“No, indeed!” Robert said at once. “The daughter of a duke should never travel in a paltry hired chaise.”
It was the right thing to say, for a watery smile broke through for the first time. “Come, Olivia. We have packing to do. We shall leave in… two hours, shall we say?”
The gentlemen agreed to it and they all dispersed to make their various arrangements.
18: A Journey North
Robert could scarcely believe his luck. He had tossed out the idea of following Lord Embleton north on a whim, not expecting it to be taken up, but for one reason or another they had all agreed to it. Now he had the delight of Olivia’s company over several days of travelling, and then however long she could be persuaded to stay at Strathinver. Not long, perhaps, with her cousins the Lochmabens so close, but he would take whatever time he could get.
Jeremiah Bucknell, rather shamefaced, was the only person to see them off. The two ladies, Lord Ramsey and Lord Rennington rode in Ramsey’s luxurious carriage, while Robert squeezed into an antiquated luggage wagon, borrowed from the apologetic Bucknell, together with the valets and a maid. He did not envy the two footmen, condemned to stand behind their respective carriages through the worst of the autumn weather.
They were not on the road before the middle of the afternoon, so they got no further than Nottingham before the failing light obliged them to find accommodation for the night.
While rooms were being obtained, Olivia wandered out of the inn yard, passing under the arch to the main street. In some fear for her safety in the busy street, Robert ran after her.
“Going to the shops?” he said cheerfully, not wishing to alarm her.
She smiled, but rather sadly, he thought. “Just three miles from Stonywell. We could have been sleeping in comfort at Izzy’s house, if only Mama were not there.”
“Do you wish to go there? I will arrange it, if that would please you.”
“How kind you are! But I cannot leave Papa, and he will not go there. Now that their marriage is invalid, Mama has cut all ties with him — she does not even write to him, or permit him to write to her. She wants him to marry someone else, and she feels it would only confuse him if they were to meet or maintain a correspondence.”
“And yet, I do not think he is happy, do you?”
“No, not at all,” she said, turning an anxious face towards him. “Even with Miss Bucknell, although he liked her very much, he said he could never love her as he loved — still loves — Mama.”
“Then he should go and make his peace with her, and marry her again.”
“Oh no! He promised her he would look elsewhere!” Olivia said, sounding shocked. “A man must keep his promises, Osborn.”
“A man must listen to his heart, also,” he said slowly. “If he knows that no other woman can ever make him as happy as he once was, then he should tell her so. And perhaps after all this time — five months, is it not? — she will have had time to regret her hasty action. Perhaps she, too, would be happy to return to the way things were.”
“Nothing will ever return to the way things were,” she said sharply. “Those days are gone, when Mama and Papa were together and Walter was Viscount Birtwell and engaged to Bea Franklyn.” She smiled suddenly. “At leastsomethings have worked out for the better. Walter is much better off with Winnie Strong, and who would ever have imagined that Cousin Bertram would tame Bea? No one expected that!” Then her expressive face shifted again. “Poor Bertram! I wonder if Captain Edgerton has found out who shot him yet?”
“Unlikely. He has not found out who killed your uncle, has he? He must have turned Yorkshire upside down, and is no further forward, by the sound of it.”
“I expect the murderer is long gone,” she said. “He would not linger at the scene of his crime, would he?”
“That would depend on why he killed Mr Nicholson,” Robert said. “And if it was a member of the family—”
“That is a horrid thought! Of course it is not one of us! Why would anyone in the family murder Uncle Arthur?”
“Well, someone had a grievance against him,” Robert said equably. “No one kills someone without a very good reason. This air is very damp, Olivia. Shall we go inside?”
She agreed to it, he offered his arm and she smiled as she wrapped both hands around it. His spirits leapt at her trusting demeanour as she allowed him to lead her into the inn. If only he dared to offer her more than his arm — his heart, his name, everything he possessed. But he had made a vow to let her choose Embleton, if the marquess would make her happy.
Still, it was unbearably difficult to keep to that vow.
***
Olivia generally enjoyed travelling. The novelty of leaving home, and the prospect of new places to see, of visits tobe made or shops to be explored always raised her spirits. But this journey was not exciting at all. There was the worry about Effie, to start with, and whether Lord Embleton could manage to intercept the runaways before they could be married over the anvil. There was no longer any doubt of where they were bound, for their route was steadily northward, as their enquiries at toll gates and posting houses quickly revealed. Whether the damage to Effie’s reputation could be avoided, even if caught in time, was a further worry.
Then there was Papa, still mired in gloom after the disastrous matter of Miss Bucknell. Poor Papa! She had longed to turn aside at Nottingham and visit Izzy and Ian, and dear Mama, for much as she loved Papa, there was no one like one’s mama for comforting one. But naturally she could not abandon Papa at such a time.
As for Lady Esther, her calm composure was almost completely destroyed by the absence of Mr Franklyn at such a critical moment. All she wanted, it seemed, was her husband by her side, although Olivia suspected that her own carriage was missed almost as much. She had apologised to Papa for saying nothing about Miss Bucknell’s scandalous past, but all the Bucknells had agreed to keep silent, in the hope that two people with murky pasts could be made happy again.
“I thought I was acting for the best,” she said, on the verge of tears again. “I can see now how wrong it was.”
