Laura Matthews (20 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Time hung heavily on Olivia’s hands. The decoration of her suite was complete, and she had turned to other areas of the house for inspiration. While they watched the removal of a chair which she particularly loathed, Miss Stewart asked hesitantly, “You do not fear that your mother-in-law will object to any of the changes?”

Olivia grinned. “Not Lady Lawrence. She will be graciously approving when first she sees them and in time will actually come to like them, I think. Noah probably will not notice particularly, and Julianna will confide to me that she has longed to be rid of that chair for years. Besides,” she added with a slight lift of her chin, “I am now in charge of the domestic matters here.”

“Yes, of course.” Miss Stewart bent to her sewing and did not meet her friend’s eyes.

“Oh, you know it is not like that! I am ... restless.” Olivia had intended to say bored, but thought it unkind to speak so when she had Miss Stewart’s companionship. “You’ve been the greatest help to me in making these changes, and I would be foolish beyond permission not to take advantage of your expertise while you’re here.”

Miss Stewart laughed. “You cannot bamboozle me, Olivia. Your taste is excellent and I have had very little to do with the outcome. I would caution you, though, on the expense you are incurring.”

“Noah said I was to redecorate my suite.”

“Yes, but he had no thought of your replacing a chair here, and a sofa there, with new draperies for the Summer Parlor.” Miss Stewart studied Olivia’s set face skeptically. “Had it occurred to you that it is boredom and ... restlessness… which often lead your brothers to their extravagances? It begins so simply with no real intent of harm. One day there is nothing to do and you notice that the paint is scratched on the phaeton. Well, there is nothing for it but to buy a new one.

“At least one whole day can be whiled away inspecting the various coaches for sale, or, better yet, having one built to your own specifications. Now that will occupy you for even longer, and who cares for the extra expense? No, the standard seats will not do, and the wood for the splinter bar should be stronger. Ah, yes, and you will have the very latest springs and the harness should be specially ornamented perhaps. Now, if you were to go over to Norwich you might find a better designed side lamp. Pretty soon you are making special orders to the wheelwright, the smith, the painter, the liner, and the trimmer, in addition to the lamp and harness makers. And then, with a brand new phaeton, it seems only right to look for a more perfectly matched pair of bays or chestnuts!”

“Oh, stop, stop,” Olivia giggled. “I see what you’re saying, and of course you are perfectly right. We shall find more things to do that are not an unnecessary expense. But
not,
I think, a visit to the Pugh grandmother or Mrs. Trambor. Even Lorraine Pugh’s company pales on one after a visit or two. She seems so young and flighty, don’t you think?”

“She will grow out of it in time, I dare say,” Miss Stewart replied unconvincingly.

“Perhaps.” Olivia lost interest in the subject and said sadly, “I should so like to hear from Noah. It is vexing not to be able to write to him, for I have some news to impart.” She unconsciously touched her belly and Miss Stewart pretended not to notice.

“Well, his business is no doubt very pressing,” Miss Stewart consoled her. She kept her eyes fixed on her stitching as she said, “You find married life agreeable, I expect, even though he is not here.”

“I don’t feel married at all when he isn’t here,” Olivia muttered with asperity. “I might as well be at Stolenhurst.”

“Now, Olivia, you cannot mean that! Here you are truly the mistress of your own home.”

Olivia gazed out over the park and around to the lake. “Yes, and I do love it here. Shall we take a hamper down to the lake and toss bread to the swans?”

In an attempt to heed her companion’s advice, Olivia sought other outlets for her disquiet than the luxury of replacing serviceable pieces about the house. She made her letters to Lady Lawrence longer with descriptions of her activities, the status of the housekeeper’s boil and news of the village.

But each time she wrote she was reminded that she was unable to write to her husband, and she had no wish to tell Lady Lawrence her special news by post. In fact, she had no wish to tell her mother-in-law at all until she had told Noah.

