Chapter Twenty
Three nights later, Griffin stood in his drawing room doorway with Artemis tucked in the crook of one arm, and watched as his mother scurried about the room, a bundle of agitated energy shuffling furniture and barking orders at the maids like a diminutive naval captain.
Smiling to himself, he shook his head. He’d suggested she postpone tonight’s dinner party, citing her ankle’s very recent recovery, but she would have none of it, insisting too much work had already gone into the event to put it off.
Confounding woman. His mother was so sweet-natured it was easy to forget how stubborn she could sometimes be.
Stepping into the room, he called out, “Can I be of any assistance?”
Lady Keswick pushed a leather chair up against the wall then stepped back to study her handiwork. “No, thank you, darling. You would only be in the way.”
Griffin scratched Artemis behind the ear and prayed for patience. “Fine,” he said, “but why don’t you let Lucy and Martha move the furniture? I doubt the doctor would approve of so much activity so soon after your injury.”
“I told you, darling. It’s all better now.” Lady Keswick turned to him and pushed a curl off her face. “Besides, I think we’re finished in here.”
She crossed the room to him and gave his cheek an affectionate pat before doing the same to Artemis. “Martha,” she called out, speaking to the dark-haired maid. “You may take Artemis now and retire to your room until the party is ended.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Artemis mewled as Griffin handed her to Martha, and he gave her head a scratch. “You be good, little one, and behave yourself for Martha.”
The maid gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll take good care of her, my lord. We’ll have a jolly good time together.”
Griffin smiled. “Thank you, Martha.”
She and Lucy left the drawing room to resume their duties, leaving Griff with his mother.
“Well?” she asked, plunking her hands on her hips. “What do you think of the room?”
He swept his gaze over the room and nodded. “It looks very nice.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I am exhausted.” She sighed. “There are days I cannot wait to hand over my duties as hostess to the next Lady Keswick, and this is one of those days.”
She shot him a pointed look and Griffin couldn’t help but laugh. “Come, Mother. You love hosting dinner parties.”
“Most of the time, yes. But not always. And not forever.”
He’d never considered what life would be like when he married, how it would be his wife planning their dinner parties instead of his mother.
Olivia’s image came to mind, and he envisioned her in the role of hostess, compiling guest lists, planning meals, ordering the servants about, her hair mussed from moving furniture but still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He pressed his lips together, discomfited by the image, and even more by how right it felt.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had such thoughts. Olivia seemed to be on his mind more and more ever since Mrs. Lubbock’s soirée. Of course, it made sense, didn’t it?
Lust was a powerful thing, after all. His preoccupation with her this week was nothing more than a natural reaction to a jolly good orgasm.
It stood to reason he would want another one, that he would want her. He did want her. He liked her and liked being with her. The time he’d spent with her recently had opened his eyes and showed him how fine she was, how much there was to admire in her.
Yes, he liked her. Enough that she had him thinking of the future, of a future with her, which was absolute madness…
Wasn’t it?
Of course it is. You’re not ready for marriage, remember?
Still, he could not deny the thrill of anticipation that shot through him at the thought of seeing her again. He craved more of her company. He missed her.
When had he begun to miss her?
“Well, I suppose I had best get myself dressed,” Lady Keswick said, interrupting his thoughts. “The guests will be arriving soon.”
Griffin gave her a smile. “I’m ready for them.”
His mother gave his evening attire the once-over and nodded her approval. “You look very well,” she said. “And more like your father every day, it seems.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said. “Though, I must admit, I hardly remember what he looks like anymore.”
He hardly remembered his father at all anymore. Just a handful of memories remained, an ephemeral sense of what the man had been like. That was all he was left with now.
“You were so young when your father died,” Lady Keswick said, her smile dimming. “Just a little boy, only ten years old. I often wonder if…” She trailed off, her brows knit with uncertainty.
“If what?”
She looked at him, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “You loved your father so much,” she said softly. “You idolized him. And when we lost him…” She drew in a deep breath, her mouth grim. “I didn’t know what to do with you, Griffin. You were so sad, so lost. The only thing I could think to do was send you to Eton. I hoped the change would distract you from your grief.”
Griffin’s chest tightened as memories and feelings from that time assailed him.
“It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, sending you away like that,” she said. “And I’ve often wondered if it was the right decision.”
Her eyes searched his, and he could see regret there, and vulnerability, too.
He took her hands in his and squeezed. “It was, Mother. It was.”
He hadn’t thought so at the time, though. His mother’s decision had confused him greatly and hurt him deeply. He realized many years ago, however, that it was the best thing she could have done for him. He’d found solace in the distraction of new surroundings, new friends, learning new things. And it had been good to leave his home for a time, the home where he’d spent so many happy years with his father, who was gone now, never to walk the corridors of Keswick Hall again.
He hadn’t considered before now just how difficult it must have been for his mother after his father died, being alone with two small children, trying to help them with their grief when her own must have been nearly unbearable.
“That must have been a difficult time for you,” he said, the words woefully insufficient. “Caring for me and Emmy while trying to cope with your own grief. How did you manage it?”
