Lady Olivia's Undoing (8 page)

The crowd parted and a low hum filled the
room. Olivia smiled. As much as she sometimes despised playing by
Society’s rules, on nights such as this, with a handsome,
fascinating man on her arm, Olivia reveled in her success. She was
beautiful, wealthy, and in command of her life and future. On
nights like tonight, Olivia felt invincible and Penny’s arrogance
was forgiven.

Henry took her hand and kissed her palm.
“Come, let us dance.” He swept her into his embrace and twirled her
around the parquet floor.

Olivia had no idea where Henry had learned to
waltz, but whoever had taught him had been a fine teacher. Olivia
felt as though she were a cloud floating in air. Her heart beat
fast and a slow flush crept over her entire body. She shouldn’t
feel this way. She was in love with John. However, Henry would
always be her
first
love.

“I heard you and Catherine had a row,” Olivia
said. “I thought you looked very well together the last I saw
you.”

Henry nodded and clenched his jaw.

“Have you told the girls you are going to
Spain?”

“No. I thought to wait. Less hysteria.”

“Have you told Catherine?”

“I have not.”

Olivia stared at Henry’s rugged features. He
had lived a long life in those battlefields, and the scars he wore
ran deep. Time would never erase them. Olivia leaned up and kissed
Henry on his cheek.

“What was that for?” Henry gazed into her
eyes.

“Old times.” Olivia smiled at memories of the
future she had sometimes envisioned for her and Henry. But now she
had John, and Henry, contrary to what he may think, had Catherine.
“Your heart is engaged elsewhere.”

Henry laughed. “And what about
your
heart? All this fuss over John Quiggins? Do not mistake me for a
fool, Olivia. It was written all over your countenance. You’re in
love with him.”

Olivia nodded. She loved John. She wanted to
marry him. She could not
keep
him as her butler any longer.
They were grown men and women, not puppets on a string pulled by
the confines of war or Society.

“Alas, what of poor Gillyford?” Henry
asked.

Olivia nearly stumbled. Was it all over Town?
“Where could you hear such a foolish thing?”

He swirled her off the dance floor. “My
dearest Olivia, it is the news of the Season. Old Gilly has been
telling everyone you are going to be the next Marchioness.” He led
her toward the doors to the terrace.

She snorted in an unladylike manner. “I will
kill him with my bare hands.”

“Your uncle, it seems, is very pleased with
the match.”

Was he teasing her? Olivia glanced at the
smile that played at his lips. She smacked him lightly on the arm
with her fan. “You are a wretched man.”

“Come now, Olivia. There must be a part of
you that wishes to marry again. And Marlborough approves.” They
walked outside.

“As if the great Duke of Marlborough could
persuade me to marry Gillyford. I am not a green girl prepared to
follow blindly to do my family’s bidding. I was fool enough to do
it once. Now, I love who I wish and will marry who I love.”

Henry leaned against a column. “Did you love
Fitzhugh?”

Olivia tilted her head. “I grew to love him.
But it was a different kind of love. And not nearly as much as I
always loved you.”

“And John Quiggins?”

“John is…” Olivia looked at Henry. “John is
freedom.”

“Freedom? I do not understand.”

“Freedom from the constraints of Society.
Free to laugh when I wish, to eat when I like, to walk when I
choose… but most especially, free to love who I desire.” Even after
all the years they had been separated, Henry remained intoxicating.
Olivia took a step closer.

Henry led Olivia to a quiet corner on the
terrace, and kissed her. He looked into her eyes. “I’m leaving on
Saturday morning.”

“Yes.” Olivia nodded. Her breath came in
little gasps.

“I want to be with you before I go.”

She took a step back from Henry and felt the
wall behind her. She had to fight the headiness of her desire for
Henry. Kissing Henry was one thing. Sleeping with him was entirely
another. She could never cheat on John.

“Do not look so shocked,” Henry said. “We are
not children. I am only claiming what is rightfully mine.” He
backed her into the corner. “We never had our chance at happiness,
Olivia. With this last mission to Spain, we may never have
another.”

