Chapter Seventeen
Olivia—
How can I ever thank you for yesterday evening? I am still in disbelief that you would spend time with a wastrel like myself.
You are welcome in my rooms whenever you desire. If you do not come tonight, for instance, I am sure that I will wake hard and aching for you.
Of course, my agitated state is not your problem to solve. Nevertheless, I hope you are not scandalized by my saying so—but I have found myself unable to think of anything but you all morning.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
You should not call yourself a wastrel. Surely, a man who knows how to use his tongue like yourself could never deserve the name. No one with whom you share your gifts could grant the justness of the appellation.
I have thought of you as well and would hate to think of you in such a way this evening without a means of relief. Thus, I will pledge to be there. Should I satiate your desires in the same way that I did last night, or should I use my mouth this time? It would, after all, be only fair.
Now, I will be serious. You should know that, truly, I cannot keep the smile from my face. I assure you that they think I have gone addlepated in the kitchens.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
When you write in such a saucy fashion, I find myself unable to wait until this evening. Reading your words has me in a shameful frenzy.
If you find yourself in the green parlor in half an hour, you will save my soul from perdition, I am sure. Or perhaps quite the opposite. Either way, I promise you heaven—or as close to it as I can bring you.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
I should not have met you in the green parlor and if anyone knew that I had done so, I would surely be sacked.
However, I cannot regret my actions when you have made the risk so worthwhile. I know surely I will never be able to look at that armchair the same way again. Who knew a lady could ride a man in such a fashion? I must confess that I had no notion of such things until this very afternoon.
Now that I do, however, I am already desperate to repeat the experience.
Olivia
*
Olivia hadn’t meantto say the words.
She hadn’t meant to conjure the past between them, wouldn’t have been able to, if he hadn’t brought it up himself. With her mind so addled with pleasure, she hadn’t been unable to affect any artifice.
Now, Augustus’s eyes bore into her, his expression feral. She hadn’t wanted to discuss this with him. How he had humiliated her. She had wanted to forget the past and enjoy this pleasure between them.
“It’s nothing,” she responded, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see his face. She grabbed the sheet and covered herself with it, suddenly feeling exposed.
“You said I sent you away,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What does that mean?”
Still with her eyes closed, the pain of the past beating down on her, she swallowed hard. “You know what I mean, Augustus. Back then. You left me that note.”
“Olivia.” She felt his hand on her arm. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes. His otherworldly blue gaze burned back at her.
“I never left you a note.”
Olivia had to laugh at that. She had never suspected that he would deny it. In fact, every action that he had taken since their reacquaintance seemed to admit it. He had promised to win back her regard, her trust, hadn’t he?
“Yes, you did,” she protested, “You left it for me. In the tinderbox. As you always did.”
“What did it say?” His expression, if anything, had only turned up in intensity. She felt a small, quaking fear at the penetration of his gaze.
“That I was dismissed. I was to leave the house. And that anything we had shared was at an end. It wasn’t a long note.”
“And you believed it?”
“Believed it? It was in your hand. We had been exchanging notes for months. The note was left in the usual place. I knew your hand better than anyone’s.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, slowly, looking her full in the face, “Because I never left you any note of the kind.”
She recoiled in disbelief. How could he not remember? Why would he deny it?
“I am prepared to forgive you. I never thought I would, but now it seems possible. We were young. It would have been an easy mistake for you to make. I was a servant in your home—what must have felt like your mother’s home to you.”
“Olivia, I didn’t write that note. How could you believe it? Back then we were so—we were so—” he seemed to search for the word and, finally, was unable to find it.
“It was in your hand, Augustus,” she said, softly, “I don’t know what to tell you. And—” She bit off—it was too humiliating to repeat.
“Say it,” he glowered.
She closed her eyes. “And it held ten guineas. I remember exactly what you wrote, My gift should, I hope, help you in securing another place.”
He said nothing. Dread dipped in her stomach. Perhaps, now, he remembered. How could he forget? And yet it seemed he had.
She opened her eyes once more. He was looking at her, his mouth open in shock.
