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“They’ll get over it if you end up married to a duke,” said Lady Charles. “All the world will get over it.”
“That isn’t likely at this point. The Duke of Ashmont—”
“Needs you,” the lady said. “It’s perfectly obvious.”
“Not to me,” Olympia said.
“That’s because you don’t understand him as well as some of us do,” Lady Charles said. “I heard about your encounter near the Clarendon Hotel. The metaphor was obvious to me. Ashmont desperately needs to be pulled back from the brink. Like most men, he may have some idea he’s unhappy, but like most men, he doesn’t examine his feelings. As a result, he has no notion what the problem is. But some part of him must be weary of the life he lives and the chaos he creates.” She paused. “I wondered if Ripley was weary—of Ashmont or of that life—and if that was what sent him abroad without his friends.”
Neither man struck Olympia as weary with anything, but then, she didn’t know them as well as this lady did.
“But that is neither here nor there,” Lady Charles went on more briskly. “The point is, you weren’t having any of Ashmont’s nonsense, and that got his attention.”
“He decided to marry me because I made him go home and change his boots?” Olympia said.
“Your manner made him take notice of you. After that . . .” The lady considered for a moment. “I strongly suspect that someone told him he hadn’t a prayer of attaching you. That’s what I would have done had Ashmont mentioned to me a girl I approved of. He’s competitive to a fault. He’ll soon realize he’ll have to work to win your respect and love. And when he does—”
“If.” Olympia couldn’t help interrupting. She’d managed five younger brothers. She couldn’t look forward to playing nanny to a grown man.
“Not if,” said Lady Charles. “When. I know him as well as I know my nephew and the other idiot. Where one goes, there go the other two. They’ve been inseparable since they met at Eton. I should never have expected Ripley to go abroad without them, and stay for a full year. But as I said, it’s possible he was tired of that manner of life. And I do think he must have matured—not much, to be sure—but enough to do what he could to . . . well, not make matters worse today.”
Matters would have been better if Olympia had not seen him naked.
And if he had not kissed her in that not-friendly way.
But he was wild and had always been wild. A practical joker as well as a rake. The trouble was, she’d been exposed to more disreputability than she was used to, it had happened in the course of a few hours, and this had thrown her off balance.
When she wasn’t drunk or off balance, she was a practical girl. This was why she’d agreed to marry the equally disreputable Ashmont in the first place. Nanny or not, his failings aside, if she got a second chance, she’d be a great fool not to take it, because, after this debacle, it would be her last chance, absolutely.
Had Aunt Delia been at home to take her in, the scandal would have been muted. Now Olympia’s reputation must be in ruins. Ripley said otherwise, but he was a man—and a duke. He had no idea how quickly and harshly women could be judged. She’d traveled all day and into the evening in a closed vehicle with one of Their Dis-Graces. The world would soon get wind of the scenes enacted en route. She was descending into despair, horrific satirical prints filling her mind, when Lady Charles spoke.
“Listen to me,” the lady said. “Don’t underestimate Ashmont. It may take some time, but when he wins your respect and love, you’ll be happy you married him. I speak from experience. Charles was not my first choice. I confess, in fact, that I married him in resignation, if not despair. But he was determined to make me happy, and the testimony to my happily married life is my unhappy widowhood. Still, time heals all wounds,” she added more cheerfully. “Everybody says so, and I’m sure I’ll come to my senses eventually. But we can talk more later, if you like. For now, I recommend you try to rest.”
She went out, and a servant came in and collected the tea things.
Lady Charles had given Olympia a great deal to think about, as though she hadn’t enough already. Her mind racing, she was sure she hadn’t a prayer of resting. She began to pace the room, instead, trying to sort and catalogue everything that had happened to her today.
She didn’t remember lying down, and was very surprised when Pickard woke her to dress for dinner.
Though he wore to dinner a set of his uncle’s clothes, which didn’t fit, Ripley carried it off, as he’d done with the garments he’d acquired in Putney. He looked ducal and upsettingly attractive.
After an argument, Olympia persuaded him to keep his foot up on a chair. He did this with a lot of grumbling. But after a while, he forgot about the indignity, stopped grumbling, and became entertaining.
He talked mainly about his travels on the Continent, and he was a fine storyteller, like the writers of romance he was so fond of. He made both women laugh, again and again—and he looked so disarmingly mischievous and pleased with himself for accomplishing this.
