Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (15 page)

Tears formed
on her lashes. It could have been the cold and the exertion but he
did not think so.

‘Oh Max!’ Her
voice disappeared on a cry of pain. ‘I have wronged you so greatly
but Lord knows it was not my intention at the time.’

‘Hush.’ He
dismounted and drew her, unresisting, into his arms.

‘Confess your
secret, but you already have my absolution. I can see Lucien’s lies
for what they are.’

‘Lucien’s lies
have nothing to do with this. It is what I have done.’ Brushing his
lips across her brow he corrected her. ‘What Lucien
made
you
do, Olivia. With me you need no longer be afraid.’

She pulled out
of his arms, wiping her streaming eyes with the back of her hand.
Taking a deep breath she half turned, but her words were clear,
misted in the icy air as she gasped, ‘Max! Though I have done
wrong, things are not as they seem.’

‘Ah, Olivia, I
am glad to see Mr Atherton is receiving the send-off he
deserves.’

They hadn’t
heard him approach. Flinching, Olivia swung round as Max’s shock
hardened.

Mr Kirkman
placed a proprietary hand upon Olivia’s shoulder and confronted Max
with obsidian eyes.

‘Olivia will
miss you very much, Mr Atherton.’ It came out a purr.

‘She told me
so last night.’ His hand slid down her arm to clasp her small
fist.

She made no
move to push him away.

Max stared
with confusion at the woman he loved. He wanted to repeat his
offer. To take her with him, but her expression was suddenly closed
as she half raised her hand in parting.

‘God speed,
Max,’ she murmured. A spasm of fear crossed her face then boldly
she took a step forward and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He had to
lower his head to hear her.

‘I shall
write, Max,’ she whispered. ‘I shall explain everything.’

I shall
write
.

The rebirth of
hope gave him new strength. On impulse he halted Odin on a bend of
the drive which led to The Lodge.

A gravel path
led to the family crypt a few yards away. Dug into the side of the
hill, halfway to the dower house, it had been a favourite hiding
place during a memorable holiday when he’d been a small boy.

He decided to
pay his final respects to his cousin. He’d try to remember Lucien
as a boisterous playmate and pleasant companion rather than the
violent despot who had tyrannized Olivia for seven years.

But the door
to the crypt would not yield. Lichen-encrusted and swollen with age
it seemed an impenetrable barrier between the past and the
present.

Max stared at
it, wondering if his body would be interred within the stone
sarcophagus beside his cousin. Imagining Olivia, in black,
reclaiming freedom only to lose it to the possessive churchman.

With a surge
of angry longing he tugged at the key on its thin chain which he
had placed around his neck.

‘The key to
her heart’ she had said, just as the chain snapped and the key fell
with a dull jangle to the flagstone upon which he stood. A cruel
echo of Lucien’s meaningless words.

Bending down
he picked it up and, without thinking, inserted it into the lock.
It turned smoothly and the door swung open, admitting him to the
hallowed precincts of the final resting place for all the Viscounts
Farquhar for the past 400 years.

And their
faithful dogs, he amended with a wry smile, as he stepped into the
gloom.

A high window,
just above ground level, admitted the weak spring sunlight and, as
his gaze slid from the stately sarcophagus where Lucien was
interred to the tiny sarcophagus beside him, he felt a rush of
sorrow and sympathy for Olivia.

How must it
have felt to have been consigned to no more than a vessel that must
produce the next heir? Derided, abused and worthy of less
consideration than the King Charles’ Spaniel Lucien showered with
affection and which now lay in state in its miniature resting place
beside him.

Olivia had
been granted life tenure of the dower house with almost nothing to
live upon, after being stripped of the one being that gave her life
meaning: her child.

‘Ah, Lucien,
it was ill done of you,’ he said, running his hand over his
cousin’s inscription before turning away.

If only Mr
Kirkman had no rightful claim upon Olivia he would stride up the
hill and demand that Olivia return to Elmwood with him now. That he
forgave her everything and he knew how to make it all right.

