Chapter Twenty-Four
“Ihave agreed to be his mistress.”
Olivia and Eloisa were alone after dinner. Natasha and Nathanial had retired to their rooms as soon as politeness would allow. Both were, doubtlessly, writing letters to the objects of their affections. Despite their both keeping frequent company with their beloveds, they each saw it as necessary to keep up a near-constant correspondence with them as well. The happy effect of this devotion was that it had recently freed up the evenings for Olivia and Eloisa to talk. Natasha’s wedding to Percy was in a mere five days, so Eloisa’s mornings and afternoons were filled with preparations. Without this convenient absence of her children, she and Eloisa would have had little opportunity to discuss their own affairs. Olivia was thankful for it.
Just that morning, Olivia had returned from Carrington Place. She had left the house in a daze, before any of the rest of the family woke, unable to believe how wholly she and Augustus had surrendered themselves to each other—and how she had resolved to compromise between what her heart wanted and her mind knew to be true.
“I thought he asked you to marry him,” Eloisa countered, looking at her above her glass of port.
“He did,” Olivia said, carefully, “And I haven’t said no. But I cannot imagine being a countess. It seems too much to agree to. Even for him.”
“You love him,” Eloisa said easily, as if it was obvious. “And yet you are not sure if you can be part of his world.”
“I do not know if his world will have me. Surely, you of all people understand that.”
Her friend nodded.
“I do. Although I must say that I’ve never regretted my decision to marry Mr. Mapperton. Even though I knew what the reactions of his relations would be.”
“But you ran off to France with Mr. Mapperton. You two made a life of your own. Augustus and I would not have that option. Besides, you were young—it is an easier thing to throw caution to the wind at twenty than my age.”
“True,” Eloisa conceded. “Nevertheless, you must be the first woman in the world who has decided to be an earl’s mistress over his wife.”
“I doubt I am the first. Perhaps, the third or the fourth.”
Eloisa laughed.
“How will this arrangement work? Will you leave us?”
Olivia winced at this suggestion. She did not like the idea of leaving the Mapperton town home or the comfort of Eloisa’s company.
“We have not discussed the details yet. I would prefer not to leave, or at least not to go far, but I do not want to make you notorious by association.”
“Do not worry about that, Olivia. I trust you to be discreet. And with Natasha wed, it could not be as great an evil, even if it were found out.”
“I am not sure how we will arrange it. Augustus and I need to discuss it.”
The thought of these logistics had not occurred to her when she had proposed this plan. She had not considered that the last time they had had an affair, they had lived in the same house. Such an arrangement was, obviously, impossible now.
“Additionally,” Eloisa said, a sly smile on her face, “You are not the only one with an illicit liaison percolating.”
Olivia felt her mouth drop open in dismay.
“What do you mean?” Then, she remembered Eloisa’s old friend. “Is it Mr. Tombey?”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling.
“I have been seeing him—in the moments that I can. I do not know if it will become anything, yet. But it has been such a delight to enjoy someone again. To experience that excitement with a man—well, it has been quite a while for me, as you know.”
Olivia nodded. She did know. While her friend had not quite deprived herself completely in the years since Mr. Mapperton’s death, she knew that the trysts that Eloisa had engaged in had been undertaken for their discretion and emotional expedience. She had not wanted a man complicating her affairs—of the heart or otherwise. That Eloisa was open to such a liaison meant that things were changing indeed.
“So you see, I cannot judge you for your own conduct, or worry too much what sort of pall it might cast over the Mapperton name.”
Olivia smiled. “I suppose not.”
“I only warn you against getting hurt, Olivia,” Eloisa said, her eyes clouding with concern. “My affair with Mr. Tombey—it is simple. I am a widow, and he is a man with no one to answer to. I know it is not the same with your earl. I do not want to see you compromise yourself for his comfort. Once you are his wife, you cannot take it back.”
“I know,” Olivia said, “That is why I have resolved on this step first. The one thing I need is time. Time to think over whether I could really be his wife. Or if there might be some other way.”
Eloisa nodded and took another sip of her port.
“If anyone can find it, Olivia, it would be you.”
*
Olivia—
After the wedding this morning, I have a surprise for you.
If you assent, once the happy couple have departed, I will show it to you.
Augustus
*
It had beennearly four days since she had been alone with Augustus. He had called only once since their night together, and they had spoken of mundane topics in front of the Mappertons. After the intensity of their coupling during the snowstorm, and their agreement to move forward in this way, they both seemed tentative. It was not that she desired him any less than she had, or loved him any less—and, when he had called, his eyes had still burned with the same intensity when he looked at her. Rather, it was as if they both knew the moment was a delicate one and neither wanted to make a wrong move.
