Chapter 19

The dumbfounded shock in Mr.Wainbridge's expression.

The heated rage in Mrs.Milton's tone.

Olivia could not help but recount the scene she'd just witnessed. She should have listened to her uncle. She should have listened

to Russell. She should have listened to anyone who told her that coming to Cloverton Hall might not be fruitful. Yet she'd

forged ahead, stubbornly, obstinately, and now she was in a horrifically awkward situation.

How had she not considered the situation more earnestly before agreeing to this arrangement?

She'd been so eager to advance her own skills and situation that she did not allow herself any time to think of the possible

drawbacks of accepting such an offer. It seemed the reasons to regret her decision were multiplying, and so far, witnessing

Mrs.Milton's berating of Mr.Wainbridge was the worst offense. Never had she seen a woman slap another person.

It was behavior she could not tolerate—regardless of the reason.

"You're awf'lly quiet this afternoon," Tabitha chirped as she dressed Olivia's hair for dinner. The maid's cheerful nature was a balm to an atmosphere that otherwise seemed quite fraught. "I 'ope you're not fallin' ill."

"I'm quite well." Olivia smiled. "Merely lost in thought, I suppose."

Tabitha's normally buoyant expression sobered as she slowed. "I 'eard about what 'appened in Mr.Wainbridge's study. I 'eard

you saw the whole thing."

"You did?"

"Teague told me o' it. Says Mrs.Milton's a'side 'erself an' fears she'll be unwell."

Relieved to be able to share her thoughts on the matter, Olivia handed Tabitha a ribbon to be woven into her hair. "I don't

understand it. She's so angry. It's one thing to attempt to make a point. It's another to slap a man because he does not agree

with you."

Tabitha swiped her frizzy ginger hair from her brow and accepted the ivory ribbon. "Mrs.Milton isn't a bad sort; she's just

sad. All t' things they worked so hard t' accumulate will be scattered. It sounds silly t' most I'd reckon, but it's important

t' her."

Olivia studied the young woman as she adorned Olivia's hair. She was a slender slip of a girl—petite and slight. Freckles

dotted the bridge of her aquiline nose. Her sparse eyebrows matched the tone of her tresses and contrasted against her milky

complexion. The bond between servant and mistress here appeared very strong. Tabitha might be in a situation where she was

loyal without question. Or perhaps there was a reason for that loyalty. "You seem quite protective of her."

"Mrs. Milton's been good t' me." Tabitha lifted her thin shoulder in a shrug. "I 'ate t' think that Mr. Wainbridge might be takin' advantage o' 'er."

Olivia winced at the choice of words. "What do you mean, taking advantage of her?"

"People are not always as they seem, 'tis all." Tabitha smoothed her finger across the ribbon, straightened it, and then crossed

the room to the wardrobe, signaling an end to the topic.

Unwilling to let go of the opportunity to learn more about Mrs.Milton, Olivia forged ahead. "How long have you been at Cloverton

Hall, Tabitha?"

"Me whole life, I s'pose." She returned from the wardrobe with a gown of blush netted silk gauze folded over her arm. "Me

mother was Mrs.Milton's chambermaid a'fore me, and I used to 'elp me mother in Mrs.Milton's chamber as a child."

Olivia had no idea the relationship ran so deep. "She must trust you very much. She said that you and Teague were the only

ones she allowed in her chamber."

"'Tis true. Even with Louis she's suspicious. I'm t' only one permitted t' see t' his care and feeding, almost like a governess.

For a dog! None of t' footmen are allowed near 'im."

"But why?" Olivia stood and stooped to allow Tabitha to slip the gown over her head. "There has to be a source of her suspicion."

"If ye ask me, she's afeared of what'll happen when she's not in authority. Mrs. Milton 'as experienced betrayal. She trusts no one. To make it worse, now that Mr. Wainbridge is master o' Cloverton Hall, she's had little more freedom than Teague or me. I s'pose all t' money in t' world does not guarantee a life free from sorrow."

The words resonated in the still, silent room, challenging Olivia. She herself knew what it was like to want freedom and autonomy.

To starve for it and chase it.

