Chapter Nineteen
The Earl of Montaigne had insisted that she give him no answer.
“Do not answer me now,” he told her, “I want you to have time to think. To talk it over with Mrs. Mapperton, perhaps. I don’t want to be that fool in the letter, pressing you for a response.”
She had merely nodded, stunned, unable to utter a word, for some minutes. He left not long after his declaration. Before he left, however, he extracted from her a promise of a different sort and she had assented, wordlessly. She would come to his home and meet his family tomorrow morning. Olivia had agreed in a daze, hardly conceiving of what she agreed to, or the enormity of what it implied. To return to Carrington Place in such a fashion—not as a guest at a crush, but a prospective bride for tea—was more than she could, in that moment, fathom.
Once he was gone, she sat for at least a half an hour alone in the parlor, mulling over all that had happened. She had to admit the truth to herself. She was glad that he had insisted she think over his proposal before responding to him. Because, when the question had hung in the room between them, she struggled to bring her objections, the ways in which such a thing was impossible, to her lips. She felt perilously close to saying yes.
If he had just been himself, and not an earl, a peer of the realm, one of the most powerful and prominent men in England, she would have been unable to keep her acceptance from bubbling to the surface. But although everything else about him tempted her, that one piece held her back. Doubtless, it was the reason why he had insisted that she think over his request, for all he made of not wanting to seem as pushy as Mr. Laurent. They both knew what commentary their engagement would incite—and he would not be able to stem it, for all of his power. The Downstairs Menace, marrying a woman born in a London orphanage, who had once worked in service? The scandal sheets would be vile.
And that was not even the worst of it, however, in Olivia’s estimation. Because the scandal sheets were nothing in comparison to having to be his wife—not the wife in his bed, or the wife of his heart, but the wife that had to stand beside him in ballrooms and endure the scorn of the ton. She would be the Countess of Montaigne, Lady Montaigne, and would have to attend to every duty that came with these titles. She knew little about running an aristocratic household outside of the hard labor that went into maintaining one. Since before she could remember, she had wanted a family of her own. But she had only coveted a warm hearth, a man who would make her feel cherished and secure and sated, children she could nurture—not society events and guest lists and menus.
Not to mention that she was still struggling to reconcile all that she had thought she had known about him with the truth. She had been so wrong, even though she could not blame herself for it. Once she had realized that he really hadn’t written the letter dismissing her, it had not been difficult to puzzle out that the culprit was Astrid. At first, she had not been able to get over the hurdle of the ten guineas—it was a huge amount of money for a serving girl to give away. But once she had remembered Astrid’s little dowry, it had all been clear.
And another fact made the ten guineas credible to her. Astrid might had been jealous and cruel in her comments to her, but Olivia sincerely believed that she was a decent soul at bottom. She had shared a room with her and Hannah for nearly two years. Astrid could have done many things, particularly after she discovered her relationship with Augustus, to make her life difficult. Such acts were committed from one serving girl to the next for far smaller offenses—for just the power it made a poor girl feel over another. She could have soaked her bedding so she had to sleep in cold, sodden sheets or filled her shoes with mud. But she never had done such a thing. In fact, she had always granted her small, grudging kindnesses, like leaving water for her in the basin or, on cold nights, getting a warm brick from the kitchens not just for herself and Hannah, but for Olivia, too. They had all had a base loyalty to each other due to their shared station that was subtle, almost invisible, if you didn’t know it was there. It was easy for her believe that Astrid would have felt guilty at the prospect of her going into the world with only a few shillings in her pocket. It would have been worth half her little “dowry” to get rid of Olivia guilt free. That Astrid would have had any appreciation of her or Augustus’s heartache could not be expected.
Augustus had suggested that she talk over his proposal with Eloisa. She knew it had been a good-natured suggestion. But he had clearly forgotten all about the engagement between his brother and Natasha—and Olivia could not bear to thrust her own dilemma on her friend amidst such a time.
When Eloisa, Natasha, and Nathanial appeared at the breakfast table that morning, their talk could only be of one thing. And, characteristically, Eloisa was not dwelling with her daughter on wedding clothes and the trappings of her future life, but instead trying to impress upon her the challenges of her future situation.
“Darling,” Eloisa said, perusing the newsprint and scandal sheets that she received every morning, “The news has not hit the society pages yet. And I want you to be prepared for what they will say.”
“They can be vicious, Natasha,” Olivia seconded, feeling anxious on the girl’s behalf, even though she had, miraculously, as of yet, avoided the worst of those nefarious pens.
“I know, mother,” Natasha said, nothing able to keep the smile from her face. “‘Lord weds Indian Jezebel’—I wait for the items with bated breath.”
