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“Don’t be foolish. Castle Lacey is his home and it will be Olivia’s home, too. I’m sure, with Olivia’s steadying influence…” He paused, perhaps recalling that Olivia had been anything but steady recently. “With Olivia’s influence, Lord Lacey will set aside his wild ways and take up the reins of his estate, instead of traveling half the year and leaving the running of it to others. His father was a good master and a canny landlord, who spread his profits into investments rather than wasting it on his back, as so many of the upper classes tend to do. I’m sure his son will be just as good, or even better.”
Olivia hid her smile. Her father was a businessman through and through, with little time for the wastefulness of those of the gentry who believed show was everything. He had raised his family from a comfortable position to a wealthy one, and he was scornful of those who were too idle or thought themselves too grand to see the mercantile opportunities awaiting them. His one vanity was his position as a self-made man, and the respect it brought him from his peers.
His wife wasn’t as easily convinced. “You know there are objections, Mr. Monteith. You are choosing not to see them for reasons of your own. Well, I can’t pretend everything has ended well. I am not so pragmatic as you.”
And she burst into tears and left the room.
Olivia and her father were alone in the study. Mr. Monteith rearranged his papers, embarrassed at the display of emotion. “Your mother will come to accept the inevitable,” he assured her gruffly. “It is just that she had her heart set on Mr. Garsed.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint, Father.”
He looked up at her under his shaggy brows, his eyes keen and intelligent. “I expect you will do the Laceys proud. I admit that if I have a weakness it is to see my daughter with a title. Lady Lacey. Yes, I will enjoy boasting about you to my business colleagues.”
Olivia smiled. “I’m glad to be able to oblige.”
“There’s something I should tell you about your sister, Sarah,” he began hesitantly, then stopped. “Or perhaps it is best to let matters lie sleeping?”
“Sarah, Father?”
He met her gaze and then looked away. “Perhaps another time, my dear.”
Olivia waited, in case he changed his mind, but he said no more, evidently distracted by something he saw in the papers on his desk. He sat down, frowning, and picked up his pen. Olivia left the room quietly and closed the door.
There was one more thing to do and she didn’t look forward to it. She’d received two proposals of marriage, and Theodore deserved to be told the outcome before news leaked out.
Theodore took a mouthful of the mousse à la Garsed, his chef’s latest dish. The rich, creamy dessert seemed to stick in his throat but he forced it down, and forced a smile. “Delicious,” he managed, beaming. “You have outdone yourself this time, François!”
Satisfied, the chef returned to his domain. Theodore put his spoon down. He felt ill, his stomach was churning with emotion. It was all Lacey’s fault.
Olivia had come to see him after he’d proposed, and he’d known as soon as he’d seen her face that she was going to marry Lacey. Theodore had put on a sad but brave face, his manner disappointed but understanding, while inside he was boiling with jealousy and rage.
“The scandal is nothing to me,” he’d assured her. “I want to marry you, Miss Monteith. Please, I beg you will not marry Lord Lacey because you believe he is the only one who will have you now.”
Olivia seemed so touched by his words, there were tears in her eyes, and her soft pink lips trembled as she strove to reply. He’d never loved her more, and his heart ached.
“I have accepted Lord Lacey, Mr. Garsed. I’m sorry to cause you pain, and I will always remember your kindness and generosity. But it is all arranged.”
Theodore thought he said the right things, he hardly remembered what it was, and she said her good-byes.
“I don’t know how you can eat that pap,” Alphonse drawled from his position by the fire.
Theodore had forgotten he was there, but now he glanced over at his brother. With his swarthy good looks he was very like his Italian mother, Theodore’s father’s second wife. Theodore could remember seeing his new half brother for the first time and finding something rather repellent in the mewling bundle, but as time went on he’d learned to accept and even grow fond of Alphonse. There was a bond of blood between them.
“If the woman doesn’t want you, Theo, then she is a fool. Do you really want to marry a fool?” Alphonse was holding up his glass of claret to the light, watching intently as the color changed.
“You don’t understand,” Theodore retorted. “Olivia Monteith would have been the perfect wife. She would have given my table and my home an elegance it lacks. Why, she’s almost as interested in François’s creations as I am!”
Alphonse smiled.
“What is it?” Theodore said hastily. “Have I said something to amuse you?”
“Not at all, brother.” Alphonse set down his glass. “I am very fond of you, Theo. You do know that?”
“Alphonse, I don’t want you doing anything awkward,” Theodore began uneasily, then he put a hand to his stomach and grimaced.
“I can see you have one of your stomachaches, brother. I think you should go to bed. You’ll feel much better in the morning.”
Theodore sighed. “I hope you’re right.”
