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Her mother gave her “the look,” and instantly Olivia felt selfish and ungrateful.
“Lord Lacey sent a lovely bunch of flowers,” Estelle piped up, as she refreshed Olivia’s lemonade.
“Did he?” Olivia said, surprised and pleased, turning to the maid.
“And he sent a note,” Estelle added, with a sideways glance at Mrs. Monteith.
“Can I see it? Mama?”
Her mother looked chagrined, but rallied. “It was very kind of Lord Lacey to think of you, dear. I must say I didn’t expect such consideration; he’s not exactly the sort of man who pays attention to the social niceties. Why, he’s hardly ever at home! One wonders how he knew you were ill.”
“Mama, where is the note? Surely it would be impolite of me not to read it?”
“You’re right, of course, my dear.” Her mother gave up puzzling over Lord Lacey’s motives and left the room. Estelle shot Olivia a conspiratorial smile.
“Wicked Nic sent you flowers, miss! I think that’s a first for him. Well, where proper young ladies are concerned, anyhow. Do you know what Abbot says? He says that Lord Lacey takes great care to keep his real thoughts to himself, and that no one really knows him.”
“He was very forthcoming with me the other day,” Olivia said wryly. “I gather that he’s easily bored and needs to be constantly finding new, eh, companions.”
Estelle tucked a loose strand of hair under her mobcap. “Or rather than bored, it could be because he doesn’t like them to get too close to him. Lord Lacey is a very solitary man, miss.”
Olivia hadn’t thought of that, but now she could see it might be so. What better way for Nic to prevent any woman from getting close to him than by changing them like rides on a merry-go-round. And why didn’t he want anyone to know him? To love him?
Just then her mother returned with the note, her eyes triumphant. “Olivia, Mr. Garsed is here to see you,” she said, giving her daughter a hasty inspection, smoothing down the white lace collar on her dress and fussing with her hair.
“I must get up, Mama,” Olivia declared, attempting to rise on wobbly legs. “I can’t receive Mr. Garsed like this.”
“Nonsense, you have been ill. Besides”—and a knowing smile hovered at the corners of her mother’s mouth—“gentlemen seem to find convalescing women very interesting. I’ve never understood why.”
“I don’t know where you get these ideas from, Mama,” Olivia grumbled, as her pillows were rearranged yet again and the rug straightened about her legs. But at least she had the note now—she’d taken it from her mother’s hand while she was distracted, and she slipped it into her sleeve as a treat for later. Not a moment too soon, as the door opened and Mr. Garsed entered.
Nic Lacey rode his horse through the village, past the little church with its blunt tower, and the neighboring ramshackle rectory, and the two alms cottages, inhabited by the deserving poor. The village of Bassingthorpe had been settled around the castle, when his Norman ancestors arrived to claim the land for which they’d fought and died. In those days they’d lived crowded together with their men-at-arms in a wooden tower upon a motte, but eventually that was replaced with stone, and over the centuries the castle had grown with the fortunes of the Lacey family.
The village and tenants who once belonged to them had grown, too, other families rising to prominence, like the Monteiths, who had been yeomen in the eighteenth century but had wisely invested their money in property and factories, and were now wealthy. Until recently such new wealth was despised by the old aristocracy—it still was in many quarters—but these days self-made men were looked upon as the backbone of Britain and the way of the future.
Olivia was right in that, at least. As for all the other things she’d said to him…she couldn’t be more wrong. This situation was unique for him. He hadn’t been stalked by a woman like Olivia before. Oh, he was aware of the fascination virginal young ladies had for a man like him, but the warnings of their parents and their instincts for self-preservation usually tempered any wild urges they might have to throw themselves at his feet.
It was the ladies of the demimonde, the adventuresses, with one eye on his money and the other on his title, who tended to pursue him, and he’d had many memorable encounters with such women. But he could honestly say that the encounters that currently occupied his thoughts were rather different. Beautiful Olivia Monteith had lodged herself in his mind as no one else ever had, and he wasn’t sure how to eject her.
Nic looked up and found that his horse had halted outside the Monteith house, its warm pink bricks and mullioned windows gracefully aging within the treed park. He frowned. He hadn’t intended to call on Olivia Monteith—the flowers and note
were enough for what was after all only the concern of a neighbor. And yet, now, here he was. He could simply ride on, and that was what he should do, but even as he thought it, he was inexplicably turning into the gate.
That was when Nic realized he wasn’t the only one visiting Olivia today. Theodore Garsed was just dismounting from his flashy chestnut, his riding boots gleaming with so much polishing they made Nic’s eyes water. He disliked the man, and for the second time in as many minutes he considered turning away and riding home, but something stubborn rose up inside him, something he preferred not to inspect too closely.
“No, damn it,” he muttered, “I’ll not be run off by a peacock like Theodore.”
“Lord Lacey.” Garsed had seen him, his eyebrows rising with prim disapproval. “Have you business with Mr. Monteith?”
“No, Theodore, I’ve come to visit the invalid.”
His eyebrows rose higher. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with Miss Monteith,” he said, as if such a possibility was beyond his comprehension.
Annoyed, Nic didn’t bother answering.
“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it,” Theodore went on with a doubtful air, as if it was his business to filter any visitors who called on Olivia. “You won’t stay above half an hour, will you, Lacey?”
I’ll stay as long as I damned well please! Nic swallowed the retort down. “What are you doing here, Theodore?” he said instead.
