Chapter 19

Chapter

Nineteen

A t half past ten that same morning Olivia discovered just how serious was her predicament. Miss Dorrington, who was staying with her sister in a cottage at the far end of the village, came to call on her mother, but Olivia thought nothing of it until Estelle sought her out and informed her that the two women had been closeted in the downstairs sitting room for well over the usual half hour, and she was worried.

"You're worried? But Miss Dorrington is a harmless old gossip."

"I took their tea in, miss, and Mrs. Monteith was as white as a sheet. I don't know what that old biddy is saying to her, but it isn't good."

"Very well, I'll go and see for myself. Thank you, Estelle."

But Olivia had only just reached the landing when the sitting room door opened and her mother, accompanied by her visitor, came out into the hall, their voices too low to be heard. As Olivia descended the stairs her mother turned, and Olivia was startled by her bloodless face. Estelle was right, something was very wrong.

Miss Dorrington also turned and looked up at Olivia, and at once her narrow features tightened and she pursed her lips. "Miss Monteith," she said, as if she begrudged speaking the words. She reached for Mrs. Monteith's hand. "Goodbye, my dear." And with the briefest of nods to Olivia, she was gone.

"Mama, what is it?" Olivia cried. "Please, Mama, what is wrong?"

She hadn't seen her mother look like that in a very long time—not since Sarah died—and it shocked her very much.

"Olivia," she whispered, then shook her head as if she couldn't bring herself to speak aloud whatever it was she'd learned from her visitor.

"Mother, that dreadful woman is always gossiping about something or other. You know what she's like. I can see she's upset you—"

The door knocker rattled before she could finish.

Mrs. Monteith jumped, eyes wide, and put a hand to her breast as if to keep her heart from escaping. The servant who had only just let Miss Dorrington out, hurried to open the door again.

Theodore Garsed strode into the hall as if he owned it.

"Mrs. Monteith!" he cried, all smiles. "And Miss Monteith! I am doubly blessed."

Olivia gritted her teeth. His jovial tones were out of place in this emotioncharged moment, but he didn't seem to notice his hosts were not overjoyed to see him.

"Mr. Garsed, what a pleasant surprise," Olivia lied politely.

"I thought I would take a stroll in the fresh air. Nothing like a brisk stroll to focus the mind. And I wanted to share my news—my brother, Alphonse, has arrived!"

"Indeed, Mr. Garsed." Olivia didn't have a clue what he was talking about; she wished he would leave.

But Theodore had no intention of leaving. He turned to her mother, taking her hand in his own, gazing down into her eyes as if he were a vicar offering comfort to the bereaved. It was very odd, and Olivia didn't know what to make of it. "Was that Miss Dorrington I saw leaving just now?"

"Yes, it was," Olivia answered when it seemed her mother couldn't.

Theodore nodded as if he understood everything, which annoyed her even more. "I was afraid it might be. I do abhor gossip. And yet, unfortunately, it is so often true."

Mrs. Monteith swallowed and gave a little moan.

"Actually, I have come to you on a quest, dear madam."

"A quest, Mr. Garsed?" Olivia knew she sounded bewildered but she couldn't help it.

"A quest for my own particular Holy Grail," he said, still looking into Mrs. Monteith's eyes, his words heavy with meaning .

"Are you telling us you're a knight of the Round Table, Mr. Garsed?" Olivia said irritably, very unlike her usual calm and polite self.

"I believe, at heart, that's what I am," he replied seriously. "A knight on a white charger, and a rescuer of maidens in distress."

Mrs. Monteith finally seemed to have an inkling of what he was talking about. "Oh, Mr. Garsed," she gasped, and to Olivia's dismay, tears filled her mother's eyes.

"Mr. Garsed, I don't mean to be rude," Olivia began firmly, "but I think you should—"

And then it happened. Again. The door knocker sounded.

"For heaven's sake," she began, as the servant rushed to answer the door, "I really think we have had enough visitors this morning . . ."

And then a frisson ran through her, as she heard Nic Lacey's deep voice. Her throat dried up and she could only stare as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him. Nic was not the sort of man to make a casual visit, and his appearance this morning was certainly anything but casual.

The perfectly tailored jacket and trousers, the shirt beautifully white and starched, an elegant brown waistcoat with yellow buttons. The cane he carried could have been a fashionable affectation, but Olivia knew he still needed it to help him walk. He looked everything that was handsome and dashing, but as he drew closer the shadows under his eyes and the creases about his mouth made her wonder if he had slept much after she left him last night.

"Mrs. Monteith. Miss Monteith." He bowed elegantly before them.

"Lord Lacey," Mrs. Monteith mouthed, her eyes wild.

"What are you doing here, Lacey?" Mr. Garsed's jolly mood had evaporated at the sight of the other man, and now his face was flushed a dull red. "I wonder you have the gall to set foot in this house!"

Nic gave Theodore a bored look. "At least I am dressed for calling on ladies," he mocked. "Where on earth did you get that waistcoat, Theodore? The church jumble?"

"How dare you!"

