Stephanie James (7 page)

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“What is wrong with
you
, Lord Philip, to have assumed I would ever want you for my husband?”

Philip exhaled deeply. “Now, see here,” he began, doing his level best to speak calmly, even though he would have loved to dole out a few more insults to her “I’m sure you are familiar with the fact that for most women in London, the art of finding a husband is a highly competitive sport.”

“I am aware of the fact, yes,” said Olivia, and nodded her head once.

“Then surely you can understand why I was so suspicious of you … a woman.”

She nodded her head again. “I suppose I could, yes. But that still does not pardon your cruel words. You could have simply ignored me.”

“I had a bad experience,” said Philip reluctantly. “Two bad experiences, in fact, and that is all I will say on the matter. I regret that those experiences have left me a bit unable to readily trust others, and I equally regret that you were forced to bear the brunt of my acquired prejudice. I realize now I should not have rushed to form such an evil assumption about your character or your motives.” Philip cleared his throat and straightened his posture once more. “I am … sorry, Miss Winter.”

He even bowed after saying the words in an attempt to show he truly meant them. He watched her face for any sign of a reaction. She simply stared at him with a stoic expression before finally saying, “Congratulations, Lord Philip, you have parted the waters. I accept your apology.”

She turned away quickly and walked up the steps of her home. When her hand was on the door, she turned to face him one last time. “But I still do not like you.”

• • •

Olivia awoke the next morning from a dreamless sleep. The light peeking through her heavy drapes was golden. She could hear birds chirping and flittering around in the tree outside her window, and her chamber was chilled with the crisp air of the new day. She rose from her bed, donning her robe and slippers before treading across her room to the window. She loved that her room faced east and that the lake was there. She liked the way the sunlight reflected off the water in a million little sparkles. The day’s form of stars, she liked to think.

This was her favorite time of day. Everything seemed new and fresh and beautiful. Things were just waking up — the sun, the birds, people in the house, neighbors. But for a time, while things were still quiet, Olivia liked to pretend that she was the only one awake for miles. The morning seemed more personal that way, as though it belonged to her alone. And when the morning was sunny and cheerful like this, her spirits were always joyful. Anything was possible on a day like today.

She would go for a ride after breakfast, to start. She loved to ride. She was free whenever she rode. She could go anywhere she pleased, ride at any speed. There was never anyone around to tell her to slow down or behave more like a lady. Her father had yet to insist she ride with an escort, and she was very glad of that. His mind was often times so preoccupied with other matters that he very rarely remembered to see to his daughter’s propriety. Not that Olivia mattered little to him. On the contrary, she mattered a great deal and she knew it. But where her personal freedoms were concerned, Olivia was content to have her father forget her forever.

She turned away from the window and spotted a pair of her brother’s old breeches laid out on the chaise near the door of her chamber. Olivia’s maid, Betsy, had set them out for her. One corner of her mouth tilted upwards as she remembered her little tiff with Lord Philip over her choice of riding attire the previous day.

She remembered how fiercely he had lectured her on the dangers and disgracefulness of wearing such clothing about the house and its grounds. As the memory of his words floated through her head, she made a quick decision. She would wear the breeches.

She would wear them not only because they were comfortable and provided her ample motility while on the back of a horse, but also because they would bother him if he happened to see her. And Olivia hoped he would see her. She fervently hoped he would see her riding tall and proud in the very garment he had deemed indecent.

She was not his wife. She was not his sister, his ward, or anything else to him. He had not the right to criticize her behavior or to issue orders. And Olivia would see to it that Lord Philip understood his limitations completely.

• • •

“Now, I’ve been breeding Connemara horses for some time,” Mr. Winter was saying to Philip, “but I’ve recently had the good fortune to run across a Friesian horse breeder on a recent trip to Holland.”

They were standing outside of an enclosure near the stables, viewing Mr. Winter’s latest addition to his collection of horses. A few stable hands were running the horse so Philip and Mr. Winter could see the horse’s form. Though Philip was not familiar with the Friesian breed, the animal was simply beautiful — solid muscle and black as night with a long, wavy mane and tail.

“He’s magnificent,” said Philip.

“Yes, he is,” Mr. Winter agreed, his face beaming proudly. “He’s why I was in the village yesterday. He’s only just arrived from Holland. I have a mare on order as well, and she is just as black. And before you mention it,” Mr. Winter continued, “I realize I could have found a breeder in England for these Belgian Blacks, but lately the breed has become so diluted. So many want to make them better suited for trotting, you see. Getting this one straight from the breed’s region of origin gives us a clean slate.”

Philip’s brows rose excitedly. “That’s brilliant,” he said.

Mr. Winter nodded. “I thought so as well. I bought the mare to breed a good baseline, but I was thinking of cross breeding this beauty with one of my Connemaras. Their stamina and quickness should add something special to the Friesian that would hopefully make them appealing to the military. And the military will need all the strength they can muster. Napoleon will only continue to cause problems, you mark my words.”

Philip smiled. “I suppose I could call you patriotic, but you are intending to make a profit off of war.”

Mr. Winter glanced at Philip with a wry grin. “I am both patriotic and capitalistic, my young friend. If I succeed at only one that is fine, but if I can succeed at both, my life shall be complete.”

Philip chuckled. “You are a credit to all of Britain, Mr. Winter, surely.”

“Don’t you paint me to be a vulture, my young friend,” said Mr. Winter. “The men who ride into battle could be anyone’s son. Even mine, if Richard were to choose to take up arms. Someone needs to supply them with reliable horses and I intend to be one of those someones.”

