Lady Be Reckless
Page 9
“Thank you.”
He felt himself lean toward her, his gaze fixed on her mouth, only to jerk back suddenly as he realized what he’d been about to do. Kiss her. Kiss Lady Olivia, in public, in front of her sister and most of polite Society. Kiss the woman who was in love with his best friend.
He could not have conjured up a speedier way to being drummed out of Society completely than if he had completed his action.
She stared back at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Did she know what he wanted to do? What would she have done if he had kissed her?
He’d never know. He couldn’t ever find out.
Instead, he removed her hand from his arm, reaching down to pick up more bread. An excuse, of course, but it worked to snap him out of the moment.
“Yes, well, thank you for making sure that duck got its fair share.”
Her voice was soft. Was it his imagination or was it also a bit shaky?
“Over there.” She’d grabbed his arm again and was nodding vigorously, the festoons on her bonnet coming perilously close to his eyes. “That is Lady Cecilia Baxford and her father, Lord Baxford. We should make sure they see us.” She let go of him to lift her arm and wave, her whole body shaking with the effort.
She never did things by halves, did she? She was just as upset about the ducks as she was about his position in Society. Did that make him feel more or less special?
“They’ve seen us, they’re coming over.”
He turned to see a young lady and an older man stepping carefully on the path toward them. Lady Cecilia’s face froze as she looked at Edward, and he found his hands curling into fists at his side.
“Calm down,” she whispered, her fingers sliding into his, bringing both of their hands behind his back so Lady Cecilia and her father couldn’t see.
It felt delicious, something they were doing that nobody could see. It did calm him, as she’d intended. But it also made him aware of how right it felt to have her hand in his.
He reluctantly drew his fingers out from hers as she stepped forward to greet the new arrivals.
“Lady Cecilia, how delightful to see you. And Lord Baxford, you are looking well. Allow me to introduce Mr. Wolcott, who has just arrived in London.”
Edward caught his breath as he saw the older gentleman realize just who he was and weigh whether or not he should shake his hand.
And exhaled as Lord Baxford stretched his hand out and took Edward’s, giving it a weak shake, but a shake nonetheless.
“It is a pleasure, my lady,” Lord Baxford said.
“I did not realize you were acquainted with Mr. Wolcott, Lady Olivia,” Lady Cecilia said. Was it Edward’s imagination, or was her tone somewhat snide?
“But then again your family knows such . . . interesting people.”
Not his imagination.
“Yes, we do, don’t we?” Olivia replied in a bright tone, as though completely unaware of the other lady’s implication. “It is far better to be interesting than entirely predictable, wouldn’t you say?”
And not completely unaware, it seemed. Edward wished it wouldn’t be entirely rude to tilt his head back and roar with laughter.
As it was, he must have made some sort of amused sound, since Olivia shifted so she could deliver a kick to his foot.
“We’ve been feeding the ducks,” Olivia continued, gesturing to the pond behind them. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it, that certain ducks get more food than others simply because of their position in the pond?”
Edward didn’t think they were talking about ducks now.
“Eh?” Lord Baxford’s expression was puzzled. “Ducks?”
“Ducks, Father.” Lady Cecilia took her father’s arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wolcott.”
“Likewise, my lady. My lord,” Edward said, tilting his head toward the pair. “I will doubtless be seeing you at some event or another. I hope I might be allowed to ask for a dance, my lady?”
There. That was as polite in Society as he could get. He just hoped she wouldn’t say no.
“Mr. Wolcott is a good friend of Lord Carson’s,” Olivia added in the silence following his question.
Lady Cecilia pulled her lips back into a semblance of a smile. Edward had to wonder why Olivia had even bothered with the Baxfords, since it was clear the two ladies did not like one another. “Lord Carson is a fine gentleman,” she said. “I would be pleased to accept your invitation, Mr. Wolcott.” She dipped her head in a gracious nod, then walked away on her father’s arm.
“That . . . that . . .” Olivia sputtered next to him.
“Greedy duck?” Edward supplied.
She glared at him, then grinned and burst out in laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing merrily.
He returned the grin, shoving his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to take her in his arms and kiss her laughing mouth.
Even though he was very tempted, so his hands-in-pocket ploy wasn’t working. But at least he wasn’t acting on his wishes.
Chapter 9
Do not allow yourself to waver from your goals. No matter how rakish the curls.
Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum
For a moment, it seemed as though Mr. Wolcott was going to do something. Something like—well, something that wasn’t arguing with her or laughing at her or getting all offended when she said something thoughtless.
Something like kiss her.
Olivia had yet to be kissed; she’d been reserving that honor for Bennett. She’d hoped it would be on the occasion of their betrothal, but that hadn’t happened, so obviously the kiss hadn’t either.
And for a moment, Olivia had wanted him to kiss her. Him, not Bennett. She hadn’t thought of Bennett all morning if she were being honest with herself.
What was wrong with her?
