My Only Love (30 page)

Numbly,
Olivia looked away. "I cannot," she said. "I do love you, Emily.
But I cannot help you. Not this time. Were I to leave Braithwaite and my
husband for you and Papa, where would I be then? Soon you'll marry and where
would I be? Where would Bryan be?"

Furious,
Emily stumbled to her feet. She looked at Miles, who stood with his back to her
and his gaze fixed on the fire in the hearth. With the speed of lightning,
Emily flew to the desk and snatched up a brass-blade letter opener, and wielded
it threateningly.

Miles
turned and deftly wresded it from her hand.

"Emily!"
Olivia cried, jumping from her chair. "Armand! Gustavea! Quickly!"

The
servants materialized from the near shadows. Turning her eyes toward her
sister, Olivia said, "Get her out of here. See that she gets home as
safely as possible."

Wrenching
herself from Warwick's grasp, breathing hard, Emily sneered. "I'll never
forgive you for this, Oli. Never!"

Armand
firmly caught Emily's right arm, Gustavea her left. They ushered her toward the
door gently.

"If
you turn your back on me now, Oli, I'll make certain everyone knows ...
everyone! There won't be a soul in England who won't know the tricks you've
played, including your husband—and your son."

'Then
you and I shall sink together, won't we, darling?" Olivia replied calmly,
if not sadly.

After
several eternal minutes, all became quiet, but for the constant drone of the
wind. Stiffly, Olivia walked to the window and looked out, watched the dense
flurries whip back and forth across the frozen rose garden. "It isn't safe
to be traveling," she said quietly. "I wonder if I should have her
stay."

"She's
gone," her husband said.

"Yes.
She's gone. I suppose I should be thankful, yet. .. why am I so saddened? And
afraid. I feel as if I've been cast adrift on a sea. Alone."

"You
are not alone," he said so softly that Olivia wasn't sure she'd heard him
correctly.

"No,
you're not alone."

Olivia
turned. Miles's mother, looking exceptionally frail, leaned on the cane she had
recently obtained. Her face appeared bloodless. "You have your
friends," Alyson said. "As the saying goes: Fate gives us family;
choice gives us friends."

Olivia
hurried to help Alyson into the nearest chair. Once seated, Alyson looked at
her son. "Is it not ironic that we are continually forced to acknowledge
our past mistakes?"

"Note
how she looks at me when she mentions mistakes," he said in a droll voice
to Olivia.

"Fool,"
Alyson said. "You would rather dwell on your past than exalt in your
present. You would rather weep over your burned bridges than rally and rebuild
them."

"Haven't
we become wise in our old age?" he replied.

"Age
does that to you," she quipped, offering Olivia a smile. "In our
youth we're arrogant enough to believe we already know everything there is to
know, and that the wisdom of age is nothing more than the cynicism of old
minds—or senility."

266
Katherine Sutcliffe

Alyson
gripped Olivia's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "You're upset."
"Yes," she replied.

"You
mustn't feel bad for your sister, dear. At least the scoundrel intends to marry
her."

"I
feel as if I've abandoned her."

"She'll
have her husband. It's obvious that she's in desperate need of some strong
influence in her life. Perhaps Clanricarde will succeed where your father has
failed her. Husbands are supposed to be good at that," she added pointedly
while looking at Miles.

Miles
gave her a thin smile. "You, of course, are the expert on husbands."

"Certainly.
Your father taught me a great deal on the subject of marriage."

"Like
how to cheat?"

"Quite
the contrary," Alyson said. "He taught me about responsibility, and
of accepting our decisions with grace and dignity. He taught me to make the
most of our future instead of dwelling on what cannot be undone. Sadly, it's a
lesson I ignored. But I needn't educate Olivia on that fact. I have a feeling
she could teach the two of us about commitment and the responsibility that goes
with it."

Olivia
turned and smiled wearily at her mother-in-law. Alyson relaxed in her chair.
Her thin white fingers toyed with the crook of her cane. "I've asked
Jacques to prepare us tea and shortbread," Alyson said. "Bryan and
Bertrice will be joining us." To Miles, she added, "I hope you'll
join us as well."

Miles
regarded his mother with a look as fierce as the frozen hurricane that howled
outside the house, and just as cold. And yet.. .

"I
think not," he finally replied, but his tone was gentle.

As
he moved toward the door, Alyson said, "I do so enjoy spending time with
your son, Miles. We're becoming great friends. I would love nothing more than
to be your friend as well."

Hesitating
at the doorway, he stopped.

"I
fear you're thirty-nine years too late," he replied.

"
Tis never too late, son," she said. "Never ... if you can find it in
your heart to forgive."

Olivia
stood in the dark, watching Bryan sleep. Somewhere in the house, a clock
struck three.

A
movement in the shadows caught her eye. Bertrice materialized from the deepest
corner of the room and held out her arms to Olivia. Without a word, Olivia sank
into them.

"I'm
so frightened," she whispered.

"I
know ya are, lass."

"I've
only seen Emily like that one other time, Bertrice. Why does she hate me so? I
fear she'll destroy everything. Me. Bryan. My happiness here with Miles."

"Have
faith that it'll all work out for the best."

"I
used to have nightmares that I would come to Bryan's room and discover him
gone. Now those dreams seem far too real."

"Hush,"
Bertrice soothed her.

"I
don't know what I would do if she took him."

"It's
Clanricarde she wants, love. She'll give him his own son and leave yours alone.
Besides, she won't want no one to know the truth about her—that she gave birth
to Bryan. Especially not Clanricarde."

