Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (4 page)

Olivia found it difficult to pull her eyes from his lips as he spoke, even when his gaze seemed to hold her hostage. She wanted to stay in this safe, clean house more than anything. Except for maybe the desire to avoid being hanged for murder, but staying in this house was a close second. “Thank you.”

Penny broke the hypnotic hold when she kissed her brother on the cheek. “Thank you, brother dear.”

Lord Dalton made a point of answering Olivia instead of his sister. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Five

Olivia met the rest of Penelope’s sisters at the breakfast table, with Penelope seated to one side of her and Cassandra to the other, as well as her mother, grandmother and aunt. Olivia feasted on a breakfast of sausage, kippers, eggs and toast until she thought she’d burst.

After their repast, the ladies adjourned to the family sitting room where she was overwhelmed by the outpouring of genuine concern for her wellbeing. Olivia was initially skittish and mistrusting. In the not-too-distant past, she’d experienced this kind of effusive kindness, and it never ended well. Her former landlady was a sterling example, but Olivia quickly discovered Penelope’s family was genuine and caring, and she warmed to their ministrations and allowed their concern to calm her injured soul. The camaraderie of the women, instead of the lost feeling of her against the world that had so consumed her recently, did more to heal her than she would have imagined.

The sound of running feet brought her out of her self-indulgent reverie. “Livie!”

“Warren.” She smiled as he came running into her arms. “I’ve been so worried about you.” She pushed away and held him at arm’s length so she could look at him better. He was also washed and wearing clean clothes.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’ve been with Lord Dalton.”

“I hope you’re not pestering the man. He has been very good to us.” She pulled him back into a tight, grateful hug. “You haven’t told him anything have you?” she whispered in his ear.

His hair tickled against her cheek when he shook his head. “No. I would never.”

“Do you have—?”

“I hid the gun in my room.” Warren pulled away and picked up the public conversation. “I wasn’t pestering him. I’ve been helping him with things.”

Livvy laughed. “I’m sure you have, love.”

“Actually, he
has
been helping me.”

Olivia whirled around at the sound of the deep masculine voice. She dipped into a curtsy. “Hello again, my lord.” He was not Zeus like she’d thought. Apollo, the God of light and sun, fit the tall blond man better. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head back quite a bit to see his face. His mien had changed. Gone was the serious expression from his study. Now his lips curled at the ends in a half grin, as if he found something slightly amusing. It was his eyes that drew her, compelling her to gaze up at them until she realized she was staring and blushed, looking quickly away. Strikingly blue and impossibly vital, they twinkled in amusement.

Olivia pulled her attention back to her brother. “Still, Lord Dalton has done so much for us. He’s a very important man, and I don’t want you getting in his way.”

“Please, since you’re staying in my home, just Dalton, Miss Goldsleigh.” He smiled at her again, his teeth flashing in a brilliant smile, perfectly straight and white.

“Guess what.” Warren jumped in to get her attention again. “I have my own bedroom, and Dalton said I can stay there as long as I want to.”

Olivia blinked at her brother in embarrassment and avoided Lord Dalton’s gaze. “Well, we’ll see.” She mustn’t allow herself or Warren to get too comfortable. They would have to leave here eventually. Sooner or later, she and Warren would be found out, and they would be expelled from the house if not taken straightaway to Newgate.

“I was most sincere in my invitation earlier, Miss Goldsleigh.” His ungloved hand extended to her elbow and grazed her in the briefest moment of connection. “If it puts your mind at ease, know that you’re making me feel better by staying here. If you leave now, you’ll only have us all worrying about you both.”

She knew better than to grow complacent, comfortable, weak. Still, when he touched her, even the merest brush against her boney elbow, she could imagine staying here, with him. The bob of her head was the barest concession towards a nod, but she was rewarded with a breathtaking smile and what may have been a look of relief. Warren whooped.

“Well then, Miss Goldsleigh, welcome to Dalton House. I know my sisters are thrilled to have you here. Any time they can find a new project, they are happy to leave me be.” The sting was expunged from the words by his smile and the light tone of his voice.

Her own lips spread in an answering grin. “I am not too proud to be their project. It seems like ages since I have been in the company of ladies.”

Penelope approached and broke into the conversation. “We are planning another trip to Bond Street today.” She raised her hand at the look of mock horror Dalton shot her. “Don’t worry, Henry, we will not be expecting you to accompany us this time. We have a great deal to accomplish today, and we can’t have you slowing us down.”