She couldn’t address that now.
“Why did you bring that lady over here when it is so clear you dislike each other?”
Olivia bristled automatically, then relaxed when she realized he wasn’t necessarily criticizing her. He was actually regarding her with an expression of—curiosity? And a kind of warmth?
She hadn’t seen that expression from many people before. Most people looked at her with amusement, as he had, or with boredom. Usually when she was regaling them with details of someone less well off.
“Well, it is true that Lady Cecilia and I are not the best of friends,” she admitted. Even before she’d seen that lady trying to lure Bennett into her clutches. “But Lord Baxford is a friend of my father’s, and I know that he is a notable person to call an acquaintance. I do not like Lady Cecilia as you can tell,” she added.
It felt refreshing to share with Mr. Wolcott. To show him she was not perfect, although of course he already knew that, given that the first time they’d met she’d thrown something in the approximate direction of his head. She winced as she recalled it.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She glanced over at Pearl, whom she’d forgotten during this entire time. Thankfully, Pearl was still engrossed in sewing the next-to-last shift, her head bent over her work. She did not want to have to answer if Pearl asked her what she felt about Mr. Wolcott. Mostly because she didn’t know herself.
“I wish I hadn’t said what I did. When we first met.” She looked down as she spoke but tilted her face up when his fingers came under her chin.
She felt her breath hitch as she looked into his dark eyes. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting over his face, from his strong nose to his mouth. Lord, his mouth.
His upper lip had an indent right in the middle, and she could see the stubble just beginning to come in. She was glad he was clean-shaven, even though variations on facial hair were more in fashion. This way, she got to see the clean lines of his face, to admire how strong his jawline was. How he dragged his lower lip into his mouth and bit it when he was thinking.
He was doing it right now.
“It’s fine. You didn’t say anything everybody hasn’t thought.” That he was speaking the truth didn’t lessen how bad she felt.
“That’s almost worse. I’m supposed to be better than other people. To care more than other people. I do care more than other people, I know it is my purpose to fix things.”
He shrugged, his index finger sliding along her skin. Along the underside of her jaw. He must have removed his glove at some point—perhaps while they were feeding the ducks?—because his hand was bare, so she felt his skin on hers. Sending a prickling sensation through her entire body. “People aren’t perfect all the time, Olivia.” It was the second time he’d used just her name—was he even aware he was being so informal?
This was not the time to remind him of their respective positions. Not that she wanted to, anyway. She liked how her name sounded coming out of his mouth. “It’s more important that you recognize your imperfection and try to do better. That’s all we can do. Do better.”
She swallowed, letting the feeling of his words sink into her bones. Do better. Two words, deceptively simple. And yet so difficult to accomplish. But it was a distillation of everything she’d tried to be doing since she recognized the inequality of the world. That not everyone was born a duke’s daughter, so not everyone had the privilege she did. And that that privilege didn’t mean she had more of a right to basic survival.
“Now what are you thinking about?” His finger was still on her skin, stroking back and forth on her neck. Sliding from her throat to just under her ear and back again, as though she were a cat. She felt like a cat; she wanted to curl into his touch.
“Do better.” She shook her head in agreement. “That is all I can do. Do better.”
How had they come to this moment? Come to this place where his fingers were on her skin, and she wanted them there? To where she was thinking about leaning up, up toward his mouth, pressing her lips against his?
He took his hand away, and she swayed toward him, missing his touch already.
“Well, we should gather Pearl and go walking a bit more toward there,” Olivia said in a bright tone, trying to make it sound as though she were fully invested in walking and seeing and being seen rather than in how much she wished he had kissed her.
There. She’d admitted it. That meant, unfortunately, she would have to discuss it all with Pearl, who would probably say I told you so when Olivia revealed how she felt now as opposed to how she thought she’d felt only a few days ago.
She had to push that aside to focus on what needed to be done right now. Namely, introducing Mr. Wolcott to enough people who mattered so that when he next attended a Society function he wouldn’t be entirely shunned.
“Let’s go,” she announced, beginning to walk to the more populous area of the park. Leaving the ducks—and her conflicted feelings—behind as she continued on her current mission.
“I took Lady Olivia and Lady Pearl driving today.” Edward paused to rub the nose of one of the horses on display. She wasn’t the biggest horse or the fastest, but she was looking at him with an almost earnest expression that tugged at his heart.
He had persuaded Bennett to stop his incessant work for just a few hours to accompany him to Tattersall’s. He had Chrysanthemum here, and more horses in the country house, but if he were going to make a showing for himself, he’d have to be suitably equipped in town beyond his mare. He needed horses for the carriage; the ones he’d driven out today were adequate, but not what anyone would expect from him, given his reputation as a gentleman who knew horseflesh.
And he well knew that any indication that he wasn’t the absolute best at what he was supposed to be would mean he would be lessened in everybody’s eyes. Never mind that there were often extenuating circumstances; nobody would accommodate them because of his birth.
