My Only Love (17 page)

"Fine!"
he shouted back, focusing on his wife's white, furious features. "In case
it hasn't sunk in yet, Mrs. Warwick, I don't give a fig what you feel for me.
That was the understanding, if you'll recall. This so-called marriage was
agreed upon for two reasons: to alleviate my money woes and to help restore
your reputation that got blown to hell when you spread your legs for Bryan's
father!"

She
gasped. Stumbled back. Stared at him as if he'd shot her. Then her hand swung
with the ferocity of a striking snake and struck him across the cheek so hard
the world turned red.

Someone
cleared their throat.

Olivia
blinked as reality crashed in around her.

Miles,
his face furious and his cheek throbbing like fire, turned away.

Superintendent
Hargreaves closed the door, and looking more than a little discomfited, moved
to his desk where the Register lay open, waiting to be signed by the bride and
groom. Removing a pair of spectacles from his pocket, he placed them on his
nose and appeared to study the page. Finally, he looked up at Olivia. "I
feel I must explain to you that should you decide not to sign this register,
the previous ceremony will be declared null and void."

Laughter
sounded in the hallway—couples waiting to be married—a wealth of
congratulations from their guests. Miles stood at the desk edge, his fingers
pressed against it as he stared over the Superintendent's shoulder at a framed
oil painting of Queen Victoria. He could see Olivia's reflection in the glass.
Her color was high, her features defiant. A tickling of disconcertion centered
in his chest.

"Well?"
Hargreaves said, his features somber as an undertaker's. "Miss
Devonshire?"

Olivia
flashed one last look at Miles, then bent to sign her name with a flourish in
the book.

They
joined their guests in the crowded hallway— Lord Devonshire, Bertrice, and Earl
Warwick. Bryan threw himself into Olivia's arms and kissed her on the cheek.

Lord
Devonshire pulled Miles aside and quietly explained that duty called him back
to Devonswick.

"It's
Emily. I worry about her. She's so frail, and since the death of my wife . ..
Well, you understand."

Miles
stared down into his father-in-law's countenance and said nothing.
Devonshire's was a fat face, sallow and puffy. The man was completely selfish,
Miles realized, entrusting his loyal daughter's life to a malfeasant like
him—all for the sake of Emily's happiness.

"I'll
be off then," Devonshire announced and turned for the door.

"What?"
Miles said, bringing Devonshire to an abrupt stop and a slow rotation toward
him. The old man stood where he was, swaying a little and breathing heavily.
Miles continued. "No intense and private instruction from a father on how
a man such as myself should treat his daughter? No politely muttered threats on
what might happen to me should I abuse her sensibilities?"

"Well,
I—"

"Not
even a word of good-bye to her? No assurances that if her life with me should
become hell on earth that she has a place to which she can go for support? I
think a simple affectionate peck on the cheek would suffice."

"You
have little room to criticize, sir, considering your deplorable behavior today,
for the last week, for that matter. I'm surprised that the gel went through
with it at all. You know what they say, Kemball. He who lives in glass houses
shouldn't throw stones." Devonshire hitched up his trousers then, and with
a jut of his jaw, quit the building.

"The
old bastard should be tied up and horsewhipped," Damien said behind Miles.

He
glanced at Damien over his shoulder. The unnerving realization struck him in
that moment that Olivia's own family showed little caring about her feelings
and welfare, while Damien, despite Miles's illegitimacy and all the trouble he
had caused the Warwicks through the years, had come today in a show of support.

"You're
wanting to put your fist through his teeth, aren't you?" Damien said.

"Why
would I want to do that, Dame? The sonofabitch is about to make me a very
wealthy man."

"Because
rattling around in that vast but empty cavity of your chest is the stirrings of
a human heart. I've often suspected that it's been there—even denied it to
myself because I don't particularly like you. The rather abhorrent fact is,
you're a lot like me, you know. When I returned from America I was the most
cold, calculating, distant bastard I had ever known. But that was before I met
Bonnie. Do you feel guilty?"

"Yes."

"Good.
That means there's hope, or there should be if Olivia will forgive you. I
suspect that she will. She really doesn't strike me as a vindictive, petty
woman. If she were, I suspect Bryan's father would have long since felt the
bite of the courts. Who knows, perhaps you'll end up happy."

A
force hit Miles's leg in that moment, and squeezed. He looked down to find
Bryan gazing up, green eyes round and cheeks blooming with color.

Damien
laughed. "What's wrong, Papa? You look as if you've never been fallen upon
by a child before."

"I
haven't. And don't call me that. I'm not his papa,"

he
added for Earl Warwick's ears alone.

Damien's
smile didn't waver. "I would wager that he doesn't bite."

"Are
you certain? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that drool at the corners of
his lips?"

"He
seems fond of you, Kemball. What are you afraid of?"

"I've
heard rumors of children's unpredictability."

"Having
never grown up yourself, I imagine you could relate rather well."

Miles
lifted one eyebrow in Damien's direction. Damien only laughed.

Going
to one knee, Miles mustered a smile for the curious child. What did one say to
a four-year-old? How did one say it? The sudden realization that he would be
staring into the child's face every day for several years to. come made his
stomach feel strange. Not exactly as if he wanted to jump and run, but close to
it.

Bryan
mumbled something, then looked at his feet.

Miles
bent lower and focused hard on Bryan's little face. "I didn't hear
you," he said.

The
boy timidly tucked in his chin a little more and whispered, "You made
Mummy cry."

"I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to."

"But
you did."

Taking
a deep breath, Miles glanced up at Damien, who regarded him and the boy
intensely. His look said, Get yourself out of this one gracefully.

