His Revelation (The Outrageous Oliphants #3)

Chapter 1

“Tiffany, my darling, my angel, you look just stunning.” Mother’s hand gently covered Tiffany’s. “You have no need to fret.”

She hadn’t exactly been fretting, but Tiffany had been absently plucking one of the ribbons on her gown’s skirts.

With her mother, Lady Machara Oliphant, patting her hand so comfortingly, Tiffany dragged her anxious gaze from where it had rested—Dumpkins Estate, visible through the carriage’s window—and sent the baroness a smile.

“I know, Mother. I am not fretting. Honestly.”

“Your habits say otherwise. I have often told you; a lady must always appear calm and confident in public.”

“Yes, Mother,” Tiffany’s smile froze, and she wriggled her hand out from under the other woman’s to smooth down the imaginary wrinkles in her skirts. “I will try harder.”

“You have no need to be anxious about meeting with your lord again, Tiffany. You look absolutely stunning.”

Well, that was true at least. Tiffany felt herself sitting taller under her mother’s praise. After all, her beauty was what had attracted Lysander Oliphant, Viscount Blabloblal, and therefore, surely it was to be lauded.

She didn’t consider herself to be vain; she was just acknowledging a truth. Tiffany was the most beautiful lass born to the Oliphants in a generation, so why shouldn’t she be worthy of a lord?

Yes, you are worth a viscount. Mother has often said as much.

Actually, Mother wanted Tiffany to marry the heir—Lysander’s older brother—but she had no desire to yoke herself to such a hard man.

Not only was he hideously scarred, but he spent his days skulking around the ruined old Oliphant Castle, barking and growling at his servants.

She didn’t know anyone who’d actually spoken to the barbaric man, much less carried on a civilized conversation with him. But he just seemed so…cruel.

She would much rather marry his brother, Viscount Blabloblal, and enjoy the comforts of his estate.

Her chin rose. And you will. You will marry him because … “Who else could the most beautiful woman in the land marry, other than the most handsome lord?”

On the opposite bench, her sister snorted indelicately.

“Bonnibelle! What sort of ghastly noise was that?”

Doing a wonderful impression of having not been paying attention, Bonnie lowered her book and blinked at their mother. “I am sorry, Mother? I was—”

“Reading, yes, I know it! As always!” Mother scowled at her younger daughter. “You will ruin your eyes, I have told you a hundred times!”

Seeming not to be affected by their mother’s scolding, Bonnie placed the book upside down on her lap, then reached for her notebook and pencil. “Yes, Mother. A hundred times at least,” she murmured, making a notation.

“And have I told you many times that a man will never want a woman who spends her days with her nose in a book? Oh, Bonnie, if only you had taken to embroidery or music, or even flower arranging, the way you obsess over those silly old books!”

“This is neither silly nor old, Mother,” murmured Bonnie in return, still writing.

“This is a history of the Highlands, published by Mr. Grimm in Inverness. Quite recent and utterly fascinating.” Before Mother could say anything else, Bonnie sent her and her sister a tight smile.

“Books teach us things flower arranging cannot.”

Brava! Tiffany wanted to cry but knew from her mother’s sour look it would be unappreciated. Instead, she dipped her chin just slightly in her sister’s direction; her only acknowledgement of the superior volley.

Attempting to change the subject, Tiffany asked, “Is this research, Bonnie? I thought your book was complete?” She should know; she helped edit the thing.

As they trotted into the courtyard of Dumpkins Estate, Bonnie finished her notation and closed the notebook with a flourish. “That book is complete, yes, but I am compiling notes for the next one. I believe a series of vignettes about Oliphant history would be well-regarded in certain circles—”

“Oh, Bonnibelle,” their mother tittered, rolling her eyes. “A female author? Do you honestly believe anyone will be purchasing these books from you?”

“No, Mother,” Bonnie said stiffly, as the carriage rocked to a stop. “I believe a publisher will purchase the rights to the books from me, then print my stories to share with the world.”

Mother waved her hand dismissively. “It is hardly a proper sort of plan for a young lady. You will ruin your eyesight and your posture, hunched over those books, and no respectable publisher will agree to print—”

“Mary Shelley, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters? There are dozens of women who have been writing and publishing books for the last century, Mother,” Bonnie was quick to argue.

“Oh, those are novels,” Mother sniffed. “Novels hardly count. Men run the publishing business, my dear deluded darling daughter, and it is best to just accept the chances of success in that field are very slim. Ah, finally!” she called, as the footman opened the door and offered his hand. “Coming, dears?”

