“She is seventeen now?” Vanessa ventured gently.
“Eighteen, but she hasn’t had her come-out. I refused to bring her to London for the Season and a presentation at Court. Perhaps I was overly protective, but I thought she was too young.” He gave a soft, acrid laugh. “How I wish… But wishing is for fools, is it not?”
He took a slow, steady breath. “I never realized how much Olivia chafed at her restrictive life in the country. It made her vulnerable to the attentions of the first scoundrel who came along… men like your brother. She succumbed to his clandestine wooing like a pigeon ripe for plucking. She thought herself in love.”
The harsh inflection he placed on the word love made Vanessa wince, but she could find no ready reply. Perhaps Damien Sinclair’s bitterness was justified. She stifled the urge to express her sorrow yet again and instead asked, “What do the doctors say?”
“To pray for a miracle.” Damien turned to gaze out the window. “I did discover a physician in Oxfordshire who offered reason to hope. His radical views are widely condemned, but he suggested that, given the nature of the accident, Olivia’s spine may be only severely bruised, and that with aggressive treatment, she could recover at least partial use of her limbs in time. Perhaps it’s only desperation driving me to put my faith in a quack, but I am willing to risk being taken for a fool if there’s the slightest chance he could help her.”
“Sometimes it is wiser to ignore the so-called experts and follow your instincts,” Vanessa murmured.
When Damien’s gaze returned to her, she could see pain in the depths of those smoke-silver eyes. “If it were left to me, I would have commissioned Dr. Underhill to begin treatments at once, but Olivia has refused to allow him to attend her.”
“Why would she refuse? Does she dislike the man?”
“Their rapport isn’t the issue. The trouble is that she sees no point in making the attempt to improve her condition. As devastating as the physical impairment has been, the blow to her spirits was nearly as destructive. Not only did her heart suffer, but in Olivia’s eyes, her life is ruined- and perhaps it is.”
“The aborted elopement?”
His mouth hardened. “Indeed. It left her reputation in tatters and destroyed her chances to marry well.”
“She is still an heiress, is she not?”
“True, but the stain of scandal will always follow her and preclude her association in certain circles. I did my utmost to stifle the gossip. I put about the tale that Olivia had ridden to the coaching inn at Alcester to greet a visiting cousin, but met with a tragic accident there.” Damien clenched his teeth, as if reminded of his fury. “As soon as I was able, I called on the two young bloods who made the wager with your brother and secured their word to keep silent about the affair. But the rumors persisted.”
Vanessa nodded in sympathy but refrained from pointing out the obvious: A rakehell like Lord Sin attempting to quiet a scandal was like using oil to quench a fire. The methods he had probably chosen wouldn’t be helpful, either. In all likelihood he had threatened the two gentlemen with bodily harm before seeking out Aubrey in order to destroy him financially.
No one in his right senses would dare to cross the vengeful Lord Sin, but that didn’t mean he could silence the entire world.
“My worst mistake, however,” Damien continued in a low voice, “was my failure to reckon with the prudishness and cruelty of her governess-companion. That witch of a woman only heightened Livy’s sense of shame, making her feel tainted and oppressing her spirits even further. She was even encouraged to entertain thoughts of suicide.” His eyes locked with Vanessa’s. “Perhaps you can understand why I thought it crucial to find a replacement companion for my sister.”
Hearing the rawness of his quiet words, Vanessa looked at him in dismay. “Yes,” she replied in a whisper, regretting with all her heart the harm her reckless brother had caused poor young Olivia. “I understand. And I promise you, my lord, I will do everything in my power to help her.”
It was a long moment before the intensity of his gaze relented. Slowly Damien nodded and then turned his head once more to stare out the carriage window.
Some quarter hour later Vanessa felt the carriage slow and turn off the main road onto an avenue lined by stately elms.
“We have arrived,” her host informed her absently.
In the distance a glimmer of water captured Vanessa’s attention. When the carriage rounded a curve, she caught her breath at the vista. Rosewood obviously was not only the family home of a wealthy nobleman; it was a place of stunning beauty.
A shining lake lay in the center of the park, which was dotted with groves of beech and chestnut, while crowning a slight rise, an imposing estate built of mellow golden ironstone stood in magnificent glory. Vanessa spied a red deer grazing near the water’s edge before the carriage moved on and swung around the cobbled drive. The instant the conveyance came to a halt, several grooms and footmen leapt to assistance.
As Lord Sinclair helped Vanessa alight from the carriage, she was greeted by the sweet fragrance of roses that filled the soft, late-afternoon air.
“You must be fatigued from the long journey, Lady Wyndham,” he said in a voice strong enough to carry to his servants. “I shall have your trunks taken to your room at once.”
“Thank you, my lord. I would be glad to wash off my travel dust, but then perhaps you will introduce your sister. If it is not too late, we might even take tea together.”
Damien’s mouth curled in a frown. “If you can persuade Olivia to take tea, you will have accomplished more than I have. You’ll find she doesn’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive.”
He escorted her up the marble stairway and into the house, where they were met by a formal staff. Lord Sinclair spoke briefly to a tall, ruddy-cheeked steward, whom he then introduced as Bellows.
