by Lynne Barron
Palmerton House was immense, four stories, more than forty rooms. When she had discovered the sorry state of their finances after her husband died, Olivia had closed off the west wing entirely and only those rooms necessary to the family were maintained now. The ballroom, the music room, two formal parlors, two long galleries and the formal dining room had been abandoned, their furnishings either sold or stored away.
The family now inhabited the oldest part of the house, the original rooms of the east wing, five bedchambers, the nursery, the orangery, the library, a small cozy front parlor, a larger formal parlor, a small dining room and the kitchen. The servants had all been moved to the rooms above and below stairs of the east wing and center hall.
She’d had to let half of the staff go, some of whom had been with the family for generations. But she’d had no choice. She’d found positions for some of them within Henry’s household. Still others had been sent to her mother’s house in Portman Square.
She’d done the best she could under difficult conditions. Palmerton’s aunt and her husband had set up a ruckus when the first un-entailed property had been put on the market but as they were in no position to assist financially and had no legal claim to any of the estates, they had soon settled down and accepted that the Palmerton legacy was to be dismantled after hundreds of years.
If she could have sold Palmerton House she would have done so. Immediately. She detested the house, had no desire to live in the ancient mausoleum. It was cold and drafty and a terrible drain on the embattled family coffers.
For what seemed like the hundredth time she contemplated offering the house for lease. She could surely find some wealthy merchant in want of a pretentious address. She could move her family into a small house in Hanover or Bedford Squares. They could live a simpler life in Town much as they’d lived a simpler life at Idyllwild this last year.
Her brother Henry had repeatedly offered them rooms at Hastings House but her mother was in the habit of spending much of her time there. Olivia had no desire to spend more than the occasional afternoon tea with Lady Hastings.
Simon and Beatrice would gladly have them to live with them in the country. They had even offered the use of their town house for Olivia and the children.
Olivia wanted a home of her own, a refuge where she could raise her children away from well-meaning and opinionated relations. For the first time in her twenty-eight years, she was independent. Free. She did not intend to relinquish her freedom, not to her family, not to the strictures of Society and certainly not to the domination of a husband.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia’s first days in London were a whirlwind of activity. On the long journey south she had decided to put aside her mourning. Never mind that it had only been eighteen months and some in Society would frown upon her decision to dispense with another six months of half-mourning. She was finished with the hypocrisy of mourning a man who’d done nothing to deserve her loyalty, much less her grief.
With that thought firmly in mind, she visited her modiste for a new wardrobe, foregoing the demure, ruffled, pale pastels she’d worn during her marriage in favor of gowns in bold, jeweled colors with lower necklines and simple, classical lines. She had her shoulder-length dark tresses cropped short to frame her face once more.
She hired Mrs. Sophie Miles to care for Fanny and Charlie, instilling her and her daughter Meg in the small bedchamber that opened off the nursery. Mrs. Radcliffe took the news of her discharge with her customary cold dignity.
Olivia spent her evenings dining quietly with her siblings and cousins, catching up on all the latest gossip and settling into what she hoped would be a more contented life without a husband to ignore and humiliate her in equal measure.
Three days after she returned to Town Olivia sat down to write a note to Jack inviting him call upon her. She handed the missive to Johnston with only a moment’s embarrassment, and set off to visit Henry in the Mayfair mansion in which she’d been raised.
“Happy Birthday, brother. How does it feel to be three years from thirty?” she asked as she breezed into Henry’s study.
He immediately rose from his chair behind the massive desk that had belonged to their father.
“Likely better than being two years from that august age,” he teased back, pulling her into a fierce hug. “Have I told you how happy I am you’ve finally returned to Town?”
“Only ten or eleven times.” Olivia leaned back to smile up at him.
“Yes, well you’ll have to forgive me for making it an even dozen,” Henry replied. “But come, sit and have a spot of tea with your ancient brother.”
As they enjoyed a light repast and went over the estate account books, Olivia studied her brother who had somehow transformed from a shy, rather bumbling young man to a renowned rake with all of London clamoring for his attention.
The Earl of Hastings was the spitting image of their father, tall and broad-shouldered and too handsome for his own good. His golden-blond hair was tousled, curls falling over his forehead and brushing against his cravat. His eyes were as blue as a cloudless sky and forever filled with merriment. His facial structure might have been sculpted by a master craftsman, from his high cheekbones to his square chin and long, straight nose.
But it wasn’t Henry startling good looks alone that had ladies lining up to be his next paramour and gentlemen begging to befriend him. The Earl of Hastings was possessed of a quick mind, a generous heart, a boisterous sense of humor and a mischievous streak of deviltry.
And a keen financial acumen.
“I’m thinking to offer Palmerton House for lease when the Season ends,” Olivia tossed the words out, fully prepared to argue the benefits of such a plan.
“You could likely get a pretty penny,” Henry replied after only a slight hesitation. “Some cit or foreigner would jump at the chance to take up residence in an earl’s house. Of course tongues will wag.”
