Chapter Eleven
The carriage set off with a jolt and Olivia jerked forward, almost losing her seat. Her brother caught her hand and pulled her back. She snatched it free and folded her arms.
“Olivia…” he began, but Eleanor raised her hand.
“You’ve said enough for one night, Montague,” she said, an edge to her voice that Olivia hadn’t heard before.
Eleanor was angry.
Rarely did Olivia’s sister-in-law display emotion—at least not with her voice. When distressed, Eleanor grew quiet and withdrawn, toying with her bracelet in a repetitive circular motion until she was ready to speak. But tonight, the quiet demeanor had gone, replaced by angry determination.
Eleanor reached for a blanket and drew it around Olivia’s shoulders.
“It’s not cold,” Montague said.
“Your sister’s shivering,” Eleanor said crisply. “You might be incapable of seeing her distress, but you must at least have noticed that.”
“A blanket’s no remedy for distress.”
“But a loving brother is,” Eleanor said. “For heaven’s sake, Montague, can’t you see what you’ve done?”
He leaned back, his eyes widening. In her entire life at Rosecombe, Olivia had never seen Eleanor speak with such anger toward her husband.
“What I’ve done?” he said, the tremor in his voice betraying his bewilderment at his wife’s assertiveness. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Eleanor drew her arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “Neither has your sister,” she retorted, “unless you wish to criticize her for the circumstances of her birth. In which case, I’d thought better of you.”
“Of course I’m not,” he replied, “but tonight’s incident, though not Olivia’s fault, will ruin her reputation. She has been humiliated by circumstances—”
“How gracious of you to admit it’s not Olivia’s fault,” Eleanor huffed.
“As I said, she’s been humiliated by circumstances,” Montague continued. “But we’ve salvaged some respectability.”
“Oh, we have, have we?”
“For heaven’s sake, Eleanor, even you must admit that—”
“Will you stop!” Olivia cried, tearing the blanket from her shoulders. “I don’t need a blanket, and I don’t need your disapproval! Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Dearest, I’m only trying to defend you,” Eleanor said.
“I know,” Olivia said, “and I love you for it. But I’d rather forget it happened.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Montague said.
“You heard Sir Heath. If no betrothal announcement is forthcoming, then what happened here tonight will be the subject of every tawdry gossip rag in London. We—you—will be the laughingstock of London. We might have weathered the scandal had you not been…” He hesitated and glanced toward the window.
“Had I not been a bastard?”
Her brother flinched.
“He’s an honorable man,” he said, after a pause. “He’ll make you as happy as any other man—and, I suspect, happier than most.”
“How can you say that?” Eleanor said, taking Olivia’s hand. “He seemed most unpleasant.”
“Why? Because he doesn’t speak? He at least agreed to do the honorable thing by my sister.
Had he cared nothing, he’d have walked off that terrace leaving Olivia’s reputation ruined, and most likely flattened me on the way.
You saw the size of him. Do you think a man like that wouldn’t hesitate to beat anyone into a pulp to get what he wants? ”
“And you expect me to marry him,” Olivia said, “to be owned by him.”
She shuddered, but despite the fear, a secret thrill coursed through her veins at the notion of surrendering herself to such a powerful beast of a man—the man who’d drawn her to him and held her tight as if she weighed no more than a feather.
A man who, despite the enormity of his strength, held her with a tenderness that almost broke her heart.
What might it be like to feel those strong hands on her, bringing her to the pleasure that drove so many to ruination?
Olivia had seen the spark of love between Montague and his wife.
The gleam of female satisfaction in Eleanor’s eyes most mornings at breakfast spoke of their love, and the pleasures they shared.
Montague took her hand. “Believe me, little Livvie, I wish we weren’t in this predicament. But the world is what it is.”
“I wanted to marry for love,” Olivia whispered, tears stinging her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep them at bay lest her brother think her weak. “Wh-what if he won’t love me?”
“Love will come,” he said, his voice softening. “Love does not spring from our hearts overnight. It takes time, but it will come. Do you know why?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Because you have great capacity for love,” he said. “You’re a good soul—kind and loyal. Anyone who comes to know you won’t be able to help falling in love with you. In time, you’ll look back to tonight and smile at how Fate dealt you a hand more blessed than anything you might have wished for.”
“Do you really believe that?” Olivia asked. He paused, doubt flickering in his eyes, and she wrenched her hand free. “Or are you merely trying to convince me?”
