Barely a Lady (9 page)

“For another week, until my father could strike my name from the family Bible at weekly services.”

Grace gasped. Lady Kate’s mouth thinned.

“Brimstone!” Lady Bea snapped, and Olivia thought her father’s ears should be burning.

“It’s all right,” she said as evenly as she could. “I managed.” She would never tell them how, though. Those were not memories she shared with anyone. Not even Georgie, who knew more than anyone.

“And Gervaise recognized you at the ball,” Lady Kate said. “I didn’t mistake that, did I?”

“No,” Olivia said, standing, as if it could help her avoid Kate’s discerning eye. She focused instead on a flock of voluptuous little china shepherdesses who crowded the mantel. “He was one of my most vocal critics at the end.”

“Yes, he was,” Lady Kate agreed. “Was he threatening you when I came upon you at your pension?”

“Gervaise?” Olivia echoed, the thought of his silkenly woven coercion forcing bile up her throat. “I guess you could say that. He was… angry at how things turned out.”

Angry. What a lovely euphemism. He had been murderous.

“I also heard,” Lady Kate said gently, “that your little boy died.”

Olivia forced herself not to move, not to betray the searing pain those words set loose. Her most precious, shut-away memory, the most perilous. Her Jamie. Resting her hand against her locket, she focused hard on the laughing porcelain shepherdess before her. “It was a very bad time.”

Silence stretched taut behind her. She so wanted to say more, but she didn’t know how.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace quietly said.

“Celestial choirs,” Lady Bea whispered, and it sounded like prayer.

After all this time, Olivia still didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.

“What now?” Lady Kate asked, her own voice suspiciously subdued.

Olivia faced her friends. “I should leave,” she said again, ashamed to admit that she hoped Lady Kate turned down her offer.

After a moment’s consideration, Lady Kate granted her wish. “Oh, I don’t think so, Olivia,” she finally said. “I think you have to stay right here where we can enjoy each other’s disrepute. Besides, I’m probably the only person who can keep Gervaise’s tongue between his teeth.”

Olivia must have looked skeptical, because Lady Kate offered a rather savage smile. “My family might not think much of me. In fact, they think so little of me they tend to have me watched so they can send dire warnings about the state of my social standing and soul, in that order.” She leaned close, grinning. “But I am still the daughter and widow of dukes, and no matter what my brother says, that still counts for something. What do you say, Olivia, shall we set all of Belgium and London on their ears?”

Again Olivia was surprised by the burn of tears. It had been so very long since anyone had been kind to her. She fought back a surge of useless hope and reached over to squeeze her friends’ hands in gratitude. In that moment, she almost threw caution to the wind and told them the rest of her story.

She didn’t. She sat back down and picked up her tea and pretended that she had found a haven.

“Jack’s family does need to know that he’s alive,” Lady Kate said, pouring more tea. “Since Gervaise already knows who you are, I don’t see why we can’t tell him.”

Olivia almost spilled her tea. She looked down at that dingy, telltale bag that now lay on the floor and sighed.

“We can’t tell Gervaise,” she said, swallowing her disappointment. “We can’t tell anyone. I’m afraid this is all a bit more complicated than just my notoriety.”

“Oh, my dear, notoriety isn’t complicated at all,” Lady Kate assured her with a blithe wave of the hand. “In fact, it’s the simplest thing in society. I earned mine by telling Sally Jersey she looked dreadful in puce. By the time I danced in the Carlton House fountain in nothing but muslin, I was old hat.”

“This is serious, Lady Kate. What I’m about to tell you puts you at more risk than ruin.”

“Good Lord,” Lady Kate said, looking intrigued. “What could be worse than ruin?”

Olivia held her breath. She faced her friend with cold-eyed purpose. “Treason.”

Chapter 7

L
ady Kate lifted an eyebrow. “Are you a French spy, then, Olivia?”

Olivia battled an absurd sense of disloyalty. “It’s Jack.”

