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Once she and Pru were safely in the carriage and the vehicle in motion, the maid began to fidget. Decima refrained from speaking for a long minute, increasing Pru’s discomfort until at last she burst out, ‘Is it all right, Miss Decima? You and his lordship are speaking again?’
‘No, it is not all right, Pru! You lied to me, did you not? No, don’t try and tell me what you said—you may have been very careful, but you deliberately left me with the impression that Lord Weston had warned Bates off marrying you simply because we had had a falling out. Did you not?’
‘Yes’m.’ Pru had her head down and the reply emerged as a painful mutter. Then she looked up and burst out, ‘He ought to be marrying you, Miss Decima, not that washed-out little Miss Channing. You love him.’
Denying it seemed futile. Decima ignored the statement. ‘He is engaged to be married. Even if he has made a mistake—which I am not saying he has, so do not quote that back to me, if you please!—he cannot honourably withdraw.’
‘She ought to,’ Pru said mutinously. ‘She could if she wasn’t so hen-hearted.’
‘Would you have the courage to disobey Mrs Channing?’ Decima enquired tartly. ‘Poor Olivia is terrified of her mother and she deserves her chance to make her own life and be happy.’
‘Well, and so do you,’ Pru retorted. ‘Men haven’t the wit they were born with, most of them. You have to write a sign and wave it under their noses afore they’ll see what a woman’s feeling.’
‘So you are thinking better of marriage to Bates, are you?’ Decima enquired wickedly.
‘No. He needs looking after,’ Pru declared. ‘I’ll make something of him.’
Henry was at home when Decima returned and she caught him alone to tell him about her morning. He nodded gravely as she recounted her uncomfortable visit to the Carmichaels.
‘I’m glad you’ve made peace again. Does Charlton insist upon you going to stay with him and Lady Carmichael?’
‘He tried to.’ Decima pulled off her gloves and went to curl up on the sofa next to Henry’s writing desk. He seemed to be working his way through an alarming stack of correspondence, much of which looked like modistes’ bills to Decima’s newly experienced eye, and did not seem unhappy at being distracted. Doubtless launching a sister into society was not a cheap exercise.
‘I refused, but, of course, if you or Lady Freshford would rather I didn’t stay after yesterday, I will leave, naturally. I know I am refining too much upon going there—I’m sure it will be all right once he realises that I’m independent.’
‘No, please stay.’ Henry grinned at her. ‘We would hate to lose you—even Starling has consented to withdraw his resignation. Now, tell me about your encounter with LordWeston.’
Decima did so, not even omitting the episode in the study cupboard, which made Henry roar with laughter. ‘Oh, lord! Can you imagine Starling bundling me into a cupboard to save me from a compromising situation?’
Decima had to confess she could not. The image was so ludicrous that she felt she had better stay away from the butler until she could command her face. Then the thought of the rest of her news sobered her.
‘That is not all. Adam wishes us to accompany him and Olivia on an expedition to visit an estate at Bushey.’ She explained what Adam had told her, watching Henry’s reaction. ‘I had a stiff wrestle with my conscience,’ she admitted, ‘and I finally gave in, although I have not told him so yet. It will be a treat to reward myself for exercising the utmost discretion ever afterwards. But I was not sure how you would feel—’ She broke off, catching her lower lip between her teeth anxiously. ‘I thought perhaps you might feel the same about Olivia. Or it might be too painful…’ Henry was silent, tapping the edge of a milliner’s bill with one fingernail. ‘Or perhaps you no longer feel…’
‘Oh, I feel—I feel just the same about her,’ he admitted eventually. ‘And I expect I will yield to temptation, one last time, just as you intend to. Do you remember we discussed how one knew if one was in love? Ironic, is it not? I wish I had stayed ignorant.’
The bitterness that was suddenly in his voice stung and Decima winced. How could people find sport and entertainment in match-making? For every happy union they brought about, how many broken hearts were there? Still, Pru and Bates would be all right, of that she was certain.
Adam’s promised note arrived later that afternoon, suggesting an expedition in two days’ time, providing the good weather held. There was a separate note for Henry, who read it with raised brows.
‘What is it?’ Decima asked, watching his thoughtful face.
‘Weston urges me to accompany you as he has some concerns after recent reports of footpads in the area. He says he has no real fears, but would feel happier about going if there was another gentleman to take care of the ladies, as opposed to grooms.’
‘Do you think it dangerous?’ Decima queried.
‘No.’ Henry shook his head. ‘There have been reports, but only occasional ones, and not of any attempts upon parties. Single riders, or people alone in a gig might perhaps be at risk, but two gentlemen will be quite sufficient, even if Weston does not intend to take a groom as well. I will put my carriage pistols in the curricle.’
‘You intend to come with us, then?’
Henry smiled wryly. ‘I do not believe there is any danger, but I could not let either you or Olivia go without my escort. Irrational, is it not?’
The morning of the expedition dawned fair with a clear sky and the promise of sunshine. Decima resisted, with a pang, Pru’s efforts to persuade her to wear her newest, and very dashing, walking dress, and settled instead for a more modest outfit in moss green with a braided hem and a darker green pelisse and veiled bonnet. She was not going to try and compete with Olivia, as if that were possible. Today she was an onlooker, there to give Olivia feminine company—and to bid farewell to her heart.
Henry seemed in much the same, subdued mood. As Dalrymple showed them into the salon where Olivia and Adam were waiting, Decima saw how his eyes locked with Olivia’s and held for a few betraying moments. Then Olivia was her usual sweet, shy self, eyes downcast except for rapid, flickering glances at Adam.
Had he noticed anything? He was discussing the route with Henry perfectly amicably. Decima puzzled how, when he seemed so observant over everything else, he seemed unconscious of the attraction between his fiancée and Henry. Perhaps it was simply that because his affections were not deeply engaged it made him less sensitive to her. Poor Olivia. For perhaps the first time in her life Decima wondered if remaining single was not an enviable thing.
‘Daydreaming, Miss Ross?’ Adam enquired. Decima realised the others were all on their feet and making ready to go. She forced a smile and shook her head, ‘No, just thinking about tomorrow.’ And all the days after that. ‘Do you think this fine weather will last?’
