Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (19 page)

‘Julian,
sweetheart,’ she whispered, ‘Mama’s not marrying Reverend
Kirkman.’

‘Marry Uncle
Max?’ With his thumb firmly in his mouth the words were indistinct
but understandable.

Olivia gave a
weak smile as she closed her eyes against the scrutiny of her
aunts.

Would it be
enough? Fear rubbed at her earlier confidence. Would revealing to
Max the whereabouts of his grandfather’s lost fortune be enough to
restore what had once existed between them? Max regarded principle
and morality more highly than material goods.

‘A mighty fine
sentiment, young man,’ Aunt Eunice said approvingly, ‘and one I
endorse sincerely.’

Olivia held
Julian more closely. ‘If he will have me.’

‘Of course
he’ll have you!’ Aunt Eunice cut in sharply. ‘He’s as moonstruck as
any green boy, that’s clear enough!’

Aunt Catherine
put her head on one side. ‘He is Lucien’s cousin, of course, and
you do not know him as well as you know the reverend—’

‘What does
that signify, Sister,’ interjected Aunt Eunice, ‘when Mr Atherton
displays all the heroic qualities needed to set a female’s heart
aflutter as well as kindness and common sense?’ She paused, sending
Olivia a narrow look. ‘You’ve not had a falling out on account of
something other than Mr Kirkman, have you, Olivia?’

Olivia dropped
her eyes. ‘I have not heard from Max since last week when I
elaborated on’ – she drew her breath in through her teeth – ‘my
sins.’ Faintly, she added, ‘Nathaniel interrupted and although I
wrote Max a full explanation I’ve heard nothing.’

‘Then it’s
because he never received the letter.’ Aunt Eunice’s tone was
comforting in its conviction. ‘Doubtless that conniving, underhand
clergyman intercepted it.’ She patted Olivia’s knee. ‘Mark my
words, Olivia, Mr Atherton wears his heart on his sleeve and is not
the kind of man to let a mere misunderstanding stand in the way of
true love. Once he knows you’re no longer bound to Mr Kirkman he’ll
be on the doorstep upon the instant to beg your forgiveness and to
make you an offer.’

*

‘Dearest
Olivia!’ Cousin Mariah, resplendent in Pomona green and gold,
ushered them into the drawing room of her fashionable townhouse in
Laura Place. ‘I was so hoping you would come. And you’ve brought
the boy!’ The peacock feather in her handsome gold toque swayed as
she clapped her hands. A servant appeared and, after directing that
the sleeping child be spirited away to a nice warm bedchamber, she
waved them all to seats, settling herself amidst a noisy rustle of
silk skirts. ‘Your aunts have told me all about you! Marriage to a
pillar of the church, no less! Your wisdom will be of great benefit
to a certain younger member of this household.’ Her expansive smile
was followed by a look of deep concern. Lowering her voice, she
added, ‘Young Lucy has lost her head to a good-for-nothing so I am
counting on you, my dear, to impart the salutary caution required.
Your aunts assure me you have learned your lesson.’ Barely had she
been admitted to the lavishly furnished drawing room than the sense
of being welcomed once more into polite society evaporated. Olivia,
the temptress, the scheming seductress, would never be allowed to
die.

She saw Aunt
Eunice and Catherine exchange looks before asking warily as she
settled herself on the Egyptian settee, ‘What else, pray, have you
told Lucy about me?’

‘That Lady
Farquhar was the most captivating debutante the year she was
presented and that she turned down at least a dozen marriage offers
before she married Lord Farquhar,’ came a breathless voice, as a
young girl bounced into the room.

‘Meet Lucy,’
said her mother, adding in disapproving tones as she plucked at the
sleeves of the girl’s dress and smoothed a wayward chestnut curl,
‘That’s no way for a young lady to introduce herself. What must
Cousins Eunice and Catherine think of you, not to mention Lady
Far—’

‘Please, call
me Cousin Olivia,’ Olivia begged, allowing herself to take comfort
in the heavily censored description Lucy had obviously been given;
though it appeared Olivia had already been held up as a warning to
her lively cousin.

‘You’re every
bit as beautiful as Mama said you were,’ Lucy went on,
irrepressibly, taking a seat beside her as refreshments were
served. ‘I’m hoping you can teach me a thing or two, Cousin Olivia,
as my first season wasn’t a great success, was it, Mother?’