"Bryan,"
he began, "I'm very certain that we're all going to be very happy at
Braithwaite." He tipped up the lad's face with one finger. "Perhaps
we'll go riding sometime. Or maybe I'll show you a few of the secret places
where I used to hide and play when I was a little boy."

Bryan's
eyes sparkled with interest. "Secret places?"

"Hidden
rooms and hallways where I would pretend that I was a king of a castle
surrounded by my knights in shining armor."

"My
mummy used to say that one day a knight in shinin' armor was goin' to come and
take us away from Grandpapa and Aunt Emily." Wrinkling his little nose and
screwing his pink mouth to one side, he whispered, "They don't like me
very much."

Damien
stopped smiling.

Miles
laid his hand on the lad's shoulder and felt some emotion unfurl inside him.
Anger. Not just anger, but fury. Heartbreak. Embarrassment for the boy. Empathy
all wrapped up in a painful ribbon of understanding.

Suddenly
Bryan's eyes grew rounder and greener as excitement lit up his face. "
'Cept we got somethin' better than a knight in shinin' armor, didn't we, sir?
We got a king instead!"

Bryan
then dashed down the hallway as if on wings.

"Very
nice," Earl Warwick said. "Wouldn't it be a shock to discover that
children actually like you? Or, even more surprising, that you actually like
children."

"Children
like me? Surely you jest, Damien. We both know that I'm the sort from whom
children run for the sake of their lives."

'He
was running all right. But it wasn't from fear. I do believe you've made Master
Bryan very, very happy. I suspect that tonight he'll be dreaming of dragon
slaying and rescuing damsels in distress."

Miles
stood; he straightened his jacket and wondered at the odd expression on
Damien's face. Earl Warwick regarded him with an unwavering display of curiosity,
and something else Miles couldn't quite place.

"Tell
me," Earl Warwick said quietly, looking again toward the door through
which Bryan had escaped. "Did you say that you had known Olivia some years
ago?"

"Yes."

"How
well did you know her?"

"I
was infatuated by her sister at the time and took no notice of her at
all."

"Emily?"
Earl Warwick affected a shudder. "Good God, what any man sees in that
ill-natured little witch I'll never know. For the life of me I can't understand
what Clanricarde finds remotely appealing in the fair-haired little brat."

"You
wouldn't. You have eyes only for Bonnie." He grinned.

"How
long did you spend with Emily?"

He
shrugged in an offhand manner. "Can't say as I recall. Or care. Might have
been a few weeks, or months. It's been so long ago—"

"How
long?"

"Five
years, give or take a few months." "Obviously, just before she and
Olivia left for Europe."

Miles
frowned and glanced around for his wife. His wife.

Odd
that he should think of her that way so quickly. Especially since he'd spent
the entire morning doing his best to evade her.

His
hands in his pockets, he moved down the corridor to the Marriage Room, which
was now occupied by another couple and their guests—all village folk, their
features lined by hardship and weather. The bride, however, looked radiant, the
groom a trifle uncertain but happy. Amid them stood Olivia, pinning her own
favors to their attire, bringing even greater pleasure to their faces, flashing
them a smile as they congratulated her in return.

When
she joined him at last, he said, "What were you doing in there?"

"I
had made too many favors," she replied. "I thought it would be a
shame for them to go to waste."

Then
she left him standing in the hallway looking after her.

The
journey home seemed to take an eternity. The ride was grueling, with little to
see along the Rash roadside but vast stretches of brown grass and craggy hills.
But Olivia kept her face averted, pretending to find pleasure in the monotonous
countryside while her stomach was knotted up like a fist.

Miles
had instructed Bryan and Bertrice to take another coach to Braithwaite,
pointing out, with a somewhat cryptic smile, that this was their wedding day.
Newly-weds had a right to their privacy, after all. As the driver opened the
coach door and offered his hand to Olivia, she carefully stepped down and
glanced back for her son's coach.

'They'll
be along later," Warwick said behind her.

As
usual, Sally met them at the door, red hair in strings, uniform unkempt, her
disposition surly. She took Olivia's cloak, then turned to Miles as he removed
his.

"I've
made meat pies and tea for supper. I s'pose there will be enough for the two of
ya. I hope ya like meat pies," she said to Olivia, " 'cause I don't
know how to cook much else. Don't really like to cook, and besides,

150
Katherine Sutcliffe

that
wasn't what I was hired to do."

"I'm
certain meat pies will be fine, Miss . . . ?" "Pinney," Sally
replied.

"Miss
Pinney. And you needn't worry about there being enough for the two of us. I'm
not very hungry"

"Suit
yerself."

Sally
turned away. "Miss Pinney," Olivia called. "What?" Sally
replied without glancing over her shoulder as she headed out of the vestibule.
"Miss Pinney."

Sally
stopped and looked back, frowning.

"You
haven't been dismissed," Olivia pointed out.

Amusement
and disbelief flashed across the servant's features. Warwick regarded them both
with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised.

"Until
I can find a full-time cook, you'll please check with me from now on regarding
the day's menu. I'm certain I shouldn't have great difficulty in finding a
cook. I understand there's a wonderful French chef who's just resigned his
position at an estate in Scrafton. I'll pen him a letter tomorrow."

"Right,"
Sally grumbled. "Will that be all?" she added somewhat sarcastically.

Olivia
nodded and the maid trundled off, muttering under her breath and dragging
Miles's coat on the floor.

"I
see you and Sally will get along famously." Warwick stood in semidarkness,
the light from the sconce on the wall making shadows on his hair and shoulders.
In truth, the entire vestibule seemed immensely gloomy and cold.