Lady Olivia To The Rescue (11 page)

Sheridan caught up to him in a few steps and said, “Richard, what were you talking about with Miss Hepplewhite when we were leaving?”

“Talking about?”

“You know. Nine o’clock and all.”

“Oh, that. I was just setting the time that I should arrive to escort them on their round of entertainments this evening.”

“You are serving as escort?”

“Yes, I happened to arrive first this afternoon and asked if they were attending Lady Osgood’s rout—which you vowed to avoid, you will remember. Anyway, they said that they were going, but only after the Winterses’ musicale. Because I couldn’t be certain what time to meet up with them at the rout, they suggested I simply accompany them to both.”

“Who suggested it? Lady Olivia or Miss Hepplewhite?”

“I don’t…now that you ask, I think it was Lady Olivia. Hm, interesting, don’t you think?”

Sheridan had never wanted so much to plant his friend a facer. Instead, he said, “You are not thinking of…that is, when I was speaking of finding a husband to occupy Olivia’s time, I was not thinking of you.”

“Neither was I, dear chap. On the other hand, neither of us has a crystal ball to see into the future, do we? I suppose only time will tell.”

Chapter Seven 

S
ir Richard presented himself promptly at nine o’clock.

He wore a black coat and black pantaloons. His cravat was tied in the intricate mathematical. His only jewellery was a gold signet ring and a ruby stickpin. His handsome face was crowned by dark hair, brushed very carefully into a careless windswept style. He was the epitome of the English gentleman, and his elegant appearance did not stir Olivia’s heart one iota.

“Good evening, ladies. You are looking especially fetching this evening. I shall be the envy of all the other gentlemen when I appear with two such dazzlers on my arms.”

“La, sir, you will turn our heads,” said Olivia.

“Pray continue,” said her aunt, giggling like a schoolgirl.

“That colour of lavender is quite becoming on you, Miss Hepplewhite. You look the veriest girl in it.”

“That’s good enough. I will not look nearly as young with your butter boat turned over my head. Let us be on our way,” said Aunt Amy.

Their first stop was the Winterses’ musicale. It was a small affair with only thirty or forty guests. Sir Richard found them seats across from the small platform that Lady Winters had erected for the performers. The first performer was a young lady who played the harp remarkably well.

“A wonderful performance,” said Sir Richard.

“And seemingly so effortless. I do so admire anyone with musical talent,” said Olivia.

“Well, I never would have guessed,” murmured her aunt, her attention suddenly drifting.

Olivia turned to see who or what had diverted her aunt. She smiled and gave a little wave to Mr. Jenson as he entered the room. Weaving behind the scattered chairs of the audience, he reached their side.

“Good evening, ladies, Sir Richard,” he whispered.

“Do you not realize it is rude to enter when someone is in the middle of her performance?”

Olivia’s mouth fell open at this, and the doctor blushed.

“I am sorry, Lady Winters told me to come right in.”

“You should have taken that empty seat by the door,” said Aunt Amy. They all squirmed in their seats, but even Olivia could not think of a way to curb her aunt’s tongue.

The doctor stammered and then said, “I will leave if you wish, Miss Hepplewhite. My thought in coming over was to have the pleasure of sitting with friends—with you, in particular—but if you find my presence so distasteful, I will certainly leave.”

“I did not say your company was distasteful, Mr. Jenson. Did you hear me say that, Olivia?”

Just then, the young lady on stage finished her piece. Before she could begin her second offering, Sir Richard said, “I think I shall go and fetch all of us something cool to drink.”

“I will go with you, Sir Richard,” said Olivia, rising and taking his arm.

“That was certainly uncomfortable,” he remarked as they reached the dining room where a buffet of light refreshments was displayed.

“I have never heard my aunt be so incredibly rude.”

“It must be love,” he said, picking up a cup and filling it with champagne punch.

Accepting the cup, Olivia said, “You have a very low opinion of love, Sir Richard, if you think it can so easily take on the guise of rudeness.”

“No, I am merely being truthful. In my experience, love makes a person behave quite strangely. Do you not agree? I mean, when you fancy yourself in love, do you not have palpitations and find yourself in alt one moment and in the depths of despair the next?”

“I couldn’t say. I have never been in love,” she replied quietly.

His look of astonishment was worthy of the stage. “I would never presume to call a lady a liar, but I find your confession impossible to believe. A beauty like you, never in love? I simply cannot believe it.”

“Nonetheless, it is true.”

“Does this mean,” he said, grabbing his throat dramatically, “that you are not in love with me? Not just a little? Be careful how you answer, my lady, for I warn you, I may have to put period to my existence if you deny it.”

