Chapter 8

Never would Olivia have believed that such a beautiful structure could exist. She'd seen sketches of such stately homes, and

the occasional pastoral painting featuring such a scene would come across the shop from time to time. But the charcoal drawings

and faded renderings could not prepare her for the magnificence before her.

She spied it from the carriage in fleeting glimpses between the ashes and oaks. The late-afternoon sun highlighted Cloverton

Hall's warm gray stones and glinted from the myriad intricate multipaned windows, the effect of which bathed the surroundings

in a golden glow.

The moment the carriage rocked to a full halt, the door was opened and a footman dressed in deep emerald livery took great

care in assisting Mrs.Milton from the carriage. Olivia and Teague alighted from the conveyance after her.

How Olivia's muscles relished the change of position, and as the cool breeze brushed against her flushed cheeks and forehead,

her optimism and eagerness flamed anew as she soaked in the details around her.

A throng of servants stood at the ready, and they curtsied and bowed toward her as she passed them. Intimidation rushed her. Would they treat her as such if they knew where she came from and who she really was? Even with her doubts, she'd not allow herself to feel awkward or out of place. She could not, for if she entertained such thoughts, they might lodge in her mind and refuse to leave.

She followed Mrs.Milton up the stone stairs, through the intricately carved oak doors nearly twice her height. Each step

expanded her glimpse of what awaited her behind the door. And then her breath caught.

Once inside the glistening vestibule, she lifted her gaze to take in the painted ceiling, more than two stories above her

head. Extravagance surrounded her: elegant carvings of stone and Italian marble busts perched upon their pedestals. Fresh

magenta dahlias and fuchsia chrysanthemums overflowed a footed silver bowl. Every surface gleamed in the radiant sunlight

streaming through the symmetrical banks of tall, north-facing paned windows. It was as if she'd entered another world—one

of lavish splendor, of the sort of life she had only dreamed existed.

Olivia gathered her wits about her and untied her poke bonnet's satin bow, self-conscious of her trembling hands.

As she lifted the hat from her head, a young blonde woman, clad in a long-sleeved empire-waist organza gown in the palest

shade of goldenrod, hurried into the vestibule with her arms outstretched toward Mrs.Milton. Her glossy, honey-hued hair

was gathered atop her head, and her genuine smile drew Olivia to her.

The attractive lady reached for Mrs. Milton's hand, pressed a kiss to her withered cheek, and stepped back. "Aunt, we expected you hours ago! How worried we were when we received the news of the carriage's wheel. I hope you did not encounter any additional trouble."

Mrs.Milton barely turned her attention from her gloves. "No more trouble than normal."

The woman turned her mahogany eyes toward Olivia, her cheeks rosy, her enthusiastic expression bright. "And you must be MissBrannon.

I've been so eager to make your acquaintance ever since we learned you would be joining us. Welcome to Cloverton Hall!"

Olivia smiled, determined to match the kind energy. She returned a curtsey. "Thank you. I'm so happy for the invitation."

Mrs.Milton removed her kid gloves finger by finger. "This is my niece, MissIsabella Wainbridge."

Olivia refused to allow surprise to write itself on her features. Mrs.Milton had not mentioned a niece, not even once through

the entire three-day journey, and yet Olivia found it a gratifying revelation. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"You must be exhausted," MissWainbridge continued amiably, as if oblivious to her aunt's brusqueness. "I will call for some

tea, and you can—"

"Have tea sent to our chambers," Mrs.Milton interrupted and fixed her sharp eyes on her niece. "I trust the Blue Room has

been prepared for MissBrannon?"

MissWainbridge's brow furrowed. "The Gold Room has been prepared for MissBrannon, on the east end of the first floor with

the other ladies. It is so lovely, and it—"

"No. She's to be in the Blue Room. I was quite explicit in my letter."

MissWainbridge's delicate jaw twitched. "I hate to disappoint, Aunt, but MissKline is in the Blue Room at present."

"She must be moved, then."

Olivia should protest—she should declare the Gold Room more than adequate. The last thing she wanted to do was cause a stir

while a guest under this roof, but before she could speak, approaching footsteps, confident and full of purpose, echoed from

the adjoining corridor.

She could surmise the owner of the footsteps before she even saw him.

Mr.Wainbridge.

He was uncommonly handsome, with jet-black hair and a broad smile. He shared the color of his sister's enchanting dark eyes.

His intricately tied linen cravat was brilliant against his tanned skin, and the precise cut of his pewter broadcloth tailcoat

emphasized a tall, athletic figure.

"Aunt!" His rich baritone voice echoed in the cavernous space. "We'd almost given up hope of you arriving today."

"Had I a choice?" she snipped. "The guests began arriving yesterday, did they not? You simply cannot host guests without a

hostess. You'd be a laughingstock."

Seemingly unaffected, or perhaps amused, Mr.Wainbridge grinned, reached forward in a familiar act, took the older woman's

hand in his, and pressed it to his lips. "You're right. How good you are to save us from utter humiliation." He lifted his

gaze to Olivia. "And you must be MissBrannon."

Olivia opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Milton took her arm and, by doing so, silenced her. "It is. Miss Brannon, this is my nephew, Mr. George Wainbridge. Has a dinner hour been set?"

"Y-yes," he stammered in a shocked response. "We will dine in about an hour. But I—"

"That will not do. Instruct Mrs.Dareton to delay it by one hour."

MissWainbridge frowned and cast a worried glance toward her brother. "But, Aunt, the guests have already begun to gather

in the drawing room. Another hour would be—"

"MissBrannon and I must have time to prepare, especially now that we must wait for MissKline to vacate the Blue Room. No,

no. This is the way it will be done. MissBrannon, come along."

Olivia hesitated. She was drawn to the siblings' warmth and friendliness, but she had to remember why she was here. She was

at Cloverton Hall as a guest of Mrs.Milton for a very specific reason, not to feel welcomed or comfortable.

Olivia curtsied and turned to follow Mrs.Milton, but MissWainbridge placed a soft hand on her arm to halt her. "My brother

and I are very happy to meet you, MissBrannon. I hope we can get better acquainted during your time here."

In the wake of the kind sentiment, Olivia realized exactly how much of a physical toll the journey had taken on her. She was

tired. On edge. And even homesick. But she straightened her shoulders. Every bit of discomfort would be worth it if she met

the goal ahead of her. With renewed determination, Olivia smiled in response.

She fixed her gaze on the back of Mrs. Milton's retreating form as she followed her toward the great staircase. Now was not the time to become distracted by the numerous artifacts all around her and the voices of other guests wafting through the open doorways.

She lifted the hem of her traveling gown to ascend the great staircase when two gentlemen turned the corner at the landing

above her and caught her attention. Olivia's eyes met another's so familiar that she nearly stopped in her tracks.

Lucas Avery.

It could be no other.

His olive-green eyes widened in recognition. His pace slowed.

Fearing he might address her, Olivia flicked her gaze forward and refused to look in his direction. From the corner of her

eye, she spied him bow toward Mrs.Milton and then toward her.

Still, she did not look toward the two men. Even after she turned the corner at the landing and ascended the second flight

of stairs, she declined to glance back.

In that single, unexpected moment, her optimism and eagerness fled, making her steps feel sluggish and her head abnormally

light.

Mr.Avery knew her.

What was more, he could very well be here for the same reason she was. Would she be in some sort of competition with him?

Or worse, would she have to work with him?

It would do no good to speculate, not until she was able to gather more information. But she knew one thing: the Averys were

not to be trusted.