No, she didn’t believe that. Not really. But saying so aloud—especially to someone she barely knew—felt like opening a door she wasn’t quite ready to walk through.
“I don’t know what I believe,” she said at last. It was not a lie. Merely the edge of the truth.
Miss Winslow placed a hand on her hip, her chin lifting just slightly. “All women have to do is remain silent, and our critics win. That’s how they’ve always kept us small—by convincing us we have no voice. No power.”
Olivia blinked, startled. She had never known Miss Winslow to speak so forcefully on any subject that didn’t involve dresses, dances, or which gentleman had the finest horses. And yet here she was—animated, impassioned, and surprisingly incisive.
“Everyone knows the rumors about the Duke of Brackenford,” Miss Winslow continued, stepping closer andlowering her voice. “He is not a good man. He wasn’t a good husband, either.”
“But what can we do?”
Miss Winslow bit her lower lip, thoughtful. “If we put our heads together, surely we can think of something.”
“And if we can’t?”
Miss Winslow didn’t flinch. “After everything you’ve been through, Lady Westmere… do you not believe it’s possible to do the impossible?”
Olivia’s heart gave a tiny flutter—whether from fear or hope, she couldn’t tell. But she nodded. “I do.”
A slow smile spread across Miss Winslow’s face. “Then let’s make the impossible happen.”
“Do you have an idea?”
“I might,” she said, her smile sharpening with sudden mischief. “I know Mr. Fairchild. I’ll ask him to write something. A piece on Lady Jane’s situation.”
That name gave Olivia pause. “How do you know Mr. Fairchild?”
Miss Winslow waved a gloved hand dismissively. “That’s hardly relevant. Whatisrelevant is that he owes me a favor and he’s not above stirring a little outrage in the press.”
Olivia wasn’t entirely reassured. “Even if he did publish such a thing, I doubt it would matter. Lord Ketteridge and his son, Lord Barkley, are both stubborn men. They would never be swayed by public opinion.”
“No,” Miss Winslow agreed. “But the rest of Society might. And if enough tongues start wagging, the scandal might become more of a liability than the marriage an asset.”
Olivia considered that. She wasn’t sure how far they could push, or how loud their voices would ring, but she had learned something over the past year: women had more power than theywere ever taught to believe—they simply had to be willing to use it.
Still, something tugged at her. “Why are you so willing to help Lady Jane?”
Miss Winslow’s expression softened, her voice quieter now. “Because once, at a dinner party, I spilled wine on my gown. Bright red. Right down the front. No one offered to help—not the other girls, not the hostess. They only laughed. But Lady Jane pulled me into the retiring room and helped me wash the stain. She offered me her shawl to cover it, so I wouldn’t be embarrassed. She was kind when no one else was.”
“That does sound like Jane,” Olivia acknowledged.
“She didn’t have to help me,” Miss Winslow added. “But she did. And I haven’t forgotten.”
Olivia felt something shift in her then—not just cautious respect, but a glimmer of connection. Perhaps Miss Winslow wasn’t as frivolous as she had seemed. Perhaps none of them were. Underneath their pretty gowns and painted smiles, they were all navigating a world that too often treated them like pawns.
“All right,” Olivia said at last. “Let’s do it. Let’s try.”
A satisfied smile curved across Miss Winslow’s face. “I will be in touch, Lady Westmere,” she said, her voice brimming with a confidence Olivia had never quite noticed before. With a subtle tilt of her chin and a graceful turn, she strode away, hips swaying with the unmistakable air of a woman who always got what she wanted.
Olivia remained still for a long moment, watching her retreat.What in the world had she just agreed to?
An uneasy alliance with Miss Winslow—of all people. The very thought would have made her laugh a week ago. They weren’t exactly enemies, but they certainly weren’t friends either. Still, she couldn’t shake the strange tangle of curiosityand caution winding through her chest. She had no idea what kind of chaos Miss Winslow might stir up—or how far she was willing to go for Lady Jane’s sake. But Olivia did know one thing: doing nothing was no longer an option.
So be it,she thought, straightening her shoulders. If she had to form alliances with unlikely women to help Jane, she would do it. Strange times called for strange companions.
With a quiet sigh, she turned back towards the shelves, letting the familiar scent of parchment and leather draw her back into the present. She ran her fingers lightly along the spines of the books as she passed, pausing at a shelf of novels in French. Selecting a slim volume bound in worn blue leather, she tucked it beneath her arm, then reached for a second. Two would be enough. She didn’t want to be gone too long.
As she walked towards the front counter to check out her selections, a thought pricked at the edges of her mind—the impossible, Miss Winslow had said. Olivia had lived through the impossible. Survived it. And perhaps now, just perhaps, she could help someone else do the same.