This was good, because it took Olympia’s mind off family and scandal and Ashmont. It was bad because she could have listened to him all night. When last had she wanted to listen to a man who wasn’t talking about books? Why did it have to be him, of all men?
Still, she let herself enjoy the respite from inner turmoil. With servants going in and out of the dining room, private matters had to wait until after dinner.
They didn’t wait long.
After dinner, Lady Charles and her guests adjourned to the library.
As soon as the servants had settled His Grace upon a sofa, finished fussing about this and that, and gone out, Lady Charles rounded on her nephew.
“Did you have any sort of plan?” she demanded. “Or did you come here expecting me to sort everything out?”
“It’s complicated,” Ripley said.
“Lady Olympia has told me—not everything, knowing you—but the relevant portions,” said his aunt.
Face hot, Olympia left her chair and went to examine a set of books at eye level. Not that she saw what they were. She was too busy telling herself that Lady Charles couldn’t possibly have imagined a naked duke scene as one of the parts of the journey her guest had failed to mention.
“My plan was to leave Lady Olympia safely with you and Alice,” Ripley said. “I would then return to London and encourage Ashmont to try again.”
“Really?” said Lady Charles. “Why would you suppose he’d remain quietly in London? That isn’t like him at all. It’s far more likely he’s hunting you down.”
“That’s the complicated part,” Ripley said. “He was already half-seas over when Lady Olympia and I set out. When he didn’t catch up with us in Putney, I gambled that he’d kept drinking, and Blackwood would put him to bed, as we always do. Since Ashmont hasn’t turned up yet, the odds seem to be in favor of that theory. Still, if he does turn up now, I’ll deal with him. You may leave it to me.”
Olympia turned away from the books. “Leave it to you! I’m the one who ran away. If he does come—which I very much doubt—I ought to be the one to deal with him.”
“Not a bad idea. When he comes, attack first and make him defend himself,” Ripley said.
“If he comes,” she said.
“He’ll come,” Ripley said. “I merely laid odds he wouldn’t arrive today. Still, we might allow for the possibility, remote as it is, of Blackwood sobering him up. In that case, and if Blackwood’s with him, helping him put two and two together, he’ll find us soon enough. We didn’t exactly pass unnoticed. The problem is, I should have preferred to talk to him before he came here to carry off his bride.”
“Since that is not going to happen, you’d better make an alternate plan,” Lady Charles said. “If, for instance, those two scoundrels turn up at three o’clock in the morning.”
“You assume he wants to carry me off,” Olympia said. “If I were he, I’d come only to tell me good riddance. Actually, I wouldn’
t bother to come at all.”
“He’ll come,” the aunt said with the same unshakable certainty as Ripley.
“It’s only a matter of when,” Ripley said. “You may have six brothers, Lady Olympia, but that doesn’t make you an expert on Ashmont. He’s competitive to an extreme. As well as used to having his own way and getting what he wants.”
“And which of you isn’t?” Olympia said. “What male isn’t? What about his masculine pride? I deserted him. In front of everybody.”
“You’re looking at this the wrong way,” he said. “You’re a woman. His woman. His pride will tell him to vanquish whatever made you run away. What you need to keep in mind is, he can’t resist a challenge.”
Remembering what Lady Charles had said, Olympia looked from her hostess to him. “A challenge.”
“Ashmont’s always had it too easy with women,” Lady Charles said. “This may have something to do with the kinds of women with whom he associates. But the fact remains.”
“And so my appeal is that I’m difficult,” Olympia said.
“And different,” Ripley said. “You’re nothing like what we’re used to.”
“Different and difficult,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Such irony, she thought. Being different and difficult was what had got her banished to the Wallflower, Chaperon, and Elderly Department. If only she’d known these qualities appealed to rakes—but no, it wouldn’t have made any difference, because good girls kept their distance from men like Their Dis-Graces.
“It isn’t exact at all,” Lady Charles said. “Ashmont’s a man. The first thing he notices is not her personality.”
“Oh, that goes without saying,” Ripley said.
Olympia couldn’t think of what else men noticed first, apart from looks, which was perfectly obvious. Since they failed to notice hers, she clearly wasn’t up to par. “No, it doesn’t,” she said.
Ripley rolled his eyes. “Use your head—the one with the big brain inside. If you weren’t pretty and shapely, he wouldn’t have courted you, challenge or no challenge.”
