Olivia shiftedthe heavy basket she carried to her other arm and turned up the drive that approached the home of Mr. Luke Smith. The sun shone brilliantly that morning in contradiction to Olivia’s mood. The world was already a little lonelier since Louella and Stanton had married and left for their wedding trip.
If Olivia were being honest with herself, Louella’s absence wasn’t the only thing that bothered her.
Thirty-six hours had passed since Lord Kingsley stumbled upon her in the garden. Twenty-four since he’d stared down his arrogant nose at her from the altar.
The man who’d stood in the church had been a stranger to her. She could almost pretend they were not the same person.
She preferred to remember him as he’d been at the ball, before he’d remembered who she was. Before he’d looked on her in the full light of day.
Because the man who’d stood at the altar would not have walked with her in the garden, nor treated her with such humor and kindness. It irked her that she couldn’t hate one while keep a few fond memories of the other.
The first gentleman had flirted, made an excuse to dance with her. And he’d not been a horrible dancer as he’d claimed. He’d stumbled at first but managed quite well the second time around. Anything he’d lacked in skill, he more than made up for in style.
Not that she’d set her sights on him by any means. She knew better than to entertain such ridiculous thoughts. But she’d felt happy in those moments. If she closed her eyes, she could summon the feel of wool beneath her hands, the pressure of him guiding her, his scent that had been so uniquely masculine.
The statue he’d taken her to see had been perfect. In that first moment she laid eyes on it, she had almost felt normal.
Olivia loved irony and since hearing Kingsley’s explanation of the legend behind it, her esteem of the people of Belgium had risen immeasurably. It was just so paradoxically perfect! The depiction of a small boy mocking those who’d dared to think they could defeat them. A smile tilted her lips.
The thought of four other little boys, very lively and very needy little boys, pulled her back into the present.
She’d promised Eliza Cline she’d bring the basket first thing this morning. Since the passing of Mrs. Smith upon delivering her babe a few weeks ago, Olivia, Mrs. Markham, and Miss Cline had taken turns helping the newly widowed father with his children.
Four motherless boys: a sullen eight-year-old, four-year-old twins, and a newborn.
Perhaps someday they would have reason to smile mockingly at the world.
“You’re not a minute too early.” Holding the door open wide, Eliza appeared even more harried this morning than usual, her russet hair already escaping her nape and her spectacles slightly askew. The vicar’s sister was close to thirty. If not for her severe manner of dress, she would appear closer to five and twenty.
“Has Mrs. Markham left then?”
“Twenty minutes ago. The baby still isn’t eating much.” She relieved Olivia of the basket and set it on the single wooden table in the middle of the room.
Olivia opened one of the curtains in order to allow some light into the dark cottage before locating the infant feeding apparatus. She and Eliza had developed something of a routine over the past two weeks. She wondered how Mrs. Smith would have managed the children on her own, God rest her soul.
“I want to hear everything about the wedding. What did the duchess serve at the breakfast? I imagine Miss Louella looked like an angel! And the ball, did you dance? Tell me you danced at least once!”
Olivia settled comfortably and stroked the contrived nipple along the baby’s lips, willing him to latch onto it, while her friend placed two small plates on the table for the twins. At the onset of the planning, she had admitted her reluctance to attend the wedding celebrations to Eliza. She’d known she’d feel out of place. Olivia could not, however, deny Louella when she’d begged, and Eliza had agreed that she must make her best effort.
“I cried when Louella and Stanton said their vows.” She didn’t want to talk about the ball. “She’s all grown up now, Eliza.” Her sister would have rivaled any princess on her wedding day. Everything had been beautiful. “Seeing her with Lord Stanton. I’m so happy for her and yet I know it is the end of an era. I didn’t have the heart to attend the breakfast.” She refused to go into any more detail. If she told Eliza about the mean words she’d overheard, then Eliza might offer up words of pity and above all, Olivia hated to be pitied.
She felt weepy as it was, knowing Louella had left for a long wedding journey. Stanton had planned on surprising Louella. First, with a trip to London, and later traveling across the channel to the Continent.
Olivia had done more to raise her younger sister than her mother and father, and as a result, the two sisters shared a special bond. She’d not be a short walk away any longer. Her best friend in the world would be living at Ashton Acres with her husband and his family. The newly married couple would likely spend a good deal of time in London now, too.
“I’m going to miss her something dreadful,” Olivia added.
Eliza wiped the table and then untied her apron. “You needn’t remain alone, you know.”
Olivia groaned.Not this again! Please, not this!
One week ago, Mr. Smith had hinted that he was not averse to remarrying right away. More specifically, he’d indicated that he would not be averse to marryingOlivia. And he’d apparently mentioned it to others as well. Others who were now offering their opinion that she ought to accept: the baker in town, the milliner, and most emphatically, Eliza.
Olivia had kept the information from Louella. As much as her younger sister loved her, she didn’t fully comprehend the different directions their lives must go. She persisted in the notion that she would bring Olivia into Society upon her marriage to the marquess, not once asking Olivia if it was what she wanted.
Louella would scoff at Mr. Smith’s unspoken proposal. Why ever would a viscount’s daughter deign to entertain the notion of marrying a common laborer?
Olivia had not laughed, however. She might be a viscount’s daughter, but she was also… as her mother would say… afflicted.
