Jane’s face crumpled. “What am I to do?”
Olivia reached for her hand. “You cannot marry him, Jane. The price is too steep. You deserve more than to be bartered away.”
“My family believes this to be an advantageous marriage. I would benefit my whole family.”
“At what cost?”
Jane tipped her head back, staring up at the painted ceiling. “Even if I ran away, no one would come after me. I’d be truly alone.”
“You’re not alone. You have me.”
Jane offered a weak smile. “Thank you. But I fear I must do my duty.”
“Even if it destroys your future?”
“Do I even have one without this match?” Jane whispered.
Before Olivia could answer, a shadow fell over their table.
“Jane,” barked a stern voice. Olivia looked up to see Lord Barkley—Jane’s older brother—bearing down on them with his usual disapproval. “Why is your maid loitering outside?”
Jane stood quickly. “I needed a moment alone.”
The viscount’s cold gaze slid towards Olivia. “Lady Westmere.” He inclined his head without warmth. “If I may suggest, you should cease encouraging my sister.”
“And why is that, my lord?” Olivia asked, meeting his stare.
“Your reputation…” He let the words dangle meaningfully. “I don’t believe I need to say it. But you know it, and I know it.”
Jane bristled, stepping closer to Olivia. “Lady Westmere is my friend.”
“Then you would do well to choose better friends,” Barkley said curtly. “Now, we must be going.”
“I wanted to check out these books,” Jane said, gesturing feebly to the stack.
“Leave them. We have books at home.” He extended his arm. “Come. We have matters to arrange for your wedding.”
Jane’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Very well.”
Olivia watched helplessly as Jane was led away, her steps reluctant, her face pale. She wanted to call out, to defy Lord Barkley on her friend’s behalf, but knew it would do no good. Jane had always done her duty—even when it cost her dearly.
And now, it seemed, she was going to do it again.
“Poor Lady Jane.”
The voice, soft yet distinct, broke through the silence. Olivia turned and saw Miss Winslow, standing a few paces away, her posture relaxed but her blue eyes holding an unfamiliar shade of earnestness. There was no coyness in her expression, no trace of the usual drawing room flirtation Olivia had come to associate with her. Just quiet compassion.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” Miss Winslow added, stepping forward. She showed not even a flickerof embarrassment for the admission. “It’s terrible what they’re doing to her. Forcing her to marry that man. The Duke of Brackenford, of all people.”
Olivia stiffened instinctively. She had no idea how much Miss Winslow had overheard, and while she doubted Jane’s brother had the imagination to send someone to spy on them, she still felt a cautious curl of unease rise in her chest.
She offered a thin, noncommittal smile. “Yes, well… it is what it is, I’m afraid.”
A glint of frustration flickered in Miss Winslow’s eyes. She tucked a loose blonde curl behind her ear with practiced elegance, though her voice remained genuine. “I wish there were something we could do to help her.”
Olivia drew in a quiet breath.So do I.But instead, she said carefully, “I’m afraid that as women, our positions are… limited.”
“Do you truly believe that?” Miss Winslow asked, her tone somewhere between challenge and curiosity.
