Chapter 22

Olivia could feel Mrs.Milton's annoyance as surely as she could feel the breeze wafting in through the open garden doors.

In fact, she'd sensed the taxing scrutiny all evening.

Mrs.Milton had been watching her. Watching Mr.Avery. And now, as she approached, every muscle in Olivia's back and neck

tensed.

"I'm about to announce that it's time for the ladies to retire for the evening," Mrs.Milton said. "I saw you speaking with

Mr.Avery. I trust you had a productive discussion."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs.Milton fussed with her glove. "And?"

Olivia had known this question was coming, and still she was not comfortable with it. To complicate matters, she felt a strange,

unanticipated kinship with Mr.Avery that she couldn't explain.

"It was as I thought it would be," Olivia began. "He does intend to broker some items, but he would not share details."

"Well, we'll just see about that." A flush reddened Mrs.Milton's otherwise pale skin.

Olivia did not like to be included in the collective we , but she would not argue. Not now. Not here.

"Come, let's gather the ladies. It is late."

As Olivia had quickly learned, when the hostess of the house party wished to retire for the evening, all the ladies and chaperones

followed suit, regardless of the hour or the activity at hand. The gentlemen were free to cavort and be entertained as late

into the night as they desired, but the women were at the mercy of the hostess. As it was, last-minute plans for a picnic

and a painting lesson the following day were discussed, and then the ladies quit the increasingly animated company of the

men for the quiet of Cloverton's corridors.

The day, and the interactions that had occurred, had not only given Olivia a great deal to think about but also exhausted

her. Both her eyes and her feet felt heavy as she turned to make her way to the great staircase, but MissHaven surprised

her by calling her name.

Olivia slowed her steps to match MissHaven's, even as the other ladies hurried on ahead.

"I do regret we've not had a chance to really speak this evening." MissHaven's normally refined, singsong voice was barely

above a whisper.

Olivia was not entirely sure how to respond. It was the first time the woman with the brilliant blue eyes had shown any interest

in speaking with her the entire evening.

"In fact, I've been longing to speak with you a bit more privately since we arrived," MissHaven continued. "MissWainbridge

has been absolutely singing your praises. I hope we can become friends."

"I should like that too."

And part of her meant it. What would it be like to be friends with these people, to be like one of them?

"You are joining us, aren't you?" MissHaven's scent of jasmine was overwhelming as she tightened her arm around Olivia's.

"At the picnic tomorrow?"

Olivia spied Mrs.Milton several paces ahead of them. "I believe so. It is Mrs.Milton's decision."

"Oh, Mrs.Milton would not miss this, not for anything! It is not often one has the opportunity to be instructed by such an

esteemed artist as Mr.Romano. I know you do not play music, but do you enjoy painting, drawing, or anything of the like?"

How boring she must seem to these women, each of whom boasted a long list of skills and accomplishments. She forced out the

words. "No, not really."

MissHaven's demure laugh echoed from the paneled walls. "You are a strange creature, MissBrannon. Fascinating, yes, but

strange. No music? No art? How do you spend your days?"

When Olivia did not answer her question, MissHaven continued. "I must say, I've overheard more than one gentleman speaking

about you. Everyone is curious, including Mr.Wainbridge. I heard him say as much myself! But then again, I could not help

but notice Mr.Avery and you spoke several times this evening. You seemed quite captivated at dinner and then again after

the concert. Could a match be afoot?"

In a sudden burst of energy, MissHaven stopped and whirled toward Olivia and grabbed her hand. "You should leave your matchmaking

in my hands. I have a gift for sensing what personalities are compatible. I adore it."

Dread raced through her. "I don't think Mrs.Milton would—"

"Mrs.Milton is well respected, yes. Considering her shift in circumstances, though, is she really the best person to be leaving

such matters with? No, la, no. Her time as a society matriarch has passed, I fear. Leave it with me. I shall make it my sole

objective during our time here to identify which gentleman you are most suited to. And if nothing comes to fruition, then

no harm is done, right?"

Without giving Olivia an opportunity to respond, MissHaven squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek, spun on her heel, and was

on her way down the corridor toward Cloverton's east end.

The other ladies and chaperones were dispersing, and before long, she and Mrs.Milton were once again alone as they headed

down the corridor to their chambers. As they walked, the candlelight from the wall sconces flickered and danced, giving life

and movement to the odd assortment of paintings lining the wall and the artifacts displayed on the narrow tables.

As the men's voices and laughter echoed from the distant gallery, Mrs.Milton muttered her dissatisfaction with MissStanley's

coquettish behavior and her disapproval of MissKline's musical abilities.

But Olivia paid little attention. She was more focused on her own mounting grievances. Despite her frustrations with Mrs.Milton,

Olivia disliked how the other guests spoke of their hostess. She understood their point, but regardless, Mrs.Milton was here

to be the respected voice of reason—to oversee manners and virtue. It was a farce, really. These women and men seemingly had

the world at their disposal, and yet they were cruel in their mocking of her. Neither party was without fault.

This was a world she had glimpsed only from the outside, and those glimpses had formed her opinions and prejudices. Now that she was seeing it from a different purview, her opinions were strengthening. Even seemingly kind people like Miss Wainbridge or even Mr. Avery—everyone here had an ulterior motive. If they were so discourteous to those with whom they were acquainted, she could only imagine how their treatment of her would change if they knew the truth about her background.

She had to keep her guard up, now more than ever.