“Petunia—” Her mother began.
But Elizabeth’s voice drowned out her mother’s.
“I think, Petunia,” Elizabeth said, “if you aim to enchant, you will have to change some of your ways. To give yourself more of an air of mystery. I would suggest eating rather fewer tarts at entertainments and, also, not assenting to punch drinking contests with Lord Edgar and Maurice Templeton in full view of the ballroom.”
Petunia blushed. “That was only—one time—”
“Now,” the Dowager Countess said firmly but gently, her comment directed at Olivia, “This is why I have never been able to fully understand society. Why the number of tarts a lady eats at an entertainment should have anything to do with her ability to enchant, I have no idea. I’ve always liked a great quantity of tarts myself.”
“And I have to say,” Olivia chimed in, “that if we are taking Miss Mapperton as our standard of glamour, that she never deprives herself of her favorite pastries when she has the opportunity. She would think any other behavior quite scandalous indeed.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, laughingly, “Although I do believe she never challenged Percy to see how many they could both eat in five minutes. That wasnota stage in their courtship.”
“As I said,” Petunia interjected, her cheeks flaming again, “That was only once—or twice. And I do not see my relationship with Lord Edgar as having anything to do with courtship.”
“If you insist,” Augustus said, with a wink at his sister. Olivia got the distinct impression that Petunia’s relationship with Lord Edgar was complex, indeed.
“I have always liked Lord Edgar,” Willa chimed in, softly. “I hope he will not be too disappointed, Petunia, when you become the belle of theton.I do think his feelings for you are of a very genuine nature.”
The conversation continued in this amiable stream. She would not have been able to believe it an hour ago, but Olivia found speaking with the Carrington women and Augustus so comfortable that she lost track of time.
It was only when Willa stood and began to excuse herself that Olivia realized they must have all been talking for more than two hours.
“It was lovely becoming reacquainted with you again, Miss Watson,” Willa said, quietly, her sincerity plain despite the rather commonplace words, “I must leave you now, however—I am expected at the orphanage.”
“My daughter is very devoted to her good works,” the Dowager Countess supplied, “She shames us all.”
“Which orphanage?” Olivia said, her pulse spiking at the mention of such a place.
“In Saint Thomas’s Street,” Willa said, “Not far from here—and yet a very world away, I suspect, to most who live in this neighborhood.”
“Not to me,” Olivia said, shocked to hear the place mentioned, “I grew up there.”
The silence that filled the room felt, briefly, to her ears, deafening. And yet, in hearing the orphanage mentioned, Olivia had felt driven to own it. She wouldn’t pretend, even for Augustus.
“That is incredible,” Willa said, the only one who seemed able to speak. “Could I ask you for a favor, Miss Watson? Would you come with me? It would be such a treat for the children to meet someone who grew up in the same place and who has made her own way in the world.”
“Willa—” Augustus broke in, “That is—Miss Watson may not feel—”
“Your brother is right, dear,” the Dowager Countess echoed. “We cannot ask Miss Watson for such a favor.”
“Thank you, but that is quite alright,” Olivia said, nodding at the Countess and Augustus, “I would love to join you, Lady Willa. I can think of nothing that would please me more.”
And just for that moment, she couldn’t.
Chapter Twenty
Augustus—
I will be in the cellar all afternoon, quite alone, canning preserves for the winter. Last year, when I undertook the same task, I saw not a soul for six hours, at least.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
This year, I do not believe you will be so lucky.