Strolling into the stables one day she was reminded of Miss Stewart’s treatise on phaeton building. She had long had a desire to learn to drive one, but her brothers would not accommodate her wish. Before the wedding Julianna had frequently let her tool the gig along the lanes when they were returning from the village, but she had never had two horses in hand. The phaeton at the Towers was of the high-perch type with its seat hung over the four-foot front wheels. When Olivia surveyed it she was alarmed by the height of the driving seat.

“ ‘Taint so bad as it looks, m’lady,” the coachman assured her with a grin. “Have a mind to try your hand at it, do you?”

“I’ve never had two in hand, James. Do you think you could teach me?”

“I reckon so. More than once I’ve seen you handle the gig, and you’ve a nice touch. If I was to harness up that sweet-tempered pair Sir Noah bought last summer, I doubt you’d have the least problem.”

Olivia’s eyes sparkled with real enthusiasm. “Then I shall do it right now ... if you can spare the time.”

“Not much happening here these days, m’lady.” He regarded her acknowledging nod sympathetically. “Won’t be long now before I go to London for Lady Lawrence and Miss Julianna.” He was careful to make no mention of Sir Noah, though he was as curious as the rest of the staff as to what could have taken that gentleman away from his bride.

While she waited for him to harness the horses to the phaeton, Olivia perched on the top of the fence. June. It was already June with the bees humming in the clover and the sun burning down on the bright green grass. And where was Noah that he could not write? He was not in London. His mother’s letters made no mention of him, though her disapproval was so patent that it reeked from between every line. Lady Lawrence was apparently also displeased that Julianna was seeing more of Alexander Cutler than she could approve, but Julianna’s postscripts and occasional notes were full of him, and the delightful balls she attended where the ladies sighed over “her” Alexander.

Olivia absently brushed a fly from her forehead and watched the harnessing of the horses without attention. What possible excuse could Noah have for being away so long? Everything would be all right if he would only write. She allowed the coachman to hand her up onto the seat, her fear of the height forgotten. Noah would be surprised and pleased to learn that she had interested herself in driving . . . when he could be told of it.

For several days she applied herself assiduously to her new lessons, thinking them one small way in which she might gain her husband’s interest when he returned. On her first excursion through the village she very nearly ran down the parish beadle, and she could see no reason for James’ inordinate amusement at the incident.

“But m’lady, his expression! Then, too, him almost coming to blows with the inn signpost on the green when he backed into it to get out of your way.”

“Well, I suppose it was funny,” she conceded with a lurking smile, “but it is no recommendation for my driving.”

“Don’t you worry none, ma’am. You’re doing right well, all considered. Why, I remember the first time Sir Noah had two in hand as a lad. Very nearly ran over a post he did, and with his father all red in the face from exasperation. And do you know what the lad said? All cross he was and says he, ‘It is no place for a post, Father. Could we not have it removed?’ Couldn’t ‘ave been more’n five or six at the time, I dare say.”

“He hasn’t changed,” Olivia muttered, and returned her attention to her driving.

Hot, and slightly disheveled from her lesson, she entered the house for the first time with no thought of a letter from her husband, so intent was she on seeking the coolness of the interior. Miss Stewart, beaming angelically, hastened to her in the hall and murmured, “There is a letter for you, my dear.”

Thrusting her gloves and hat on the table before the servant could reach her, she said breathlessly, “From Noah?”

“The housekeeper said it is surely his writing. The tray is in the Summer Parlor.” Miss Stewart watched indulgently while her former charge, oblivious to any eyes on her, rushed down the hall with less than her usual grace. She would leave Olivia alone for a while to savor her letter in peace.

The new blue draperies in the Summer Parlor were drawn against the heat of the day, but Olivia immediately recognized the French origination of the letter and froze. What the devil was he doing in France? Nervously she broke the seal and perused the contents of the concise message—he was well, in France on business, and could not tell when he would be returning to Welling Towers. He offered her no return direction and only vague assurances of his affection.

After an absence of close to two months he has nothing to say to me, she thought bitterly, as she tossed the letter from her and angrily pulled at the bell cord. Frolicking about in Paris, no doubt, and proving that one need not be tied down by marriage. When the servant appeared, Olivia ordered lemonade for two and sent an invitation for Miss Stewart to join her. By the time her companion appeared, she had schooled her face to a semblance of calm, but her distress continued to seethe in her mind.

