say? Should she encourage Olivia in her doubts in the hope that she would jilt Adam? That would be despicable, besides risking ruining the girl’s reputation.
‘And do not forget he proposed to you despite the fact that you are not titled and—forgive me—perhaps not as richly dowered as some young ladies.’
For some reason that produced an even deeper blush and a look of total misery. ‘I am sure he had no intention of proposing to me before the Longminster house party.’
‘Then that shows how taken he was with you,’ Decima said, attempting to inject a rallying tone into her voice. ‘You must know how beautiful you are, and I am sure you have all the skills needed to manage a great house.’
‘Th…thank you.’ Olivia dabbed at her eyes. ‘You do not seem at all afraid of him.’
‘Why, no. Why ever should I be? Has he said anything to give you a fear of him?’
‘No…’ Olivia did not seem too sure. ‘He seems very stern sometimes, but then so is Papa.’
Not very romantic. ‘Has he done anything to alarm you, then?’ Decima persisted.
‘He…kissed me.’
‘Oh. Well, that is to be expected, is it not? I mean, you are engaged to be married.’
‘I did not think it would be so…so…’ Olivia stammered. ‘I thought he might kiss me on the cheek, or my hand, but not on the mouth like…like that.’
‘Ah. Er…has your mama explained about…um…marriage?’
‘Not really. She says I am a goose.’
‘Well, I cannot talk to you about it, Olivia. After all, I am unmarried myself and really do not know about these things.’ Decima could feel the blush rising up her throat and only hoped the girl would attribute it to the embarrassment of discussing intimate matters. She tried again.
‘But don’t you think, if you were to attempt to return any affectionate, or even passionate, gesture by at least not shrinking from him, that might help? He would feel you trust him and you might sooner become accustomed to his…caresses.’ Olivia nodded thoughtfully, dabbing her eyes. ‘And if you were to confide in him a little, explain that you feel nervous—not about kissing, but about some subject that is easy to discuss, say, how you will get on with a large household to manage—then you will get to know him better and he will make allowances for your inexperience.’
‘I will try,’ Olivia said bravely. ‘Thank you so very much, Decima. I would never have dared discuss such things with Mama.’
‘But you were having real doubts about the betrothal? Is there anyone else?’ Decima pursued.
‘Oh, no! Mama would be so angry if I were to fall in—I mean, if I were to do such a thing.’ The colour was ebbing and flowing under Olivia’s fine skin as she looked both guilty and utterly wretched. She was obviously a very poor liar. ‘I could never go against what Mama felt to be right.’
Decima waved goodbye to Olivia as she stepped up into her carriage with mixed feelings and a crashing headache. Loving Adam meant she should want what was best for him, and if that meant Olivia, then so be it. On the other hand, she still had nagging doubts about whether Miss Channing truly was the bride for him. Had he simply fallen for a ravishingly pretty face? But that seemed to suffice for many men. Which was a lowering thought—one would have hoped that the object of one’s affection had better judgement.
The Freshfords returne
d home to find their guest reclining on the sofa, languidly flicking through a book of poetry and fighting what Decima frankly described as a thundering headache. She took herself off to her room rather than dampen everyone’s spirits over luncheon and was somewhat cheered by Pru’s smiling face.
‘I’ll make a cold compress for your forehead, shall I?’ Pru tiptoed about, finding the hartshorn and the lavender water and humming softly under her breath.
Decima levered herself up against the pillows and regarded her with interest. Pru had been very quiet, and extremely close-lipped, the past few days, and Decima had decided not to pry, but it was such a relief to talk to someone who appeared to be happy that she ventured a question.
‘Have you seen Bates lately, Pru?’
‘Yes, Miss Decima. Almost every free evening I’ve had, and my half-days. I don’t think we’ve stopped talking, hardly.’
‘Really? Bates talkative? Don’t you argue any more?’
‘He was just shy, that’s all. Bashful, like.’ That seemed unlikely, but then, Decima decided, she was not regarding Bates with the eye of love and perhaps Pru was more perceptive about his character. ‘We don’t argue at all now, not about anything.’