Dalton laughed, a great, deep chuckle that warmed Olivia all over. How wonderful to be with a family so obviously fond of one another, where jesting and teasing were commonplace. It reminded her of the similar way her father and stepmother had been with each other.

“Yes, chickadee, I know I am such a burden on you all.” Lord Dalton tweaked his sister gently on the nose. Penny jerked her head and slapped at his hand. “It’s a good thing I’m still dedicated to paying all your modiste bills, isn’t it?”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Just for that you can expect the next one to be enormous, gargantuan even.”

“Either way, you ladies have fun. With your permission, Miss Goldsleigh, I’ll keep Warren with me today.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder. Burgeoning hero worship was written all over her brother’s face. “I can’t in good conscience subject him to the horrors of Bond Street and my sisters. I’ll take him to my tailor and get him set up.”

“Oh I don’t know about all this.” Panic crept into her chest and raced her heart with anxiety. “We don’t need…” She indicated her dress and Warren’s clean clothes. “This is plenty, I assure you. I can’t allow you to do any more than this. You’re already much too generous.”

“Never you fear, my brother, the god, has more money than Midas.” Penny giggled. “Daphne’s dress will do until we can get to Bond Street this afternoon, but you’ll need much more than that.” Penny smirked at her brother. “Henry says I think all the world’s ills can be cured by shopping, but in this instance, your immediate problem most certainly can.”

“Miss Goldsleigh, I assure you, assisting you is no hardship. Think no more about it. Go with my sisters and enjoy your day.”

It was said with finality and a smile meant to put her at ease, but it was the warm hand Lord Dalton placed on Warren’s shoulder and the look of utter adoration from the boy that convinced her. Her brother must be terribly alone now with no men in his life.

“If it really is no hardship, I will endeavor to repay your kindness some day, Lord Dalton.” She hugged her brother to her once more. “Don’t be any trouble, now,” she warned Warren with a smile, and then whispered, “Please be careful.”

“Of course,” Warren said, his double meaning apparent in his solemn gaze.

“Oh, he won’t be any trouble, I’m sure. I’m going to put him to work today. He’s going to help me scout out some new horseflesh at Tattersall’s, and we’ll visit the tailor I already mentioned. It will be a grand day of gentlemanly pursuits,” he promised the boy. His gaze shifted back to Olivia when he told her, “And repaying me is not required.”

“Are we really going to Tattersall’s?” the boy asked Henry a bit breathlessly. “I love horses.”

Henry assured him, “You will be a great help to me. I’ll finish with my man in the study and then we’ll head out.”

“Yes, my lord.” Warren loped down the hall after his sister.

The boy was warming to him. After the conversation in the garden, Dalton had been concerned the boy would be embarrassed to face him again. The boy was mature beyond his years, and Henry was afraid the lad’s pride would win out. However this morning, when Warren had found him in the salon reading the newspaper in the quiet before the whirlwind of Cavendish women awoke and descended on the house, he had greeted him warmly. Henry had felt an inexplicable cramping in his chest ease when Warren sat on the settee next to him and asked to read a section he’d finished with.

Dalton was anticipating spending the day with the boy. He turned on his heel and strode down the hall towards his inner sanctum, smiling to himself. It seemed all he ever did was hear about lace and trimming and bonnets and such. How blissful to spend a day with a person of the male persuasion. For God’s sake, he was almost giddy.

Now the sister, she was something else entirely. What a mystery. Warren he understood. He’d been a lad himself once and remembered that strange time between being a boy and young man—Warren was just arriving there a little earlier than most boys. Olivia was unfathomable, nothing like his sheltered and pampered sisters. Indeed, nothing like any young woman in the
ton
. Maybe she once had been, but he’d seen something more in her eyes that assured him she was older, wiser, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Was hunted the right word?

Henry had never met a lady he could imagine successfully living alone on the streets of London’s lower neighborhoods, let alone keep a child alive at the same time. A gentleman kept his family, and definitely his women, safe and sheltered from the sort of things Olivia had lived through. Perhaps someone needed to have a few words with this Reginald fellow.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge his immediate physical reaction to the awake and lucid woman this morning. He remembered the robin’s egg blue eyes from the previous night when, once again, he’d scooped up her tiny body and headed off to her room. This morning though, he got the full impact of those eyes. A fleeting glance in the shadows did not do them justice. Olivia was, simply put, stunning. She stood shorter than any of his sisters, except Helen, but she was twelve. He doubted she’d even come up to his shoulder, but part of what intrigued him was the fact that so much strength was packed into such a diminutive frame. A deceptively curvy little frame, he recalled, from having held her in his arms twice yesterday.

