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Theodore put down his cup with a clatter. “How—how odd,” he managed. Olivia climbing into a coach in the middle of the night? And he happened to know that Olivia had returned last night from her visit to her friend in London. There was something wrong. He wished Mrs. Henderson would go away so that he could work it out.
“I thought I should bring it straight to you,” Mrs. Henderson said, her beady eyes fixed on his face. “It seemed the sensible thing to do. I know you are a friend of Miss Monteith’s.”
“Yes, it was the sensible thing to do, Mrs. Henderson, thank you. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind keeping this to yourself until I discover the exact circumstances?” And he gave the woman a hard look.
“Of course, Mr. Garsed.” She fluttered her hands. “Although I must say I was surprised to hear of Miss Monteith behaving in such a reckless manner. My own Laura would never—”
“Yes, yes. I would be grateful if you’d tell Miss Dorrington to keep this to herself, too. Just until I discover what it means. I’m sure there must be a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure there must be,” but she wore such a smug expression that Theodore knew she was wishing for the opposite. He could only hope the woman held her tongue long enough for him to discover the facts; he didn’t expect her to keep such a juicy piece of gossip to herself beyond today.
What on earth was Olivia thinking? It must be a misunderstanding. A simple mistake that would be soon sorted out, and then they would all laugh about it.
But as Theodore sat before the remains of his repast, his appetite quite gone, he was unable to decide on any innocent explanations that would account for what he had just heard about his future wife. Despite himself, his thoughts returned to the day he’d left Lord Lacey hurt in the woods, and he remembered how he’d secretly hoped that would be the end of the matter.
If there was something between Olivia and Wicked Nic…would he still want to marry her? Theodore knew that he did. If he saved her from a possible scandal, wouldn’t that make her the more grateful to him? He pictured the tears in her eyes, the trembling smile, as she realized he’d restored her honor. Her cool beauty would crumble in that moment of emotion, and she would weep. And he would be privy to that, he and no one else.
Of course I will marry you, she’d gasp. Oh, Theodore, I’ve always loved you, only I’ve been so blinded by that bad, bad man.
The vision shimmered, and quite suddenly another image replaced it in his head. Olivia in Nic’s arms, the two of them engrossed in each other, totally ignoring Theodore, while he stood alone on a windswept hilltop. Then it began to rain, ruining his neck cloth and his new jacket and his carefully brushed hair.
“Theodore? Whatever is the matter?”
Alphonse was standing before him, his eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw bunching, looking ready to strike down whoever had upset his elder brother.
If Theodore hadn’t been laboring under a severe shock he wouldn’t have said anything, but before he could consider the consequences the whole story came spilling out, tainted with bitterness and his sense of injustice. “It is perhaps unworthy of a man like me, but I find myself wishing that Nic Lacey would have another accident, and that this time he wouldn’t recover from it…”
Alphonse smiled. “Poor Theo,” he said, reaching to help himself to a fig. “Just as well I’m here, eh?”
Chapter 19
At half past ten that same morning Olivia discovered just how serious was her predicament. Miss Dorrington, who was staying with her sister in a cottage at the far end of the village, came to call on her mother, but Olivia thought nothing of it until Estelle sought her out and informed her that the two women had been closeted in the downstairs sitting room for well over the usual half hour, and she was worried.
“You’re worried? But Miss Dorrington is a harmless old gossip.”
“I took their tea in, miss, and Mrs. Monteith was as white as a sheet. I don’t know what that old biddy is saying to her, but it isn’t good.”
“Very well, I’ll go and see for myself. Thank you, Estelle.”
But Olivia had only just reached the landing when the sitting room door opened and her mother, accompanied by her visitor, came out into the hall, their voices too low to be heard. As Olivia des
cended the stairs her mother turned, and Olivia was startled by her bloodless face. Estelle was right, something was very wrong.
Miss Dorrington also turned and looked up at Olivia, and at once her narrow features tightened and she pursed her lips. “Miss Monteith,” she said, as if she begrudged speaking the words. She reached for Mrs. Monteith’s hand. “Good-bye, my dear.” And with the briefest of nods to Olivia, she was gone.
“Mama, what is it?” Olivia cried. “Please, Mama, what is wrong?”
She hadn’t seen her mother look like that in a very long time—not since Sarah died—and it shocked her very much.
“Olivia,” she whispered, then shook her head as if she couldn’t bring herself to speak aloud whatever it was she’d learned from her visitor.
“Mother, that dreadful woman is always gossiping about something or other. You know what she’s like. I can see she’s upset you—”
The door knocker rattled before she could finish.
Mrs. Monteith jumped, eyes wide, and put a hand to her breast as if to keep her heart from escaping. The servant who had only just let Miss Dorrington out, hurried to open the door again.
Theodore Garsed strode into the hall as if he owned it.
