Stephanie James (17 page)

How had she not noticed any of this as she had been helped inside? Quite suddenly, Olivia found her resolve slightly dimmed in the shadow of such opulence. Perhaps she was out of her element after all.

When she reached the base of the stairs, she saw to her left a large, brightly lit corridor which led to the main entryway of the Hall. Directly in front of her was another grand staircase. Wherever it led was a mystery to Olivia, but she doubted it led to the drawing room where she was meant to meet everyone, so she chose another corridor — the one to her right.

She wondered down the even more obnoxiously decorated hall until she came to an open door, out of which she heard voices.

Was this the room? To be sure, she sneaked her head around the jamb just an inch. Immediately she spotted Lord Philip leaning with his back against the sill of a window, his right hand against the sill supporting his weight; his left held a frail china cup — filled with tea, she presumed. She studied his face.

He unnerved her, but she could not deny that he really was a handsome man — a handsome man who had proposed to her so many months ago. She had said no, of course. What had he expected? For her to accept? They did not love one another.

Love was not the reason why many couples married, true. But Olivia would not be forced into any sort of marriage arrangement where love was not present … though if she had said yes, she would have been able to kiss him again, she admitted to herself shamefully.

She recalled the incident by the river and a chill ran down the length of her spine. Soon after it had happened, Olivia hated thinking of their kiss. She had felt too much as though she had failed in her father’s expectations by having behaved in such an intimate manner with a man. She had cried herself to sleep several times as a result of the guilt, in fact. But lately, months later, she thought of that kiss often. She thought of how it had made her feel — hungry and restless, though completely at a loss as to how to assuage the sensations. She felt that now-familiar tugging in her stomach as she bit her lip and peered covertly through the doorway to study him as he stood against the windowsill.

His mouth was closed and fixed in an arrangement which did not denote any sort of amusement. His dark straight hair fell over his forehead, and just barely dusted the top of his brows, which were set in a scowl above his penetrating blue eyes. His gaze was set unblinkingly on something — the source of the male voice currently filling the drawing room perhaps? Olivia saw his lip beginning to curl. Good God, he looked positively murderous. Whatever could have put him in such a state?

• • •

Philip was again bored with his guests. It was nothing against them, to be sure. But after having seen Olivia covered in mud, he was much more desperate than before to see she had a pleasant stay. He stared out of the window of the drawing room at his front garden as he thought about the incident.

For a moment during all the fuss — when he had first entered the scene — all Philip could notice about Olivia was the look on her face when she had first spotted him. She had been looking desperately back and forth from her father to the duke. She had obviously wanted to escape the embarrassing scene, and so when she had spotted him, her desperate look shifted instantly to one of relief.

It had touched him in a way he could barely describe. Perhaps she would have looked that way at any man who came to help her in that moment. Perhaps she hadn’t even realized she had done it, but to Philip her look nevertheless had meant something to him. It had, after all, been the first time since the beginning of their acquaintance — since that first dinner at Whistler Manor, come to think of it — that Philip had seen her look at him with anything else in her eyes other than disgust or disdain.

She had looked to him for help in that single, brief moment and he couldn’t help but find it endearing. She had not been hurt because of him either, and for that Philip was eternally thankful. The incident in his driveway allowed him the freedom to be marvelously and strangely removed from feeling any sort of guilt for her fall.

He had been her savior this time, rather than her source of pain, and he quite liked the switch. He hated that she had been so dreadfully embarrassed, but if what had come from it was the ability to have been of assistance to her, to have had her look to him with such genuine relief, and for her to have taken comfort in his sudden appearance … well, then he didn’t regret it entirely.

“Philip?” his mother called.

He turned to face her. “Yes, Mama?”

“We have all scarcely heard from you, my dear. How are you this evening?”

Philip lightly swirled the tea in his china cup. “I am well, Mama,” he said.

“And the state of your business?” asked the duke.

“Busy, of course. Mr. Winter and I are doing quite well.”

The duke nodded once in acceptance. “Well done.”

