“Good night, Anne.”
22
Isabella Hainsworth, Duchess of Carrington, received Olivia in her drawing room at midnight without any qualms, as if she had called in the middle of the afternoon. Despite the fact she had likely been perplexed when her butler had awoken her, she entered the drawing room with grace, a wrapper drawn tight around hers.
“Olivia!” she exclaimed, after asking the butler to send in tea. “Whatever is the matter?”
Olivia sat on the edge of the sofa, suddenly realizing she was wringing her hands together and still dressed in a beautiful blue satin gown. Isabella remarked she was somewhat envious of how becoming the color was on her. Olivia stood as Isabella walked toward her. She crossed the room to meet her and clasped her hands.
“Isabella, I must apologize for coming at this late hour. I simply did not know where else to go. I could not return to my parents and face my mother’s judgment, and I could not go to the home of Rosalind and the Kennedys’.”
“Of course, Olivia, I am glad you felt you could come here. You know you are always welcome,” Isabella said, patting her hand and leading her back to the sofa, where she sat next to her. “As it happens, Bradley is seeing to a matter at our country estate, so it is just the two of us.” Isabella’s wide blue eyes and slight smile were comforting, and Olivia poured out the story to her as Isabella listened to her quietly.
“What did Alastair say when you approached him about what you saw?”
Olivia looked down at her hands. “I was a coward. I did not speak to him but I simply left.”
“Without telling anyone that you had decided to leave?”
“I did speak to his sister. I told her only that I was sorry to go but would be sure to visit with her in due time. She’s a darling girl, and I could not simply leave without a word.”
Isabella nodded with a thoughtful look in her eye.
“You say he was with Hester Montgomery, in plain sight in the gardens?”
“Yes,” Olivia’s wrinkled her nose. “Out of anyone, why did it have to be Hester? How I despise the woman.”
“And you are absolutely sure it was Alastair?”
“Of course. He had been dancing with her, and when I could not find him, Frances Davenport told me she had seen the two of them enter the gardens. And there they were. He was seated on a bench, she was leaning overtop him. Although…” Olivia paused for a moment, picturing the scene again. “I suppose I never did see his face. But who else would it have been?” She sighed. “This is all my own doing. I knew when I married him who he was, what he would want out of life. I even told him to go ahead and live as he pleased. I simply … it is only that…” she sniffed as she felt the tears welling in her eyes.
“You did not plan on falling in love with him,” Isabella said as a statement, not a question.
“I do not love him!” Olivia said adamantly, though she could feel the lump in her throat. Do not cry, she told herself. She hated crying. Not because it showed weakness, for she realized there could be strength in a good cry. No, it was rather the way in which she cried. Some women cried daintily, with perfectly formed teardrops and silent sniffs. Not Olivia. When she cried, she could not seem to help the sobs that escaped until she gave herself the hiccups. Her nose turned bright red and ran like a river, her eyes became rimmed in bloody redness for the rest of the day, and overall she looked a hideous mess.
However, with Isabella’s gentle hand on her arm, the emotions of the day, and the tiredness that overcame her, the tears started to fall, and she could no longer keep them in. She dissolved in a puddle on Isabella’s lap, and bless her friend, she simply stroked her back and let her cry.
“Oh Isabella,” she said as the realization came over her in a flood. “You are right. I do love the bastard.”
As her tears subsided, Isabella handed her a handkerchief and simply said, “Perhaps it’s time we had that cup of tea, is it not?”
Olivia blew her nose, smiled, and agreed.
After rising late, Olivia joined Isabella for breakfast the following morning, though she found she could hardly eat anything laid before her and instead settled for a cup of tea.
Her friend, however, seemed to have a particularly hearty appetite. Olivia eyed the plate full of sweet pastries and looked up at Isabella’s face. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was even more lustrous than usual, and Olivia realized that she had been so swept up in her problems the previous night that she hadn’t regarded her friend as she should have. It had been only a month since she had seen her, but the normally slight Isabella looked more … ample than usual.
“Isabella,” she said slowly, raising an eyebrow at her. “Is there anything you should like to tell me?”
“Oh, no, darling, everything is fine,” she said, though her cheeks betrayed her as they flushed an even deeper shade of pink.
“Please, do not hold anything back on my account,” said Olivia. “If you have good news to share, I should love to hear it. Trust me, it will help raise me out of my melancholy.”
“All right then,” said Isabella in a rush as her grin widened. “As you seemed to have guessed, I shall be having a child in but a few months.”
“How wonderful!” Olivia exclaimed, truly happy for the woman she had known since childhood. There had been some years while Isabella was living in France that they had been separated for a time, but upon Isabella’s return they had slipped back into an easy friendship as if they had never parted. Olivia had been pleased to play a role in Isabella’s own love story. She was only now sorry her own had not nearly the happy ending her friend had found, but if anyone deserved love, it was Isabella. “You shall be the perfect mother, Isabella.”
“Thank you,” Isabella replied as she bit into another pastry. “I shall be traveling to the country shortly in order to remain there until the baby comes. However, I shall not be going anywhere until we have determined what will become of your situation, Olivia. I feel there is more at play here than we may gather.”
