The Fifth Kiss (29 page)

The first and most obvious answer had to do with the children. A new wife for him meant a new mother for them. Would a woman like Leonora Oglesby be a kind and loving mother? She had no reason to believe otherwise, but she had to admit that she felt a distinct—if unreasoning—dislike for the lady. And if the children had a new mother, what would
Olivia's
position be in regard to them? Would she—
should
she—remain here to protect them?

Her stomach began to churn and her head to ache. She lay down on the bed and threw an arm over her tearful eyes. It would be impossible for her to remain here at Langley after Strickland took a new wife—too awkward, too stultifying, utterly
impossible
. She would be miserable in such circumstances. The pain would be too great to bear …

… But
what
pain?
Why
? Why would the addition of another woman to the household cause her
pain
? She had accepted the presence of Eugenia and Hattie easily enough. Why not Leonora Oglesby? Or any other woman Strickland might choose?

She winced as an image of Strickland in the company of a new wife burst upon her inner eye. She could see him quite clearly, walking down the stairs on a sunny spring morning with his willowy, blond wife, his arm about her waist and her gaze fixed on his face in dewy-eyed adoration. She could see him at the breakfast table, his new young wife standing behind his chair, handing him a plate of coddled eggs and York ham and then planting a kiss on his brow as she leaned over to serve him (just as she'd once seen Clara do in the dim past). She could see him with his Leonora, romping with the children through the snow-covered South field, Strickland pelting his new wife with snowballs until she fell, laughing, into a drift and pulled him tumbling down on top of her. These visions made Olivia feel decidedly ill.

She sat up with a cry. All at once the reason for her disturbed emotions burst with crystal clarity on her mind. She wanted all these experiences for
herself
! She wanted the troublesome, irritating libertine, Miles Strickland, to marry
her
!

She ran a trembling hand through her tangled curls. How had this happened? When had her antagonistic feelings toward Strickland taken this unexpected turn? She remembered the kiss in the library that had so disturbed her … the discovery of Clara's view of his character … the day she had coaxed him out to play in the snow … the evening, not so long ago, when he'd told her that her spirit set her “quite above the ordinary.” All these were memories which had suddenly become as precious as jewels. And they seemed to represent road-markers on a course which led to … Good Lord! … was it
love
?

She got up and began to pace about the bedroom in long, nervous strides.
Could
she have fallen in love with him? It hardly seemed possible. He was scarcely the sort of man who she'd imagined would some day win her affections. He was stubborn, opinionated and quarrelsome. He was fifteen years older than she. He was the notorious Tory Hawk whose politics she'd always detested. And worse than all the rest, he had been her sister's husband … and an adulterer. Was it possible that love could have leapt over all those deterents and managed to lodge inside her?

No, it couldn't be, for the feeling she had was too painful, too unpleasant and too completely humiliating. If love could make one feel so miserable, who would seek it out? Why would poets sing of it or young girls pray for it? This feeling couldn't be love—it was only a sort of emotional disease.

And yet she'd read of many whom love had made miserable: Virgil's Dido … and Catullus … Ophelia, Launcelot, Griselda … Dante … and Isolde … and a host of others, real and fictional, who offered testimony to love's pain. So could this disease of her spirit be love after all?

Well, whatever the name and whatever the diagnosis, she was certain of the path to the cure—escape. She had to leave Langley Park. She understood enough about her condition to know that she couldn't endure seeing Strickland wed—to Miss Oglesby or to anyone else. As quickly as she could, she must prepare the children for her departure and for their new life.

As her resolve grew, during the next few days, the children became more difficult. Each time they were brought into the company of the houseguests, they retreated behind Olivia's skirts. No amount of coaxing, no honeyed words, no promises of mouthfuls of sugary sweetmeats succeeded in tempting the children to approach the visitors. It was as if they suspected, by some childish instinct, that Miss Oglesby and her family had an ulterior motive for wishing to embrace them, and they hung back.

