Chapter 25

Olivia could die of mortification. She could admit that her pride caused problems for her at times. But this—this was cruel.

Her steps slowed as she entered the drawing room to gather with the other guests before dinner. All around the space, the

canvases from earlier that day were displayed—lovely depictions of the pond and the forest, the gardens and the topiaries,

all painted by artists who had been instructed, at least informally, in the art of watercolor.

And then there was her painting of roses.

Chatter and laughter abounded around her. It felt as if everyone must be staring at her sad representation. Surely her face

had flushed as florid as the salmon-colored gown she wore.

A light gloved hand rested on her arm, and she turned to see MissHaven. A gown of chartreuse silk adorned the lady's graceful

frame, and her flaxen hair was elegantly styled up in curls and twists. She fixed her brilliant cornflower-blue eyes on Olivia,

and a smile curved her lips. "Did you enjoy the painting earlier today, MissBrannon?"

"I did." Olivia turned away from her easel, trying to pretend her hideous painting was not in the room. "And you?"

"Oh, I always enjoy time spent with Mr.Romano. He's nothing short of a genius! Now that you've seen him work, do you not

agree?" MissHaven linked her arm through Olivia's and directed her along the line of easels, then paused in front of MissStanley's

piece. "See how MissStanley captured the sunlight reflecting there on the pond? Just lovely."

MissHaven dropped her hand and intimately lowered her voice. "I am glad I have a moment to speak with you privately, for

I wanted to follow up with you on our conversation from last night."

Olivia's stomach tightened, and she steeled herself for what she would hear.

"Mr.Fielding was watching you paint earlier today. I daresay he's quite smitten."

The mention of Mr.Fielding added to Olivia's increasing trepidation. His attention had, at times, been flattering, but now

it seemed bothersome, even superfluous.

"I heard him tell Captain Whitaker that you were spellbinding. Could there be a more romantic sentiment?" MissHaven continued

eagerly, as if divulging a great secret. "I took it upon myself to speak with him on your behalf."

Olivia shook her head. "Oh no, MissHaven, I really wish you—"

"Do not thank me. I told him that you and he would make a fine match, and I encouraged him to pursue it. Is that not wonderful?"

Olivia's face burned as she looked to the man in question, who was standing at the far side of the chamber speaking with Mr. Avery.

For the first time since she arrived, she truly did not know what to say. She'd managed to handle every odd instance and erratic

request to this point, but this—the idea of flirting and making a match with a man she'd met two days prior—was too much.

MissHaven, excited and bubbly, pressed a kiss to Olivia's cheek and spun on her heel, completely unaware of the turmoil that

she had incited.

Or perhaps she was completely aware.

Olivia could only stare at MissHaven as she retreated to speak with Mr.Wainbridge and the captain.

All around her, the guests were laughing, chattering, conversing. How was one to respond in such a situation?

In that moment she felt more alone, more like an outsider, than at any other point.

She barely noticed when Isabella appeared at her side.

"You appear as if you've seen a ghost."

Olivia's breath shuddered, and she looked to Isabella's sympathetic dark brown eyes.

"Let's walk." Isabella took her arm and guided her away from the other guests to the open veranda doors, where the drawing

room opened up to the back gardens where they had just passed the afternoon. A few of the chaperones were on the veranda,

but otherwise they were alone. "I couldn't help but overhear MissHaven's declarations. About Mr.Fielding. She wasn't exactly

being discreet, was she?"

Once they reached the balustrade, Isabella leaned against the railing. "That was uncalled for, but I'm not surprised. It's not the first time she has acted in such a way. I do believe she feels threatened by you."

"By me?" Olivia laughed. "Believe me, there is no reason for her to feel threatened."

"Is there not?" Isabella arched her brow. "MissHaven considers my brother a suitor, but I think she worries he will find

you more interesting."

Olivia scoffed and gazed back to the blonde beauty. "She is quite mistaken."

"Is she? You are a mystery, my dear. To everyone here. Do not underestimate the allure in that."