Olivia put her hand on his chest. “Henry
Wade, do not say that. The thought of it makes me weep.” To lose
John
and
Henry would be unfathomable.

Henry guided her gently, just behind the open
door. His lips never left hers. A large plant blocked their view
from the other side of the terrace.

Henry wrapped his arms around Olivia and
kissed her nose. “I want you, Liv. Come home with me tonight.”

Olivia bit her cheek to keep from crying out.
An image of John, and then Catherine flashed in her mind. “What
about Catherine?”

“Catherine refuses to see me. I have sent
several letters. It is over with Catherine.” Henry’s lips sought
hers and then wound their way along her throat to the base of her
ear.

Olivia nearly swooned. To be with Henry, just
once… had been her dream for nearly forty years. Would this truly
be her last chance? What about John? She could never make love with
another man. Could she?

Henry’s lips ravaged hers once more. Olivia
could not control her yearning. Decades of unfulfilled dreams
lingered in the kiss. And then John’s face appeared. She pushed
Henry away. “I cannot. Not tonight.”

Henry groaned. “Tomorrow then.” He kissed her
once more. “I cannot leave you never knowing.”

It tore at her heart, but Henry was right.
They had never had their chance at happiness, and they might never
have another after he left for Spain. “All right then,
tomorrow.”

Henry placed his hand along her throat and
kissed her long and hard. When he broke away, he looked
stricken.

“Henry, what is it?” Olivia asked.

“We will need to find another entrance and
have you straightened before we rejoin the others.”

“Why? What have you done?” She looked down at
her gown. It sat askew on her body, its corseted form twisted to
her left side. Her breasts were nearly exposed from their silken
constraints and one of Olivia’s shoulder straps was torn.

She glanced at Henry aghast, yet quietly
delighted by what had transpired between them. “Help me.”

Henry stifled a laugh. He placed his hands
around her waist and tugged on her gown. It slid to the right. He
ran his hand up her arm and wrapped the ripped lace of her gown
over her shoulder, and tucked it into her chemise strap. He smiled.
“Forgive me. I shall pay for the alteration.” He leaned over and
kissed her.

“You truly make me want to be wicked,” Olivia
whispered. “But we must return to the ballroom.” She pushed at his
chest. “Tell me, how do I look?”

“As if you have just had a naughty tryst with
a man who is not your husband.”

Olivia laughed. “Well, they cannot very well
fault me for making love to
you
, now can they?” Olivia had
waited nearly forty years to feel Henry’s lips on hers again. She
didn’t care what Society thought.

“I dare say not.” Henry held out his arm.
Olivia placed her hand in the crook of it, and walked with him back
into the ballroom. Again, the room quieted and then just as
quickly, erupted in a cacophony of sound, like surprised starlings
in a meadow.

Henry and Olivia danced. Henry and Olivia
walked around the room twice and spoke only to each other. Henry
and Olivia dined by themselves. Olivia blushed at Henry’s fawning
like a girl of twenty and didn’t care who saw her. She was reliving
their lost past. It was as if they had never been apart.

Olivia and Henry were outside on the dining
room terrace sipping lemonade, when Constance arrived, out of
breath.

“Olivia, I’m glad I found you. May we take
the carriage? Ariana’s leg pains her.”

“Yes, of course.” She glanced at Henry.
“However, I will go with you.”

“What?” Constance and Henry both said.

Olivia turned to Henry. “Darling, tonight has
been simply wonderful. But I must go. It is late and I have several
things to attend early.” She wrapped her hand around his arm,
leaned up, and kissed him on the cheek. “I will look forward to
seeing you tomorrow.”

Henry called for their carriage, waited for
the women as they gathered their coats, and escorted them out.
Henry obligingly helped Ariana and then Constance into the
coach.

He took Olivia by the hand, leaned in and
whispered, “Until tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Olivia accepted his hand as he helped
her into the coach and then shut the door. He gave two raps on the
side, and the carriage lurched as the horses took off.

Constance sniffed. “Well, you certainly made
a display of yourself tonight.”

“Mama, please,” Ariana said. “Cousin Olivia
did no such thing.”

