The next day found Olivia and Victor, along with the Stetons, riding towards Grasmere in the open carriage to visit a renowned bakery. Even in London, society praised Grasmere Gingerbread. Rumour had it that it was the best in the world.
Olivia was eager to discover if it was true.
The world’s finest gingerbread was not the only thing she wished to discover. What had Joe meant when he talked about seeing his future? Ever since he had uttered those words, she’d felt a bit off balance.
It seemed that he had spoken in reference to her, but he had made no further comment on it and she had certainly not.
What else then? Perhaps he had been referring to a new business venture having to do with cheese. It was what he had claimed to smell, after all.
She nearly snorted out loud because she knew very well he was not going to become a cheese maker. He had been alluding to a future with her and no doubt about it.
Trying to imagine it had to do with cheese was a foolish way of denying what was going on between them. Or how poignant his comment had been.
It would be wise to guard her thoughts lest she embarrass herself—truly, cheese?
‘Isn’t this a lovely quaint town?’ she commented, and not simply to distract her attention from the man sitting across from her.
The first time they had travelled through Grasmere it had been dark. Today she noticed how charming the village was. One could easily spend the whole day visiting shops and tea houses. While the village was not exactly bustling the way London was, it was busy with tourists. There were lovely inns and enough restaurants to draw visitors from all over.
The carriage stopped in front of the bakery. The aroma coming from inside was so delicious smelling that Victor began to bounce up and down on the seat in anticipation.
‘I’ll make our purchase and we’ll take it to that grassy spot beside the river we passed on the way into town.’
‘Thank you, Son, that will be lovely.’ Esmeralda smiled at Victor. ‘Will that suit you, my boy?’
‘Grandly, my lady.’ His words would have been more convincing had Victor not slouched down in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
Her son disliked being apart from his cowboy.
‘Perhaps I can take him inside with me? He can help carry our purchases.’
Victor sprang up from the seat, grinning as if only a second ago he had not been a perfect image of petulance.
‘Very well,’ she answered because she could hardly say otherwise. Besides, she did trust Joe with his safety. ‘Victor, it will be up to you to make sure Lord Haversmere does not buy up the whole shop.’
‘I’ll make sure!’ He all but leapt into his hero’s arms when Joe reached for him.
Watching the pair of them walk across the path and into the shop, her heart swelled. Her throat tightened because her sweet small boy was trying to walk with the same cowboy swagger that Joe did.
What exactly was it that Joe smelled for his future? She knew—in her heart, she did know. The prospect of what it might mean made her insides quake.
She would need to go very slowly in this. With Henry, she had rushed into marriage, beyond eager to give him her heart. This time, it was not only her heart to be considered, it was Victor’s, too.
A few moments later, Joe walked out of the bakery, holding Victor’s hand and carrying a large box. All of a sudden she did not want to go slowly. She wanted to run towards life, arms open and rejoicing.
Roselina laughed at the sight of Victor gazing up at her tall brother while telling him something that appeared to be important. Whatever Victor had to say was so fascinating that neither male had thought to wipe away the jam and crumbs smeared on his mouth.
It didn’t matter, really. What did matter was that Joe laughed and ruffled Victor’s hair in a fatherly way. Olivia was not sure she had ever seen anything that stole her so completely away.
‘I imagine—’ Esmeralda’s eyes shone with affection when she spoke ‘—my son has a very hard time saying no to your son.’
Evidently he did, if the sticky remains of a treat before his treat were anything to go by.
‘Joe will make a wonderful father one of these days.’ This remark she punctuated with a blatant, brown-eyed wink.
‘I know my brother rather well, Olivia.’ Roselina waved to Joe and Victor. ‘He would be an excellent father to Victor as well as an amazing hus—Who is that woman?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’ Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘And why is she scurrying after Joe and Victor?’
Indeed, why was she smiling so brightly—brazenly, in fact?
Olivia did not like the icy hot chill creeping over her skin. She knew it all too well.
Jealousy, or rather fear of it, had been her constant companion for the past six years.
She would not succumb to it again. Why should she?
Joe Steton did not belong to her nor she to him. He was free to pursue the attention of any woman he chose.
Although, she had rather thought—
‘Hello!’ the lady called.
Joe, being in deep conversation with Victor, did not seem to notice.
The woman was undeniably attractive. Her unbound auburn-hued hair caught the sunshine and glimmered. At least she was not younger than Olivia was—although why it should matter, she could not fathom.
Olivia must bear in mind that in spite of four kisses and how she felt about them, Joe did not belong to her. Oliver had not brought Victor a cowboy and neither had he brought one to her.
‘I wonder,’ Esmeralda murmured. ‘What occurred to prevent her from dressing properly?’
‘Lord Haversmere!’
‘How does she know who my brother is?’ Roselina asked with a frown. ‘But I imagine word spreads as quickly here as anywhere. People will know that Pa has passed away.’
