Chapter Thirteen
Augustus—
I fear what you must think of me. I understand that, given my behavior, our—correspondence is surely at an end.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
If you think that, after last night,I desire an end to our relationship, then you are very mistaken. While I did not expect such favors, I would never suggest that their granting is shameful. Not when they have brought me more pleasure than I know how to articulate.
And after all, what have we done that many a young couple hasn’t? Surely, even Mrs. Phelps in her day allowed such liberties with the future Mr. Phelps. I would hope so, at least, for his sake. I have never passed an evening in a more enjoyable fashion. In fact, I am fairly certain I could die happy kissing you in any alleyway in London, but especially that one, which will now always carry a pleasant association for me, despite the truly startling abundance of rotting barrels and stray cats.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
You are used to fine ladies, who do not allow the things that I permitted. I cannot stand for you think of me as common, which, of course, you already must.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
Common is the last thing that I would call you. In fact, I find youuncommonly beautiful and uncommonly interesting. And when I think about you, which I must confess is frightfully often, I find myself uncommonly eager to see you again.
I would rather spend the evening with you than any other woman in the world. I have met many “fine ladies” and you would be surprised how many of them are very common indeed (and some of them are quite improper, as well, I can assure you—but that is neither here nor there, in my opinion). But they could be uncommon, too, and it wouldn’t matter to me. I only want you, whether you are common or not.
Please know I am perfectly serious. Allowing me to give you pleasure is the greatest favor you can bestow on me. I would never think less of you for it.
Augustus
*
“Courtingyou?” Eloisa said over breakfast the next morning, her fork frozen between her plate and her mouth. Olivia had waited a whole day to reveal to the Mappertons the agreement she had made with Augustus because she had known this moment was coming. She did not relish having to explain her actions…or facing what would doubtlessly look to Eloisa like extreme weakness where the man in question was concerned. She knew she could explain what Augustus had told her, but that his explanation would sound implausible. She wasn’t even sure if she fully believed it herself. His expression had convinced her of his sincerity, but it still seemed so…outlandish. She feared that, in repeating his story out loud to Eloisa, she would sound deluded in the extreme.
“Percy’s brother?” Natasha asked, a note of alarm in her tone.
Nathanial gave, for his part, an exclamation of surprise. “The earl?”
Olivia looked at all three Mappertons, who each seemed poised between shock and the impulse to hide it.
“Yes,” she answered, “To all three questions.” She moved to retrieve more kedgeree from the sideboard, just to have something to do. Eloisa always made sure that they had the dish. Her friend had told her once, long ago, that it reminded her of her mother, who used to make it for her in the West Indies when she was very small. The spices had reminded her of the country she had left behind. Usually, Olivia favored the dish, but this morning she could not focus on eating.
“He is taking me for a ride in Hyde Park, as it were,” Olivia continued, “He’ll be here shortly.”
She cringed internally. She had waited until the absolute last moment to tell the Mappertons and the lack of notice, she saw now, wasn’t helping the reception of her news.
“Percy will be here in moments for the same,” said Natasha, wonder in her words.
“Yes, I believe they will arrive together. In separate vehicles.”
“Perhaps I do not yet understand English customs,” Nathanial said, “But doesn’t courting usually lead to marriage?”
“It won’t,” Olivia said, then realizing how that sounded, she clarified, “I mean, I’m not sure if it will. If I will, I mean. If I want to.”
“Would you really turn down an earl, Olivia?” Natasha asked. “And what about Mr. Laurent?”
Olivia felt herself blush. Of course, Natasha and Nathanial knew about Mr. Laurent. “The earl has offered to court me. I did not leave France engaged to Mr. Laurent. I will decide…” Her eye strayed to Eloisa, who looked at perplexed as her children. “Which man I like best.”
“I see,” Natasha said. “Well, with all respect to Mr. Laurent, I can’t say that he is much competition for the earl. I am not sure what—”
“Natasha,” her mother said, in the bright, aggressive tone that she used when she was about to insist on having her way. “Lord Percy will be here soon. Please go and fetch your pelisse.”
“What? Mother, I already have—”
“Now,” Eloisa said, “And you can help her find the appropriate apparel, Nathanial. I want to speak with Olivia.”
“Mother! I am not done with my breakfast,” Nathanial objected.
“Now.”
Natasha sighed and swept from the room. Nathanial threw his serviette on the table and huffed out.
