Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (17 page)

‘Nathaniel has
offered Julian and me a future.’ Olivia hurried to catch up with
her aunt, still taken aback by the uncharacteristic show of
affection as she struggled with the question. ‘I thought I was
marrying for love when I eloped with Lucien. I do not intend making
the same mistake twice.’

‘You married
Lucien to be perverse because Catherine and I were so opposed
to—’

‘Are you
suggesting I’m marrying Nathaniel simply to be perverse? How little
you understand me, Aunt Eunice.’

Her aunt
looked at her sadly. ‘Yes, how little I know you, Olivia. How
little I knew your mother.’ Shaking her head, she went on, ‘If it’s
about money, we can manage. Come with us to Bath, Olivia. Enjoy
yourself for a change.’

Olivia bit her
lip as she looked past her aunt’s old, weary face, now bright with
hope, to the fir trees beyond, limned with pink and gold light as
the sun faded. Last week it had been a supernatural, ethereally
beautiful scene, gilded with promise as she had walked this path
with Max. He made her feel anything were possible. Even
happiness.

But happiness
had been fleeting. She should have known it.

Bone-jarring
shards of pain stabbed at her once more. She had told Max
everything
. Seven days it had been and she had received
nothing but silence. What choice did she have but to continue her
current course?

To go to
Nuningford with Nathaniel? To hear the sermon he had written for
her on shame and atonement?

She shuddered
as she thought of the man who swore to safeguard Julian’s future,
Olivia’s future and …

Closing her
eyes she sucked in a shaky breath.

… and the
secret she had disclosed to Max, but which had been received by
cold, stony silence?

The hope in
Aunt Eunice’s eyes faded at Olivia’s lack of response. ‘If I
thought you loved Nathaniel I’d have no reservations, but you
don’t.’ She gave a grunt of frustration. ‘Ask him to release you. I
don’t know what hold he has over you, but he will never make you
happy.’ Squeezing her shoulder she tried again. ‘Your cousin Mariah
and young Lucy would love to see you again. They asked if you would
come.’

Olivia shook
her head. ‘I am twenty-six years old, Aunt Eunice. Old enough to
decide that marrying is in the best interests of my son.’ The
enticing thought of going to Bath was stifled by her acceptance of
her obligations: her visit to Nuningford to hear her husband-to-be
preach.

She had no
choice for she had to ally herself with someone who would provide
for her son.

‘I’m sorry,
Aunt Eunice,’ she said with genuine regret, ‘but I cannot accompany
you to Bath.’

They returned
to the house to find Julian in tears and an exasperated Nathaniel
leaning over him.

‘Whatever’s
the matter?’ Olivia hurried over and sank on to the drawing-room
carpet so she could take her small son on to her lap.

For the first
time he did not push her away, but clung to her, sobbing as he
buried his tear-stained face in her shoulder.

Olivia held
him tighter. How precious he was. The greatest gift of her life. A
huge lump formed in her throat.

‘Puppy …’ he
gulped. ‘I want puppy.’

She turned to
where a soft mewling sound came from a cane basket. A pair of large
eyes, as tragic as Julian’s, regarded her from over the top.

Nathaniel,
frowning, reached across from his chair brandishing a piece of
parchment.

Stifling the
gasp that rose to her lips, Olivia took it, hoping he did not
notice her shaking hand.

Max had
written.

Barely able to
contain her excitement, her eyes skimmed the sparse four lines of
text: instructions for Julian on how to care for his new friend and
the reassurance Max would see him when his new stepfather deemed
fit.

Shocked, her
hands dropped to her lap, the parchment fluttering to the floor.
There could be no more blunt way for Max to indicate his withdrawal
from the contest for Olivia’s affections.

Turning her
head from Nathaniel’s scrutiny, she gave the puppy a distracted
stroke. Julian was loving it a little too enthusiastically but she
was imprisoned within a cocoon of grief, heedless of all but the
pain which shredded her heart.

The extent of
her shock made her realize that despite his silence she had still
held out hope. The crisp, business-like tone and reference to her
marriage as a
fait accompli
now made it clear there was no
hope.

