by Julia Donner
Olivia noted the way Bates politely turned a blind eye to the lady’s uncaring display by taking the foil from Harry and placing it and his own in hard leather cases. Harry ignored Lady Ravenswold’s near nudity and jogged across the pavilion floor to the staircase. He paused at the base and looked up. Recognition lit his face in a glorious smile. He lunged up the steps, taking two and three at a time.
Harry stopped in front of Olivia, two-steps down, and grinning hugely, as if awarded a marvelous treat. Overwhelmed, her gaze skittered away from the blazing happiness in his eyes and dropped to the center of his chest. His sweat-soaked shirt stuck to his torso. She opened her mouth to speak, but halted when his scent washed over her. A memory, as vivid and breath-stealing as when it happened, catapulted her back to that sunny afternoon in bed with him—his relentless drive to render her senseless and sated, then starting over again, leaving her feeling devoured and at the same time, cherished.
Olivia gave her head a tiny shake to pull back from the disturbing memory and noticed a line of red on his arm. She had meant to keep her distance, but the thin line of blood flung her forward. “Oh, you’ve been wounded!”
Capturing her upper arms before she made contact, his brow wrinkled when he followed her gaze. “That? It’s naught but a scratch. How is it that you’ve come here? Did Lizzie invite you? Tuesdays she has mutton. Can’t bear it myself but Perry loves it.”
Asterly taunted his brother, “There’s always any number of removes, but won’t your wound keep you abed for days? You’ve always been a bit of a baby when it comes to scratches. Should we call for a surgeon? Some sticking plaster?”
Harry snorted an inelegant laugh. “You’ll pay dearly for that.” He switched back to grinning at Olivia like a moonling. “Have you talked to Lizzie yet?”
Still somewhat boggled by the urge to tend the nick on his arm and the sudden recollection of the bite she’d once taken into the hard curve of his bicep, she didn’t get an answer out fast enough. Her cheeks felt on fire and continued to sting as Harry’s eyes lit with sharp understanding. How could he know what she was thinking? And yet, he did. His broad grin had relaxed into a knowing smile.
Lord Asterly must have comprehended and took control, inserting into the stressful silence, “You can’t come to table like that, Harry. Clean up and we’ll meet you at luncheon.”
Reluctant to leave, Harry searched her face. “Will you join us, Livie?”
“Not for luncheon. I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is.”
Asterly smoothly said, “Not at all, ma’am.”
“You are too kind, but I had not expected to take up so much of your time, and I do have an appointment elsewhere.”
Not bothering to hide his disappointment, Harry said, “If you could wait for a few minutes, I could escort you there.”
“It’s an appointment with Grandfather, but I would be happy to wait for you in the foyer, if his lordship doesn’t mind?”
With a polite tip of his head, Asterly said, “Please allow me to walk you there.” To Harry he muttered, “Go away. You need tidying.”
Harry directed a suspicious squint at his brother. “Perry’s got his sneaky-face expression on. He hasn’t been feeding you Banbury stories about me, has he, Livie?”
“No, Harry. He’s too proud of you for that.”
She watched them share a meaningful gaze, a visual merging of twins. Even though they were not much alike on the surface, the bond existed.
Not breaking the connection with his brother, Asterly said, “I’ll take her downstairs while you change.”
On the trek across the portrait hall, Olivia dredged up the courage to satisfy her curiosity. “I wonder if you would indulge me in a small request.”
He halted. “How may I be of service?”
She was grateful his piercing gaze had softened and now held only curiosity and a pleasant willingness to oblige. “There has been so much talk of the statue done of Harry. The newspapers said Lady Asterly purchased the work. Might I see it?”
His eyebrows raised in curious surprise. He tipped his head in a bow and gestured to a side door. “This leads to a collection room not intended for public view. Visitors are only allowed to come up here at specific times, but never in here, which is why this entry is unattended at the moment.”
