His Wicked Heart (29 page)

Now she frowned. “There is no ‘ruse’. I know
Society will not accept her as Merry’s bastard. I did what I had to
in order for her to be a member of my family.”

“Do you include me in ‘Society’ instead of as
a member of your family? Is that why you kept the truth from
me?”

At last, Louisa revealed a shock of surprise,
but then Jasper hadn’t bothered to keep the hurt from his tone.
“Jasper, my dear boy, I only wanted to protect you from knowing the
truth. I know how hard you’ve worked to keep yourself from
scandal.”

“Yes, but I would think of all people, you
would trust me.
Me
.”

She took his hand between her small, soft
palms. “I can see I made a terrible mistake. It’s been far too easy
for me to believe you’re like your father, if only because you try
so hard to fit into the image he’s cast for you.”

Jasper shrugged. “That is my duty.”

“Yes, but you needn’t fill the role he’s
created. His way is not the only way.”

Jasper knew that, but he’d grown up following
the path of least resistance as a means of self-preservation. “You
can’t assume that what you see on the outside is who I am on the
inside. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Oh, dear, I do.” She squeezed his hand. “But
perhaps you need to let that person on the inside out a little more
often.”

Jasper wasn’t sure he could do that. He’d let
Olivia see more of him than anyone since Abigail. But to the world
at large, he was Saxton. Heir to one of the oldest dukedoms in the
realm and utterly above reproach. He had to maintain that façade
lest anyone see straight through to the violence-loving ruiner of
women beneath.

“I will try.”

Her bright blue eyes were wide with regret.
“I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me, please?”

Jasper hugged her. “Of course.”

She patted his back and held him in a tight
embrace for a long minute. When he sat back, she brushed at her
eyes. “You’ve turned me into a watering pot.”

Jasper waited for her to regain her composure
before continuing. “I’m afraid Olivia wasn’t completely honest with
you. Do you have any idea who her mother was?”

Louisa shook her head. “All I have is a note
from a woman named Fi. Olivia said she died last year.”

“And you didn’t think to ask anything
else?”

Alarm began to register in Louisa’s gaze.
“Olivia said they weren’t close. Most of her upbringing was by her
foster mother in Devon.”

“Her mother was Fiona Scarlet. You’re
familiar with that name, aren’t you?”

Jasper had learned that before Olivia was
born, her mother had been one of the most celebrated actresses at
Drury Lane. However, some disagreement between her and another
actress had caused her to be sacked. After that, she’d fallen
somewhat out of the public eye, except that she’d began to be known
for her liaisons with titled gentleman such as Merry. Soon it
became known that Mrs. Scarlet didn’t maintain monogamous relations
with her lovers, and the rank of her clientele fell drastically.
After a few years, her name had become a memory amongst most of the
Upper Ten Thousand.

Louisa clasped her hands tightly together in
her lap. “Yes. Is that…was she Olivia’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“Merry…” Louisa looked away. After a moment,
she said in a strained voice, “I had no idea.”

“You can see why this is a problem. If I was
able to discover this secret, only think of who else might
know.”

Louisa returned her gaze to his. Unshed tears
glistened in her eyes. “How did you find out?”

Jasper couldn’t tell her the entire truth.
While he wanted there to be no lies between him and his aunt, he
couldn’t bring himself to tell her he’d met Olivia before, that
Olivia had tried to swindle him. That would remain a secret he
would never share.

“She looked familiar to someone at the
Faversham Ball.”

Louisa raised a hand to her gaping mouth. “Oh
no, who?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking care of
everything.” He still needed to talk with Prewitt, but planned to
very soon.

She dropped her hand to her lap and blinked
against her tears. “Jasper, I don’t want to lose her.”

Jasper took her hand and vowed not to let her
fall into the crippling sadness that had claimed her after Merry
died. “You won’t.”

“You’re such a dear, dear boy. I never should
have kept the truth from you. Of course you would help me.” She
shook her head as a tear fell down her cheek. She pulled a
handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “See, an utter
watering pot.”

Jasper rested his palms on his lap, suddenly
restless to fix this problem as soon as possible. He’d run Prewitt
to ground today and would then visit the Haymarket to ensure no one
there breathed a word about Olivia West.