Olivia giggled but put her finger to her lips as another couple entered the room. They greeted them politely and strolled to the other side of the table.

Clutching at her elbow, Sir Richard said, “I await your response, but before you reply, my dear Lady Olivia, I beg you to recognize that you hold my life—nay, my very soul—in the palm of your hand.”

“You, my dear Sir Richard, are the most absurd man I have ever met.”

His hand to his heart now, he said, “Ah, she has called me her
dear
. I cannot hope for more. Come, we must join the others before you take back the boon you have so generously bestowed on me.”

They returned to the drawing room where the young harpist was standing and receiving her just applause.

Olivia took one look at her stiff-necked aunt and groaned. How awkward it was going to be if she did not get over whatever had caused her to be so rude to the doctor. For his part, the doctor now seemed as angry as her aunt.

Several more performers, mostly mediocre, took their turns on the stage. Finally, it was time for Lady Winters’s son to take the stage. A lad of fourteen, he had been performing for his mother’s friends since the age of six. He had dark brown hair and deep-set eyes, rather like a bloodhound’s.

Aunt Amy leaned over and whispered, “He is much improved in appearance. His head has finally grown to his nose.”

“Shh!” hissed Olivia, stifling a laugh.

Master Winters opened his mouth to sing. The first few notes were angelic. Then his voice squeaked, and the warbling melody fell an entire octave. After the first few seconds of the poor boy’s performance, a number of the guests seemed to require refreshments and sought refuge in the other room. Olivia and Sir Richard, along with a fuming doctor and aunt, stayed until the bitter end. Somehow, Olivia managed to keep her social smile intact.

The doctor excused himself after the musicale, saying that he had patients to check on. Aunt Amy refused to even look at the poor man.

Sir Richard escorted the ladies to the Osgood rout. It was a terrible crush, and conversation among the three of them proved impossible. By the time they had managed to regain the street, Aunt Amy was in such a state that they went straight home. When they arrived, she seemed to perk up, and Sir Richard was persuaded to join them for tea.

Witchell soon brought in the tray, and Aunt Amy busied herself with pouring while Sir Richard entertained them with the latest
on-dit
from his club.

‘Tell me,” said Aunt Amy. “Are the wagers placed at the tables so ruinous?”

“Occasionally. I do not indulge in that myself.”

“Too virtuous?” teased Olivia.

“Too poor. Well, too poor compared with some of the members. Besides, unlike my friend Sheri, I am a lover, not a gambler.”

“So you prefer the ladies to cards?” asked Aunt Amy. When he nodded, she added, “Isn’t that lucky for us, Olivia? Otherwise we would have been quite without an escort tonight. So much more pleasant the way it turned out.”

“Does Lord Sheridan gamble so much?” Olivia was careful to keep her tone careless. She had nothing against gambling, but there were so many better ways to spend one’s money.

“No, not really. He likes a hand of cards or two. I sometimes wonder why Sheri even belongs to the club, except that it is what we gentlemen do.” The clock on the mantle chimed the hour, and he rose. “That, and keep lovely ladies up much too late with our frivolous chatter. It has been a great pleasure, ladies, but I must bid you goodnight.”

When he had gone, the ladies expelled little sighs of relief. It had been a very long day.

Heaving another sigh, Aunt Amy said, ‘That Sir Richard is quite the charmer.”

“I suppose so. And wasn’t it nice of Mr. Jenson to come?” Olivia sank back against the sofa in the drawing room and kicked off her kid slippers.

“He probably had to find something to occupy his time between seeing patients. I much prefer someone like your Sir Richard, someone you can count on.”

“He is not my Sir Richard, Aunt, but he is certainly obliging. I don’t know many men who would accompany two ladies to two such boring parties. The musicale would have been fine, I suppose, if young Master Winters’s voice had not decided to change this very evening. How mortifying for the lad.”

“His mother should have dragged him off the stage after the first chorus. I always doubted her good sense, and now I am sure of it.”

“Aunt, do not be so hard on her. She is just a doting mother.”

“Well, your mother was doting, too, but when she realized you had the ear of a rock, she let you quit your music lessons—of any kind.”

Olivia giggled. “Yes, but not before having me try everything from the pianoforte to the harp. The worst, however, was the lute. She told me I had an old-fashioned voice and needed to play an appropriate instrument.”

“Oh, I remember that. I came running down the stairs, accusing the potboy of strangling that cat you had.”