‘That is wonderful, Pru.’ Headache forgotten, Decima sat up properly. ‘Has he said anything about the future?’
‘Not yet, but he sort of hinted. He said his lordship might see his way to letting him have a cottage if he ever felt like settling down.’ That was promising. It would mean losing Pru, of course, but Decima couldn’t begrudge that. ‘I think he might say something this evening.’ Pru’s round face was creased by a beaming smile and Decima thought she had never seen her look so pretty.
‘What will you be wearing? Would you like to borrow my Norwich shawl?’ Pru’s eyes widened in delight—the fine Paisley-patterned cashmere was a luxury no lady’s maid could hope to aspire to buying.
‘Oh, Miss Decima! I’ll be ever so careful of it.’
Decima felt revived enough to take some soup and fruit in her bedroom, but she refused Lady Freshford’s invitation to accompany them on a shopping expedition. She was still trying to forget Adam, Henry and Olivia by thinking about Pru when there was a tap at the door.
Decima opened it and found the Freshfords’ butler outside, an expression of rigidly repressed irritation on his face.
‘I am sorry to disturb you in your chamber, Miss Ross, but Lord Weston is at the door. I informed him you were not at home, but I regret that Staples, who was passing through the hall at the time, very pertly interrupted me to say that you were in your room with a headache.’
‘I am sorry she spoke in such a manner.’ It was outrageous of Pru, and a direct attack on the butler’s authority and dignity. ‘I will speak to her directly.’ But the man did not appear mollified.
‘His lordship then said that he was sorry you were indisposed, Miss Ross, but that if you were so unwell that you could not come down, he would come up here himself and speak to you.’
‘What? Has his lordship been drinking?’
‘No, Miss Ross. I would venture the opinion that his lordship is exercised, to a high degree, with some irritation of the spirit. I tried to insist, but he refuses to leave, and I am reluctant to employ the footmen in ejecting a peer of the realm without Sir Henry’s express orders.’
‘No, of course not, Starling, that would never do. You have acted quite correctly. Please show his lordship into the little drawing room and tell him I will be down directly.’
‘Certainly, Miss Ross. I will find Staples and have her sent to you.’
Decima hesitated. Whatever had brought Adam here in such a mood, it was unlikely to be trivial, nor something she would want to share with anyone, not even Pru. ‘No, Starling. I imagine this is a confidential, family matter. I will see Lord Weston alone.’
She turned back into her room, but not before she had caught a glimpse of the disapproval on the butler’s face. He would no doubt complain to his mistress, but, with her headache rapidly returning, Decima was past caring.
She smoothed her hair and her gown and made her way downstairs, past the rigid figure of the butler and into the small drawing room. Why she should be feeling quite so ridiculously apprehensive she could not say, but her stomach appeared to be trying to tie itself into a knot and she felt positively queasy.
‘Adam…’
‘Do you really have a headache?’ He was standing by the cold fireplace, one booted foot on the fender, his brows drawn together as he regarded her.
‘A little, it is better than it was.’ Decima returned his unsmiling look with a level one of her own. ‘What exactly is so important that you must outrage Lady Freshford’s butler so?’
‘You have had a very busy morning, Decima, have you not?’ Adam drew the leather gloves he had been holding in one hand through the other, making a snapping noise that jolted her stretched nerves painfully.
‘I have had a visit from Olivia, that’s all.’ She was becoming angry now, but the apprehension was still there, coiling inside her.
‘All? I gather I have you to thank for the transformation of my fiancée from a modest and innocent young lady into one of a highly coming disposition.’
‘But…but all I said was…’ Decima lost her voice. What on earth had Olivia been saying—and doing?
‘Yes, Decima, do enlighten me. At what stage in your discussion of my lovemaking did you suggest that Olivia throw all precepts of well-bred decorum to the winds and hurl herself into my arms?’
