I will cease leaving you notes if that is your wish. However, I will be in the gardens tonight, whether you meet me or not.
If you do come, I promise to be the perfect gentleman. I would never want to cause any lady—but especially yourself—any distress.
Augustus
*
My lord—
I am not a lady. I am a maid. I am here to serve your mother and your family, not write notes to you.
I will not be meeting you in the gardens tonight. Please cease sending me notes immediately.
Olivia
*
Olivia had neverbeen so glad to breathe in night air. The balcony was, blessedly, empty, due, no doubt, to the chill of the evening, and the successful conviviality on offer inside.
It had been a nice party, until she had found herself, inexplicably, speaking to the Viscount Brightley. She did not care that thetonseemed to have sniffed out her rise from maid to companion. And she wasn’t even surprised by what Brightley had said about Eloisa and her children. She knew Eloisa had heard similar sentiments uttered—to her face, no less—one thousand times before and in even cruder terms. In the past thirteen years, Olivia herself been forced to listen to similar commentary more than once, although not yet so directly in England. Despite what Nathanial might say, French society was not better than the English in this respect, although Eloisa naturally avoided the circles where hearing bigoted statements about herself and her children could be expected.
No, the worst part had been Augustus seeing her vulnerable yet again. She wanted him to see that she wasn’t an object of pity. And yet she seemed to constantly be at a disadvantage when it came to him.
“Olivia,” a deep voice intoned from behind her, and she whirred around.
Augustus. He had followed her and was closing the balcony door behind him. They were alone. Or as alone as two people could be outside of a crowded ballroom. Light streamed out from within and gave the only illumination to the dark space.
Why had he followed her? Surely, he had done enough. He had nearly made a scene and had drawn further attention to herself and the Mappertons. The last thing Eloisa needed was a row over her and her children’s presence at such an entertainment. She had not delivered the viscount a set-down because she knew Eloisa’s policy. Comments such as Brightley’s were to be ignored or humored, as best they could be, especially if they were said out of Natasha and Nathanial’s hearing.
Olivia waited for Augustus to speak, but he merely stared at her. The light from the ballroom caught his blond hair and the shadows played tricks with his face. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure who stood before her. He could be the rake of three-and-thirty or the twenty-year-old boy that she had known. Was it the Augustus of the past who stood before her? Or who he had become, the Earl of Montaigne, the Downstairs Menace, the Ten Guinea Lord, whom she didn’t understand?
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Olivia spat out when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “It won’t help.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, stiffly. “What Brightley said—it couldn’t be borne. I could hardly call myself a gentleman and let such sentiments go unchecked in my home.”
“I was not aware that calling yourself a gentleman was something that you did much of.”
He grimaced. “No, you’re right. It’s not the right word. I could hardly call myselfhumanif I let that man speak that way about guests in my home. About a girl that my brother is clearly growing to care for—as his friend, certainly, and perhaps as more.”
“He will only spread such vitriol further now that you have humiliated him. You’ve only made it worse for Eloisa and her children. You may think you’ve played the hero, but you’ve done them a disservice. Eloisa has dealt with much worse than what the viscount said.”
“I don’t doubt it. But you mistake me. I was not trying to save Mrs. Mapperton from the insults of Brightley. I am sure she is capable enough of defending herself. But I could not let the man speak unchecked aboutmyfamily and what we see as acceptable in a match. He had no right to talk of it, especially when he was implying vile things—even if he approves them—about our beliefs. I could not let him continue.”
Olivia opened her mouth and then closed it. She had not considered thathehad been insulted by Lord Brightley’s words. She had understood he was repulsed by the open bigotry of the man’s speech, but she had not seen that he saw such intimations as a personal offense that needed to be stopped. She found she had no retort.
He took another step towards her, until he was bowed over her, not unlike when they had been in the alleyway.
“And I certainly could not stand by while he insults you.”
“Why do you care if he insultsme?”
She needed to understand. The showing up at her doorstep, the vouchers to Almack’s, the invitation to a ball at his home—together, none of it made sense. Was he doing it to make up for the past? Out of guilt? Or was it all because of his brother’s interest in Natasha?
Augustus looked down at her. His eyes blazed with that otherworldly blue. His expression held pain, but also something else, something strangely close, in her estimation, to yearning.
For a moment, it seemed as if he wouldn’t answer her. The prospect of having no answer yet again from him made her desperate. She couldn’t stand not knowing.
But then he surprised her. He did not speak but he lifted his hand to her face. He touched her cheek, just lightly, cupping her face gently. She closed her eyes at the sensation. She wasn’t sure how something so simple could feel so good.
