Rexanne Becnel (26 page)
Authors: The Matchmaker-1
The question was, had she told him the whole truth—and would her version of it have a bearing on their lease agreement? Soon enough he would know.
“Good morning, Miss Byrde. Lord Farley.”
James’s cold stare precluded him extending his hand. “If
we can review the documents and get this over with, my sister and I have another engagement.”
we can review the documents and get this over with, my sister and I have another engagement.”
Neville met him stare for stare. “I had hoped to have a private word with you afterward.”
James’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He shot a glance at his sister before replying to Neville. “Today is inconvenient.”
Neville was gratified to see that Olivia’s faint smile had disappeared. Whatever she’d revealed to her brother about them, she was still not entirely sure of his support. He decided to bide his time.
Sensing the tension between the men, the solicitor laid out the papers and in short order the lease documents were signed and witnessed, one copy for each of the principals and one for the solicitor’s files. When Olivia and her brother immediately turned to depart, Neville rubbed one knuckle along the scar on his jaw. It was time for action.
“Before the two of you go.” He glanced at the solicitor. “May I borrow your office for five minutes?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Olivia interrupted.
“No,” James said. “I think I might like to hear what he has to say after all.”
“James!”
Neville repressed a smile at her barely disguised panic. When the door closed behind the solicitor, however, his amusement faded. James Lindford, Viscount Farley, was not in a mellow mood.
“Well?” the younger man demanded, his stance belligerent.
Neville faced him. “I assume Olivia has informed you of my desire to marry her.”
James crossed his arms. “She has. Though by her description it seems more a threat.”
Neville’s gaze shifted to Olivia, whose expression was a confusion of wariness and triumph. Somehow she’d convinced James that she’d not been entirely compromised. Had she told her brother the whole truth? Surely not. Neville also crossed his arms. “If it sounded like a threat, it is only because my feelings are so strong in this matter.”
“Hers are equally strong,” James bit back. “Given the situation I advise you to keep your distance from Olivia. Were it up to me, we would sever all relations with you. But Olivia insists on following through with this lease arrangement. As head of the family, however, I draw the line there. Best you content yourself with that, Hawke.”
Neville watched as James took Olivia by the arm and guided her toward the door. Had he overplayed his hand? Had he misjudged Olivia and how far she could be pushed or should he push further? Should he make sure James knew all the facts of his involvement with Olivia?
For a long, agonizing moment he debated back and forth.
But then he considered. She’d given him the leases against her brother’s wishes, it seemed. Why? Probably to fund the maintenance Byrde Manor so urgently needed. That could mean she intended to remain in residence.
As he watched them depart he saw Olivia shrug off her brother’s proprietary hold. Neville shook his head. The minx had an independent streak sadly at odds with her role as a compliant, innocent young lady of the ton. She would be a handful whether under a brother’s or a husband’s rule. But then, that independence was what attracted him so—that and a few other things about her.
He caught a glimpse of her scowling at her brother as James held the door for her, and this time it was James who shook his head in frustration. He glanced back at Neville, and for a brief but unmistakable moment the two men shared a wry look.
As quickly as that Neville knew that all was not lost. Let Olivia believe she’d defeated him for now. The truth was, a young woman could not live alone on her own estate. He knew that, and apparently so did her brother.
It was just a matter of time before she would know it too.
A week went by. A long, boring week. The deadline for Neville’s threat passed without incident, though Olivia was a nervous goose that entire day. But it seemed her bluff with James at the solicitor’s office had paid off.
After that, time passed even more slowly. Had it not been for Sarah, Olivia would have gone quite mad with boredom.
Not that there weren’t an endless number of details that required her attention. Minor repairs to the house and grounds continued. There were also the daily decisions that went along with entertaining. In addition she fished and rode, played cards and also the pianoforte. In truth, she kept busy from dawn until long past dusk.
But she was nonetheless bored.
The days dragged by. James remained aloof. He was still angry with her because she had refused Neville Hawke’s suit, and she hated the separation that caused. Added to that, several of their guests had begun to grate upon her nerves, chief among them, Archibald Collins, Lord Holdsworth.
Her mother’s laugh drifted to her now from beyond the open doors of the back parlor, along with Archie’s amused response. They sat just inside the doors playing cards with Mr. St. Clare, Viscount Dicharry, and the Wilkinson women. It had rained earlier, keeping everyone indoors. But at the first break in the weather, Olivia had headed outside, with Sarah fast upon her heels. They were going into town now, anything to escape the house.
“Do you think she’s going to marry Lord Holdsworth?” Sarah complained once Olivia took the reins of the pony cart.
“I don’t know. Probably,” she added after a moment. “If she can bring him up to scratch.”
“But I don’t want her to. He’s … He’s … He’s so selfish!” Sarah finally blurted out. “And he treats Mother just like he treats me, as if we’re both children without an ounce of sense.”