“What I really needed was something very loud to drown out my voice. Unfortunately, there is no instrument a young lady can play that would be that loud.”

“That’s all right, m’dear. You have a kind heart and that is better than musical talent any day.” Her aunt rose and stretched. “I am going to bed. I am supposed to have a fitting for my new gown at eleven o’clock, but I daresay I shall have to cancel it. Somehow, as I get older, morning comes earlier. Goodnight, my dear.”

“Goodnight, Aunt. Sleep well.”

When Olivia was alone, she lifted the hem of her gown and put her feet out to the fire. Would winter never give up? She shivered and leaned forward to warm her hands.

Olivia smiled, remembering some of the outrageous compliments Sir Richard had paid her. He really was a charming man. She had not believed any of his flummery, and he knew it. Still, they had enjoyed the nonsense. His was such a charismatic personality. A shame his friend was not gifted in that way.

She grimaced at the sofa, the empty spot by her side where the marquess had sat that very afternoon. Why had he felt compelled to say all those awful things? For a man to kiss a woman without permission was not polite, but for him to claim it had meant nothing, that it had been a mistake—that was near to heresy. And she had thought he possessed a modicum of good sense!

What made matters worse, she must be as much of a nincompoop as he was—else why would his words have wounded her so?

Closing her eyes, she relived that kiss, every mind-numbing second of it. She could feel his arms around her, the silky feel of his hair.

Becoming uncomfortable, Olivia shifted away from the fire. How had it grown so warm? Returning to her memories, she groaned.

She had been so foolish! She should never have responded to him. At first, she had been quite shocked—not by the kiss so much as by the fact that it was the cynical Lord Sheridan delivering it—and to her, whom he barely tolerated. But it was not as if she had never been kissed. She had, but she had never been tempted to respond as…feverishly as she had last night. In retrospect, her response had been quite scandalous. She could not, in good conscience however, bring herself to regret it for it had opened the floodgate for that delicious, overwhelming feeling of…

Olivia frowned. What had she felt when he had continued kissing her in that wonderful manner? When had he begun to probe her mouth, and for that matter, when and why had she allowed it? The warmth that had flooded her body had been equally astonishing.

She found her breath was coming rapidly just remembering his touch, the scent of him in the crisp night. She closed her eyes, imagining he was there, that she was in his arms. Olivia’s eyes flew open, and she gasped.

Desire.

She had felt wild and inescapable desire.

She clambered to her feet, still reeling from this realization. Taking a turn around the room, she came back to the fire, staring into it until her heart quit thumping so loudly.

He was right. He should never have kissed her. If he had never kissed her, then she would not know this wrenching feeling of emptiness, knowing that he never intended to kiss her again.

She clenched her fists. “Damn you,” she whispered. The curse did nothing to alleviate her desolation.

“What I should do,” she told the fire, “is find the most disagreeable female in all of London and make you fall in love with her and marry her. That would fix you, my Lord Sheridan.”

This thought brought with it a pain as real as if someone were stabbing her with a knife. She uttered a small, frustrated cry and clutched the mantle for support.

There would be no finding a wife for the marquess now. Olivia lifted her chin and looked into the small mirror over the fireplace. No, there was no need to search.

She had discovered the perfect mate for Lord Sheridan. And he would never know.

Morning, as always, restored Olivia’s cheery mood. When she rose and looked out the window at the new, gleaming day, she could not prevent the burst of hope that flamed in her breast.

Having never felt the sting of Cupid’s arrow, she had never pursued a man before. Now, she would have to learn, and she would have to learn fast. It was the first of May already. The Season would be over before she knew it, and with it, her chances to make Lord Sheridan realize that she was the one he needed in his life, the one who could make him smile.

The clock chimed ten, and she put on her wrapper and tripped down the hall to her aunt’s room.

Her aunt sat in the bed, her bed cap askew, sipping her morning chocolate.

“Good morning, my dear.”

“You are up very early,” said Olivia, crossing the room and sitting on the side of the bed.

“Yes, well, Jinks reminded me last night that if I did not have my fitting today, my gown would probably not be ready for our ball in two weeks’ time. Because I simply must have a new gown for that. I told her to wake me even if I threw every single pillow at her head.”

“Which she did,” said the maid, coming into the room, her arms laden with all manner of petticoats, stockings, and a navy blue carriage dress.

“Yes, yes, and I shall have something to say about that at some later date, but for now, please, Jinks, do take that dress away. You know I cannot abide wearing it in May. May calls for pale lilacs and soft greens. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

“Oh, yes. In May, one shouldn’t wear navy blue unless one is in mourning.”