Counterfeit Earl

by Anne Herries

  Olivia. 'Would you like me to have a discreet word with Denning—warn him that he should back

  off now if he has no serious intentions towards her?'

  'Would he not resent that, Harry?'

  'I would willingly incur Denning's displeasure to protect your sister, dearest. Far better that he

  should feel himself insulted than that she should be misled into giving her heart unwisely.'

  Beatrice nodded but made no reply. She was very much afraid that Olivia's heart had already been

  given to Captain Denning. Yet Harry would know how to put the matter delicately, and it might be

  that they were worrying for no good reason.

  'Yes, perhaps you should have a word with him, Harry,' she said. 'Explain that she has been hurt

  and that her family wants only to protect her from more gossip...'

  Happily unaware that her sister and Harry Ravensden were so earnestly discussing her, Olivia

  finished preparing for the ball. She was wearing a very pretty lemon silk ball gown. The neckline

  dipped into a V at both the back and front, but the back had gathered frills right to the tip of the

  little train, which looked very stylish and elegant, and there were knots of silk flowers at her

  breasts. Her long gloves were white, as were her slippers, and her hair was caught into ringlets

  with a white ribbon.

  She wore only a fine gold chain with the cross Mrs Roade had given her about her neck, for she

  had very little jewellery. Just some trinkets Beatrice had given her and some simple beads. All

  her costly jewels had been left behind when she left the home of her adoptive parents.

  It was odd, Olivia thought, but Lady Burton had been much in her mind that day. She had tried

  these past months not to think of the woman who had been as a mother to her for so many years,

  but sometimes the memories came back to haunt her.

  Lord Burton had always been stern, though he had undoubtedly spoiled Olivia in a material way.

  Yet she had never been truly convinced of his true affection for her. She rather thought he had seen

  her as a pretty ornament, a bauble his wealth had bought for him. Sometimes, as she grew older,

  she had not quite liked the way he looked at her...almost as though he saw her as something other

  than the indulged daughter he claimed her to be.

  Olivia had had no such doubts concerning Lady Burton's feelings. She was sure her adoptive

  mother had loved her. After the breach between them, she had been terribly hurt that her adoptive

  mother had allowed her to be cast out, but the months spent in contemplation since then had led her

  to realize that her mama had really been given no choice.

  Perhaps Beatrice was right. Perhaps some attempt at reconciliation with Lady Burton should be

  made.

  'Are you ready, dearest?' Olivia's thoughts were interrupted as her sister entered the bedchamber.

  'Oh, you do look lovely this evening!'

  'Thank you,' Olivia said and smiled at her. 'You look wonderful, Beatrice—there is a glow about

  you.'

  'I feel wonderful.' Beatrice touched the emerald necklace at her throat, her cheeks a little pink.

  'Harry gave me these this evening. He had meant them for my birthday, but he was excited by my

  news...'

  Olivia nodded, then moved to kiss her cheek. 'I believe you are to be congratulated, Beatrice.'

  'So you guessed.' Beatrice laughed. 'I did not want to say until I was certain. I told Harry earlier

  that I suspected I might be increasing, and he admitted that he had had his own suspicions. Harry

  will summon a doctor soon, but I feel fairly certain I am with child.'

  'I am so glad. You must both be very happy?'

  'Yes. We are, of course...' Beatrice hesitated, but could not bring herself to speak to Olivia about

  Captain Denning. After all, perhaps Harry was wrong in his opinion that the Captain had no

  thought of marriage. 'I should like to see you as happy, Olivia.'

  'I am much happier than I was,' Olivia replied, smiling at her. 'Oh, I know I should not allow

  myself to hope—but I cannot help it. I do know that I shall never marry, unless...' She paused and

  blushed. 'But I have no need to explain to you. You fell in love with Harry at first sight.'

  Beatrice smiled and hid her anxiety. She did understand exactly how Olivia felt. She had gone

  through a period of uncertainty and distress until Harry had been free to offer her his love.

  'Shall we go?' she said, holding her hand out to Olivia. 'We do not want to miss anything. I am

  sure it will be a sad crush, but I mean to dance this evening—if Harry can be kept from the card

  tables for long enough to oblige me.'

  It was a glittering occasion. The Pavilion was remarkable enough from the outside, but the interior

  had been furnished in the Chinese taste, which looked very odd in Olivia's opinion, though many

  professed to admire it. The rooms were also overpoweringly hot, and the ladies were all using

  their fans to good effect.

  Everyone was wearing his or her finest clothes and most costly jewels, which flashed in the lights

  of the brilliant chandeliers. As Beatrice had forecast, it was indeed a sad crush, the rooms

  overflowing with laughing, chattering people, who all seemed to know one another. However, as

  Olivia found herself besieged by eager partners as soon as she entered the ballroom, she hardly

  had time to notice the overcrowding.

  Harry had done his work well. Olivia was once again recognized as an heiress, and several

  impecunious young men felt the risk of being jilted by her was worth taking. For who knew, she

  might not change her mind a second time, and she was certainly a prize to be gained. And when the

  Regent himself went so far as to smile and speak to her kindly for several minutes soon after her

  arrival, her success was assured.

