Laura Matthews (19 page)

“You must call me Olivia. You and I shall have the run of the Towers with not a soul to condemn such familiarity,” Olivia said with a laugh. “And I have not a thing to complain of in your kind companionship. Imagine what a treat it was for me to have someone as young as yourself to be my instructress.”

The carriage started with a jolt and Olivia began to point out the sights to her friend as they progressed—the Castle Hill with its earthworks and the various priory ruins. “Noah took Julianna and me exploring several times before the wedding and I had hoped to visit the Dominican Friary again when we returned from our wedding trip.”

“It’s a great pity that your husband should have to leave you so soon,” Miss Stewart sympathized, “and that his mother and sister are in London.”

“Indeed.” Olivia could not manage to suppress the sigh which came, but she smiled with forced cheerfulness. “I’m attempting to redecorate my suite before any of them return. Shall you find it amusing to assist me in the choice of materials and colors?”

“I confess that of all things I find such a task the most rewarding. My father has been a linen draper and an upholsterer for many years. As a child he taught me about fabrics, how they would wear, which were the most costly, and which faded easily in the sunlight. Not that it did me the least good, you understand, for he would never let me assist in his work. Still, I believe my knowledge may be of use to you.”

There was a confidence and an ease about Miss Stewart’s conversation which Olivia found puzzling, if vastly superior to her former shyness. Perhaps it had taken no more than a removal from Stolenhurst, with the unwelcome attentions of the Fullerton brothers, for the woman to blossom; but it was scarcely to be credited, since they had frequently been away from home.

“I feel sure you’ll be the greatest help to me, dear Miss Stewart, and a most welcome companion. You did not, I suppose, see any of my family in London?”

“Oh, no, for we do not live in a fashionable part of town. I understand Lord Bolenham is to marry Lady Elizabeth Blake this summer.”

“If he can bring himself to the sticking point,” she murmured. “My mother-in-law writes that he becomes more irritable as his marriage approaches, and Noah wrote that the settlements were not complete yet due to the tug of war between Peter and Lady Elizabeth’s father.”

Her one letter from Noah, a brief, affectionate scribbling really, she kept with her at all times and knew by heart. He had said he would be in town only a few days and not to expect to hear from him for some time.

And Lady Lawrence had had no more to add; her subsequent letters indicated that she was annoyed with her son for leaving his bride alone so soon after their marriage, but Noah was not in London and his mother appeared to have no idea where he had gone. Olivia put aside, as she had many times before, the vexing question of why it had been necessary for him to leave her and where he had gone.

* * * *

Paris itself showed little outward change from Noah’s visit of the preceding year, but his friend Mauppard had developed grave lines on his previously youthful countenance.

The Comte raised bushy black brows. “You have come about the dispatches? I would have thought being burned once was enough. Your government wasted several thousand pounds recovering forged documents.”

“Yes, a shame. Have you any suggestions?”

Mauppard pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The conviction has grown in me that the man who holds them is well educated. His letter proposing the original exchange, though attempting to disguise the fact, was not entirely successful.”

“Do you think they’ll be used as anti-English propaganda?”

“This is not a propitious time for France to declare war on England, my friend. But holding such documents could be a future security for, say, a radical group, who intimated that they have the means of proving English interference.” His confidences were interrupted by the advent of his sister Françoise, a statuesque goddess with golden brown hair and intriguing blue eyes.

“Ah, Sir Noah, thank God you’ve come! Perhaps
you
can convince Jacques to go about a bit more. He’s become very dull, you know, with his politics. No balls and parties, no dancing and singing, just talk, talk, talk. Shall the Church administer property? Is Mirabeau in the pay of the King? Can the Marquis de la Fayette organize a government?”

‘“Enough, Françoise,” the comte said sharply. “What you hear, you do not repeat, else I shall send you into the country. Noah is my friend, and I have few secrets from him; but there are others whose discretion I cannot trust.”

“There are those who do not trust
you,”
she retorted. “Daily more people cut me on the street just for being your sister.”