As Mother stood quickly to be the first to alight from the carriage, Tiffany glanced at Bonnie, who was scribbling something yet again in her notebook. When Bonnie caught her looking, she sent a wink.

“Dear deluded darling daughter,” Bonnie whispered. “It was too good not to record.”

Tiffany smothered a giggle, knowing Mother wouldn’t approve. But when she and Bonnie were both standing upright on the perfectly maintained stones of Dumpkins’s front walk, she shared a secret smile with her sister.

“Come along, girls,” Mother called as she swept toward the front steps. “It is not every day we receive an invitation to tea with a lord.”

Knowing what was expected of her, Tiffany planted a soft smile on her face—one she knew made her look approachable and demure, because she’d spent hours practicing it in front of a mirror—and followed.

“Why are you so nervous?” whispered her sister, as she tucked her notebook into a hidden pocket and stepped up beside her. “Do not deny it. I know you better than Mother does, remember?”

“I am not—” Realizing she was about to deny it, Tiffany’s smile slipped for a moment.

“I just do not want to do anything to ruin my chances with Lysander.” The reminder of the masquerade ball last week, and how the two of them had not only danced beautifully together, but had also snuck away for some quiet conversation, made her sigh happily.

“He is perfect, Bonnie,” she whispered as the butler opened the door ahead, “and I think I might love him.”

“You love the idea of him,” her sister corrected.

As if that was any different.

Tiffany sighed again. “I believe I do.” She could love Lysander and the idea of Lysander. “I want him to love me too.”

Apparently, their mother was listening, because as the butler led them through the echoing foyer of Dumpkins Estate, where the girls had been lucky enough to visit a few times already this summer for the Dumpkins house party, she turned just long enough to hiss over her shoulder, “Of course he will love you. You are beautiful! He came to tea, did he not?”

Luckily, she turned back away, the fake smile plastered on her face, and Tiffany didn’t have to answer. Instead, she exchanged glances with Bonnie and knew her sister was thinking the same thing.

Lysander had come for tea, only a few days ago, and had brought Max DeVille—who now had an understanding with their stepsister Ember—as well.

But despite Mother’s attempts to pretend everything was wonderful, Lysander had been distinctly cold throughout the social niceties, and had left not long after Mr. DeVille had excused himself.

And Tiffany was terrified she knew the reason why.

“Ladies.” A man and a woman stood when the butler led them into the parlor, but only the lady was smiling. But it was Lysander Oliphant who had spoken so formally. “Thank ye for joining us.”

“Of course, Viscount Blah-blah-blah!” Mother tittered as she dipped into a deep curtsey. “We are honored.”

“Blabloblal,” corrected Lysander under his breath, his expression carefully blank.

It wasn’t until Bonnie followed their mother that Tiffany remembered her manners and forced herself to stop looking at Lysander long enough to curtsey as well.

He’d stepped up to Mother’s side and was leading her toward the little arrangement of chairs facing a cold hearth. “Lady Machara, Baroness Oliphant, may I present my sister, Lady Athena Oliphant?”

Mother’s expression froze, the muscles around her lips tight as she tried to think of a polite way to say I have no interest in meeting a social outcast. Finally, she inclined her head just slightly. “Lady Athena. Will you be joining us?”

Athena, whom Tiffany had met several times here at the Dumpkins house party, was clearly amused at the attempted snub, and bobbed her head in exaggerated excitement. “Och, aye. I can no’ miss the chance to visit with such gracious and kind neighbors.”

It was true that Athena and Tiffany and Bonnie were of similar age, and members of the same clan. But when they were younger, Athena’s standing as the daughter of the laird put her above Machara’s daughters…and then later, there was The Incident.

But this summer, they’d been invited to the Countess Dumpkins’s house party.

Although they were local, and thus didn’t stay at Dumpkins Estate with the rest of the party-goers, they had met occasionally.

Athena, understandably, had done her best to remove herself from Society in recent years, and thus it wasn’t a surprise that she only attended events here and there.

Still, the times they’d been able to chat, Tiffany discovered she liked the bold, outspoken woman, whose sense of humor could be quite wicked.

Now, for instance, it was clear that she knew Mother would rather have any of Lysander’s other siblings joining them, rather than this disgraced sister, and the redhead was beaming at the older woman’s discomfort. Why had Lysander invited Athena?