Chapter Thirty
Olivia glanced up as someone knocked on the parlor door.
“Come in!”
It opened and Colin entered. “Miss Faulkes for you, your ladyship. I believe you’re expecting her?”
He stepped aside to reveal Nicola, holding a package.
“Thank you, Colin,” Olivia said. “May we have some tea later? At four o’clock? I believe there’s some shortbread left.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Groves made a new batch yesterday and Mr. Reynolds hasn’t eaten it all yet—though come four o’clock, it might have all gone.”
He winked, then bowed again and exited the parlor.
“You oughtn’t to let him speak so freely with you, Olivia,” Nicola said, embracing her. “You’re the mistress. He’s just a servant.”
“I’d rather the staff were happy here,” Olivia said. “In any case, I suspect my upbringing was similar to his.”
“But you’re a countess, with a duke for a brother.” Nicola sat, then held out the package. “I visited the post office on my walk here and took the liberty of picking up this parcel for you.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, taking the package. “Oh! It’s from Eleanor—her hand is so distinctive. There’s always something so exciting about receiving post.”
“I can’t say I’ve thought about it, seeing as I’ve never received any letters. But I don’t have a duke for a brother.”
“Montague never writes to me,” Olivia said with a laugh. “He dislikes letters, both writing and receiving them. Eleanor says that’s because men only receive letters of business containing demands for the settlement of an account, or instructions to undertake some tedious task.”
She began to unwrap the package then hesitated.
“Would you mind awfully if I read Eleanor’s letter now? I’ve not heard from her for some time.”
“Of course not,” Nicola said, smiling. She rose, then crossed the floor to the window and looked out.
“Mr. Baxter’s making progress on the garden, I see.
It must have cost Lord Devereaux an awful lot.
” She glanced toward Olivia. “Of course, it’s not my place to speak of it.
I see Jacob’s helping him again today—which explains why he’s not been at Pa’s farm this week. ”
“I couldn’t have made the arrangements without Jacob’s help.”
“Well, he is Lord Devereaux’s heir.”
Olivia glanced at her friend, who was staring out of the window, her eyes filled with longing.
“Shall we join him later, Nicola? I can show you the gardens and introduce you to Mr. Baxter. His wife, Lady Arabella, is a friend of my sister’s.”
Nicola let out a sigh, her breath misting the window. “It must be so beneficial to have a duchess for a sister.”
“I don’t love Eleanor because she’s a duchess,” Olivia said. “I love her because she’s kind and intelligent—and would do anything to make me happy.”
“Then you’re fortunate to be loved.”
“Your sister loves you.”
“Susie’s just a child,” Nicola said, folding her arms. “Don’t let me keep you from your letter.”
Olivia nodded, then opened the parcel. Inside, she found a miniature watercolor landscape depicting Rosecombe, a letter, and a small, square box. She tore open the letter and read it.
Dearest Olivia.
Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been much occupied in Town.
I trust you’ll forgive me when you know the reason.
I have been in Town on the most important business, namely the framing of the enclosed.
I thought it might do for your parlor, to remind you of those who love and miss you every day.
Though you are mistress of Penham, you will always have a home at Rosecombe.
You must also forgive my indulgence in paying another visit to Rundell and Bridge, but what sort of sister would I be if I did not give you a pair of earrings to match your necklace?
I return to Rosecombe today. I confess I miss Montague when I’m parted from him.
He was too busy overseeing the estate to visit London with me, and I confess to having been a little apprehensive about visiting London on my own.
But I had no need for concern, as I find I have plenty of friends here.
Dear Jemima has been in Town since the summer as her confinement draws near, and I took tea with Lady Portia and her husband yesterday.
Mr. Reid asks me to convey his sister’s best wishes and that she hopes to see you soon.
Perhaps you and Lord Devereaux might come to Rosecombe for a visit over Christmas.
Horatio is quite bereft without his beloved aunt.
I fear he prefers his aunt to his mother, particularly when I am required to admonish him for teasing little Clarissa, who also misses her aunt.
I miss you dreadfully, of course, and though Montague makes no mention of it, I know that he is anxious to see you again and to know that you are well, and happy.
And now I must conclude, if I’m to catch the post. I will only add that I happened to see Lord Devereaux in Town last week.
He looked in good spirits, though I confess to being disappointed that you were not with him.
Perhaps when he’s secured his own townhouse he might be persuaded to bring you. Do persuade him, darling, if you can.
