When they had returned to Midwinter Marney Hall that evening it was to find the servants in a panic for the second time in as many days. A message had come from Owen Chance that the smugglers and the revenue men were out, and they should stay within doors and make sure that all was secure. Ross had muttered something about going down to the farm to check that the livestock was safe and Olivia had watched him go in bafflement and not a little irritation. She had trailed her way upstairs to her bedroom and rung for the maid.
Now it was twenty minutes later and Olivia was in her petticoats, with a dressing robe over, waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Jenny to finish her ministrations. Whilst the maid fussed about her, Olivia’s ill temper grew until it reached epic proportions. All the exasperation she had felt with Ross over the past few weeks was growing into a tidal wave of frustration. What was the point of presenting an exquisitely prepared face to the world when her husband appeared to prefer the company of his pigs? Olivia picked up the pot of rose-scented skin cream from her dressing table and just managed to repress the impulse to throw it into the fireplace. So much for Deb’s aphrodisiac! It may have made her skin softer, but it had had absolutely no positive effect on Ross and what was more, it did not smell of roses at all but of a rather unpleasant hint of goose fat.
There was a discreet knock at the bedroom door. Jenny went across and, after a low-voiced colloquy, brought Olivia a note.
‘Excuse me, madam. Mr Ford says that this has just arrived from Mallow. He did not wish to disturb you, ma’am, but the boy said that it was urgent. He is waiting for a reply.’
Olivia felt a clutch of fear. The combination of Deb’s absence from dinner and the scare about the smugglers suddenly came together as an unspecified dread. She unfolded the note slowly and read it. Then she read it again, biting her lip as she did so.
Mrs Aintree’s words were both discreet and carefully chosen, but there was no denying their underlying message.
Mrs Stratton, she wrote, had sent a message earlier in the evening to say that she had decided to prolong her outing with Lord Richard Kestrel and that he would escort her back home later that night. She had not returned in time for dinner, nor by eleven, when Mrs Aintree had decided to retire. An hour later they had received the warning about the smugglers, and shortly after that Mr Chance had arrived at Mallow to tell them that there had been a chase and that the villains had opened the sluices on the Winter Race to flood the roads about Mallow and create a diversion. Given both the danger of flooding to Mallow House itself and the fact that Mr Chance wanted to check that none of the Mallow servants was involved in criminal activity, he had demanded—politely, but demanded nevertheless—that the household be mustered. Mrs Aintree had been obliged to comply with his request and summon everyone within the house.
And Deb had not been there.
Mrs Aintree wrote that she had passed the matter off as best she could by claiming that Deb was staying at Midwinter Marney with her sister. Mr Chance had accepted her excuses on Deb’s behalf very smoothly. But the truth was out.
Olivia put the note down slowly. She did not think that Owen Chance would be unchivalrous enough to challenge Mrs Aintree’s claim of Deb’s whereabouts even though he might believe it was not true. But the servants at Mallow knew that Deb was not there, and the servants at Marney knew she was not staying there…And servants talked. Olivia remembered Lady Benedict’s malice with a shiver. The scandal was out and it would ripple through the neighbourhood like a breeze across the river. It would not be long before the whole of Woodbridge would know that Mrs Deborah Stratton had been missing when a muster was called at Mallow in the middle of the night. Soon after that, someone—Lady Benedict, no doubt—would observe that had not both Lord Richard Kestrel and Mrs Stratton been missing from the dinner at Saltires, and how piquant it would be if they had been together…Engagement or no engagement, Deb’s reputation would be in tatters.
Olivia glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the morning and Ross had been gone a half-hour.
‘Where is Lord Marney?’ Olivia demanded, suddenly furious that Ross was not there to help her decide what to do at a time like this.
Jenny looked startled. ‘I believe that he is still down in the farmyard, milady. Should I ask Ford to send for him?’
Olivia made an exasperated sound. ‘I shall find him myself! Jenny, a pen and paper…’ She scribbled a note and thrust it at the maid. ‘Give this to the boy from Mallow.’ She pulled the remaining pins from her hair with impatient fingers, shook out her curls and thrust her feet into her slippers. Grabbing Mrs Aintree’s note, she made for the door.
‘I am off to find Lord Marney,’ she said, over her shoulder.
The maid looked astonished. ‘But, madam, your hair!’ she wailed. ‘Your slippers! The farmyard!’
But Olivia was gone.
It took Olivia ten minutes to walk from the main house to the home farm, which was close by. During that time she barely thought about what she was doing. She was fuelled by her anger with Ross and her concern over Deb’s situation, and for once she had thoroughly lost her composure. She arrived in the farmyard, panting slightly, and looked around for her husband.
He was not difficult to find. The door of the second pig pen was open and Olivia could see Ross leaning on the wooden rail of the stall. One lantern burned on the windowsill. Olivia did not normally enter the farmyard, for it was not only dirty but prodigiously smelly as well and the pigs were the worst offenders. Tonight, however, she had no thought for either the dirt or the smell. She erupted through the door, waving Clarissa Aintree’s letter agitatedly.
