A Lord for Olivia (19 page)

She began to cry, and Edmund put his arms around her, drawing her close to him in a comforting hug.

“He's a strong, healthy young man, Olivia, not a child.”

Olivia bit her lower lip, trying to bring the crying to a halt. “I know.” She sniffled. “It's just . . . he seemed half out of his head on the way home. He said over and over that I must still go to London. As if I would leave him when he is ill! When he is hurt!”

“Of course you won't. But he'll bounce back more quickly if he doesn't think your trip is scuttled.”

“He wants me to go so much. He wants to see me married so badly! I am surprised he no longer pushes me to marry Corbright.”

The bitter tone in her voice caused Edmund to move so he could look into her face. “Don't you want to marry Corbright, Olivia? I had the impression you still cared for him.”

“I don't know.” She wouldn't look into his eyes. “I haven't decided. Poor Edmund, you shouldn't have to shoulder our family's troubles.”

“I care deeply for . . . for every member of this family. If I can help you in any way, I will. Above all you mustn't let yourself be pressured into marrying anyone you don't want, including Corbright.”

“You don't like Franklin, do you?”

“No.” He looked down at her, at the way her head was cocked to one side and her blue eyes still glistening with tears, and yearned to tell her that he would hate any man who might win her heart. But she would not welcome such a declaration. Right now she seemed to trust him, to accept him almost as a brother. He had gained that much ground with her. She no longer regarded him as a scoundrel, and he would certainly be one if he used her present vulnerable state to advance his own cause. Moreover, he was mindful of the advice he had given Jason, not to arouse her contrary spirit by trying to manage her.

“My dislike of him is of long standing, but I can certainly see why a woman might find him . . . eligible.”

What precisely she had hoped to hear, she did not know. But this cool, dispassionate response to her question wasn't it. She remembered the way he had comforted Mary Benson earlier in the evening, and stiffened. “Thank you for giving me a shoulder to cry on, Edmund. I won't pester you anymore.”

 

“I won't go to London without you!”

Jason groaned. “You must, Livvy. Please!” Jason had battled a cold for the last three days, and his throat still sounded hoarse.

“How can I, when you are ill?”

“I'm fine. It is just a cold, almost gone. Just because my ankle is hurting, that doesn't mean I need you here.”

“We can delay our departure until you are feeling up to the trip.”

“You'll miss Lady Bower's ball if you don't go on. You know you want to attend, and she really wants you to be there to celebrate her husband's new appointment to the cabinet.”

“Her ball will be a success without me, though. And Aunt Lavinia and I can't go unescorted.” She glanced at her aunt, who with her uncle and Edmund were ranged about Jason's bed.

“Uncle—”

“Oh, no you don't!” Uncle Milton exploded. “You young chub! You know I detest London. And besides, I've got my duties here.” Everyone knew how seriously Milton Ormhill took his ministry, so Jason ventured no reply to this.

“I expect Edmund would escort us, dear,” Lavinia said, looking at him for confirmation. He nodded assent.

“No, indeed.” Olivia lifted her chin. “Edmund didn't agree to act as a substitute brother. He wants to learn how to manage an estate. He won't learn that in London. And besides, who
will
manage the estate if he goes?”

“Are you saying I can't keep track of things for two or three weeks? That I've learned nothing this summer?” The gravel in Jason's throat made him cough as he almost shouted his protests. “Won't the instructions you wrote out for Edmund serve well enough for me, too? You think I'm too stupid to follow them, don't you?”

“No, that was not my meaning.”

“And it wouldn't be as if I were asking Edmund to stand in my stead for long. I shall join you as soon as I am well enough to travel. I can practice at Manton's with a bad ankle, I daresay. Then, when I have completely recovered, I can begin my training with Gentleman Jackson, and a good fencing master.”

Olivia frowned, touched by her brother's distress, but
puzzled, too. “You have never before agreed to allow me to go farther than High Wycombe without your escort.”

“Oh, Livvy!” Jason threw his arm over his eyes in a despairing gesture.