“Lady Wyndham,” he added, “has graciously agreed to be our guest for a time and hopes to provide companionship to Miss Olivia.”
Vanessa realized the conversation was for the benefit of his employees, but she was grateful he had couched her position in such genteel terms.
Bellows in turn presented the stately butler, Croft, and the portly housekeeper, Mrs. Nesbit, who curtsied and beamed a good-natured smile. ““Tis an honor to have you at Rosewood, my lady.”
“We usually keep town hours when I’m at home,” Damien informed her, “with dinner served at eight. Mrs. Nesbit will show you to the Chalice Chamber, and when you are ready, I will introduce you to my sister.”
With a polite smile at Damien, Vanessa allowed Mrs. Nesbit to lead her upstairs. The housekeeper, it seemed, was the chatty sort, confiding in an affable tone that “young Miss Olivia, bless her soul, could do with a friend. If you can aid that dear child, we will all be forever indebted to you.”
The bedchamber that awaited Vanessa was a bit opulent for her taste, with its gold and green brocades and damasks and walls hung in watered silk. But it was elegant enough for a duchess… or a cherished mistress.
The room was immense, with a separate sitting area in addition to the curtained bed. Arrayed before the large fireplace were a plush chaise lounge and a pair of Chippendale wing chairs. For refreshment, decanters of brandy and port rested on a side table, while on another table, between two tall windows, stood an ornate silver cup embellished with intricately carved roses.
“Is that why the room is called the Chalice Chamber?” she asked curiously, indicating the cup.
“The very reason. That fancy silver “twas said to be a gift from Queen Elizabeth herself to the first Baron Sinclair.”
While the housekeeper made a quick tour of the room to check that all was in order, Vanessa went to the window and looked down. Evidently the three-story manor was made up of a vast central wing with two side wings surrounding a garden courtyard. To her surprise and delight, she discovered that the courtyard was ablaze with roses, and that the terraced gardens seemed to stretch far into the distance.
�
��How beautiful,” she murmured involuntarily.
“Indeed it is,” Mrs. Nesbit seconded. “His lordship has a way with roses, that he does.”
“His lordship? You can’t mean the present Baron Sinclair.”
“I do, my lady.”
“Damien Sinclair?”
“None other.” Mrs. Nesbit grinned. “These gardens were but a shadow of their present glory before he took an interest in them. You might be surprised to learn that botanists and scholars regularly come to study here, my lady, and famous artists as well. Most times in the summer you can’t stroll down a path without tripping over a stranger sketching or painting.”
“I confess, I am exceedingly surprised.”
“Well, “tis true. His lordship even has a strain or two named after him by some highbrowed horticulture society, not that he sought the honor. In any event, roses have been in the family since the Crusades.“
Vanessa remembered seeing the roses on the Sinclair coat of arms displayed on the coach door.
“If you will permit me, my lady, I’ll fetch warm water for you to wash with and light a fire to keep away the night chill. Would you like your tea served in the parlor or drawing room, or would you prefer a tray be brought here?”
“Here would be fine, but first I should like to meet Miss Olivia.”
“Certainly, my lady. I’ll take you to his lordship directly.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nesbit.”
“Did an abigail accompany you, my lady?”
Vanessa shook her head. “No, I have no abigail with me.” While a lady’s maid would have lent her a measure of consequence and respectability, she could ill-afford personal servants all her own, nor did she want to take them away from her mother or sisters.
“If you wish,” the housekeeper offered, “I shall send Miss Olivia’s personal maid to help you dress for dinner.”
“That would be most appreciated.”
When she was alone, Vanessa turned back to the window to gaze down thoughtfully. Damien Sinclair was turning out to be a man of unexpected depth. And she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or wary.
When Vanessa had freshened up, the housekeeper escorted her to a bedchamber in the main wing. The door had been left open, but the curtains were drawn and the room was dim, just as she’d been warned it would be.
In the faint light, she could see Damien sitting beside the bed, silently contemplating the invalid lying there. When Vanessa rapped softly on the door panel, he rose with a murmured “Come in.”
His features remained expressionless as she entered, as if he had clamped down on any show of emotion. His tone of voice, however, held a hint of anger. “Lady Wyndham, please allow me to present my sister, Olivia.”
When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Vanessa could make out the young woman on the bed. The Honorable Olivia Sinclair was more striking than beautiful, with the same ebony hair and elegantly chiseled features as her older brother. Yet she had none of the intensity or vitality or aura of tightly leashed power that Damien Sinclair had in such abundance. Olivia’s complexion was pale, her expression wan and listless.
Her heart aching for the girl, Vanessa smiled gently and stretched out her hand. Asking “how do you do?” would have been totally inappropriate, so she said instead, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Olivia made no effort to take the proffered hand. She merely turned her head away.
“Olivia…” Lord Sinclair said in a low, warning voice.
Vanessa shook her head briefly. Olivia’s spirits not only had fallen into a decline, they seemed to be nonexistent. Yet haranguing her would serve no purpose.
“Might we have a few moments alone, my lord?”
His dark brows drew together as he glanced sharply at her, but he acquiesced. “If you wish.”
