That sounded exactly like something Olive would do. “How did she respond?”
“She said, ‘One day, we were sitting together after dinner in Town, and your father was answering his correspondence.’” Clementine smiled at the way Olive was mimicking their mother’s voice. She would have made an excellent actress. “‘He was irritated because there was some problem with the well at Hill House, and he was muttering through his letter to Mr. Hughes about it,’” Olive went on in the role of Mother. “‘I said we should return to Kent in the morning, and he absently pointed out that we couldn’t because we were attending a ball the next night—I can’t even remember which one. I countered that surely a failed well was more important than a ball. He set his letter down, peered at me through his spectacles, and said, “Not to you, it’s not; therefore it isn’t to me, either. We’ll go the day after tomorrow.” He said it with such fondness but also such matter-of-factness, as if it were a given. I remember thinking how lucky I was to be so loved, and how much I loved your dear grumbling father.’”
“I wonder when that was,” Clementine said. “There were often problems with the well at Hill House.” What she was really asking was when Mother had decided she loved Father.
“I know,” Olive said. “It could have been anytime in the last decade or so before she died. But the important part is that it happened.”
“I suppose. Doesanyonemarry for love, though? From the outset, I mean. Love of the passionate, romantic sort.”
“Honestly, the older I get, the more I understand how rare it must be. I think that kind of love is only found in novels. But you would know about that better than I—you were the one always reading novels in trees.”
She hadn’t realized her sister knew about her reading-in-trees habit, but perhaps this was another example of Olive watching people closely enough to glean the truth. “Olive, I—” Clementine wanted to say that true love must exist somewhere in the world, but did that matter if neither Morgan sister was destined for it?
“I’m sorry, Clemmie. I’ve upset you. Perhaps I should not have said anything. My point is merely that I know how the world works. I was—am—trying to play the game in such a way that I land on a satisfactory ending. I made a mistake with Theo. A grave enough one that I am chastened and shall return to my corner, regroup, and try again next Season.” She smiled. “And who knows, perhaps eventually I’ll have enough money saved that if I can’t get a husband who meets my criteria, I shall follow you into spinsterhood and hire my own gas balloon and such. You would let me live with you once Father is gone, wouldn’t you? I daresay you’d even let me redecorate, since you don’t care about that sort of thing.”
Clementine was all astonishment. “But . . . where are you getting this money you speak of?”
“From Father. It’s very easy to wheedle pin money out of him; have you not noticed?” A self-satisfied smile blossomed on Olive’s face. “In fact, I’ve been able to bleed him very freely since my debut. And once he is gone—not that I am wishing to hasten that, not atall—we shall each have our portions.”
Clementine remained agog. While she had always understood her sister to be clear-eyed, in possession of a practical-bordering-on-mercenary streak, she had thought it in service of shallow, transitory experiences. A new dress, a party, an evening at the theatre. “Olive, I think you are . . .”
“Yes?”
A great deal smarter than Clementine had understood. But to say that, to admit to her past impressions of Olive, seemed unnecessarily unkind. “While I am sorry your goals remain as out of reach as they ever were, marriage to Theo would never have delivered them to you. He is . . . not a good man.”
“I know that now,” Olive said sadly. “He is quite different when he isn’t actively deploying his charms. And I’m sorry that you . . . Did he hurt you, Clemmie?”
“No. I hurt myself. Igavemyself to him. What was Ithinking?”
Clementine had thought she would never speak of this particular shame to anyone. But here she was doing exactly that, and it rather felt as though she were the younger sister and Olive the older, wiser one.
“I expect you were thinking you were going to marry him in a matter of weeks, so what did it matter?” Olive spoke calmly, plainly, without the slightest hint of judgment in her tone.
Clementine had most decidedly not given Olive enough credit. She had seen only the ways they were different. She had dwelled too much on her sister’s outward attitudes and not enough on her actions, even though sometimes her actions were more well-meaning than they were effective—witness the entire elopement fiasco. But take the business with the cook. Olive had taken it as given that the cook would need to accommodate Clementine’s dietary preferences, had made a point to explain it to her. Olive had a kind of radical acceptance about her that was really rather extraordinary.
It appeared Clementine was in the inner circle after all; she just hadn’t realized it.
“Clemmie, I want to say that if my running off with Theo hurt you, I’m sorry for it. I knew you’d broken off the engagement.”
Clementine wanted to ask how Olive knew this, but if she’d learned anything in the past few days, it was how shrewd her sister was.
“I figured you had your reasons for doing so.” Olive sniffed. “Now that I know him better, I’mcertainyou had your reasons. But when I hatched this scheme, Iwasdoing it at least in part to prevent you from having to marry him. I thought any discomfort I caused you would be short-lived. But if that’s not the case, I sincerely apologize.”
It was amazing what a genuine apology could do: Clementine felt the last of her unfavorable feelings toward Olive melt away. “Hedidhurt me,” she whispered. It was all she could bring herself to say just now.
“I’m sure he did,” Olive said gently.
“If I’d known what you were contemplating,” Clementine said, “I’d have warned you off Theo. As dear to you as your goals were, they weren’t worth the sacrifice.”
“Well, even so,youwere.” Olive smiled wryly. “On balance anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I still would have done it, if I’d had to, even knowing what I now know about him, if it’d meant preserving your good name.” Clementine was about to interrupt with yet anotherWhy?, but Olive kept talking. “My silly list is never going to come to fruition. I know that in my heart. And since I don’t care who I marry, I might as well do some good with my choice of groom. Even if I couldn’t have gottenanyof what I wanted, marrying Theo to save your reputation would have donesomegood. It would have given you a fighting chance to be happy. Bought you some time to try to outlast Father, anyway.” She performed another of her insouciant shrugs, as if they were discussing settling for lukewarm tea instead of a wildly deficient husband.
“But—”
“It’s a moot point since in the end neither of us had to marry Theo. Thanks to Archie.”