“That was our jest, don’t you remember?” Her cheeks burned, but she had to make him see. “That you liked pleasuring me with your mouth so much that you should pay me ten guineas.”
“Of course, I remember.”
“It was clear you were giving me my ten guineas and that I should be on my way.”
Anger flared in his eyes.
“Do you think that I could actually countenance such conduct? That I would give you ten guineas, a woman that I had been bedding morning, noon, and night, and banish you from my sight? That I could be so heartless as to take such a thing between us and then use it to dismiss you?”
“That is what happened, Augustus. That is what you did.”
“No, Olivia—I did not. I never did such a thing. You have to believe—”
A knock sounded on the door to the room.
Olivia had been so absorbed in their conversation, so perplexed that there could be any disagreement on their history, that she had forgotten they were at a masquerade. That there were hundreds of people downstairs—and that there existed a very real risk that they could be discovered.
Augustus glared at the door and then looked at her.
“Don’t move.”
He stalked to the door.
When he opened it, she heard him scoff with impatience.
“Before you murder me, you might consider thanking me,” said the voice at the threshold, which belonged, she suspected, to the very proprietor of this establishment, the Viscount of Tremberley. “Your brother and all the Mapperton clan are searching for you and Miss Watson downstairs.”
“Why in the devil are they doing that?”
“Given the circumstances, I feel they should be given the opportunity to reveal that themselves.”
“Bollocks. Why?”
Olivia could hear the viscount’s sigh from her place on the bed.
“It seems that your brother has rather unfortunate timing in regard to your plans. He has proposed to Miss Mapperton and been accepted. He wants to share his news.”
Augustus’s curse reverberated across the room.
“I didn’t realize you were so against the engagement,” Tremberley laughed from the door. He whistled. “If only Percy knew.”
“Enough,” Augustus bit off, “Thank you for informing me. Now leave.”
Olivia heard the door shut. She was paralyzed, mentally, between their conversation of moments before and the exchange she had just heard. She wondered if Augustus was really upset about the engagement. Fear clutched her gut at the prospect.
“Will you forbid them from marrying?”
“Who?” he said brusquely, reaching to the ground and picking up her gown.
“Natasha and Percy, of course.”
He scoffed. “My brother is free to marry whoever he chooses.”
“You don’t seem overjoyed at the prospect.”
“Olivia,” Augustus said, holding out her gown to her, “We must dress and go downstairs. Our absence will have already been conspicuous and will only grow more so as the congratulations pour in for my brother and Miss Mapperton. We must leave. But if you think I can expend much thought on their situation after what you have just told me, or that I can rejoice in being torn from this room, then you gravely mistake me.”
She took the gown from him and stood.
“I don’t understand,” she said, as he helped her dress. “How could you not remember writing the letter?”
“I never wrote such a letter, Olivia,” he repeated, doing up her dress as gently as he had undone it, his fingers moving swiftly over the ties. “I don’t know how such a letter appeared in your tinderbox, but I certainly didn’t put it there. But we cannot resolve it now.”
He turned her to face him. She looked into the blue of his eyes, darkened by his earnest expression. He handed over her mask.
“I have endangered you enough with this mad scheme. We need to reach downstairs. I will call on you tomorrow and we will discuss it fully.”
Then, he bent down, and kissed her softly, on the corner of her mouth. She didn’t know what to think. The letter had been in his hand—she had never questioned its authenticity. Would he lie to her now? To make her think better of him?
He took her hand and led her from the room. When they reached the bottom of the servants’ stairwell, he kissed her again and urged her to go out first.
“Find Percy and the Mappertons and I will be with you in minutes.”
She nodded and stumbled out into the candlelit space. She made her way to the ballroom and, luckily, discovered that her quarries were not difficult to find. There, in one corner, Natasha and Percy beamed, flanked by Nathanial and Eloisa, who looked wary but happy. In her evident elation, Natasha appeared even more radiant than usual. The well-wishers were deep upon them and it took some perseverance to reach them.