Forcing
herself back to practicalities, she schooled her manner into one of
quiet reason. ‘Why should Julian not be allowed to keep the
dog?’

She must
concentrate on the soft warmth of her child and the joy of feeling
needed.

The look
Nathaniel sent her reminded her she must watch her tone.

With
characteristic care he smoothed his coat tails as he rose.
Standing, he regarded her, steadily.

‘My dear
Olivia, while I have nothing, personally, against Mr Atherton and
can understand his gift was well intentioned I do not believe it is
in Julian’s best interests to have such a potent reminder of his
life with his uncle.’

Olivia opened
her mouth to protest. Her impulse was to flare up at him, tell him
that of course Julian could keep the dog. She was his mother!

Nathaniel’s
expression changed her mind. A tight, warning smile turned up the
corners of his mouth while the expression in his hooded dark eyes
was implacable. He was not angry. Yet. But she could see this
tussle for domestic authority was a litmus test for the future.

She dropped
her eyes, hugging Julian closer to her. He was whimpering, but
seemed content to be in her arms.

Never had she
felt more keenly the responsibility for his future, his security
and happiness.

He looked to
her to protect him. She felt the pride, the joy, the burden of it
churn in her heart. Resting her head upon Julian’s she breathed
carefully past the panic.

She was
Julian’s only barrier against a harsh and unpredictable world. Max
had failed her. While he had given eloquent expression to his
change of heart he had left her in fearful suspense as to what he
might do next.

Nathaniel was
still looking at her. Waiting. He had assumed the mantle of
protector to the wronged and aggrieved Lady Farquhar long ago.

The arbiter of
all domestic decisions, too.

Still
clutching Julian to her chest she said as evenly as she could, ‘Max
says in his letter he’d promised Julian a puppy from his dog
Pansy’s litter when they were parting.’ She found she was clenching
her hands. She hated to do it, but she was prepared to beg. ‘Please
let Julian keep the puppy,’ she whispered.

Wrenching
himself out of Olivia’s arms, Julian was like a miniature tornado
as he head butted her stomach. ‘Puppy, mine! Puppy, mine!’ he wept.
Holding him at bay, Olivia watched fearfully the play of emotions
cross Nathaniel’s face.

Would he
punish the child for his stubborn resistance to accepting his
decree? Nathaniel did not understand two year olds. He may well
consider this a disciplinary matter.

To her relief
he elected not to choose this path. Sighing, he turned to leave. ‘I
shall consider it while I prepare my sermon this afternoon. In the
meantime, see the dog is taken to the kitchen so Julian does not
get too attached to it.’

He left her
sitting in the middle of the carpet with Julian sobbing in her lap
and Max’s letter gripped between her fingers.

So Nathaniel
had seen nothing untoward in opening the parchment which clearly
had not been intended for him?

In a trance
she stroked the dark curls of her baby: the fruit of her husband’s
betrayal, the son whose future only she could protect.

Through the
fog of despair came a flicker of hope. Perhaps Max had suspected
Nathaniel would intercept any correspondence between them. Perhaps
he would communicate privately with her.

Tell her he
loved her? That he forgave her everything?

Fear
returned.

Perhaps he
would coldly demand she announce Max publicly as the new viscount
and prostrate herself as the woman who had denied Max his
birthright?

Kissing
Julian’s silky curls she acknowledged he would not be so cold and
she would do whatever was required for Max to take up his rightful
position.

She owed him
that.

But without
his support she would be a disgraced widow, her reputation even
more sullied, struggling for the protection and financial resources
needed to ensure the futures of herself and her son.

In such
circumstances she had no choice but to marry Nathaniel.

She was not
surprised that her downcast spirits reflected Nathaniel’s
dominance, putting him in a benevolent mood that afternoon.

Setting down
his tea cup, he announced with great ceremony during afternoon tea,
‘Let the boy have the puppy. He’ll forget where it came from soon
enough.’

Olivia
rewarded him with a teary smile. Just as Max had forgotten all but
the treachery he laid at her door.

As soon as tea
was over Nathaniel ordered Julian down from the nursery so he could
with even greater ceremony present him with his new puppy.

