Chapter 9

Very little caught Lucas off guard. He'd witnessed enough transactions, traveled in enough unfamiliar cities, and attended

far too many society events to be truly dumbfounded by much.

The presence of none other than the incomparable MissOlivia Brannon, however, stunned him so much that he'd had to look her

direction twice as he turned on the landing—once to identify her and again to confirm it.

There was no denying who she was, but why she was here remained to be seen.

She had to have recognized him. But she said nothing.

Tate took notice of her as well, and once they reached the ground floor and she was out of earshot, he whistled low. "Wainbridge

is certainly delivering on his promise to host as many beautiful young ladies as he could invite. Lovely. Just lovely. If

she is the sort we are to spend the next week and a half with, we are fortunate men indeed, Avery."

Lucas smoothed his hair back from his forehead. If Tate knew the truth about Olivia's fiery and determined personality, he'd probably think twice about such a statement. But Lucas would say nothing about her—not until he'd had the chance to speak with her. "Calm yourself. That's but the first young woman to cross our path besides Miss Wainbridge, and already you're making assumptions."

"Assumptions?"

"Yes, assumptions . Assumptions that the woman on the stairs would find you the least bit attractive. Besides, I thought your sights were set

firmly on MissHaven."

"That is true, but 'twould hardly be fair, or even sporting, to completely disqualify the lady before we even know her name.

Am I not, after all, in my heart of hearts a true romantic? One never knows what unspoken charm will draw one soul to another."

Lucas huffed at the ridiculous—yet characteristic—arrogance of the statement. What must it be like to have such a simplistic,

singular outlook on life? "Come, Romeo. If you're determined that all the ladies present should fall for your charms, you'd

best be about it. After all, you've less than a fortnight."

Tate playfully slapped the back of his hand against Lucas's shoulder. "More than enough time."

They arrived in the drawing room, and the opulent chamber scintillated with promise. Well-dressed gentlemen in starched cravats

and tailored coats and women in shimmery fabrics and dripping in jewels were gathered—laughing, talking. A voltaic spark of

energy surged in Lucas's chest.

He was more than capable of handling George Wainbridge, the Cloverton collection, and any other undertaking that might cross his path. Miss Brannon was a surprise, yes, but it was just that—a fleeting surprise. It didn't matter why she was here; it would not affect him. Not for a single moment. For now he had to put the odd encounter behind him, for he could not forget his purpose.

***

Olivia waited for the chamber's heavy paneled oak door to latch closed behind her before she released a long, steady breath.

Finally, alone.

The silence and solitude that the Blue Room afforded showered down on her—a welcome balm to her harried nerves. Her mind raced

with all she'd just learned about the Miltons and the Wainbridges... and with the man she'd just seen.

She groaned at the recollection. Lucas Avery's eyes had widened. He'd looked her way twice. He'd recognized her. She hadn't

expected to be acquainted with anyone at Cloverton Hall, and yet Lucas Avery, more than almost anyone, had the capacity to

completely ruin her entire plan.

She loosened the front buttons of her rumpled traveling pelisse and shrugged it from her shoulders. She'd simply have to speak

with him frankly, professional to professional, and ask for his discretion. The idea of asking Lucas Avery for a favor, be

it great or small, aggrieved her, but what could be done?

With a cleansing sigh she propped her hands on her hips and turned her attention to the chamber that would belong to her for roughly the next week and a half. She did not fully understand why Mrs. Milton had been so insistent that she stay in this particular room, but its sheer grandeur squelched the nagging thoughts of Mr. Avery. Two large mullioned windows overlooked Cloverton Hall's main drive, and the afternoon light sliding through the paned glass highlighted Saxon-blue Chinese wallpaper that boasted birds and flowers, leaves and rivers. A giant carved mahogany canopied bed with indigo damask curtains stood perpendicular to the windows, and the wall opposite it boasted a grand chimneypiece with a ceramic sculpture of two dogs atop it.

