Page 2 of This Marquess of Mine

“Good afternoon, Aunt Augusta,” she said, bending down to buss her guardian’s cheek before taking a seat beside her on the chintz sofa.

Lady Augusta Crenshaw, a tall, handsome woman with graying blonde hair and a regal bearing, looked up from the letter in her hand and gave Olivia an affectionate smile. “Good afternoon, dearest. How was your drive with the duke?”

“Excellent, as always,” Olivia quipped before kicking off her nankeen slippers. She rubbed her stocking feet on the dense wool rug, her soles still aching from all the dancing she’d done last night. “And how was your visit with Lady Keswick? Is she faring any better today?”

Aunt Augusta’s hazel eyes dimmed as she blew out a beleaguered sigh. “She is faring as well as can be expected, considering she has a sprained ankle.” Her mouth firmed into an unhappy line. “I feel so guilty. I hate feeling guilty.”

Olivia gave her aunt a comforting pat on the arm. “It was an accident,” she said soothingly. “You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“As it was my walking stick that brought the poor woman down, how can I not blame myself?” She threw a glare at the offending article, which sat propped against the rosewood armchair beside her. If a single look held the power to kill, that walking stick would be nothing but a pile of ash.

Biting back a smile, Olivia snagged a lemon biscuit from the tea tray on the sofa table and curled her legs beneath her skirts.

At sixty years of age, Aunt Augusta was still spry and fleet of foot, and only used the walking stick because she thought it paired so strikingly with the bold velvet gowns she favored.

A perfectly good reason, so far as Olivia was concerned.

Still, she could understand why her aunt was upset to have injured someone—her dearest friend, no less—with a walking stick she didn’t strictly need. And in front of a ballroom full of people, no less.

Never in a thousand years had Olivia imagined the stately, elegant Marchioness of Keswick would one day wind up sprawled on the floor with rum punch dripping down her face and her skirts nearly up to her knees.

“Well, I am certain Lady Keswick does not blame you,” Olivia said, trying not to grimace at the memory of that night. “And even if she does, she is a forgiving woman. She will not be cross with you for long.” She bit into the still-warm biscuit, savoring the tangy lemon flavor coating her tongue.

“That’s just it,” Aunt Augusta said. “She isn’t cross with me at all. And it’s driving me positively mad.”

Olivia couldn’t help but smile at the disgust in her aunt’s voice. “But why? Do you want her to be cross with you?”

“Yes!” Aunt Augusta threw her arms out in exasperation, crinkling the letter she still held in one hand. “I want her to shout at me or refuse to speak to me for a week or two, like a reasonable person would do. Instead, she’s been nothing but kind and gracious and it’s making me feel worse. Diabolical woman.”

Olivia took another bite of biscuit, smothering the urge to laugh. Aunt Augusta and Lady Lavinia Keswick had known each other for years, ever since Lady Keswick married the Marquess of Keswick, who was close friend and cousin to Aunt Augusta’s husband, the Earl of Crenshaw.

Both gentlemen died many years ago, but the two ladies remained as close as sisters to this day.

“In any case,” Aunt Augusta went on, “I promised Lavinia I would do everything in my power to make it up to her. Even if it kills me.” She huffed out a sigh then held up the letter in her hand. “At least your cousin is having a good week. She writes from Venice and says she and Dearborn are having a marvelous time on their wedding trip.”

Olivia smiled as she brushed the biscuit crumbs from her lap. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, reaching for the stack of correspondence lying on the sofa table. “They certainly deserve to be happy after everything they went through.”

Aunt Augusta hummed her agreement. “Indeed, they do.”

Sophie, Olivia’s cousin and one of her two dearest friends in the world, had just married James, the Earl of Dearborn, a man they knew as children and met again earlier this year at a country house party hosted by Lady Keswick.

Sophie and James fell in love, but a man from James’s past bent on revenge had nearly ruined their chance at happiness together. Olivia was so grateful it had all worked out in the end. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Sophie, and Olivia loved that her friend—her sister, really—had married a man who cherished her as she ought to be cherished.

Sophie’s parents died when she was just a little girl, which thrust her under the guardianship of Earl Blakely, her mother’s brother and Olivia’s father, an uncle Sophie had never laid eyes on before. Olivia, two years younger than Sophie, was thrilled to have a new friend to play with, and even more ecstatic when her great-aunt Augusta took over the girls’ care.

Before that, it had always been just Olivia and her father, a man who could barely stand to look at her. When Sophie and their aunt came along, Olivia finally knew what it was to have a family who loved her.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Venice,” Aunt Augusta murmured as she munched on a biscuit. “Your cousin’s letters leave a lot to be desired in the way of details, but I suppose that is to be expected with a wedding trip. I intend to ask her to elaborate when I see her next.”

Olivia smiled. “I am sure Sophie will be more than happy to tell you all about her trip,” she said as she riffled through the stack of letters and invitations. She paused when she came upon a letter with her name on it, the address written in a familiar, swooping hand.

“Oh, look. A letter has come from Caroline,” she said, referring to her stepmother. She broke the seal and began to skim the letter’s contents. “I wonder how her sister is faring after the…” Her words trailed off as the words she read began to sink in.

“Olivia? Is something the matter?” Concern edged her aunt’s voice.

Lowering the letter to her lap, Olivia slowly shook her head. “Yes. No.” She drew in a calming breath. “No, everything is fine. I—I’ve just received some surprising news, that’s all.”

“Oh? What news?”