Eloisa’s mouth turned down and yet upward at the corners, caught somewhere between a laugh and a frown.
“It might not be such a blasé matter to you, dear, when they actually print something similar—or you have the privilege of having the same said to your face.”
Natasha nodded, but Olivia sensed it was more out of deference to her mother’s feelings than true concern on her own behalf.
“If any of these toffs are rude to you, Tasha, I will take care of them,” Nathanial said, biting into a piece of toast.
“Is that chivalry from my dear brother?”
Nathanial rolled his eyes. “I am sure you will say that Lord Percy would beat me to every scuffle or duel over your honor.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” Natasha said, a secret smile curling onto her face. “But neither of you need worry—especially not you, mother. You’ve taught me well. My happiness does not rest on receiving only unalloyed acceptance from the English aristocracy. But I am not, perhaps, the only one among us to have found uncommon interest at the ball yesterday evening…”
Natasha looked around the table and Olivia’s heart gave a little spasm. Did Natasha somehow know about her interlude with Augustus?
Her gaze landed on her brother.
“I might have been quite busy yesterday evening, but I still saw you mooning over Miss Althea Wallis.”
Nathanial’s face flushed, but he held his head high.
“I did not moon.”
As it turned out, however, Nathanial could not deny his attraction to the young woman. Likewise, the Mapperton women could not resist teasing him, particularly when Althea was such a promising match for their son and brother. Like Eloisa, Miss Wallis’s mother had grown up in the West Indies and had met her husband, Mr. Wallis, a man of an ancient and wealthy gentry family there, when he was just a younger son making his fortune in the navy. Much as Mr. Mapperton’s family had objected when he had wed Eloisa, the Wallises had disowned Althea’s father twenty years ago when he had wed his wife, revolting at the notion that a scion of their house would unite himself with a Black West Indian woman. However, when Mr. Wallis’s elder brother died childless five years after their marriage, the entail was ironclad: they could do nothing to keep Mr. and Mrs. Wallis from assuming it all. While the Wallises were not welcome at all ton events, they were frequently seen at many—and lived, in most ways, a life typical of a prominent gentry family.
“From the view of fortune and pedigree,” Eloisa said, smiling saucily, “I could not approve of Miss Wallis more. Nevertheless, I advise you to get to know her before doing anything drastic.”
“Who said anything about drastic?” Nathanial huffed into his tea. But from his little, besotted smile and flushed cheeks, Olivia knew that Eloisa had a good estimation of her son’s feelings.
In fact, the Mappertons were so wrapped up in their own affairs that they had—thankfully—forgotten about Olivia’s own mysterious absence the prior evening. And, as she passed a pleasant day with them, they did not exclaim—and, after all, why would they?—when Olivia informed them that tomorrow she would spend the day at Carrington Place with Augustus and his family.
Luckily, it seemed that any worry of chaperoning had been pushed out of Natasha and Nathanial’s mind by their own intrigues.
“I do so wish I could go with you,” Natasha exclaimed, “But Percy and I plan to ride in Hyde Park and then get ices at Gunther’s—”
Nathanial, to the surprise of no one, planned to call at the Wallises.
Only Eloisa looked at Olivia for a moment longer than normal at this announcement. For a moment, Olivia could tell that Eloisa wanted to warn her, as she had her daughter, to be careful. But something seemed to hold her back at the last moment.
It was just as well, Olivia thought, because she felt very unequal to making any promises at present.
She was not at all sure her prudence in regard to Augustus Carrington could be relied upon—and thus it was better to refrain from assurances all together.
*
When Augustus’s carriagearrived the next morning to escort her to Carrington Place, the day appeared perfectly bright and clear, except for being extremely cold for the time of year. Augustus has insisted upon sending his carriage, even though the Mappertons had one of their own and Eloisa would have, of course, allowed her to use it. But as they only had one, Olivia hated to appropriate it for her own use, when Eloisa and Nathanial might need it, and she would have taken a hackney. She suspected Augustus knew that she would have felt this way and, thus, insisted upon sending one of his coaches. She had to admire his solicitude. She did appreciate it.
She had been invited for tea with Augustus and the Carrington women who still lived in the family townhouse. As the plush carriage wended its way through the crowded streets of Mayfair at midday, her stomach churned. Augustus’s mother and sisters would understand that she visited them as a woman their son and brother was considering marrying—and she cringed at what they must think of her in such a role. She, who had once been a maid in their house, was now being considered as its future countess.
