She channeled Victor’s lessons about maintaining dignity in public, keeping her chin lifted and her expression pleasant despite the older woman’s barbs.
The mention of Victor’s regard seemed to soften the older woman’s expression slightly. “Ravenswood has always been a sensible man, given his military background.”
“Indeed,” Olivia agreed. “He values tradition and proper conduct above all.”
This was not entirely accurate given Victor’s demands in the bedroom, but it earned an approving nod from the countess.
“Well, we shall see,” the dowager concluded, neither accepting nor declining the invitation directly. “How do you find the Ravenswood household? I imagine there were changes required.”
Olivia recognized the test in the question. “Some refreshment of the linen inventory was necessary, and the conservatory requires attention, but His Grace maintains an exemplary staff. I’ve found little to alter beyond seasonal considerations.”
The dowager’s thin lips curved in the slightest of smiles. “Sensible. Nothing more vulgar than a new mistress upending established ways with fashionable nonsense.”
By the time Olivia departed, she had secured, if not the dowager’s friendship, at least her provisional acceptance. The old woman had even promised to “consider” the invitation,which Olivia took as a small victory in her campaign to reestablish herself in society.
Her next call took her to the Pembrooke townhouse. The Duchess of Pembrooke proved a stark contrast to the dowager—younger, vivacious, with a knowing smile. She was far more intrigued by Olivia’s invitation.
“I’ve been positively dying to meet the woman who captured the most elusive duke,” Lady Pembrooke exclaimed. “Although, I must confess that I endured my own bit of scandal some years ago. Nothing so artistically rendered as yours, but enough to appreciate how tedious society’s judgments can be.”
Olivia nearly choked on her tea at the direct reference to her notorious painting.
Lady Pembrooke waved dismissively at Olivia’s surprised expression. “The key to social revival is to never apologize. One must reframe the narrative. Securing a duke after such an episode rather elevates the entire affair from scandal to strategic triumph.” She accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t miss your dinner party for the world.”
Returning to Ravenswood House, Olivia felt more hopeful than she had since the scandal broke. Lady Pembrooke’s acceptance and the dowager’s qualified interest suggested that her path back to respectability might not be as arduous as she had feared. Victor’s strategy, she had to admit, was proving effective.
She crossed the entrance hall when Simmons approached, carrying a silver salver with a single letter.
“This arrived for you, Your Grace,” he said, extending the tray. “The messenger was most insistent it reach your hands directly.”
Olivia took the letter, noting the absence of any formal address or seal. Merely her first name was written on the outsidein a hand she recognized immediately. Her breath caught and a chill crawled up her spine.
“Thank you, Simmons,” she managed, tucking the letter into her reticule before the butler noticed her reaction. “Has His Grace returned?”
“Not yet, Your Grace. He sent word that he would dine at his club this evening.”
Disappointment mingled with relief. She would have privacy to deal with this unexpected communication, yet she found herself wishing for Victor’s intimidating presence as a shield against the past that had suddenly intruded.
In the duchess’ bedchamber, Olivia locked the door before extracting the letter with trembling fingers. Breaking the plain wax seal, she unfolded the single sheet.
My dearest Olivia,
I have returned to London and only just learned of your hasty marriage. While I congratulate you on securing such an advantageous match, I feel compelled to inform you that our unfinished business remains precisely that—unfinished.
The matter of certain artistic works has attracted interest from additional collectors, including several French patrons who have expressed particular interest in the connections of the new Duke of Ravenswood. I find myself in possession of preliminary sketches that capture your likeness in moments of even greaterintimacy than the painting currently causing such fascinating whispers.
These works would fetch a remarkable sum, particularly given your husband’s former military colleagues and his continued communications with the War Office. My patrons abroad are most eager for any insights you might provide about troop deployments or diplomatic communications that pass through your husband’s hands.
I would welcome the opportunity to discuss these matters with you—preferably without your formidable husband’s knowledge. Surely a new duchess has resources at her disposal that might satisfy an artist of my modest reputation?
I shall await you tomorrow at three o’clock at the address below. Come alone, or these sketches might find their way to less discreet admirers—both in London society and in Parisian government circles.
Your devoted servant in artistic endeavors,
E.R.
Olivia collapsed onto the edge of her bed with the letter crumpled in her trembling hand. Edward Reynolds. The artistwho had enticed her with promises of immortalized beauty, only to shatter her reputation through careless betrayal.
Now he had returned, threatening not only to compound her humiliation but to use her as a pawn in what appeared to be espionage.