Lady Kate’s teacup hit the floor and rolled across the rug.
“Jack?”

“Maybe,” Olivia hedged. “I didn’t think so. I…”

“Should explain before we jump to conclusions,” Grace said quietly.

Lady Kate actually looked a bit abashed. “No wonder I asked you to stay, Grace. You remind me of my manners.”

Recovering her cup, she sank gracefully back onto the damask settee, the picture of a perfect duchess.

Olivia focused on her own fingers where they lay twined against the serviceable gray of her gown. Gray like Grace’s. Just as appropriate, she supposed.

“When we found Jack out at Hougoumont—” she said.

“
You
found him?” Grace interrupted.

Olivia nodded and focused on Lady Kate, who held all their futures in her hands. “He was carrying this.”

And before she could talk herself out of it, she dug into the dispatch bag and produced the crumpled paper she’d found inside, twisted like a lover’s note.

Kate accepted the paper with a frown. The rest of them waited, only Olivia knowing how dangerous that note was.

“It’s… in French,” Kate said. “To somebody named General Grouchy. ‘Advance at once on Papelotte. Do not’… um, ‘delay. Your emperor commands you.’ ” Her eyes growing almost comically wide, she lifted the paper as if it had caught fire. “It’s signed ‘N.’ Are we talking about
that
N? The little one who only recently tried to conquer the world?”

“The earl must have intercepted it,” Grace offered, reaching out to see the note herself.

“He was wearing a French uniform,” Olivia blurtedout.

Grace’s head snapped up. “What? Who?”

Olivia did her best to meet that stony gaze. “Jack.”

Lady Kate seemed to freeze. “
What?
You’re certain?”

Olivia nodded. “Believe me. There was no mistake.”

“He was wearing Guards red when we came across him,” Grace accused, suddenly on her feet. “A captain’s jacket and sash.”

Olivia so wanted to close her eyes against the accusation she knew she’d see in Grace’s. “I changed the jacket.”

She explained to the best of her ability what she’d done in those insane moments after finding Jack. She faced the disgust on Grace’s gentle face and knew she deserved it. She felt soiled and small before that grieving girl’s reproach.

“Did you see how many of our men fell at the château?” Grace demanded softly, her eyes suddenly swimming in tears. “How many more wounded needed our transport?”

“Of course I did. But he was so badly wounded. I couldn’t let anybody find him until I knew why he’d—”

“Betrayed his country?” Grace said, rigid and cold.

Lady Kate rose to lay a hand on the girl’s arm. “Peace, Grace. There’s more to this than we’re seeing. A Wyndham would
never
…” Shaking her head, she sank back onto the settee. “His mother
was
French….”

“And dead long before he could remember her,” Olivia retorted as she and Grace sat as well. “But it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Do you know what happened after he left England?”

“I always assumed he went to Jamaica,” Kate mused. “The family has plantations there. I saw him, not, oh, two years ago. I simply cannot believe Jack Wyndham would do something so…”

“Heinous,” Grace rasped, as stark and hard as a statue. As justice, when what Jack needed was mercy.

Lady Bea patted the girl’s hand, shaking her head. Even she couldn’t seem to come up with a reasonable response.

“Good God.” The duchess shook her head, staring blindly out the window that faced the Parc. “Well, we’ll just have to ask him.”

Olivia rubbed at the headache that had taken root in her temple. “We can’t.”

All three women stared at her.

“Why?” Grace demanded. “You said he was awake.”

“He is.” Olivia struggled with that insane urge to laugh again. “He was. But he has no memory of the last five years. He thinks it’s 1810.”

This silence was even more stark. Lady Bea’s mouth sagged. Grace looked flummoxed.

“He doesn’t think you’re still married,” Lady Kate finally protested.

Olivia’s smile was painful. “Oh, but he does.”

Silence returned, taut with every question the women longed to ask. Then, suddenly, Lady Kate began to laugh.