‘Ross, the most dreadful thing has happened—’
She stopped dead. The air was full of the scent of roses and two of Ross’s prize Gloucester Great Spot pigs were enthusiastically mating in the pen in front of her. Olivia gave a little squeak and covered her eyes with the letter.
‘Ross! Are you so depraved that you come down here deliberately to watch your pigs at sport—?’ she began wrathfully, only to break off as she heard her husband give a guffaw of derision.
‘Of course I do not, Olivia. What a ridiculous notion!’ Ross ran his hand through his hair. He was frowning. ‘To tell the truth, I have been worried about their recent enthusiasm for procreation.’ He nodded towards the jar that Olivia could dimly see on the windowsill. ‘Ever since you gave me Rachel Newlyn’s potion to help them with their skin complaint they have not been able to keep away from each other. I fear that they will be quite exhausted.’
Olivia stared at the frolicking pigs and then at the pot of ointment. She sniffed the air delicately.
‘The liniment does seem to have a very sweet aroma,’ she said faintly. ‘Has it worked to cure their skin ailment?’
‘I have not been able to keep them still for long enough to check properly,’ Ross said ruefully. ‘When they are not mating they are skipping around full of vigour. Betty used to be the most slothful of animals. I cannot explain it at all.’
Olivia rather thought that she could. She stared at the pot again whilst the heat came into her cheeks and the smell of goose fat on her own face seemed to overwhelm the sweet scent of the roses. There was no denying that Rachel’s potion was exceptionally good for the complexion. Her skin felt as smooth as silk.
‘Oh, no…’ she said faintly.
Ross had come across to her and taken her gently by the arm, steering her away from the pen and its happily cavorting animals.
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Is there something the matter, Olivia?’ His gaze travelled over her, from the dishevelled tumble of her fair hair to the slippers that were now somewhat the worse for wear. His eyes lingered thoughtfully on the diaphanous dressing robe and the petticoats beneath, before he seemed to drag his thoughts away and focus abruptly on her face.
‘Olivia?’ he said again. He was holding her gently by the elbow. ‘There must be some reason that brought you down here in your slippers. Is something wrong?’
&n
bsp; Olivia dragged her thoughts away from aphrodisiacs for pigs and goose-grease face cream.
‘Oh, yes, the most dreadful news!’ She waved the letter again. ‘Deb has been missing all night and I dare swear that she is with Lord Richard Kestrel!’
Ross grinned. ‘So that is how he thought to persuade her into marriage!’
Olivia slapped his arm. ‘It is not funny, Ross! There has been a muster at Mallow House to try and catch the smugglers and everyone was hauled from their beds and Deb was not there! Now everyone will know where she has been and who she was with!’
Ross’s face stilled. ‘That is unfortunate,’ he said, ‘but it is Deborah’s choice to behave in this manner and therefore her difficulty, not yours, my love.’
In her distress Olivia missed the endearment. She was almost in tears.
‘But Deb is ruined! Do you not understand? She is spending the night with Lord Richard and now everyone will know and her reputation will be in tatters.’
‘Deb will be quite safe,’ Ross said soothingly. ‘Come back inside or you will be frozen.’
Olivia abruptly became aware of her flimsy robe and chilled feet. She waited whilst Ross blew out the lantern and bolted the door on the still-snuffling pigs. Then, to her great surprise, Ross swept her up off her feet.
‘Keep still,’ he instructed softly, as she made a faint protest. ‘If you struggle, you may fall in the slurry.’
It was enough of a threat to keep Olivia still as a mouse all the way back to the Hall. It was also inevitable that during the course of the journey she should become aware of the warmth and strength of her husband’s hands through the slippery silk of the dressing robe. Sliding her arms around Ross’s neck purely in order to hold on, Olivia felt a traitorous and unexpected little shiver of desire run through her.
‘I told you that you would catch cold.’ Ross sounded briskly practical.
‘Yes,’ Olivia said faintly. ‘I think you might need to take me to my bedroom…’
She felt rather than saw the look that Ross slanted down to her. Her heart was suddenly beating very swiftly as Ross carried her into the house and up to her room. But when he placed her very gently on her bed and straightened up, he said stiffly, ‘I will send your maid to you.’
His obtuseness was the last straw for Olivia. Would they never, ever be able to reach some sort of understanding? She felt quite hopeless and furiously angry. She moved quickly, dashing over to the dressing table and grabbing the pot of ointment that had been sitting there.
‘Ross, take this! Take it and go! You may be sure that your pigs will be the better for it.’
Ross was looking understandably confused. He looked from her stormy face to the pot in his hand.
‘I beg your pardon, Olivia?’
Olivia could feel a curious sensation building up inside her like a volcano about to blow its top. She kicked her dirty slippers off and sent them sailing across the room with a violence that made Ross flinch.
‘This is the pig ointment, Ross! Lady Newlyn sent two pots. I have been using the pigs’ unguent on my face and you have been using my—’ Olivia caught herself up quickly before she could utter the word aphrodisiac. ‘You have been using my rose-scented cream to try and cure their skin condition.’
Ross took the pot and looked at it, then back at her. Not a muscle moved in his face.
‘I hope,’ he said politely, ‘that this has been beneficial for you, Olivia?’
