The Blackmailed Bride (10 page)

Then she could pretend he was right.

She could push aside the resurfaced memories of her mother—lying in a pool of her own blood. The pistol still dangling precariously in her lifeless grip. She could forget, at least for a while, the rising bubble of hysteria she felt upon stumbling on the scene. The insane urge to scream and scream and scream until her voice broke and nothing else came out.

She could act as if she’d never broken the glass window and disposed of the gun. If she could convince herself she’d not lied and kept secrets, perhaps she could understand and attain this thing that her brother and Nick seemed to have.

They were different from her. And for possibly the first time, she wished she could be someone else. That she could be as deluded as they.

When Olivia had abandoned hope of Lord Huntsford saying anything at all, he surprised her with his own confessional. “I’ve seen things, too.”

“What things?” she echoed his earlier question.

He stood up, moving into a seat closer to her. “Things that made me question how I could ever believe in justice and goodness again.”

She leaned forward, hoping he’d continue. How had he overcome his own dark shadows and moved into the light? Could she do the same?

“But I had to come to the place,” he continued, “where I realized life wasn’t always going to be the way that I wanted it to be, and I wasn’t always going to be privy to only the best the world has to offer.” He shrugged. “God promised me an abundant life. I could doubt it, or I could accept His word as truth. I’m not a theologian, and I had to decide for myself what kind of person I was going to be. My faith was ultimately greater than my doubt.”

She was going to say something but stopped when he held up his hands, splaying them open in the air as though trying to show her he had nothing to hide.

“My anger eventually faded. And here I am—as I am.”

He was still watching her, perhaps expecting some kind of immediate metamorphosis. She certainly didn’t have anything in that vein to offer. She desperately wanted to change the subject, uncomfortable with the truth of his words, but she couldn’t think of anything appropriate.

A thought occurred to her. “What do you have planned for tomorrow evening?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Nothing, although I’m afraid to ask why.”

Well, she had come this far, there really was no turning back. Besides, what could it hurt? She could pretend one more evening that she was allowed to have someone like him in her life. Maybe she even deserved it.

“The Sutton musicale is tomorrow. Marcus isn’t planning on attending, and I thought maybe you, and your aunt Henrietta, might like to go.”

He smiled with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. “I can’t make any promises for my aunt, but I’d be delighted.”

While her body relaxed slightly with relief, she cautioned him. “I’d advise you not to read anything into this more than what I’ve asked. I’d enjoy spending more time with your aunt, and, well, I just wanted to show you I truly was sorry.”

“If you think agreeing to be seen with me in public will ease your own guilt, I’m even happier to do it.”

A general din rose from the direction of the hallway.

“I suppose that is my cue to leave, before everyone descends.” He rose from his chair.

She rose, too, ready to accompany him to the door. “I would like to thank you again for accepting my apology.”

He nodded. “Think nothing of it.” But he turned back to face her, his features set in an inscrutable mask. “And if you’d ever like to talk about the other issue again, I’d be more than happy to.”

She nodded. What good would it do to tell him she didn’t have any intentions of bringing up the matter again? It would be best for her not to pine for things out of her reach.

W
hy had she asked Nick to accompany her to the musicale? Olivia thought she must be the most foolish woman alive, or the bravest. Something told her it wasn’t the latter.

Worry gripped her that this lapse in judgment would end badly for her.

But all she could do now was either rescind the offer or brazen it out.

For most of the night, she warred between the two choices. Tossing and turning in her bed, she agonized over what could happen as a result of her impetuous invitation.

Finley could decide she was in direct violation of his orders, which she was, and declare their agreement void. He could tell the whole world the truth about her mother, and she and Marcus would be shunned.

Having a family tainted by suicide would ruin everything for Marcus…his reforms and political ambitions.

But would Finley really use the one piece of leverage he had on her over her friendship with Nick? She knew her money was the greatest draw for him. If he were to expose her now, he’d not see a farthing of her dowry.

So why shouldn’t she allow herself to enjoy one evening with a man who had become her friend?

Olivia wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would ever be more than friendship between them. But since she was going to be tying herself to someone she loathed for the rest of her life, she thought she deserved one evening of happiness, one to hold on to and treasure.

