Page 62 of This Marquess of Mine

She turned back, surprise surely showing in her eyes. The duchess rarely addressed her. “Yes, Your Grace?”

The lady’s smile was not warm, but it was considerably less frosty than Olivia was accustomed to receiving from her. “I would like to invite you and your aunt to take tea with me,” the duchess said. “Perhaps later in the week?”

Olivia blinked. “Oh. I—yes, of course, Your Grace. We should be delighted.”

The duchess inclined her head. “Very good,” she said. “You may expect an invitation from me soon.”

A summons, more like. But Olivia was too stunned to be irritated by the duchess’s queenly manner. Too stunned and too thrilled. She didn’t dare look at Paxton, lest she break into a triumphant grin.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

She bobbed another farewell curtsy and then she and Aunt Augusta made their way to their rented supper box and sat down at the table.

Aunt Augusta propped her walking stick against the empty chair beside her and sent Olivia a speaking glance. “Tea with the duchess,” she said. “That is certainly a good sign.”

Fighting the urge to grin, Olivia glanced down at the menu and pretended to peruse the fare. “Paxton assured me he was chipping away at his mother’s resistance, but I wasn’t certain I believed him.” She pursed her lips. “I hope our visit goes well.”

“It will, dearest,” Aunt Augusta said. “Simply be yourself and everything will be fine. Now”—she slipped the menu from Olivia’s hands—“let’s see what less-than-satisfying fare appeals to me tonight.”

Olivia laughed. “I’m more interested in the punch.”

“So am I, truth be told.” Aunt Augusta’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “But you heard the duchess. Rum punch is not a suitable drink for ladies of refinement.”

Olivia sighed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind being a little less refined on occasion.”

“Well, that is an odd thing for a hopeful-duchess to say.” Aunt Augusta flicked a pointed glance in the direction of Paxton and his mother. “If everything goes as you hope it will, you shall have a lifetime of refinement ahead of you.”

Olivia’s brows dipped and she parted her lips to reply, but she had none. Her aunt was right. Life as a duchess would be different from the life she knew now. Better in some ways, yes, but more restrictive, too, with greater responsibilities.

“Oh, dear. Have we interrupted an argument?”

Olivia’s head came up as Lady Keswick approached, pausing at the edge of their supper box. Griffin was with her, his gaze trained on Olivia’s face, and she flushed hot at the sight of him, memories of their last meeting flooding her mind.

“Lavinia!” Aunt Augusta blurted out. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lady Keswick’s brows rose. “Isn’t it obvious, Augusta? I’ve come to ruin your evening.”

Olivia bit back a grin.

“That isn’t what I meant,” Aunt Augusta said. “I am only surprised to see you—”

“I know, I know.” Lady Keswick shooed her words away with a wave of her gloved hand. “I was only teasing you. It was an impulse, wanting to come here tonight, and my wonderful son agreed to escort me.”

She turned to Griffin with a beaming smile, which he returned with a gallant bow of his head. Olivia’s heart melted a little at the obvious affection in his eyes as he smiled at his mother, and she forced herself to look away.

“Well, now you’re here, would you like to join us?” Aunt Augusta asked, motioning at the table.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Lady Keswick said, and then she entered the supper box and waited while Aunt Augusta moved her walking stick out of the way, eyeing the appendage with wary distrust as she claimed the chair beside her.

Griffin sat down in the empty chair at Olivia’s other side as the two older ladies bent over the menu to discuss what they would order.

“How are you?” Griffin asked, his voice a low murmur. He leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his forearms, flouting etiquette, and Olivia caught a whiff of his soap, sweet and spicy and wholly him.

She cleared her throat. “I’m very well, thank you,” she said with all the nonchalance she could manage. “No Emmy tonight?”

He shook his head. “She’s at home with a headache, I’m afraid. But Mother wanted to visit Vauxhall, so…” He trailed off with a shrug, as if to say, what else could I do?

Olivia smiled. “You’re a good son.”