“How do you decide?” Bennett asked, nodding to the filly, who was shoving her nose into Edward’s hand.
Edward stopped to think, chewing on his lower lip as he did when he considered something. “It’s a variety of factors,” he began, continuing to rub the horse’s soft nose. Her breath was warm on his skin. “It’s how fast the horse runs, what it looks like, its breeding. And something I can’t quite explain, just that I can tell when a horse is a good, biddable animal.”
Bennett regarded him with a wry look in his eyes.
Edward stiffened. “It’s not like choosing a bride, no matter how similar it sounds.”
Bennett shook his head, laughing. Edward resisted the urge to punch him.
The two men continued to walk down the line of horses in the pens for sale.
“How will you choose a bride, then?” Bennett’s tone was sincere, and Edward felt himself relax. He couldn’t blame Bennett for making light of the situation; he was only doing it to try to make Edward feel better, and Edward did appreciate the effort.
“I suppose it is similar, once I stop and think about it,” Edward admitted. He stooped to run his hand down a gelding’s leg, feeling how the horse reacted under his touch. “It just sounds so . . . unfeeling to consider breeding, appearance, and biddability as the primary aspects of a wife.”
Someone he’d spend the rest of his life with. Who would bear his children, be his partner in so many things, even though that was not what was traditionally accepted in marriage. It was what he wanted.
He didn’t want to have to worry about what he might say, or act like, in front of his wife. He hoped that, when he found the woman he might love, or come to love, that she would be someone who would be his partner. His equal.
Not considering herself his superior because of who he was. God save him from that type of female, even though he strongly suspected most—if not all—of the ladies his father would wish to see him with would view the circumstances of his birth as beneath them.
There had to be someone out there in all of Society who wasn’t entirely biased against someone because of how they’d been born.
Although likely not. Look at Olivia, the most passionate arguer for equality he could imagine existed. And yet she too had called him a bastard. And then felt terrible about it, but the thought had been in her mind.
“That is how most of the people in my world—now yours—see marriage. As a likely match between buyer and product for sale, with marks awarded in beauty, personality, and ease of doing as they’re told. Wit, if the buyer is more open-minded.” Bennett sounded as disgusted about it as Edward felt hearing it, but it didn’t make his words any less true.
“What about you?” Edward asked his friend. They were almost done with the row of horses; there were three other rows to get through, but Edward knew Bennett would make an excuse to leave before Edward had entirely finished. “What type of lady will be able to wrest you away from your constant work?”
“Since my brother stole my betrothed out from under my nose?” Bennett retorted. He didn’t sound bothered by it, and having seen Lord Alexander, Bennett’s brother, and his wife, Lady Eleanor, Edward could tell it was a love match. And Bennett, by his own admission, had no time for love. But there had to be something, someone, who could get Bennett’s attention more than the latest Parliamentary proceedings could.
Perhaps that was why Bennett hadn’t even considered Lady Olivia. They were too similar, both fiercely determined to right wrongs and balance injustice. There would be no respite from their respective causes if they were married. It would be relentlessly moral, and not at all the kind of relationship either one of them would truly want, despite what one of the two might have to say.
“I suppose I will have to get married someday. I am my father’s heir, after all.” Bennett tilted his head to the side in thought. “I would like a lady who is gentle. Soft, almost. Someone who will be a comfort and a pleasure to return to after a long day.”
Someone entirely unlike Lady Olivia, Edward thought.
“But that is a long time from now,” Bennett said in a weary tone. “There is too much to be done for me to consider anything so frivolous.”
“Well, then let’s be frivolous for just a bit longer.” Edward gestured to the next row of horses. “Give me your opinion on which filly would make the best bride.”
Bennett laughed, shaking his head at Edward’s nonsense.
Chapter 10
Keep your hands folded and in your lap at all times.
Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum
“Welcome, my lady, we are delighted to see you again,” Miss Saunders said, a warm smile on her face. She gestured with open arms to Olivia. “Look, children, at who is visiting today. It’s Lady Olivia.”
Olivia nodded to the children, most of whom were staring at her open-mouthed. She’d met Miss Saunders while at the Society for Poor and Orphaned Children and had found herself drawn to the young woman who couldn’t be more than a few years older than herself.
Miss Saunders, however, had come from a much different life than Olivia, and it showed in her expression, the worry in her brown eyes. She had come into some money from a distant relative and set up a small school near to the society, teaching a few of the brighter children how to read and write in hopes of eventually getting them out of factory work and into something less dangerous for their small bodies—apprenticeships at London shops, or work in a well-to-do family’s home. Some place where gentle manners and a rudimentary education would come in handy.
Olivia came every few weeks to give Miss Saunders a break from teaching. Thus far, it was only Miss Saunders, so the school was only open for a few hours in the afternoon, but Olivia hoped to bring some of her Societal acquaintances to visit once the children were taught well enough to impress the ladies.