‘Oh, my!” was all she could say after she entered and saw the area crammed with statuary and paintings.
Asterly gestured to a marble statue on her right. Almost nine feet high with the addition of its pedestal, the figure had been covered with a lurid green, silk banyan. Harry’s features gazed down, his head angled slightly to the left, his expression distant, contemplative. Cold, smooth stone captured the perfection of his brow and elegant cheekbones that contrasted with the uncompromising contour of his jaw. His mouth curved with wistful humor. She smiled at the slight bump on his nose, his proud trophy from a schoolboy fistfight.
Asterly’s strong, tanned hand reached out and with a gentle tug, slid the banyan off the statue. Green silk slithered to the floor and pooled beneath Harry’s bared feet. In a relaxed stance, his long limbs and lean muscle glided in a fluid, visual flow. He held an unraveled scroll in front of his hips for modesty’s sake.
Blunt-spoken when surprised, Olivia almost blurted that he hadn’t posed entirely nude, as the newspapers had reported. Only one aspect of the rendering was inaccurate. The curved mounds of his backside were actually rounder, higher, and dimpled at the base of his spine. She doubted she would ever forget the sight of him rising up from the bed that sunny afternoon at Beechgate Cottage, going to fetch eggs for their luncheon.
Before her father had arrived and ruined the most extraordinary day of her life.
She murmured, “No wonder there was such a commotion and public outcry when this was removed from display. It rivals the David.”
“Would you like me to ask my wife to give it to you as a wedding gift?”
Still caught up in its ethereal beauty, she answered, “If Harry would like it, thank you. For my part, what do I need with a statue to look at when I shall have the real thing?”
The odd noise Asterly uttered sounded like a swallowed laugh, causing her to review what she’d said. Mortified, she whirled and retraced their steps, escaping from her stupid remark that still echoed in the private collection room. She waited in the public viewing room, furious that she blushed over the slightest thing, until Asterly rejoined her—and blessedly, without a word—escorted her to the foyer.
The butler, Crimm, intercepted them on the way down. “My lord, these arrived moments ago, and her ladyship has sent word that she cannot join you for luncheon. Will you have guests?”
Asterly withdrew the messages from a silver tray. “I shall have to ask my brother and his friends, but I very much doubt it. Mrs. St. Clair has an appointment.”
As they finished the trek down the wide staircase, Olivia’s sense of dread intensified, worsened by the lingering embarrassment of her recent faux pas.
How could she have uttered something so outrageous? Too much time alone in the country and away from polite conversation. Discomfort from the incident brought on the worry that Lady Asterly had received word of the unexpected caller and stayed away on purpose. Perhaps she only agreed to host a social gathering for Harry’s sake. Of course, it would be so. Everyone buckled when Harry asked, except her ridiculous father.
Overwhelmed by a sudden flood of mortification too intense to endure, she mumbled an excuse and fled out the door. Her grandfather’s ornate town coach waited at the curb. She hurried inside and sat back to cover her burning face.
She heard Harry’s call as the coach rolled around the corner and away from Cavendish. She had no courage left to stop the carriage. This entire venture had been a mistake. The baron would certainly tell his wife about the regrettable, and laughable, visit. How was she to maintain any sort of countenance when she next encountered Lord Asterly and was introduced to Harry’s beloved Lizzie?
Chapter
18
Olivia dreaded the evening ahead. Lady Asterly had not reneged on Harry’s request for an evening entertainment with a modest number in attendance, instead of the typical ball with too many attendees. A limited number of guests and friends might provide the best vehicle for announcing the engagement. This would be followed up with publications in the newspapers.
Olivia didn’t relish the prospect of becoming an object of curiosity. Her brief exposure with him in the park had invoked the public’s rampant curiosity as to how such an unremarkable female had captured the most eligible and desired man in England. The world had been given no other choice than to speculate that she carried his child. Perhaps this was her due, after seducing her late husband into doing the same.
