The Seduction of Lady X (31 page)

“What do you mean?” Olivia demanded. “Speak plainly. He drank too much and he was thrown from his horse.”

“No, Livi.” Alexa reached for Olivia’s hands. “You don’t know what everyone else knows. You don’t know what happened last night.”

“What in heaven are you going on about, Alexa?” Olivia demanded. “I told you what happened last night. Stop speaking in riddles and say what you mean.”

“I mean that the marquis went to the village last night, to the Cock and Sparrow, where Harry was with his friends, and before everyone, he accused Harry of making a cuckold of him and putting a child in you.”

Olivia gasped as if she’d been struck. “In the public house!” she repeated disbelievingly. “No, there is some mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve not heard any such thing.”

“It is true. Edward was foxed, and he made a very public accusation. Harry stood up to him and told him he would not stand by and listen to him slander you, and Edward left. That’s when the accident happened.”

Olivia stared at Alexa, her eyes clouding with confusion. “I have not heard this,” she said again, a frown creasing her brow. “Why did Harrison not tell me when they brought Edward home?”

“Perhaps he didn’t want to distress you any further,” Alexa guessed.

Olivia pressed her fingers to her forehead as if her head ached. “I must speak to him,” she said softly. “I must hear from him what happened.”

“Shall I fetch him?” Alexa asked, wanting to be helpful.

Olivia shook her head. “He has gone to Everdon to arrange for crape and funeral tokens.”

Someone rapped on the door. “Lady Carey, the Earl of Manbrooke has arrived,” a male voice called.

“I must go,” Olivia said. She took Alexa’s hand and squeezed it. “Find something black to wear. We must pay attention to appearances.”

Alexa snorted at that. “Why? Edward cannot dictate to you any more, Livi.”

“Because we are now living at the mercy of the Carey family, Alexa.
That’s
why. Please just do as I ask,” she said, and went out to accept her condolences.

The morning moved into day, and that into the next, and slowly, it all began to make sense to Olivia: the looks from the men last night when they’d brought Edward’s body home, the curious looks from the staff. Olivia wanted badly to speak to Harrison about it, but there wasn’t a moment that she was alone. The business of burying a marquis was a complicated task.

When Olivia did see Harrison, it was always in the company of others. He worked tirelessly to make sure the arrangements befit a man of Edward’s stature. Funeral tokens were arranged, mutes hired for the procession to the church, speakers to attest to Edward’s esteemed life.

Edward’s family arrived one after the other, all of them grief stricken. His sister, Lady Belinda Mathieson, embraced Olivia more than once to sob on her shoulder, and urged Olivia to do the same. “You must be in a state of shock,” she said tearfully to Olivia. “It is unhealthy to hold it in; you must release your emotions, Olivia.”

“I am past the point of shock,” Olivia tried to assure her, but Belinda would not have it.

“You
must
be in shock, dearest. You’ve not shed a single tear.”

Olivia allowed Belinda to embrace her again. “You are right, Belinda,” she said sullenly. “I am shocked that he is gone.” And as Belinda stood there, her arms tightly around Olivia, Olivia wondered if the Careys had heard what had happened the night he had fallen from his horse.

David seemed the most stunned of them all. “I can scarcely grasp it,” he told Olivia the night of his arrival. “I never dreamed I would take over for Edward. I feel so ill equipped. How shall I ever live up to the standard he has set?”

“You will,” Olivia assured him. “Mr. Tolly will guide you.”

“Yes. Thank God for Tolly,” David said. He looked at Olivia and smiled weakly. “Thank God for you. You are so dear to us all, Olivia. We’re all deeply concerned for you. My sister, my aunts and uncles and cousins. You must not worry about your future. We’ve all agreed that you have a place with us and a stipend for as long as you need. We are aware there is no one to see after you.”

To see after her.
She had no money of her own, no one to turn to, save Alexa. Everything had happened so quickly that she hadn’t thought about what would happen when Edward was buried and the family returned to their lives. She wished she could speak to Harrison, to seek his counsel and his comfort.

Olivia hoped that Alexa had misunderstood what had happened the night Edward had died. If anyone would know, it was Harrison. If only she could speak to him.

The opportunity did not present itself until the morning of the funeral. Olivia couldn’t sleep, so she rose before dawn and dressed herself in her funeral garb of black bombazine and black ribbons. When the procession began, she would add a black hat and veil.

When she had dressed, Olivia moved through a silent house, down to the receiving room where Edward lay in state. She could hear the faint sounds of pots in the kitchens as Miss Foster prepared for the day. Olivia had no appetite.

She slowly opened the door to the receiving room—she had yet to get over the shock of seeing her husband deceased—and was surprised to find Harrison there. He was standing at the windows looking out, his clothing somber and marked by the black crape tied around his arm. He turned as she entered, and a smile softened his weary features.

Olivia quickly shut the door behind her. The two of them stared across the room at each other. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Waiting for the undertaker. He will arrive shortly to prepare for the move.” His gaze roamed her face, drinking her in. Neither of them made a move toward the other, unwilling to do so with Edward’s corpse in the room. “How are you?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

“As well as might be expected. I’ve been desperate to speak to you. Alexa has told me what others are saying happened the night Edward died. But I must know from you, Harrison—is it true?”

Harrison’s smile faded; he glanced down at his hand.

