He had asked permission, and she had given it willingly, but she hadn’t anticipated the storm it would stir within her. They had married out of necessity, not love. She had needed saving, and he had needed to fulfill a dying wish of his mother. It had been a practical arrangement. Logical. Predictable. But that kiss… it had introduced complication, intimacy, the sort of feelings she had not prepared herself to feel. The sort she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to feel.
The coach drew to a gentle stop, jolting her from her thoughts. She waited until the footman opened the door. Taking his gloved hand, she stepped down onto the pavement. For the first time in her life, she moved about London unchaperoned, a married woman with a new kind of independence. It was a small freedom, but a welcome one.
Tugging the brim of her straw hat into place, she lifted her chin and entered the library. The familiar scent of aging parchment greeted her like an old friend. The hush inside was immediate, the kind of reverent silence only a room full of books could command.
She made her way towards the back corner, where the French romances were shelved. But her steps faltered.
There, nestled into the corner with a teetering stack of books before her, sat Lady Jane. Her head was bowed, her eyes rimmed red, and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Olivia’s heart twisted at the sight.
She approached slowly and spoke softly. “Jane?”
Jane looked up, startled. Her lashes were wet, and her lips trembled as she whispered, “Livy… what are you doing here?”
“I needed something to read,” she said, unwilling to mention the rest. The heartache. The confusion. The worry.
“Oh. That makes sense.” Jane looked away quickly, pretending to busy herself with a book she wasn’t truly reading.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. She pulled out a chair and sat. “Something is troubling you. What is it?”
Jane released a long, trembling sigh. “My father has arranged a marriage for me.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped. “To whom?”
There was a pause, and then Jane replied quietly, “The Duke of Brackenford.”
Olivia blinked. “But… he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”
“I know,” Jane whispered, her voice breaking. “But he has no heir. Only daughters. And I am the sacrificial lamb.”
Olivia leaned closer, voice hushed. “You can’t marry him. He’s dreadful. I’ve heard whispers—terrible ones. Some say he beat his last wife to death.”
Tears welled in Jane’s eyes. “What choice do I have? My father would disown me if I refused. I have no dowry left. No influence. Nothing.”
“There must be another way,” Olivia said, her mind racing.
“I’ve thought of everything. I truly have.” Jane’s voice cracked as she swiped at a tear. “And I keep coming back to the same truth that I have no options.”
Olivia sat back in her chair. “I won’t let you give up. There has to be a way.”
“It’s too late,” Jane said, her voice flat. “The banns have already been posted. I marry him in three weeks.”
“You can always say no.”
“And do what?” Jane snapped, her grief bleeding into frustration. “Starve in the gutter? I have no fortune. No relatives who would take me in.”
Olivia paused, then offered quietly, “What if you became my companion?”
Jane looked appalled. “I’m the daughter of an earl. I can’t take a position. It would be… degrading.”
“More degrading than being forced into marriage with a man three times your age who has buried four wives already?”
Jane considered that, lips trembling. “I would be a duchess, and our marriage contract is rather generous to me, should I outlive him. Which shouldn’t be hard, considering he’s a thousand years old.”
Olivia’s laughter slipped out despite herself. “He’s not quite a thousand. I believe he’s only eighty.”
“Is there a difference?” Jane asked.
“Perhaps to some,” Olivia replied with a half-smile. “But I daresay he appears ancient to you since you only recently turned one and twenty years old.”
