Stephanie James (21 page)

“He was being improper,” said Philip simply.

“Improper?” asked the duke, incredulously. “That is your reasoning for attempting to shoot your friend? He was being improper?”

“He was speaking improperly of a lady whose father is present!” Philip bellowed. “How could you all stand by and laugh at words which clearly insult Mr. Winter? His daughter is not up for sport.”

Everyone seemed to ponder this for a moment. Mr. Southerland especially must have thought about his words because his next statement was, “Allow me to apologize, Mr. Winter. I meant no disrespect at all. Miss Winter is a fine, respectable young lady, and my words have not acknowledged that I think so.” He bowed his head slightly to Mr. Winter. “Forgive me.”

Mr. Winter returned the gesture by bowing his slightly as well. “You are forgiven,” he said.

Mr. Southerland bowed more deeply, and then turned on his heel to retrieve his gun and continue hunting. The other men also returned to their sport, all except Philip. He rushed up to Mr. Winter.

“Edward, you cannot possibly let him off that easily,” said Philip. “He was talking about your daughter.”

Mr. Winter merely laughed and slapped a hand on Philip’s shoulder. “Oh, come now, my boy,” said Mr. Winter. “There was no real harm done. His words were tasteless, that is true, but he seems to be the type of man to say one thing when he actually means another. He reminds me of myself when I was his age, full of fight and ready to charge. He shall be a perfect match for Olivia, I dare say. I do hope she chooses him.”

Philip just simply started at Mr. Winter. “You cannot be serious,” he said, astounded.

“Of course I am,” said Mr. Winter. “Olivia is like her mother — delicate and sweet. My wife is the reason I straightened out. Olivia would do the same for Mr. Southerland, and he will love her for it. Trust me.”

“I am not sure they will suit, Edward,” said Philip.

“Nonsense,” replied Mr. Winter. “They will be a perfect match, just you wait and see. She will choose him.”

When the conversation ended, Mr. Winter returned to the hunt and talking with the other men. Philip remained on his own, away from everyone else.

When lunch had been served under the garden pavilion, Philip waited for the ladies to appear. He wanted a chance to speak with Olivia himself. Through all the commotion of his guests finding their seats and the footmen serving the food, Philip searched for Olivia and subsequently found her, under a large tree a small distance away from the group. They would have privacy, but not so much as to be improper. It was the perfect time to speak to her.

But speak to her about what? Any actual subject he might select mattered little. All he wanted was to keep her attention from the other men, to have her smile at him for once. Perhaps he might even discover if she was as enamored with his male guests as they were with her, but the opportunity eventually passed him by.

He prepared to descend the steps and approach her, but when one foot touched the grass, he made the mistake of looking up at Olivia. A light breeze flowed through the branches of the trees. She closed her eyes and lifted her head to breathe in as a few strawberry curls — escapees from the bun atop her head — fluttered across her face. Philip had never seen her look more beautiful than in that moment, more at peace, or happy. She was lovely, and it left him speechless.

Instead he could only feel. Mostly in that moment he felt a longing for her, but there was peace, too. He had never felt more at ease, more certain of any truth, or more struck by anything in his entire life. And the mere sight of Olivia enjoying the breeze flow across her face was what had created it all.

He meant to go to her; he wanted to go to her, even more so now after the swirl of emotions he had just experienced, but his feet were fixed on the spot. He simply stared and admired. But he admired for a little too long as it turned out, because before Philip could recover from the spell Olivia had cast upon him, Mr. Southerland emerged from behind the tree upon which Olivia was leaning.

“I have found it for you, Miss Olivia,” he said, “a flower matching your exact specifications. I hope it pleases you.”

“It does indeed,” said Olivia as she tucked the flower behind her ear. “It is most lovely.”

“But not as lovely as you,” said Mr. Southerland. He reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her other ear. Olivia smiled up at him warmly, with much the same look on her face as when she had closed her eyes to enjoy the wind. And in seeing that look appear on her face once again, and knowing that Mr. Southerland was the cause of it, Philip’s peaceful and relaxed mood disappeared and was replaced with an anger so intense he was thankful he did not have his rifle handy this time.

