Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (7 page)

Slowly,
against her best intentions, Olivia nodded. She had always acted
upon instinct but how could she tell him the truth? That she would
soon be far away and had no intention of receiving his
addresses.

The sweetness
in his expression made her heart contract until Adrian lunged,
tackling his obliging uncle to the ground.

Reaching down
to stroke Julian’s curls, Olivia feasted her eyes on him and Max
for one long, last look before she turned and walked back to the
house.

She was
unprepared for the loud and urgent knocking on her bedchamber door
before it was thrust open to admit Max. Leaping up from her seat at
the dressing table her hand went to her throat.

She had never
seen him look like this. For a moment he reminded her of Lucien and
she shrank back against the edge of the walnutinlaid table.

‘Is it true?’
His voice was harsh. He strode across the Chinese carpet and
gripped her shoulders. The action was forceful, but the
surprisingly gentle caress of his hand across her cheek made her
close her eyes and lean into him. She felt the steady race of his
heartbeat, heard the suppressed emotion in his voice as he rasped,
‘Amelia says you’re leaving. Why?’

Olivia winced,
stepping back and turning her head so he could not see her own pain
and guilt.

‘You know
why,’ she whispered. Trying to inject lightness into her tone as
she toyed with the silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing
table, she asked, ‘Did you enjoy your afternoon?’

Olivia had not
been present for the tea party. She had pleaded a megrim.

‘Miss Hepworth
has returned to her home under no illusions as to how matters stand
between us.’

When she did
not reply he turned back from his contemplation of the garden. ‘I
am not on the look-out for a fortune.’ Closing the distance between
them he cupped her cheek and his voice was gentle.

‘It’s you I
want.’

She did not
move, though she had to steel herself against the tumultuous
beating of her heart and the overwhelming urge to raise her face to
be kissed.

Exhaling on a
sob, she whispered, ‘With the right wife you could achieve all your
dreams, Max.’ She had not meant to but need was making her act
against her better judgement. Her hand reached up to twine behind
his neck. Closing her eyes she ran her fingers over the rough short
hair there. It was torture, knowing this would be the last time,
but she could not help herself. ‘You have ambitions, you need to
make Elmwood prosper. Your agricultural experiments require money.
None of that is possible unless you marry well. I am not a good
match. I struggle to get by, living in the small cottage my husband
left me, and my aunts’ charity.’

She willed him
to understand, and to let her go. ‘I have nothing to offer you,
Max. When the first flush of euphoria fades you’ll quickly resent
me.’

‘So much for
your opinion of my constancy,’ he remarked, wryly.

With a sigh,
he strode towards the window. Leaning against the sill he twisted
his neck to look at her. His eyes were dark with longing. Olivia
nearly wept. His feelings accorded so well with hers yet was it not
the truth that Max would positively despise her if he ever
discovered how she had blighted his life, his prospects? Without
even realizing it, she had nipped in the bud every ambition he
might ever have harboured.

‘These things
will not bring me the happiness you would, Olivia,’ he said simply.
When she did not reply he added, frankly, ‘We’ve only just met but
I’ve never felt like this.’ He straightened and his hand went to
his heart. ‘Can you truly deny what’s here? I can’t, and I won’t
let you either, unless you tell me right now I am nothing to you.
I’ve never met a woman who makes me feel I can do anything, achieve
anything; who makes me feel so alive. I felt it from the start. I
knew you were the one for me even before you’d even washed the mud
off your face.’

Her laugh was
cut short by a sob.

‘I … I feel it
too, Max, but I also know my fears are not as groundless as you
believe. You’ve never asked about my late husband.’ She took a deep
breath. At least here was an opportunity to admit part of the
truth.

Max said
nothing but his look was of patient enquiry. How different from
Lucien whose frustration would only escalate into anger.

Carefully, she
put down the brush. ‘We committed a terrible sin for which he never
forgave me.’ Yes, her words were registering. His brow was furrowed
… but there was no condemnation. She felt a jolt. He looked as if
he had already absolved her; as if he could never believe her
capable of anything worse than a schoolgirl’s misdemeanour. How
unlike Lucien. For a moment she contemplated telling him what
really stood between them.