Yours,
Eleanor
Olivia folded the letter, held it to her breast for a moment, then set it aside.
She picked up the box and ran her fingertips over the inscription, then lifted the lid.
Nestled on a bed of dark-blue velvet was a pair of earrings, fashioned in gold, each bearing a single pearl suspended on a thin gold chain.
She lifted her hand to her throat, then sighed. Her throat was bare. She’d mislaid Eleanor’s necklace last week, much to her distress—poor Susie had been heartbroken on discovering it missing.
“Oh, how pretty!”
Olivia glanced up to see Nicola standing before her, her gaze fixed on the earrings.
“A gift from my sister,” Olivia said. “She’s been in London. It’s to match the necklace I lost.”
“Can’t she buy you another necklace? She’s rich enough.”
“I can buy another myself,” Olivia said. “But it wouldn’t be the same. That necklace was gifted with love, and I have an obligation to find it. I’m sure it will turn up eventually. I daresay I dropped it somewhere. Now—how about a turn in the garden, and we can ask Jacob to take tea with us.”
She rose and caught her breath as nausea rippled through her. The world shifted out of focus for a moment, and she reached for the back of the chair to steady herself.
“Are you well?” Nicola said, drawing near.
“I stood a little quickly, that’s all.”
Nicola’s eyes narrowed. “Susie said you fainted last week in the garden.”
“I merely tripped on a loose stone on the path. It was nothing of any consequence, and Jacob was there to catch me.”
“You were with Jacob?”
Olivia frowned at the sharpness in her friend’s tone. “Mr. Baxter was there also,” she said. “I was assisting him in the garden when I lost my footing.”
“You were gardening?” Nicola shook her head. “But you’re a lady. When I become…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t be undertaking menial work.”
Olivia laughed. “I wouldn’t describe gardening as menial work, certainly not in front of Mr. Baxter.” She held out her arm. “Come, let me introduce you.”
Olivia’s husband might be the largest man she had ever seen, but Baxter was of a similar build and height.
With a tall frame and muscles toned from years of toil, he was a formidable sight.
No doubt most women would enjoy the sight of him digging in the garden, shirtless, his muscles rippling with each movement.
But Olivia could only regard him as he compared to her husband.
He paused in digging and straightened, stretching out his arms. Then he turned and raised his hand in greeting.
“Lady Devereaux! A pleasure to see you, as usual.”
“And you, Mr. Baxter,” Olivia said. “I trust you’re not working too hard.”
“Ah, that’s where I’m fortunate, ma’am, given that I see my occupation as more enjoyment than work. This particular assignment has been more enjoyable than most.”
“Mr. Baxter, I fear you’re attempting flattery.”
“My Bella would say the same, Lady Devereaux. Most of my clients demand a formal style, where every hedge is clipped into obedience to suit their tastes. My better clients prefer a naturalistic style, where the garden reflects the world around us. But they all pale in comparison to one such as yourself.”
Olivia winced. Surely he wasn’t referring to her birth?
“One such as myself?” she said.
“Someone with your vision, Lady Devereaux. Your idea for designing a garden that appeals to all the senses, not just aesthetics, is something I’ve long wished to put into being.”
“All the senses?” Nicola said. “What do you mean?”
“The garden’s going to appeal to every sense,” Olivia said. “Even sound. Mr. Baxter has had some special items made that produce music in the wind. They’re used in the Far East. Eleanor told me about them—her father brought some back from one of his business journeys. What are they called again?”
“Wind chimes,” Baxter said, smiling. He settled his gaze on Nicola and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, forgive me,” Olivia said. “Mr. Baxter, this is Miss Faulkes. Nicola, this is Mr. Baxter, a man who performs miracles in the garden with wind chimes.”
“The miracle was your imagination, Lady Devereaux,” Baxter said. “I merely put it into being.”
“Together with your wife,” Olivia said. “I trust Bella will receive her share of the credit.” She turned to Nicola. “Lady Arabella sketched all the designs for the garden.”
“Lady Arabella?” Nicola said. “Then how come you’re only Mr. Baxter?”
“My Bella’s a duke’s daughter,” Baxter said, “though you wouldn’t know it, seeing as she lacks the airs that most ladies have—and thank the Almighty for that, is all I have to say.”
“Oh,” Nicola said. “She’s like Olivia.”
Olivia flinched at her friend’s reference to her birth. Would she never be free from the stain?