Olivia looked down at her hands. Although it had been years since she had worked as a scullery maid, her hands still did not have the softness of a gentlewoman—her fingers and palms still bore the faint callouses and thin scars of manual labor. She knew that the Dowager Countess was a liberal woman, but could any woman who had lived her whole life in high society be so open-minded as to not mind her former maid as her daughter-in-law?
Yesterday evening, Natasha had mentioned to her mother that the Carrington children were known for making matches unusual for their station. She had made the comment to her mother, by way of assuaging her worries about her own treatment in the world of the Carringtons, but Olivia suspected she had been Natasha’s real audience.
“Percy said that many whispered about his sister Beatrice’s marriage. They said a humble barrister was unworthy of an earl’s sister. And apparently his sister-in-law, who is married to his brother, Lawrence, is the daughter of a country gentleman of small, obscure estate.”
“By comparison, you are an heiress,” Eloisa had said dryly.
“I am only pointing out,” Natasha had said, casting a sly look at Olivia, “that the Carringtons tend to make unconventional matches.”
Olivia had appreciated the sweetness of Natasha’s intention, but it also showed her youthful blindness to the true ways of the world. Natasha was an heiress, even if Eloisa’s trepidation on other grounds was warranted. Olivia was well aware that, compared to herself, the Carrington children’s spouses were only unorthodox.
Now, her nerves threatened to get the best of her. If she was received coldly by Augustus’s mother and his sisters, she did not know how she could ever consent to be his wife. The truth was that, even if they received her with a cordiality, she still struggled to see a path forward.
Even if, at the same time, when she was honest with herself, she desperately wanted to say yes to his proposal.
She had not even been able to broach the subject with Eloisa. For some reason, she found the idea of discussing his proposal in the same style as she had once debated marrying Mr. Laurent inexpressibly painful. No, she wanted to discuss the matter only with him.
The carriage had reached the door of Carrington Place and soon the footman had handed her down and was guiding her to the entrance.
When the door swung open, she was surprised to see Augustus waiting for her in the entryway.
He looked, this morning, even more handsome than usual. The sharp blue of his eyes flashed when he saw her and she knew, because his gaze seemed to mirror her own thoughts, that he was thinking of when they could be alone together again. A little shiver ran down her spine.
“Miss Watson,” he said, his deep voice soothing her nerves, offering her his arm. “This way.”
When she took his arm, the tautness of his muscles and the warmth he emitted comforted her. It made facing the Carrington women feel just a little more manageable.
As they turned towards the drawing room, Olivia noted that the place had hardly changed.
She, however, had altered a great deal. She could see now what she had only been able to vaguely intuit back then. While the townhouse was elegant in its way, it was not fashioned to shine. It was meant to be a place of family comforts and ease. She had been in enough fine homes now to see a difference that, when she worked here, had not been quite discernable to her.
They entered the drawing room, which appeared to still be the place that the family congregated, as it had been years ago.
For a moment, after they entered, Olivia took in the four women assembled near the fire. Petunia and Elizabeth, she recognized most immediately from Almack’s, and she was relieved to see their faces looking so relaxed and friendly at her appearance. The other young lady sitting with them, attired simply in a gray dress that surely many would find not fine enough for an earl’s sister, must be Willa. She had blond hair like the Dowager Countess and Augustus, but it was a shade or two lighter than theirs, less golden and more champagne. Her spectacles were thick and gave her a studious, careful look.
The Dowager Countess rose and walked towards her. Olivia remembered Augustus’s mother as a kind mistress with a gentle beauty about her. She could see that the years had not changed this impression, although her face did now have more lines and softness to its angles. Before she could complete her inspection of the woman, she found her hand clasped in the dowager’s own. Startled by the warm reception, she shook her hand in turn, and made to open her mouth in greeting, but the older woman had already spoken.
“Miss Watson, it is so good to see you after so long an absence. You cannot know how happy I am to see you looking so well.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Olivia said, giving a little curtesy in response. She was sure her face showed her discomfort. After all, she had left the Dowager Countess’s employ without notice and the woman had every right to think ill of her for it. While she appreciated the kindness of her greeting, it could not completely soothe her discomfort.
“Come, please, sit,” she said, gesturing towards an armchair between herself and Willa, “We are all so glad that Augustus has brought you to see us. Lady Petunia and Lady Elizabeth have told me they have had the pleasure of meeting you recently. Please let me introduce you to my second eldest daughter, Lady Willa.”
When they were all seated, Olivia feared silence, but, as it turned out, she needn’t have worried.
“We are all so delighted,” the countess said smoothly, “about the engagement between our Percy and your Miss Mapperton. She is such a delightful young lady. I hope that Mrs. Mapperton is as happy as we are about the match.”
