Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (18 page)

‘I’m going to
Bath!’ Olivia resisted like a nervous filly, flinching at his
touch, unable to look him in the eye. ‘I’m sure the Nuningford
congregation will be as awed by your sermon as I was last night,
Nathaniel, but I am going to Bath with my aunts to stay with my
cousin Mariah. And I’m taking Julian with me!’

‘Julian can
come with us if it means so much to you, but you are coming to
Nuningford.’ Though his voice was smooth it held a nasty undertone,
one with which Olivia was becoming increasingly familiar.

‘Mrs Snyder is
waiting. She is looking forward to accompanying us and does not
like to be kept waiting.’

‘Puppy!
Molly!’

Olivia closed
her eyes at the happy shouts of her son and the crunch of gravel as
he pursued his new friend. Julian would not take kindly to being
incarcerated for the next two hours.

Turning, she
saw the puppy bounding towards them, its tongue lolling, its ears
flapping in joyful abandonment. It seemed to take as much pleasure
from the game as Julian. Glancing back at Nathaniel she could see
he was consumed entirely by the need for mastery over her; that he
was oblivious to the child and the dog. She winced as his fingers
dug into her forearm while he opened the carriage door with the
other hand.

She recognized
the determination in his angry look. What chance had she against
the strength of his will?

‘Don’t imagine
that animal is coming as well,’ he snarled.

She saw the
boisterous pair careering in their direction, pleasure transcending
all. Her heart soared at their innocence. Her son had an ally; the
puppy would be a beloved companion.

Turning back
to Nathaniel her heart leapt with fear. Oh God, Julian was too
young to recognize the malice that dominated his
step-fatherto-be.

‘Nathaniel,
no!’ she screamed. He paid no heed.

‘No!’ she
cried again, watching in disbelief his well-aimed kick.

She saw
Julian’s confusion, heard the muted noise of Nathaniel’s boot
connecting with the soft underbelly of the small creature. Wincing,
horrified, she closed her eyes at the sound of its sharp, truncated
yelp.

‘Puppy!’

Julian’s
scream rang out, the aunts turning in unison to see the puppy’s
little body thrown into the air, a tiny ball of white and brown fur
somersaulting against the blue sky before it came to rest limply in
a clump of daffodils.

‘I will never
marry you!’

Courage flowed
through her. She must be true to her instincts. Nathaniel was evil.
He would bend her to his will, just as Lucien had. He would destroy
her, as Lucien nearly had.

And he would
destroy Julian.

Glaring at
Nathaniel, she held her confused, shuddering son against her skirts
and hissed, ‘Not if you were the last man on earth. I will never
marry you and nor will I be your victim as I was Lucien’s.’

Nathaniel took
a menacing step forward. When she refused to retreat, his look
became conciliatory. It had no effect. Her mind was made up. She
was her own master, just as she was master of her son’s future. She
might not be able to safeguard his comfort and security but she
could ensure he grew to be a man of conviction who respected her
for hers.

Fortunately
Julian was too young to understand.

He tried to
coax life into the little creature with whom he’d only just become
acquainted and cried when it wouldn’t play with him. Olivia
comforted him as best she could, pulling him on to her lap and
rocking him when his realization that he’d lost his playmate for
good was too much to bear.

Nathaniel
showed no remorse and his anger left Olivia unmoved. Even his
reminder that Olivia and Julian faced a future of uncertainty and
penury had no effect.

When Olivia
remained steadfast in her refusal to accompany him ‘so they could
at least discuss matters’ he finally climbed angrily into his
carriage and departed.

Olivia then
made plans to despatch the little dog’s body, directing Dorcas to
dig a hole in the garden, but Julian screamed when he realized the
puppy was to be covered with soil.

Struggling to
hold the hysterical child, she stopped the maid and together they
crouched over the still warm body. Julian quietened then, hopping
off her lap and picking up a limp ear.

‘Lucien had a
dog just like this one,’ Olivia said, stroking its silky coat.

‘I remember,
ma’am,’ said Dorcas, wiping her red face with her apron. ‘It were
called Molly too. How the master did dote on ’er.’