Her brother shrugged. “It is unavoidable. Those who will not see that the times are changed will not help themselves. You’ll have to accustom yourself to such slights.”

“Never!” she declared hotly and stomped from the room.

Mauppard offered Noah an apologetic smile. “It’s hard for her. May I get you a brandy? Tomorrow I’ll take you about with me to see what you can learn, but for tonight let us leave off such serious talk. Tell me about your bride.”

* * * *

The early May sunlight filtered through the draperies and made it impossible for Olivia to determine the color of the fabric which lay newly-unwrapped on the bureau. When she had swept back the draperies and studied the material, an edge of irritation crept into her voice.

“It is
not
the color I ordered. I want my bedchamber to be like a breath of spring with bright yellows like daffodils. Have you ever seen such a sickly color? There is green in it, and it will not match anything else.”

Miss Stewart examined the offending fabric and agreed. “Certainly it is not at all the color of the sample. Would you like me to return it, Olivia? I think perhaps you should have a rest, and I have several errands I might do in the village.”

“I’m perfectly well, I assure you, and will see to its return myself. How many days have I waited for it? Ten? And now I suppose I shall have to wait another two weeks for the right color. As if the damaged chaise longue were not enough! And that silly maid knocking over my embroidery threads so that they were a tangle. We will never finish the room before ... Lady Lawrence returns.”

“But, my dear, that is more than a month away. Don’t fret. Long before then everything will be perfect, see if it isn’t.” Miss Stewart regarded her friend curiously. “It’s not like you to let such little things upset you, Olivia. We have been indoors too much. Today we should take a long walk in the park.”

Before Olivia could reply, there was a tap at the door and Marie entered to present the mail. Eagerly Olivia lifted the two letters. One was from Lady Lawrence, the other was for Miss Stewart. She very nearly stamped her foot in her annoyance. Why did he not write? Where was he? It was
weeks
since his only letter, which was already coming apart at the creases, and she had been forced to leave it in the jewelry box so that it did not disintegrate altogether.

Miss Stewart’s letter was from her “particular friend.” No more information would she divulge on the writer, and Olivia felt all the curiosity Julianna could ever have exhibited. On each occasion when one of these letters arrived, Miss Stewart excused herself and went to her room to read it, only to return with a quiet glow of pleasure about her. And each day when one of these letters arrived, which happened several times a week, Olivia felt a stab of envy. There was no doubt in her mind that Miss Stewart’s correspondent was a man and that he was the cause of her companion’s blossoming.

“Won’t you read your letter here today? Is your friend still traveling?”

Although Miss Stewart would have preferred to go off alone with her treasured letter, she agreed to remain, aware of Olivia’s own disappointment and nervousness. Later she could reread it and cherish every word, but now she quickly broke the seal and scanned the lines for any information she could impart.

“My friend has been in Yorkshire, but must travel to Shropshire before returning to London.” With a flush she skipped the tender (though proper) phrases he had written. “Everything is a burst of color in the East Riding and my friend has visited the Beverly Minster. But I must not keep you from Lady Lawrence’s letter.”

Aware that she was unlikely to learn anything further, Olivia opened her own missive and devoured the voluminous news her correspondent always sent. There was no mention of Noah.

“Is your mother-in-law well?”

“In excellent health, I should say, and as active as ever with her scathing pen. I am advised that Lady Elizabeth has taken to using rouge with disastrous effect and that Peter is the talk of town with his theatre parties and ridiculous clubs.” She referred to the letter and read, “ ‘His latest club has such rules as that there may be no more members admitted into the room than it will hold; that every member with two ideas shall be obliged to give one to his neighbor; and that if any member has more sense than another he be kicked out of the club!’ “ She set the letter aside with a shrug. “I do wonder that people put up with Peter.”

“I dare say he’s generous with his friends.”

“No doubt too generous.” Olivia stared moodily at the fabric on the bureau. “If Peter received the wrong materials, he would not bother to return it; he would give it away. He would not bother to pay for it either, of course.”

“If you would be interested in my staying an additional week or two, Olivia, I would find it possible.”

Olivia brightened. “You know I’d be delighted. Then I may not be alone before Lady Lawrence and Julianna return.”