He pulled the
door shut, blocking out the past but unable to change it.

For Kirkman’s
involvement altered everything.

Nathaniel drew
Olivia back to the house with him before Max had disappeared round
the bend of the drive. How desperately she longed to prolong the
moment before his beloved form was no more than a memory, but
Nathaniel was a force too great to resist, alone.

Pleading a
megrim as soon as she was indoors she gathered ink and paper from
the drawing room while Aunt Eunice cornered Nathaniel, begging him
with uncharacteristic interest to regale her with the details of
the sermon he was writing for his forthcoming sermon in
Nuningford.

Nuningford. A
week from now.

Gazing from
the casement window in her bedchamber Olivia watched Max’s
straight-backed figure disappear round the bend that led to the
main road.

She drew in
her breath, her nerve ends tingling before setting her writing box
on her lap and beginning the hardest letter she had ever
written.

Max, her
knight in shining armour.

Max, whom she
loved more than she’d believed possible, whose love for her gave
her strength and purpose.

How would he
feel about her when he read her confession?

My dearest
Max
– she could feel the blood surging through her veins as the
pen scratched over the rough surface –
I promised you the truth
and you shall have it. There is no easy way to say this
—

The truth.

Dropping her
pen, Olivia rose and went to the window.

The truth
would change everything: Julian’s security, Olivia’s future and
quite possibly Max’s love for her. But the truth was the only way
to remove Nathaniel’s shackles and to move on with her life.

Looking down
at her white knuckles and the ink spots on her fingers, she
reaffirmed her resolve. If she continued to evade the truth she
would be worse than the creature beyond redemption Lucien had
painted her. And if she had any chance of earning Max’s continued
love and respect she had to take the risk now.

Returning to
her writing desk she continued.

The truth
is that Julian is not Lucien’s legitimate heir. He is not the boy
born to me that terrible stormy night when Lucien was away hunting
and my physician was delivering a breech birth many miles
away
….

The pain and
horror of that night was engraved upon her mind. Charlotte and
Martha had attended her as she had convulsed with birthing pangs
upon the four-poster in which Lucien had been born, and his father
and grandfather before him.

The raging
storm had prevented the message being delivered to the physician
for several hours. Charlotte had soothed her, reminding her that
Martha had delivered her six siblings after news came that the
squire’s wife was dying. The river was swelling and it was doubtful
the physician would be able to cross when his painful job was
done.

Picking up her
pen, Olivia continued.

Our child was
born strong and lusty. Charlotte and Martha put him to my breast
and we celebrated that at last Lucien had his heir and perhaps I
would have my peace.

Olivia forced
herself to continue.

But the boy
died within the hour. He started to labour in his breathing and in
terror I had Martha fetch Mr Kirkman. Lucien
needed to be
reassured that this child would not burn in the fires of
Hell
.

Unable to
continue, Olivia pushed back her chair and took a restless turn
about the room. Twisting her hands, she tried to compose herself,
formulate her words so that Max might understand the terrible grief
that consumed her that night; her fear of Lucien’s anger and the
maternal cravings which would grasp at any means of giving her the
son she and Lucien wanted so desperately.

Even if it
meant a terrible deception.

Slowly she
lowered herself into her seat and picked up the pen once more. With
thundering heart she dipped it into the inkwell.

The moment had
come to commit to paper the words that would be the ultimate test
of Max’s love.

Nathaniel came
promptly. In his arms he carried a babe, wrapped in swaddling
clothes. Its cry was as lusty as my own child’s had been, less than
an hour before. But my own child was now silent. Blue and silent
and the reverend was too late.

I fought
Nathaniel as he removed my beloved infant then watched
in
wonder as this new child latched on to my breast.

Julian
.

Olivia sat
back so the tears would not spoil the ink. Wiping them away with
the back of her hand, she wrote,

Julian is
Lucien’s child by his village mistress who delivered the same
night. When I saw the eyes and the shape of his jaw I knew Mr
Kirkman spoke the truth: that Lucien was his father and that he
would die unless a wet nurse were found soon
.

