Stephanie James (26 page)

“What are you doing here?” Philip asked suddenly.

“Oh, come now, Philip,” said Charlotte, laughing a bit as she spoke. “This is a park, is it not? It is perfectly natural for me to be here in the afternoon.”

“That is not what I meant,” said Philip, still looking for Olivia. He found her next to the lake, engrossed in conversation with his mother, sister, and Lady Lillian. He relaxed slightly knowing that she was all right.

“What are you doing here, talking to me?” he clarified.

“Do I need a reason?” Charlotte asked coyly.

Philip cleared his throat and removed her hands from his arm. She looked a little more than offended at this, but Philip found himself unable to care in this moment.

“From what I remember of my proposal of marriage,” he said as he released her fingers as though they were something disgusting, “you decided that you wanted nothing more to do with me. Indeed, you told me — no, rather you ordered me to leave your house immediately after I asked for your hand in marriage, so yes … I would say you do in fact require a reason for wanting to speak to me now.”

She looked flustered, possibly losing her resolve, but she regained her composure quickly enough. “Really, Philip,” she said, her voice shaking. “I saw you from afar and wanted to say hello. It has been so long since I have seen you. I hear you are quite a success in business now.”

“Yes, I am,” he said.

Charlotte smiled broadly. Her apparent approval of his current monetary status irritated Philip. He was tempted to tell her that thanks to his success, he now probably had more money than her new husband, the Earl Norland, but he refrained, opting instead for something much more proper, but no less impugning.

“Is the earl with you?”

Again, her cool expression faltered, only this time Philip saw, for the briefest of moments, a look of absolute disgust come over her face.

“No,” she said firmly. “The earl is at home.”

“I see.”

“Philip,” she said, her tone becoming quite desperate. “I want you to know that I do still think of you.”

Good God, he did not need this right now.

“I see,” he said. “Well, there is little I can do about that, Lady Norland. You have made your choice.”

He turned to leave, but she spoke again.

“Will you be at the Duke and Duchess of Willingham’s ball tomorrow night?”

Philip’s cold resolve against her softened a bit. He knew no woman could possibly enjoy being married to the Earl Norland, despite the title and massive wealth the man would give her. Norland was disgusting and cruel, but Charlotte had not been forced to marry him. Nevertheless, in this moment, with her eyes wide and desperate, Philip remembered how he had loved her once.

He remembered how he used to make her laugh. He realized now that she had probably been faking her laughter in order to keep him interested, but at least he had attempted to be humorous for her. He very much doubted Norland did the same. How miserable she must be now, Philip realized, and then he began to pity her.

“I attend every year, Charlotte.”

• • •

She could hear the music downstairs in the ballroom. She could hear the distant chatter of people, and even smell the fragrance of the many floral arrangements that had been ordered for the occasion. But despite the happy mood of all the clatter and chatter and smells, Olivia had yet to force herself away from her vanity table.

Two days had passed and still she had not got over the incident. She had thought herself safe, the duchess and all her friends (minus Lady Denham, of course) having made her feel so welcomed. But then, as if God had meant to remind her of her place, Olivia had spotted the black-haired girl who had tortured her in London two years ago. And what had made it worse was that the girl obviously knew Lord Philip.

In that moment, Olivia realized with absolute certainty that she could never be good enough for Lord Philip. The black-haired girl (whose name Olivia did know but refused to use) was noble and well-bred and delicate. She was just the sort of lady an equally well-bred man like Lord Philip would hope to marry. How, wondered Olivia, had she ever been so foolish as to think she could mean anything to a man like Lord Philip?

She covered her face with her hands out of embarrassment as she remembered all the times she had belittled him. She remembered both times they had kissed as well. But unlike every other time she had remembered kissing Lord Philip, now she did not remember the moments with a sense of shameful embarrassment. Instead, she thought back on those moments and treasured them.