He stormed away from the pavilion. He could not bear to watch Olivia dole out anymore smiles to another man. As he walked, he raked a hand through his hair and wondered exactly how it was possible that in one single, enchanted moment he had been more entranced, captivated, and mesmerized by Miss Olivia Winter than any other woman he had ever known.

• • •

“Look at him, Lilly,” whispered Amelia. “See? I told you so. I knew it! I just
knew
it!”

She and Lady Lillian were standing next to a column of the pavilion, watching Lord Philip as he stared at Olivia.

“He does appear to be quite taken with her,” agreed Lillian.

“He is far more than just taken with her, Lilly,” said Amelia. “Did you not see how he stomped off like a petulant child? I have seen that look about him before. He loves her.”

Lillian sighed. “But what about Lord Masters and Mr. Southerland?” she asked. “They appear to be taken with her as well.”

Amelia scoffed. “They are merely competing with one another. It is what gentlemen do. Neither of them feels as strongly for Miss Winter as Philip does, believe me, Lilly.”

“I suppose I believe you, Amelia,” said Lillian. “But what do you intend to do about it? Philip would never compete with his friends.”

“No, I dare say he would not, Lilly,” said Amelia, and then smiled mischievously. “But I have a plan.”

“I do hope it is a good plan, Amelia,” said Lillian. “I do so love a happy ending, but we all leave Tyndall Hall in less than a week to return to London for Christmas. Philip will be coming, too, and Miss Winter shall remain here in Dorset. You haven’t enough time to convince him he loves her.”

Amelia pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “No, it is not enough time, Lilly,” she said. “But I have not yet told you my plan.”

Lillian chuckled. “You realize, Amelia that not only did you refuse to believe me at first about your brother and Miss Winter, but for someone who turns her nose up at romantic tales, you seem to be very interested in playing matchmaker.”

“Yes, well I believe you now. And those stories are fiction, dear Lilly,” said Amelia. “Philip and Olivia are right here before us, and much more easily manipulated than a plot.” She rubbed her hands together conspiratorially. “Helping a love to grow is quite a bit more fun than simply reading about it.”

They continued their discussion in a hushed tone as they ate at the wooden table. And at the end of the meal, while riding in the carriage back to Tyndall Hall, they both agreed that they would have Lord Philip and Miss Olivia Winter married by the end of Christmas.

Philip was sitting in the drawing room, sipping on brandy with his guests as they waited for the meal to start. He was on a sofa next to his mother, though he was not really paying attention to what she was saying to him. He was far too lost in thought about how wrong the last week had gone.

Initially when he had planned the hunting party, Philip had imagined himself laughing with friends and family, and getting a chance to explore and enjoy his new lands. But fate, with her cruel way about her, had prevented Philip from living out any of these desires.

To start, he was the only one who had been terrible at hunting. Each time they went out into the fields, his yield was always dreadfully embarrassing in comparison to the others. Even Lord Masters, the worst hunter amongst them all, had managed to set aside his sensitive outlook and kill several more birds than Philip. Lord Brighton had not let Philip forget this, either. The man teased Philip to the point of annoyance. It was embarrassing, simply embarrassing. And once again, Philip had Miss Olivia Winter to blame.

Oh, she was not entirely at fault. He could not be so unfair as to assign
all
of the blame to her. But a good bit of it, yes, he could indeed credit to her presence at Tyndall Hall. Only this time, his foul mood was not the result of she having annoyed him, but rather, the consequence of a desire for her he could now no longer control. He had tried to control it. Oh, how he had tried after kissing her, after feeling her body atop his, but now knowing that she was desired by other men, other men who would embrace her in the same way, well … he simply could not stand suppressing it any longer.

Each time Philip thought of the whole scenario, it made his skin flush with angry heat. Fist she had been a nuisance. A downright, damnable plague of frustration he would have loved to strangle, but then … oh, but then. Then quite suddenly, as if he had been struck by lightning, Philip discovered he was attracted to the girl. He wanted her in the most basic of ways. He always had. He knew that that now. At first sight of her she had ignited within him a hunger no other woman had done before, and it had never truly faded. Instead, it had steadily intensified over time so that now the full measure of his festering thoughts of her had burst forth and he could control them no longer.