“Shall we take a walk now?”

“Yes,” her companion replied, pushing the fabric back into its wrapping. “And I shall write my mother-in-law when I return. I dare say there’s no hurry in finishing the room.” For God only knows when Noah will return, she thought, and when I shall be able to tell him that I am with child.

* * * *

Day followed unsuccessful day with Noah searching in vain for a lead. Even Mauppard’s contacts proved of no use. The beautiful but spoiled Françoise, tired of her brother’s associates, continued to press for livelier entertainment. When she found Noah alone at breakfast one morning she immediately launched into an attack.

“One week from today is the ball of the Franchauds, Sir Noah. Surely you must wish to attend such a grand occasion! And Jacques must come, too. They are laughing at him—and at me! Me! I tell you I have been the most sought after lady in society, and they dare to laugh at me.” She tossed the golden brown hair and her eyes flashed with spite. “I will show them, but you must convince Jacques to attend the ball.”

Annoyed with her conceit and vindictiveness, Noah was nonetheless unwilling to thwart her plans. The gathering would provide a new opportunity for his discreet enquiries. “I’ll speak with Jacques.”

There was an air of frantic indulgence at the ball, an intensity and self-consciousness which amounted to an almost hysterical pursuit of pleasure. Françoise, magnificent in a rose-colored, hand-painted silk gown which fell from her bosom in clinging lines and exhibited an alarming amount of décolletage, was, as she had predicted, soon surrounded by an admiring circle. To his amusement, Noah found himself being used by her to bring to heel a handsome, older nobleman, the Vicomte de Preslin.

On being solicited by him for her hand in one of the long, formal sets of dances, Françoise fluttered her fan demurely. “I should love to, Vicomte, but Sir Noah is so persistently at my side that I hardly dare desert him. These Englishmen are fiercely intense in their devotion, you know, and have little regard for our conventions.”

The vicomte, a man well into his forties, with a cold, proud face, surveyed Noah with contemptuous eyes. “The English have little regard for
any
conventions, if you will excuse my saying so, Sir Noah. Tradition was, I believe, a French word long before it was adapted by your country, and incorrectly at that. It is
traditional
in France for a young lady to accept a dance with whom she pleases, unhampered by the thought of causing anyone distress.”

Piqued, but formally polite, Noah protested, “I had no intention of deterring her, I assure you.” He watched as they joined the dance, Françoise glowing with triumph, the vicomte gravely attentive to her loose-tongued chatter. No need to let the incident discompose him, he decided, with an attempt to shrug off the irritation he felt with both of them, but he was immediately accosted by someone who caused an equal amount of concern. An aged friend of his mother’s who was returning from Italy to England by way of Paris approached him.

“I understand you are recently married, Sir Noah,” she remarked, her eyes brightly inquisitive.

Noah smiled disarmingly and replied, “Indeed, Mrs. Beaglett. Lady Olivia and I were wed in March at Welling Towers and regretted that you were out of the country and unable to attend.”

“I missed a number of interesting occurrences this winter,” the old lady said sadly. “No doubt I shall find your mother and your bride in London next week when I return there.”

“My mother, yes, but Lady Olivia is at Welling Towers. She wished to stay there while I was away on business.”

“Business brings you to Paris, Sir Noah?”

“Yes, a small matter. I doubt I shall be here long.” Although he managed to turn the subject, Noah was grateful when Françoise appeared at his elbow to insist that he meet one of her cousins. He turned to Mrs. Beaglett apologetically. “If you will excuse me, ma’am. I trust you will have a safe and pleasant journey to London.”

It was the devil of a nuisance, for now he would be forced to write his mother to forestall her inevitable astonishment on being informed of his presence in France. He would have to write to Olivia, too, he thought, with a measure of apprehension, and she was not likely to understand how he could have wandered so far from his home without advising her.

It was all very well that he knew his mission was necessary; there was no way of indicating that to Olivia. Annoyance at the untenability of his position, and his lack of success, swept over him, and it unfortunately crept into his note when he wrote to his wife.