Robin Lee Hatcher (26 page)

Anna felt as though her heart were breaking in two as she remembered the way her beloved child had looked upon her return to Rosegate. She’d seen the utter desolation in Olivia’s eyes of green. Something had happened to her in Idaho, something that had sent her back to New York without a fight, something beyond being found by Northrop’s detectives.

If only Olivia would talk about it, tell Anna what had happened. But her daughter had retreated within herself, and nothing Anna said or did had penetrated the barrier.

Again she looked down the length of the long table, the white tablecloth covered with fine china and silver, crystal goblets, and candelabra with long, tapered candles. She looked at her husband.
What have you done
,
Northrop? What have
you done to Olivia?

“It appears the viscount is quite taken with your daughter, Mrs. Vanderhoff,” the guest at her right commented.

Anna’s gaze returned to Olivia, this time taking in Spencer Lambert too. “Yes, it does.”

If Northrop had his way—and when did he not?—their daughter would be a countess. Olivia Lambert, Countess of Northcliffe. But would she be happy? Olivia’s happiness mattered more to Anna than titles or castles in England.

If only you would tell me what happened, dearest.

Sawyer heard the door to his bedroom open and sat up as Remington stepped into the room.

“Sawyer?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

Remington sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got an idea.”

“To get Libby to talk to you?”

“Yes. But I’ll need your help.”

Sawyer nodded his consent without even hearing the plan. After all, that’s why they’d come to this city. So Remngton could tell Libby he was sorry and then they could all go back to the Blue Springs.

When Sawyer first learned Libby was gone, he’d felt mighty bad. He was even a little angry at her ’cause she’d promised him she was gonna always be there for him, and then she’d left without even saying good-bye. But Remington had helped Sawyer see it wasn’t Libby’s fault. “I’m to blame, Sawyer,” he’d said before telling him the whole story.

Not a day had gone by since then that Sawyer didn’t ask God to show him and Remington what to do to get Libby back. Remington prayed too, and Sawyer didn’t doubt the Lord heard their requests. If Remington had a plan, then Sawyer reckoned the Lord was behind it.

“So what do you need me to do, Rem? I’m ready, whatever it is.”

Twenty-Seven

“WHAT ABOUT THE EMERALD GOWN, Miss Olivia? It’s so pretty with your hair.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder as her maid drew the velvet dress from the wardrobe. “It doesn’t matter, Sophie. Choose whatever you like.”

Sophie clucked her tongue. “Doesn’t matter, she says. And you going out in the viscount’s carriage for one and all to see. There’s not an unmarried girl in all Manhattan who doesn’t wish she was in your shoes, and you saying it doesn’t matter what you wear. Why, you’ve got more new gowns than you could wear in a month. There must be something that catches your fancy.”

Without reply, Olivia turned again and stared at the changing leaves in the trees beyond the window. If she closed her eyes, she could see aspens cloaked in gold. But she didn’t close her eyes because she didn’t want to see aspens.

“You’d better hurry, Miss Olivia. His Lordship will be here soon, and you know what your father will be like if you keep the viscount waiting.”

“Yes, Sophie. I know.”

“And come back from that window. Have you forgotten you’re wearing only your corset and petticoats?”

Olivia was about to do as the maid had bid when a small figure caught her attention. A boy with dark brown hair, his hands shoved in his pockets. He stood across the street from the Vanderhoff mansion, staring at the house. She leaned forward, nearly touching her forehead to the glass.

“Sawyer,” she whispered.

As if he’d heard her, he raised his arm and waved. She waved back, then placed her hand on the window, wishing . . .

She whirled around. “Hurry, Sophie. Help me into my gown.”

The maid looked surprised by Olivia’s change of mood, but she did as she was told,
lifting up the gown and slipping it over her mistress’s head, then quickly fastening it up the back.

Olivia reached for the matching hat and smashed it onto her head, tucking back loose strands of hair, then tying a hasty bow beneath her right ear.

“Your hair, miss. We haven’t—”

“It doesn’t matter, Sophie. My hat will hide it.”

“But, Miss Olivia—”

She grabbed the green reticule Sophie had set out, not bothering to see if a handkerchief had been placed inside. Then she slipped her feet into her new walking shoes and rushed toward the door.

She moved as quickly as possible along the hall and down the stairs, praying her father wasn’t waiting for her in the front parlor. Givens, the butler, was passing through the entry hall as Olivia reached the bottom of the stairs. With a finger to her lips, she begged him for silence, then hurried toward the front door, not stopping until she was outside.