‘Perfectly, thank you,’ Olivia snapped. ‘My skin smells a little of goose grease, but it is very soft.’
She thought that she saw Ross’s lips twitch, but could not be certain. ‘So the pigs’ skin cream was meant for you…’ he began.
Olivia was beginning to wish she had not said anything at all. She felt hot and shaky and quite uncertain of how the conversation might progress now that it had begun.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but I shall not press for it to be returned, having seen what it has done to your pigs.’
Ross was still watching her, an unfathomable expression in his very blue eyes. ‘Did you know about it’s…ah…invigorating…capacities?’
Olivia evaded his gaze. Her shakiness seemed to be getting worse as they approached the crux of the matter.
‘I had been told to use it sparingly,’ she admitted, ‘but I never imagined what the effect might be. I expect that you have been plastering it all over the Gloucester Great Spots in order to cure them—’
‘And instead I have made them quite astonishingly rampant,’ Ross finished drily.
‘Ross!’ Olivia blushed crimson with shock and mortification. Ross took a step closer to her.
‘What on earth would have happened had you used it yourself?’ he mused.
Olivia toyed with the tie of her dressing robe. ‘I cannot bear to think,’ she said crossly.
‘Really?’ Ross drawled. ‘So whatever possessed you to try the potion in the first place?’ He was lounging at the foot of the bed now and Olivia was annoyed to see that he looked rather amused. The torment inside her tightened as she looked at him laughing at her. She made a last, desperate attempt to hold on to her temper. Ladies did not show anger, she reminded herself. It was not the done thing.
‘Deborah passed it to me,’ she said tightly, and closed her lips to forcibly prevent any other words from spilling out.
Ross raised his brows. ‘That may account for many things, my dear Olivia, but it does not answer my question. Why on earth would you want to use it?’
The mockery in his tone was too much for Olivia’s overstretched nerves. Her anger erupted with the force of a tidal wave. So long repressed, there was no stopping it. With a gesture that would not have been out of place on the stage at Drury Lane, she turned and swept her hairbrush and a selection of bottles off the top of her dressing table on to the carpet with a resounding crash. She swung round on her startled husband.
‘Why would I want to use such a thing? Perhaps it is because I cannot seem to attract my own husband! The last time that you came to my bed you swore not to trouble me again! Perhaps I could not bear to imagine you taking solace in the arms of someone like Lily Benedict. Perhaps I was jealous of the thought of you even considering consoling yourself with another woman!’ She paused for breath. Ross was looking absolutely riveted and Olivia was astounded to discover that she felt wonderful, vibrant and alive, and, for once, totally unguarded. That being the case, she carried on.
‘Would it astound you to know, Ross, that I wanted you from the first moment that Papa introduced us? Oh, yes—’ she saw his look of shock ‘—I wanted to marry you! I wanted you to sweep me off my feet!’ She turned away. ‘But you courted me with such decorum. It was very sweet but utterly unfulfilling. Yet it fitted with everything that Mama had ever told me about gentlemen requiring their wives to show no passion and conduct themselves with absolute propriety.’ She gave a bitter shrug. ‘So I thought that there was some fault in me for feeling the desire I did. I thought I would give you a disgust of me. So I subdued it and conducted myself in the manner a wife was meant to behave.’
Her gaze swept over him from head to foot. ‘After a little while I forgot all about my girlish desires. I realised that you did not wish to be close to me. I would have given anything then just to be able to talk to you, Ross, but I could never reach you. You shut yourself away from me. So in the end I lost the habit of trying to please you.’
Ross had turned pale now. ‘I thought that you wanted me to preserve some distance,’ he said. ‘I thought that you had ice in your veins. I did not want to trouble you with the memories of all things that had happened to me before I met you, or talk to you about matters I assumed would not interest you—’
Olivia laughed. The blood running through her veins felt so hot now she thought she might be in danger of taking a fever. ‘So we are both as foolish as each other,’ she said bitterly. ‘There is a certain justice in that.’ She shot him a look. ‘Have I said enough yet?’
‘Nowhere near
enough,’ Ross said. He was white, but there was a spark of something in his eyes and it lit an answering flame within Olivia. She spun away from him and picked up the thread of her thoughts.
‘You asked why I wanted the rose-petal potion. Why not? I had nothing to lose and I thought that perhaps I might even kindle some degree of interest in my husband before it was too late. So I took the pot and I have been lathering myself in pig ointment this month past whilst your pigs have been frolicking in rose-petal aphrodisiac—’ She broke off. ‘Damn you, you are laughing! It is not funny, Ross!’
She realised all of a sudden how thin the line was between anger and despair and stopped before the tears could break. She could see her reflection in the inset mirrors, her hair tumbled, her breasts heaving with outraged fury. And she could see Ross, who definitely was laughing, coming towards her with a very purposeful look in his eyes. Panic seized her throat.
‘And if you think for one second that I love you—’ she gasped.
‘Well,’ Ross drawled, grinning openly now, ‘I think it is a little too late for disavowals now, my love.’
‘Arrogant beast!’ Olivia glared at him, beating her clenched fist helplessly and with very little force against his chest.
Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02] Page 24