Olivia said
nothing. It was no place to remark that Molly held a far greater
place in her late husband’s affections than she had ever done.

With a sigh
she scooped up the little dog’s limp body and turned towards the
house.

‘Take Julian
to the nursery and change his clothes,’ she directed.

‘He’ll be
coming to Bath with us. I’ll take the puppy to the crypt. Molly can
rest beside Lucien’s beloved Molly.’

‘You’ll need
’elp down there, Miss Olivia,’ said Dorcas. ‘I’ll run and fetch the
key.’

‘It won’t be
locked,’ Olivia called, already heading down the hill.

‘You take
Julian. It’s best he doesn’t come with me.’

Hugging the
soft bundle in her arms, Olivia went over the decisive parting she
had made with Nathaniel. It didn’t matter that he had not meant to
kill the animal, but it was enough. Enough to throw off the fear
and uncertainty he had exercised over her for so long. Enough to
forge a new direction. She would go to Bath with her aunts that
afternoon and she would never see him again. She was determined
upon it. She and Julian would be free.

Excitement
pulsed through her as she headed down the hill towards her old
home, despite her joyless task. She was a widow. She belonged to no
man. It was true she had no money, but somehow she and Julian would
manage.

The crypt door
swung open with just a gentle push. Set into the side of a grassy
knoll it was a gloomy place a few minutes’ walk from The Lodge,
though enough light streamed through a window high in the wall for
her to see. Lined up like silent sentinels of the past she gazed
upon the stone sarcophagi of her husband’s ancestors.

And that of
her husband.

Gently placing
the little dog upon the lid she fingered the inscription. How
grand, how noble it made him sound when he had been just a man. A
man driven to madness through longing for what he could never find;
if indeed it existed at all.

Faithful
Molly’s tiny sarcophagus was positioned at his feet. Bending,
Olivia tried to move the heavy lid but, despite it being so small,
it refused to budge. Straightening, she scanned the rows of neat
stone caskets. Above Lucien lay his grandfather, the equally
infamous 5th Viscount Farquhar. Perhaps the only difference between
them was that Lucien’s grandfather had tyrannized three wives
before his sudden death during the uprising of ’45 while Lucien had
tormented only one.

Lucky Olivia
had outlived
her
tyrannous viscount.

With a wry
laugh she bent to move the lid entombing the King Charles’ Spaniel
whom Lucien’s grandfather had no doubt esteemed more than any
consort.

This time she
encountered no resistance. With only a little effort she was able
to shift it sufficiently to make a gap large enough for young
Molly’s corpse.

She stood up
and went to fetch the dog from Lucien’s sarcophagus.

‘Poor Molly,’
she whispered, closing her eyes as she nuzzled its soft coat. ‘You
had such a short time to enjoy life, and yet I do believe you have
given me the freedom I might never have had were it not for your
sacrifice. I’m sorry.’

How lonely,
she thought, as she lowered the animal on to its bed of dust and
old bones. She remembered thinking the same, despite her anger,
when Lucien had been interred.

She bent to
close the lid, pausing as the cloud which had obscured the sun was
suddenly dissolved by its heat, sending its dazzling rays through
the grimy window. A flash of something bright caught her eye.
Something that was not dust and bones. Cautiously, she put her hand
into the sarcophagus, wishing she were wearing gloves as the feel
of damp organic matter sent shivers up her spine.

They were not
shivers of revulsion for long.

Her fingers,
probing through the blanket of dust, encountered something smooth.
Smooth and disc-shaped. Cold and flat.

Tingles of
excitement tore through her as she closed her fist upon a handful
of them. Her breath caught in her throat. Could it be? There was no
need to ask. She knew exactly what she had unwittingly stumbled
upon. The 5th Viscount’s treasure.

With a whoop
of joy Olivia plunged both arms into the dark space beside Molly’s
body and brought up a handful of gold coins.

Too many to
hold. Raising her hands to the light she closed her eyes and
listened to the dull chinking noise they made as they slipped
through her fingers and hit the flagstones. The enormousness of her
discovery was difficult to comprehend. Her brain throbbed with
wonder, disbelief and finally settled upon reality: the
repercussions. It did not matter that the treasure did not belong
to her. They would bring her joy, nonetheless.

