Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (25 page)

He chuckled
again, staring out through the greasy windows. With his dark, oiled
hair combed back from his high, greasy forehead and his full,
gloating lips, he looked more like a repulsive toad than ever.

She seized her
moment. Leaping out of the chair she ran towards the door, gripping
the knob as Nathaniel’s voice floated from the window
embrasure.

‘You really
have lost your wits, Olivia, if you think you can simply step out
of this room and find your way home.’

‘I shall walk
if I have to!’ she cried, as she tried to make the door yield.

‘An attractive
proposition for the first drunken rider passing,’ he chuckled.

She must not
buckle now, though she realized the door had been locked. The key,
however, still protruded, though it was stiff. Relief flooded her
as it ground its rotation. ‘Goodbye, Nathaniel.’

‘Not so fast,
Olivia!’

How quickly he
moved for such a heavy man, she thought as he gripped her
elbow.

‘Not when
you’ve failed to give satisfaction.’

His words were
ominous, but when he saw the revulsion in her face his lip curled.
‘I admit I am disappointed to be denied your charms in the marriage
bed, but the idea of forcing myself on you is even more
repugnant.’

‘Then let me
go,’ she whispered, looking at his fingers curled around her
forearm.

‘Not until you
show me what’s in your reticule.’

No sooner had
Max closed the door of Amelia’s drawing room than he found himself
facing down a veritable regiment of women.

So much for a
quiet sanctuary followed by the catharsis of sleep to calm his
disordered wits, thought Max, as he was confronted by Olivia’s
aunts, flanked by a formidable-looking woman in a gold toque.

Oh Lord, and
there was Olivia’s cousin, Miss Lucy, too!

Amelia and
Jonathan, he’d been told by the weary parlour maid who admitted
him, had gone to bed.

‘Where’s
Olivia?’ Aunt Eunice’s voice was strained as she peered past his
shoulder.

On the sofa
beside her, the young chestnut-haired Lucy raised a pale, blotched
face, her mouth trembling as she wailed, ‘So you were too late, Mr
Atherton! They’ve eloped, haven’t they?’ Before he could reply she
dissolved into tears against her mother.

Grimly, he
said, ‘There has been no elopement, Miss Lucy. I have just returned
Lady Farquhar to Reverend Kirkman whom she is to marry at the end
of the week.’ He doubted he had the fortitude to answer any more
questions. Especially ones that brought back the uncomfortably
draconian manner in which he had handed Olivia over.

He was
surprised at the reaction to his perfectly reasonable announcement.
Surely it was the outcome everyone had expected; desired, even.

‘The
reverend!’ gasped Aunt Catherine, springing up and clutching her
bosom as if he’d just told her he’d returned her to Bluebeard
himself. ‘Oh dear me, no! Surely she did not request it?’

His discomfort
grew. ‘It would appear Olivia does not know her own mind, yet it is
too late for her to withdraw without great damage to her
reputation.’ He picked up Jonathon’s snuff box which lay on the
mantelpiece. Distractedly, he added, ‘Do you not think it better
than facing the accusing stares of all of you in this room? It was
a kindness.’

‘A kindness?’
repeated Aunt Eunice. Her thin frame trembled as she also rose.
‘Olivia holds that man in great aversion. She ended matters between
them quite decisively before she accompanied us to Bath.’

Aunt Catherine
dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace. ‘She did not deserve it,
Mr Atherton. Not after what she did for Lucy.’

Silently, Max
prayed for fortitude. Lucy?

‘She ruined my
life!’ Lucy cried on a choking sob.

Aunt Eunice
sank back upon the sofa. ‘I really don’t understand all this talk
of betrayal, Lucy,’ she muttered. ‘And if Olivia has returned to Mr
Kirkman, surely it proves her blameless?’

Aunt Catherine
lent her argument to the cause. ‘Why would Olivia steal away your
admirer, Lucy, when her heart clearly belongs elsewhere?’ She
levelled an accusing look at Max as she settled herself beside her
sister. ‘Besides, she only met Mr Petersham this evening and your
mama has tried to tell you Olivia is blameless in the whole
matter.’

‘Lady Farquhar
has shown Mr Petersham up for what he is, Lucy!’ said Aunt Eunice.
‘It was very kind of her when she did not want to do it.’

Did not want
to do it?