The feel of her snuggled close to his chest and the tactile memory of her arm curling around his neck had followed him to bed, giving him strangely erotic dreams. Having really seen her for the first time this morning, he suspected—and God help him, hoped—tonight’s dreams might be more vivid. Though certain he was setting himself up for frustration, he still anticipated the fantasies that were sure to crowd his dreams.

Until then, though, he’d like to get to know Olivia better. She was a most intriguing and fascinating woman.

But that would be later, for now he had work to do. He picked up the stacks of correspondence neatly ordered by his secretary and began the tedious process of signing his name at the bottom of each one, wiping thoughts of otherworldly, fantasy women from his thoughts. But tawny curls and vivid blue eyes flitted at the edge of his mind, keeping him slightly off balance with an annoying yearning and an uncomfortably ill-fitting pair of trousers.

Chapter Six

Olivia had never had a day quite so enjoyable as the one she spent with Penelope and the rest of the ladies of the family. It was all that much better for being so wholly unexpected.

After they bade Warren and Lord Dalton goodbye, they took Bond Street by storm. At first, Olivia was filled with apprehension. There were so many reasons to be fearful. She seemed so much more exposed on Bond Street than she did as an anonymous face bustling along the streets of the lower neighborhoods. It was inexplicable, but nevertheless, she felt watched. Every strange man’s eye seemed accusing, the imagined cries of
murderer
waiting to ring out.

She couldn’t bring herself to spend Lord Dalton’s money as freely as his sisters could. She admitted she needed some things desperately. Things like underclothes and at least a couple of dresses. But still, it was near impossible to justify using the gentleman’s money, especially when she had no prospects of ever paying it back.

The most vexing thing to her conscience was playing the whole family false. Surely she would go to hell for misleading these nice, selfless people in such a manner. Her stomach roiled under the internal torment. She vowed to herself she would reimburse the marquess somehow. She’d figure out a way. She’d be damned if a few months of dubious decision-making in Seven Dials was going to define the rest of her life. She would have to watch for opportunities.

Resigned to accepting their help, she was amazed to watch the other ladies shop. The Cavendish women never looked at price tags or even considered haggling with a shopkeeper. The shop owners rushed out to wait on the ladies themselves, never trusting an assistant, looking to curry the favor of these influential women of the
ton
.

Lady Langford, Aunt Evelyn to the family, informed the seamstress they would need something ready for the following night, and when Olivia’s eyebrows went up in question, Evelyn patted her hand.

“No worries, dear,” the older lady said with assurance her. “Madame Bolivant is sure to have something that will be perfect for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Olivia looked from Evelyn to Penelope and back again. “What’s tomorrow?”

Cassandra, the next eldest daughter, gasped with excitement and clapped her hands. “Oh, only the biggest ball of the season thus far. A veritable rout! I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. The Johnston-Smythe ball is always the big kick-off for the season, the ball every other hostess sets the season standard by.”

It was out of the question. She could not attend a ball.
Absolutely not.
“But I haven’t been invited. I wouldn’t want to put out a hostess with an extra guest,” Olivia deferred.

Penelope laughed. “Don’t worry, Olivia. There will be so many people, one more won’t be noticed. Besides, you’ll be with us.”

Olivia looked from one woman to the next, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. “I’ve never attended a London ball. I went to the country assemblies back at home, but never a London ball.” The overwhelmed feeling built in her stomach again, and this time she was sure she would lose her breakfast.

Vivienne took her by the hand and patted it in a maternal fashion. “You’ll be fine, dear. I assure you the dances are the same at a country assembly as they are at a London ball. Besides, you have the power of the Cavendish name with you. No one would dare say anything about you with us sponsoring you.”

“Sponsoring me? For what?” Olivia tried to keep the hint of hysteria from her voice.

The other ladies of their party had moved around the shop, discussing lace and trimmings, patterns and the latest designs with each other and the shopgirls. Their chatter gave off a companionable feminine hum about the room. Lady Vivienne and Aunt Evelyn led her to a quiet corner. Olivia faced the women with her hands clasped so tightly her fingers were white.

Lady Vivienne asked, concern etched on her face, “Are you all right?”