‘I did no such thing! And I have not been discussing your lovemaking, as you put it.’ She took a few agitated steps away from him and swung round again, appalled at just how wrong her well-meaning advice had gone. ‘Olivia asked to speak to me. She wanted to confide in me. What was I to do? Spurn her? She has no female friend to talk to.’
‘She has her mother.’ Adam’s face was set and hard with anger.
‘She is terrified of her mother. Olivia would not say boo to a goose and she certainly could not confide her worries to Mrs Channing, not without receiving such a scolding that the poor child would be prostrated.’
‘So, what did she want to talk about?’
‘I have no intention of telling you, she spoke to me in confidence.’ Decima was uneasily aware that Adam was getting closer, and began to edge away behind the illusory safety of a pie-crust side table.
‘Decima, do you want me to get it out of her—or will you tell me?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.
‘Very well, if you are going to bully her otherwise. She told me that she was sometimes somewhat nervous of you. I put it down to her youth and inexperience and her very sheltered upbringing. Now I do not wonder at it, if you treat her to many of these exhibitions of domineering ill-temper!’
Adam ignored her sweeping insults. ‘So, what did you tell her to do?’
‘Talk to you, that is all. Explain that she was nervous, using some matter she felt less shy about mentioning than—than intimate topics. I was sure that once she got into the way of confiding in you, her trust would soon grow.’
‘Very sound advice, I am sure.’ Decima was not lulled into relaxing by his sarcastic tone. Adam sounded far from grateful for her assistance. ‘And exactly how might she interpret that as throwing herself into my arms and kissing me passionately? If she had not been so unskilled, I would have taken her for a loose woman.’
‘She was also alarmed by your kisses,’ Decima blurted out. ‘I simply suggested that if she made some effort to return any gestures of affection you made, she might find herself growing accustomed.’
‘And you are so very experienced that you can offer advice?’ Adam was closer now, almost within arm’s reach. Decima edged further back and came up sharply against the lowered flap of Lady Freshford’s writing desk.
‘You know exactly how experienced I am,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t understand why you are so angry. I would have thought you could have trusted me to try and do what is best for you, as a friend. O
livia is very shy and very sheltered—it would be dreadful if her fears led her to do something…’ she hesitated, seeking the right word ‘…something unwise.’
‘You think she would be wise to marry me, or that I would be wise to marry her?’ Adam’s eyes were very green, very hard, as he watched her face.
Decima shook her head, baffled at the question. ‘You asked her to marry you, she accepted. For either of you to cry off would create a scandal. It could ruin Olivia. Why are you speaking like this? You sound almost as though you don’t want to marry her!’
Adam watched Decima’s face, seeing the confusion chase across her features. She wanted to do the best thing for him, and for Olivia, and he loved her for it. Whether that was coming from her sense of duty, or whether she really did want to see him married to another woman, he could not fathom. He had begun to think he understood Decima Ross—now he was far from sure.
‘You think I might have made a mistake?’ he asked slowly, trying to read her thoughts in the expressive, wide eyes. The frustrated anger that had driven him to demand to see her was ebbing in the face of that candid gaze, despite the fact that she had put his progress with Olivia back by days, if not a week.
‘If you have, there is nothing you can do about it!’ She was staring at him, horrified. ‘You cannot mean to jilt the poor girl?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ Adam said slowly. If his plans did not work, then he would have to accept, and make the best of, a marriage to Olivia Channing. But he had no intention of it coming to that, however Decima might unwittingly try to scupper his scheme. He toyed with the idea of telling her the truth, but baulked. She was surprisingly good at hiding her true feelings for him—unless, of course, she had none, only feelings of friendship.
‘I am interested in your opinion, that’s all.’ He turned aside, trying to make his voice light. ‘You’re right, Olivia is very sheltered—I should take account of that.’ And possibly push her further? He might have to, now she was trying to apply Decima’s well-meaning advice. He had certainly been seriously taken aback when what had been intended as a kiss designed to send Olivia into nervous, blushing confusion had resulted in her bravely throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his head down so she could return it with clumsy determination.