“Oh, this is too delicious. And I can’t… tell… anyone!”

“He doesn’t remember where he is?” Grace demanded.

Olivia lifted her hands in helplessness. “He thinks he fell off a horse at a hunting box in Leicestershire.”

Lady Kate wiped at her eyes with a lacy bit of cambric and kept chuckling. “I’m sorry, Olivia. It is unconscionably insensitive of me. But even Mrs. Radcliffe couldn’t have come up with something this absurd.”

“Believe me,” Olivia said, “I’ve had much the same thought.”

Grace was still staring. “He thinks you’re still married.”

Olivia kept rubbing at her temple. The headache had blossomed. “He does. He thinks we just had an argument over my alleged gambling, and he ran off for a ‘cooling-off’ period.”

“Bow Street,” Lady Bea said with a nod.

Lady Kate nodded, still wiping her eyes. “Indeed. We need to unlock Jack’s secrets.”

“How?” Olivia asked. “What if we do the wrong thing? Couldn’t we hurt him more?”

“Darling Olivia,” Lady Kate said with an amazed shake of her head. “If I were you, I’d be more inclined to drop him on his head, not protect it.”

Olivia managed a smile. “I have had that thought as well.”

“I agree with Olivia,” Grace said suddenly. “We can’t act until we understand the consequences.”

Olivia frowned. “Then what do we do?”

“Would you like me to ask Dr. Hume what to do?” Grace offered. “He’s the army’s chief surgeon.”

Olivia hesitated. “He can’t know…”

Grace’s smile was painfully dry. “Believe me, Olivia. I have no intentions of spreading such a tale. No one would believe it. I can speak with Dr. Hume once my father’s funeral is over.”

“It’s time, then?” Lady Kate asked, suddenly sober.

Grace nodded, her attention suddenly on a fraying ribbon on her sleeve. “Yes. Tomorrow. I’ve arranged to have him buried with his men on the battlefield.”

Lady Kate nodded. “We will join you, if it’s all right.”

Looking suddenly anxious, Lady Bea plucked at Lady Kate’s skirt. “Evensong?”

Lady Kate smiled at the woman. “Yes, dear. Grace, my lovely Bea would consider it an honor to sing for your father.”

It seemed Grace was incapable of destroying the fragile hope in the old woman’s eyes. “I would be honored.”

Lady Kate nodded. “And until we speak to the doctor?”

“Status quo,” Lady Bea said, beaming with relief.

“I can’t leave things as they are,” Olivia protested. “Jack thinks we’re still married.”

“It’s only until tomorrow,” Grace assured her.

She had no idea what she was asking. Olivia could feel the ground slipping out from under her. “I’ll do my best,” she finally said. “But I don’t think we can wait much longer. We don’t know that Jack hasn’t already been recognized. We don’t know what danger he’s in. What danger
we’re
in.”

Grace nodded. “I understand.”

“I have to ask again that you say nothing to Gervaise,” Olivia said. “
Especially
Gervaise.”

“Of course not,” Lady Kate agreed. “He’d never be able to keep a story like this to himself.” Quietly she turned to face Grace. “It is Grace who must ultimately decide. As impulsive as he is, I for one would trust Jack Wyndham with my life. But I’ll not risk another person’s neck for my own convictions.”

“What about your staff?” Olivia asked.

Lady Kate waved a hand, completely unconcerned. “Oh, I’ll tell them. But no one would accuse a staff for their mistress’s misconduct.” Her smile grew. “Especially mine. Now, then. Grace?”

Olivia waited for Grace to pass sentence. When she failed to speak, Olivia looked up at her to find those soft gray eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Have you ever seen a battle before these last few days, Olivia?” Grace asked.

Olivia frowned, taken aback by the non sequitur. “Pardon? Oh. No. Nothing worse than a good tavern brawl, I imagine.”