“In Mother’s case that’s probably appropriate,” Olivia muttered. “But let’s not speak of that any longer. Let’s just enjoy a pleasant diversion. Mrs. Mac wants us to collect her order from the baker as well as two crates of wine.”
“I’d like to go up to the saddlers and see about a nice leather collar for Bones. One of those spiked ones.”
Olivia smiled. “Very well.”
Her smile slipped a little when they reached Kelso and the turnoff that led to Woodford Court. But she clucked to the horse and angled it left toward the village center, forcing herself not to think of Neville Hawke. He had his life; she had hers.
Yet there was a part of her too honest to deny the truth. Her boredom and restlessness were not caused entirely by her guests. She hadn’t laid eyes on Neville Hawke in a week, and had no reason to expect to do so anytime soon, and that irritated her.
Worse, she hated that she wanted to see him. But it was true and she did not know what to make of it.
Was
he the reason she wanted to stay at Byrde Manor?
Was
he the reason she wanted to stay at Byrde Manor?
Exasperated with herself, she snapped the reins. The two-wheeled pony cart rattled down the cobbled main street, splashing through puddles as it passed whitewashed houses, several shops with awnings stretched over the windows, the small village green, and the old common well. A few of the townsfolk nodded to her, and she acknowledged them with a polite smile.
Sarah was more exuberant, turning and craning her neck at the several young girls and boys she spied. “Is there a school here?” she asked.
“I believe Mr. Hamilton mentioned it. Look, there’s the saddlers. Shall we go in there first?”
They were not long at their errands, but at the bakery they were detained by the baker’s mother, a gray-haired ancient perched in a window seat that allowed her to survey both the shop and the street with her eagle-sharp eyes.
“We all been wonderin’ when one of the Byrdes would return to their lands,” she began, not waiting for an introduction. “I hope you’re plannin’ to take a Scotsman to your bed.”
Olivia gaped at the woman in shock.
Choking in dismay, the baker hurried forward. “Have you no sense, old woman?” He turned to Olivia, nervously twisting the front of his apron in his hands. “She means no harm, miss. Only that she hopes you’ll consider marrying a Scotsman someday.”
Olivia knew what the old woman meant. Nevertheless her blunt words had taken her aback. “I … I have no immediate plans of that sort,” she stammered.
The old woman’s eyes swept over her. “An’ why not? You’re not so bad to look upon.”
Olivia glanced from the forthright old woman to her horrified son, then clasped the basket of baked goods tighter against her chest. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She could hear the baker chastising his mother while she fled the shop, and Sarah’s giggles as the girl trailed behind. “It’s true, Livvie. You’re not all that bad to look upon.”
“You had better button your lip, Sarah. For I can make your life miserable if you don’t.”
“What did I say?” the girl asked, all innocence.
Refusing to be drawn, Olivia shoved the basket onto the floor of the pony cart. “Come on. Let’s go.”
But Sarah did not move. “Oh my. Look who it is. Lord Hawke.” She waved and started across the street, calling out to him. “Lord Hawke!”
At once the most inappropriate thumping started in Olivia’s chest, as if her heart meant to lurch into a new position. It did no good to chastise herself for her reaction to his presence, nor Sarah for hers, for the damage was done. Neville Hawke looked up at Sarah’s cry and for Olivia the world seemed to tilt sideways.
Then from behind his tall, imposing form, another face peeped—a small boy with raven-black hair—and reality returned with an unpleasant jolt. It did not help that the boy’s face darkened at the sight of Olivia.
Holding the boy by his hand, Neville crossed the street to them and doffed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Byrde. Sarah.”
“Hello!” Sarah replied when Olivia did not. “We haven’t seen you in the longest time,” she added. “Have you been ill?”
“No. Just busy.” For a moment his gaze held with Olivia’s, melting her insides with their penetrating heat. Then, noticing Sarah’s attention on the boy, he tousled the lad’s hair. “Adrian, these are our new neighbors. Miss Byrde, Sarah, may I present my nephew, Adrian.”
“Your nephew?” Olivia hadn’t meant to blurt it out so rudely, nor with such incredulity in her voice.
At her words Neville’s expression turned guarded. “My late brother’s only child.”
“Oh. Your brother’s child,” Olivia echoed, as understanding slowly dawned, understanding and relief. He was not Neville’s natural son, but his brother’s. That Neville was so forthright about their relationship was extremely generous, she realized, and most unusual.
But then Neville Hawke was a most unusual man. She stared at him, struck by that one, simple fact. He was a most unusual man.
Recovering, she smiled down at the little boy, who would be fatherless, it seemed, except for the attention of his uncle. Her smile, however, was met with a fierce scowl from the child.
“My father was a baron,” he announced. “Just like my uncle.”
Olivia nodded. Was it her imagination, or did the boy dislike her?
“My brother’s a viscount,” Sarah retorted, picking up on the boy’s belligerence.