"But
what if something happens—"

"Ain't
nothing goin' to happen, dearie."

Closing
her eyes, Olivia did her best to relax. "Oh God," she whispered.
"I hope you're right."

I wish I could remember
the first day,

First hour, first moment
of your meeting me . . .

—Christina Rossetti

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Olivia
opened the letter from Janet Hooper and read it silently to herself.

 
"I
have arranged for the widows' to each supply the Warwick Mining Company one
hundred tallow candles a month. The cost to the company will be approximately
30s every four weeks per miner, a savings of some 225 pounds a year—compared to
the cost of supplying candles by contract from York. The ladies are greatly
pleased and muchly appreciative for this endeavor to allow them to earn this
extra bit of pay."

 Removing
her glasses, Olivia sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. How ironic that,
over the last weeks, she and her husband's ... friend had become allies in an
attempt to rally the people of Gunnerside.

 Bryan
dashed by the door, wielding an imaginary -eapon, leaping, dodging, thrusting,
and pirouetting. "En garde!" he whooped, and let out a bloodcurdling
cry that made Olivia grab her ears and laugh. Hurrying to the door, she looked
out just as Miles leapt from around a corner, his head covered in an armor
helmet of steel that was badly in need of polishing.

"Good
Lord." Olivia gasped, unable to believe her eyes.

"Yer
days are numbered, Black Knight!" Bryan discoursed as he waved his
invisible sword through the air and added a "Whoosh! Whoosh!" for
effect. "I'll be slayin' the dragons round this castle from now on. And
I'll be wooin' the wenches."

"
'Wooin' wenches'?" Olivia repeated. "Oh, dear."

Miles
replied, though the helmet muffled the words into a garble as he, too,
brandished his imaginary sword in the air.

With
a shriek, Bryan gave his phantom charger a kick and raced down the corridor,
his trusty sword now a lance aimed at destroying his foe. "Take
that!" Bryan cried, thrusting the spear at the helmeted knight.

Miles
bent double, and holding his stomach, backed down the corridor with a wounded
cry of pain, stumbled, spun on his heels, then collapsed, arms and legs
splaying in an exaggerated manner as he hit the floor.

Beaming
Olivia a smile, Bryan bowed before her. "Behold, my queen, I have slain
the Black Knight."

"So
you have," she replied, moving toward her husband's twitching form.

"So
what are ya gonna give me for it?" Bryan asked, scratching his little
nose.

Stopping
at the Black Knight's side, Olivia peered down into his helmeted face.
"Are you certain he's dead, Sir Bryan?"

Bryan
frowned, and bending, caught the visor with his fingertip and slid it up, over
Miles's forehead. Miles's face was red and sweating. His eyes were closed.
"I could kill him again," Bryan said. "Just to make sure."

"I
think dying once a day is enough. Besides, you're late for your reading with
Grandmama. I believe Jacques has prepared you a plum pudding as well."

"Puddin'?"
His eyes sparkling, his mind suddenly on something besides slaying rogue
knights, Bryan dashed down the corridor toward the morning room.

Miles
opened one eye, then the other. "Is he gone?"

"Like
a flash." Olivia smiled. "Would you like me to help you out of
that?" She pointed to the helmet.

Miles
sat up. Olivia caught the heavy metal contraption and tugged it off. His hair
lay in loose wet curls, and it was all Olivia could do not to touch it.
"You die very impressively," she told him.

"Thank
you. Comes from practice."

"Oh?
Do you die often?"

"Every
day for the past three weeks. Sometimes two or three times a day." He ran
his hands through his hair and took the helmet from her, flashing her a smile.

"Odd
that I hadn't noticed," she said thoughtfully.

"If
you would ever come up for air you might notice a great many things, Mrs.
Warwick."

"I
happen to be getting a great deal accomplished."

He
stood and tucked the helmet under his arm. "Such asT

"I've
arranged to have a number of the village women make candles for the miners.
It'll be much cheaper than purchasing them from your previous sources, and
it'll keep the money in Gunnerside."

They
moved down the corridor, side by side.

"We
received a letter from Bob McMillian. The timber we ordered has been held up
until the weather clears. Fortunately, there's been no more accidents, and
since the pay has been coming in regularly and on time, the men's attitudes
have improved drastically."

They
walked on in silence before Olivia said, "I understand that Emily and
Clanricarde were married last week."

"What?
And we weren't invited?"

Olivia
could find little humor in his remark.

"May
they live happily ever after," Miles said cryptically.

"I
understand that Father was with her. I suppose he forgave her after all."
"Did you doubt it?"

Stopping
outside the door of the morning room, Olivia replaced the glasses on her nose
and gazed up at her husband. Many days had passed since she had last shared
company with Miles, and as she stood there looking up at his profile she
realized that he had changed.

His
olive face seemed less intense. His jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, and strong
features were not so grim. He surveyed her in a way that made hope stir in her
heart.

She
had hoped before, had yearned before, had ached with her every fiber that he
should come to care for her. And she had had her expectations dashed by disappointment.

She
dared not hope now. Olivia left him.

Miles
watched her enter the morning room where Alyson and Bryan sat in a chair before
the wide windows. Alyson's weight had dropped severely the last weeks. She had
lost the use of her right arm. Therefore, Bryan held the book for her and
turned the pages. Standing in the hall, his back to the wall, Miles closed his
eyes and listened, his memory tumbling back to his childhood, when he had
dreamt of sharing such a moment with his mother.

That
time of year thou mayst in me behold

When
yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

I
pon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare
ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.