After three days of frustration, Strickland invited Miss Oglesby and her mother to join him in a visit to the schoolroom, hoping that there, in their own special surroundings, the children might feel freer and more relaxed. The visit proved to be as unsuccessful as all the other encounters. Amy backed away from all contact with the visiting ladies and clung to Olivia as if her life depended on the attachment. And Perry, after making a polite bow, resumed his seat and kept his eyes glued to the storybook he was reading. Even Olivia's urgings to Amy to “sit down with Miss Oglesby and show her how you write your name on the slate,” or her suggestion to Perry to “read to Miss Oglesby about how Dick Wittington came to London” fell on deaf ears. Strickland, his mouth stiff with suppressed annoyance, took the ladies downstairs. Shortly afterwards, Olivia received word that his lordship wanted to speak to her at her earliest convenience.

She found him staring out of the library window at the slowly greening fields which stretched out below him in smoothly undulating swells to the edge of the home woods. The trees, still bare, were casting long afternoon shadows on the lawn as the still-wintry sun moved toward the west. The light in the room was dim and the atmosphere redolent of tension and gloom. “You sent for me, my lord?” she asked, trying to make her tone brisk and cheerful.

He turned from the window and regarded her with a quizzically raised eyebrow. “Have we returned to
my lord
again? That is a sign that I've incurred your displeasure. What is it I've done, ma'am?”

“Nothing at all. My use of formal address is not a sign of
my
displeasure—only that I've put up my defenses to guard against
yours
,” she said with a hesitant smile.

“What makes you think I'm displeased with you?”

“I have a distinct feeling you are about to deliver one of your famous scolds,” she replied with alacrity.

“What rubbish! Why should I scold you? You're not some errant schoolgirl, and I am not your father.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you trying to tell me that your message saying that you wished to speak to me ‘at my earliest convenience' doesn't signify a warning to me to put up my guard?”

“Did the message sound as peremptory as that? I did not mean it so.” He came across the room to her, his lips curling in a reluctant smile. “What a disconcerting wench you are, my dear. You always succeed in making me feel like a heartless brute.” He paused for a moment and regarded her with some misgiving. “Perhaps you
should
put up your guard, for I
do
have something of a rather unpleasant nature to say to you.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmured fearfully. “Then perhaps I'd better sit down.” She perched uneasily on the edge of the nearest chair. “Very well, you may proceed, my lord. I am … quite ready.”

He began to pace about the room. Then, pausing, he opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and clamped it shut again. Resuming his pacing, he muttered a hoarse, “Damnation!” under his breath.

Olivia, although decidedly apprehensive about the substance of this interview, was nevertheless a bit amused by his obvious reluctance to proceed. “If you do not come to the point, and
soon
, Miles, I shall positively faint away,” she said, teasing. “Your hesitations and mutterings are frightening me to death.”

He gave an appreciative little snort of laughter. “Yes, you're right. I shall plunge in without roundaboutation. But I must say first that you don't deserve … that I don't wish you to think … oh,
damnation
!”

“Goodness! Now you truly
are
frightening me. This is something
more
than a desire to scold me about the children's shyness, isn't it? What
is
it?” She looked up at him, her brow wrinkled in alarm. “Please, Miles,
tell
me!”

“Very well, then, here's the substance in a nutshell.” He dropped into the chair facing hers. “I must ask you, Olivia, to leave Langley at once.”

Olivia's breath caught in her chest. “
Leave
? Why? Has something happened at home?
Father
—?”

“No, no. It's not anything in London. The problem is right here.” Seeing the lack of comprehension in her eyes, he got to his feet again and began once more to pace about. “How can I explain this without seeming to be completely lacking in gratitude for all you've done for us? To have to repay your generosity … your sacrifice … with
this
—!” He paused before the fireplace and stared down into the flames. “Don't you see?” he said more quietly. “The children are too attached to you. How can any other woman hope to win their regard while you—?”