He was actually very kind. She remembered how he had sat by her side as she cried and then made her tea. Despite all the nasty words she had flung at him, despite all the trouble she had given him, and all the dirty looks and accusations, he had found it within himself to comfort her. And for a time, Olivia had felt at ease in his presence.

Olivia lifted her face out of her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. She longed to go back to the time when she was happy living alone with her father in Dorset. She had been normal then, no worries or cares in the world. She was beginning to forget what such a life felt like.

She wished she had never met Lord Philip.

Olivia examined her common face in the mirror with disdain and anger, anger because she would have to live the whole of her life with just those two memories of affection with the only man she had ever loved, the only man she would love.

Love.

There, she admitted it. She loved him.

But she could never have him.

Wiping away her tears frantically, Olivia stood suddenly, intent on finally leaving her room to join the party. She brushed a bit of powder under her eyes to hide the redness in her face. Mr. Southerland would be in attendance, she remembered as she smoothed out her dress. He was common, just like her. He was an equal and therefore obtainable. He was not desirable and admittedly annoying, but he was kind enough to serve as a husband.

Resigned to the idea, dismal though it was, Olivia decided she would use everything in her power to manipulate Mr. Southerland into proposing. She wanted to be married now more than ever. Partly because she knew she would not have many chances living in the middle of the Dorset countryside, but mainly because she wanted to forget that she loved Lord Philip.

Perhaps another man would help.

• • •

As the carriage moved along the street, bringing him closer to his parents’ house, Philip had but one singular thought on his mind: Olivia. Everything else was merely peripheral — thoughts of the ball itself, the music, food, and people who would be in attendance (hopefully Charlotte would not be). Only Olivia mattered tonight.

He would ask her tonight. He wasn’t quite sure where yet, perhaps the garden next to his mother’s prized rosebushes. He had already solicited Mr. Winter for his permission. The old man had not been happy at first, having felt as if Philip had been romancing his own daughter under his nose. But after a lengthy talk, during which Philip reassured Mr. Winter that he loved Olivia like no other, he was able to gain her father’s blessing. Philip was free to ask Olivia to marry him.

And he was certain she would say yes. She had kissed him with such abandon, such passion and affection, he was positively sure that she felt as strongly about him as he did her. Once he explained why seemingly abandoned her, she would understand, and she would agree to be his wife.

The carriage pulled up to the house. People were bustling to get inside away from the cold air. Philip stood at the back of the large crowd, peering around shoulders and heads to see if the queue were moving. He finally made it past the door, but now he had to be announced. Everyone in the line was still and calm, chatting pleasantly with other guests — politics amongst men, dresses and hairstyles amongst women. Philip, however, was rocking his weight from foot to foot, chewing on his nails and fidgeting with his waistcoat as he waited. He was wasting time standing here. He should already be in the ballroom, dancing happily with Olivia … provided she did in fact accept his proposal. And good God did he hope she accepted. Philip was beginning to develop a fear of marriage proposals, having thrice been refused, one of the refusals belonging to Olivia herself.

“Are you quite all right, Lord Philip?” said an elderly voice.

Philip looked around and saw a small old lady with black feathers in her gray hair. “Oh, yes, Lady Chatsworth,” he said. “I am quite all right.”

The lady did not appear to be satisfied. “Are you quite certain? I do not believe I have ever seen you quite so … so, nervous.”

“Yes, well, I — crowds make me nervous from time to time.”

Lady Chatsworth lifted an eyebrow. “Crowds which contain a certain young lady, perhaps?”

“Pardon?”

A sympathetic look came over the old woman’s face and she patted his forearm. “Never you mind, dear. You are better off.”

What the devil was the old bat on about? “I am sorry, Lady Chatsworth, but I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, yes, yes, quite right, indeed, young Ravenshaw,” she said, patting his arm again and winking as though she were a co-conspirator. “You shall not hear me speak of it … though if you ask me,” she added quickly, “she is a right little idiot for choosing Norland over you.”