“Tongues have been wagging for quite some time now,” Olivia replied with a wave of her hand. “Between the scandal of our recognizing Beatrice as our sister and her subsequent marriage to Simon, not to mention Palmerton’s ignoble end, we should have been ostracized years ago. And yet...”
“Who would dare to cut us?” Henry asked. “We are related to half the great families.”
“Perhaps you can assist me in finding a smaller residence in Town?” Olivia asked as she topped off their tea cups.
“What precisely are you looking for?”
“Five or six bedchambers, quarters for half a dozen servants, two parlors, a large nursery, small dining room, kitchen and a garden.”
“Are you still of a mind to hire a governess for Frances?” Henry asked around a ginger biscuit.
“Are you still of a mind to argue she is too young to need one?” she parried.
“Pax!” Henry lifted his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I’ve come to the conclusion you are likely right that my niece needs to keep her mind occupied.”
“What was it that made you see the light?” Olivia asked with a laugh. “Was it the sight of her climbing along the top shelf in your library in search of the naughty books adults keep up high? Or perhaps it was the squirrel she was attempting to lure off the windowsill and into her bedchamber?”
“Actually it was the lecture she handed down on the risk I run of being saddled with an unwanted wife should I not curb my wayward tendencies,” he answered, trying to appear stern while a grin fought for freedom.
“Wayward tendencies?”
“I assume she heard you and Beatrice speaking on the subject.”
“Bea and I are worried about you.”
“You’d best do your worrying out of earshot of Lady Frances lest she start spouting such nonsense in polite company,” Henry warned.
“She has become something of a spy about the house,” she admitted.
“I imagine she is bored after more than a year of freedom at Idyllwild.”
“The trouble is I’m not quite certain
how to go about finding her a governess,” Olivia replied. “I visited a number of agencies but they seemed only to want to recommend I wait a few years. Or to offer up older candidates, more nurse than governess.”
“I have a suggestion,” Henry began and Olivia did not miss the hint of a blush on his cheeks.
“Why do I get the feeling I will not like your suggestion?” she asked suspiciously.
“Now, just hear me out, won’t you?”
“I’m listening.”
“I happen to know of a well-bred lady who is at present looking for just such a position,” Henry said. “Miss Josephine Amherst.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Olivia asked.
“She is the daughter of one of the deans at Cambridge,” Henry answered. “You likely remember me complaining about Professor Amherst.”
“Your mathematics instructor?”
“The one.”
“And his daughter is looking…oh wait, didn’t I read in the Times not long ago that Miss Amherst was soon to be wed,” she asked in confusion. “To Lord Masterson? Has the wedding been called off?”
“It has.”
“Tell me you had nothing to do with the end of the lady’s betrothal,” Olivia cried, knowing the truth already.
“Masterson is eighty years old if he is a day. What lady in her right mind would want to marry him?” Henry answered, no answer at all.
“Henry.”
“Josie only wanted a bit of fun before she married the old toad,” he replied with barely a trace of shame.
“Henry! You cannot run about seducing innocent young ladies.” Olivia rose and paced away from her brother before spinning around to glare at him. “You will be caught and Fanny’s prediction will become truth.”
“Good God, I don’t take innocents to my bed. And I can’t remember the last time I had to seduce a woman, more’s the pity. Besides which, I would hardly suggest you hire one of my past lovers as my niece’s governess.”
“Then what sort of fun was Miss Amherst looking for?” Olivia asked as she settled back into her seat beside him.
“Well…as to that…she was looking for just that sort of fun when she sneaked into my bedchamber, or thought she was,” Henry admitted. “In truth Josie was only looking for a way out of the marriage.”
“And thought that if you ruined her, Masterson wouldn’t have her,” she finished for him.
“But I did not ruin her,” he hurried to explain. “Unfortunately she was caught sneaking into her house with the dawn and Masterson ended the betrothal.”
“He jilted her?”
“He was honorable enough to allow her to cry off but her father tossed her from the house anyway.”
“Good Lord,” Olivia breathed.
“She’s a good girl, truly gifted mathematically,” Henry replied, taking her hands in his. “She only needs someone to give her a chance.”
Olivia looked down at their joined hands, his so much larger and darker than hers.
She trusted Henry, trusted his instincts and his devotion to Fanny and Charlie.
She looked up and met his eyes. “I will meet with her.”
“You won’t be sorry, Olivia,” Henry promised.
“I’ve only agreed to see her, to speak with her and make my own decision,” she cautioned as she rose to depart. “Why don’t you bring her around for tea one day this week?”
“I’ll send a note around to her straight away.” Henry rose with her and walked her to the door of his study. “We’ll discuss a day and time tonight at Mother’s grand gala.”
“Oh, good gracious! I completely forgot,” she admitted with a groan.
Henry laughed, causing Olivia to look up at him as they stood in the open doorway.