“Oh dear,” Olivia murmured. She sagged against the closed door. “Everyone heard his accusation?”

“Everyone,” he confirmed.

She looked at Edward then, and a small shiver of foreboding coursed her spine. She knew that no matter how untrue the accusation, it mattered.

Harrison knew it, too; his gray gaze seemed a little older. “Rumors spread like a cancer, particularly about someone as notable as the marquis. You must prepare yourself for the questions his family will inevitably ask.”

“They’ve not asked me,” she said. “They must not have heard it.”

He smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps not yet. But they will. And when they do, think carefully what you will say. Your standing with them has been reduced with the marquis’s death, as you know.”

“Yes,” she said. “But David is very fond of me.”

Harrison looked skeptical. “He is the marquis now, Olivia. That has a way of changing one’s perspective.”

She knew he was right, that she could take nothing for granted. Olivia suddenly felt very tired. She pushed away from the door and walked across the room to him. It seemed like miles. He watched her approach, his body tense, his hands at his sides. It was wrong, so wrong, but Olivia needed his comfort one last time. She leaned forward and put her cheek against his shoulder. Harrison lifted his arm and put it around her back. He turned his head, his mouth on the crown of her head. “Have a care,” he whispered. “You are a widow without an heir. When one adds scandal to that, it’s as if you are standing on the end of a thin tree limb. It is not a question of if it will break, but when. And then the question is how far the fall.”

She closed her eyes. “On my word, I don’t know what to do.”

He tucked his finger under her chin and made her look up at him. He smiled softly, reassuringly. “Be who you are, love. Be the vibrant and beautiful woman you have always been. After the funeral, we will determine the course of our future.”

Olivia’s heart skipped a beat or two.

She heard the sound of a carriage coming down the drive. Harrison dipped his head and kissed her cheek, his lips warm on her cool skin. “Be brave,” he whispered. He stepped around her, walking out of the room to greet the undertaker.

When he had gone, Olivia glanced at Edward’s waxen face. That cold shiver ran down her spine again, and she pressed a hand against her abdomen, pushing down a swell of nausea.

A
t the funeral, Harrison sat directly behind the family, his gaze locked on Olivia’s back. She was seated between Westhorpe and Lord and Lady Mathieson.

The funeral was everything Carey would have wanted; Harrison had made doubly sure there was a lot of pomp and flowery words attesting to the fine man Carey had fancied himself to be.

After the burial, the Carey family received mourners who had come from all over England to pay their last respects. Olivia was regal in her role as the widow. She spoke to each person, the mournful wife, grateful for the respect paid her husband, concerned for their grief, and dignified in the face of the whispers that seemed to float about the room.

Harrison could feel the scrutiny. More than one suspicious eye was cast in his direction, more than one black fan raised so that gossip might be exchanged. He stood off to one side, available if the family needed him, but removed from the activity so as not to prompt more talk.

As people began to trickle away, Harrison watched Westhorpe draw Olivia aside. He gripped her elbow and bent his head to hers, speaking earnestly. Olivia looked up at him, nodding, her face serene. When Westhorpe let go of her arm, Olivia turned around and looked at Harrison across the room. He knew instantly by the look in her eyes that the time had come, that the Carey family had heard the rumors of what had happened the night the marquis had died and would confront them.

A footman appeared at Harrison’s side. “Mr. Tolly, if you please, Lord Carey should like a word in the study.”

The new Lord Carey. “Thank you, Bruce,” he said. He hadn’t exactly worked out what he would say, but he was quite clear in his head about one thing—he would not accept any responsibility for what had happened to the marquis. The bloody bastard had done it to himself. Harrison only hoped Olivia would remember that, too.

In the study with Olivia, Westhorpe seemed a bit uncertain about how to proceed. Harrison had always been fond of him. He’d been raised as a second son with no responsibility to speak of. His thirst for pleasure had been encouraged by his father, who found it easier to shower money on him than to sort out a useful occupation for him.

Westhorpe nervously cleared his throat. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He walked to the window and looked out before he turned around and smiled at Olivia, albeit rather thinly. “Olivia, you know how fond I am of you, do you not?”

“As I am fond of you, David. We’ve always had such a grand time in one another’s company, haven’t we?”

“Yes, well.” He drew a breath. “Unfortunately . . . my fondness for you cannot help me overlook the very disturbing things my family and I have heard in these last few days. Particularly about my brother’s last few hours.” He glanced at Harrison.

“I regret that you’ve heard anything at all,” Olivia said. “But Edward was mistaken. Terribly mistaken.”

Harrison leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “The problem with tittle-tattle is that it is rarely based in truth.”

“This is not tittle-tattle, Tolly. This is the account of several people who were in the public house when my brother confronted you.” Westhorpe looked at Olivia. “As much as it pains me to say it, I was told that my brother had gone into the village to confront Tolly and accuse the two of you of making him a cuckold. And that there was mention of an unborn child.”

“Oh, David,” Olivia said sadly, as if she were disappointed in him for even suggesting it to her. “I regret that your family has heard such wretched things. But they are not true. I did not cuckold him. I am not with child.”

“But why should he think it? Why should he ride into the village in the rain, at night, to confront him?” he asked, gesturing to Harrison.

“Because he was a drunkard who mistrusted everyone around him,” Harrison said flatly.