Grace looked down at her, and Olivia could see the conflict in those gray eyes. “And yet you went out there with me.”

Olivia shrugged, uncomfortable with her friend’s regard. “That doesn’t change the danger to any of you. I should take Jack away before anything can happen toyou.”

Lady Bea surged to her feet. Lady Kate held her still.

Grace shook her head and took Olivia’s hand to stop her. “You need to stay where you’re safe,” she said. “Which you could have done when I asked you to help me find my father. Instead you crossed a battlefield to help me. I can never repay you for that act of courage, Olivia.”

Olivia fought the burn of tears. “But Jack might have betrayed everything your father stood for.”

“Well,” Grace said, squeezing Olivia’s hand as if restoring herself, “when he remembers, we’ll just have to ask him.”

It was time to dress for dinner. Grace Fairchild had other business to attend to first. Rather than follow the duchess up the stairs, she descended into the cellar where her father lay.

The stone cellar was cool and dark, her father resting in a coffin Harper had built, with candles burning at his head and feet. Next to him, the little pregnant maid Lizzie sat hunched over in a chair scribbling something on a slate.

“Thank you, Lizzie,” Grace greeted her. “If you’d like to get something to eat, I’ll stay for a bit.”

Lizzie shot to her feet, her freckles standing out in the flickering light. “Oh, ma’am, it’s no problem. Wasn’t I the one sat for my gran and granfer when their time came? I find it peaceful and all. Y’r da looks to have been a great man.”

Grace looked over to where her father lay in the same smoke-stained, bloody uniform he’d worn into battle. She’d thought of changing him into his best uniform for burial, but he would never have understood. He had always been prouder of his battle-worn tunics than the ones with the shine on the buttons. He did look peaceful too. As if comfortable in a job well done.

“He
was
a great man, Lizzie,” she said, and smiled.

She waited until Lizzie found her way up the stairs before taking her seat. “I have to tell you, sir,” she said, gathering up his cold hand. “I’m about to do something you would be heartily disgusted at. But I hope you’ll understand my reasons.”

She expected no answer, of course. But she told him, anyway, of the long hours spent recovering him and the role Olivia Grace had played. Of the danger the two of them had brought back in the duchess’s fancy carriage. And of the fact that Grace could not turn away from the injured earl or his divorced wife, even in the face of his possible transgressions.

Grace had had so little family in her nomadic life. Real family. The Harpers had stood by her, of course, and the men of her father’s company had considered her their little sister. But her relationships with those young men had been battle-born and surely wouldn’t last past her separation from them.

It hadn’t been until the little duchess had inexplicably taken her up that she’d felt a real connection. Until Olivia, untested on a battlefield, had risked her life to help her.

Grace couldn’t bear the thought of turning away now, of once again being alone. A cowardly thought, she knew, one the general would have scoffed at.
Been alone weeks at a time, girl
, he would have said.
What’s new of that
?

What was new was that she could no longer count on the moment he would blow through the front door like a brisk wind, all his laughing, roughhousing young men trailing in his wake so she could pamper them all and briefly feel they needed her.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” she whispered, and bent to kiss him good-bye.

Olivia should have expected it. By the time she finally lay her head down on her pillow, she was trembling with exhaustion. Even with the soothing effects of Mrs. Harper’s famous posset, she felt battered and overwhelmed, her emotions rolling about like a leaky merchantman in a storm. Everything she’d seen and done in the last days followed her to sleep. And then she finally curled up on her side and slipped her hands beneath her cheek, and she smelled him again.

Jack. As if it were five years ago, and she had just discovered the miracle of making love. Her skin heated. Her heart stumbled, and her breasts grew heavy. Instinctively, she snuggled closer to his scent, savoring it like warm cognac, as if just breathing it in could calm her overwrought senses.

It didn’t. It woke them. From one second to the next, her body ignited, every long-silent nerve ending sparking like fireworks. Memory became reality, and she found herself back at Wyndham Abbey.