Here, Mr. Laurent surprised her.
Dearest Olivia,he wrote,I hope you will not think it very forward of me to say that I have missed you greatly since your departure. And my feelings on the subject press me to secure from you an answer to that question which I asked of you last spring and on which you have given me such hope. Would you finally consent to be my wife?
With you so far away at present, I wish for the satisfaction of your final answer—of finally being able to say that we will become one upon your return. I press for this answer in part, I must confess, because I am confident in an affirmative. I know your heart and my own are united in our ultimate desires.
Now,thiswas unexpected. She had not thought the demure Laurent, who hardly ever seemed to bestir himself over anything, would insist in this way. Even though she did not at all appreciate the application, it did give a little relief. It justified her initial irritation. With a sigh, she folded the letter and shoved it into her reticule.
She would be in no hurry to respond to it.
Olivia had made herself very clear before her departure. She could give no answer until she returned to France.
Laurent knew he was pushing her.
Olivia swept down the stairs and found the rest of her party waiting for her. Natasha was already engrossed in conversation with Percy. It pleased her to see that Nathanial and Eloisa spoke to Augustus. He stood by the doorway, attired in his evening clothes, his face pensive as he listened to Eloisa. On a bland, gray night in February, he had no right to look so handsome.
When he saw Olivia, he stepped forward.
“Miss Watson,” he said, taking her hand and bowing, “I hope it will be acceptable to travel to the theater with me. I have given Percy our barouche for the purpose of taking the rest of our party.”
“That is very acceptable—” she began to respond.
Nathanial scoffed beside her.
“Lord Montaigne, I hardly think that would be proper.”
The room took on a strange silence. Everyone whipped their heads around to look at Nathanial.
“I am sorry, Count Mapperton?” Augustus said, clearly in a confusion.
“I will ride with you and Miss Watson,” Nathanial said, “While I am sure you’ll be a perfect gentleman, Lord Montaigne, I must protect the reputation ofallthe ladies in this house. My mother, of course, can chaperone Natasha, but it would not be right for Miss Watson to ride unprotected.”
Olivia was shocked. She looked to Eloisa, who appeared just as perplexed.
“I must say,” Natasha chimed in, “that my brother, for once in his life, has a point, Lord Montaigne. It would hardly look proper.”
The siblings exchanged a look that fairly announced that they had planned this attack.
Olivia did not know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, she was moved that Natasha and Nathanial thought she needed protection. On the other, she wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in a dark carriage with Augustus. It seemed, however, that Natasha and Nathanial had caught wind of his reputation.
“Of course, Count Mapperton,” Augustus nodded, but Olivia could see a muscle working in his jaw. “I defer to your judgment in this matter, naturally.”
“Very well,” Nathanial nodded and headed out the door.
Olivia looked at Augustus. He gave a tight nod. When Olivia saw the taut lines of his broad chest constrict with the movement, she felt a low, wild pulse of desire beat through her. She loved Nathanial and Natasha, but, right now, she couldn’t help but be very irked by their interference.
The drive to the theater with Nathanial and Augustus was, mercifully quick. Augustus and Nathanial talked agreeably about horseflesh for nearly the entire journey. Olivia did not have to contribute more than a few words, which was for the best. Whenever the carriage swayed, Augustus’s knees brushed against her own. She bit her lip to keep calm.
Before they reached the theater, Nathanial had a sneezing fit. He had been having these attacks as of late. He claimed it was his reaction to what he calledthis English spring. Olivia, Eloisa, and his sister had said nothing on the subject. All four of them knew well enough that he had the same problem every spring in France.
While Nathanial opened the carriage window and continued to sneeze vigorously, Olivia had to admire the way in which life conspired to surprise one. She had anticipated spending this journey in Augustus’s arms. Instead, they were trapped with Nathanial and his sneezing attack.
“Olivia,” he said between sneezes, “Handkerchief.”
Of course, Nathanial did not have his own.
She dug into her reticule and handed him her handkerchief, which he nosily made use of. Thankfully, soon after, they had arrived at the theater and were ready to alight. The footman handed Olivia down and then she was followed by Nathanial.
She stopped and turned for Augustus. He was still in the carriage, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. His eyes were affixed to it.
