As she looked at the display of autumn colors, she drew her hand through her hair, wishing she could ask Ellen, her maid, to put her hair into a high updo with sparkling crystals, rather than the low hairstyles, with several ribbons, which she had needed to adopt to hide her scars.
A sharp knock on the door drew her away from the window. She turned to smile at Ellen as she entered, but was immediately aware that something was wrong.
“Ellen, whatever is the matter?” she enquired gently.
“I’m sorry, miss, it’s his lordship, he’s been in an agitated mood all afternoon. Mrs. Jennings had to go in there herself when he rang the bell, as he had spoken to little Millicent so sharply that she was in tears.”
“He has these dismal moods, that’s not unusual,” Olivia responded. “I’ll speak to Millicent myself. She’s an asset to this household, and we couldn’t manage without her.” She paused, “Is there something else?”
“I’m not sure, miss. We think he threw a crystal glass at the fire, as there was a terrible crash, about a half hour ago,” Ellen continued, hesitating, and clearly holding something back.
“And …?” persisted Olivia.
“His lordship opened the door just now and demanded to speak with you immediately. I’m to tell you to go to his study directly.” She smiled at Olivia, chestnut curls escaping from her mob cap. “I’m sorry to tell you about his mood, but it is best to be cautious when he’s like this.”
“Don’t worry Ellen, I’m quite used to Uncle Harold when he is cantankerous. It won’t help if I keep shilly-shallying here, and it’s always best to get these things over and done with as soon as possible.”
Despite her confident words she felt a slight sensation of discomfort. Since she had been forced to live with her Uncle Harold, now Earl of Riversmead, she had become used to his irascible temper which was often directed at her. She was always glad if that meant his anger was deflected away from her niece, Jocelyn.
Smoothing her hair and arranging it neatly around her face, Olivia made her way down the oak staircase, clutching the carved banister as she made herself walk with grace and confidence.
When she reached the hall she saw Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper, waiting for her. “He’s asked if you will join him immediately, My Lady,” she said, smiling weakly, with affection in her gray eyes. Mrs. Jennings had been with the family since her father’s time as Earl of Riversmead, and had known Olivia since she was a little girl.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. I’ll join his lordship immediately,” Olivia replied, smiling.
Mrs. Jennings knocked on the door, and bobbed a curtsey, telling her uncle she had arrived. There had been a new level of formality at Swanbourne Place when her uncle took the title of earl, after her brother’s death. It still felt strange to be announced within her own home.
Forcing her feet forward she entered the room, smiling warmly at the Earl of Riversmead. “Uncle, I believe you wished to speak with me?” she said brightly.
The elderly man, with dull gray hair and a stooped posture, took his time in raising his head to acknowledge Olivia. When he did, he looked at her as if she was a crumb which had fallen on his frock coat sleeve.
“I did send for you, but it has taken so long for you to join me that I have forgotten the matter which I wanted to discuss,” he said sarcastically.
Olivia, who had become used to these games, simply stood and waited for her uncle to speak again. Would he make her stand here, or ask her to be seated, she wondered?
“Ah yes, I remember,” he drawled. “I have been considering the accounts for this house in town and the re-construction of the damaged wing of Silverton Hall.” He fiddled with his papers, almost as though he had forgotten she was there.
“How long since you came out Olivia?” he enquired.
This is intolerable,she thought. She looked her uncle directly in the eye, “Uncle, may I be permitted to sit?” she asked, not answering his question directly.
“Erm.” He seemed to be considering his answer, but he could not refuse her request. “Pray be seated Olivia, we have much to discuss.” He finally answered, as he gestured to a hard back chair across from his desk.
Olivia continued to ignore her trembling legs and made her way to the chair with all the elegance of a young lady of quality.
“Thank you,” she said. “You wanted to know when I had my first season?”
“Indeed, I believe you are now twenty-three years of age?”
“I am indeed twenty-three and..” she paused, very briefly, “I’m very aware of the passing of time, and my situation as an unmarried lady. You may recall, sir, that I had my first season at eighteen, before becoming engaged, and was due to be married at twenty. However, because of the change in my circumstances, of which you are fully aware, and I find it difficult to speak about …”
Her voice cracked, but she would not let this odious man see the level of her distress and taking a sharp inward breath she continued. “After the tragedy, and the end of my engagement, I withdrew from society. I did attend two balls and several recitals last year, but I have no wish to return to thetonand attend society events.”
“I noticed some dressmaking invoices in the accounts, but they are reasonable and not of concern.” He turned to his papers and began sorting through them, as if searching for something specific. “Ah here, however, are the accounts for Lady Jocelyn’s seamstress, and those appear to be astronomical.” He pushed his fist down on the table.
“I do not believe Lady Jocelyn’s gowns and accessories are any more expensive than other young ladies of her age and station,” countered Olivia. “If anything, I thought she was prudent in her choices.”
“Well it can’t continue!” he said, Olivia could see the rage in his eyes.
