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Viola
It wasa day to visit Olivia, so I was home and sadly blue devilled for I would not see the duke today.
I intended to spend the visit complimenting the duke. How could I not, knowing what kind of alpha, what kind of man he was? A good one, the best. Whose reasons for marrying were honourable. Whose reasons for not mating understandable, now that I knew him so well. I sat in the drawing room with the countess and struggled to pay attention to what she said, for my brain was full of my conversation with the Duke. If he meant what he said, that in marrying the countess he would save her from the fate she must face once her period of mourning ended. That in not mating her, he would be saving both from an unhappy… That she could find a mate if she wanted, but that he never intended to take one. Even if they weren’t mated to one another… Could an alpha accept sharing their spouse with another? Could he truly do that? A man who required mastery in everything. I could not believe it, yet he had been in earnest. That firm mouth set in an unforgiving line. I swallowed at the memory and turned to face the widow in hopes of distracting my thoughts.
“Would you never consider marrying again?” I whispered. Our trysts, if one could call them that, were conducted in almost secrecy despite being so public. Her companion often interrupted when anyone spent more than a few moments in her close company. So our every conversation felt illicit; stolen moments as I tried to convince her that the duke would make the perfect husband.
Olivia, for that was how she desired I call her, now flushed prettily and shook her head. “Oh Miss Hartwell! Viola... You have no notion how... Awkward. I could not... The... The late Earl was most displeased with everything... I am...”
“Hush,” I laid a hand on her arm to distract her since the other visitors had turned to look at us. I angled my body, the better to shield her from their eyes. I lowered my voice. “Olivia, do not think that all alphas are like that. I know one... I cannot say it here. There are too many ears.”
For all that she had been so disastrously married, the omega before me clung to many of the romantic notions so typical of our dynamic. It was upon this that I sought to play and hopefully encourage her to think of finding a husband and save herself. If, when, she married the duke, she would have security. Given her agitation, it was the best I could hope for. She would give him an alpha heir. That is what he wanted.
“Sweet friend. Tell me, I implore you!” Came Olivia’s hushed plea.
“If, and I say this as a hypothetical, a mere possibility of a romance, shall I say. But if an alpha had perchance seen you, fallen for you, and wanted to profess the feelings he must bury deep inside... Who knows what lengths he might go to... For certain I would, if I had fallen deeply in love, would do anything. The poets would write songs about the feats I would accomplish to win her affection. Remember the play? Twelfth Night? How Duke Orsino will go to any lengths to win Olivia? How Viola, disguised, woos Olivia in his name? Think, I am Viola in the flesh. And you Olivia. I am here to woo… You see? How romantic would that be?”
I winced. My words were painfully on the nose, but I believed I must make my case as explicitly as I dared. I had no such romantic notions, but if my plan were to succeed I must convince her that love, and love with an alpha, would be the only way to escape her current circumstances. From our (albeit brief) acquaintance, I felt secure in the knowledge that painting her as the figure of some great romantic story was the way to go. I did not understand it myself. How a woman so traumatised could cling to the stories of daring rescues.
“I have... I have always wanted someone like you,” her bright eyes held mine. For the first time, I saw the girl she had been. Then it struck me, these tales of romance were what gave her hope that not all was lost.
“You deserve to find the alpha of your dreams,” I told her, my voice thick with emotion. Such a fragile omega had earned a happy ending after the tragedies she had suffered. I now desired to find her a mate. One who would make those dreams into a reality more precious than any she could imagine. “A mate. You deserve a mate who loves you. You deserved to be wooed.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes…”
“Miss Hartwell!” Caroline Wilson’s sharp bark interrupted whatever Olivia had been about to say. “This note just arrived for you. I suppose you haunt our door enough...”
”Oh stop, Caro!” Olivia cried. “Viola is my dearest friend. Read your note, Viola. I am sure it is just your aunt begging you to come home before she forgets your face.”
I turned it over and my stomach dipped. Though the seal was plain I recognised the odd hexagonal shape and the rich green of the wax. The duke was writing me a letter? Here? Without thought or discretion, I opened it up.
Hartwell-
Your presence is desired at mine this evening for dinner. I have things to discuss with my secretary.
-Orley
I looked up to see Olivia’s face flushed. She looked like some romantic ideal, and when I compared myself to her there was a twinge of jealousy. I would never compete with one such as her. An alpha like the duke of Orley would never look at me when Olivia was in the room.
“You must leave me,” she said with a sad smile.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but duty calls.”
We rose together. “I—“
And with the hastiness of youth, she pressed her cheek to mine before running her nose along my neck. Scenting me! I realised with a start. No. Impossible. Omegas didn’t scent mark each other. “I’ll be back, Olivia. Don’t give up. I will be back.”
“If I could find an alpha as good as you…” she whispered into my ear. I blinked, her scent had spiked. It was cloying honeysuckle and sweet butter. I breathed through my mouth, trying to avoid taking too deep breaths. There was a reason that same-dynamic partnerships were so rare. Then why did Olivia’s scent spike? I froze. What if she could smell lingering wisps of the duke on my skin? My hair perhaps? Or… I remembered my greatcoat. I had worn it over my cloak in the carriage on the journey from Weymouth Street. That coat smelt of Iris, which as her sister I would never notice but might catch the interest of another omega.
As I was being handed into the carriage, I heard my name being called. Caroline skipped down the steps.
“For some reason, my lady has a liking for you. I do not,” she said.
“You’ve made that clear enough,” I smiled. “Pray, if you dislike me so much, what business have you with me?”
“Here. She begs I give you this,” she held out a twist of paper. I raised my gaze to the other woman in silent question.
“I did not read it!” She growled. “I’ve more love for her than that.”