The door separating her chamber from Mrs.Milton's chamber opened, and Mrs.Milton swept in, as elegant as ever, in a brocade

gown of shimmering deep aubergine that hugged her ample figure. Amethysts shimmered from a gold chain about her neck.

The polished woman's presence filled Olivia with dread. How could she pretend to be at ease after the exchange she'd just

witnessed? Even so, Mrs.Milton's tone was unaffected, as if nothing had transpired. "I've arranged for you to be seated next

to Mr.Avery at dinner. I want you to find out from him why he's here."

"Mr.Wainbridge told us why he's here," Olivia argued, pivoting to allow Tabitha to secure the small ties at the back of her

neck.

"No, no. I want to know specifically what pieces he is interested in. Is it the chinoiserie? The statues? I must know."

"I can't do that, Mrs.Milton."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you can."

Olivia adjusted the lacy fabric on her crossover bodice and turned to fully face the woman. "If Mr.Avery is working with

Mr.Wainbridge as a client, I know for a fact that he'd never discuss the details of such with anyone. Don't forget, he knows

my family and their business. I think the more distance I can keep from him, the better."

"Oh, poppycock." She marched toward Olivia and, without a word, retied the ribbon at the high waist of Olivia's gown. "I will know what it is he is after."

Retreating from the physical contact, Olivia sharpened her tone. "I am not comfortable asking that. It would not be appropriate."

Mrs.Milton turned a hard eye on her. "You don't think it would be appropriate ?"

"No. I'm not the person to inquire about such a thing."

"I think you are. You know him."

"I know of him, which is a different matter altogether. Mrs.Milton, you have engaged my services to evaluate a collection, but I—"

"I engaged your services, yes. And I have provided you with clothing and invited you to a party. All of this was done out

of respect for your father. Do not fool yourself into thinking that you had anything to do with it."

The words shocked her. And stung.

"If you do not wish to assist me, then you are free to leave anytime you choose. But if you do, then I will definitely not

partner with Brannon Antiquities to sell my pieces. It might behoove you to rethink what you consider appropriate ." Mrs.Milton spun on her heel and left the Blue Room.

Olivia clenched her jaw in the wake of what had been said.

It was becoming too much—all of this.

She loathed being told who to talk to and which gown to wear. What was more, she despised that the woman was threatening to

take this job away from her.

Never had she expected such complicated emotions and odd encounters, but she would not compromise herself. She owed Mrs. Milton no loyalty other than to give an honest assessment of her collection. Other than that, Olivia was still mistress of her own thoughts and actions, her reservations and instincts.

And she suspected they were all about to be tested.

***

Olivia, now alone, paced the Blue Room. She'd be expected in the drawing room to mingle before dinner, but she had to gain

control of her emotions.

The day—and all of its events—had confused her, infuriated her, frustrated her. And now she was about to be seated next to

Mr.Avery for the duration of an entire dinner—the very man whose family had caused her own pain. And then, following dinner,

she'd be the only lady without a musical piece to add to the concert.

Olivia stopped pacing, drew a deep breath, and glanced to her left at her reflection in a large cheval mirror in the corner.

Every so often, if she looked hard enough, she could see glimpses of her mother in her likeness. She saw it in her petite

frame and her dimpled cheek, but the similarities went beyond the physical. Olivia's memory of her mother was always bittersweet.

She could vividly recall her adoration for her mother and the way she made Olivia feel deeply cherished. She'd always encouraged

Olivia to follow her interests, even though they might not match society's expectations.

Her mother would be proud of her, she knew—proud of her for persisting and remaining steadfast in her pursuits.

Olivia lifted her chin. She was proud of who she was and how hard she had worked to develop her talents too. There was absolutely

no reason for her to feel shy or nervous about whatever she would face this evening.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, and the door opened. MissWainbridge entered, as lovely as ever in a gown of Pomona green

luster with a gauzy overlay of white netting. Her shiny tresses were piled high atop her head, and incandescent jewels glittered

on her neck and ears. But her face grew somber, and she reached out her hands toward Olivia.

"Oh, my dear, George told me what happened." MissWainbridge's eyes narrowed. "How Mrs.Milton argued with him in your presence.