It took a
moment for Olivia to compose herself before she could continue.

Forgive me,
Max, for doing what any bereaved mother would surely do.

From the
moment I suckled the child, knowing its mother was dead, I could
not give him up. A precious gift had been put into my safekeeping
and it was my God-given duty to protect him … to the death.

Julian was not
born within the sanctity of marriage but he is Lucien’s child,
nonetheless. Lucien’s fury would have known no bounds if he’d
returned to learn his son had died before he was baptized.

I confess
that while my love for the child was instant and sincere I was also
guilty of cowardice. I did not know how I could survive much more
of Lucien’s brutality in his determination to father an
heir
.

Olivia put the
pen down and ran the back of her hand across her brow before she
was able to finish her task.

Darling Max, I
paid no thought to your rights when I acted as I did. Only since I
met you have I understood the enormity of my actions which have
denied you your birthright. This letter sets out the truth and also
begs your forgiveness. I would not hurt you for the world.

You have
brought the sun into my life and given me hope where
none
existed before. I love you like I never believed possible and can
only hope your kindness and compassion will temper the disgust you
have every reason to feel on account of my continued lies.

The time for
lies is past, now, and I offer this full accounting so that you may
decide how best to proceed in order for you to reclaim what my
actions have wrongfully taken away from you.

Whatever
you decide, please know that I shall understand and
continue
to love you.

Meanwhile I
wait in fevered anticipation for a sign indicating your feelings
and outlining the course of action you wish me to take in order to
redress the wrong I have done.

For now and
always, I remain your loving Olivia
.

She had to
allow herself to hope; to believe that Max’s compassion would
ensure she would
not
be accompanying Nathaniel to Nuningford
the following week.

After
sprinkling sand on the parchment she folded and addressed the
precious missive just as Dorcas entered to bring her some comfrey
tea for her aching head.

‘I’ll take
that with Miss Catherine’s letter to her Cousin Mariah, shall I?’
asked Dorcas, setting down the mug of steaming tea and picking up
the letter.

Olivia turned
her head away so as not draw attention to her excitement. ‘Thank
you, Dorcas.’

‘An’ what
shall I tell your aunts who are worried for your poor head?’

‘That I shall
be down for luncheon,’ she said. ‘The rest has done me good, as I’m
sure the tea will.’

Dorcas placed
the letter in her apron pocket and picked up the breakfast tray
she’d brought her mistress earlier that morning. It remained
untouched.

At the bottom
of the stairs she met Mr Kirkman who had just put on his gloves and
greatcoat.

‘I hope Lady
Farquhar recovers her good health soon,’ he said, as he reached for
Aunt Catherine’s letter which lay upon the silver salver on the
hall stand.

‘She seems
better, sir,’ Dorcas said.

Hesitating, he
looked at her as he put on his hat. ‘I believe, Dorcas,’ he said,
‘you have something from your mistress which is to go out with Miss
Catherine’s letter.’

Smiling, he
held out his hand.

It was noon
and Max was hungry when he dismounted in the stable yard of The
Pelican less than an hour later, tossing the reins to an
ostler.

Olivia’s
parting had reaffirmed the promise that existed between them. The
promise of a future that could withstand the perilous present and
the lies of the past.

Olivia was
true of heart and her heart belonged to him.

‘Regular
beauty, ain’t he?’ The stable-lad’s tone was admiring as he stroked
the horse’s steaming flank. Hopeful, too, as he asked, ‘We’ll be
stabling him for the night?’

‘Only an hour
or so,’ replied Max, nodding as the publican appeared on the back
step lacing his hands across his impressive belly as he welcomed
him.

Max shrugged
off his greatcoat as he entered the low-ceilinged room. He’d
expected to find it empty but a returned soldier muffled against
the cold sat drinking in the shadows.