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Olivia’s breath became labored. “I—Apologies. I believe my mother is right. I am not in the right frame of mind at this moment.”
Bradshaw gave a clipped nod. “Of course. How inconsiderate of me to bother you while you’re recovering. I shall be certain to call on you when you feel better.”
Olivia stood frozen. “I… Thank you for coming by.”
Bradshaw came close to her, took her hand, and placed a kiss on her knuckles. Then he bowed out, leaving both women staring after him.
“Your father approves of him,” her mother finally said, still looking at the door. “Yet I can’t help but find him quite disagreeable.”
“What do you mean?” Olivia frowned at her mother.
The viscountess turned to her and took a deep breath. “I do not know. Perhaps it is just nerves. I am not used to men acting so forward with you.”
Olivia wasn’t certain if it was an insult or a compliment. Perhaps neither. “He seemed very worried over my health.”
The viscountess scoffed. “Worried so much that the first thing he did was ask for your hand from your father? Without even seeing you after the ordeal? I might not know much, but I do know that is not how a man acts when he is worried over his lady.”
“How does he act?” Olivia asked, almost absently.
“Angry.”
