Stephanie James (22 page)

She had imagined there would be a certain amount of resistance when she had asked him to go look through the field for a flower to match the color of her dress, but he had done it. And not only had he agreed to complete the task, but he left her side, rushing for a patch of wildflowers growing in the meadow before she had a chance to complete the question. Indeed, she had to yell out the specifics of her request — “one the color of my dress!” — to his back as he darted away.

While he had been off looking for the flower, she had leaned back against the tree beneath which she had been standing, closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp November breeze that caressed her face.

Silence at last,
she had thought, as it had not only been Mr. Southerland who had been speaking to her, but Lord Masters as well, though conversations with him were much more forced. He never seemed to be able to think of things to say, and as a result, they would often lapse into silence and awkwardly stare at one another until one of them found something to say.

Mr. Southerland, on the other hand, was not the type to find himself without words, much like now …

“Yes, indeed, my lands in Ireland are quite magnificent,” he said, and then lowered his head with a regretful look on his face, “but I would trade them all to have my mother alive again.”

Olivia said nothing. He clearly wanted her to be excessively feminine and react very dramatically to this statement. “Oh, you poor dear!” He probably wanted her to say something to that effect, but she would not. She had been speaking (listening) to him for almost an hour and she was not in the proper and accommodating mood for more of his bragging.

And as a result of growing bored with his conversation, she began looking around the room, which proved to be as equally as boring as listening to Mr. Southerland, who kept droning on (again), though she was not sure about what as she was not listening.

The duke and her father were speaking, and since they seemed to be getting along, Olivia chose not to worry about the particulars of their conversation. Lord Masters was standing by himself with a cup of tea. He was rocking his weight from one foot to the other while staring at the floor, something he often did whenever he was trying to think of something to say. Doubtless Olivia would next be entertained by his company.

Lord Philip was speaking with Lord Brighton, who had thankfully left her alone after her odd comments about rugs and ceilings. Lord Philip did not appear to be listening, now that she looked more closely. He was instead staring over the man’s shoulder. Apparently she and Lord Philip were having much the same night.

She next looked for the women. It took her a moment to find them, and when she did her curiosity was most definitely roused. They were all crowded together on a sofa, Lady Albright leaning rather closely from her chair. Their heads were lowered and close together, and they were whispering in a way that was completely suspicious to Olivia. What could they possibly be discussing which would call for them to be so apparently secretive?

Suddenly, they all leapt to their feet, but slowed themselves as they began to walk about the room, smiling conspiratorially at one another as their gazes met. What were they doing?

“Miss Olivia?”

Lady Lillian left the room. Where was she going?

“Miss Olivia?”

Lady Albright looked at her. Their eyes met. Lady Albright smiled as though she had been caught in the act of something, and then she quickly turned to Lord Masters and began speaking to him.

Lady Amelia approached Lord Brighton and began speaking, sliding rather rudely in front of Lord Philip to do so.

Lady Lillian returned with a book and approached Olivia’s father. She opened the book, pointed to something, and must have asked him a question because next he was craned over the open book, apparently contemplating whatever had been asked of him.

What the devil was going on? And did her father even read enough to answer whatever Lady Lillian was asking?

“Miss Olivia!”

“Yes?” Olivia answered, snapping her head around rather quickly in Mr. Southerland’s direction.

“I was just remarking on how adept a chess player I am. I can teach you the game if you would like.”

Olivia managed to suppress a groan.

“Perhaps another night,” she said. “At the moment I haven’t the head for games, I daresay.”

“Have you got an ache of the head?” he asked. “It might not be entirely proper for a lady to imbibe sprits, but a glass of whiskey will do you good.”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Olivia, looking around the room. Where had the duchess gone?

“Would you like a glass?” asked Mr. Southerland.

“A glass of what?” asked Olivia, turning her attention reluctantly back to him.

“Whiskey,” he said, his frustration becoming evident in his tone. “Would you like a glass of whiskey?”