A message had been delivered to Godolming House the morning before the soiree. Harry wrote that he would be wearing Sunshine Yellow. Olivia scowled at the note and his fastidious penmanship. What did that mean?
She yearned for her dear friend, Evangeline, who had supported her in all things when they’d been at school. Nothing cowed the solemn girl, who looked as passive as a doe on the outside, but had the heart of a lioness. They’d cared for each other like sisters—more than that—Evie had been the only person to understand her desire to marry an impoverished curate and devote her life to ending slavery. Others tended to avoid Olivia for espousing high-minded beliefs, as if she soiled herself by aligning with the downtrodden. Her own family treated her as if she’d betrayed her class. If not for advocating her beliefs so obnoxiously and repetitively, she doubted anyone would remember her from a come-out over a decade gone.
What had happened to her spine in the last years, her dedication and finer feelings? She stared at her ordinary features in the mirror. Brown eyes dominated her face, made prominent with the new hairstyle. She ruthlessly brushed curls she never knew she had until the recent cut released springy, natural waves. No matter how she tried, she’d had no success with erasing the memory of Aunt Charlotte’s moue of disgust, the caustic comments about her niece’s lack of everything or anything attractive.
Had she and Harry been lovers?
In the mirror, movement behind Olivia reflected the maid she wished she could refuse. She preferred the privacy of taking care of her own needs, but that was not allowed in a duke’s establishment. She’d relented and this evening asked for help to choose an appropriate gown, one that required assistance with the lacings under the train. Ambitious and eager to make an impression, the girl had applied a lemon rinse that lightened Olivia’s mouse-colored hair, changing it to streaked tawny.
The maid stood at attention by Olivia’s padded bench with an opened jewel case. The duke had sent for Olivia’s mother’s jewels, actually the duke’s, since they belonged to the estate.
Ignoring the array of sparkling gems, Olivia assessed the maid’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “Eloise, is it not?”
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, ma’am. Might I suggest the peridot and diamond pendant?”
“Peridot would certainly compliment the paleness of this green silk but would also draw undue attention where I least wish it. The upper-half of my gown appears to have gone missing.”
Eloise focused on setting down the box and retrieving the delicate necklace. She reverently draped the cold stones set in silver on Olivia’s breasts. “Not at all, ma’am, for décolletage is considered de rigueur for the lateness of this event. The party will no doubt last long after midnight. There are accompanying earbobs.”
“No. I’ve never cared for things dangling from my ears. Let us see what miracles you’ve wrought.”
Olivia assessed the spectacle of herself in the glass—a spectacle only in the sense of its wrongness. Pastels were meant for girls but she never wore bright colors well. Anything too intense tended to further wash out a complexion gone sallow from too much time in the sun. Perhaps the swollen mounds of her bosom draped with glittering gems would provide the perfect foil for standing beside the most beautiful creature ever created.
“Very good, Eloise. It shall be as you suggest. I do approve of the green.”
Eloise curtsied again, elated. “Apple green, ma’am.” She gestured to the unfolded note on the vanity table. “He will be most pleased with the balance.”
Pulling on a long, four-button glove, Olivia repeated, “Balance?”
“Why, yes, ma’am. He is wearing yellow. Please forgive me, but his note was laid open by the rouge pot.”
“Whoever bought paint? I’ll never use it, and what about the note?”
“Your intended is known to announce his ensemble before presentation. That way, those seeking his attentions would know their colors would not clash with his. I assumed that was why you left it lying open. Have I overstepped, ma’am?”
While tugging on the other glove, Olivia said. “It appears that if you had not, I would have made a social blunder. What else have I overlooked?”
“Since you haven’t been in town for some time, you could not know that Lady Asterly has a devotion to the color green in all its shades.”
Olivia appraised the clever maid, not much more than a girl, but with wisdom far beyond her years. “Can you tell me what is said about Lady Asterly?”