“Not to worry about me,” said Olivia, shaking her head. “I shall simply have to determine what actions are best to take next. I suppose I am being silly. Many women simply turn their heads to their husband's indiscretions. Why should I be any different?”
“Because you love your husband,” said Isabella matter-of-factly. “And it seems to me, from observing the two of you together, he has feelings for you as well. “
Olivia waved a hand in the air as if in dismissal of her words.
“I will have to speak with him eventually, I suppose,” she said. “However, I simply could not face him last night. I knew from the very start, from that fateful walk up the stairs to the private box at the Argyll Rooms, that I had to shield my heart from him, but dash it all, he managed to break it anyway.” She sighed. “I cannot stay with a man who does not love me in return, Isabella. I simply do not know how I could do so. And yet if I were to leave our marriage, I would bring such scandal to our family.”
“You mean to Helen?”
“Yes, to Helen, and to Anne as well,” she said. “I suppose I shall have to remain with Alastair until the point when both of our sisters are married, and then I shall determine what next to do. I feel Alastair will provide enough funds for me to live comfortably enough on my own. Oh Isabella, I never wanted a life like this. I wanted love — shared love between a husband and a wife. I should have followed my instincts at the beginning of this marriage and lived separately from the start. Truly I cannot fault him. I knew what sort of man he was, what he wanted of life, and yet still … as time went on I thought perhaps there could be something more.”
She stared off, her focus across the room on a painting of lilies and sunflowers in a field.
“Do you mind if I stay here a few more days? Until I am able to gather my thoughts and return to Alastair’s home?” she asked Isabella.
“Of course,” her friend replied, softly. “I still believe you should speak with him and clarify a few things. But
until the time you are ready, of course you are always quite welcome here. Now, you may remain in your gloomy state today, but tomorrow would you like to do a bit of shopping? That should help your spirits some.”
Olivia smiled at her. “That sounds lovely. I have some errands I must run anyway.”
“To a certain Financial Register?”
Olivia looked at Isabella in shock. “Why yes, as it happens. How did you know about the place?”
Isabella laughed. “I’ve known you long enough, Olivia, to know your thoughts and your writing,” she replied. “In addition, you left some of your articles out last night in the hall. They must have slipped from your bag or your reticule. I did not mean to snoop, truly I did not, but I recognized your handwriting. I read the column in the latest Financial Register this morning before you joined me. It is an excellent piece, Olivia. You should be very proud of your work.”
Olivia laughed. “How insightful of you to deduce the mystery. You are correct. We must stop at the office after I have completed my work today. I have a column to submit.”
And with that she resolved to spend the day focused on her work, thinking not at all about a blond man with unruly curls, a chiseled chest, and a deep dimple which haunted her thoughts and caused her heart to ache.
That evening Alastair went to the worst gentlemen’s club he had ever visited. The one where he could find the cheapest drinks, the riskiest gambling, and the most scantily clad woman, which would allow him to forget all about the wife who had left him and his heart.
“Penn,” he said, greeting his friend, who had agreed to meet him here.
“Breckenridge,” he nodded to him in turn. “Does your wife know you’re here?”
“When has it mattered what a man’s wife thinks of his nighttime outings?” Alastair muttered.
“To many it matters not, but to you of late, it has,” Penn replied, question in his eyes.
“Well, no longer,” Alastair said, as he called for a brandy. His friend said nothing, sensing his mood.
The serving girl noted his summons from across the room with a wink, and appeared not long afterward, brushing against his arm, her low bodice leaving little to his imagination. She fluttered her eyes up at him as she asked, “Is there anything else you would be needing tonight, sir?” Alastair could hardly look at her as the guilt rolled through his stomach. He felt no desire, but rather disgust in himself. He wanted nothing to do with this woman, out of no fault of her own. Rather, he desired the one woman who refused to be with him — his wife.
“I am fine, thank you,” he said to the girl, who turned away with a pout to find another to bestow her attentions on.
“Faro, I think, Penn,” he said. Faro was Olivia’s least favorite game, because, she said, it was all due to luck, with no skill involved. He walked to the table, laying down his chips on the Jack and the seven. Despite the fact he knew Olivia would never set foot in a gaming hell such as this, nor appear at the faro table, he could not help but look for her over his shoulder. He was too used to having her by his side at the card table, or to looking at her across the green felt, her blue eyes boring into his as she gave him a flirtatious grin.
He tried to concentrate on the game at hand, he truly did. But all he could think, rolling round and round in his brain, was, “Why did she leave?” He had tried to be a better man, the man she subtly encouraged him to be. It was not that she nagged at him, nor asked him to be someone he was not. But rather, she encouraged him to do more with his life, to be a better man than he had been before.
He sighed as the first card thrown was a Jack. One lost bet. The second card? The Queen of Hearts. Of course. Another loss.
Here he was, losing at a gambling hell and no better than his father. This was the man she had wanted nothing to do with. Should he go to her? Should he overcome his pride and beg her to take him back? If only he knew what had been the cause of her leaving, then perhaps he could make the change she wished. As he lost another hand, he pushed away from the table in frustration.