“Oh! I
see
! You are speaking of Miss Oglesby.” Olivia's voice was suddenly cold. “Has she asked you to send me away?”

“No, of course not. By what right would she—?”

“She is to be your
wife
, is she not?”

He shook his head. “It is not a settled thing. I have not yet made an offer.”

“But you intend to do so?”

There was a moment of silence, during which Strickland continued to stare at the fire. “I … don't know. Not if the children resist her as they have been doing.”

“And you think it
my
fault that they resist her?” she asked, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.

He wheeled about, strode across the room and pulled his chair close to hers. Without taking his eyes from her face, he grasped her hands in both of his. “There is no question of fault, Olivia,” he said, his voice choked. “Don't you understand? The children love you! How can they
help
it? How could
anyone
—?” Abruptly, his gaze on her face wavered, and he lowered his eyes to his boots. “How can they possibly learn to accept someone else when you are near them?” He paused, his grasp on her hands tightening as his discomfort intensified. “I … we … the children can't expect you to stay here indefinitely, you know. So they must be forced to learn to live without you. Don't you see?”

Forgetting that she had determined, herself, to take leave of the children at the earliest opportunity, she leaned toward him and said softly, “I am willing to stay as long as they need me, Miles.”

He cast a quick glance at her face, his expression, for a fleeting moment, almost hungry with hope. But before she could be certain she'd read it correctly, he looked down again. “Don't be a fool, girl. They will need mothering for
years
. You're a budding young woman. You have your
own
life to live. You have a right to children of your own!”

Olivia's pulse began to race. What was Strickland trying to tell her? Had he brought Miss Oglesby back with him for
her
sake? To set her free from the burden of his children? Could he be as generous as
that
? “I've never planned to have children of my own, Miles,” she said gently. “I have no interest in looking for a husband, if that's what you mean by pursuing my own life. I had always intended to devote my life to scholarship, to helping Father and Charles. But while Amy and Perry need caring for, it seemed more important to me to—”

He jumped to his feet and glared at her in disgust. “Don't spout those bluestocking platitudes at me, Olivia. They are the mouthings of a silly child, not of an intelligent woman.”

That sort of remark had always been the response of Toryish men who believed that women were incapable of intellectual pursuits. She rose and faced him with sudden hostility. “Don't spout
your
Tory platitudes at
me
, my lord. They are the mouthings of a narrow-minded coxcomb, not of a sensible gentleman.”

“Confound it, Olivia,” he said through clenched teeth, grasping her by the shoulders in irritation, “you always manage to set up my bristles! Can you seriously pretend that a lovely, vibrant, desirable creature like you can escape matrimony? And do you think I could, in conscience, permit you to remain here in Langley, taking care of someone else's children like a blasted, pathetic
governess
? Forget your foolish, bluestocking pretensions. Forget your self-imposed obligations to children not your own. Go out in the world and find your
true
destiny!”

Breathlessly, she stared at him while a whirl of contradictory feelings stirred inside her. If he truly believed that she was the lovely, vibrant, desirable creature he'd described, why didn't
he
offer to be her destiny? Was he offering her Spanish coin, to make her believe that he'd brought his Miss Oglesby here for
her
sake rather than for his? Angrily, she shook herself loose from his grasp. “Liar!” she accused, her voice trembling with suppressed tears. “Stop pretending that it is
my
destiny which concerns you! It's your
own
destiny that is your concern … your destiny and Miss Oglesby's! Isn't
that
it?”

He kept his eyes on her face for a moment longer and then turned away. “What difference does it make?” he asked, his passionate anger spent.

“Very little, I suppose,” she said, trying to speak more calmly. “I shall leave in any case. I just want the truth from you.”

“The truth, my dear,” he said with a sigh, “is that we cannot go on in this present arrangement. It's unhealthy for all of us.”