Then she
thought of The Rev’d Kirkman and her resolve faltered.

Reverend
Kirkman, Lucien’s long time confessor, Olivia’s advocate. The man
to whom she owed so much.

He knew too
much, too.

And he wanted
Olivia. She swallowed painfully … for his wife.

She brushed
away a tear. The flame that burned so brightly between her and Max
was doomed to flicker and die. At least her part truth now would
give her an opportunity to leave with dignity.

‘He was within
days of marrying an earl’s daughter. Her dowry was substantial but
then … passion banished reason and he eloped … with me.’ Olivia
closed her eyes and drew in a rasping breath.

When she
opened them again, Max’s look of disdain reminded her so much of
Lucien she covered her face with her hands. Except that Max was
looking as if her explanation for denying their love was as
waterproof as a leaky sieve.

‘So your
future husband blamed you for the fact
he
persuaded you to
elope.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Is
that
why you think there
can be nothing between us?’

‘There’s
more,’ she whispered.

If only this
were the worst of it. If only she had a clean conscience. It was
torture standing here before a man worthy of any woman’s
affections. Eight years on she could finally trust her feelings,
but it was too late. She’d sealed her fate when she’d thrown in her
lot with Lucien.

She hung her
head as she continued, ‘I had no dowry. Nothing to bring to the
marriage. I was an orphan, my father drank himself to death and my
mother died when I was very young, leaving her two older sisters to
bring me up. I realized, early, that my beauty would have to count
for everything.

‘I was
seventeen and, despite my poverty, proud and vain. I enticed my
husband with everything I had – except the one thing he really
wanted: my virtue. When I wouldn’t give him that he married me and,
fool that I was, I thought I had won him.’

Desperately
she wanted to feel Max’s arms around her, in forgiveness,
absolution. But she also knew that was too dangerous. Not when she
knew she had to give him up.

Max’s voice
made her raise her head. ‘And he spent the next seven years making
your life a misery because his brief lust overcame financial
considerations. And as I obviously resemble your late husband you
clearly think that if you accede to my wants I, too, will spend the
rest of my days punishing you when Elmwood needs repairs, or I find
myself without the funds to snap up the local borough in order to
satisfy my political ambitions.’

Though he
managed to inject a touch of humour into his tone, the edge of
indignation made Olivia squirm.

Turning
towards the looking glass she covered her face with her hands and
whispered, ‘Let me go, Max. At least for long enough to prove this
is no youthful infatuation.’

He was at her
side in an instant, pulling her against him in a fierce embrace.
Olivia shuddered at the hard strength of him. Lucien, too, had once
had a body of steel.

But there had
been no kindness in
his
heart.

‘Go, then,’ he
said, cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him, ‘since it’s
so important you prove to yourself you’re no seductive siren
enticing me against my better judgement. But promise to return to
Elmwood in a month. I already know that my determination to make
you my wife will not have changed.’

Her head
reeled and she sagged against him. He had let her go. With
dignity.

Yet he truly
had wanted her for his wife. She nearly wept at the irony.

‘Thank you,
Max,’ she whispered, relief making her light-headed.

He held her
upright, his hands straying over her body, stroking her back,
twining in her hair.

‘There’s just
one thing more,’ she whispered. Her mouth was dry. It was pure
stupidity yet she couldn’t help herself: she had always been a
slave to her body. ‘Kiss me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘YOU HAVE BEEN
punished enough, Olivia.’

With
characteristic precision The Rev’d Kirkman replaced the fine,
bone-china tea cup upon its saucer. Mesmerized, Olivia watched as
he rearranged it until the handle was at perfect right angles to
himself.

Then he looked
at her, smiling. Expectant. He knew she was well aware of what this
portentous meeting was intended to produce.

Aunt Catherine
knew, too, and had been an eager conspirator, ensuring his
favourite cake presided over the beautifully set table in the
summerhouse. She’d fussed over Olivia like a mother hen that
morning, producing what she considered the most appropriate gown
for receiving a man who, nevertheless, had been a constant visitor
for the past year.