The duchess smiled. “Of course, darling,” she said, “I knew from the start you would make a success of your ventures.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, yes I did indeed. You always have been quite headstrong when properly motivated.”

Mr. Southerland sniggered.

“What have you to say, sir?” Philip asked Mr. Southerland.

“Nothing at all, to be sure, Ravenshaw,” he said. “I agree completely with her grace. In fact, I recall one instance in which our dear Lord Philip … ”

As Southerland began to speak, Philip suddenly remembered his arrangement with Mr. Winter.

Olivia needs a husband,
Mr. Winter had said.

And from among his three eligible male guests, Philip had been asked by his partner to select a possible suitor for Olivia. It was not a task he relished the opportunity to perform, but Mr. Winter wanted his daughter married, and so Philip surveyed each of the unattached men in his presence one by one.

Lord Brighton was a gambler, among his many faults. He stayed out well past midnight at almost every opportunity and gambled away small fortunes routinely. His boyish looks — the blond hair coupled with the blue eyes — allowed him the ability to charm those to whom he was in debt into giving him extensions. They all believed him when he lied. The baby fat surrounding his face created such an innocent display that few could help but believe what he said. His father had covered many of his past debts, and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. But when his father was dead, how long would the Chamberlain Viscountancy fortune cover Lord Brighton’s gambling habit?

And on top of being a consummate gambler, Brighton kept many mistresses. Four, at Philip’s last count, and that was last year alone. Had he secured a few more since then? Had he tossed out the others on their ears? Philip did not doubt it, but he couldn’t exactly fault Brighton for keeping a mistress. Philip himself had done so in the past, and was looking into finding a live-in mistress to accommodate him at Tyndall Hall. But Philip knew himself to be the type of man who would be more than willing to give them up when he developed true feelings for another woman. And he would.

Lord Brighton was not such a type.

Would he be satisfied with just Olivia? Philip doubted it completely. He would give her children and ignore her in favor of other women. And to go along with his larger faults, Brighton had other small ones. He picked his teeth in public, ate his meals with deplorable manners despite his esteemed upbringing, and rarely kept his mouth closed when propriety demanded it. In short, he was not very diplomatic, and as a result he had quite a few enemies.

Brighton was his friend, but the very nature of friendship allowed Philip to ignore the man’s most unseemly habits. Brighton’s wife would not be so lucky. If Olivia married him, she would be left with a disgusting and absentee husband, countless children, debt, and an overall miserable life. Philip thus scratched Lord Brighton from the list of suitors.

Next was Lord Masters, and what a terrible match that would be. Masters was entirely too soft for Olivia. He was a terrible hunter as a result of that soft nature, too. His tales of his hunting mastery earlier had been entirely fabricated, Philip knew, but he would not dare call the man out. He would let Masters keep his pride. Oh, Masters had indeed killed that deer just as he had claimed, but Philip had spotted the remorse in his eyes on that particular day. Indeed, Philip rather thought Lord Masters missed his intended live targets on purpose ever since.

Masters was to be Baron Riddle, a title which included a modest estate and fortune. Olivia would be able to live comfortably enough, much the same as she did now. Masters did not gamble and he rarely drank. He visited a few rather renowned brothels now and again, but again — Philip himself was guilty of the same crime. But Lord Masters’ virtues were ultimately not enough to cover what he was lacking.

He was a sensitive fellow, though he would challenge any man who suggested such a thing to a duel. He preferred to walk in parks and take in the air. He enjoyed reading and writing poetry and loved the theatre. He had cried once during the opera for God’s sake, though he had naturally tried to hide it. Olivia needed someone far stronger than that. Not to suggest that she was incapable of being a delicate female now and then, though Philip had never seen and evidence of such a side, but she was still stubborn and strong-willed with a sharp, stinging tongue. She would positively devour Lord Masters. He would crumble under her temper, and spend most of their marriage hiding from her. Masters was better suited with a kind and gentle woman — one whose eyes were often downcast and who spoke barely above a whisper. And Olivia needed someone who could put up a fight, which is where Mr. Southerland entered the picture.

