Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia stood near the fire in the Peacock Room, not to warm her hands after the long carriage ride home, but to study the painted birds.
She’d told Gabriel she would change and come to his chamber within the half hour.
Instead, she had spent ten minutes opening doors along the corridor, searching for swallow wallpaper.
The young maid moved quietly about, drawing the curtains, turning down the counterpane, filling the washbowl, laying out a fresh nightgown.
Olivia watched her, the question an irritating echo in her mind: Where might I find a room full of swallows? But she held it back. If Mrs Boswell caught wind of it, she’d have half the household on the hunt instead of settling her weary bones into bed.
They had agreed to face it tomorrow, when rest might bring clarity, when desire no longer blurred reason. But his invitation to join him in bed, the parting kiss that scattered her thoughts and left her knees weak, was the only temptation tonight.
The maid cleared her throat politely. “Would you like help undressing, my lady?”
She could manage, but it was important to act like the lady of the house, not a guest. “If you could help me out of this dress and brush out my hair, I’d be grateful.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and moved to unfasten the tiny hooks along the back of Olivia’s gown.
The stiff bodice loosened. Cool air kissed her skin.
Stockings, stays, and petticoats followed, and the maid helped her into a nightgown and silk wrapper before guiding her to the stool at the dressing table.
She began removing the pins, placing each one carefully in the silver dish. “Half these pins are loose, ma’am, and it’s a wonder you didn’t lose the sapphire comb. Shall I mention it to Jane?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. It’s entirely my fault.”
As the brush moved gently through her hair, her mind drifted, not to wallpaper, or hidden secrets, or even the threat of danger. But to the way Gabriel had looked at her as they made love in the dim theatre light.
She was in love with him.
It frightened her just how much.
How much she stood to lose.
But the words had gathered on her tongue. Reckless words. The kind friends and lovers rarely spoke. She had been full of them, overflowing, the confession beating against her lips.
Oh, I’m so in love with you, Gabriel.
But she had kissed him instead, and her heart had answered for her. In her wildest dreams, she’d never believed it possible. Only weeks ago, she’d been planning a lonely life abroad. An escape, not a future. And now, nothing could tear her away from—
A snag at her scalp made her wince, dragging her from her reverie.
“Oh, forgive me, ma’am. I’ve more practice with broom bristles than hairbrushes.”
“It’s all right.” Shame rose in her chest. She didn’t even know the girl’s name. “We’re all still finding our way. It will be easier for us both in time.”
The maid sighed softly. “Mrs Boswell said you’d be kind. Said if anyone was meant to be a marchioness, it’s you, ma’am.”
Yet she felt like a trespasser in someone else’s life, trying on a title that didn’t quite fit. “I’m sure it’s all been rather unsettling for you.” It had been unsettling for all of them.
“Mrs Boswell said—” She stopped herself. “Forgive me, ma’am. My tongue runs away with me, and I’ve no wish to speak out of turn.”
“You may speak freely here.” The house held too many secrets. And the girl was trembling, poor thing. “Forgive me. I don’t know your name.”
“Daisy, ma’am. After the flower, not my father’s heifer.”
Olivia smiled. “A pretty name. I’ll be sure to remember it.”
Daisy relaxed a little, then prattled on about household matters, even mentioning Cook’s tendency for tantrums. “He’s taken to locking himself in the pantry more often of late. But we all know it’s best to leave him there.”
“He’ll be too busy to hide in the pantry. We plan to spend more time here.”
For a moment, she let herself imagine it. Gabriel at her side, the house alive with laughter, the staff settled, the ghosts of the past laid to rest. Perhaps when all this was over, life might truly begin.
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Oh, we’ll all be glad of it, ma’am. Mrs Boswell always said things would work out in the end. Said some things are just meant to be. Better than if he’d married the countess.”
Olivia frowned. The poor girl was at sixes and sevens. Weren’t they all? Everyone’s thoughts were muddled these days.
“The countess? If you’re referring to Lady Berridge, she’s married to Aaron Chance.”
“Before that, ma’am, when she was facing the noose, and his lordship knew marrying her was the only way to save her neck.”
The words landed like a brick in a well.
Gabriel had offered to marry the countess?
To save her from the threat of death?
To ease the pain of the past, no doubt.
Surely he would have told her. Not let her discover it from a maid.
Daisy must have noticed the colour draining from Olivia’s cheeks. “A marriage of friendship, that’s all he offered. On account of him acting in her brother’s stead. To protect her, ma’am. Nothing more. He said they could live in separate houses.”
Gabriel’s proposal surged into her mind.
A relationship based on friendship and mutual respect will suffice.
The truth struck like a bolt from the heavens.
He hadn’t been so enamoured he’d say anything to marry her.
She wasn’t the first.
She wasn’t special at all.
“Would you—” She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry, her throat closing. “Would you ask Mrs Boswell to come to my chamber?”
Daisy paled. “I’m sorry, my lady. Have I spoken out of turn? I was just about to say his lordship is different around you. We’ve never seen him—”
“It’s fine, Daisy.” She was seconds from crying, the words like splinters in her throat. “If you could just do as I ask.”
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the tears came. Hot. Unstoppable. They streamed down her face, dripping from her nose and chin. She pressed her palms to her eyes, but it was too late to stop the ache inside.
What a fool she’d been.
What a stupid fool.
To believe what existed between them was anything more than lust. Their rampant coupling in the theatre was proof enough—this was want, not something profound.
