Page 3 of A Stranger’s Kiss

She scowled, irritated to find herself hunting for a husband yet again. The bankers had agreed to meet her next week—wanting an introduction to her fiancé. Perhaps she’d pushed Timothy too fast…

She blew her hair out of her face, opened her reticule and fished out her pencil along with a sheet of paper. Time to work. The charity event had entered the tea-drinking stage, the time when the attendees relaxed with their cups of Pekoe and gossiped about the afternoon’s performance behind their fans. Today, they would have little to critique. Louisa had delivered a fine performance. So fine, in fact, that Olivia wondered if she’d printed enough copies of Robin Adair.

Teacups clinked, and the scent of lilacs swirled around Olivia as she entered the tent.

“Olivia, darling, do tell me you have the version of Robin Adair that Miss Hamilton sang.”

“I would so love a copy as well, my dear. Have your shop boy run the music over in the morning, will you?”

Olivia moved as quickly as she could through the tables, recording names and bobbing curtsies along the way. As she’d thought, requests for Robin Adair outnumbered all others, and this time, she heard the “Ah, the mad printer’s daughter again, aye?” comments only twice. Not that such comments bothered her anymore. She was simply far too busy. She had a print shop to run, an infirm father to care for, and bills to pay.

When she finished her rounds, she tucked her paper and pencil back into her reticule and headed toward Lady Blair’s table to bid her farewell. The Lady Blair of Wedderburn Manor sat at the tent’s edge near the lilacs, relaxed in her latticework chair while chatting with Glasgow’s premiere gossip, the Lady Kendrick. Though both women were of the same age, Lady Blair seemed far younger. Even though her face lacked wrinkles and her figure rivaled the season’s slender debutantes, her perpetual youth stemmed more from the kindness of her heart than any physical attribute.

Lady Kendrick, on the other hand, though rail thin, twitched and fidgeted in a manner that reminded Olivia of a mouse. Today, dressed in a brown gown adorned with drooping gray feathers, Olivia couldn’t help but think she resembled one.

As Lady Blair’s distinct silvery laughter filtered through the tent, Olivia paused. How many times had she stood in this exact spot and listened to Lady Blair laugh with her very own dear mother, the disowned Lady Glenna of Lennox?

Of all her mother’s friends, only Lady Blair had remained at her mother’s side and helped her through the pain she’d endured from her family over daring to wed her true love—a poor music publisher’s son with no title--instead of her family’s choice of groom. Only Lady Blair had continued to invite her mother to Wedderburn Manor for tea, even after her father, the Duke of Lennox, disowned her and proclaimed his younger daughter, Arlene, his heir. He’d announced his decision during a lavish ball and publicly bestowed upon Arlene the famed Lennox Blue Slipper, as family tradition dictated.

“The Blue Slipper was to have been yours, Glenna.” Lady Blair frowned as she poured the tea.

“Nonsense. I would have made a dismal Duchess.” Olivia’s mother had laughed, then smiled at Olivia where she played near the lilacs. “Anyway, what need have I for a sapphire slipper? I have the wealth of the world, right there, in a little sprite with ink-stained hands.”

Lady Blair waved for Olivia to join them.

“She takes after her father, so very much. I swear she already knows how to operate the printing press better than he does….”

Olivia closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She missed her mother. So much. The nearly four years since the carriage accident had been hard ones. She brushed the tears at the corners of her eyes, lifted her lashes and forced her feet forward.

“They say Lord Randall is desperate,” Lady Kendrick said as Olivia arrived. “He must find a rich wife and soon, but with a temper as black as a chimney sweeper’s feet…well, I wish him luck.”

Lady Blair graciously dipped her head. “I knew him as a child. He grew up with my dear Nicholas.”

“Well, what can I say?” Lady Kendrick lowered her voice, “They say Lord Randall’s been keeping company with those opera singers—and more than one.” The mousy woman’s nose twitched as her lips quivered in a salacious smile.

Olivia lifted a brow. Lord help her, the only things the woman lacked were whiskers and a tail.

Lady Blair’s face brightened as Olivia arrived. “Olivia, child. I’ve missed you so.”

“Lady Blair, Lady Kendrick.” Olivia curtsied deeply. She’d spent the past fifteen minutes bobbing up and down for the sake of a sale, but this time, she meant every inch of respect as she curtsied low before Lady Blair.

“Come now, Olivia,” Lady Blair admonished as she grasped Olivia’s forearm and lifted her upright. “You are the daughter of my dearest friend, and if I may say so, the daughter I wish I had.”

Again, tears misted Olivia’s lashes.

Lady Blair squeezed her arm in silent sympathy, and then let her go. “Unfortunately, you’ve just missed my dear Nicholas. He’s off to Edinburgh, again. I would so love the two of you to meet.”

Olivia smiled. Poor Lady Blair. Her son was well-known as a notorious rake. Not for the first time, she wondered how such a lovely woman could produce such a son. “Perhaps another time, my lady,” she demurred.

“Yes, yes, my dear.” Lady Blair sighed, then smiled. “Perhaps he can join us in Glasgow for your event. What was it called? Ah yes, An Enchanted Summer Evening. When will the tickets be sold?”

The question elicited a small rush of excitement. One more payment to the Theater Royale and then, finally, Glasgow would hear her father’s music: An Enchanted Summer Evening, songs by Oliver Mackenzie. There would be no ‘Mad Printer’ comments after that. Glasgow would stand in awe, and since she’d be the only publisher to print the music, she’d finally free the shop from debt.

“Soon, my lady,” Olivia promised.

“Pray tell, you are not encouraging this foolish venture, Lady Blair?” a testy voice rasped from behind.

Lady Blair rose swiftly to her feet. “Your Grace,” she murmured, her eyes locked over Olivia’s shoulder.