Lord Huntsford seemed the perfect person to create such a memory with.

While she’d never know what could have happened between them had it not been for Finley’s interference, Olivia liked to imagine she would have eventually married someone like Nick. Someone her brother found suitable, someone who didn’t flatter her with empty words. Someone who didn’t think because she read she must be trying to incite a feminine rebellion.

And certainly, she wouldn’t have minded tying herself forever to a man who was so handsome he made her feel light-headed if she looked at him for too long.

“Lady Olivia,” Gibbons said, approaching her while she was stealing a snack from the kitchens.

Olivia quickly swallowed the biscuit. “Yes?”

“You have a caller.”

Who was it? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Dread filled her as she thought perhaps Finley had decided to come and pay a visit. “Is it a man?” she asked nervously.

“I believe it’s a peacock, my lady.”

A peacock?

Gibbons left the room before he could shed any more light on who—or what—was in the other room. At least she felt relatively assured it wasn’t her future husband. Gibbons probably would have had something much more scathing to call him.

The Duchess of Leith was waiting for her in the blue salon.

And she most certainly did look like a peacock. Or perhaps some exotic bird from the east, ones she’d seen paintings of. The lady was robed in a bright-teal morning dress, with several
blue plumes sticking out from her head. This was topped with a fuchsia spencer.

It was, though Olivia had not thought such a thing possible, more garish than the gown from the evening before. She had to avert her eyes, afraid of going blind from staring at the brilliant colors for too long.

“Your grace,” Olivia said with a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
To see your face, at least.

“How many times must I tell you to call me Henrietta, or Henri if you prefer?”

“Apologies,” Olivia said with a smile. She wanted to chuckle as well. After closer inspection, Olivia decided if there were a color of the rainbow the duchess wasn’t wearing, she was hard pressed to name it.

Olivia indicated a chair, and the duchess sat and adjusted her voluminous skirts. When one was a duchess, there was probably little she could wear and be criticized.

“Would you care for some tea?” Olivia asked, ready to call for a service.

“Oh, no, dear, I just came for a little chat.”

Olivia smiled but felt apprehensive as well. What could the duchess want to talk about?

“I’m sure you miss home,” Henri began, “but I’m selfishly glad you came to spend time in London. After hearing Nicholas speak of you, I knew I had to become better acquainted with you myself.”

The gleam in Henri’s eyes was speculative, and Olivia knew she was right to be worried. She’d heard tales of the viciousness and ruthless tactics of matchmaking mamas. She didn’t suppose matchmaking aunts would be any better.

“I’m very glad you did. I have found my time here in London to be without much female companionship,” Olivia returned.

The duchess nodded. “I wouldn’t let that worry you. Unfortunately, many of the young ladies here are going to be intimidated
by your beauty, and envious of your wealth and position. It doesn’t make the best breeding ground for friendships.”

“It seems you and your nephew are rather close,” Olivia commented, trying to change the conversation but realizing too late she’d maneuvered it back to the marquess.

“Yes, we are. He often came to visit me when his parents were…otherwise occupied,” Henrietta hedged.

Olivia thought that was a delicate way to put it.

From what she’d been able to wheedle out of Marcus, apparently, the late marquess and marchioness were somewhat free with their affections…and not only with each other.

“He must have been relieved to have somewhere to go whenever the situations at home were unpleasant,” Olivia said.

The duchess bobbed her head, making the vivid plumes dance with the motion. “Oh, yes. I always wished I could have kept him with us. Henry loves Nick as his own son.”

“Henry?” she asked.

“My husband,” the duchess clarified with a smile.

Henry and Henrietta. It really seemed too funny and unfair to be true.

“We weren’t able to have children, you see.” Henrietta’s eyes took on a faraway look, and Olivia thought tears were close to the surface. “That was the best gift I could have given my husband, but I was unable to. He loves me still, of course, and always said God sent Nick to us on purpose.”

Olivia was mystified by the way Henrietta spoke about God sending Nick to them. That seemed a little out of God’s character as well. If He didn’t care about her mother drinking herself into a stupor because she was so heartbroken over losing her husband, it seemed odd He would care at all about one couple needing a child to love in their life.

