Robin Lee Hatcher (28 page)

She lowered her hands from her ears and turned to face her mother.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Her mother closed the door behind her, then crossed the room, reaching out to take Olivia’s hand. “Sit with me for a moment, will you? We must talk.”

“Oh, Mama . . .”

“Please, dear.”

Reluctantly she allowed her mother to draw her to the sofa near one of the two fireplaces in her bedchamber. In unison, they sat down.

Her mother’s light blue eyes searched Olivia’s face for a long while before she spoke. “I want you to tell me what happened while you were gone from New York.”

“It isn’t important.”

“Yes, it is. I think it’s very important.”

Olivia glanced toward the window.

Her mother’s grip tightened on her hand. “Olivia, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t hide from the truth.” Her voice grew soft. “Don’t be like me.”

Olivia looked at her mother again.

Anna leaned forward. “Listen to me. I know what it means to withdraw inside yourself. I’ve hidden from the truth for so many years, it’s become second nature to me. But that’s no way to live.”

She kissed her mother’s cheek but remained silent.

“Who is he?” Anna asked. “The man you love.”

Olivia shook her head, as if to deny such a man existed.

“Tell me about him, dear.”

Tears trickled down Olivia’s cheeks.

“It might help to talk about him,” her mother encouraged.

“It won’t help. Nothing will help.”

Anna gathered her into her arms, pressing Olivia’s head against her chest. “Oh, my darling daughter, tell me what has happened. Tell me what has hurt you so deeply.”

The words began to pour out of her then, just as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She told her mother about Amanda Blue and the Blue Springs Ranch, about Dan and Sawyer Deevers, about Alistair McGregor and Ronald Aberdeen, about old Lightning and Misty and her pups, about Pete and Lynette Fisher, even about Timothy Bevins.

Then, in a halting voice, she told her mother about Remington, about falling in love with him, about his betrayal.

For a long time after Olivia fell silent, after her tears were dry, her mother held her, rocking her gently. Then she said, “Olivia, you must tell the viscount you cannot marry him. You must break it off before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late. I’m going to marry and go to England.”

Her mother took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Mr. Walker didn’t lie to you about the telegram. I saw it. He told your father to give up looking for you. He told Northrop you couldn’t be found.”

A
breathless
no
escaped Olivia’s parted lips.

“It’s true. I promise you, it’s true.”

From his office in the Vanderhoff Shipping warehouse on the East River, Northrop could see Governors Island, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. Churning its way through the choppy, whitecapped river, the Fulton ferry headed toward its slip on South Street. Tall sails waved over ships docked at piers lining the riverbank, and smoke belched from chimneys above the low, steep-roofed loft buildings of lower Manhattan.

Northrop rarely visited the warehouse these days, though when he was a lad, he had often joined his grandfather here. Even then he’d dreamed of Vanderhoff warehouses in ports around the world, and he’d seen those dreams come true through the years. Now Olivia’s marriage to Lord Lambert would expand his empire even farther.

He laughed. To think he’d been willing to settle for a railroad from Gregory James. A railroad was something he could buy. In fact, he now owned all the American railroads he needed.

It seemed Olivia had done him a favor by bolting all those years ago. It hadn’t occurred to him back then to look beyond New York for a son-in-law, not until he’d witnessed for himself the number of American heiresses marrying titled Englishmen. Now his daughter would be a countess and the mother of earls, and Northrop would profit.

He frowned as his thoughts turned to Remington Walker. Why had the detective sought out Olivia at the Harrisons’ soiree? Northrop didn’t doubt that Olivia once fancied herself in love with the man. Had Walker hoped to rekindle the alliance upon his return to New York? Had he actually hoped to marry Olivia and get himself a piece of Vanderhoff Shipping?

Well, it didn’t matter. Olivia was willingly engaged and would soon be wed. Unless Walker was a fool, he would keep silent about the part he played in Olivia Vanderhoff’s return to Manhattan. And if he was a fool, Northrop would find a way to silence him.

Turning away from the grimy window, he reached for his hat and walking stick, then headed for the door. He considered going to see Ellen but discarded the idea. There was little pleasure to be found with her these days. Even after all these weeks, his mistress had yet to forgive him for sending his sons away to school. Her anger was evident in her eyes, in her words, even in her bed.

His wife was no more pleasant. Something about Anna had changed over the summer months, although he wasn’t quite sure what.

He clenched his jaw as he settled against the plush seat of his carriage. Why were the women in his life so bent on making him miserable?

Olivia stared at her mother, unable to believe what she’d heard. Not daring to believe it.

Anna took hold of Olivia’s hands and squeezed them. “Go talk to Mr. Walker. He must love you. He tried to protect you.”

She shook her head.

“You can’t marry Lord Lambert, not if you love another man.”

Her throat burned, and she found it difficult to speak. “Father has forbidden me to see Remington.”