“Oh, no, I never indulge,” she said. “But I do believe I shall retire. Perhaps rest will cure the ache. Will you excuse me?”

Mr. Southerland bowed to Olivia. “Of course, miss,” he said. “I do hope you feel better.”

But before Olivia could quickly thank him and leave, the duchess reappeared in the room and walked straight at where she was standing with Mr. Southerland.

“Miss Olivia, Mr. Southerland,” said the duchess. “Are the two of you having a pleasant evening?”

“Very pleasant,” said Olivia politely.

“Yes, very pleasant,” agreed Mr. Southerland. “Miss Olivia, however, is affected by a headache and was about to retire.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dear,” said the duchess. “A few moments of sitting and you shall be good as new. The night is young. There is no need to retire so early. Come, come and sit down for a spell.”

The duchess whisked her away from Mr. Southerland to seat her on a sofa. But instead of choosing the nearest sofa, the duchess chose the one on the other side of the room near where Lord Philip was now standing on his own, still staring at the floor, teacup in hand. What was she playing at?

“Here,” said the duchess. “You should feel better shortly. And the heat from the fireplace will most certainly help.”

But she had just seated Olivia on the sofa which was farthest from the fireplace. Without another word, the duchess returned to Mr. Southerland and began a conversation with him, leaving Olivia even more confused than ever. Really, what was going on? Was she really so unlikable that the women felt the need to ostracize her from the group? Why would they have a cause to do such a thing? Olivia could not recall committing any terrible social blunders. She had behaved perfectly … hadn’t she?

The thought was maddening, and the more Olivia thought about it the more likely her assumptions became. How dare they, those snooty, snobbish, little —

“Miss Olivia?”

Olivia looked up and found herself staring into the face of Lord Philip. She was not expecting to see him standing over her. Indeed, she was not expecting him to speak to her at all, but here he was. She did not want to speak to him, especially now that she was boiling over the thought of being snubbed by more women of London’s high society.

She had come to terms with what had happened between them beside the river all those months ago. She had finally grown used to being in the same room with him as well … so long as they did not speak. And if he had caught her in a better mood, perhaps she would have made an effort to be nicer to him. But as it happened, when she looked up into his eyes, the first words to leave her mouth were:

“What do you want?”

• • •

He was not off to a good start. He had seen her sitting by herself, not speaking to anyone. And as he was not speaking to anyone, he decided that it would have been entirely rude not to speak to her … so to speak.

And so he had worked up the courage to walk over and talk to her. Courage was required to initiate a conversation with Miss Olivia because Philip was never entirely certain when or where or why she would snap at him.

Once he’d decided to speak to her, he’d been hopeful that perhaps she would be in a good mood. Perhaps they could actually speak without anger coming between the two of them. Perhaps if he chose his words carefully enough, she would have no reason to become upset with him. Apparently he was wrong because here she sat, glaring up at him. He decided to ignore the impulse to give an explanation for why he had chosen to speak to her.

“Are you having a pleasant evening?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, though her tone contradicted her statement.

They stared at each other a moment.

“I see you are getting along with my family and Lady Lillian.”

Philip watched as her nostrils flared. Had he said something wrong? Was she not getting along with them?

“Yes, we are all getting on just famously,” she said, her tone becoming even more agitated.

“Splendid,” said Philip. Then they fell silent once more.

“I suspect the weather tomorrow will be just as fair as today.”

Olivia scoffed. “Does this conversation have a purpose?”

“Well, I suppose I thought I would … I mean, it seemed to me that since no one was speaking to you — I mean, I thought since — ”

“So,” Olivia interrupted, “in other words, no, this conversation has no point.”

Not only did the conversation apparently have no point, but it was not going very well, either. Clearly now was not the time to try and speak to her pleasantly. Philip hated that he had failed. He hated that he had not managed to accomplish his goal with one conversation. He wanted her to like him now. He wanted to win out over Mr. Southerland and Lord Master’s
now
. He could not stand to see her basking in their attention another day. He wanted her for himself. He wanted to keep trying with this conversation. Perhaps if he kept talking Olivia might calm down. Then he realized what he was thinking. Olivia calm down? Impossible.