Olivia didn’t
know how to respond to the embarrassment that crackled through the
room. Clearly Olivia was the last person in the room, much less in
Bath, who should advise Lucy on how a debutante ought to deport
herself. Catching Mariah’s eye, though she directed her words to
Lucy, she said, ‘I think perhaps I could teach you more about what
not
to do.’ Her attempt at sounding self-deprecating had the
desired result. Mariah sent her an approving look as Olivia added,
‘And if you consider a season a failure simply because you didn’t
find a husband, perhaps the real reason was because there were no
suitable suitors for you. One can’t simply accept the first offer
that presents itself just because the accounting is
acceptable.’

‘Bravo, Cousin
Olivia.’ Mariah offered her a plate of seed cake.

‘Lucy has got
it into her head she must make a spectacular match this year as if
to make up for last season.’

‘I’m sure I
can make a match to please everyone.’ The young girl tossed her
chestnut curls. Though she wasn’t pretty in the fashionable sense,
there was a robust and engaging liveliness in her manner Olivia
felt sure would appeal to some nice, steady young man. Not the
sleek, dangerous rake her husband had been, but wasn’t that just as
well?

‘Besides, I am
far more agreeable to look upon now than I was last year,’ Lucy
went on, daintily picking out the seeds of her cake before her
mother hissed at her to mind her manners. Lucy glared at her. ‘You
said those exact same words, Mama, if you recall—’

Mariah,
relaxing her authoritarian bearing, threw her hands up in the air
and everyone laughed.

‘It seems only
yesterday Olivia was Lucy’s age,’ said Aunt Catherine with a fond
look at Olivia.

‘I must
confess,’ said Mariah, ‘I did, unwisely, tell Lucy that she’d
bloomed in the past year and that—’

‘What’s wrong
with giving a compliment?’ Lucy interrupted. ‘If it’s the truth, I
mean. I’m sure it hasn’t turned Cousin Olivia’s head being told
she’s beautiful.’ She took a mouthful of cake, adding, ‘I need
compliments to remind me I’m no longer the plump, spotty ape leader
I was last season.’

‘You have a
very well-used looking glass which seems to be constantly reminding
you, Lucy,’ said her mother. ‘Now enough of your chatter. I must
press Olivia and her aunts to accompany us to Lady Glenton’s
midnight masque, tonight.’

As Olivia
opened her mouth to demur, Cousin Mariah held up her hand. ‘There
is plenty of time to rest, for surely Lady Glenton’s marvellous
annual event was the reason you came early?’

As revelry was
the furthest thing from Olivia’s mind, she put up strong
resistance. She needed rest so she could be at her most radiant
when she confronted Max tomorrow. All her senses strained towards
this most important, momentous meeting of her life.

‘Please,
Cousin Olivia!’ Lucy begged. ‘Mama has a gown for you and now that
I’ve seen you I’m dying to show you off.’

‘I’m very
tired—’ Olivia began but Aunt Eunice cut her off. ‘You can sleep a
few hours and have plenty of time to prepare yourself for midnight.
What you need is gaiety, Olivia, something to take your mind off
your … grief.’

Cousin Mariah
leant forward. ‘I can think of no finer entertainment to end one’s
mourning year,’ she said, decisively.

Reclining on
the bed Lucy watched with avid concentration as Olivia prepared
herself for the ball five hours later.

‘Poor Cousin
Olivia,’ she sighed, ‘you must miss Lord Farquhar very much. I know
Mama disapproved of him, but then, she disapproves of most
men.’

Olivia
hesitated as she pushed a pin into her curls. Carefully she said,
‘One must embrace the future rather than dwell on the past. And of
course, your mama is right to be concerned that you meet the right
man.’ A vision of Max with his kind smile and the cowlick he was
forever pushing out of his eyes swam before her and her heart
spasmed with excitement. ‘There are some wonderful and worthy ones
out there. Find a good man to be your husband, not a dashing rake,
and you’ll not regret it.’

‘The worthy
ones are so boring.’ Lucy grumbled, before brightening.

‘I met a woman
once who was green with envy when I told her that my cousin was
married to Lord Farquhar. She said she was a debutante that same
year and all the young ladies swooned over him.’ Lucy kissed the
tips of her fingers with a flourish as she rolled on to her back
and gazed dreamily at the ceiling. ‘She said he had the wickedest
glint in his eye and was by far and away the most handsome of all
the eligibles.’ Hesitating, she added, ‘But she said that since her
mama had warned her against him she was not disposed to court his
advances.’ Lucy slid her appreciative gaze the length of Olivia’s
daring dress: a Madame de Pompadour gown Mariah had insisted she
wear for the occasion. ‘Of course she only said that to save face
because he didn’t look twice at her.’