When Natasha saw Olivia in the crowd, she exclaimed her name and pulled her towards them.
“Olivia!”
“I heard from Lord Tremberley,” Olivia whispered, “I wish you so much joy.”
Natasha squeezed her hand and Percy, having now spotted her, intoned his thanks. “Have you seen my brother?” he whispered.
Olivia fought the blush from her cheeks and sensed she was failing.
“Not since our waltz,” she managed to say.
“But I’m right here, Miss Watson,” said a deep voice behind her. She turned and there he was. She was almost disappointed to see how composed he looked. The heat of their tryst was all over her. He looked nowhere near as mussed as she felt.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said to his brother, and Olivia watched Percy smile under the approval of his brother. Augustus took Natasha’s hand. “I am sure, Miss Mapperton, that my brother is about to be the luckiest of men.”
Natasha curtsied at the compliment and Percy began telling the story of their engagement. They had been on the balcony, taking in the fresh air, and he had been unable to wait. He was sure she would say no, he explained, but somehow she had accepted. How Percy thought that Natasha would refuse him, Olivia could not understand. The girl’s eyes shined when she looked at him.
Had she made such a mistake with Augustus, she thought, as she looked at the pleased embarrassment on both Natasha and Percy’s faces. Why, when she had received the letter, hadn’t she confronted him about it? She could have waited for him to return to the house so that they could speak. Why had she believed it so readily? Was it anything that he had ever done or said, or was it merely her sense of her place in the world as compared to his? Back then, she hadn’t let herself think of the future. It had not entered into her mind that they could have one. They had never spoken of it.
Eloisa appeared at Olivia’s shoulder. She had been deep in conversation with a woman she hadn’t recognized and Mr. Tombey, her old friend. From the moment she looked at her friend up close, Olivia could see the depth of her happiness.
“Congratulations,” Olivia whispered to her, squeezing her hand.
“I just think of how happy Christian would be,” Eloisa replied in a low voice, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Olivia squeezed her hand once more. “He never even hoped for such a splendid match—in all respects. Now I know I did the right thing coming here. I wasn’t sure—” her voice broke.
“You did,” Olivia murmured. “No mother could have done more.”
Eloisa nodded.
“And I am not sure if you noticed,” Olivia said, in a lowered tone, wanting to give Eloisa time to recover herself. “But Nathanial seemed to have been struck by a young lady.”
“Miss Althea Wallis,” Eloisa said, exhaling a deep breath, “Yes. Exactly the sort of girl I would have imagined him falling for, too. We’ll see if his interest lasts.”
“I hope so. It might convince him that he does not need to be my chaperone.”
Eloisa laughed and Olivia could not help but feel swept up in the joy of the moment, despite her own troubles.
The rest of the evening passed in a similar fashion. They celebrated Natasha and Percy to the end of the masque, drinking and toasting and dancing. Augustus hardly left her side, although his presence was not conspicuous, and orchestrated, she knew, not to cause notice.
Still, there was no time for them to talk, and she couldn’t help, despite the revelry of the moment, to think of what they would discuss tomorrow. She was still so unsure of what to think. She didn’t think he would lie to her about the note and yet another explanation did not make sense. Because if he had not written it, someone had to have. The circle of people who had known about their relationship had been small, but she supposed that some could know about it who had not been expressly told. They had been young and surely had lacked discretion.
But who would have wanted to keep them apart? And who would have known about the ten guineas?
Olivia had no idea.
What disturbed her almost as much as thinking about such a person was what this revelation meant for her own personality, her sense of the world. She had built so much of herself on this early disappointment. She had turned away from all love at the age of twenty because she thought she could not trust it or even its appearance. She had honed herself for a cruel world. She had become pragmatic to the point of pain.
Lastly, suddenly, another, even more terrible thought hit her. As she stood in the ballroom, with a glass of champagne in her hand, as she listened to Percy recount the story of his and Natasha’s engagement for the third or fourth time, the question came upon her without warning.
If Augustus hadn’t dismissed her, what must he have thought when she disappeared?