“Oh look,” she said in her musical contralto voice. “I think I see a patch of wild strawberries over there.” Indeed, the tiny berries were growing wild next to the pool. She picked one of the late summer fruits and handed it to him.
He smiled at her, eyes twinkling as he tasted the tart, almost lemony fruit. “We’ve had quite the feast,” he said.
Neither of us is talking about family or where we come from. I’m certainly aware I’m masking my identity. I don’t want to share my aristocratic background and possibly spoil the afternoon. This afternoon I’m enjoying not being an earl.
“The sun is getting lower in the sky, it must be late afternoon.” He felt a pang of poignancy that soon this pleasant interlude would end, and he knew very little about Olivia.
“Tell me,” he asked. “Do you enjoy music?”
“Very much,” she replied. “I heard a beautiful song a few months ago, called Dido’s lament and the music was so sad it brought tears to my eyes. The hero thought he had saved Dido, his love, but something goes wrong, and they can never be together.
“I know that opera,” he said. “I love Henry Purcell’s music.”
“It’s such a dramatic story of hope and lost love,” added Olivia.
He noticed she seemed to be lost in a daydream. Was she listening to the lament in her imagination?
“Do you play or sing?” he asked.
“A little. I enjoy playing the pianoforte for pleasure, and I can sing a country song as well as anyone, but I’m not gifted musically.”
He wished he could read her thoughts, and hoped that, like him, she did not want this lovely interlude in this idyllic woodland glade to end.
He did wonder why she had a habit of putting her hand to touch her right cheek and then pulling her hair forward.
“You were writing when I arrived. What do you enjoy reading?” he asked.
“Anything I can find,” she laughed “I enjoy Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels very much.”
“The Mysteries of Udolpho?” he said, thinking for a moment of Italy, “and the Romance of the Forest.”
As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Olivia’s cheeks blushed. They were in the middle of a forest, close to an old abbey.
Murmuring something indistinct, she told him she must leave, that she had lost track of time. She ignored his offer of an arm to help her stand and went to gather her basket and notebook, ready to flee the scene.
“You’ve forgotten your blackberries,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Why thank you,” she replied, recovering a veneer of politeness. He could see how uncomfortable she looked and guessed the spell had been broken. She was obviously concerned about the impropriety of being alone, for so long, with a strange gentleman in a forest glade. He knew reputations had been ruined for less.
He bowed politely. “Thank you, Miss Mysterious Olivia, for a most pleasant afternoon, with a lovely picnic, accompanied by a very interesting conversation. I hope our paths cross once again in a woodland glade.”
She was already hurrying up the track, and he had no idea if she heard his words. His one regret was that he had not seized the moment and kissed those bramble-stained lips.
Chapter 5
January
In a cold, emotionless townhouse Olivia spent the winter quietly, avoiding society, whenever possible. In the evenings she wrote in her journal and continued writing the novel which she had begun to write during the autumn. She felt most alive when she lost herself crafting a story of mystery and romance, deep in the countryside of Buckinghamshire.
Jocelyn returned home to Swanbourne in time for their subdued Christmas celebrations. Uncle Harold begrudgingly allowed a Yule log, and decking the house with greenery of holly, ivy and mistletoe. Mrs. Jennings and Cook produced an excellent dinner for Christmas Day, and Twelfth Night, and the formal exchange of gifts with Uncle Harold took place.
Fully aware of the lack of enthusiasm of the master of the house, Mrs. Jennings made sure there was always a warm fire in the small morning room used by Olivia and Jocelyn. Mrs. Jennings, Ellen and Millicent, exchanged small, handmade gifts by candlelight on Christmas Eve.
As the short days of January passed, Olivia found joy helping Jocelyn choose a wardrobe of gowns and accessories, in preparation for her presentation at court and her first season in London.
Barely a week went by without Marianne sending a fashion plate, with suggestions for a Spencer instead of a Redingote, and the necessity of having several reticules to complement different outfits. And what did Jocelyn think of pale rose for a ball gown instead of winter white?
This year the anniversary of the death of their family in the first days of the new year passed quietly.