Once the door closed behind him, Eloisa turned to her. They were sitting at opposite sides of the breakfast table. She did not fear her friend, of course, but her gaze was nevertheless uncomfortable. It was the embodiment of her own conscience, staring back at her.
“You saw what happened on the balcony,” Olivia began, knowing that she needed no preamble. “And how he asked to speak with me. He came yesterday morning, while everyone else was still abed.”
“What could he have said to induce you to accept such a proposal? Courtship? A potential marriage? I do not understand.”
Chassey entered the breakfast room. “Lord Montaigne has arrived, Miss Watson.”
“Thank you, Chassey.” But she knew she could not leave until she had explained the matter to Eloisa. Quickly, she went over what Augustus had told her yesterday—the maids, how he hadn’t actually bedded any of them, how he had let the scandal sheets ruin his reputation.
“Extraordinary,” Eloisa said when she was done. “And you believe him?”
For a moment, silence filled the breakfast room. When Eloisa asked the question, it felt like the question of her own soul. Did she believe him?
“I do,” she said, finally, exhaling the words on a breath.
Eloisa nodded, her expression solemn. “Very well. I trust your judgment. But, still, all the same—for the love of god, Olivia, be careful.”
*
Olivia had beenuncertain what a ride with the Earl of Montaigne in Hyde Park would entail. During their summer together, they hadn’t done activities such as these. Now he was seated beside her, bowing slightly to the aristocrats who passed them in their own conveyances. They looked at her with curiosity. Olivia suspected they hadn’t yet placed her. They had driven the same path twice already and the noonday sun beat down uncomfortably on her forehead. But such physical discomfort was nothing in comparison to what she felt when they passed each carriage, waiting for a stare of recognition or a sneer.
They had lost Natasha and Percy almost immediately upon entrance into the park. Olivia said a silent prayer that the girl was following her mother’s edict to stick to the public paths. Eloisa had let Natasha forgo the chaperone given the public nature of the venture and Olivia feared the scene that would ensue if her daughter flouted the rules.
Augustus looked over at her and cleared his throat. They had tried several subjects without success: the opera (neither of them were particularly avid on the subject); France (she knew it well, but he had only gone there as a drunken young man years ago and, thus, had retained little impression of the place); and books (neither of them, as it turned out, were great readers). Every subject that touched on the past felt embargoed. And, oddly, she sensed that he felt just as uncomfortable being respectable as she did. The perspiration on his brow and the slight shake of his hands when he maneuvered the reins testified to it.
As the curricle made to return to the same loop they had already traversed twice, Olivia decided to take action. She had thought being courted by Augustus would be many things—but boring hadn’t been a possibility that she had considered. If she followed through with her plan to become Madame Laurent, she would have a lifetime of boredom ahead of her. A little excitement was why she had consented to this plan in the first place.
“Let us take the path towards the Serpentine,” she said, quickly, and he jerked back, as if she had touched him unexpectedly.
“Are you sure?”
That path, of course, wended away from prying eyes and deeper into the park.
“Yes. Please.”
He slowed but did not take the path.
“I—well—we said—I said, in your parlor, that I would court you—respectably, and this path—it is not seen as—if you were—”
She had to hold back from gaping at him. Who would believe that this man, known as the worst rake in London, had the capacity to stutter about respectable pathways in Hyde Park?
“I am not a debutante, Lord Montaigne. And this sun will melt me if I sit under it any longer. I understand the back paths are shaded.”
He gave a curt nod and headed down the nearest path that led to the river.
“My apologies, Miss Watson, for being so—I only want to make sure that I am—that you feel respected—”
Lord have mercy, Olivia thought. Here, she had thought she had consented to be courted by a scoundrel.
“I think, at this point, you may call me Olivia.”
“It would a great honor,” he said, rapidly, his eyes on the road. “I wish very much that you would call me Augustus.”
Earlier this morning, she might have told herself she would decline such a request from him. That she would make him suffer for longer, given all that had passed between them. But that was before she had heard him stammer. Twice.
“Very well, Augustus.”
At her use of his Christian name, she saw his fist clench around the reins. She waited for him to speak more, but he said nothing.
They drove on in silence. Despite this agreement over their names, they did not seem any nearer to knowing how to speak to one another. But the road here was shaded and much more pleasant. It made the silence between them feel easier.
Finally, he did speak.
“Have you renewed any old acquaintances since returning to England?”