‘She was not
unwilling!’ Lucy cried, close to tears. ‘I saw them!’ Max had seen
them, too. With distaste he recalled the vision:

Olivia’s body
pliant beneath the onslaught of that … villain’s … ardour.

Though, on
reflection, it was difficult to gauge how pliant she had been. Yet
he had jumped to the only conclusion possible, he defended himself,
silently.

‘No
respectable woman would compromise herself like that if she did not
want to!’ Lucy persisted. ‘I hate her! I never want to see her
again!’

Aunt Eunice
gave Lucy a gentle shake. ‘You should never want to see
Mr
Petersham
again, for Lady Farquhar has shown him up for exactly
what he is.’

The lady in
the gold toque leant forward. ‘A fortune-hunter, Lucy, and it was
only because I prevailed upon your cousin to … to compromise
herself – though that is too strong a word for I ensured the
assignation was in private so there was no risk to her
reputation—’

Aunt Eunice
turned on her. ‘Cousin Mariah, I believe you were quite specific in
your instructions to Olivia.’ She glared, first at her cousin, then
at Max. ‘Atonement and honour, I believe were the words Cousin
Mariah used to shame Olivia into helping her with her plan to
ensure Lucy was under no illusions that her admirer was a
philanderer.’

‘How dare you
accuse me—’

Aunt Eunice
cut her off, her accusing glare still turned upon Max.

‘Now my poor
Olivia has been returned to Nathaniel Kirkman! Against her wishes,
for I suspect your anger overruled your judgement, Mr Atherton, did
it not?’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LINED UP SIDE
by side on the wooden table in Nathaniel’s room the two gold coins
looked surprisingly dull. Worthless, unless she had known
otherwise.

They were to
have been Olivia’s passport to happiness; atonement to Max, they
were to have won back his love.

‘You’re
cleverer than I thought, Olivia,’ Nathaniel murmured, tearing his
gaze from the coins. ‘After all these years you’ve found the
fortune which sent Lucien mad.’

‘But
only
I know where it is, Nathaniel,’ she reminded him.

Nathaniel
chuckled. ‘It’s a wonder we never bumped into one another, my dear,
during our mutual nocturnal quest. For years I’ve searched every
priest hole, nook and cranny I could think of.’

‘I never
believed the stories,’ Olivia said stonily. ‘I stumbled upon it by
accident.’

His hand
darted to the key around her neck. ‘Then why this?’

She shrugged,
then laughed. ‘This is not the key Lucien gave me. It is the key to
Elmwood where I shall soon return.’

Pressing
against her side Nathaniel clapped her on the shoulder and gave a
humourless laugh, his gaze returning to the gold. ‘Ever the
dreamer, Olivia. Still, no matter if it is not the right key as you
are clearly able to lead me to the prize.’ He took her arm.
‘Besides, I was not leaving anything to chance. I had my own copy
made.’ Pocketing the coins, he turned. ‘Time to order a
carriage.’

‘I have no
intention of meekly leading you to the gold.’

‘There is
nothing meek about you, Olivia, when your blood is up.’ He pinched
her cheek. ‘It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you.
Of course
you have no intention of leading me to the gold,
just as I have no intention of leaving open the possibility of your
escape, since leading me to the gold is
exactly
what you
will do.’

He strode to
the door. Grasping the knob he smiled at her. ‘You must be patient,
my dear, until I’ve returned. And save your breath if you’ve any
plans of shrieking for help. I shall tell the publican you’re a
lightskirt who has stolen from me and that I’m off to fetch the
magistrate.’ His gaze travelled the length of her costume, so
revealing and inappropriate in the light of day. With another
chuckle he added, ‘The way you’re dressed they’ll not disbelieve
me.’

Olivia sank on
to the bed and buried her head in her hands when Nathaniel had
gone. Once, she had believed he had her interests at heart; that he
had cared when Lucien had beaten or humiliated her. What a fool she
had been.

Graft and gain
had been his motive the entire time.

For a while
she wept, curled upon the counterpane. It was a relief to choke out
the sobs which racked her body until she felt it had no more
substance than the clothes she wore.

And what
clothes! How appropriate, she thought bitterly, that she should be
dressed like a whore as her dreams exploded in her face. Yet what
could Nathaniel do to her that her espousal of the truth to the
world could not?