The reverend
leaned back, his gaze raking Olivia’s dark-blue gown with its
high-necked lace collar and demure cut. He nodded, approvingly. ‘I
had wondered what you might choose to replace mourning
clothes.’

Olivia felt
her face burn. ‘You surely could not suppose I’d wear anything
from’ – she lowered her gaze – ‘before.’ He knew she had little
enough money to keep up with current trends.

‘Those days
are behind you, Olivia.’ He spoke briskly. ‘Today marks a new
chapter. Having made a careful study of Mr Atherton’s character, I
want to tell you that I have composed a letter that will, I trust,
find its mark. Mr Atherton is a man of high moral integrity. He
served with great distinction on the Peninsula and has lived an
exemplary life since returning to manage Lucien’s estates. Lucien’s
low way of life, I’ve heard tell, caused him great disgust,
although I believe at one time the cousins were often together in
Town.’

He was paving
the way towards his proposal as Olivia had imagined he would, yet
direct mention of Max, especially his upstanding character, made
her wince. Mistaking the source of her longing, her despair, he
said, ‘You will, of course, recall the terms in which Lucien
couched his wishes with regard to Julian.’

How could she
forget? Julian was to remain under the guardianship of his uncle
until Lady Farquhar could convince Max Atherton she was ready to
acquiesce to a rigorous code of moral conduct devised by a husband
of exemplary moral character. A pillar of the church who would wash
away her sins.

He gave her a
few moments. To squirm? Or as final reflection that Nathaniel
Kirkman was just that man?

‘My dear.’ He
extended his hand across the table and obediently she placed hers
within it. ‘The time has come to put an end to your suffering. You
know I can return Julian to you, and you know, also, that the
strength of my feelings overcomes any aversion to your’ – he drew
out the pause – ‘shame.’

Olivia closed
her eyes and shuddered. To what was he referring? The countless
humiliations to which Lucien had subjected her, or…? Her throat
went dry as she forced her brain to revisit the past. Not for the
first time doubt tormented her. Could he suspect, or even know, the
truth of Julian’s parentage?

As she opened
her eyes to face his familiar, inscrutable gaze she realized how
important it was to find out. Then the familiar anguish dragged at
her soul. What did it matter? Unless she were prepared to publicly
declare her child a bastard there could be no future with Max.

‘Trust me with
your future, Olivia.’ His smile over the top of his china cup was
sympathetic; as if he understood her suffering and was offering
himself to her as a great gift to lessen her mortal trials. ‘Marry
me, and I will reunite you with Julian.’

Julian.

Julian, not
Max, was the cornerstone of her life. Reclaiming her darling baby
was all that mattered and only Nathaniel Kirkman could gain him for
her, for she had not the courage to travel an alternate path.
Nathaniel’s will was too powerful. He handed her his lawn,
laceedged handkerchief. She had not known she was crying; and again
he mistook its cause.

‘Under my
tutelage you shall learn to subjugate your wanton impulses.

Through me you
shall tread a Godly path and find comfort.’ His voice grew honeyed.
‘I have the power to bring you true happiness, Olivia’ – he waited
for her to compose herself, for his words to sink in – ‘through
your son and humility of spirit. Now my dear, you have not answered
me. I have the letter here. Am I to have it delivered to Mr
Atherton?’

Olivia gave
another sob.

An image of
dark, curly-headed little Julian ought to have inspired her to
respond in the affirmative. Instead, memories of Max’s warm smile
and his gentle touch blinded her to reason. His kisses had ignited
a need she thought she’d conquered. She covered her eyes and tried
to banish his image.

A fortnight,
it had been. Two painful weeks since she had left him, and not an
hour had passed without her yearning for him, yet she had spent
barely two days in his company.

She felt
Nathaniel’s hand on her shoulder. She thought he might stroke her
hair, or otherwise insinuate his touch upon her, but, as ever, he
was the model of restraint and propriety.