He turned his brilliant blue eyes on her. “Girls don’t count.”
“They do so—”
Olivia caught Sarah by the arm even as Neville’s hand
came down on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Adrian,” he said.
came down on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Adrian,” he said.
Meanwhile Olivia’s warning grip on Sarah squelched any further retort from the girl. To Neville she said, “I hadn’t realized you had any family left.”
For once there was neither challenge nor taunt in his eyes. “There are many things you do not know about me, Olivia.”
That quiet remark haunted Olivia all the way home.
Their conversation with Neville and his difficult nephew had been brief, and they’d quickly parted. But that one remark and the unnervingly direct stare that accompanied it remained centered in Olivia’s mind. She let Sarah handle the cart, as much to preoccupy the girl as to free her own thoughts to wander. As they turned along the river road, she stared across the bridge down the lane that led to Woodford Court—and past the cottage where young Adrian lived.
Had the child’s mother given the impression that he was Neville’s son, or had Olivia made that assumption on her own? Given the child’s ill-disguised animosity toward her, Olivia had to assume the former. The woman wanted Olivia to think the worst of Neville. But why?
The answer was ludicrously clear. Two unmarried peers living side by side? No doubt any number of the tenants and villagers speculated on a marriage between the two of them. What had the baker’s mother said? “I hope you plan to take a Scotsman to your bed.” Already she’d come perilously close to doing that.
It was plain that Adrian’s mother feared Neville’s interest in another woman. Whether the woman wanted Neville for herself or not, she could not like the idea of his marrying and siring children of his own, children who must become his heirs and usurp the place of his only other heir: her son, Adrian.
Olivia stared blindly at the passing scenery for the rest of their short journey, hardly aware of Sarah’s gay chatter. Mr. Hamilton met them when they pulled into the stables. “I believe most everyone has gone fishing, miss,” he said as he helped them down.
“Did Archie—I mean, Lord Holdsworth go too?” Sarah asked, not hiding her dislike for the man.
The steward shrugged. “I believe he must’ve. He ain’t been around here.”
“Then I’m not going to join them.” The girl sent a sulky look at Olivia. “Let’s go riding, shall we? We could have a good gallop over to Woodford.”
“Not today,” Olivia answered, already preoccupied with disturbing thoughts of Neville Hawke.
“But I’m bored!”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to entertain yourself. Look. There’s Bones. Play with him. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.” Then she excused herself and made for the house. She needed time alone. She needed time to think. For something momentous had happened today, something very simple. Yet it had altered everything.
In the quiet of her plainly furnished bedchamber Olivia went directly to her bureau and fished out her matchmaker journal. Climbing into the bed, she sat cross-legged and stared at the slender, battered tome. She hadn’t written anything in it in weeks. Not since her last notation about Neville back in Doncaster.
She turned the book over in her hands but did not open it. She could have entered her thoughts about the self-centered Lord Holdsworth, or about James’s friends, Justin St. Clare and Nicholas Curtis. But she hadn’t. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now.
She.opened the book and began slowly to flip through the pages. How innocent her scribblings now read. How young and unworldly her words and observations. The pairing up of men and women was far more complex than she’d previously imagined.
To so many in the ton, wealth and family position were the major considerations. She’d always disdained those superficial qualities in favor of compatible personalities and interests, and had imagined her thinking quite superior. But there had been a serious flaw in her reasoning, she now saw. A huge gap in her understanding of men and women.
The power of physical attraction, the primitive urgings of desire, of lust—these could not be ignored. But could they make up for other differences, other practical reasons why a man and woman might be ill-suited?
No use to pretend her speculations were general in nature, for they were not. It was Neville Hawke on her mind. Neville Hawke and herself.
But despite her new knowledge of the man and his relationship to young Adrian, there remained the fact that he was not the steady, predictable sort she’d always imagined she would wed. That their attraction was powerful could not be denied, and it seemed he might not have fathered a child outside of wedlock. But he was still a man of strong passions. Too strong. Though he’d been careful since they reached Scotland not to drink in her presence, she feared his resolve could not last. The tragedies that drove him to the bottle had not disappeared. How could she ever be certain they would not drive him there again?
Closing her journal, Olivia plopped back on her pillows and just lay there. She could hear Sarah in the forecourt playing with Bones, and also the soft putterings of the several housemaids. Mrs. McCaffery’s voice drifted to her, and from farther away, Mr. Hamilton’s. She yawned. At least those two were tolerating one another now. They’d been at each other’s throats that first day …
Some time later Olivia awoke with a start to the sound of shrieks and a slamming door. “I hate you!” Sarah’s furious cry reverberated through the upstairs hallway.
Olivia sat up, her mind still muddled from her unplanned nap. What now? The girl’s footsteps clattered down the uncarpeted stairwell, but in their wake other voices rose.
“Good God!” a man cursed.
“Oh dear,” a woman cried. “Oh dear! Sarah? Sarah!”
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