“She is well-regarded among politicians, even the most elevated in the land. Invitations to her entertainments are much sought after by artists and parliamentary members. She procures only the best artworks and plans to create a museum with the pieces. She actively promotes her husband, some think for the highest position. Lady Asterly was the richest heiress ever, but what sets her apart from everyone else is that she is held in such esteem by her bother-in-law.”
“Ah. Sir Harry.”
Olivia would have sworn that the girl was about to swoon from mere utterance of his name. How appalling. So it was going to be that sort of evening, one of vaporish females, while smoothing the feathers of Harry’s family and friends. She had trouble believing that women actually fainted at the sight of him, then remembered how her heart had nearly burst out of her chest the first time she saw him. How ridiculous. He was only a man—one with a rather glorious backside. She must stop that vision from intruding at every opportunity. She’d be sitting at the dinner table, flushed red, and everyone would correctly suspect the reason.
Olivia got up from the tufted bench with a sigh of resignation. “What shall I carry as a wrap?”
“You will only need your reticule and this fan. Lady Asterly is known to keep her house overly warm.”
“Eloise, if all goes as you have said this evening, would you be willing to take a position as personal maid? I have no head for fashion, nor any interest in it, but wouldn’t wish to embarrass Sir…my future husband with a decided lack of style.”
“Oh, ma’am, I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to serve you, but you needn’t worry about creating a style of your own. He will do that for you.”
Olivia balked at the image of Harry tricking her out in the latest mode. If he dared to attempt it, she’d threaten to wear her most frayed kitchen apron in public.
“The evening has taken on a winter chill,” Eloise said, holding up a cloak of satin lined with ermine and accented with golden frogs.
Olivia touched the gilt-thread embellishments on her mother’s favorite outerwear, recently rescued from storage. She’d never been allowed to play with this cloak but had been given the freedom to dress up in the yards and yards of material needed to cover the old-fashioned hoops. Incredibly, the hint of her mother’s scent still clung to some of the heavier fabrics when she’d opened the trunk.
A tap on the door sent the maid flying across the room to answer. A footman bowed and whispered a message. Eloise whirled around, her face aglow with a triumphant grin, as if she had just solved the world’s most difficult riddle.
“Oh, ma’am, he’s sent a carriage for you! He asks that you come to him ahead of your father.”
Could anything be worse than meeting an intended’s familiars all alone? Her father
’s dour presence was better than no one for escort.
Lady Asterly’s opinion of Bishop Mainstay had been made clear when she did not invite her father to the intimate dinner to precede the soiree, an example of how Harry’s clique was famous for standing beside those they loved. They’d pounce on anyone who dared to hurt their beloved Harry. Her own family had ruthlessly insulted his integrity and yet expected him to do the honorable thing. After the appalling way her father had treated Harry, his friends and family posed the more difficult hurdle to surmount. Perhaps even to survive. All of them, save Lady Asterly, were rumored to leap into a physical fight. After the fencing demonstration with the intrepid Lady Ravenswold, she didn’t doubt the veracity of that piece of gossip.
Add to the gantlet ahead, a revisit of society’s confusion and disgust from when she had insisted on marrying an impoverished curate. She hoped they’d forgotten her ill-bred penchant of badgering anyone who would listen about slavery reform. People had avoided her out of self-preservation, and later, outright dislike. Now, she had to face them again—and yet again—pregnant and unmarried. An over-used guillotine blade would be preferable to the upcoming hours subjected to combinations of envy, condescension, comparisons, and veiled insult.
The question that so often kept repeating in her thoughts intruded. Had one afternoon of an unforgettable interlude been worth the consequences?
Entirely unexpected, Harry had financially freed her from her family’s oppressive yoke. Once they married, whether they stayed together or not, he had endowed her with everything she would ever need. They could go on as most couples in the polite world did, living in separate worlds. That meant no more mind-drugging ecstasy with a partner who adored women and pleasing them. Could she settle for that one experience and look the other way while he pleasured and was pleased by others?