And while he had steadily grown to care for Miss Olivia Winter, after seeing her beneath that tree … well, that was another matter entirely. He was even more conflicted over the whole situation, if that were possible. He had been conflicted from the beginning, but now Philip had to tell himself that he could not — absolutely, positively could
not
be in love with her.

Even if he wanted to admit it, doing so was a delicate matter.

He could not exactly rush up to Olivia and declare passionate love for her, after all. Indeed, he could not do so as he was unable to even admit it to himself. Even if he could admit to loving her, he doubted she loved him in return.

Yes, that was the other reason why he could not simply professes his affections. He was entirely confident that she wanted very little, if anything at all, to do with him. She had refused his first offer of marriage, after all. Why would she feel any differently now? She still walked with a slight limp thanks to him, and aside from that dreadfully ravishing kiss, from the moment they met, they had never got along. Indeed by all accounts of their interaction, Lord Philip and Miss Olivia were a terrible match, very much like oil and water. But perhaps the oil could be persuaded to blend, even if only just a little.

Perhaps if he could manage to hold a pleasant conversation with her, a conversation which did not lead to a fight or yelling or injuries of any kind, Olivia would grow to like him. Perhaps they would discover they were not so different, or could in the very least get along with one another. It was not exactly the best plan. Olivia was not simply just another girl. There was Mr. Winter to consider, as well. It was the riskiest of gambles, but Philip would try it.

If only she would stop entertaining Lord Masters and Mr. Southerland (but especially Mr. Southerland), perhaps Philip might have a few pleasant words with her. But as it was, the two men took turns sticking to her like bees to honey.

Lord Masters, competition though he was, nevertheless lacked the aggressiveness which Mr. Southerland possessed. It would be a chore getting Southerland away from Olivia, but Philip would find a way. Southerland irritated him more and more every day with his swarthy looks and his mixed accent of English and Irish. Philip had never felt aggressive towards Mr. Southerland in all the years of their acquaintance. In fact, Mr. Southerland had always been one of Philip’s favorite friends. But now that a woman had come between them, Philip wanted to kill him.

• • •

“And then in the south of Scotland, my family owns lands as well, though they are not quite as extensive as the lands I own in Ireland, which I inherited from my mother’s family when she died,” said Mr. Southerland. He had been droning on and on about his family’s extensively self-obtained wealth to Olivia. All previous conversations with Mr. Southerland had also borne the same tone.

Olivia now knew that Mr. Southerland was an expert rider. “You shall have to ride with me, Miss Olivia. I could teach you if you would like.”

She also knew that he was an expert fisherman and hunter. “I could teach you how to catch a sizable fish if you would like.”

He was apparently a very fine and adept business man. “I had to learn to take over my father’s trade, you see. I could teach you a few business tricks if you would like.”

And he was also an extraordinarily talented musician, knowing how to play both the pianoforte “as well as the greatest of composers,” and the flute, which he learned to play in tribute to his mother's homeland. “I could teach you how to play if you would like, Miss Olivia.”

He always seemed to want to teach her how to do things, as though in all her years, young though they were, she had not learned a thing on her own. And whenever he spoke about his varied hobbies and ventures, he seemed to be the absolute best at everything he tried. Though she did not believe Mr. Southerland to be as expert as he had led her to believe in all the things he liked to brag about, Olivia scarcely grew tired of listening to him speak, mainly because it was so entertaining.

The man had absolutely no shame or modesty, but it did not make him unlikable. It merely gave him a childish quality. He was very impressed with his own cleverness, and wanted to share the details of his accomplishments with anyone who would listen, just like a child who has learned something new. And when she was in the proper, accommodating mood, Olivia would indulge him and let him speak. If she was not in the mood, however, she would shut him up by asking him to do things for her, which turned out to be surprisingly easy.