“
What?
” asked Philip, stunned out of his wits. Had he really just heard what he thought he heard? But before he could ask Lady Chatsworth just exactly how she had found out, his name was announced to the ballroom.

“Lord Philip Ravenshaw!”

For a moment, as his name was announced, Philip felt every eye in the room on him. Was he imagining seeing sympathetic looks on their faces? How many more of them knew about Charlotte? And, most importantly, just who had let the story slip? The mystery of how the story had come to be in circulation amongst society would have to wait as Philip had a much more pressing matter to tend to: he had to find Olivia.

He wandered around the room, searching the dance floor and amidst the clusters of talking people, but she was not there. She could not be absent, Philip knew. To refuse to come to a ball which was taking place in the same residence in which she was staying would be an unforgivable insult to her host.

“Oh, Lord Philip!” cried a female voice.

“Lady Charlton,” said Philip, bowing customarily. “How lovely to see you this evening.”

“It is lovely to see you too, my lord. You remember my daughter, don’t you? Lady Agnes?”

Philip suppressed a groan. And so it began, a long line of mothers attempting to foist their daughters upon the first eligible man who would have her. Interestingly enough, Philip noticed that the line before him of mothers with daughters was significantly longer than it had ever before been. And he had a very strong suspicion that his sudden popularity had quite a lot to do with his success in business. What vultures women of society were.

“Oh, Lord Philip!” cried yet another female voice.

Philip turned to see Lady Denham with her daughter Lady Lillian following close behind her. “How lovely to see you,” she said.

“And you Lady Denham,” said Philip, again bowing customarily as he spoke. “I trust you are in good health?”

“Oh, yes indeed,” she said. “My Lillian is looking well tonight also, don’t you think?”

Philip saw Lady Lillian blush at the comment. Lady Denham was severely lacking in grace and tact, which might have been somewhat funny in an endearing sort of a way were she not also cruel and mean.

“Why yes, I do agree,” said Philip, faking a dreamy sort of tone. “In fact I was hoping — no, wishing I would see you tonight, Lady Lillian.” He bowed deeply. “Please allow me to kiss your hand.”

Lady Lillian, who was noticeably trying to suppress laughter, raised her gloved hand so that Philip might take it. “Indeed you may,” she said.

Philip kissed the back of her hand dramatically, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Lady Denham was beside herself with excitement.

“And now,” said Philip as the music changed, “you simply must honor me with a waltz.”

“I would be delighted,” said Lady Lillian. “That is of course if my mother approv — ”

“Yes of course I approve!” interrupted Lady Denham, pushing her daughter towards Philip. “Go on then and dance!”

Moments later when they were out of earshot of her mother, Lady Lillian allowed herself to finally laugh. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you for that,” she said.

“Think nothing of it,” said Philip, smiling. “It was the least I could do.”

“I am not even out in society and already she is parading me around to all the bachelors. Really, it is all quite embarrassing.”

“One sympathizes,” said Philip. “But certainly not with the gentleman. They should feel privileged to be in your presence, Lady Lillian.”

She giggled. But Lillian was not the only one giggling at the moment.

Just across the way was Olivia, laughing at something Mr. Southerland had said. And while she was laughing, Southerland seized the opportunity to step closer to whisper something more intimate, something which caused Olivia’s eyelids to blink seductively and a pleased little smile to spread across her face.

Philip watched the scene as he continued their waltz, jerking his head round to keep a constant eye on Olivia and Mr. Southerland … but mainly Mr. Southerland, who was still finding little ways to touch Olivia. When the waltz ended, Philip had had more than his fill of the scene. He dropped Lady Lillian’s hands right as the music stopped and left her standing in the middle of the dance floor. It was a very rude thing to do, but in this moment Philip did not care.

“That slimy bastard,” he said, completely audible to all the couples he cut through, but again he cared little. He had to put a stop to Southerland’s nonsense.

But as he winded his way thought the throngs of people separating him from Olivia, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Philip, darling!”

Philip groaned. “Good God, Charlotte, where
is
your husband?”