Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

W hen Olivia arrived home she fell into her bed and slept through the night deeply and dreamlessly. She woke the next morning to find Estelle's smiling face bending over her, the maid eager to hear all the details of her adventure.

"The ball, miss. Please tell me what was it like. Abbot has spoken of it but he never tells me the things I really want to know. What are the women like? Are they very beautiful?"

Olivia stretched and yawned. "Yes, well, most of them. I can understand why gentlemen want to go and look at them. I can understand why Nic wants to go."

Estelle tilted her head to the side. "You're not jealous, miss? I think, if it was me, I'd be jealous."

Olivia smiled. "No, I'm not jealous, Estelle."

How could she be jealous, after the way Nic had made love to her? He had shown her with every touch of his fingers and every brush of his lips that she was important and desirable to him. No, Olivia definitely wasn't jealous .

"I'm glad everything went as you hoped," Estelle said.

"Thank you for your help, Estelle," Olivia replied. "I am very grateful for your kindness."

"Well." Estelle gave her a glance that was almost shamefaced, but Olivia was too weary to notice. "I'm just glad it all went well for you, miss. You must love Lord Lacey very much."

Olivia closed her eyes, unable to stop smiling. "I think I do love him very much."

"And if you love someone," Estelle's voice went on, "you accept them as they are. Even if they've made mistakes, or done something . . . well, something you feel is wrong. Don't you, miss?"

"Yes. I suppose so." A puzzled crease appeared between Olivia's brows. "Estelle, is there something the matter?"

Estelle hesitated, as if she might speak, and then smiled and shook her head instead. "Goodness me, no, nothing is the matter. You're tired, miss. I'll let you sleep a little longer."

Olivia sensed there was more to her maid's behavior, but she was happy to let her thoughts drift. The joy of being with Nic was like a warm glow inside her and she couldn't, she wouldn't, believe it meant nothing to him. They could make a life together, be happy together. No matter what he'd done, or the secrets he might be keeping from her, she trusted him. She wanted him.

And she was quite certain he wanted her, too.

Theodore Garsed tucked his napkin into his dressing gown and surveyed breakfast. All his favorites, and cooked to perfection. What would he do without his chef? Life would be so dull, barely worth living. There was one good thing about being a gentleman of leisure, he could make certain he was never denied all the good things in life.

Besides, he needed to restore himself after his brother Alphonse's arrival last night. Theodore didn't like to admit it, even to himself, but there was something unsettling about Alphonse. When they were children he'd been able to ignore it, pretend his brother would grow out of it. The thing was, Alphonse was always very attached to him, and, awful as it sounded, sometimes his brother's affection for him made him uneasy. There were times when Alphonse's efforts to please him took on a particularly bizarre quality—for instance, when Alphonse had shot and killed the bird that Theodore complained had woken him at dawn when he was longing for sleep. He still recalled Alphonse tossing the limp body on the breakfast table, smiling and so pleased with himself.

Theodore looked down with a frown and realized he'd finished most of his meal without even tasting it. He reached for some ripe, juicy figs, determined to savor them, when one of his servants interrupted to inform him Mrs. Henderson was there to see him.

Mrs. Henderson was a genteel widow whose husband had died in debt, and now she scraped by as best she could, living in rooms above the haberdashery. Her daughter, Laura, was an attractive girl, and despite her financial problems, Mrs. Henderson had managed to have her taught the niceties of ladylike behavior. Theodore admired Laura, and at one time had even toyed with the idea that she might make him a good wife, but that was before he made the acquaintance of Olivia Monteith.

Unfortunately, he realized now, he'd allowed his interest in Laura Henderson to become too marked, and Mrs. Henderson's hopes were raised. Even when he turned his sights to Olivia, she still hadn't given up on making a match between Theodore and her daughter.

So when he was told she was there to see him, Theodore's immediate thought was that she had come to read him one of Laura's letters—the girl was currently staying with a cousin in Somerset. He wished he wasn't so gentlemanly—if he was a cad like Lacey, he'd tell Mrs. Henderson he had no interest in her daughter's gushing letters and ask her to stop calling on him. But Theodore knew he was too polite to do that, and his hope was that, once he was married to Olivia, Mrs. Henderson would finally give up.

"Very well, show her in," Theodore said. "If she will call at such an ungodly hour, then she can watch me finish my breakfast."

"May I bring another plate and cup, sir?"

"No, you may not. Oh, all right. But only a cup. She will not share my toast. "

Moments later Mrs. Henderson came in, smiling, her cheeks aglow. "Mr. Garsed, it is so good to see you," she twittered. "But then you are always good."