Once Louisa regained her composure, she shook
her head. “I’ve been terribly selfish.” Her tone had recovered its
strength and her gaze had turned determined. “I wanted so badly to
have Merry’s daughter in my life, I didn’t think about the
consequences to anyone, including Olivia. I’m not even sure she
likes her new situation.”

“I’m confident she loves being here with
you.” Not only did Jasper seek to soothe Louisa’s concerns, he knew
it to be true.

“That may be. But I’m not certain she’s
comfortable in Society.”

“It’s an adjustment for her.”

“Perhaps I’ll take her to York, to the
dowager house at Merriweather Hall.” Louisa looked at the painting.
“Yes, we’ll do that immediately.”

Jasper hated that idea, but recognized it was
probably for the best—for everyone, not least of all him since he
couldn’t keep from thinking of Olivia and wanting to touch her and
kiss her and do all manner of inappropriate things to her. Yes,
better for everyone if they went to York. “An excellent
notion.”

Louisa’s eyes widened. “Oh! But then I shall
miss your engagement, and I don’t want to do that. When will you be
announcing?”

Jasper wished he knew. He supposed today’s
tasks would take him closer to ensuring Louisa’s and Olivia’s
well-being, but he still wasn’t ready to put a definitive timeframe
on his betrothal. “Soon. But don’t let my engagement dictate your
plans,” he added, somewhat half-heartedly.

“We’ll wait. You’re taking care of things
with Olivia—and I trust you completely to do that.” She gave him a
pointed look filled with warmth and love.

He couldn’t help but smile in return. “Thank
you.”

Jasper left a few minutes later, glad the
discussion with Louisa had gone so well. He only hoped the rest of
his day followed suit.

THAT afternoon Olivia was spared having to
lie to Louisa for the second day in a row. She’d planned to claim
another headache in lieu of going to Lady Montrose’s for tea, but
Louisa had been the one to beg off in order to take a restorative
nap. Which had left Olivia free to visit Mrs. Pitt—her mother’s
one-time dresser—to continue her investigation into her
paternity.

The Strand was busy this afternoon as she
made her way to Villiers Street where Mrs. Pitt supposedly resided.
The woman was quite old. Olivia only hoped she still drew breath,
because without her, she may never learn the truth. Of course, it
was also possible Mrs. Pitt would be no help at all, but Olivia
chose not to ponder that.

Mrs. Gifford’s shop was just ahead, but
Olivia would turn from the Strand before she reached it. If she
weren’t so intent on her purpose, she’d stop in to visit.

“Miss West?”

Olivia paused and raised her head. Mr.
Gifford approached, a welcoming smile warming his thin face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gifford.”

“I’ve been hoping you’d come to see us.
Mother and I have wondered after your welfare.”

“How thoughtful of you both.” Olivia itched
to continue her journey, but also didn’t wish to be rude. “I’m on a
rather quick errand here in the neighborhood. I should like to stop
in and see your mother—and you, of course—for tea. Perhaps another
day?”

“We’d be delighted. I’d be honored to walk
with you, if that’s acceptable.”

She didn’t really want company, but perhaps
his presence would soothe her nerves about the upcoming interview.
“Certainly. I’m going to Villiers Street, there.” She pointed just
ahead.

Mr. Gifford offered his arm. Olivia placed
her hand on his sleeve and walked alongside him.

“How is it? Living with Lady Merriweather, I
mean? Do you attend balls and routs and such?”

“Mmm, yes. It’s a bit overwhelming, to tell
the truth. I adore Louisa, however, and so I’m willing to partake
in the activities she enjoys.”

“I understand. I humor my mother in much the
same way.”

Olivia wasn’t necessarily
humoring
Louisa. She didn’t dislike these events. No, she felt as if she
didn’t really belong. Perhaps her visit with Mrs. Pitt would change
her perspective. Olivia dearly hoped it would.

They turned into Villiers Street. Olivia
looked for the address—it would be on the same side of the street
on which they walked. She scanned the buildings as they
strolled.

“Do you mind my asking about your
appointment?” he asked.

“Merely visiting an old friend.”

“Commendable of you to remember those of us
from your former life.”