Lady Keswick shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. That first year after his death…” She shook her head. “I did not think I would survive it. I couldn’t understand how he was there one moment and gone the next, or why God had given him to me, only to take him away. I couldn’t understand what I had done to deserve that. I almost wished I had never—”
She broke off, her voice wavering, and Griffin held his breath as he waited for the rest of those words to fall.
I almost wished I had never met him.
But Lady Keswick only shook her head again, as if clearing the memories from her mind and then she clapped her hands together with forced cheer and said, “But never mind all that. We have a dinner to host, and I still need to get dressed.”
She gave him a bright smile that was a touch too tight to be believable, and then she turned and headed for the door.
Griffin watched her leave, absently following the muted clip of her footsteps in the corridor as his mind filled with memories of those months after his father died—the black wreath on the front door, the mirrors covered in crepe. The unnatural silence that seemed to smother every inch of the house.
With a curse, he raked his hand through his hair. His mother regretted knowing his father.
The realization soured his stomach, and he swallowed the knot of unease thickening his throat. Why was he so upset? He shouldn’t be. Her words were hardly a surprise. He knew how much his father’s death had hurt her, how much it haunted her now, even twenty years later.
Her admission only confirmed what he’d always known but had allowed himself to forget. Marriage was a risk. A necessary one, yes, but a risk all the same, and one best handled with care and caution. Of course, he wasn’t ready for marriage, so he needn’t worry about it now. Any thoughts he might have had on the subject were only that. Thoughts, nothing more.
Still, he thought, as he headed for the door, there was no sense in courting complications. He liked Olivia—liked her more than he would have thought possible—but it could go no further than that.
He must keep her at arm’s length, at least until after she was married.
Better safe than sorry.
Olivia had always lovedLady Keswick’s dinner parties. The marchioness was a natural hostess, and spared no expense, spoiling her guests with decadent dishes and fine wines. Even her decorations were a delight for the senses, and this evening was no exception.
The drawing room, where the guests had gathered after dinner, was warm and cozy with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth and frothy swathes of green and blue lace draped across the doors and windows. Candles burned everywhere, bathing the room in a soft, dreamy glow.
It was lovely, and yet, Olivia had barely spared the room a glance.
Seated beside Emmy on a plush velvet sofa, she sipped her sherry and pretended to listen while Miss Highwater performed on the pianoforte. Her skill was exceptional, her voice a gift from the heavens, but Olivia was too distracted to pay the performance its due.
She’d been distracted all evening, almost from the moment she first arrived, and there was only one explanation for it.
Griffin.
It was all his fault.
Battling a frustrated frown, she stole another glance at the reason for her evening’s discontentment. He was seated beside his mother nearer to the pianoforte, watching Miss Highwater as she played, his profile only partially visible. The sight of his strong jaw and broad shoulders made Olivia’s belly flutter.
Foolish girl.
It was no secret that Lady Keswick had invited Miss Highwater tonight in the hopes she might catch her son’s eye.
And maybe she would. She was a lovely young lady, and more than qualified to fill the role of marchioness. Griffin would be lucky indeed to catch her.
In fact, Olivia hoped he would. Then, perhaps, he would finally cease tormenting her.
Irritation prickled anew at the nape of her neck as she recalled the cool greeting she’d received from him when she arrived tonight. A distracted welcome and a half-hearted bow and that was that. Dismissed without so much as a smile.
It was the only attention she’d received from him all evening, and it was driving her mad.
What had happened to the man he’d been that night at Vauxhall Gardens? Where was the man with admiration in his smile, and warmth in his eyes?
She liked that Griffin, and she wanted him back.
And that was what frustrated her the most. Why did she care? So what if he ignored her? So what if his behavior had changed?
None of it mattered and, truth be told, she was more frustrated with herself than with him. She should be happy tonight. No, she should be ecstatic tonight.
She’d spent nearly an hour in the Duchess of Paxton’s morning room today, making small talk and drinking tea. And it had gone well. Better, even, than she had hoped. After weeks and weeks of trying and waiting, she was finally making strides and still she allowed Griffin to distract her.
She sighed. What a ninny you are.
Miss Highwater’s song ended with a flourish on the keys and her small audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. Olivia joined in, forcing a smile as she clapped her free hand against her glass and leisurely rose to her feet.
She needed another sherry.
Crossing the room to the refreshments table, she paused at the tray of sweets, eyeing the raspberry tartlets. Oh, why not? She deserved a little indulgence tonight.
Nibbling on the sweet, she poured herself another glass of sherry then turned to face the room just as Emmy approached her, a frown marring her heart-shaped face.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.
“What’s wrong is that I was not born a man,” Emmy said, her voice a low grumble.
With a huff, she began piling biscuits and tarts onto her plate, the plunk of pastry on porcelain an audible show of her agitation.
Fighting back a smile, Olivia asked, “What happened?”
“It’s Griffin,” Emmy muttered. “He’s leaving the party early.”
Olivia flicked a glance over her shoulder and watched as Griffin leaned down to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. A lock of thick, dark hair fell over his brow and a smile touched his lips. Longing struck her heart, sharp and sweet, and she tore her gaze away.
“Why is he leaving?” she asked.