The conversation fell silent for a moment, but then Isabella spoke again. "I do wonder, dear, if it would not make things

easier if you were to share a little more about yourself. Perhaps by doing so, you might alleviate some of the questions around

you."

Isabella's suggestion held merit, but how could she explain her situation in a way that both protected her truth and satisfied the questions?

"It does seem odd that we know so little of you," continued Isabella, almost with trepidation.

Guilt engulfed her.

This was her own fault. All of it. By attempting to fade into the background and be nonexistent, she was actually drawing

attention to herself. If she shared the truth, she'd be shunned immediately. She thought she'd be unaffected by such a situation,

but she'd underestimated how much time the guests spent with one another.

Isabella sighed. "Every person has the right to privacy, and I suppose we all have reasons for discretion."

Her hostess's kind patience made Olivia feel worse.

The rest of the evening felt contrived. And it made her miserable.

She laughed at Mr.Fielding's jokes at dinner. She hung on to Mr.Romano's stories of his childhood in Italy. She added her

voice to the others and pleaded with MissHaven to regale them with another musical performance after dinner.

All the while she was distracted.

Mr.Avery was seated far away from her next to MissStanley, and judging by their laughter and smiles, he seemed quite content

with his dinner companion.

When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room and left the men to their port, Mr.Romano joined them, and it was MissStanley's

turn to sit for a portrait. Olivia watched as the artist used his paints to re-create MissStanley's likeness, but the longer

she was in the room, listening to the other ladies, the more her neck muscles ached and her head began to throb.

The burning candles added a dense heat to the room. The air felt too thick. Floral perfumes, heavy musks, and the scent of

too many bodies in one small space hovered over them all. By the time the gentlemen joined them, the wine had been flowing

freely, as was evident in the men's behavior.

Olivia was out of her realm... and she knew it.

And what was worse, she felt completely alone. She was no stranger to solitude, but here she lacked the confidence afforded

by her usual environment. Everyone else seemed content, if not thrilled, with the tight quarters and intimate conversation.

Even Mrs.Milton was speaking with two of the chaperones.

She glanced quickly in Mr. Avery's direction, just as she had several times since the men joined them. He was speaking in the corner with Miss Kline and Mr. Tate. The sight of him incited an unsettling sense of disquiet in her. In the span of two days, she'd gone from considering Mr. Avery the enemy to viewing him as one of the only safe people present. She found herself drawn to the warmth in his expression, the dry humor of his personality, and the sense that they shared a secret—an understanding—that only a mutual background could afford.

She hoped he would look her way, or that he would seek her out for conversation. How had everything she thought she knew about

herself and her beliefs shifted so radically?

She caught a glimpse of MissStanley, who was speaking intently with MissHaven. The elegant ladies cast glances toward her

and resumed whispering. A pang of homesickness clapped hard in her heart, and she longed for the peace of her home and the

companionship of her sister.

Fearing she might cry out of sheer frustration, she inhaled a deep, shuddery breath. This was not an idyllic visit to the

countryside as she had envisioned in her naive daydreams. It was a place where bargains were struck and deals were made. The

sights around her, the opulence, made her feel sick, and the heavy dinner felt unsettled in her stomach.

She spied Mr. Fielding walking toward her from the corner of her eye. The thought of speaking with him now seemed more than she could bear. Suddenly, it felt as if the air had thickened and there wasn't enough to breathe. She gasped for air once. And then twice. She had to get away from here—somewhere the air was fresh and silent.

The other guests were blocking the path to the corridor, so she pivoted and darted through the open doors to the veranda.

Outside, torches illuminated the garden and the intricate paths. Voices and laughter wafted on the night breeze. But for the

moment, the veranda was empty, and at the far side of it, she leaned against the cool limestone railing and let the breeze

rushing around the corner calm her frayed nerves and soothe the hot tears welling in her eyes.

She wanted to go home. She wanted her sister. Her small bed. Even Russell's company seemed preferable to what she was experiencing

here.