He had to leave her as quickly as possible. The less agitated with him she became with him in this moment, the greater his chances for success were later. Devil take it, he hated waiting, but this time he would evidently have to be patient. He could not rush this one as he had everything else in his life.

“Forgive me, Miss Olivia, but I believe I shall retire now,” said Philip, and then he bowed to her. “I hope the rest of your evening is more pleasant. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she replied tightly.

He turned on his heel and left the room without saying a word to anyone else.

“Mr. Winter,” the duchess said from across the room.

“Yes, your grace?” replied Mr. Winter, looking up from the book Lady Lillian was holding before him.

Olivia’s attention was captivated as well, her teacup forgotten in her hands. What could the duchess possibly have to say to her father?

“Do you much travel to London?” asked the duchess.

“No, your grace, I do not,” replied Mr. Winter. “I am afraid my business requires me to visit many locations, but somehow I have managed to bypass London.”

The duchess frowned playfully. “Oh, how unfortunate,” she said, “for London is one of the world’s most beautiful cities.”

Olivia had to hold in a laugh. Though it had been some time since she had been to London, she remembered only too well the sooty rain, muddy streets, and beggars clothed in rags. She had left the city ever thankful that she had been born and raised deep within the country.

“Oh, it is a beautiful place, to be sure, your grace,” Mr. Winter agreed. “I took Olivia to London for a Season about two years ago.”

The duchess looked at Olivia. “And how did you find London, Miss Olivia?”

Olivia took a moment to search her mind for the most diplomatic answer possible. “I have never seen anything quite like London, your grace.”

The duchess appeared to approve of this statement because she smiled warmly. “The loveliest time of year to visit London is, of course, Christmas,” said the duchess. “Tell me, Mr. Winter, would you be at all interested in visiting during that time?”

Olivia’s heart sank. She knew now where this conversation was going, and she had to do her best to stop it. But her opportunities to do so were disappearing fast.

“I would be most interested,” said Mr. Winter. “Though I admit to knowing very little of traveling to London, I daresay finding decent lodgings this close to Christmas will be next to impossible.”

“It’s all right, Papa,” said Olivia. “I was quite looking forward to Christmas at Whistler Manor. Richard will be coming home and I was so hoping — ”

“Of course you must stay with us,” interrupted the duchess. “We would be glad to have you.”

“Oh, we would not want to impose,” said Mr. Winter. “And yes, my son will be joining us, so there will be three of us to attend to. I wouldn’t want to be a burden on your household, my lady. Perhaps we will visit another time?”

Olivia continued to look on, hopeful that “another time” would never come to pass. She could not go back to London; she would not go back to London. Such a miserable place it was. She had never acquired so many horrible memories so quickly in all her life. She would not relive any of them if she could help it.

“Very good, Papa,” said Olivia. “Perhaps another — ”

“We have plenty of room, Mr. Winter,” said the duchess. “I will not take no for an answer. Do say you will come to London and join us for Christmas, won’t you?”

Mr. Winter looked at the floor thoughtfully. “Well, I shall have to write to my son to make certain he can join us there.”

“Wonderful!” said the duchess, clapping her hands together. “What fun we will all have together!”

• • •

She needed to be alone. It was more than three hours since her father had made the decision to drag his family to London for Christmas and Olivia still had not got over the shock of it, primarily because all she could do after her father’s decision was remain silent. It would not do to throw a tantrum in front of such prestigious company. Not that Olivia was given to throwing tantrums, but she rather thought she could under the present circumstances. She was being forced to go back to a place she hated, a place where she had been ridiculed and made to feel unworthy and totally useless. And it would all happen again, of that Olivia was quite sure, for how could London be any different this time? Had the women of London society really changed so much in the last two years? Olivia highly doubted such a possibility. They were probably much more mean than Olivia remembered, or in the very least just as mean.