She didn’t know him well enough to predict
whether he was being genuine, but couldn’t completely discount the
odd lilt to his tone. “I have many dear friends who I shan’t forget
regardless of my address.”

“It’s good to hear you say that. Can Mother
and I expect you to call soon, then?”

“Of course. Thank you, Mr. Gifford.” Olivia
withdrew her hand. He bowed to her, but didn’t immediately continue
on his way. After an awkward moment, Olivia said, “Well, good day,
then.”

“Oh.” He smiled crookedly. “Good day.” At
last he ambled back toward The Strand.

Olivia exhaled before walking up the steps to
the house and rapping on the door. She was answered by a portly
woman of middle age with a kind, round face. “Yes?”

“I’m here to visit Mrs. Pitt.” Olivia offered
a pleasant smile. “I understand she boards with you?”

She scanned Olivia, perhaps to determine her
purpose. “You here to buy some scarves?”

“Scarves?”

“I suppose not, then. Does she know you?” A
trace of skepticism crept into her tone.

Olivia thrilled to the fact that Mrs. Pitt
was indeed still living at this address. “Not exactly. She knew my
mother, and I was hoping to speak with her. My mother died last
year, you see.”

The woman’s face softened. “My condolences.
Of course, come inside. I’ll show you upstairs.”

The interior of the house was dim and smelled
of fresh-baked pastry. Olivia’s mouth watered as she followed the
landlady to the first floor. Yellowed paper with a leaf pattern
peeled back from the wall where the stairs opened to a landing. The
landlady led her across the small space to an open doorway. Inside,
a small woman sat hunched over her knitting beside a window open to
Villiers Street below.

“Mrs. Pitt, I’ve brought a visitor.” She
looked inquiringly at Olivia.

“Miss Olivia West.”

The old woman’s head perked up, but she
didn’t look in their direction. In fact, she looked at nothing. Her
eyes were the dark cloudy gray of someone whose vision had
succumbed to cataracts. “Who?” She spoke loudly as if her hearing
were also impaired.

“Miss West. I believe you knew my mother,
Fiona Scarlet.” Olivia blushed as she said this and sneaked a
glance at the landlady to gauge her reaction. She was so used to
people passing judgment based on her mother. However, the
landlady’s face reflected nothing, giving Olivia to
believe—thankfully—that she’d never heard of Fiona Scarlet.

Mrs. Pitt set her knitting in her lap. “Dear
Fi. How is she, love?”

Olivia was careful to speak loudly and
clearly. “I’m sorry to say she passed last year.”

“I’ll just leave you to visit.” The landlady
retreated from the small chamber.

Mrs. Pitt’s mouth drooped. “’Tis a shame.
Sit, love. I’d often wondered what happened to Fi’s child. Sent you
off to live with her sister, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” Olivia perched on a straight-backed
chair, anticipation rushing through her at Mrs. Pitt’s obvious
knowledge, at least of Olivia’s childhood. “I was hoping you could
tell me about my mother, back when you dressed her, say twenty
years ago or so.”

Mrs. Pitt chuckled as she picked up her
knitting once more. Her fingers worked rapidly, weaving the yarn at
a remarkable pace given her blindness. “Your mother was a popular
actress. Well-liked by men, the object of jealousy for most women,
particularly the other actresses.”

Olivia could think of no way to ease into her
question and so she simply said, “I’ve come to ask about my father.
I’m hoping you can help me determine his identity.”

“Your mother never told you?”

“No. I’d been given to believe he was my
uncle, a vicar married to Fiona’s half-sister. However, I’ve
recently learned another man, a viscount, may have been my
father.”

The stitches mounted until Mrs. Pitt started
another row. “Mmm. I take it neither one can confirm your
paternity?”

Her insides clenched. “No.”

Mrs. Pitt’s needles clacked against one
another. “Why do you think this viscount is your father?”

Olivia had come for information, but had the
distinct impression she was now the one being interrogated. “His
widow is quite certain. The viscount and I share specific traits.
And my mother was in possession of a hand-painted gift from
him.”

The ancient lifted a bony shoulder in a
half-shrug. “It sounds as if you have your answer, then.”

“The vicar and I also share specific traits.
My aunt is equally convinced
he
is my father. Did you meet
either of those men?”