“I can justhearwhat they are saying.”
“Who?”
“You knowwho—them, your world. The people in it. The ones who have known you your whole life and cannot possibly approve. The ones who wanted you for their own daughters or who are your second cousins once removed and who see it as a taint on their own family tree. The ones who have a vested interest in younotmarrying a woman who was a maid in your house, who was a foundling, who—in their eyes—is nothing at all.”
She hadn’t realized that tears had sprung into her eyes, or that her voice was cracking, until it was too late. But then she found herself, just as quickly, in his arms.
“My love,” he murmured in her ear, “I can’t say I understand because it would be a presumption. The world I am from is the only one I have ever known. But it might soothe you to consider that these people, the ones you are referring to, have been discontented with me for years. They’ve read about my antics—”
“Yourfictionalantics—”
“My antics that appeared very real to them and have caused them to disapprove of me heartily. Their censure means nothing to me.”
She sighed.
She had to tell him about her conversation with Astrid. She had delayed this moment because it only augured ill. She sensed only peril lay along this path. Yet she could not keep such a revelation from him.
“That is not all.”
He pulled back, releasing her.
That strange blue of his eyes flashed in concern.
“What is it?”
“Yesterday, before we left Carrington Place, I encountered Astrid.”
Then, as succinctly as she could, she told him what the maid had told her.
“A man? She saw a man near your rooms? Near your tinderbox?” Augustus asked, when she had finished.
“That was what she said. Or, at least, what I think she said. Who do you think it could mean? What man could she refer to?”
Augustus bit his lip and then took a contemplative drink of his coffee. “Mr. Brownlow, perhaps. He could write in my hand and, as I said, he may have felt honor bound to do something if he thought I was too deep in an inappropriate entanglement. It is just…”
“What?”
“It doesn’t seem like him, that is all. I can understand why, from his perspective, he may have felt compelled to do it, and he certainly had the abilities. But skulking around the servant’s quarters? Leaving notes in your tinderbox? He was the type who would be much more likely to go to my mother and insist on your dismissal. Or come to me and tell me that I needed to think sensibly.”
“If not Mr. Brownlow, who could it be?” She paused, the question hanging in the air, terrifying her. “It was easier when I was convinced it was Astrid. I have considered whether she could be lying but—but her manner yesterday, it was so guileless and convincing. I don’t think it was her. I thought, it must be, but not after yesterday. Now that seems impossible.”
“We will figure it out,” Augustus said, “It could be that it was Mr. Brownlow after all. That would be, I must admit, a relief. But we should know who tried to part us back then. We are expected at my mother’s the day after tomorrow for tea and we can speak with Astrid then.”
Olivia nodded. She knew that he was right. They couldn’t let a mystery such as this one go unaddressed. And yet, inquiring more about this affair scared her, for reasons that she could not quite articulate. She felt that if they pulled on this thread, nothing good would come of it.
*
The next evening,Augustus had arranged for them to dine with his friends at John’s townhouse, and this meeting was to have a very particular purpose. She and Augustus did not want to read what the scandal sheets were saying about their impending union or read through the correspondence that, they both knew, was coming into Carrington Place for him—and which, they were well aware, might contain expressions of disapproval from his extensive family tree. They needed to know what others were saying about them and figure out how to respond, in order to smooth the way for themselves and for his unmarried sisters who still had their matches to make. However, Augustus had confessed that he did not particularly want to read over these reactions himself. And he had told Olivia that he didn’t wantherreading them, either. So, he had come up with what, Olivia thought, was a rather ingenious plan. He enlisted his friends to read over the correspondence and scandal sheets and report what was in them and help them quell any dissent.
Olivia had agreed to this plan. She had been rather delighted by it, in fact. It did make the prospect of meeting the censure of his world more manageable. The Duke and Duchess of Edington, and the Viscount and Viscountess of Tremberley, were two of the most powerful, sought-after high-society couples. And they had weathered not a little bit of scandal themselves. Leith, too—and especially his mother, the Dowager Marchioness, the woman who had procured the Almack’s tickets for her and the Mappertons earlier in the season—was powerful in his own right. The prospect of their support made Olivia feel more optimistic, bolstered.
Catherine had arranged one of her indoor picnics for the occasion, so, when they arrived at Edington House, they were shown into the drawing room. There, all of Augustus’s friends had arrayed themselves, and they were surrounded by stacks of paper, a combination of his forwarded correspondence and scandal sheet newsprint. Seeing this evidence of society’s reaction to her engagement made Olivia feel immediately nauseous and her hopeful feeling began to wear a little thin.
Nevertheless, they joined the circle of armchairs. As they sat, Augustus said, grimly, “Alright, tell us the truth. How bad is it?”
“Not as bad as it could be,” Catherine said, carrying an air of matter-of-factness that, Olivia suspected, arose from making the best of a bad situation. Her eyes met Catherine’s curious, dark blue ones. “No, really. It isn’t. And the problems that are here—we can set them to rights.”
“Who is the worst of it?” Augustus said. “It’s my Uncle Charles, isn’t it? He acts as if he wasn’t descended himself from a duke and an opera singer. He likes to forget about that, because it’s on his mother’s side, and it has nothing to do with his title.”