  Olivia's card was quickly filled, but she had pencilled Captain Denning's name in two spaces, and

  as soon as the first waltz was announced, he came to her side.

  'My dance, I believe, Miss Olivia?'

  Her heart leapt. 'Let me see...' She pretended to consult her card. 'Why yes, sir, I believe you are

  right.'

  Jack's eyes gleamed. He took her arm firmly and led her out to join the other dancers.

  'I believe you are a minx, Miss Olivia.'

  'How can you say so, Captain Denning?' She gave him a wicked glance, her eyes bright with

  mischief.

  'With perfect truth,' he replied and, placing his hand at her waist, swept her away into the crowd

  of swirling dancers.

  At their first meeting Olivia had been afraid of his dog, appearing to be a little timid; at their

  second she must have seemed to be a rather sad creature, forced to sit out most of the dances for

  lack of a partner. This evening she was once again the popular Miss Roade Burton, who had taken

  the Ton by storm.

  Olivia sensed that Captain Denning was a little surprised at the transformation. She felt there was

  an odd reserve in his manner that evening—almost a withdrawal. Did he think her a flirt? Gazing

  up at him anxiously, she saw that his eyes seemed to be looking beyond her.

  Had she done something to make him angry? Olivia could not imagine what that might be—unless

  he was jealous?

  Her heart beat a little faster as the thought entered her mind. Oh, if only it were so! If only he

  would speak!

  'Shall you be at Lady Ravensden's dance next week, sir?'

  'I fear not,' Jack replied, gl
ancing down at her. 'I am recalled home on business. I leave on

  Sunday.'

  Only two days away! Olivia's heart sank. So little time left to her—and then she might never see

  him again.

  'We shall miss you,' she said, speaking honestly. 'I believe my sister intends a stay of at least

  another week.'

  'Oh, you will not miss one acquaintance amongst so many,' Jack said, ignoring the appeal in her

  lovely eyes. 'I am sure you will have forgotten me within the week.'

  'I am sure I shall not, sir.'

  Their dance was ending. Olivia noticed Captain Denning's quick frown as he prepared to lead her

  back to her sister. She sensed that something was on his mind. His manner had most definitely

  changed towards her, was not so outgoing as before. Why? What had caused him to withdraw his

  friendship?

  She wanted to ask him, but knew she dared not. Instead, she flashed a brilliant smile at him, a

  teasing sparkle in her eyes.

  'You will not forget we are engaged for the supper dance?'

  'No, I shall not forget.' He smiled, bowed and walked away into the throng.

  Olivia's eyes followed him, her wistful expression betraying more of her thoughts and feelings

  than she realized before she turned to greet her next partner.

  From across the room, Lady Clements observed the revealing look and frowned as she spoke to

  her nephew. 'You should make a push to engage the interest of Miss Roade Burton,' she told him

  sharply. 'Else you will lose your chance to secure her fortune.

  Ten thousand is not as much as she might have had perhaps, but it is a useful sum.'

  'B-but what can I do?' asked Mr Reginald Smythe. 'She hardly notices me. And it is not just

  because of Denning. She has so many admirers since it became common knowledge that she is not

  penniless after all.'

  'Do not be so weak-willed,' Lady Clements said, giving him a sour look. 'You have debts of nearly

  five thousand, and neither your mama nor I are prepared to pay them for you. Unless you do

  something you will find yourself in a debtor's prison.'

  Reginald Smythe nodded gloomily. He had been a fool to gamble for stakes he could not afford,

  and he knew it was hopeless to apply to any member of his family for help. Unless he could think

  of a way to attract the interest of an heiress, he would very likely be ruined. Yet what could he

  do?

  'Miss Roade Burton is in an awkward position. Her reputation is fragile after that last

  contretemps,' Lady Clements remarked acidly. 'It should not be beyond your imagination to

  compromise the girl in some way! Take her out into the garden or to one of the private rooms. I

  will engage to follow with her sister—or better still, Lord Ravensden. If we catch you behaving

  badly, I will insist you do the honourable thing and marry the chit!'

  Reginald looked at her in amazement. It was a daring plan, but not at all what he might have

  expected to hear from his respectable aunt.

  'I'll take her to one of the private rooms just off the ballroom,' he said, a thoughtful expression in

  his eyes. 'Far more intimate than the garden, don't you think?'

  Unaware that Lady Clements and her nephew were hatching schemes to entrap her into marriage,

  Olivia continued to dance the night away. Although she looked for him often, she saw no sign of

  Captain Denning in the ballroom. She supposed that he must have gone to the card room,

  preferring like some other gentlemen to spend his time gaming.

  In thinking that, however, she wronged him. Jack had gone into the garden to smoke a cigar and

  think. His conversation with Harry Ravensden earlier that evening had given him food for thought

  —thoughts which were not affording him a great deal of pleasure at that moment.