“No. When I departed the last time, I left no one behind.”
He shifted beside her at this comment. Before, despite the smallness of the carriage, they had not been touching. Now, he was a bit closer and she could feel the heat of his body, pleasant and intimate despite the early spring warmth that had so oppressed her moments before. His knee nearly grazed her own. She glanced over at him, his face still in serious lines, and moved her own knee so that it just aligned with his. She saw his hands tighten once more on the reins, as they had when she had said his name. The sight pleased her.
“I grew up in the orphanage, as you know, in St. Thomas’s Street. I have no family to return to.”
He nodded, stiffly. She flexed the muscle in her knee that ran alongside his and was rewarded by a sharp inhalation from him. Oh god, but it gratified her. She knew she should be more guarded with him, but something about his manner—it made her want to push him further, to see what lay beneath his attempt at respectability.
“Have you ever returned? To the orphanage?”
“Not in many years. Although perhaps I should. But I am not sure why I would. Of course, all the children I once knew were gone. A few of the women who ran the place may still be there, but I know the one with whom I was most intimate, Mrs. Fairfax, died some years ago now.”
“I am sorry,” he said, solemnly, with a nod of his head, his eyes still on the road. The path they were on now felt very far from where they had been only minutes before; no other carriages were visible. Trees fringed it, affording no gaps to other walks or drives.
“Thank you. I must admit that I never expected to see her much after I left the place. There, you learned not to form attachments, even as a child. You understood that the orphanage wasn’t built for lasting connections.”
The private road, the solemnity of the conversation, and how seriously he took it, stoked something in her. She let her leg fall so that it rested against his. What had been only a hint of contact before was now unmistakable.
He swore aloud. He actually swore.
“Olivia.” She saw him swallow, hard. But she didn’t acknowledge it. She liked the tension of the moment. She didn’t want it to end.
“I never knew a different life, so it never seemed strange.”
“Did you ever discover anything of your parents?”
She was surprised that he would ask the question. That he could ask the question, when he had seemed so disturbed by her touch.
“Not a thing.” She slid her hand onto his leg. He swore and jerked the reins, causing the horses to startle. He quickly subdued them.
“Don’t crash, Augustus. It is only my hand on your knee.”
“Thigh,” he said, his throat clearly dry, “It is on my thigh.”
“Would you like me to remove it?”
“Dear god, no.”
She had to laugh at that. And she wanted to explore. He had slowed the horses even further—they had been trotting before, but now they were at a walk.
“Do you not trust yourself to drive any faster?” she asked, moving her hand down his leg, relishing the clear power that she had over him.
He grunted, neither assenting nor denying. His entire body was stock still, his leg rigid beneath her fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“What I want,” she retorted, turning to look at him. Now, for the first time since she had entered the curricle, he looked her full in the face. His otherworldly eyes blazed and, in that moment, she could see straight through him. The desire there appeared bottomless. So strange, she thought, for him to look so ravaged, when he had been the one who hurt her. Could a man change so much? Could he really have such regret?
She moved her hand back up his thigh. He shuddered and swore again.
“Fuck, Olivia, I didn’t expect—”
“Shh,” she said, lost in the taut feel of him, reveling in his scent of leather and bergamot.
“Olivia—” his voice contained warning, his body tensing even more underneath her fingers, his eyes wide.
Then she understood why. She hadn’t intended to, but her hand now grazed another part of his anatomy. It lay heavy and hot along his leg, large and unmistakable. She did remember his size. She hadn’t fully appreciated it, then, not having had many lovers. But in the years since she had realized that he had been particularly well-equipped to please her. Not just in his length, although he was large in that regard, but in his thickness.
Now, she couldn’t help running her fingers over it. She kept her touch so light that it was almost nothing.
Nevertheless he groaned. The sound made her feel, if possible, even more wanton.
And then he caught her wrist.
“Not here. Anyone might see.”
“See what?” she teased. From a distance, they could hardly look like much, just a couple moving slowly down a shaded path.
He shook his head. “I won’t let you be talked about.”
“But you want me,” she said, her mind fogged with the heat between them, needing to keep touching him, “Tell me how much you want me.”
His fingers squeezed her wrist and he pulled her towards him, until his mouth was at her ear. “More than anything.”
“Then show me.”
He descended from the curricle, extending a hand towards her. She took it, locking eyes with him, and finding again that intense desire there.
When she was on the ground, he swept her into the tree line.
“This way.”