Sitting up,
she sucked in a breath, trembling with the realization of what she
must do. She had been waiting for direction from Max. Just as she
had since the day she married Lucien, she had been waiting for a
man to tell her what to do. The time had come to make her own
decisions, and remain true to them.

Please, let
there be time! she thought, as she ran to the desk where Nathaniel
had been in the midst of writing a sermon when she’d arrived. How
she wished she had done this the moment he’d left the room. She had
no idea how long she’d been weeping.

She was
scribbling upon the second page when Nathaniel returned.

Horrified, she
tried to hide the parchment, but his gaze from the doorway took in
her stricken, guilty look before it travelled towards the hand she
concealed behind her back.

‘You’ve shown
admirable restraint,’ he remarked, crossing the room towards her.
‘The servants haven’t heard a peep from you. Now, let’s see what
this drama-filled tale of imprisonment contains.’ He put out his
hand for the paper.

When she
refused to give it to him he snatched it from her, reading it with
interest and chuckling several times.

‘You don’t
believe in half measures, do you?’ His tone was admiring.

‘A full and
frank baring of the truth, no less.’

‘It is not
finished—’

‘Yes, there is
a little editing to be done.’ Nathaniel continued to pace before
the grate, still studying the parchment. ‘If we dispense with the
first paragraph in which you claim to be held prisoner against your
will, I think it will do very well.’ He frowned. ‘Had you planned
to throw this out of the window, my dear, in the hopes of being
rescued? Foolish of me not to have thought of it, yet I am pleased
you have so conveniently orchestrated an alternative future for
yourself. I had not decided what was to be done with you once you’d
furnished me with the gold.’

His cryptic
words filled her with panic. She tried to snatch the parchment from
him but he held it above his head, gripping her shoulder with his
other hand.

‘It is not
finished, Nathaniel!’ Olivia cried again, her hands tearing the air
in her desperation to reclaim the document, so damning in its
truncated state.

‘But
you
are, Lady Farquhar!’ he responded grimly, ‘and so are
your dreams of cosy domesticity with your heroic Mr Atherton.’ He
pushed her away from him as he made for the door. ‘Where is he
now?’ he sneered. ‘Where is the
hero
who delivered you into
my very hands?’ He tapped the paper before turning the door knob.
‘You are confessing to the very crime of which he believes you
guilty. He’ll not disbelieve it when he hears your burdened
conscience has prompted your flight far, far away where nobody will
ever find you.’

She felt the
knot of fear and hope pull tighter when he said cheerfully, ‘It
would however appear Mr Atherton’s conscience is pricked by his
shabby treatment. He was asking for you a short while ago.’

Olivia stopped
her pacing and gripped the bedpost for support.

Max was
here
? He had returned?

Surely it
could mean only one thing? That he had realized the error he had
made and had come to take her home.

She could not
believe Nathaniel would resort to violence, like Lucien. Yet his
insidious character had begun to frighten her more than Lucien ever
had. Lucien’s anger found its outlet upon the instant. He was not a
man who would patiently plot his revenge.

She realized
Nathaniel had told her so he could enjoy her suffering.

‘What lies was
he told?’ she asked dully.

‘I informed
the publican that you were, on account of your nervous disposition,
on your way home to Mortlock. Your outrageous rig-out helped
persuade him you were not quite right in the top loft.’ He
chuckled. ‘If you made no noise he may well have presumed you’d
already left. Now!’ Striding to the table he pulled out more paper
and dipped his quill in the ink. ‘To business, my dear. There are
several letters for you to write in addition to putting your
signature to the bottom of this delightfully damning little
document.’

‘Max will find
me!’ Olivia declared, firming her grip on the back of the chair by
the still unlit grate, refusing his offer of a seat at the
desk.

‘Once he
learns that infidelity is not amongst my crimes he will pursue me
to the ends of the earth! And then
you
!’

‘He’ll have to
be persistent to get that far!’ Impatiently, he tapped the paper.
‘Come over here, Olivia and take up your pen. Mr Atherton is on
horseback so I’d give him an hour before he turns back after
failing to pass us on the road. As soon as we’ve done this’ – he
picked up the quill and put it in her hand as he dragged her over –
‘we shall leave, taking a more circuitous route. We should reach
The Lodge by early afternoon.’ He rubbed his hands together after
pushing her down upon the seat. ‘By this afternoon I shall be a
rich man.’