“A pocket pistol?”
“No. A corset.”
Olivia’s breath caught. Without a corset, she might as well be half-dressed. And yet last night she had clung to LordRothley, wearing nothing more than a nightgown and wrapper.
She forced a smile. “Pay it no mind, Mrs Boswell. I shall manage without, and will keep mostly to my room.”
The housekeeper tutted. “Are you in half-mourning, Miss Woolf? Both dresses he’s packed are grey. Best the staff are made aware.”
“Not anymore, but I prefer to blend into the background.”
Fewer people noticed a drab woman walking the streets. It was easier to vanish in the crowd. In safe places, she had dared to wear blue, but nowhere felt safe anymore.
Mrs Boswell’s eyes went to Olivia’s hair, and she smiled. “I’m not sure you could ever blend in, ma’am. You bring brightness to a room without trying.”
The words caught Olivia off guard. She had never seen herself that way. And yet, there had been something in the marquess’ eyes when he looked at her hair. Something that made her pulse quicken.
“Few ladies could hope to outshine Miss Bourne,” she said.
The housekeeper practically snarled. “I can’t imagine you would be overshadowed by anyone. Goodness comes from within. And yours shines clear as day.”
She swallowed hard against the sting of tears. “That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me, Mrs Boswell. But his lordship hardly knows me.”
Guilt rose unbidden. Mrs Boswell didn’t know she was dealing with a fool, a woman too trusting by half. Olivia would be branded a felon if the truth came to light. It was why she had to know what secret lay within that dratted valise.
“Despite what happened years ago, his lordship is anexcellent judge of character.” Mrs Boswell spoke with calm assurance. “He’s rarely wrong in his assessments.”
But he was wrong about her. He would see it in time.
“If he’s welcomed you into his home, then there’s no greater proof of his faith.” The housekeeper held Olivia’s gaze, the look like a silent plea. “I only hope you appreciate his efforts. One more disappointment, and I fear the darkness will claim him forever.”
Olivia feared it was already too late. The darkness in Lord Rothley was not mere melancholy but a hard edge honed by betrayal. It made him dangerous and, dare she admit, all the more compelling.
“I owe him my life, Mrs Boswell. A debt I shall endeavour to repay.”
Mrs Boswell’s smile carried a fragile kind of trust. “May I ask something of you, Miss Woolf? Something that stays between us?”
“Of course.”
The housekeeper reached for her hand, her clasp firm. “If you’re thinking of leaving, will you inform me first? Or at least write his lordship a letter explaining why, so he’s not left wondering?”
There was something raw in her voice, a sadness buried deep. It was plain this woman cared for the marquess as a mother does a son. For a moment, Olivia envied him that devotion.
“Should I need to alter my plans, you’ll be the first to know, Mrs Boswell.”
The woman’s relief was palpable. “Let me help you dress. You can eat while you wait for his lordship to return from his walk.”
“Thank you, but I can manage.” She had dismissed hermaid a few weeks ago. The risk to life was too great, and trust grew harder by the day. “I’ve grown accustomed to being independent.”
Yet she would be dead had Lord Rothley not come when he did.
“Very well. I daresay you’ll find the task easier without a corset. I’ll leave you to wash and change. A maid will be up shortly to see to your room.”
“Thank you, Mrs Boswell.” The housekeeper was already halfway out the door when Olivia felt compelled to say, “If I do decide to leave, it will be because I cannot bear to disappoint him.”
“Then I expect you’ll be here for some time.” Mrs Boswell’s smile softened. “If you’d like peace to think, might I suggest you choose a book before he returns from his walk? Otherwise, he’ll want to hear the reasoning behind every choice.”
Keen to see the library, she dressed in haste. The corridors proved harder to navigate than Mrs Boswell had claimed, each one a near reflection of the last. She stopped a footman to ask the way to the east wing, for she had passed the same grumpy-faced man in a portrait twice, and he looked no more welcoming the second time.