Olivia didn’t answer. She concentrated on breathing for a minute. The two older ladies glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in question. Lady Vivienne gave her sister a slight shrug, indicating she didn’t understand the reason for Olivia’s distress any more than Evelyn did. Olivia didn’t know how to explain her reaction to their unbelievably generous suggestion.

“Don’t you want a season?” Evelyn prodded. “I’m assuming you didn’t have one before. You need not worry that the season has already begun. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s only just beginning. You haven’t missed any of the important parties.”

That made it worse. Finally, in a quiet voice, Olivia spoke up. “Lady Dalton, Vivienne, I can’t accept your offer. In fact, the clothes we have bought are already too much.”

“Oh, pish,” Lady Vivienne replied. “Besides, I have two daughters out now. It won’t make one whit of difference if we add one more.”

“But I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay you. I hope with clean clothes I can get employment as a governess, otherwise I am completely without means.” Olivia stared at her hands. “I don’t know how much of my situation Penelope told you, but I have nothing but my name”—
and I can’t even use it if I expect to be hired anywhere—
“and it’s not as if it’s a well-known name, after all. I have no money, no dowry. I don’t know why any man would want me.”

Aunt Evelyn responded, her voice gentle but stern. “Penelope has told us your basic tale, but it is enough for us to know you have suffered a great deal. Also, you are a very brave and intelligent young lady. Granted, you don’t have a dowry, but not all gentlemen marry for money. You have a respectable name, you come from a quality family, and not least of all, you are a very lovely young woman. You have much to offer a gentleman.”

Vivienne listened to her sister with a smile. “My sister is right, dear, and you can’t let her down. For as much as she has loved my daughters, she has never had a pet of her own to dress for the season.”

“Vivienne! Don’t get fresh.” Evelyn gave her sister’s hand a playful slap. “I assure you, I’m not trying to dress a
pet
, Olivia. But there is no reason you shouldn’t allow us to sponsor you. There is every possibility you may meet a wonderful man and get married. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? You don’t get engaged, but you enjoy all the season has to offer and have fun.”

Vivienne added, “And you get to make an old lady happy.”

“You’re three years older than me and don’t you forget it, you old harpy,” Evelyn countered.

What’s the worst that could happen? Oh sweet Jesus, there were so many horrible things. Not even counting the fact she and Warren could be found and carted off to Newgate. Or hanged… Her breath caught in her throat, and she hiccupped a desperate, gasping wheeze. While the sisters argued good-naturedly, Olivia ruthlessly got herself under control so she could think clearly.

In all reality, she was from a small village in a tiny county in England. Few people outside of academic circles had ever heard of her father or her family or, by extension, her. What were the odds news of Reginald’s death had actually reached London? So far, neither Warren nor she had heard proof or rumor they were being hunted. Up to this point, they’d been exceedingly vigilant. Besides, the men after her wouldn’t be looking for her in ballrooms, right? If she was careful—if she married—she’d change her name and then she’d never be found.

What the ladies offered was enticing. She had to admit it to herself. It was true, she’d never received a season, and she couldn’t deny she’d wanted one. Didn’t every girl want one? She and her mother, and later her stepmother, had spoken of it with great excitement, almost reverence, as if it was a fairy tale full of handsome gentlemen and ballrooms. But one thing after another had altered the course of her life. She hadn’t thought of it in ages.

If nothing else, perhaps she’d make some connections she could use to garner employment after the season ended. She didn’t know what she would do with Warren if she took a governess position, but perhaps… Maybe she could gain employment as a shopgirl? She could sew. She’d had plenty of experience shelving books in her father’s library. Oh, she didn’t know. It was so futile. She had no experience to offer a family as a governess and certainly no references to give potential employers. She needed a husband if she was going to provide for her brother. Perhaps, if she married well enough, she could repay some of the kindness shown her by this family.

It was reprehensible that she was even considering this.

It’s a means to an end.

“Lady Langford, Lady Dalton.” Olivia smiled to ease the interruption of their banter. “Promise you won’t spend too much money on me, and I will do my best to make you proud. But you should know I don’t have much in the way of town bronze.”

“Nonsense.” Evelyn stood and reached out her hand to Olivia. “You are a well-mannered young lady. And as my sister said before, the dances are all the same.”

“Madam,” Evelyn called to the proprietress of the shop. The seamstress hurried over when Evelyn beckoned and gave a curtsy. “We are going to need something magnificent for tomorrow evening, a ball gown.”