“If you will allow me to escort you, Olivia, I would be happy to do so.” Edmund held out his hand to her. “I'd like to speak privately with you for a moment.” He led her across the room. “He'll fret himself into a fever again if you persist,” he half whispered. He looked into her blue eyes and felt his heart contract with longing. He knew he should resist this assignment. But the conversation he had had with her about Corbright the night of Jason's injury had given him renewed hope. The scorn in her voice when she spoke the man's name had contradicted her insistence that she was undecided about her feelings for Corbright.

Olivia looked into Edmund's warm brown eyes and knew a moment of panic.
Why do I feel so fluttery around him? When he touches me or speaks to me, I want to throw myself at him. This could be a disaster, to be in his company even more.
It was a pointless attraction, for Mary Benson was now his object.

Yet she knew she could not deny her distraught brother what he appeared to be so set on having. And in fact it might be an excellent idea to encourage this tentative step by Jason away from his strict interpretation of his father's deathbed charge. Moreover, she really needed to be at the Bowers' ball to meet the eligible men there.

I will just have to be very careful to keep Edmund at a distance.

“If you truly do not mind,” she said.

“I truly do not.”

She returned to her brother's bedside. “Very well,” she told him. “We will go on to London. When you join us, Edmund can return to look after Beaumont and his . . . other interests here.”

Because she was looking at Jason as she spoke, she did not see the hurt that flashed across Edmund's face. But Lavinia and Milton did, and looked at one another in consternation.

 

“T
hey make a charming couple.” Olivia was proud of her steady voice as she remarked upon Mary Benson and Edmund, stepping their way lightly through a waltz. Finding that the Bensons had also traveled to London for the Bowers' ball had not been a particularly pleasant revelation for her. Seeing Mary and Edmund so very much in step with once another hurt her more than she had expected. When Edmund had asked Mary for this waltz, Olivia had declined a partner and retreated to the wall, where Mr. Benson joined her, his eyes on his daughter and the handsome man who partnered her.

“Yes. It is a pity, really.”

Olivia looked sideways at Mr. Benson, surprised. She had seen no evidence that he objected to Edmund prior to this moment. “A pity?”

Mr. Benson nodded. “I have run off dozens of men as fortune hunters who were a great deal wealthier than Lord Edmund. He hasn't a feather to fly with, yet I feel he would make my Mary an excellent husband. I know I could trust that he would never neglect her, mistreat her, or waste her fortune.” His solemn voice and depressed manner only added to Olivia's perplexity. He turned and encountered her surprised look.

“Will she not have him, sir?”

“Not have him? Of course she would have him. Mary would have any half-presentable young man of whom I would approve. She falls in and out of love with the seasons.
This season it is Edmund. Thank goodness for her fickle nature, for this failure to attach him cannot cause her much pain.” Mr. Benson rounded on her, suddenly angry. “Can it be that you believe he is dangling after my daughter?”

“Why, I . . .”

Mr. Benson gave a bark of humorless laughter. “No, indeed. I fairly threw her at him, but he gave me to understand his affections were otherwise engaged.”

“Otherwise engaged!” Olivia felt as if she had been hit by lightning. “But who . . . ?”

He frowned at her, then smiled crookedly. “Who, indeed, Miss Ormhill? For an intelligent woman, you are being remarkably obtuse.”

He is mistaken.
That was all Olivia could think as she watched Edmund smile and bow to Mary at the end of the dance. He was the very pattern of a polite suitor as he led her back to her father. She had discounted as mere show his look of surprise at finding the Bensons at the ball. Of course he had known they meant to go to London. Why else had he been so willing to escort her in Jason's stead? But if Edmund actually told Mary's father his affections were engaged, what could it mean? Olivia's heart thrummed with a painful sort of excitement.

Seeing her partner for the next dance searching for her, she ducked out of the ballroom and made her way to the withdrawing room. She was not alone there, but the chattering women who clustered in the outer chamber primping at the mirrors were strangers to her. She went to the window and looked down at the rainswept street below.

Suddenly tears began to flow as she thought of all the times she had accused him directly or indirectly of being a fortune hunter.

“What is it, dearest?” Lavinia hurried to her side.

“Oh, Aunt Lavvy! He doesn't want to marry Mary Benson!”

“No, I didn't think so.”

“But she stands to inherit one of the greatest fortunes in England. Oh, Aunt. When I think of all the times I hinted . . . How it must have hurt him.”

