Page 46 of This Marquess of Mine

Chapter Fifteen

Hunched over the escritoire in the drawing room, Olivia touched the tip of her quill pen to her cheek and studied the list of names before her. “No,” she muttered, slashing a line through Viscount Amberson’s name. “Far too fond of horses.”

With a weary sigh, she leaned back in her chair and rolled her shoulders to loosen the knots. She’d been at this for hours, laboring over her list of potential husbands, and the exercise had left her far from optimistic. She knew she was probably being too choosy for someone racing against the clock as she was, but then, it was hard not to be, considering she was selecting the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

Her gaze wandered to the window, and she scowled at the bright blue sky, the cheerful sun, which seemed to be mocking her. A lovely spring day awaited her outside and she was in here, trapped at her desk like a schoolgirl with makeup work to do.

That was what this list felt like. Makeup work. Making up for wasted time.

Her shoulders slumped. How had her life come to this? How had her future gone from happy and hopeful to frighteningly unclear?

In her first Season, she’d been peppered with offers, turning down viscounts and earls and rich pillars of the community as if it were nothing, as if they would never stop coming. She’d been flattered by the offers, of course, but not one of them had actually tempted her to accept.

She’d told herself it was because she wasn’t ready to settle down yet, that she’d wanted to enjoy herself before starting a family. And this had been true, at least in part. But what she hadn’t realized—or perhaps, hadn’t wanted to realize—was that she was waiting for an offer that hadn’t yet come.

An offer that never would come.

She’d been waiting for Griffin, whether she realized it then or not, and had foolishly tossed aside those offers that had come—good offers, like Paxton’s.

“What a ninny I was,” she whispered to herself.

It would be so easy to be angry with Griffin, to blame him for her predicament, but she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him. What she used to feel for him, that is.

It was her own doing, laying all her hopes at his feet, waiting for him to love her. He’d never given her any reason to hope, had never encouraged her or made her think he thought of her as anything more than his sister’s friend.

Yes, he teased her, and some might be tempted to read something in this behavior. But he’d also called her a silly, shallow flirt, so perhaps he’d always poked at her because she annoyed him. It made more sense than the alternative.

Olivia set her pen down and rubbed at her tired eyes. Why was she thinking of Griffin again? She was supposed to be thinking of her future husband, and the Marquess of Keswick certainly did not fit the bill.

He seemed wholly disinterested in taking a bride, and even if he was looking to marry, he wouldn’t marry her. He’d kissed her, yes, and seemed to find her attractive, in a begrudging sort of way, but none of this meant his opinion of her had changed.

You’re the strongest person I know. You’re remarkable.

His words ghosted through her mind, but she shoved them away, ignoring the frisson of pleasure skating up her spine. Perhaps his opinion of her had improved in these last few days, but nothing had changed because of it. He wasn’t in love with her, he wasn’t going to marry her, and she would do well to remember that and shove him from her mind.

Resolutely, she picked up her pen again and turned back to her list of names, determined to finish the task today. There was no time to waste.

“What are you doing?”

Olivia jumped in her seat then threw Emmy a glare over her shoulder. “You nearly scared me half to death!”

Emmy smiled as she perched on the edge of the klismoi chair situated beside the escritoire. “Apologies. I did say your name, but apparently you did not hear me.” Her curious gaze dropped to the sheet of paper on the desk. “What are you working on with such concentration? A love letter?”

Olivia snorted. “Hardly. I’m compiling a list of potential husbands.” She pursed her lips. “It isn’t going very well.”

“Oh.” Emmy’s brow knit. “But I thought—” She broke off, her frown deepening.

“You thought what?” Olivia asked, notching her head to one side.

“Well…” Emmy hesitated. “You know how much I hate to pry—”

“Oh? Since when?”

“However…” She flicked Olivia an unamused glance. “After last night, I’d hoped you would no longer have need for a list of potential husbands.” She speared Olivia with expectant eyes.

“After last night?” Olivia frowned, even as her cheeks grew warm. Did Emmy know what had happened in the drawing room? No. She couldn’t. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Emmy’s brows darted up. “I know you were with Griffin last night. I smelled his soap on you when you finally came back to bed. Attwo o’clock in the morning. Naturally, I assumed something…interesting had happened between you.”