Now, he had sent this missive. She was not sure what to expect—what surprise he had waiting for her. Nevertheless, she wrote out an affirmative response and gave it to the maid immediately to send back to him. If the messenger made haste, Augustus would receive her answer well before he had to leave for the church.
It was the morning of Natasha and Percy’s wedding and Mapperton House was overset with preparations. While Olivia was concerned with what Augustus had planned for her, she couldn’t dwell on it. She wanted to make herself useful to Natasha and Eloisa before such a climactic moment.
Hastily completing her own toilette, she departed her bedchamber and made her way to Natasha’s. When she opened the door, the elegant space was in a flurry of activity. Mrs. Warburton, the most fashionable modiste of the ton, had made Natasha’s dress. The lady herself and her phalanx of servants filled the room. Beautiful fabrics seemed to flash from every corner. Such was the vibrancy of their presence that, at first, Olivia did not notice Natasha standing on a dais in front of a full-length mirror.
When she did see her, she gasped in admiration. Natasha had always been a beauty, but here, on her wedding day, she was radiant. She was wearing a simple white gown with a net covering that glimmered with silver; her hair was arranged around a tiara that, Olivia knew, belonged to the Carringtons. Augustus’s grandmother had brought it into the family when she had married his grandfather some fifty years ago. Now, it sparkled in Natasha’s dark hair, matching the happy gleam in her eye. And there, glimmering on her neck, was the simple gold necklace that had come from Eloisa’s mother. It had been the only valuable that her mother had ever owned, but she had taken it all the way from India to the West Indies and then Eloisa had taken it from the Caribbean to England and then France and back again. After today, it would belong to the Honorable Mrs. Percy Carrington.
“Natasha, you just might be the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”
The girl blushed.
“Thank you, Olivia. I wouldn’t want to disappoint, after all, at St. George’s.”
“No,” her mother said dryly, from the side of the dais, and Olivia turned to view her friend for the first time. “We couldn’t have that.”
Eloisa looked very beautiful as well, Olivia thought. She was arrayed in a simple lilac dress which managed, somehow, to be both extremely becoming and matronly enough to befit her role.
The next hour passed in conversation and last-minute arrangements to Natasha’s wardrobe. Soon, however, they were entering the carriage that Percy had sent for his bride, one spacious enough to accommodate all four of them much more comfortably than their own.
Olivia noted how handsome Nathanial looked in his formal wear. She found it touching how serious he looked in his attire—and nervous, too, for the role he was about to play in front of London high society. Walking his sister down the aisle at one of the biggest social events of the year was quite a feat for a young man who had been at the fringes of this world only a few months prior. Olivia would have been peaked herself.
When they arrived at the church, she and Eloisa left her children to their task. Eloisa gave her daughter a swift kiss on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. Natasha beamed at her mother and squeezed her hand. Then, she and Eloisa made their way to the Carrington family pew, from which they would watch the ceremony.
It was impossible that she would sit by Augustus, but when she passed him in the narrow space, she felt his intake of breath.
Nearly all the ton—minus the Brightleys, who had not been allowed back into the Carrington social circle since the incident at the ball—were packed into the pews at St. George’s. Eloisa had anticipated more outright societal rejection of the marriage, but, instead, it seemed that, if society had objections, they were restricting them to whispered predictions of failure and ruin for the young couple. Eloisa had also told Olivia that she suspected that Percy’s being a younger son had something to do with the muted reaction of society to his wedding a foreign girl of Indian extraction. She knew that Eloisa had not put too fine a point on this explanation for her sake. Nevertheless, she knew her friend was right. If Percy had been the heir, the ton would have been much more vicious. But the truth was that Percy, while titled and wealthy, was no longer even third in line to the earldom. His older brother, Lawrence, after all, had two boys.
And with Percy so charming and Natasha so captivating (and with a generous dowry, more than appropriate for her husband-to-be’s station), it seemed that society was willing to be more accepting than Eloisa had ever anticipated. Olivia was less certain, however, that such complacency would be extended in her case, if she were to marry Augustus.
These thoughts were swept away, however, when the ceremony started. When Natasha walked down the aisle on Nathanial’s arm, the entire room held its breath. She was that stunning, so young and radiant—it made Olivia’s eyes cloud with tears. She had known Natasha since she was a little girl and to see her so rightly appreciated, shining as she ought, was a joy.
When she joined Percy at the altar, the bashful, happy smiles of the young couple could not have failed to kindle at least a spark of warmth in the coldest heart watching. St. George’s had doubtlessly seen many brutal marriages over the years—those of convenience and pure calculation and extreme reluctance on one or both sides. And, yet, when you looked at Natasha and Percy exchanging their vows, such unhappy unions felt impossible.