Every tabletop and every bit of wall space of the chamber was adorned with artifacts begging for further study, but it was

the windows and the landscape they framed that lured her.

She moved to stand before a window and traced her finger along the azure brocade curtain's golden fringe, soaking in the sight

of the lush grounds in colors of jade, sage, and chartreuse, stretching as far as she could see. The leaves of ancient elm

trees danced and swayed in the early September breeze, projecting lacy patterns onto the manicured lawn beneath. How elegant

it all was—how gorgeous and deliberate. Not a leaf or twig was out of place. Fluffy clouds hung over the distant woods, almost

painfully bright in their wispy pureness.

Such a stark contrast from London, where even on days when the sky was blue, the ever-present film of soot and smoke dimmed

its vibrancy. What would it be like to live such a life surrounded by this sheer beauty?

A distant soft knock sounded, and Olivia whirled.

But no one was there.

The knock sounded again, coming from behind the paneled wall. Then the entire panel of the wall swung open.

Olivia jumped.

A young servant woman with coppery curls poking from beneath a white mobcap leaned her head through the unexpected doorway.

"I don't mean to interrupt. MissTeague is helping Mrs.Milton prepare for dinner, so she asked me to assist you."

Olivia gave a little laugh to mask her shock. "I had no idea there was a door there."

"There's doors like this all over Cloverton, but most don't know of 'em." The maid pushed the door open wider and entered

the chamber with a large bucket in her arms.

"Where does it lead?"

"There be two dressin' rooms through t' door, and they both connect to t' mistress's chambers."

The young woman balanced the basin of water she was carrying against her hip and closed the door behind her. She then placed

the basin atop a table between the two windows.

"What's your name?" asked Olivia.

"Tabitha, miss. Tabitha Martin." She wiped her hands on the linen apron tied around her waist. "Mrs.Milton said yer t' dress

in t' yellow lutestring tonight."

Olivia looked back to her trunks, which had yet to be unpacked. How odd it seemed that someone—anyone—would dictate to another

adult what gown to wear. Perhaps this was how it was done, and she'd not risk angering Mrs.Milton for such a trivial request.

Olivia knelt in front of her trunk, unlocked it, pulled the shimmery gown away from the others, and shook out the folds. "I

fear it's quite wrinkled."

"I thought it'd be when she said it was o' lutestring, so that's why I brought this." Tabitha motioned toward the bucket of water. "Steamin' hot water will get t' wrinkles out. We'll have to work quickly a'fore it cools."

The woman hastened to position the gown above the steam, and then, at Tabitha's direction, Olivia settled at her chamber's

small dressing table. The maid took down Olivia's hair, brushed the chestnut locks, and then twisted it loosely high atop

the crown of her head. She secured it with small pearly pins and then wove a length of delicate lace ribbon among the pins.

She pulled a few carefully placed long, curly locks free from the style to frame her face.

Tabitha then assisted Olivia in doffing her heavy wool traveling gown and donning the much lighter primrose gown. After slipping

her stockinged feet into a new pair of dainty slippers fashioned from soft kidskin, Olivia turned to assess her reflection

in the narrow looking glass opposite the windows.

Surely a stranger was staring back at her.

Normally, her wavy hair was loosely bound and pinned at the nape of her neck, but having the hair higher on her head added

height. The squared neckline was much lower than she was used to, but the dainty lace trim adorning the bodice added elegance.

The gown's shape, luster, and flounced hem transformed her from a mere antiquities purveyor's daughter to someone much more

refined.

A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. Olivia felt beautiful. A sentiment that she had neither time, space, nor inclination for at home.

Another soft knock on her door interrupted her musings, and Tabitha answered it, revealing MissWainbridge. Without invitation

she walked into the chamber in a billowy cloud of striking lavender taffeta. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"N-no, no, not at all," stammered Olivia. "We were just finishing."

"Oh good. I was hoping to have a moment to speak with you, alone, if you're agreeable."