Mr. Southerland was of Irish descent, his mother having been from the isle herself, and he was therefore prone to be more boisterous than any of Philip’s friends. Perhaps he was the sort of man Olivia needed …

Southerland loved to box, and he was quite good at the sport, too. He had won more matches than he had lost, which was commendable — amongst male companions at least. But it still denoted a toughness Philip thought Olivia needed. Southerland knew the intricacies of a fight. He knew when to sidestep and when to charge. He knew when to hold back and when to go in for the kill. His abilities at dodging blows would certainly be of considerable use in a marriage to Olivia. And as for being Irish, well … that simply meant Southerland just might enjoy arguing with Olivia.

Southerland was also honest. Oftentimes he was a bit too colorful with his honesty, but at least he did not lie. His father, a wealthy merchant like Olivia’s, had married for love, so Philip imagined that Southerland had grown up observing how two people in love behaved. Perhaps he would care for Olivia and keep only her for the duration of their marriage. Philip hoped so. She deserved nothing less.

So, Mr. Southerland it was then, Philip decided with a curiously grim sense of mind. His next move would be to inform Mr. Winter about his selection to make certain he approved. Choosing Mr. Southerland meant nothing if Olivia’s father did not approve of the man. And what if she did approve of him? Philip’s face twisted in anger as he stared at Southerland and pictured him with Olivia — touching, feeling, and kissing her the way in which he had dreamed of. What a horrible position he was in, Philip thought. He knew he wanted Olivia for himself, but here he was, selecting her husband. Damn it all to Hell.

Philip swirled the contents of his tea cup before downing the remainder of the liquid, and in tilting back his head to do so, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye in the doorway. He looked over just in time to see strawberry hair disappear.

Olivia.

“I believe Miss Winter has arrived at last,” said Philip, interrupting Mr. Southerland’s rather lengthy and exaggerated story.

“Miss Winter? Please, won’t you join us?”

• • •

Olivia’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Lord Philip spotted her. And before she could run away and pretend it had not happened, he announced her presence to the entire room. Damn that man. She took a few deep breathes to calm herself, and patted her hair to make certain it wasn’t slipping or falling out of place. She was not used to wearing it up.

“Mama, Papa,” Philip said when she entered the room. The duke and duchess remained seated, as did the two girls she recognized as having accompanied them in their carriage. Three men stood at her arrival. She assumed they were the male guests her father had described to her on the ride over — Lord Masters, Lord Brighton, and Mr. Southerland. Her father glanced around the room, then stood hastily — Olivia supposed he realized he was the only man, besides the duke, left sitting. “May I present Miss Olivia Winter of Dorset?”

“Indeed you may, Philip,” said the duchess before she nodded her head in recognition of Olivia. The duke followed his wife’s example.

“Olivia,” Philip continued. “This is my mother, the Duchess of Willingham, and my father, the Duke of Willingham.”

Olivia curtsied as best she could. “Your graces.”

“My sister, Lady Amelia Ravenshaw,” Philip said, indicating the dark-haired girl. “And her friend, Lady Lillian Charlesworth, daughter of the Earl of Denham.”

Both girls smiled at Olivia warmly as they all three curtsied to one another. They were comforting, those warm smiles, but Olivia wasn’t quite ready to trust them. She wasn’t sure who to feel at ease with at the moment. She had not been in a room with so many people of standing since her Season in London. Curiously, however, the only person in the room whose presence was making her feel at all comforted was Lord Philip.

• • •

Philip couldn’t take his eyes off of Olivia’s hair as she nodded and curtseyed to his family. It was up. He preferred it down now that he saw her hair thus, but still the style allowed him an unrestricted view of her neck, which for some reason he found arousing. Her jaw line too was exposed, and he could see now that it was very well-defined and feminine.

Lord Brighton cleared his throat when it became obvious Philip had forgotten to introduce everyone else in the room.