Their animosity seemed all out of proportion, and Olivia stepped between them, holding out her hands to stop them from coming to blows. "Please, gentlemen," she said coldly. "If you must fight over who has the most fashionable waistcoat, then do so outside."

Theodore cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Miss Monteith, but this man should not be here. I don't want to upset you, but . . . well, the rumors . . . the gossip. I meant to keep silent, because I really don't believe for a moment it can be true. But now, with this man being here, I can't help but wonder—"

"Lord Lacey has as much right to call here as you," Olivia cut him short, feeling cross. "I don't know what this is all about but I wish someone would explain it to me."

"Olivia," her mother hissed, catching her arm. "I must . . . I really must talk to you. Now!"

"But we have guests, Mama . . ."

"Now, Olivia."

Confused, bewildered, Olivia allowed her mother to tug her toward the same downstairs sitting room where she had lately been locked away with Miss Dorrington.

Miss Dorrington, who was staying with her sister, Mrs. Brown, who lived in a cottage on the far side of the village, close to where last night Olivia had climbed aboard the hired coach with Nic and Abbot's help . . .

Olivia's steps slowed, and stopped. Her breathing quickened. Belatedly, it came to her. Miss Dorrington, Mrs. Brown, her mother's white face, the two men and their odd behavior . . . this was about her. Her reputation was compromised. And if Miss Dorrington knew about last night, then it wouldn't be long before everyone else in Bassingthorpe knew, too.

Olivia turned from her mother's urgings and faced the two men, trying hard to gather her usual air of calm about her. But she felt shocked and numb, and it was made worse when Theodore couldn't seem to meet her eyes.

Nic had no trouble, and she watched his mouth curl faintly at the corners. "I see by your expression that you have some inkling why I am here, Miss Monteith." He limped forward and took her hand in his, gazing down at her pale, slim fingers between his masculine ones, as if they could tell him what to say. "I would go down on my knees, but if I did I doubt I could rise again."

"Lord Lacey, I don't want . . . You mustn't . . ." she stammered desperately. No, no, she didn't want him to propose. Not like this. Not because he had to. It was all wrong . . .

"Lord Lacey!" her mother shrieked faintly.

"Lacey, you have no right!" Theodore blustered. "I was here first."

But Nic wasn't about to be stopped by anyone.

"Miss Monteith. Olivia. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Desperately Olivia searched his eyes, but they were dark and unreadable, and she couldn't begin to tell what he was thinking. Part of her wanted so much to say yes. This was what she had planned toward—making Nic her husband was her goal. She'd sworn to hunt him, and hunt him she had, and now he was hers.

Only he hadn't come here of his own will, and knowing he'd been coerced into a marriage he didn't want was like a dagger in her heart. She wanted him, yes, but not at any cost, not like this.

"Lady Lacey . . ." she began, her voice trailing off. But, unlike her, he knew what she was thinking. "My mother is agreeable to the marriage. In fact it was she who suggested I make my feelings known to you as soon as possible. "

What was he really saying? Olivia asked herself feverishly. That Lady Lacey had given him an ultimatum? Marry or else? Olivia snatched her hand away as if his fingers were burning hot. "No. I—I cannot marry you."

He looked nonplussed, and then a frown snapped his brows together. "You said you wanted to marry me, Miss Monteith. Do I now understand that you are refusing me?"

"Miss Monteith has every right to refuse you," Theodore interrupted, looking like he wanted to cheer. "Don't you dare try and bully her, Lacey."

"Keep out of this," Nic said between his teeth.

"I will not. I have come to speak and I am determined to do so, although this wasn't how I hoped . . . Well, never mind." Theodore turned to Olivia. "Will you marry me, Miss Monteith? Will you consent to be my wife?" He beamed at her, relieved to have spoken the words at last.

Mrs. Monteith turned her head stiffly, from one gentleman to the other, and back again. "Two proposals," she said in a trembling voice. "Goodness gracious me, Olivia. Two marriage proposals before luncheon. If I may advise you—"

But Olivia had no intention of hearing any more advice. "Mr. Garsed, you do me a great honor, but I must refuse," she said, ignoring her mother's soft groan of disappointment. "I have no intention of marrying anyone at the present time."

"You were seen," Nic said impatiently. "It's all over the village. You have no choice but to marry one of us." He glanced disparagingly at Theodore, then back at Olivia. "And I am thinking that it had better be me."

"You!" Theodore roared. "Why you? She'd do better with a snake! I can make Olivia happy. You will destroy her. You've already destroyed her reputation. A man like you and an innocent like her . . . why, the prospect is nauseating."

"That's probably the rich food your chef is serving you. Change to plainer fare and you'll feel better."

Theodore looked as if he might explode.

"I'm not marrying either of you!" Olivia burst out. "Please, both of you, just go away!"

Her mother caught her arm, but Olivia wrenched away and dashed up the stairs. She wanted the sanctuary of her room. She wanted peace and quiet and time to think.

Behind her Theodore had the final word. "Now do you see what you've done, Lacey?"