Vanessa waited until he had gone before taking the chair beside the bed and addressing Olivia in a friendly tone. “I wished to speak to you without your brother present. He is a formidable figure, is he not?”
There was a long silence. “I suppose some people might think so.” Her tone was flat, as if she could summon little interest in anything.
“But you do not?” Vanessa prodded gently, believing even a grudging response was better than none at all. When none was forthcoming, she added, “But then you have known him all your life, so you wouldn’t find him intimidating-”
“Lady Wyndham,” Olivia interrupted softly, turning her head to gaze at her, “I know my brother means well, but I have no need of a companion.”
Vanessa smiled easily and settled back in her chair, refusing to be defeated. “Perhaps not. And in your circumstances, I might feel similarly. It cannot be pleasant to have a stranger foisted upon you. But you and I do not have to remain strangers. Indeed, I hope we might become friends. If you don’t wish it, however, perhaps you might just allow me to attend you occasionally, to provide you with company.”
“I don’t wish to seem impolite, but I do not want any company.”
“Even so, you might agree to bear me company. Since I am to be here in the country for several weeks at least, I imagine I will grow exceedingly lonely with no one to talk to. Would you mind very much if I visited you occasionally? You wouldn’t have to speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence. And I could refrain from conversing with you. Then again, it might prove awkward with us each ignoring the other. We would resemble an old wedded couple who scarcely say a word to each other from dawn to dusk.”
The image brought the faintest hint of amusement to the girl’s lips, and Vanessa felt a small ray of hope that eventually she could get through to her.
“Of course,” she added casually, “you might come to find my companionship agreeable. I could read to you, comb your hair, share confidences… the sort of things sisters do.”
Olivia looked away, before saying sadly, almost wistfully, “I’ve never had a sister.”
“I have two of them, both younger. Come to think of it, you remind me a little of Fanny. She has your coloring, although I cannot tell about your eyes. Are they gray like your brother’s?”
There was a long pause. “Blue. My eyes are blue.”
“I’ve always wanted to have blue eyes. Mine are dark, like a horse’s. My brother always ribbed me unmercifully about them when we were children. He used to call me Old Ned, after an aging hack who had been turned out to pasture.”
When Olivia remained silent, Vanessa leaned forward in her chair. “I brought you a present.”
For the first time, Olivia showed a spark of interest. She cocked her head a degree. “A present? What is it?”
“Telling would spoil the pleasure, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
She held out the small package. “Would you care to open it, or shall I?”
“You do it.”
Vanessa carefully untied the ribbon and removed the tissue paper. Inside was an exquisite gold-embossed volume bound in calfskin. It had cost her dearly, a sum Vanessa could ill-afford, yet she considered it a small price to pay if one counted what her family owed this young girl.
She handed the book to Olivia, who peered at the cover but couldn’t seem to make out the title in the darkness.
“Should I light a lamp?”
“Yes… please.”
Vanessa obliged, but although she kept the flame low, Olivia shielded her eyes as if in pain. A moment later, however, her vision seemed to adjust.
“Oh…” The word was a whisper spoken almost reverently.
The gift was a collection of sonnets by William Shakespeare, chosen because Aubrey had said Olivia liked poetry.
Vanessa felt a sharp twinge of guilt at the reminder. She was here under false pretenses, and yet her subterfuge was necessary. She couldn’t reveal her connection to the man who had brought the girl low. Olivia would certainly never allow her close enough to help if she knew the truth. “Thank you, Lady Wyndham.”
“Do you think you could bring yourself to call me Van
essa?”
“Yes… Vanessa. Thank you.”
“So you enjoy Shakespeare?”
“Very much. And the edition is beautiful. I shall cherish your gift.”
“I would be happy to read to you sometime, if you would permit me.”
For a long moment Olivia regarded her, searching her face with intelligence and a quiet wisdom. “You are very persistent, I think.”
Vanessa smiled. “Quite. My mama says it is my greatest failing. But, like Old Ned, I have excessive reserves of endurance.”
To her delight, the two of them shared an intimate moment of accord.
“Where did you find so lovely a volume?” Olivia asked softly.
“At Hatchard’s bookshop in London. If you like, I shall take you there the next time you are in town.”
“I doubt I will be going to London anytime in the future,” the girl replied bitterly.
“No? Your brother told me he hoped to take you there next year for your come-out.” That wasn’t quite true, but Vanessa had no doubt that if Olivia expressed even the slightest interest, Damien would give her a dozen come-outs.
Olivia raised eyes that were full of pain. “How can I have a Season,” she asked, her voice low, desolate, “when I cannot walk, let alone dance?”
Her heart hurting, Vanessa reached out to take the girl’s hand. “My dear, I cannot pretend to know how difficult this all must be for you, but I do know you needn’t face it alone. You have people who care for you, who will help you through the worst of it, if you only let them.”
“I suppose Damien told you… what happened.”
“He told me that you met with a tragic accident which you in no way deserved.”
“I thought… he was angry with me… for behaving so foolishly.”
“No. If anything, he is angry at himself for not protecting you better. From what I’ve seen, your brother cherishes you. He would do anything in his power to help you get well.”
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