“Good morning, Papa.”

Philip couldn’t explain why, but the sound of Olivia’s voice sent a jolt throughout his body. He turned to face her and another jolt fired in his stomach. This time, it was because of her clothes. She had chosen again to wear those damn breeches. The impulse to run his hands over her thighs slammed into him with a fierceness he struggled to hide. Surely the other men nearby were thinking the same thing. He wanted to rip off his coat and wrap it around her waist. Did she not realize all the men had suddenly chosen to neglect their duties to stare at her? Didn’t Mr. Winter see it? Philip noticed, and it annoyed him.

“Good morning, strawberry,” said Mr. Winter cheerfully and leaned down to kiss Olivia’s cheek. “Going for a ride then?”

Olivia glanced at Philip. He could see the triumph on her face and it only worsened his agitation. God, when would this woman cease to be so infuriating?

• • •

Olivia could see the irritation on Lord Philip’s face and it only improved her good mood. She wanted him to be angry over her attire. It would teach him a valuable lesson, indeed: he did not own her. And the best part was he couldn’t say anything about her clothing without insulting his business partner.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “Emily loves to ride in the morning just as much as I.”

“Well, be careful, my dear. I shall see you at lunch.”

“Wait just a moment,” said Philip suddenly before Olivia could walk away. “Ah, Mr. Winter, I realize it is not exactly my place to mention this, but if I may point it out … Olivia should not be wearing … what she is currently wearing.”

Mr. Winter drew back slightly. “And why not?” he asked indignantly.

“Well, she is of age, as you know, and for her to wear such things around so many hired men is most certainly a dangerous gamble. Even more dangerous is that she rides off alone after doing so. Lord knows what could happen.”

Olivia felt her heart plummet to the pit of her stomach. She had never thought in a thousand years that Lord Philip would dare mention her attire to her father, but he had. She only hoped her father would bounce back and deny such claims, which were ridiculous, of course. Her home was perfectly safe. No one would ever —

“By Jove,” said Mr. Winter. “She has always worn them and I’ve thought nothing of it. But now that she is older … you are absolutely right, Philip.”

Olivia shook her head frantically. “No, Papa,” she said. “I will be fine. Nothing could — ”

“Hush, Olivia,” her father interrupted. “Lord Philip is right. I cannot believe I’ve missed it for so long. If only your mother were alive. She would’ve seen to such things immediately.”

“Papa, please,” Olivia begged. “I will be perfectly fine.”

“Yes, you will,” her father agreed, and for a moment Olivia’s last little flicker of hope burned strong, but then …

“From now on, you shall wear a riding habit and ride as a lady should. And,” he added as Olivia attempted to protest, “You shall not leave the Manor without an escort.”

Air left her lungs on a violent surge. It was over. Her freedom was over. The very freedom she had cherished so thankfully just that morning was gone. And she had Lord Philip Ravenshaw to thank for her destruction.

• • •

Philip had imagined himself feeling victorious after winning the Battle of the Breeches, and he did. But it was dulled slightly by the distraught look on Olivia’s face. He hadn’t expected her to look quite so sad. He had envisioned her being more angry, furious, or enraged, certainly. Any one or more of those emotions was more her style. Defeated, however, was not. To see her face take on such a depressed look was troubling. It was enough to make him regret that he’d brought up the subject at all. But that feeling of regret was quickly lost amidst reason.

She really was endangering herself by wearing those breeches. If anything happened to her, he would blame himself for not having said a thing. He didn’t want or need that kind of guilt weighing down his mind. But that was only half of the truth. Well, less than half, actually. The main motivation Philip had for relieving Olivia of her breeches was he couldn’t stand the thought of any man enjoying the sight of her shape. God, he was venturing into dangerous territory with thoughts like that.

“Run along, Olivia,” said Mr. Winter. “Change into a habit and have Mr. Stanley ride along with you.”

“But I don’t have a habit.”

“Then I shall send for one. Until then, you shall not ride. Furthermore, you are forbidden from wearing those breeches, or anything else of your brother’s, ever again. Give them all to Mrs. Stanley. I will see to it that they are all disposed of properly.”

“Father, I — ”

“I don’t want to hear it, Olivia. I have made my decision and that is final. If you want to ride, from now on you shall do it properly dressed and accompanied.”

Philip could see Olivia’s eyes gleaming with moisture and it made him feel like the worst sort of villain. Crying definitely did not seem her character. She looked at him for a moment, her eyes clearly asking him “why?” before she turned and ran back to the house. Philip watched her as she ran, as she threw herself against the heavy wooden door of Whistler Manor and pushed it open hastily, only to slam it behind her.

Was she really so upset over breeches? Her pride certainly might keep her from admitting he was right about the matter, but she could see his reason, couldn’t she? Could she really be so hurt over such a silly thing as breeches in light of such a sound argument?

“Thank you, Philip,” said Mr. Winter.

“Sorry?” Philip asked, still staring at the door.

“Thank you for pointing out the crudeness of her apparel. I suppose I’ve refused to realize that she is no longer a child. She was our last, you see, for my dear wife and me. That makes her special in a way.”

“Yes,” said Philip absently, and finally tore his eyes away from the door. But his thoughts remained on Olivia. Would she have rushed straight up to her room? Was she sobbing in earnest now that she was alone? For some unexplainable reason, the thought of Olivia crying troubled him more deeply than having seen the mere glimmer of tears in her eyes. She was entirely too strong a person to cry.