“I’m done for the night, Penn,” he said to his friend.
“But we have only just arrived!” said Lord Penn, looking up at him with surprise on his face.
“I know,” Alastair nodded. “However it seems tonight luck is not on my side.”
He left the hell, entering his carriage, which looked rather out of place in this neighborhood of St. Giles. He thought of his life, where he had come from, what it was like with Olivia, and where he wanted to be tomorrow and all the days to come after that. He wanted — no, needed — her by his side. Perhaps she was concerned about the state of his finances. Thanks to her, his father’s gambling debts were nearly paid off. And thanks to P.J. Scott, his investments in the shipping company were starting to show a return that would pay off the creditors coming after him for his father’s debts from the horse track. However, Olivia did not know that, and nor had he yet informed his creditors.
He wished he could go back to the days when they were beginning to enjoy one another. When they gambled together, went out to various events, and generally … had fun. To the time before the theatre, he realized. That was when everything changed, just ever so slightly. Perhaps it was his past. He knew she wasn’t exactly pleased about his rakish ways, but there was nothing he could do to change that. He could only change the future. And so he would. He may not have his wife, but he would be the man she had encouraged him to be. A man who took responsibility for his family, who lived an admirable, respectable life. Perhaps, then, in time, she would see who he had become, and return to him.
23
Despite his mood, the next day dawned beautiful and sunny, and Alastair swung his legs over the side of the bed with a groan. While he hadn’t been at the club long, he had drunk enough cheap alcohol to leave him with a fearsome headache. The hour was early still, and Alastair was tempted to shut the curtain and re-enter his bed, but instead he decided to start his day with the resolve he had found on the carriage ride home the previous night.
His mother and sister were breakfasting in the dining room, and were shocked when he entered.
“Alastair!” his mother said, her teacup to her lips. “I do not believe I have seen you rise this early in ages. Did you stay in yesterday evening?”
“I did not,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep. “However I returned home early.”
Anne gave him a knowing look, but averted her eyes back down to the eggs in front of her when he glowered at her.
“Will Olivia be returning today?” his mother asked. “I cannot imagine her friend would be so ill as to need her for more than a few days.”
Alastair had not brought himself to tell his mother the truth of Olivia’s withdrawal from the house, but instead had contrived a story that she had gone to visit an ailing friend. Anne had called him a coward, and perhaps she was right. However, Alastair had always been one to avoid the inevitable, though he was unsure of how long it would be until he had to tell his mother that Olivia had decided to leave of her own accord. His mother had already been through so much, he did not want to trouble her with this situation unless Olivia’s removal became permanent.
“I am not sure, Mother,” he finally said in response, “though as far as I am aware it will be some time still.”
She nodded her head and looked back down at her plate.
“I will be going out later this morning on some business, should either of you care to join me,” he said. His mother declined with a shake of her head, but a look of excitement came over Anne’s face.
“Oh, I should love to!” She said. “Would you mind if we stopped to see the latest fashions at Abigail's? It has been some time since I visited and now that I am no longer in black I would so love to see the latest.”
“The seamstress? I see no reason why not,” he said, offering her a smile. Having eaten a piece of toast and finished his cup of coffee, he found he had no appetite for anymore, and told Anne he would send for her when he was prepared to lea
ve. He summoned more coffee to the study, where he sat and took account of his finances and his holdings.
The ledgers had certainly taken a turn for the better. His father’s debts at the many gambling establishments through London were nearly paid, and what was left was inconsequential. His investments were beginning to show fruition after just a short while. How the columnist from The Financial Register had known such a thing and why he had provided Alastair such significant information, he knew not, but he would be forever grateful to the man.
Alastair reached down into the mahogany desk and pulled out paper as he took up the quill pen from the desktop. He was unsure what he could do for Mr. P.J. Scott, but if nothing else he must thank him.
His composed letter was nearly complete when his butler appeared at the door.
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head to Alastair. “There are some men at the door who wish to speak with you. They say it is about an urgent financial matter.”
Alastair sighed. It could be none other than creditors calling in his debt. Today of all days, must they come?
“Very well, show them in here,” he said, cringing. He would have the money in due time, he knew. He thought of what Olivia had said, to promise to pay installments. He also thought of her insistence that he use her dowry. He truly did not want to be such a man, to use the money of another to pay his father’s debts.
“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Johnson,” his butler introduced his guests, cutting through his musings. Alastair did not rise, but motioned them to sit in the chairs in front of the desk.
“Your Grace,” began the first, though Alastair had trouble concentrating on his words by the way his generous moustache bobbed up and down as he spoke. “We have sent you correspondence regarding the debts you owe, that have come to us for collection. It is time —”
Alastair held a hand up to stop the man.
“You must understand, sir, that these debts were my father’s,” he said, hating that he was speaking ill of him to others, but realizing he must explain the situation to these men. “I have income that is beginning to come in, but it will be some time before it is fully realized. Can you provide me more time?”
He's a Duke, But I Love Him Page 15