Dropping the
coins upon the lid of Lucien’s grandfather’s crypt she again
plunged her hands into the dust and darkness. Dust comprised only a
thin layer. There had been no attempt to hide the coins. The
sarcophagus was filled with them.

Dizzy with
hope and joy she had to sit down, gazing in wonder at the gold in
the flat of her palms.

‘Max’s
birthright,’ she murmured. It was hard to breathe through her
excitement, to gather her thoughts. Her discovery changed
everything.

After a while
her thoughts settled. She knew what she must do. This afternoon she
would accompany her aunts to Bath. It served as a good halfway
point. Refreshed, she would continue the next morning to
Elmwood.

Elmwood was
two hours’ carriage ride beyond Bath. Elmwood – where Max would be
waiting.

Hope blossomed
once more.

Returning most
of the coins to the crypt she closed the lid, keeping five which
she would present to Max.

She might have
unwittingly denied him his birthright but she was about to atone
with more than just a public avowal of the truth.

Her interest
on her shame would be ensuring his gilded future.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HUGGING HER
NEWFOUND knowledge to herself as the carriage rattled towards Bath
and her aunts dozed in each corner, she could barely contain her
excitement.

Oh, she was
used to keeping secrets. For more than two years she had kept the
greatest secret of all: a secret that would condemn Julian to an
uncertain, if not perilous, future.

But this
secret offered her salvation. A future with Max.

Sagging
against the corner cushion of the carriage with a sleeping Julian
across her lap her mind spun with possibilities.

Max would be
able to indulge any whim or fancy he chose, whether it was
experimenting with wool growing or standing for Parliament.

Even Amelia
would welcome her with open arms. Miss Hepworth might come with a
fortune to match her pretty face but Olivia had discovered Max’s
fortune.

And Max loved
her
.

Her instincts
told her so, just as she now considered it entirely possible Max
had not received the letter she had written him. She had to believe
this.

The more
distance Olivia put between the dower house, especially as they
passed the manse where Nathaniel lived, the more she felt her old
spirit returning.

It wasn’t just
the gold. She had done it: she had thrown off the yoke that made
her as much Nathaniel’s whipping post as she had been Lucien’s.

Whatever
happened, she and Julian would survive. Her son would survive with
his spirit intact because she had shown the strength needed to make
it so, albeit thanks to the brutal kick which had killed Molly.

Careful not to
disturb the sleeping child in her arms, she leaned forward. Aunt
Eunice was stirring, straightening her lace cap as she blinked open
her eyes.

‘Aunt Eunice,’
she whispered, another surge of excitement coursing through her, ‘I
do not intend seeing Nathaniel ever again!’

‘But there are
just weeks until the wedding!’ Aunt Catherine, who had just woken,
herself, sounded close to tears. ‘What happened was a terrible
accident. Think of your reputation, Olivia!’

‘What of it?’
Olivia managed to keep her voice from wavering though it was true.
She would be branded a jilt; more ammunition against her for those
who believed Lucien’s slurs.

Dabbing at her
eyes with a scrap of lace, Aunt Catherine sniffed. ‘All we want is
your happiness, Olivia, but how can any woman be happy if she is
not received in society? Despite this morning’s accident Nathaniel
has been good to you—’

‘Because it
profited him!’ Aunt Eunice’s voice was harsh.

‘I shall not
marry him and I shall
never
change my mind,’ Olivia said
firmly, even as visions beset her of a vengeful Nathaniel using
every dirty trick at his disposal to wrest from her all that she
held dear. But with Max in possession of the truth Nathaniel’s
power was void.

The boy was
stirring. With a yawn he pulled out his thumb and his eyelids
fluttered open. Olivia waited tensely for him to recoil when he
realized where he was but he did not. Instead, he settled himself
more comfortably on her lap, rubbed his eyes with one grimy fist
and offered her a smile.

Her heart
somersaulted. Love, like molten liquid surged through her veins.
She hugged him against her, kissing the top of his head and
breathing in his warm, little boy smell.