The idea!"

It was a wonder that she already knew of the incident. "It's all right."

"No, it is not. It's intolerable! How difficult it must have been for you." MissWainbridge lowered her voice. "He also shared

that you might be privy to some personal facts about him and the nature of the estate."

Olivia lowered her eyes. It was true. She was now aware of far more details about the Wainbridges' situation than she wanted

to know.

MissWainbridge's words rushed out. "Such news could be devastating to my brother's goals. You're a good and kind person,

I know. But if the others were to become aware of his situation, I fear—"

"I will put your mind at ease, Miss Wainbridge." Olivia softened her expression and patted Miss Wainbridge's hand. "I've no intention of sharing anything I've heard. 'Tis not why I'm here."

Olivia snapped her mouth shut when she realized what she'd said.

Confusion flashed on MissWainbridge's features. "What do you mean, it's not why you're here?"

Olivia faltered, chiding herself for not being more careful with her words. "I'm here as a guest, as a companion, to Mrs.Milton.

Nothing more."

MissWainbridge tilted her head to the side. "Oftentimes people attend these gatherings intent upon finding a match. I can't

help but wonder, has my aunt invited you here to further your prospects? Please do not be offended. That is the reason most

of the women are here, me included. I am not a romantic, MissBrannon. I cannot afford to be. My brother will provide for

me the best he can, but you're aware of his finances. No, I must secure myself a husband with the means to support me. That

is why my brother is hosting this party. For me, and for him."

MissWainbridge's words were clever—bringing her in, including her, stating her thoughts in such a way that left little room

to refute them.

If Olivia was prudent, she'd do as MissWainbridge suggested and latch on to a wealthy young man. But that was not her goal.

"I am not in search of a husband."

"You jest." Interest flashed in Miss Wainbridge's eyes. "Do you already have an understanding with someone?"

"No, nothing like that. But as with you, my situation is complicated."

"Well, I hope soon you'll feel comfortable to share your story with me, for I should very much like for us to be friends."

In that moment Olivia longed for just that—a companion, someone like her sister, to confide in.

Surely no harm would come from establishing a friendship with MissWainbridge. She truly did enjoy MissWainbridge's company.

But then again, Olivia was not naive. Was MissWainbridge genuine, as she appeared, or was she attempting to secure Olivia's

discretion? It was all disconcerting, and at the moment, she was tired. Worn. And she needed a gracious companion if for no

other reason than to have someone to speak with when the evening's events became overwhelming. "I should like that too."

A smile brightened MissWainbridge's face. "Good! Then you must start by calling me Isabella. And with your permission, I

shall call you Olivia."

They exited her chamber together, arms linked, and descended the great staircase to the drawing room, where the guests would

gather before dinner. Already, voices and laughter echoed from the space, and despite the frustrations from earlier today

and the obstacles before her, Olivia could not keep the anticipation from building.

In an attempt to strengthen their emerging amity, Olivia leaned toward Isabella. "You mentioned you were in search of a husband.

Has anyone in particular struck your fancy?"

Isabella clicked her tongue. "My brother claimed he invited Captain Whitaker as a beau for me, but I refuse to be forced into any agreement, regardless of his wealth. But in truth, I think my brother would be content to simply see me settled with any of the men here. Except for perhaps Mr. Avery. He is, after all, in trade."

Olivia jerked. What would Isabella think if she knew the truth about her ? "In trade? And that is a negative attribute?"

"Oh my dear, you are delightful!" Isabella threw her head back in a tinkling laugh. She then sobered. "But if we are to be

friends, as I dearly hope we will be, I must come forth and tell you the rumor I heard about you."

"About me?"

Isabella lowered her voice. "One of the ladies believes Aunt invited you as a possible match for George."

Shocked, Olivia stopped and dropped her hand. "I assure you, that could not be further from the truth."

"That's why it was surprising to me to hear she'd argue with him in front of you. And I could understand if you were inclined

to consider him; it's just that some of the other ladies fancy him. So if it is not true, I urge you to keep your distance.

Trust me, there are some ladies here you might not want to cross."