“Assuredly, she is,” Olivia replied, finding her voice steadier than she had imagined she would. “A daughter’s first season it is an anxious time for any mother. I don’t think she had dared to hope that her daughter could be so happy.”
The Dowager Countess nodded. “Mrs. Mapperton will be here tomorrow for tea and I am so looking forward to our tete-a-tete. I do hope we will be great friends. I hope that she plans to stay in England for a time after the wedding. It would be a shame for Natasha to lose her company so soon.”
Olivia felt somewhat confused at this mention of a return to France, which she knew Eloisa had officially resolved on, but which felt, somehow, like a far-off proposition now for the entirety of their household.
“Well, as Percy’s sister, I must say,” Petunia burst in, “that I am so very glad he has chosen a bride who is so glamorous. I am sure that no one in society is as admired as Miss Mapperton and she can teach me all of her tricks once she is my sister-in-law. Next season, I aim to enchant.”
“What about Lord Edgar?” Augustus said from Olivia’s side, “From what I hear, he finds you quite enchanting.”
Petunia scowled. “Please, brother. I do not know what is wrong with Lord Edgar—we have known each other since we were children. How I could see him in any light other than that of a friend, I could never comprehend. No, I want to enchant fellows of a different order all together. And I will need all the glamorous sisters-in-law I can to help me.”
With these words, Petunia settled on Olivia a probing look. Her connotation was unmistakable.
“Petunia—” Her mother began.
But Elizabeth’s voice drowned out her mother’s.
“I think, Petunia,” Elizabeth said, “if you aim to enchant, you will have to change some of your ways. To give yourself more of an air of mystery. I would suggest eating rather fewer tarts at entertainments and, also, not assenting to punch drinking contests with Lord Edgar and Maurice Templeton in full view of the ballroom.”
Petunia blushed. “That was only—one time—”
“Now,” the Dowager Countess said firmly but gently, her comment directed at Olivia, “This is why I have never been able to fully understand society. Why the number of tarts a lady eats at an entertainment should have anything to do with her ability to enchant, I have no idea. I’ve always liked a great quantity of tarts myself.”
“And I have to say,” Olivia chimed in, “that if we are taking Miss Mapperton as our standard of glamour, that she never deprives herself of her favorite pastries when she has the opportunity. She would think any other behavior quite scandalous indeed.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, laughingly, “Although I do believe she never challenged Percy to see how many they could both eat in five minutes. That was not a stage in their courtship.”
“As I said,” Petunia interjected, her cheeks flaming again, “That was only once—or twice. And I do not see my relationship with Lord Edgar as having anything to do with courtship.”
“If you insist,” Augustus said, with a wink at his sister. Olivia got the distinct impression that Petunia’s relationship with Lord Edgar was complex, indeed.
“I have always liked Lord Edgar,” Willa chimed in, softly. “I hope he will not be too disappointed, Petunia, when you become the belle of the ton. I do think his feelings for you are of a very genuine nature.”
The conversation continued in this amiable stream. She would not have been able to believe it an hour ago, but Olivia found speaking with the Carrington women and Augustus so comfortable that she lost track of time.
It was only when Willa stood and began to excuse herself that Olivia realized they must have all been talking for more than two hours.
“It was lovely becoming reacquainted with you again, Miss Watson,” Willa said, quietly, her sincerity plain despite the rather commonplace words, “I must leave you now, however—I am expected at the orphanage.”
“My daughter is very devoted to her good works,” the Dowager Countess supplied, “She shames us all.”
“Which orphanage?” Olivia said, her pulse spiking at the mention of such a place.
“In Saint Thomas’s Street,” Willa said, “Not far from here—and yet a very world away, I suspect, to most who live in this neighborhood.”
“Not to me,” Olivia said, shocked to hear the place mentioned, “I grew up there.”
The silence that filled the room felt, briefly, to her ears, deafening. And yet, in hearing the orphanage mentioned, Olivia had felt driven to own it. She wouldn’t pretend, even for Augustus.
“That is incredible,” Willa said, the only one who seemed able to speak. “Could I ask you for a favor, Miss Watson? Would you come with me? It would be such a treat for the children to meet someone who grew up in the same place and who has made her own way in the world.”
“Willa—” Augustus broke in, “That is—Miss Watson may not feel—”
“Your brother is right, dear,” the Dowager Countess echoed. “We cannot ask Miss Watson for such a favor.”
“Thank you, but that is quite alright,” Olivia said, nodding at the Countess and Augustus, “I would love to join you, Lady Willa. I can think of nothing that would please me more.”
And just for that moment, she couldn’t.