Olivia reached over and patted Ariana’s knee.
“Oh yes I did, darling. A spectacle for all of Society to see.”

“What good is that going to do?” Constance
asked. “Henry is leaving the day after next with John. You cannot
play both sides of the coin, Olivia. Someone will get hurt and I do
not wish it to be you.” She shook her head. “Olivia, I know you
love John. He is a good man, and will be heartbroken over this. You
cannot cavort with Henry just because it suits your fancy.”

Olivia sighed. She would never intentionally
break John’s heart. “I have loved Henry Wade since I was twenty.
And now, by the Grace of God, we have found a small window in time
to be together. Constance, can you not understand?” Of course not.
Constance was married to Reginald. “I will not miss this
opportunity.”

“And what will you do when they come back
from Spain? Proclaim your affection to the man who returns first?
What if neither of them return, Livvy? What will you do then?”

“Throw myself off the Bridge.” Olivia stared
out the window. “John thinks we shall be made a laughingstock if I
marry him. Therefore, I win Henry by default do I not? He is better
suited to my station. He is a Marquess after all. I’m sure Uncle
Marlborough will approve the match. Finally.”

“Olivia,” Constance said. “Come now, I know
your heart cannot be that callous.”

Olivia stifled a sob. “No, you are right. In
the end I will get who I ultimately deserve. And if God wishes to
be cruel, I
could
very well lose both of them.”

The next morning, Olivia sat at the long
table sorting through invitations. The fire burned in the grate
behind her.

A knock on the door and then John stepped
into the room followed by another man.

“Your Grace,” John said. “May I introduce
Rodney Manning, the new butler.”

“Come in, Mr. Manning. How do you do?” She
picked up her spectacles, put them over her nose, and took him in.
He seemed very stolid.

“Very well, Your Grace.” Manning nodded and
smiled, then clasped his hands behind his back.

“How long have you been in the employ of the
Marquess?” Olivia asked.

“Since before his lordship and the late Lady
Anne were married. Nearly fifteen years.”

“Dear Anne,” Olivia mused. “She was such a
lovely woman.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Manning nodded.

“Although, I do think Violet is just the
thing for Haverlane and dear Jane. Do you not agree?” Olivia took
off her glasses and placed them on the table. She rose, picked up a
piece of paper from the long table, glanced at it, and then handed
it to him. “There are some things Quiggins knows that are my
peculiar habits he might forget to mention to you. Of particular
importance is that I like to keep the morning room heated during
the day. I use that room for many things. And we only burn wood in
this house. No coal. My at-homes are held in the formal front
parlour. The yellow salon is reserved for family.” She pointed to
the list. “Please take some time to look it over and if you have
any questions, I’m sure Quiggins will be able to help you.” Olivia
held out her hand. “Thank you very much for your assistance to me
during my time of need.” She winked at John.

Manning shook her hand. “My pleasure, Your
Grace.” He turned and walked toward Quiggins, who waited for him by
the door.

Olivia called to him, “Mr. Manning, where
does your mother live?”

“Lambeth, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Mr. Manning.” He would do very
well.

Olivia turned back to the table. There were
two hundred invitations to be sent for her Boxing Day Ball. She had
not had so many people at Caymore since Fuzzy had been alive and
still dancing, and that had been nearly twenty years before. It was
a shame John would not be there. She would love to be able to dance
with him.

Olivia settled herself behind the table once
more. She checked her list of errands and glanced at the
invitations. She would take Andrew with her to the post. John would
have Manning most of the day anyway.

She walked to the bell, pulled it, and then
sorted through the invitations, piling them in neat little
bundles.

John opened the door. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Oh, Jo—Quiggins, I should like the carriage,
and Andrew to accompany me to the postal office.” She waved at the
stacks of invitations on the table. “Do we have a box of some sort
to carry them?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He nodded and left
the room.

Olivia went upstairs. She changed her pelisse
and then found her wool cape and threw that over her arm. It would
be cold in the carriage. She picked up her fur coat as well and
returned downstairs.

Andrew met her in the hall carrying a large
wooden box. The invitations were tucked inside in neat little
rows.