Page 82 of This Marquess of Mine

Chapter Twenty-Four

Olivia leaned her back against the wrought iron chair and tipped her head up, letting the sun warm her face beneath the brim of her straw hat. She’d come out into their little garden, hoping a bit of sunshine and fresh air would brighten her mood, but so far, it hadn’t helped much.

After Emmy left yesterday, Olivia had told Aunt Augusta of the betrothal, concerned it would lead to a row of some sort. She needn’t have worried, though. There was a brief flare of disappointment in her aunt’s eyes, but she’d given no voice to the feelings. Instead, she’d spouted off a few perfunctory words of congratulations and then she’d asked Olivia where the ceremony would be held and what color she would like her wedding gown to be.

Olivia wasn’t stupid. She knew her aunt did not approve of her marriage to the duke, that she wanted more for Olivia than a loveless marriage. Emmy had made no secret of the fact that she shared Aunt Augusta’s feelings, and if Sophie were here, Olivia knew precisely what her cousin would say.

You turned down his proposal last Season for a reason, Livvy. Why are you accepting him now?

She appreciated how much her family and friends cared for her, but she was weary, too. Weary of their hopes and expectations for her. Her aunt and cousin, and Emmy, all wanted her to marry for love, and her father simply wanted her to marry and be done with it. He had no specific expectations—at least, none that he’d shared with her—but she knew her own expectations for herself, what she hoped would make her father proud, and that was exhausting, too.

Always trying to please him, to guess at what would make him proud of her, wondering all the while if he even cared. If he even noticed.

When would she be able to do what made her happy? When would she be able to act on her own without thinking of others? When would she simply be able to be?

The thought made her scoff.

Never.

She was to be a duchess. She would have to fulfill her duties to the title, to the duchy, and to her husband. It was a wife’s duty, was it not, to please her husband? To honor and obey?

Of course, Paxton was a kind and gentle man. He would not make unrealistic demands on her. Still, he would be her husband, and he would make her a duchess. It would be a life not without challenges.

Olivia sighed, weariness sweeping over her. She knew she had much to be grateful for, but sometimes she longed to go back to the carefree days of her childhood when she ran wild through the rooms at Keswick House with her friends, exploring the grounds and making mischief.

A smile touched her lips. Those were good times. She’d been happy then, truly happy. Perhaps she would be happy that way again when she had little ones making mischief of their own.

A throat cleared behind her, breaking into her thoughts, and she turned, her eyes widening when they landed on the last person in the world she expected to see.

“Father.” Rising to her feet, she stared at him, surprise making her stumble over her words. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Lord Blakely stepped forward and removed his beaver hat, discomfort etched in every line of his handsome, serious face.

“Olivia, I…” His lips pressed together beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Will you sit with me? I would like to speak with you if I may.”

“Of course.” Olivia lowered to her seat, her mind whirling. What was her father doing here? He never visited her, and certainly not unannounced like this. What was going on? Had something happened?

For him to leave Caroline in the country in her delicate condition…

Something must be terribly wrong, indeed.

“I understand you are betrothed to the Duke of Paxton,” Lord Blakely said as he sat across from her, placing his hat on the table.

“Yes, sir.” She kept her expression clear, though his statement discomfited her. How did he know of her betrothal? She’d only posted her letter to him this morning. It would not have reached him in Surrey yet. “We mean to marry as soon as the banns are read,” she said. “With your approval, of course.”

A hesitant smile touched his lips. “I could hardly object to my daughter marrying a duke, could I?”

She returned his smile with a cautious one of her own. What did that mean? Was he happy with the news? Did he approve?

She studied him for a moment, sweeping her gaze over his face, so like her own. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he looked largely the same, though his hair was a little longer, brushing his coat collar.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve come,” he said, tapping his gloved fingers on the wrought iron table. “I know I don’t visit as often as I should, but I thought an occasion such as this warranted a trip to London. I came today to deliver my blessing in person.”

His eyes found hers. “I also came to tell you how proud I am to call you my daughter.”

Olivia was silent as her bewildered brain registered the words she’d longed to hear her entire life. She swallowed past the knot in her throat and forced out an unsteady, “Thank you, Father.”

Lord Blakely cleared his throat in a blustery way that suggested he was far from comfortable. Still, he was not finished. “I am not a demonstrative man,” he went on. “Never have been. But…I should have done better by you, Olivia. I should have told you sooner—and often—how proud you’ve made me.”