Her eyes sought the familiar figure across the street. But all she saw was Spencer Lambert’s spider phaeton coming down Seventy-second Street toward Rosegate. Olivia scarcely spared the viscount a glance as she searched up and then down the street, but Sawyer was nowhere to be seen.

Her heart sank. She was too late. She’d missed him. It took her too long to dress. He must think she didn’t want to see him. Would another opportunity present itself? She’d been fortunate to get out the door this time without being stopped by her father.

As Spencer’s phaeton drew to a halt, the groom jumped down from the skeleton rumble and hurried to hold the reins while the viscount descended from the driver’s seat.

“Miss Vanderhoff, what a surprise to find you waiting for me outside.” He gave her a smile. “I never cease to be amazed by the freedom you American girls enjoy. You will need to curb those tendencies when you come to England.”

You are a pompous man, Lord Lambert. Nothing is settled
between us.

It was the first spark of life she’d felt in over two months, but she hid her irritation behind a look of wide-eyed innocence. “To be honest, sir, I’d forgotten you were calling. Did we have an engagement?”

Her remark removed the self-satisfied smirk from his mouth. “Indeed we did. We were to go for a drive in Central Park. I hope you have not made other plans.”

Sudden inspiration made her swallow the comment that would have sent him away. Instead she offered what she hoped was a conciliatory smile. “Not at all, Lord Lambert. I was taking a bit of air. I’d much rather go for a drive in your carriage . . . with you.” She took hold of his arm. “Come into the house and say hello to Father while I get my muff. Then we can be on our way.”

Olivia endured the drive through Central Park with cloaked impatience. It wasn’t until the carriage was headed back to Rosegate that she touched the viscount’s arm with her gloved fingers. “Lord Lambert, would you do me a tremendous favor?”

“Of course, Miss Vanderhoff. If it’s within my power.”

“Might we stop by a friend’s house? Just for a moment. I promise not to tarry long.”

“Naturally. I’ll be glad to oblige. And you needn’t hurry. Nothing could please me more than to prolong our time together.” He covered her hand with his own. “Just point the way. I’m not well acquainted with the streets of your fair city.”

Remington frowned when he saw Libby sitting beside the English dandy, her cheeks and nose pink from the crisp fall air. He hadn’t expected her to call with Lord Lambert—the man the gossips predicted was to become her husband—in tow.

Not if I have anything to say about it.
He turned from the window. “Sawyer, Libby’s here.”

The boy descended the stairs, sounding like a stampeding herd of wild horses. When he reached the parlor window and looked out, he frowned. “Who’s that man with her?” Sawyer sounded as displeased about the viscount as Remington felt.

“An English lord looking for a wife.” The plain fact tasted sour on his tongue.

“He’s gonna marry Libby?”

Remington watched the viscount assist her from the carriage. “No.” He looked at Sawyer. “You know what to do?”

The boy nodded.

“All right.” He squeezed Sawyer’s shoulder. “Good luck.” Remington headed toward the door at the back of his home, calling as he went, “Mrs. Blake, I’ll be out for the afternoon.”

Perhaps I shouldn’t have come
, Olivia thought before the door opened.

“Yes?” The plump woman who greeted her had rosy red cheeks and wore a crisp white apron.

“Is this”—the question caught in her throat for a moment, and she felt a familiar sting in her heart—“the Walker residence?”

“Yes, it is, but Mr. Walker isn’t in. I’m Mrs. Blake, the housekeeper. May I leave a message for him?”

Relief gave Olivia courage. “I’ve come to see Sawyer Deevers. Is he at home?”

The door opened wider. “He is, miss. May I tell him who’s calling?”

What was the answer to that question? She wasn’t certain anymore. Glancing over her shoulder at Spencer who waited in the carriage, she said, “I’m Miss Vanderhoff. Tell Sawyer I’m a friend of Libby Blue’s.”

“Please, come in, Miss Vanderhoff.” Mrs. Blake showed Olivia into the parlor. “I’ll tell Master Sawyer you’re here.” Then she left the room.

I shouldn’t have come. It will hurt more after I see him.

She let her gaze wander over the furniture. This was Remington’s home. This was where he lived, where he slept, where he ate. She could almost feel his presence.

I shouldn’t have come.

“Libby!”

She whirled around and stared at the boy in the doorway. It seemed Sawyer had shot up several inches since she saw him last. With his trimmed hair and new clothes, he looked much older than the boy she’d left behind. He looked . . . wonderful.

Hot tears filled her throat, and she swallowed hard. She hadn’t cried. Not in all these weeks. Not even once.

“Hello, Sawyer,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Was that you I saw outside my window this morning?”

He nodded. “I wanted to see you.”

“I wanted to see you too.”