“So I suppose we can credit the marquess’s character as the work of you and your husband?” Olivia asked with a smile, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.

“Oh, no,” she protested. “Nick was a strong, good boy from the moment he first showed up on our doorstep. He’d already made up his mind he was going to be different than his parents. It’s why he risked his life…oh, dear,” she finished. Henri looked quite put out with herself.

The curiosity was too much for Olivia to leave alone. “Risked his life? Doing what?”

“You don’t kn—” Then the duchess caught herself. She shook her head and the plumes did another exotic, almost hypnotizing dance. “Forget I mentioned anything.”

Olivia bit her lip to keep herself from asking any more questions.

“Nicholas told me of your invitation,” the duchess said, effectively changing the subject as she gathered her things to leave. “I am thrilled to accompany both of you. The carriage will be round at seven to pick you up.”

Olivia nodded, deciding she was too much of a lady to press the issue of Lord Huntsford endangering his life. She wasn’t, however, too much of a lady to mention it to the marquess. Perhaps he would tell her what his aunt wouldn’t.

Olivia watched Nick from across the carriage as they drove to the musicale, wondering exactly how to bring up what Henri had let slip earlier. She darted a glance at the duchess, but she seemed soundly asleep in the corner. It might have been pretense, an opportunity for the young couple to think they had privacy, but the occasional snore from Henri seemed too real. Olivia decided she would risk a whispered conversation.

“You never did tell me what kept you in France for so long,” she began.

Was it her imagination, or did he sit a bit straighter? “I don’t recall you ever asking.” He darted his own look at Henri.

“Odd, but I would think it would have come up in the conversation at least once.”

“No, I don’t think it ever did,” he argued.

Olivia smiled at his evasiveness. “Would you care to tell me now?”

“What do you want to know?”

Where to begin,
she thought. She could come right out and ask him what work he had been doing during the war. She could ask how exactly he’d risked his life, and why it was so important for him to distinguish himself from his parents. She could ask what finally made him leave.

Instead, she asked, “Do you miss it?”

He seemed to think about the question, waiting several moments before answering. Olivia counted how many times the carriage swayed or hit a rut in the road before he answered.

Seven.

“That’s a hard question,” he said finally. “I enjoyed what I did. To a point. It helped to know my work was keeping people here in England safe.”

Her respect for him rose.

“But it was a hard job. I had to go places I would have otherwise never gone, had to see things I think I could have lived the rest of my life without. And I had to do things…well, things I wish I could take back.”

What kind of things had been so awful he would regret them still?

He must have seen her questioning look because he clarified. “I tried to make sure not to do anything that would compromise my faith. I didn’t have much of a testimony while I was there, I’m afraid. But I had morals, and I was determined to hold on to some semblance of the person I was, even if I were playing a part the whole time.”

“Would you do it again?”

He smiled. “You still don’t know what it was I did,” he reminded her.

“I think I have a fairly good idea.”

“Really.” He raised an eyebrow and cast his own look at the sleeping duchess. “Care to share your thoughts with me?”

Well, now she’d feel ridiculous if she said what she was thinking and it was wrong, but then she’d feel like a coward if she backed away from his challenge. Which was worse?

Being a coward, definitely.

“I think you were a spy.”

Her answer gave him pause. “Is that what someone’s been saying?” he asked.

“No, just my own theory. I could be wrong,” she hurried to add. “Perhaps it wasn’t quite so glamorous as that.”

“Being an agent isn’t glamorous,” he snapped.

She blinked in shock. “No, of course not.”

Nick shook his head, as though clearing away the fog. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have barked at you. But I’ve seen many die because they wanted to be heroes. Or because they thought the work was much more glamorous than it really was.”

Well, he’d answered her question. “I think you’re very brave,” she told him.

“I’m not brave.”

“Yes, you are,” she argued.

“I was running away. That’s cowardice.”

“There were other places to run to,” she said quietly.

“They weren’t far enough away.”

She wanted him to tell her what exactly his parents had done that had made fleeing England seem like the best option. Especially when Nick had an aunt and uncle who loved him like their own son. But because she so zealously guarded her own past and would never push him to dredge up his, the question would never pass her lips.