Their admiring glances and the easy, wholesome attraction apparent between the two left one with the distinct impression that every marriage that ever had been and ever would be had to be like this one. And that any marriage contracted on such real affection must succeed.
By the end of the ceremony, Olivia even felt a bit more hopeful for her and Augustus.
*
After the weddingbreakfast had been eaten and the bride and groom had departed for their honeymoon—a month, as it were, at a Carrington family estate in Scotland—Olivia received another note.
Come to my carriage. It waits for you. Augustus.
Her heart pulsed, almost painfully, in her chest. She whispered her farewell to Eloisa, who knew about her plan to sneak away. Fortunately, Nathanial was too distracted speaking with Miss Wallis to notice her departure.
Olivia retrieved her cloak from the Carrington Place staff and swept into the street. She was uncertain where Augustus’s carriage waited but, very soon, she saw it, loitering only a short way down the street. Its curtains were drawn. She knew he must be waiting for her there.
When she approached, the coachman hopped down from the box and handed her up.
Before the door was even closed, she was in his arms. He had pulled her onto his lap and was kissing her, nearly frantically, like a man who had been starving. As the carriage lurched forward, she pulled away, laughing.
“You seem to have missed me.”
“Imagine my agony,” he said, burying his face into her neck and breasts, “To have experienced such mind-shattering ecstasy and then to be forced, for days, to be parted from you.”
He widened his legs and she could feel the press of his erection even through her pelisse.
“Never again,” he continued, “I will not allow it.”
“I missed you, too.”
The next fifteen minutes were lost to their rediscovery of one another. She kissed him with such abandon that she forgot all sense of time or place—or what they were even doing in the carriage to begin with.
When the conveyance lurched to a halt, she felt drugged. And not at all inclined to stop kissing him.
But he broke their contact.
“We’re here. Come.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
When the coachman handed her down, she recognized their surroundings.
“We’re in Bloomsbury,” she said to him. In fact, they were no more than two streets over from the Mappertons’ rented lodgings.
“Yes, indeed.” His smile informed her that he was up to something wicked—and that she would like it. “This way.”
He directed her into a neat little town house, smaller than the one that Eloisa rented, but just as fashionable. When they entered the dwelling, she saw that it was beautifully furnished. Every detail, from the fender to the bookshelves, seemed to have been attended to with care.
“Whose house is this?” she whispered to him.
He smiled down at hers.
“It’s yours.”
She laughed. “I don’t understand.”
“I bought it for you.”
She reeled back. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then, looking around and realizing that he was being serious, she returned her gaze to him. “I cannot accept such a gift.”
“And why is that? Did you not agree to be my mistress? Is that not what men do for their mistresses?”
“Yes, but—I didn’t think—I was proposing—” Olivia’s mind whirred. She had not considered that he would do something so extravagant. It scrambled her brain. She did not know whether to be outraged or delighted.
So, instead, she simply said, “But I live with Eloisa.”
He laughed. “And that need not change. Just because you own this house does not mean you have to live here. But your lodgings with Eloisa are temporary. I want you to have a home in London. If you won’t take Carrington Place as your home, then I want you to have this one.”
“I can’t accept it,” she said, again, mechanically, although she was not quite sure why.
“But you can.” He paused. “I promise it puts you under no obligation to me. In fact, it does the opposite. Why would you need to marry me when you are an independent woman of means? You could refuse me forever now. You need nothing I offer—at least from a worldly perspective.” He pulled her into a kiss. When he pulled back, she was breathless. “You could keep me as your lover until the day I die, Olivia, and you would be able to. And I would accept it. Because I only want you.”
He paused again, cupping her face with such tenderness, it made her want to weep.
“It is your house. But it is my hope that, here, we can be together. We need not wait for the right moment to steal away or for favorable circumstances. Even if you won’t be my countess, here, I hope, you will consent to be my queen. In this house of your own—in which you own every inch.”
Olivia looked around the rooms. She had to admit that he knew her taste well. She saw now that he had left much space for her to make the place her own, but what he had furnished was very much to her preferences. She searched her mind for a reason that she should refuse his gesture. And she came up with not a one. A house of her own was not something she ever thought would be possible for her, except perhaps in widowhood, after a practical and advantageous marriage to a man like Mr. Laurent. And a house of her own with him in it? It exceeded her wildest dreams.
Thus, there was only one thing she could think to say.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling him closer to her. He leaned down and kissed her, sending spirals of want through her. “No one has ever done anything so kind for me.”
“You deserve this,” he said, “and so much more. And I plan to give it all to you, if only you will let me.”
And, right there, on the floor of her new entryway, he got right to the business of showing her exactly what he meant.