  He had carelessly taken up the cudgels on Miss Roade Burton's behalf after seeing her humiliation

  at Lady Clements's ball because he hated the hypocrisy in society, and because something in him

  had responded to her brave attempt to ignore what was happening to her. Once they began to talk

  and to know one another, he had found himself caught by her naughty looks and smiles.

  Jack sensed there was far more to Olivia than he might have imagined from her society manners,

  and perhaps it was this that had led him into what he saw as a mild flirtation. He had not thought

  beyond the next few days...until this evening. If the world of polite society and Miss Roade Burton

  were expecting a proposal, they would be sadly disappointed.

  Yes, she was charming. Yes, she amused him with her challenging looks—and yes, he was

  physically attracted to her, felt protective of her in a way he had not felt before, but that did not

  mean he was thinking of making her his wife. Jack had his own reasons for refraining from

  matrimony, and he had never revealed the whole of them to anyone. Not even to Anne, who had

  once been his lover, and was now his friend, had he ever confessed his worst nightmare.

  No, he would be a fool to think of Olivia! It was an impossible situation. If Jack had ever

  contemplated more than a flirtation between them, he had been warned to think again. Ravensden

  had made it abundantly clear that he would protect Olivia's reputation no matter what.

  The intervention had angered Jack. Good grief! Did Ravensden imagine he planned the girl's ruin?

  He of all men! To harm a woman in any way was something Jack would never wish to do,

  something so foreign to his nature that had he not perfectly understood Ravensden's point of view,

  he might have challenged him to a duel for the insult.

  So, if he did not plan Olivia's seduction or marriage, what were his intentions?

  Jack scowled at his own thoughts. He disliked his affairs being scrutinised so intimately. Damn

  Ravensden! What business was it of his? Yet he could not fault the other man's thinking. It was

  true that Jack had paid Olivia particular attention. If he continued to do so, it would undoubtedly

  lead to speculation, which in turn might damage Olivia in some way: her reputation, if not her

  heart. For he was uncertain of her feelings towards him. Sometimes her smile seemed to hint at

  more than mere friendship, but he had seen her smile at others as warmly.

  His only choice was to draw back now. He had no right to marry a girl like that! She was too

  lovely, too far above him—too innocent to guess at the blackness he kept hidden in his heart.

  Making up his mind, he flicked away his cigar into the bushes. The honourable thing would be to

  act immediately. He would find Olivia, apologise and leave without taking her to supper.

  At the same moment that Jack was coming to his decision, Olivia was looking ruefully at the hem

  of her gown. It had just been trodden on and torn by the clumsy Mr Reginald Smythe, who had

  come to claim his dance.

  'Your pretty gown is ruined,' he said and blushed as he apologised for the fourth time in quick

  succession. 'What can I do to make amends? I am so very sorry.'

  'Do not worry,' Olivia replied, smothering her sigh of annoyance. He looked so wretched that she

  felt sorry for him. 'I shall find somewhere to be private and pin up the tear.'

  'Do you carry something in your reticule?' he asked, looking eager. 'May I be of assistance? I

  could show you a room nearby—and perhaps I could help you to make the repair?'

  Had he been one of the hardened rakes, some of whom had pursued her relentlessly when she was

  in London, Oli
via might have been more wary. However, Reginald Smythe was such a diffident,

  unsure young man that she believed herself safe in trusting him, and smiled her agreement.

  'Pray let us go at once,' she said. 'I certainly cannot dance until the hem has been repaired.'

  She left the ballroom and went into the small parlour just along the hallway, followed meekly by

  Mr Smythe. Closing the door behind them, he went across to a small sofa and set a branch of

  candles on a wine table next to it so that she might see more clearly.

  'If you were to sit down,' he suggested, 'I could lift the hem so that you could pin it into place.'

  Olivia frowned. She had suddenly realized that her being here alone with him, in what was an

  intimate situation, might look odd if someone were to come in. She ought of course to have gone

  upstairs to the room provided for the ladies, where an attendant might have pinned the torn hem for

  her. Yet surely it could not matter? It would take only a moment to make the repair, and then they

  could return to the ballroom.

  She sat down, and Mr Smythe knelt at her feet, handing her the torn hem carefully so that she could

  do what was needed. She set several tiny stitches, and replaced the sewing packet in her beaded

  purse.

  'There, that was soon done,' she said, feeling relieved. 'Thank you, sir. I believe we should go

  back now.'

  'No! Not yet,' he cried. Olivia was startled by the look of desperation in his face. He threw a

  scared glance over his shoulder, then grabbed hold of her hand. 'I brought, you here in order to be

  alone with you, Miss Olivia. Pray forgive me, but you must know that I have fallen in love with

  you. I am desperate. If you will not marry me, I do not know what I shall do...'

  'Pray do not...' He was still kneeling at her feet. Olivia was shocked by the wildness in his eyes,

  and knew she had been unwise to come here with him. 'I am honoured by your offer, of course, but

  I must refuse. I cannot return your kind regard, sir. I must ask you to release my hand and...'

  He threw another terrified glance towards the door, then flung his body forward, forcing her back

  on the sofa, his whole weight pressing on her. Olivia found herself crushed beneath him, unable to