“Yes, I think it did,” Lavinia said, gently blotting at her niece's tears with her handkerchief.

“He told Mr. Benson his affections were otherwise engaged. Who do you think he meant?”

“Now, Livvy, don't be hopelessly dense.”

“How long have you known? Why did you not tell me?”

“I only just now learned it for sure, from you. But anyone who has seen how he looks at you when he thinks he is not observed would have suspected. If I, or anyone else, had told you, would you have believed them?”

“Likely not. I have become too suspicious, haven't I?”

“You have reason, dear,” her aunt said, giving her shoulder a comforting pat. “Do you . . . is it possible you feel the same for him?”

This gave Olivia pause. She was attracted to him, and had enjoyed the trip to London with him enormously because of his gentle humor and good-natured tolerance for the demands two women travelers put upon him. Could it be their friendship might ripen into something more? Had it already, and she had simply not been willing to see it? She pulled out of her aunt's embrace. “I . . . I am not sure. Oh, I am so confused. Why has he not courted me? No, don't tell me. I have treated him so!”

“It is not too late, Livvy.”

“Do you think not?” Olivia wiped at her tears.

“If it is not too late for this old maid, it is not too late for you. You must make the first move, though. Edmund is a proud man, and his lack of fortune weighs on him, as do all your aspersions on his character. But do be sure how you feel before encouraging him, for I like Edmund so much, I would not wish to see him hurt.”

“I don't wish to hurt him either.” Olivia sighed. “Nor do I wish to be hurt again. You can't know what it feels like. . . . Oh! Speaking of someone being hurt, I mislike your allowing Mr. Barteau to continue to court you. It is a great pity he turned up here tonight, for I fear he will write Corbright and bring him to London.”

Lavinia's mouth turned down. She drew away from her niece. “I don't believe that.”

“But Aunt . . .”

“We must have this conversation another time, Livvy. We are attracting a good deal of attention. Besides, Peter awaits me downstairs. Dry your eyes, dear, and come down with me.” She bustled out of the room before Olivia could respond.

Olivia entered the ballroom with trepidation, knowing her eyes were still red. She had promised the supper dance to Lord Pilter, a young man particularly recommended to her by Cynthia Bower as a rising star in the political world. Since Olivia had reasoned that a wealthy, powerful husband would be less likely to be a fortune hunter, she had given him considerable encouragement. Now she regretted it. Even as he approached her, her eyes sought out Edmund, wondering whom he would take in to supper. And during the meal, she could scarcely keep her attention on Lord Pilter, for studying Edmund as he entertained a handsome older woman she did not know.

Because she had her eyes on him so often, she realized that he often looked over at her. The third time this happened, her heart lifted with pleasure and she smiled and nodded to him. Instantly his face changed. The polite smile he had worn became genuine as he nodded to her in turn. After supper was over he sought her out.

“Is it possible that you have a dance available?” he asked, looking adorably unsure of himself.

Shamelessly ignoring her partner, who was just behind him, she laughed. “This one, as it happens.” And she joyfully danced a spirited Scottish reel with him.

This time Edmund's dance caught the eyes of another man, markedly more hostile than Mr. Benson. Lord Heslington stood next to Cynthia Bower, avidly watching the interplay between his brother and Miss Ormhill.

“Corbright will not be pleased,” Cynthia purred insinuatingly.

“No, he won't. What is she doing here anyway? Thought she was to join Frank in Scotland.”

“ 'Tis my opinion that his suit is in vain. I think Olivia came here to find a husband.”

“Nonsense. She loves Corbright, has since she was sixteen,” Heslington snapped. “My little brother shouldn't poach on another man's preserves.” He left the ballroom with a determined glint in his eyes.

 

By the time they returned from the ball, it was so late there was no opportunity for Olivia to speak to Edmund that night. The next day they were to go shopping for clothes, and Mr. Barteau insisted on accompanying them, so Edmund excused himself to conduct some personal business. He had looked at Olivia challengingly, as if daring her to hint that he sought out Miss Benson. And Olivia felt shame at knowing she would have suspected just that before last night.

That afternoon they had many callers, and that evening they attended a lecture on mesmerism, again with Mr. Barteau. Once again Edmund took the opportunity to absent himself, saying he had been invited to dine with friends he had encountered at the War Office that morning.

