Chapter 4
When the opportunity of several lifetimes landed in her lap, Adelaide seized it.
A trunk of commandeered couture, a handful of gifted coins from well-wishing villagers, a map purloined from a sleeping patron’s pocket, a smattering of intel from what she’d observed and overheard from well-heeled visitors of the coaching inn.
A new name. Her determination to raise her station.
Such meager offerings comprised all she had in the world. They had to be enough.
Adelaide, Chapter 2
Lady Noelle hadn’t known what she’d expected, but Miss Kelley was a surprise.
A few companions ago, one plain spinster had told them that they had no use for pastimes other than sewing, music, or dancing.
The woman had told their brother that he should be concerned for their welfare and should spend more time overseeing the diversions that took up their time before the three young ladies developed “dangerous ideas.”
Noelle had not stood in Olivia and Moria’s way as the two had made the woman so miserable that she’d abandoned them post-haste.
The woman hadn’t even waited for a carriage, opting instead to leave with the mail coach.
Word had spread of the three sisters’ eccentricity among the grapevine of women suitable enough to act as chaperone, and destitute enough to work for a wage.
Something about Bridget Kelley seemed different.
She hadn’t chided them about their marriage prospects or told them how hopeless they were.
She had listened, and she had tried to connect.
Even Moria was grasping at straws for reasons to dislike her.
“Miss Kelley reminds me of the woman in your story,” Olivia said, taking a seat next to Noelle in one of the velvet upholstered chairs near her desk.
Noelle looked up to see that Olivia was wearing breeches, as she often did when she went outdoors to care for her animals.
Olivia leaned her back against one stuffed arm of the chair, dangling her legs over the other arm.
The red-blonde sheet of her hair fell behind her.
“When did you…” Noelle started to ask when her sister had read her writing and thought better of it. There was no keeping secrets from Olivia, even as she raised a taunting blonde brow at Noelle to continue. Noelle searched for contempt or anger rising, but found none forthcoming.
She’d asked him to read her work in the past when he’d caught her writing in the summerhouse, curled up on a bench by a window with a stack of papers.
She’d been so ensorcelled by the story in her mind and the words on the page that she hadn’t heard him walk in until he’d sat down a steaming mug of tea on the wide windowsill next to her.
One slice of lemon. Two sugars. The way she preferred.
If you don’t mind, I was working on something. You’re distracting me.
She couldn’t let on that him knowing how she preferred her tea and going to the effort of personally delivering it had made her knees feel suddenly a little wobbly. But he did catch on. Shards of mischief appeared in his eyes.
I didn’t know princesses wrote stories. He smiled with only one side of his mouth in that way of his, that dimple on full display.
Well, here it is, she’d said. She’d shoved the opening pages into his hands, Go ahead and read it, then.
His smile fell off a cliff. He’d shrunk back from her, throat bobbing, brow knitting together, his eyes trained on her as he’d retreated with some half-hearted excuse.
His reluctance and self-loathing as he’d fled from her had been a palpable cord between them, as though he hadn’t had control over his legs as they’d carried him away.
And beside her now was her younger sister, who had no doubt undergone some minor espionage to read Noelle’s words.
She didn’t feel angry; she felt…seen. Cared for.
Grateful. No one else had read her story except for her childhood friend Margot, a fellow voracious reader she’d trusted enough to send hand-copied scenes for her review.
“Nevermind,” Noelle sighed, “So you read my writing without asking?”
Olivia twisted a strand of her hair around her fingers. Olivia was a ball of kinetic energy, small and frenzied and always moving or in a hurry. Even when she was resting, she was never completely still.
“Before you get offended, I thought it was brilliant. I’ve read those other lady authors you wanted me to read, and occasionally endured a male author or two to appease you. And I have to say, it’s a shame you keep her, that story, all to yourself.”
Noelle locked hazel eyes with the green, elfin eyes of her sister. Olivia stared back, challenging and unflinching.
“I didn’t have to read it to know that you’re a natural storyteller; but I’m glad I did. I just wanted you to know. That I read it. And that I found it…”
She paused, staring at the bookshelf behind Noelle as though she’d find the right words written on one of the spines there before finishing her sentence with: “Spellbinding.”
“Libby,” Noelle breathed, “That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure my novel measures up to the likes of-”
But her sister forged on as though her self-criticism were not to be borne. “And when I met Miss Kelley, I saw the same fortitude, the quiet resilience of your character Adelaide. Also, that blue-eyed devil Lord Swindle reminded me of-”
“Don’t say it!” Noelle felt she knew exactly who Olivia was going to say, so she buried her face in her hands.
Olivia let out a breathy laugh. “Anyway, I hope you’re not mad.” And now Olivia did look a little unsure of herself under Noelle’s teary expression. Noelle knew she ought to say something; but she only gave her a watery smile.
Olivia took only a moment to stand again, sweep her hair to one side, and then wrap her sister into a warm hug.
She smelled of citrus and cinnamon as she hugged Noelle long enough that Noelle knew she’d have to be the first to pull away.
So much of her, of this exchange, once again reminded her of their mother.
Tears hit Noelle like a wave, like they do when you’ve lost things that find you when you don’t have the strength to distance yourself from their absence. Olivia pulled back to stretch the cuff of her soft linen shirt over her hand to wipe at Noelle’s eyes.
“I’m the older sister. Shouldn’t I be doing things like this for you?”
“I have memories of you doing so in the past, Noelle.”
“I’m sure you are thinking of Moria.”
Olivia stiffened. “Moria is more of the ‘don’t let anyone see you cry’ type. Not saying that she’s altogether wrong; but I have found a good cry is better than bottling it all up. You are the one who’s always worn your heart on your sleeve, and I think there’s bravery in that too.”
Noelle gave her sister an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders. A thought occurred to Noelle, and she said to her sister, “Do you think Miss Kelley is also keeping secrets like Adelaide?”
Olivia smiled with one corner of her mouth as she paused with one hand on the door.
“Isn’t everyone?”