“How delightful that you have heard from Sir Noah,” her companion said with a gentle smile.

“Yes, he has journeyed to France on business and assures me that he is well,” Olivia replied, forcing a smile to her lips. “It is uncertain when he will return, however. Did you hear from your friend today?”

Miss Stewart colored slightly and nodded. “Yes, I had an interesting letter with many descriptions of the countryside in Shropshire. I have never traveled that way myself but my correspondent made it all come alive for me in the telling. No doubt Sir Noah has done much the same for you with descriptions of France.”

“It was a hurried letter.”

In spite of Olivia’s brave attempt to conceal her disappointment, Miss Stewart had known her too long and too well to be under any illusions. The long awaited letter had not lived up to expectation, and her heart ached for Olivia. Perhaps, after all, she would not return to London when her traveling friend did, but stay with her former charge until Lady Lawrence was expected home.

She was about to give this assurance when Olivia said abruptly, “I did not notice the other letter,” and proceeded to break the seal while the lemonade was set out for them. Her eyes brightened as she read. “Lady Lawrence has set a date for their return and it is but two weeks from today. She says that Lady Elizabeth and her cousin had a wordy confrontation at Lady Hopkinton’s ball.” Somehow it was comforting to Olivia to know that Mrs. Dyer was in London, since Noah was not. Only recently had she begun to feel violently jealous of Mrs. Dyer, thinking that somehow, somewhere, Noah must be with her, if he made no effort to return to his wife.

For a brief time Olivia had reveled in the knowledge that Noah had enjoyed himself in bed with her, that she had been able to please him. But soon the suspicion had worked its way into her mind that any willing woman would have provided similar pleasure to him, and certainly Mrs. Dyer was a willing woman.

The knowledge threatened to crush her at times, and it was scant solace that Mrs. Dyer was in London. There were no doubt many willing women, in England and in France, who could please her husband. And so she sometimes lay awake and ached for his body next to hers in the black stretches of the night, wondering where he was, and with whom.

* * * *

After Noah sent the letter to Olivia, he would gladly have called it back. How could he have been so heartless as to have taken his vexation out on her? There was no use in his staying on in Paris, given his notable lack of success. He had done what he could. Now he could surely return home in good conscience. The decision was taken on the moment, and he was more pleased than depressed as he sought out his host.

Mauppard was in his cabinet frowning over a letter and he gestured Noah to his side. “See what you can make of this, my friend. It concerns your dispatches.”

The note, from an associate of Mauppard’s, was cautious. “ ‘When you had me witness the exchange of documents, I saw nothing familiar in the peasant who transacted it. However, when walking in the Rue Basse du Rempart yesterday, a gentleman preceding me into a banking establishment bore some resemblance to the fellow, and I enquired his identity. He was Armand Dupin, secretary to the Vicomte de Preslin. I can be no more definitive than this.’ “

“Preslin having the dispatches would not be at odds with what we know,” Mauppard mused as he carefully destroyed the note. “His disdain of the English is well-known, and it would give him pleasure to embarrass your country. But if he has them, they could hardly be in more dangerous hands. He will know precisely how best to use them to his own advantage.”

“Your sister shows a marked interest in him.”

“She’s in love with his fortune and he is content to glean any information he can from her careless chatter,” Mauppard replied cynically. “If he has the dispatches, it will not be easy to retrieve them. He’s not a man I would care to cross.”

“No.” Noah recalled the cold, proud face, the biting tongue, the hard eyes. “Still, it’s the only lead we’ve had. Tell me about him.”

Nothing he learned gave Noah the least desire to become further acquainted with the vicomte but he felt it his duty to pursue the matter. Françoise was in a position to provide the means, and Noah found her in the salon surrounded by large bouquets of flowers, fingering a card with unconcealed triumph.

“Ah, Sir Noah. Did I not tell you the ball would be delightful? I am inundated with flowers and bonbons this morning.” She waved a languid hand about the room. “What did you think of the Vicomte de Preslin?”