Chapter 3

LADY OLIVIA ALLEN STAKES HER CLAIM. I have become aware of a close acquaintance between the Countess Dowager Allen and Marquess of Lowell. It should be cautioned that this is not yet cause to celebrate, for the woman’s promiscuous nature is well-known. The marquess might yet prove too pedestrian for Lady Allen’s tastes.

Olivia crumpled the newspaper into a ball, dropped it onto the sticky floor of the carriage, and crushed it beneath the heel of her blue, satin slipper. She should not have been surprised that Lord Lowell had not stopped the articles, despite their deal. The man was a better actor than any she had ever seen on stage. He maintained a careful innocence when she was in his presence, then returned to cruelty the moment she left his sight.

Or perhaps she was attributing too much intelligence to her enemy. This wasn’t a man who understood how to manipulate, but one who used whatever clumsy tool was at his disposal to achieve his goal.

The carriage rattled to a stop, and a servant dressed in green-and-gold livery opened her door. She took his hand and ascended the pristine steps leading to a towering house. It was three stories tall with a brick facade covered in winding ivy and dormers over the three windows on the top level. A ducal residence. She had almost forgotten that Lord Lowell was heir to a dukedom.

A bead of sweat dripped down her chin. It was unfortunate that the nature of her visit required tighter adherence to formality, or she would have worn something lighter than her pale-blue linen day dress. The garment accentuated her figure, but the full-length sleeves clasped her in a tight embrace and the jet beads decorating her hat hung like a noose about to drop around her neck.

She fluffed her skirts and followed the footman up the steps. The closer she got, the more she became aware of sound filtering through the door: the murmur of many voices speaking, the shrill cry of children’s laughter, the patter of running feet. It was a remarkable amount of noise, and she hoped it didn’t mean she was about to interrupt an event, even though Lord Lowell had explicitly invited her the previous afternoon.

The footman reached the top of the stairs before her and drew the door open, causing her to stop short.

If she had the wherewithal to design an entryway that perfectly suited her tastes, it would be very similar to what lay before her. An enormous, gold chandelier hung above white, marble floors that led to a grand staircase carpeted in a pattern of silver stars on red. There were no cracked tiles or mildewy corners. Every inch of space was spotless, a difficult feat with so many people living under one roof.

And there were people, so many bodies bustling about, that her fears of being an inopportune caller returned. When no butler or housekeeper appeared to greet her, she nearly turned on her heel. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and strode into the chaos.

The appearance of Lady Allen always attracted attention—eventually.

She had barely passed the threshold when a group of four brown-haired children appeared out of nowhere, running toward her with their arms outstretched. She stood rooted to the spot, a rock jutting out of the ocean, and let them wash over her. They pressed their sticky hands to her dress and began speaking all at once.

“You’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen,” a rosy-cheeked child said. “My name’s Bennett. What’s yours?”

“Connie’s gowns aren’t as pretty as yours,” a child with the same dark eyes as Lord Lowell asked. “Go away, Bennett. I got to her first, and I’m older than you.”

With their faces turned toward her, their bodies pressed into her skirt, it was easy to imagine they were her own.

“One at a time, darlings,” she said. She cupped the backs of their heads, running her fingers through their feather-soft hair. She had a special place in her heart for children. They were impossibly curious. She remembered standing in front of her mirror in her room with one of her mother’s dresses held to her thin body, imagining twirling around with a handsome prince.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a prince who had caught her interest, but a villain disguised as an earl.

“Are you going to come live with us?” a third child, who couldn’t have been more than six, asked. She gave a gap-toothed smile. “There’s lots of space. The house is thiiis big.” She stretched her arms wide.

“I wish I could, darling,” she said. “I would be your fairy godmother, conjuring gowns out of spider silk and sunbeams.” She mimed waving a wand over their heads and chanted nonsense words that made them giggle.

“You could stay in the room beside mine,” Bennett said. “I can show you!”

“Children,” Lord Lowell said.

The clipped word jolted her back to reality and brought the young ones to attention. They detached from her skirt and made pretty bows or curtseys, then formed a line in front of the grand staircase.

She was both relieved and disappointed to see them go. The former because they were a painful reminder of a life she had always wanted, and the latter because it had been years since she’d felt so much like the woman she’d been before the earl had routed every ounce of whimsy from her soul.

“I apologize,” Lord Lowell said. “They are most active in the afternoon.”

“I adore children,” she said. Then she took his offered arm because Lady Allen was always happy to be next to a handsome man, even as Olivia’s skin pebbled at the close contact.

It doesn’t matter how attractive he is. He ruined your reputation.

“Did you have plans for the day?” he asked.

His question reminded her of the purpose of her visit. He was not a normal client, but a man who had accused her of murder.

“I thought I could accompany your daughter to my modiste this afternoon.”

There were many shops she could take the girl to, ladies who owed her favors, but she would begin with the one with whom she had the longest acquaintance. Madame Julian, originally from Paris, had set up shop in London five summers past and had outfitted Olivia with several of her favorite gowns.

There would be no awkward incidents for Lady Constance in her first season, unlike how it had been for poor Miss Trellow, whose breasts had popped out of her bodice during her first ball because of her mother’s insistence upon the girl wearing a dress that dipped so low, it barely covered her nipples.

“Constance will be pleased,” Lord Lowell said. He squeezed her fingers and led her toward the stairs. “Did you come to any difficulty on the way here?”

She looked at him askance. “No. Why do you ask?”

He stopped. “I saw the newspaper this morning. The articles are getting bolder.”

A veiled threat? The man already had her commitment, her binding word. What else did he want from her?

She straightened her back. “You should know that I will not allow rumors to disrupt my plans.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a sharp retort from bursting free. His complete lack of shame was infuriating, but she was not so impolite that she would insult him in front of his family and servants.

He began walking again, to her relief. When he looked at her, her wits scattered, making it difficult to hold on to her carefully constructed mask.

Lady Allen was capable of dancing circles around Lord Lowell and his many charms.

Olivia was not.