“You must understand that this is the least painful option.”
“Least painful for whom?” Olivia said. “You don’t have to marry a great big beast of a man who does not speak!”
“For heaven’s sake, Olivia, I—”
“Montague, is there no other option?” Eleanor asked.
“Such as what?” he said. “To return to Rosecombe the subject of gossip, to be censured and ostracized from Society for the rest of her days?”
“We care nothing for reputation,” Eleanor says. “Surely that ought to be enough?”
“I thought we’d already discussed this at length,” he said.
“It matters not what we think. Society will forever condemn Olivia for her birth. Her chances of securing a respectable match were slim at best. After tonight, they’re nonexistent unless she accepts this man.
Assuming he bothers to attend me tomorrow. ”
Olivia suppressed a cry.
“Montague, how dare—” Eleanor began, but he interrupted.
“I dare because one of us must face up to the truth. I like it no more than you, my love, but now’s not the time for emotion or regret.
Now is the time for rational action to ensure that Olivia has the best possible chance of happiness.
” He reached for Olivia’s hand, a plea in his eyes.
“Believe me, sister, I wish it were not so.”
She tried to free her hand, but he tightened his grip.
“I will do what I can to ensure you’re treated properly.”
She shook her head. “Why did you have to do it?”
“Make him offer for you? Surely you understand—”
“No,” she said, her voice rising. “Why did you have to recognize me as your sister? I was happy before. My life was simple. I rose early, went to the school, taught the children, then came home, with no fear for my reputation, or the need to make a respectable match. Why didn’t you leave me there in obscurity?
Isn’t that what most lords do with the bastards in their families? ”
“With this match you can live as you please,” he said. “You’ll have a title, wealth, respectability. You’ll have your own children to care for—servants, tenants, all to benefit from the love you have to give.”
“And what if he doesn’t permit me to live as I please?” she said.
“I’ll make sure you’re given every freedom in your marriage.”
She shook her head. “You cannot guarantee that—not when I become the property of another man.”
He squeezed her hand. “I can, and I will. I can stipulate it in the marriage contract. Tell me what you want, and I’ll ensure that it becomes not just your wish, but a legal obligation.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“For my beloved sister, yes.” He blinked, and a tear splashed onto his cheek. “Tonight, I failed you. What happened on the terrace was my fault for not protecting you as a brother ought. For that, I am deeply sorry.”
His voice wavered, and the tears stinging her eyes threatened to spill over.
This man—this stern, strong man who elicited silence and respect the moment he stepped into a room, for whom loyal servants and tenants would do anything and from whom those who transgressed against him cowered in fear—she had never seen such emotion.
“I know I’ve been firm with you,” he said, “but it’s because I want to protect you from a world that is cruel.
Perhaps I ought to have left you in the village, handed you a coin or two as an act of charity, as all men of my rank are expected to do.
But I couldn’t. You’re my sister, Olivia, my flesh and blood, and I-I wanted to give you everything that would have been your due had you been Lady Olivia Whitcombe.
And the title you will gain on marrying this man will ensure that nobody in Society will ever again treat you are being of no worth. ”
Eleanor placed a hand on his arm. “Montague…”
“Forgive me,” he said. “Please say you forgive me. If you really don’t wish to marry this man, then I’ll think of something. I’ll not force you to enter into something unwillingly. I only want to present the options before you so that you can make an informed choice.”
“I…” Olivia paused, ready to plead her freedom. The path of her life stretched before her, forking into two. In one direction lay scandal, ruination, and misery—not only for her, but for those dearest to her. In the other lay uncertainty.
Perhaps every gamester found themselves faced with such a choice—certain ruination, or the chance of victory at the turn of a card.
At length, she made her choice. Surely the chance of happiness, however slight, was preferable to certain misery?
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll do as you ask.”
“Are you sure?” Eleanor took her hand, and Olivia’s resolve almost cracked at the tenderness in her sister-in-law’s voice.
“Yes,” she said, “but I have one final question.”
“Which is?”
“What is his name?” she said. “I-I don’t even know his name.”
“His name is Charles Henry Stephen Devereaux,” her brother said. “Fifth Earl Devereaux. You’re going to be a countess.”
At his words, Olivia’s resolve did crumble. The tears unlocked and rolled down her cheeks in silence.