The compliment soothed Theodore somewhat and he answered more mildly than he'd meant to. "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Yes, I did." Belatedly Mrs. Henderson schooled her face into a troubled expression, but her small dark eyes were as bright as a raven's. "Some dreadful news has been passed on to me, Mr. Garsed, and I just knew I must bring it to you straightaway. You are always so good in these difficult situations. You always know what to do."

Theodore wondered what on earth she was talking about. "Dreadful news? I hope your daughter is well, Mrs. Henderson?"

"Yes, oh yes, Laura is perfectly well, sir. No, this isn't about Laura."

Theodore swallowed a sigh. "You'd better tell me then, Mrs. Henderson."

She leaned toward him, and he noticed with unease that her fingers were clenched on her reticule like a bird's claws on its perch. "My friend Mrs. Brown has been unwell, sir, and because of her ill health her sister, Miss Dorrington, the vicar's housekeeper, has come to stay with her. Last night Mrs. Brown was particularly unwell, and she slept poorly. Well, as you know, she lives in the house at the far end of the village, and after Miss Dorrington had settled her, she happened to hear a commotion outside, and went to look out of the window." Mrs. Henderson took a breath. "And when she looked out, what do you think she saw, sir?"

"I have no idea, Mrs. Henderson, please enlighten me."

"Something most peculiar!"

"Did she indeed?" Theodore did his best to stifle a yawn, hoping she'd get to the point soon.

"Yes, Mr. Garsed, she saw a woman climbing into a coach."

"What is so peculiar about that, Mrs. Henderson?"

"The coach had been waiting at the side of the road for some time, just sitting there. Eventually two people came out of the park—Castle Lacey's park—and it was the woman who climbed into the coach before it drove away. Miss Dorrington cannot swear to it, sir, but she is nearly certain the two people she saw were Miss Monteith and Lord Lacey."

Theodore put down his cup with a clatter. "How—how odd," he managed. Olivia climbing into a coach in the middle of the night? And he happened to know that Olivia had returned last night from her visit to her friend in London. There was something wrong. He wished Mrs. Henderson would go away so that he could work it out.

"I thought I should bring it straight to you," Mrs. Henderson said, her beady eyes fixed on his face. "It seemed the sensible thing to do. I know you are a friend of Miss Monteith's."

"Yes, it was the sensible thing to do, Mrs. Henderson, thank you. I wonder if you wouldn't mind keeping this to yourself until I discover the exact circumstances?" And he gave the woman a hard look.

"Of course, Mr. Garsed." She fluttered her hands. "Although I must say I was surprised to hear of Miss Monteith behaving in such a reckless manner. My own Laura would never—"

"Yes, yes. I would be grateful if you'd tell Miss Dorrington to keep this to herself, too. Just until I discover what it means. I'm sure there must be a misunderstanding."

"I'm sure there must be," but she wore such a smug expression that Theodore knew she was wishing for the opposite. He could only hope the woman held her tongue long enough for him to discover the facts; he didn't expect her to keep such a juicy piece of gossip to herself beyond today.

What on earth was Olivia thinking? It must be a misunderstanding. A simple mistake that would be soon sorted out, and then they would all laugh about it.

But as Theodore sat before the remains of his repast, his appetite quite gone, he was unable to decide on any innocent explanations that would account for what he had just heard about his future wife. Despite himself, his thoughts returned to the day he'd left Lord Lacey hurt in the woods, and he remembered how he'd secretly hoped that would be the end of the matter.

If there was something between Olivia and Wicked Nic . . . would he still want to marry her? Theodore knew that he did. If he saved her from a possible scandal, wouldn't that make her the more grateful to him? He pictured the tears in her eyes, the trembling smile, as she realized he'd restored her honor. Her cool beauty would crumble in that moment of emotion, and she would weep. And he would be privy to that, he and no one else.

Of course I will marry you, she'd gasp. Oh, Theodore, I've always loved you, only I've been so blinded by that bad, bad man.

The vision shimmered, and quite suddenly another image replaced it in his head. Olivia in Nic's arms, the two of them engrossed in each other, totally ignoring Theodore, while he stood alone on a windswept hilltop. Then it began to rain, ruining his neck cloth and his new jacket and his carefully brushed hair.

"Theodore? Whatever is the matter?"

Alphonse was standing before him, his eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw bunching, looking ready to strike down whoever had upset his elder brother.

If Theodore hadn't been laboring under a severe shock he wouldn't have said anything, but before he could consider the consequences the whole story came spilling out, tainted with bitterness and his sense of injustice. "It is perhaps unworthy of a man like me, but I find myself wishing that Nic Lacey would have another accident, and that this time he wouldn't recover from it . . ."

Alphonse smiled. "Poor Theo," he said, reaching to help himself to a fig. "Just as well I'm here."