Olivia was vexed by her inability to find a moment with him to formally apologize for her insulting belief that he had been after Mary Benson's fortune and, more important, her own. Determined to have her say, she crept back downstairs once her aunt had gone to bed, and settled down in the drawing room of their rented Mayfair town house to wait for Edmund's return.

She had a long wait. At length she sent the sleepy footman to bed and took his place in the chair near the door. The hall clock was chiming four
A
.
M
. when she awoke to a knocking at the door. She opened it and sleepily blinked at Edmund, who stood on the stoop looking somewhat disheveled.

“Olivia!” He grabbed her arms and pushed her inside ahead of himself, closing the door. “What is wrong?”

“N-nothing.” His nearness, his touch, awoke her fully.

“Then why are you here?”

“I have something to say to you.”

He had not released her. If anything he drew her closer. The scent of cigar smoke clung to his clothes, and brandy
perfumed his breath. Was he foxed? Aware suddenly of the impropriety, nay, the downright danger of this moment, she pulled away from him, though she wanted nothing more than to close the distance, not widen it. She started walking toward the stairs.

He accompanied her, a worried look on his face. “Something is wrong. I know it!”

“No, but perhaps we had best discuss it tomorrow. It is late, and I—”

“Sorry about that. I met some men I served with on the peninsula and we went to White's to catch up on one another.” He lightly touched her arm, anxiety furrowing his brow. “Please don't leave me in suspense until morning! And I have a piece of news, too, which I am eager to share.”

Judging him to be sober, she decided to go ahead with her planned conversation. After all, she might not have another opportunity to be alone with him for some time.

“Very well. Will you step into the drawing room?” She sat down on a settee in front of the banked fire, and he sat at the other end, somewhat tentatively. “You go first,” she said. Her heart lurched erratically. Had Mr. Benson been mistaken, or simply toying with her? Had he in fact proposed to Mary?

“No, you go first.”

“No!” She said it so emphatically he jumped a little.

His brow knitted again. “Very well. It is just that I have received a rather handsome offer. I may not take it, but at least it proves to me that I am not utterly without value in the scheme of things.”

Olivia couldn't speak, so she nodded.
He refers to Mary Benson,
was all she could think.

“You may not know just how useless and hopeless I felt when I arrived at the Black Lion that evening in July and fell into that fateful card game with Jason. You pretty well summed me up the next day.” He smiled, rather sadly. “A penniless gamester, cast off by his family. A fortune hunter. Well, I really wasn't a gamester, exactly, but . . .”

Olivia felt tears tickling the back of her throat, knowing she had helped contribute to his sense of worthlessness.

“At the time I met you, I hadn't much of a future. You and your family took me in and gave me one. For that I shall always be grateful.”

He looked away, cleared his throat, then looked back at her. “The long and the short of it is, I told my friend the Earl of Marcoombe what I was doing. Described your estate system and how much I was learning from you. He has just inherited, you know. Viscount Baringdon during the war. Knows next to nothing about estate management and has little desire to learn. He has offered me employment!” he finished on a triumphant note, his eyes gleaming with pleasure.

“Oh! Oh!” Livvy put her hand to her mouth. She wanted to share his joy, but this would take him away from her.

“Of course, I won't leave you beforetimes. I committed myself to you for a year, and I'll keep that promise.”

She swallowed hard, took herself in hand, and replied, “Nonsense. You aren't bound to stay. As if Jason and I would hold you to that agreement, which was intended for your benefit. One cannot force a winner to take his winnings, after all.” She tried for a smile.

“I don't want to leave early. Told Marcoombe even if I accepted, I'd a great deal to learn yet. He was vastly intrigued that a young woman could be so accomplished an agriculturist. Wants to meet you, in fact.” He looked down and sighed a little. It would cost him dearly to introduce the woman he loved to so eligible a man as Marcoombe, but if she would marry him instead of Corbright, she would be much better off. Of course, in such a case he would not work for Marcoombe, for he could not bear to be that near to Olivia and her husband, any more than he could accept Jason's offer that he work for him, if she married Corbright. Her repeated references to his being a fortune hunter had convinced him that he stood no chance with her.
Though last night she seemed different somehow,
he thought, studying her face for some sign of her thoughts.