“Excellent.” The seamstress looked at Olivia with an appraising eye while she tried not to fidget. She knew what the modiste saw—a petite woman who looked fragile beyond the fashion. She was very thin, too thin.

“I am sure I know just the thing.” Madam Bolivant steered Olivia into a dressing room. Olivia glanced back at the rest of the ladies, but they had all become engrossed in fabric samples and patterns. Penelope glanced up and smiled in encouragement before she was drawn back into the fray.

Once inside the private room, Olivia was stripped of her borrowed dress, and the seamstress’s assistant helped her into a lovely creation, a sheath of pale yellow silk with an overdress of delicate gold lace. It had a high waist as was the fashion, with a band of gold-beaded satin under the bosom and cap sleeves with the same color bugle beads on the edges. The lace was pulled up and artfully pinned around the bottom of the skirt, creating a lovely scalloped effect. The skirt flowed loosely from the high waist into a short, beaded train to trail behind her as she walked.

The dress was stunning, and she was stunning in it. Even under her own critical eye, she admitted she was beautiful. The dress took on a kaleidoscope effect as her eyes filled with tears. If only her mother or stepmother could be here to enjoy this moment with her. She gazed wistfully at her reflection and considered how much she looked like a fairy tale come to life, just like they had promised. After a deep breath and a long blink, she brought herself back under control.

The seamstress and her assistant came up behind Olivia and clucked and crowed over the fit and the alterations that needed to be made, plucking and pinching at the fabric. Olivia stood like a statue while they fussed about her, tears ruthlessly unshed. She couldn’t allow tears, not here in this fashionable establishment where too many curious eyes would notice, not anywhere. She’d given up the right for frivolous girlish emotions the minute she grasped her brother’s hand and fled into the night leaving a dead body on the kitchen floor.

At last the shopkeeper looked up at her, smiling broadly, and spoke to her in her heavy French accent. “I was right,
cherie
, zis is the perfect color for
mademoiselle
. You are glowing with this color. You will be a goddess.”

Penelope nodded her agreement from the doorway to the changing room.

By the time Olivia had been fitted and measured and fussed over for what seemed like hours, she was finally allowed back into her borrowed dress and permitted to step down from the dais. Madame Bolivant promised to have several frocks delivered to the townhouse by the end of the day and, most importantly, the ball gown would arrive by noon the next. Evelyn had ordered more dresses than Olivia thought she could ever wear; morning dresses and walking dresses, a riding habit and dresses for evening. There were several pelisses and capes and other things Olivia lost count of. The footmen loaded box after box into the boot of the carriage.

“Excuse me, miss.” Olivia tapped the shoulder of one of the young ladies working in the shop. “May I please have a copy of the bill you’ll be sending to the marquess?”

“Ummmmm.” The girl looked around with nervous eyes. “
Désolée, mon Anglais n’est pas très bon.
”

Right, French.
She thought back to the dreadful years of conjugating French verbs. “
Puis-je avoir un double de la facture?
” The foolish girl looked terrified, darting her gaze around for help. “
Quel est le problème? Donnez-moi simplement un double de la facture
.” Her accent was atrocious, but she was fairly certain she had the right words.

Madame Bolivant approached the counter, her hands clasped together at her waist and a broad smile on her face. The shopgirl scurried over to her and rattled off a near hysterical torrent in French which was much too fast for Olivia to follow.

The seamstress shushed the girl with a harsh word and pushed her in the direction of the back room before turning her practiced smile on Olivia. “
Mademoiselle.
” She clucked her tongue several times before taking Olivia by the elbow and steering her toward the door and her waiting party of ladies. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about the bill. Your beautiful gowns will be at your door soon, and you will be the belle of the ball for certain.”

Inwardly, Olivia rolled her eyes in frustration. She had tried to keep track in her head a tally of the bill, but as the pounds began to run into the three digits, her head pounded and she felt sick. Her remorse grew with purchases of slippers, and underclothes, hats and trimmings. She’d figure out the total somehow. There was no way she could let Evelyn and the marquess spend this much money on her with no plan to pay it back.

Her seat in hell was assured, but she’d go there wearing cute new slippers.

* * * *

The man watching from across the street spit tobacco into the alleyway behind him then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The pretty little lady would look like a piece of cake wearing that yellow frock in Newgate Prison. He chuckled at the picture in his head before ambling off to follow the carriage when it joined the traffic down Bond Street.