“He told my mother he has work to do tonight in preparation for an important meeting tomorrow morning,” Emmy groused. “I think she suspects he’s fibbing, but what can she do? He is the marquess, after all.” She sighed. “It isn’t fair.”
“You don’t really want to be the marquess,” Olivia said. “Do you?”
“Of course not,” Emmy said. “Far too much paperwork. But I wouldn’t mind being the second son.”
Olivia’s smile was tight as she gazed down at her glass of sherry, trying not to watch Griffin as he crossed the drawing room toward the door. She sucked in a short breath of air and waited for the tightness in her chest to ease.
“Is something wrong, Livvy?”
She looked up. “Of course not. Everything is fine.”
Emmy eyed her with suspicion. “No. You’ve seemed out of sorts all evening. And you were even glowering at Miss Highwater during her performance.”
“I was not,” she said, though the argument lacked conviction.
“You were. Which means, either you loathe her for absolutely no reason, or something else is troubling you.”
Olivia worried her lip between her teeth. Perhaps she should tell her. Perhaps sharing her troubles with a friend would make her feel better. Emmy could chatter a person’s ear clean off, but she was a surprisingly good listener, too.
“Something is troubling me,” she said quietly. “Or, rather, someone.”
Emmy’s brows rose with interest. “Who?”
Olivia’s gaze fell to her glass of sherry. “Your brother.”
“Ah.” Emmy did not sound surprised. “What has the fool done now?”
Olivia blew out a frustrated breath and walked over to the hearth, away from the other guests. Emmy followed with her plate in hand, munching on a biscuit.
“I’m so confused, Em,” Olivia said as she turned to face her.
Emmy’s brow puckered. “Confused about what?”
“About him, about his feelings,” she said. “About my feelings.” She leaned her shoulder against the cool papered wall beside the hearth and sighed. “Things are finally beginning to look up for me. Paxton wants to marry me, and I think his mother is finally coming around to the idea. I should be thrilled, and yet…I can’t stop thinking about Griffin.”
Emmy regarded her in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment before she finally spoke. “Did something happen between the two of you? Has something changed?”
Olivia’s gaze dropped to her sherry again and she pursed her lips, considering just how much she ought to share. “We…kissed.”
She looked up to find Emmy watching her with wide gray eyes, the half-eaten biscuit in her hand hovering halfway to her mouth.
“You did what?” she hissed. “Where? When?”
“In Lady Chavel’s rose garden,” Olivia said, her cheeks warming. “And then again in your drawing room. And a third time in Mrs. Lubbock’s folly.”
Emmy’s jaw dropped open. “You’ve shared three kisses and you’re just now telling me?”
Olivia gave a sheepish half-shrug. “You’re his sister. Talking about it with you felt…strange.”
Emmy frowned. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said, though she did not seem happy about it. If there was one thing Emmy hated above all else, it was being left out.
“So, you’ve shared three kisses,” she said, dropping the unfinished biscuit onto her plate. “What are you going to do about it?”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know. Nothing, probably.”
“Nothing?” Her frown deepened. “He kissed you three times, Livvy. Don’t you think that means something?”
Her gaze drifted to the pianoforte, where a new young lady had begun to perform. She honestly didn’t know what to think. She wished it meant something. She wished it meant everything, but she was not naive. Two people could share physical intimacies without also sharing emotional ones.
“Perhaps it does mean something,” she said quietly. “But I don’t think it means enough to make him want to marry me.”
“You could always ask him.”
Olivia huffed out a laugh. “Ask him to marry me? Are you mad?”
“Ask him how he feels,” Emmy corrected. “Talk to him. What do you have to lose?”
“Besides my pride?” She grimaced. The thought of humiliating herself before him again was insupportable.
“Well, it’s better than spending the rest of your life wondering what might have been, isn’t it?”
Olivia fell silent as Emmy’s words knocked around in her head. Would she regret never knowing? If she married Paxton, would she still be wondering, years from now, if her life might have been different if she’d been braver?
“What if he rejects me?” she asked, the thought sending her heart thudding in her chest. “What if he turns me away? How will I ever face him again?”
He’d been so cool toward her tonight, so distant. Not remotely encouraging, and certainly not lovelorn.
“But what if he doesn’t turn you away?” Emmy said. “What if he tells you he loves you? That he wants to marry you?”
Olivia’s lips thinned. “If he wanted to marry me, surely he would have asked me by now.”
“Would he?” Emmy said, her tone gentle but challenging. “You have spent these last two months doing everything you can to become a duchess. Perhaps he thinks you would turn down an offer from a marquess.”
Emmy’s words made Olivia pause and her brow furrowed. Could she be right? Was it possible he wanted to marry her but was afraid she would reject him?
And was she brave enough to find out?
“Go to him, Livvy,” Emmy said softly. “Go to his study and talk to him.”
“But what about your mother’s party? I cannot just disappear.”
“Leave that to me,” Emmy said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll tell everyone you were feeling unwell and retired to my chamber for a brief rest.”
Olivia gripped Emmy’s hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a good friend.”
“I’m the best,” Emmy said, her gray eyes twinkling. “Now, go.”