Page 15

Olivia turned toward her so quickly that she nearly knocked over her tea. "Louiza …"

"No," Louiza said firmly, meeting her gaze. "You have done enough for me already."

Their aunt looked between them with growing irritation. "You will both listen to me. You are under my roof, and I control your future while you remain here."

Olivia felt the familiar anger rise within her. It was the same helpless fury she had felt throughout childhood whenever adults spoke as though being younger made them possessions rather than people.

"You may control the roof," she said quietly, "but I am not certain you can control what happens beneath it."

Lady Charnley slammed her palm against the table. "You insolent girl!"

Olivia did not flinch. "I have been called worse."

"By your own mother, I expect."

"Frequently," Olivia agreed. "She has had years of practice."

Louiza covered her mouth, but a laugh escaped anyway. Lady Charnley looked scandalized by their amusement.

"This is precisely what I mean. Neither of you understands the seriousness of your situation. Lord Boulton is a respectable man, a man of means, and he has graciously offered to take one of you as his wife."

"Graciously?" Olivia repeated, unable to resist. "How generous of him to solve his own desire for a wife while collecting repayment on an old debt."

"Olivia," Louiza warned softly.

"No, Louiza." Olivia turned toward her sister, her voice gentler now. "You do not owe anyone your life because our aunt accepted money from him."

Their aunt's face hardened. "You will not decide that."

"Then who will?" Olivia demanded, rising from her chair. Her heart was pounding, but she refused to let it show. "Mother has already decided Louiza's future without asking her. Now you intend to do the same. Perhaps all the women in this family ought to begin carrying little labels around their necks so everyone knows who has purchased which one."

Louiza stared at her in horror. Lady Charnley looked as though she might actually faint from outrage.

Olivia knew she had gone too far. She also knew she would do it again.

Because somewhere beyond the walls of this house was a little boy who had been abandoned because someone had decided his life was inconvenient. Olivia had promised herself that she would not allow anyone else to decide the fate of the helpless simply because they believed they had the authority to do so.

And if that meant standing against her aunt, her mother, Lord Boulton, and every other person who thought they could arrange her life like furniture in a drawing room, then so be it.

She had three days before James returned. Three days to find an answer before being forced to marry Boulton.

And Olivia was beginning to suspect that her answer was going to cause considerably more trouble than anyone at Charnley Manor was prepared to endure.

The butler announced, with considerably more solemnity than the occasion deserved, "Viscount Boulton has arrived."

Olivia's stomach sank. Of all the possible developments to ruin what remained of her morning, the arrival of Lord Boulton had been among the least welcome. She had hoped for another day in which she might avoid him, avoid her aunt, and preferably avoid all discussions involving marriage, but apparently Providence had decided that she had enjoyed herself quite enough.

Lady Charnley immediately straightened, smoothing her gown and adopting the expression of a woman who had never shouted at anyone in her life, whilst Louiza looked at Olivia with the silent warning of someone who feared she might say precisely the wrong thing at precisely the wrong moment.

Lord Boulton entered with the air of a man who believed the entire household had been assembled solely for him. He was fifty, though Olivia suspected his appearance would have led most people to guess considerably older. His paunch strained against his waistcoat, his hair had retreated so far from his forehead that Olivia wondered whether it had simply abandoned him altogether, and his face possessed the unfortunate redness of a man who had spent the morning becoming increasingly furious. He carried a walking stick, which he struck against the carpet with every step as though he wished to punish the floor for what had happened yesterday.

"Lord Boulton, you are very gracious to call upon us this morning," Jane said.

His eyes landed upon Olivia at once, and his expression darkened.

"So," he said, stopping several feet from her, "this is the disrespectful brat who thought it amusing to leave me waiting."

Olivia's eyebrows rose. She had been called many things in her life, but never before by a man who looked as though he had lost an argument with his own waistcoat.