In fairness, he had tried to warn her. Desire was fickle. His heart made of stone. He lacked the capacity to love. The words a testament from his own mouth. Words she had knowingly ignored.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
Mrs Boswell entered a moment later, breathless, her eyes wide with concern. Her chin trembled slightly as she spoke. “My lady, Daisy told me what happened. That she feared she caused some upset. She’s a young girl whose mouth works faster than her brain.”
Olivia gathered herself, drawing up what composure she could. She trusted Mrs Boswell to speak plainly. “Is it true? Did Gabriel propose to the countess? Did he make her the same offer he made me? Friendship? A safe haven from trouble?”
To fight to the death to protect her?
Mrs Boswell’s hesitation was answer enough.
“I’ve known him since he was a boy, my lady. And I swear to you—he’s in love with you. I’ve never seen this kind of devotion. It’s you, only you. Whatever was in the past meant nothing.”
For a second, she almost believed it.
So desperately wanted to.
But doubt had already taken root.
“You’re avoiding the question, Mrs Boswell. Just tell me, did Gabriel ask the countess to marry him?”
The housekeeper wrung her hands, as if the gesture might soften the blow. “He did, my lady. But only because he feared she’d ruin her life with Mr Chance. In the absence of family, he felt a duty to her brother. And his lordship …” Her voice wavered. “His lordship never expected to find love.”
The drum of her heartbeat drowned out everything else.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
Mrs Boswell stepped closer, her voice gentle. “It’s clear you love him too, my lady. I beg you, please don’t let his noble gesture taint what’s happening between you.”
Olivia straightened, her mind in tatters, her emotions frayed.
He was waiting for her, making love the only thing on both their minds. Now, those intentions seemed painfully naive, swept aside by the weight of uncertainty.
“Thank you, Mrs Boswell. It’s late. That will be all for tonight.”
The housekeeper dipped her head but hesitated at the door. “At least let him explain. I assure you, if he hasn’t mentioned it, it’s because it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters more to him than you, my lady.”
And how quickly he’d become her world, too.
Olivia nodded. “I just need time to think.”
“But you do love him?” Mrs Boswell asked, hope shining in her rheumy eyes.
More than she could express in words.
“Yes, but please don’t mention this to him. I prefer to speak to him myself.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Alone now, she tried to make sense of it.
It might have stung less had their circumstances been different. But Gabriel’s reasons for offering marriage were practically identical. Was she merely a convenient replacement for a man whose life had been marred by rejection?
She paced the room, arms wrapped around her middle, but nothing eased the hollow ache in her stomach. She wouldn’t sleep until she’d spoken to him, and he was already waiting for her in bed.
It was more than lust.
It had to be.
The only way to know was to ask him.
That’s what they’d promised. Honesty above everything.
Tightening the ties on her wrapper, she pushed her feet into her slippers and crept down the servants’ stairs, the quickest route to his chambers. The stone was cold beneath her soles, each step echoing slightly in the hush.
At the foot of the stairs, the corridor stretched, dim and narrow, the sconces unlit. She moved towards the door that led from the servants’ passage into the main house—
“I seek an audience, my lady.”
The voice, edged with winter’s chill, stopped her cold.
“Who’s there?” The hair on her neck lifted.
The shadows stirred. “You’re in grave danger. You think you know the man you married. You don’t. You can’t trust him, and I can prove why.”
A soft flare cut through the dark. Miss Bourne raised a lantern, her features bathed in gold. An angel with the devil’s cunning.
“How did you get in here?”
“The servants’ door is always open.”
“No, it isn’t. The staff were told to keep all doors locked.”
Someone had let her in. But who? Who had betrayed Gabriel?
Miss Bourne gave a careless shrug. “I stole the key.”
“That I can believe.”
Was there no end to this woman’s audacity?
She answered the question when she drew a pistol from inside her cloak and levelled it with expert aim. “Is there a limit to what you would do for love? Would you die for the man whose name you took? Would you lie, cheat, and steal if it meant sparing him the noose?”
Olivia didn’t need to think.
She would protect Gabriel with her last breath.
The very thought of him waiting, unaware of the danger as he poured wine and smoothed the sheets, twisted like grief in her chest.
“Killing me won’t solve your problem, Miss Bourne. Gabriel will never forgive your treachery.”
Miss Bourne’s sigh carried genuine sorrow. “I wish I hadn’t hurt him. And I wish I didn’t have to hurt him now. But the man I love will lose his life if I fail to deliver you to the destination tonight.”
Olivia stilled. The words weren’t laced with spite, only fear. This wasn’t vengeance. It was desperation. A woman backed into a corner, trying to barter one life for another.
The truth of it hung between them, heavier than the threat.
As her heartbeat thudded in her throat, the confusion began to clear. “You work for the fraternity. You came back for the valise, not to claim your inheritance.”
Miss Bourne couldn’t hide her relief. “You have it? The valise?”
“Not here. It’s hidden for safekeeping.” Perhaps she could bargain, buy some time. “But I can arrange to collect it and deliver it to a place of your choosing.”
Miss Bourne’s mouth thinned. “It’s too late for you.” She shifted her weight, her hand tightening on the pistol. “You should never have come here.”
Olivia’s heart kicked against her ribs.
Then a noise behind her.
A soft scuffle. The creak of a board.
Relief fluttered in her chest. A servant entering through a different door, or Mrs Boswell making her nightly rounds. Thank heavens.
But when she turned, it wasn’t Mrs Boswell.
A man stood in the shadows, face half-obscured by the lantern light.
A stranger.
She barely had time to gasp. A rush of footsteps. A shadow lunging.
Something heavy cracked against the side of her skull.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, bright and searing.
The last thing she saw was the pistol still raised, and Miss Bourne’s face, unreadable in the dim light.
The world tilted.
The light blurred.
Then everything went black.