“It is a matter of the heart,” Madame Zeta said, a knowing flicker in her gaze.
Olivia could do no more than nod her head as she stared at the intriguing woman.
Madame Zeta wrapped her fingers around Olivia’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Love will come to you on the wings of folly. The choice you make will determine your fortune, child. Beware of hasty decisions.”
Olivia stared back at her trying to decipher the meaning of Madame Zeta’s words, but they simply did not make sense to her. She released a pent-up breath and asked, “What does that mean? What am I to do?”
Madame Zeta released her hand and Olivia felt a sudden rush of cold. “That is for you to determine.”
“But—”
Madame Zeta shook her head then stood. “No one else can walk your path, child.”
Olivia stared at her with a thousand questions ringing through her mind. Surely there was something more the woman could tell her. Some sort of guidance she could give. “Please?” Olivia asked with more desperation than she’d intended.
“I can foretell no more, child.”
Emma stood and reached for Olivia’s arm, giving a slight tug. “Let us be on our way.”
“Indeed.” Juliet sprang to her feet with a broad smile.
Olivia rose to join them, then departed the wagon with a heavy heart. Madame Zeta’s words had been a riddle, and she didn’t know how she was to solve it, but somehow she must.
Chapter 2
William Breckenridge, Duke of Thorne, lounged near a large floor to ceiling window in the Marquess of Pemberton’s library as he awaited an audience with the lord. With his gaze trained on the door, he straightened his cravat.
What the devil was keeping the man? William had been shown to the library upon his arrival and was eager for an audience. More than twenty minutes had since past, and he detested waiting.
William stood and turned to gaze out the window as he wondered how long Pemberton would keep him in suspense. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, contemplating.
After Williams fifteen-year absence, he didn’t suppose he had any grounds for complaint regardless of how long it took the marquess to appear. Patience is a virtue, he reminded himself. Cliché, but also true.
Releasing a breath, William turned his thoughts toward his purpose for being here. He could not help but marvel at the fact he’d finally come for his bride. Of course, he’d always known he’d marry. As a duke, it was his duty to do so. But he’d not been in any hurry to see it done. Rather he resented the fact that his life had been arranged.
But now everything had changed. William needed to claim his wife with all due haste and could only hope Pemberton felt the same way. That the man would turn his daughter over, honor their agreement without issue. Could William blame him if he refused?
And what of the lady?
Surely Lady Olivia would pose no objection for what woman did not dream of her wedding day? She’d probably spent most of her life wishing he’d arrive and waiting to call herself duchess. After all, the two of them had been betrothed as children. Their lives all planned out and handed to them on silver platers.
William had long detested the fact that when the time came, he would have to take the mousey chit to wife, and done all he could to resist and delay. How odd that he now found himself grateful for the arraignment.
With his parents passed on and three sisters to care for, he desperately needed a woman’s guidance. Not for himself, but for his hellion sisters. Two of whom were of age to have their come outs. A neatly packaged wife would suit his needs. Save him from all that awaited.
A shiver of repulsion went through him. He could not imagine having to escort his sisters around to countless balls, soirées, musicals, and such. He scarcely believed himself capable of guarding and guiding them.
Hell would be far preferable.
Though his worries did not begin and end with the social aspects of his sisters stepping into society. No, they were more profound than that. His sisters required a mother figure to guide them and see that they had the things young ladies needed. Someone to keep them on the right path. A lady they could look up to. One they could take their troubles too.
A photograph of a young lady caught William’s attention, and he strolled across the library to gain a better vantage point. There on the wall in a large guided frame hung a portrait of Lady Olivia. She looked to be around ten years old and just as he remembered. Gangly, her hair in braids, and her body long and flat.
He desperately hoped she’d grown some curves.
Regardless, Lady Olivia would serve his purposes, as well as any lady could.
More importantly, there was no need to waste time courting—he wasn’t required to woo her—this would be a quick and straightforward affair. He would do his duty, then take his wife home to see after his sisters and manage his house. In exchange, Lady Olivia would gain the title of duchess and a generous allowance, as well as the run of his estates. Once he secured his heir, she’d have all of the freedom he could afford her.