Tabitha dismissed herself, and a dainty smile softened MissWainbridge's oval face once they were alone. "I only wanted to

apologize for the manner in which you were greeted. My aunt's manner was quite abrupt. I hope you weren't offended."

"I'm not offended in the least." Olivia stood from the dressing table and turned to face her. "I think the journey was quite

taxing for her."

"That's no reason why the conversation should have been so terse." MissWainbridge stepped to the window, touched the curtains

to peer down to the front drive, and then turned and trailed her gaze from the elaborate plaster molding, down the papered

walls, to the polished floor. "I have loved this room from the moment I laid eyes on it. I do hope you find it satisfactory."

Still gauging MissWainbridge's trustworthiness, Olivia measured her response. "It is lovely. I feel quite at home."

"Good. As you may know, my brother and I are fairly new to Cloverton Hall, and we are still becoming acquainted with it ourselves." She joined Olivia near the dressing table, lifted a discarded length of ribbon, and wove it absently through her long fingers. "I confess, I'm curious. My aunt told us you're a friend of the family. How is it that you are acquainted?"

The sense that her hostess was prodding for information resonated. Intent upon not divulging too much information, Olivia

said, "My parents and your aunt and late uncle were friends."

"They must be very great friends for her to invite you to accompany her. And you must be a saint." MissWainbridge's airy

laugh sounded like tinkling bells, and she shook her head, causing her clinquant earbobs to sway. "I'm sure you've gathered

that my aunt is not fond of many people—myself and my brother included."

Olivia pressed her lips together.

"My aunt is very well respected," MissWainbridge continued matter-of-factly. "And it is most kind of her to preside over

our party as hostess. I'm certain that her presence here has eased the minds of many mothers permitting their daughters to

attend. I don't mind sharing that it's very important to my brother that this party be a success."

MissWainbridge leaned to assess her own reflection in the looking glass and smoothed a perfectly shaped curl at the side

of her face before returning her attention to Olivia. "Have you been to Yorkshire before?"

"No, I have not."

"We are quite isolated here, I find. You reside in London, if I'm not mistaken."

"I do."

"I was in London for the entire Season. My brother took a house there, in Mayfair. I wonder that I never saw you there, at gatherings or shops or outings."

It was only natural that the young woman would assume they would be in the same social circles, given the circumstance. How

would MissWainbridge react to the knowledge that Olivia had spent her summer days at her uncle's shop and not at concerts

and cotillions?

"Perhaps we have and didn't know it. London can be so crowded."

"True. But we are here now, and I am eager to know you better. Are you acquainted with any of the other guests in attendance?"

Olivia would not reveal she was acquainted with Lucas Avery—not until she absolutely had to. "I don't believe so."

"Well, I will personally see that you are introduced to each one." The brightness MissWainbridge had displayed when first

entering the chamber returned, and she squeezed Olivia's hands in her own. "I will leave you to finish your preparations.

The others have gathered in the drawing room, but I'm sure you are waiting for Aunt to come down. I must get back to them,

but I shall see you soon?"

Olivia agreed, and then the young lady, in a flurry of lustrous fabric and a wafting rose scent, exited the chamber.

Once all was silent again, Olivia sighed and turned once more to assess the new version of herself that peered back at her

from the mirror.

Miss Wainbridge did seem genuine, kind, affable—the sort of person whom Olivia would, under normal circumstances, warm to and count as a friend. But time had also taught her to be cautious. If all the years of working with the wealthy had taught her anything, it was that the affluent operated under a different set of rules and ethics. She'd developed a keen sense of judgment when it came to character, and she needed to rely on her experience, especially now that she was blurring the lines of what it meant to be one of them. Yet as she sat in the stillness, the heavy weight of guilt dampened her. She did not believe in telling falsehoods. She abhorred deception, and yet the path she was on dictated both.

True, she might never see these people again, and if she were to be successful in this one opportunity, she would have to

take greater control of her emotions. Otherwise, this entire endeavor could prove more harmful than helpful. And that simply

could not be.