‘That’s as may
be,’ said Olivia, striving for a note between sounding too
censorious, knowing that if Lucy was anything like she had been at
her age any warning would be like a red rag to a bull, and too
dismissive. ‘However, it’s one thing if the young ladies consider a
gentleman eligible and quite another if their mamas do. The
latter,’ she added pointedly, ‘is all that matters.’

Looking
downcast for just a moment Lucy whispered, ‘I have a secret, Cousin
Olivia.’

Disquieted,
Olivia smiled her encouragement. Best to have any confessions out
in the open. Lucy was such a fresh innocent it would be in
everybody’s interests if the girl chose to make Olivia a
confidante, particularly if the confession was of an unsuitable
nature.

The girl
became suddenly coy. Tracing the outline of the fleur-de-lis on the
counterpane she mumbled, ‘A gentleman has made his especial
interest quite clear. I want you to meet him.’ With a look of
earnest entreaty she added, ‘He’ll be at the masquerade
tonight.’

‘I’d love to
meet him,’ Olivia said. ‘What does your mama think of him?’

Swinging her
legs over the side of the bed Lucy smiled valiantly. ‘I don’t
really know. He paid his respects so charmingly that I’m sure she
was quite overwhelmed only I think she doesn’t wish to influence
me.’ Taking in the mutinous set to Lucy’s mouth and the determined
fire in her eye, Olivia decided Cousin Mariah had every reason to
fear for Lucy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CLUTCHING
JONATHON’S ARM, Amelia blocked her brother’s attempted escape
towards the front door. ‘You need diversion, Max,’ she said,
holding her ground at the bottom of the stairs, ‘and accompanying
us to Bath is just the ticket.’

Halting
reluctantly, Max sighed. ‘Quite frankly, Amelia,’ he said in
clipped tones, ‘I could think of nothing less diverting.’

‘Max!’
Releasing Jonathon’s arm, Amelia hurried after him as he shrugged
on his greatcoat in the hallway. ‘It doesn’t matter that you won’t
enjoy it but you need something to take your mind off Julian and …’
She didn’t say it and nor did Max allude to the fact that the name
Lady Farquhar had been about to trip off her tongue.

Forbidden
territory.

He stared at
Amelia’s pursed mouth, her pale, peaked face framed with dark hair,
and imagined Olivia’s vivid blue gaze and shiny coiffure the colour
of newly ripened corn.

Longing ripped
through him and he closed his eyes against the vision of the family
he’d once believed would be his. But was Olivia an adulteress, a
grand deceiver, and Julian, the boy he loved like his own, the
result? An innocent usurper, but a usurper, nonetheless?

‘You need a
wife, Max, and Bath is full of lovely gels who’d be eager to fill
the post,’ Jonathan corroborated, as he watched Max pull on his
riding gloves. ‘Why not join us for a few days? It’d do you
good.’

‘Miss Hepworth
is taking the waters with her mother,’ Amelia said brightly. ‘You
were quite charmed by her the first time you met her and clearly
she was struck by you.’ She fixed Max with an imploring look.
‘Whatever you might have said in parting can surely be undone.’ Max
picked up his riding crop. Olivia’s fear of the clergyman was
greater than her ability to trust Max the confession she owed him:
that her immoral actions had cost him … everything! His initial
shock and scepticism at Dorling’s allegations had turned to
contempt for the woman he loved. For the past week he’d believed
his wounds were mortal.

He was
thoughtful as he turned up the collar of his coat. Miss Hepworth
was young and pretty
and innocent
. Isn’t that, really, all
he wanted in a wife?

His thoughts
followed this train for but a second, obliterated by the memory of
Olivia’s lithe body pressed against his and her passionate avowal:
‘I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you, Max’.

A sentiment
wholly in accord with his own.

He flexed his
fingers, no longer paying attention to Jonathon and Amelia’s
arguments. Hadn’t he accepted that Lucien’s cruelty was at the core
of everything? The table dancing, the scandalous clothing. He
shuddered … Lady Farquhar’s notorious butterfly.

Actions he had
long ago forgiven.

Turning at the
front door his mind was closer to the dower house in Mortlock than
to Bath as he bent to peck Amelia’s cheek. ‘I’ll consider it,’ he
said.