“Did you send around an invitation to Mr. Bentley?” she asked.
“What’s the story there, Olivia?”
“Story?” she repeated.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, my lady,” Henry teased with a grin. “You’ve never asked me to slip an invitation into Mother’s outgoing pile.”
“Mother didn’t catch you at it, did she?” Olivia asked in an attempt to change the subject.
“Tsk, tsk, none of that,” he replied. “Are you thinking to dally with the man?”
Olivia huffed out a laugh. “Do I question you about your amorous adventures?”
“You just did.”
“That’s different. I’m worried about you.”
Henry only lifted a brow in answer.
“You’ve no reason to worry about me,” Olivia said. “I’m not hopscotching from bed to bed.”
“Have you been in his bed?” Henry demanded, all traces of humor falling from his face.
“That is none of your business,” Olivia replied.
“Olivia, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I am a widow,” she answered. “No different than the widows whose beds you visit.”
“You are not like any of those women!” Henry growled.
“My lord?”
The siblings turned as one to find a liveried footman hovering near the front door, an expectant look on his pale features.
“Is Lady Palmerton’s carriage ready?” Henry asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I’d best be off then,” Olivia called out cheerfully, hoping to make a quick escape.
“You are not like them,” Henry repeated quietly, forestalling her with a hand on her arm. “You are a lady, Olivia. Not some tart who invites a man into her bed solely for the pleasure of a good…”
“Rogering?” she supplied when he halted.
“Where did you…never mind,” Henry muttered. “My point is that the ladies who invite me to their beds do so from boredom and because they’ve heard the whispers of my…er, charms.”
“Alice told me last night that it has become something of a rite of passage, taking you to bed,” Olivia informed him. “’A lady hasn’t arrived if she hasn’t sampled Hastings’ charms,’ she said. As if it were all a game.”
“It is a game,” he agreed. “A great rollicking game.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” she asked.
“Off with you, dearest Olivia.” Henry bowed over her hand. “Until tonight.”
As she settled into the town carriage for the short journey home, she couldn’t help smiling. She had missed her family. It was comforting to be surrounded by uncles, aunts, cousins and siblings who loved her. And perhaps now that she’d returned after an extended time away, she and her mother could find some way to make peace.
She pushed the melancholy thought away and concentrated on the night ahead and the man she would see after nearly four months.
Continuing their affair in Town, and during the height of the Season, would prove tricky but Olivia found herself looking forward to the occasional clandestine rendezvous, to both the quick couplings and the long, luxurious lovemaking they’d shared at Idyllwild.
She imagined him pulling her into dark alcoves and moonlit gardens to have his way with her while the ton went about their merrymaking wholly unaware of their exploits.
She looked forward to riding out with him, to dancing with him, to spending quiet afternoons with him in a tranquil garden behind a cozy little house in Bedford or Hanover Square.
She thrilled to imagine Jack sneaking into her house through the servants’ entrance to spend blissful nights in her bed before sneaking back out before dawn.
He might call upon her and linger over tea until all of her other callers departed. She might lead him to her chamber to frolic away the summer afternoons.
She wasn’t an innocent girl, she was a mature widow. No one would bat an eye were a gentleman to call upon her. In fact several gentlemen had already taken it upon themselves to do just that and without invitation.
She wasn’t so foolish that she didn’t know what those gentlemen were about. They thought she was in need of a husband, of a man to rescue her from penury and loneliness
. She suspected at least one of them had called upon her at the direction of her mother.
Oh well, they, and all those like them, would soon learn differently. Olivia intended to live her life on her own terms, attending only those events that truly interested her, receiving only those callers whose company she enjoyed, and giving no man reason to believe she welcomed his suit.
She had taken to heart her blunder at Idyllwild and would not make the same mistake twice. She’d invited Jack into her bed and he’d mistaken her interest entirely, talking of marriage as if it were a foregone conclusion.
Cheeky man.
She only hoped that cheeky man had given up his intention to wed her. And that he still wished to bed her.
Chapter Twelve
Knowing Jack had received an invitation to her mother’s ball, Olivia paid extra attention to her toilet that evening.
“You look lovely, my lady,” Celeste whispered in awe as she stepped back from her mistress after helping to tug long silver-gray gloves up her arms.
“Thank you,” Olivia murmured as she took in her reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of her spacious bedchamber.
She barely recognized the woman who stared back at her.
Her cropped hair was a riot of curls interwoven with silver ribbon festooned with tiny dark-red jewels. When she moved her head, both ribbon and gems glimmered against the backdrop of her dark tresses. A few wispy tendrils fell over her forehead and along her temples, softly framing her face.
For the first time in her life, Olivia had allowed Celeste free rein with her hoard of cosmetics. Spring in the country had left her skin with a warm bronze glow and the maid wisely left it free of powder. She’d lightly lined her mistress’s eyes with kohl before brushing shimmering silver powder on her lids. Her gray eyes glowed pewter and dominated her heart-shaped face.