‘My sermon for
the Nuningford congregation shall focus on compassion and
gratitude,’ he said, resting his hands on Olivia’s shoulders as he
and the aunts watched Julian cavorting around the drawing room with
the playful little bitch he’d named Molly. ‘You have inspired me.’
Guiding her head round so she had no choice but to look at him, he
asked, ‘You are happy, my dear?’

There was no
undertone of malice, no hint of threat. It was as if their
conversation in Olivia’s bedroom had never taken place. As if
Nathaniel were the most genial of men and Olivia the most willing
of widows.

‘Of course.’
She twisted her chin out of his cupped hand so she could watch her
son. Whatever she did was to ensure her child’s future.

His uncertain
future.

‘You have
certainly made me so.’ His voice was a low murmur nearly drowned
out by the boisterous shouts from the other side of the room.

‘I praise God
he set you on the path to righteousness and fulfilment from which
Lucien diverted you’ – he paused, adding heavily – ‘using me as his
instrument.’

Olivia
shuddered.

‘Oh, my dear
Nathaniel, just look at them!’ gushed Aunt Catherine, beaming as if
Nathaniel were the architect of Julian’s happiness.

Olivia stepped
out of Nathaniel’s grasp and went to kneel by her son. ‘You must
thank Mr Kirkman for his kindness,’ she said putting an arm about
the child.

He shrugged it
off and bounded after the puppy. ‘Thank Uncle Max,’ he lisped,
before hurling himself on top of the wriggling animal.

CHAPTER TEN

NORMALLY, WHEN
THE daffodils first popped their golden yellow heads from the
almost frozen ground Olivia would experience a great surge of hope.
Spring was here and the hunting season, only a few months hence,
would mean she’d see less of Lucien. The world in general looked
more promising.

Now, as she
watched Nathaniel heedlessly trample those innocent harbingers of
hope as he inspected the ropes that tied their trunks to his
carriage this chilly April morning she felt nothing but
despair.

Not for the
first time she wondered at her strength of character in allowing
him to trample her dreams and wishes in the same way he was
trampling the clumps of daffodils that lined the gravel drive.

Yet what
alternative did she have? She was in a perilous situation. Her
social isolation was bad enough, but poverty stared her in the
face.

With Max
offering no guide as to what was in store for Julian, let alone
herself, marriage to Nathaniel was the price she must pay.

‘Ah, Miss
Dingley!’ Greeting Aunt Eunice with a self-satisfied smile as she
issued out of the house in company with her sister, the clergyman
added, ‘I have with me my sermon which you recently evinced a
desire to hear and with which I shall amuse the congregation at
Nuningford. I think Olivia shall find the journey passes in
seemingly far less than the two hours the coachman estimates in
this fine weather.’

Olivia gulped.
Two hours in Nathaniel’s presence. Two hours listening to him
prosing on about compassion and gratitude.

She could not
do it.

Not to
herself. Not to Julian. She imagined her boy as a young man forced
to submit to Kirkman’s uncertain temper. Forced to be humble and
grateful.

Nathaniel
would trample over him. Trample over any youthful exuberance he
might show like he was trampling over her and over the clumps of
pretty yellow daffodils.

‘Will you get
off them!’ Starting forward, she gripped his sleeve and tugged.

She heard Aunt
Catherine gasp, and the shock in Aunt Eunice’s warning, ‘Have a
care, Olivia!’

Surprisingly,
his voice was low and calm as he turned. ‘Forgive me, Olivia, for
paying such scant regard to your favourite flower.’ He raised her
palm and kissed it with a smile. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I’m not
going.’

She heard the
same mutinous tone she’d used as a seventeen year old when she’d
defied her aunts to be with Lucien.

Aunt Catherine
stepped forward and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Of
course you must go, Olivia.’

Blackness
blurred her vision. It was terror. The terror she would lose her
nerve before she had shown the courage she might never show
again.

‘No! I shan’t
go to Nuningford!’

Aunt Catherine
gasped. A spasm crossed the Nathaniel’s face as he took her forearm
and steered her round to the carriage door. ‘Wedding nerves,’ he
said crisply. ‘Perfectly understandable.’