“God will help you find a way if you ask Him.” Her mother rose from the sofa, allowing Olivia’s hands to slip from her fingers. “At least think about what I’ve said.” She walked toward the door, accompanied by a whisper of rustling petticoats.

After the door closed, Olivia turned her gaze upon the fire blazing on the hearth, a small voice of hope whispering in her ear,
Remington didn’t tell Father where I was. Remington
didn’t lie about that.

Her mother was right. She had to talk to Remington. She had to listen to his explanation. She had to know the truth.

She closed her eyes. For the first time in months, she allowed memories of Remington, of Sawyer, and of the Blue Springs Ranch to come. She allowed the memories to flood over her, indulging every image.

If it was true . . . if Remington hadn’t betrayed her . . . if he truly did love her . . .

She hugged herself, wanting to believe, for the first time in many weeks, allowing herself to hope.

Twenty-Nine

REMINGTON SET THE LATEST EDITION of the
New York
Times
on the table and looked about the large room of his private club. Businessmen and the idle rich sat in comfortable chairs, most of them reading their newspapers and smoking their pipes or cigars. He wondered how many of them were well-enough connected to receive an invitation to Libby’s wedding.

The thought set his teeth on edge.

During the past week, he had tried everything short of storming the doors of Rosegate in order to see her, but their paths had not crossed again. Now that her engagement to Lord Lambert had been formally announced, his hope waned.

“If you really loved me, you would leave me in peace . . .”

His fist tightened as he heard her words again in his head, remembered the weariness in the way she carried herself. He’d done that to her. He’d put the sadness in her beautiful eyes.

“Remington Walker. What luck!”

He glanced up to find Charlton Bernard standing before him.

“I wonder if you might do me a favor.” Charlton sat on a nearby chair. “My sister—you remember Lillian—is having a supper tonight for a few friends, and she has come up short one gentleman. She made me swear on my life that I wouldn’t return from the club without someone to round out her guest list. Do say you’ll come.”

Remington was about to decline, but Charlton didn’t give him a chance.

“This is Lillian’s first night to shine since her wedding last summer. She and her husband have moved into their new home, and Lillian has run the servants into the ground in preparation for her debut as a hostess. You may have heard that Lord Lambert and his fiancée will be there. Quite an accomplishment for my baby sister. Of course, Mother was none too pleased that Miss Vanderhoff chose to marry that viscount instead of her darling son”—Charlton grinned—“but the old girl’s putting up a good front for Lillian’s sake.” His smile disappeared. “Listen, I know this is terribly poor form to invite you like this, but it would be a tremendous help.”

Remington only half heard what the man said. He’d stopped listening the moment he learned Libby would be there. “I’d be glad to come.”

“Splendid! Here’s Lillian’s address.” He gave Reming-ton a card. “Dinner will be at eight. See you then.” Charlton rose and walked away.

Remington stared at the card in his hand and said a quick thanks to God.

As usual, Olivia let her maid select what she would wear for the evening, but now the reason for her indifference had changed. How could she care about clothes when all that mattered was Remington: to see him, to talk to him, to listen at last to the truth? If only she could find a way to slip out from under her father’s watchful eye.

As if he knew she’d had a change of heart, Northrop hadn’t left Rosegate for the past twenty-four hours. It seemed he was always nearby, watching and listening. Her only sanctuary was her own room.

“You’ll look lovely in this gown, Miss Olivia,” Sophie said as she carried it across the room. “Green really is the best color for you, and this a Worth. It’s no wonder every lady wants her gowns ordered from Paris. Even Mrs. Davenport cannot equal this fine work.”

Olivia didn’t spare the dress a glance. She simply raised her arms and allowed the maid to lift it over her head and drop it down. The fabric, cool and smooth, whispered over her corset and linen chemise,
her cotton drawers, and her dark green stockings. She turned and faced the cheval glass, which reflected her lack of interest as Sophie fastened the closing up her back.

A sash of black watered ribbon cinched the graceful gown of nile green china crepe, and a garniture of pink blossoms adorned her waist. Shirred gauze covered the low, square corsage, and an epaulet of pink flowers rode her left shoulder. The look was new, flattering, and fashionable.

How she missed her trousers and boots! And she hated the pinch of the corset around her rib cage. She longed to draw a deep breath without feeling hindered.

“Your shoes, Miss Olivia.” Sophie scooted the green evening slippers closer to her feet.

Olivia put on the shoes, then moved to the stool in front of her vanity table and sat down so Sophie could dress her hair.

Twisting her engagement ring on her finger, she remained silent. How was she to see Remington as long as her father watched her like a hawk? She couldn’t ask Spencer to take her to Remington’s house again, and she wasn’t sure whom she could trust among the servants. Their employer was ruthless. Could she ask any of them to risk their position by taking a note to Remington? Would she trust the wrong person and find she’d been reported to her father?