Joe took another half-a-dozen steps before he stopped to acknowledge the woman’s greeting.
‘My lady?’ Joe tipped his Stetson.
The woman clapped her hand to her heart, tapped her chest with her fingers while smiling.
Joe did not appear to notice how she was not so innocently drawing attention to her bosom.
Roselina noticed. Olivia heard her utter a word that a lady ought not. Esmeralda must have noticed as well because she did not correct her daughter’s language.
Flirts came ten a penny, so why was it that this one rankled? Her hair, perhaps. The colour was an echo of—no, she would not remember it.
‘I have been so anxious to make your acquaintance, Lord Haversmere.’ She extended her hand for Joe to shake. ‘I’m a fellow American!’
The sight of the woman, her bare hand in Joe’s, made Olivia’s stomach queasy, but since she did not want to appear a shrew, she smiled. Really, more than that she did not want to be a shrew!
She had put all of that behind her. If she trusted Joe, and she did, she had no call to feel anything but gracious towards the woman.
If only seeing the woman leaning in so close to him did not make her feel so green and irritable.
Jealousy was something she had fought to put behind her, but here it was, clinging to her like a disgusting shadow.
It mattered not that Joe had given her no reason to feel this way. It could only be that her heart was flawed, damaged.
Josiah Steton was a handsome, charming man. Now that he was Haversmere he would be even more sought after by women.
This well-endowed beauty was only the first of many who would try to win him for themselves.
It would be wise to hold on to her heart. Keep it safe within her chest until—oh, well she did not know until when.
‘My name is Prudence Lapperton. I am the proprietress of a lovely inn here in town,’ the smooth voice nattered on. Olivia tried not to eavesdrop, but standing as close to the carriage as she was it could not be avoided. ‘We are kindred spirits, are we not, both of us being American?’
Had the harlot purred when she said it? Perhaps she had not, but because of Olivia’s rather green emotional state it seemed so. What Olivia needed to do was bite her uncharitable tongue—or thoughts, as it were.
Joe handed the box he carried to his mother, then lifted Victor back into the carriage, glancing briefly over his shoulder while he climbed in. ‘Good day, Miss Lapperton.’
‘Oh, it’s Mrs, my lord.’ She walked beside the carriage when it slowly moved away. ‘I’m a widow. Please, if you are in town and wish a place to stay rather than make the long trip home, my doors are open to you.’
‘As I recall it,’ Roselina said, ‘the drive was little more than half an hour.’
‘Perhaps if you only wish to get away from estate business? I’d be pleased to introduce you to—’
Her voice faded as the carriage picked up speed and left her behind.
‘That woman has set her cap for you, Brother,’ Roselina said with a glance over her shoulder.
Following Roselina’s gaze, Olivia saw the widow waving her arm and grinning, her bosom a-jiggle.
It was uncharitable to notice. Olivia was doing her best to be a more tolerant person, but—
‘But she has lost her cap,’ Victor chirruped. ‘See, her head is bare.’
‘Indeed she has, sweet boy.’ Esmeralda hugged him and kissed the top of his sunshine-blond hair.
‘Victor Shaw, not another bite of gingerbread for you.’
‘But, Mother, it is the best in the world. The baker said so.’
‘Just because it is the best does not mean it will not make you sick.’
Joe sat on the blanket spread beside the river, listening to the conversation. Not to the words as much as the sound of Olivia’s voice and Victor’s answering one.
Mother and son had grown to be special to him. In the short time he’d known them they had walked smack into his heart. Indeed, and that was exactly where he wanted to keep them.
‘Lay your head down. Take a small nap.’ She stroked his hair when she said it.
‘But, Mother, I—’
Olivia pointed to her lap and the billowing folds of her skirt. In spite of his objection to napping, the child was asleep within moments.
Joe wondered if the time would come when she would invite him to lay his head where Victor’s was. If she did, he was pretty sure he would not drift off to sleep.
No, rather he would simply lie there and look at her face, hold her hand. He’d snuggle his cheek against her soft belly and sigh in contentment—for a little while.
Given his head would be where it was, and that he was a man full grown, by sugar, it would not be contentment uppermost on his mind.
Better not to even think of what else, not with his mother and his sister chatting so close by. It would be indecent.
Courting Olivia was his intention, but he would need to go slowly with it.
Blamed Lapperton woman. He had noticed Olivia’s reaction to her—had felt it when she had withdrawn from him. Until that woman forced her blatant, suggestive attention on him, Olivia had been, if slowly, coming to trust him. Over cheese and crackers at the lake she had let him close to the heart of her.
He’d felt it when the fear of being betrayed caught her heart in its fist and squeezed. The damage her fickle husband had caused would not be healed without time and patience.
Joe had time. He had patience. He also had what Olivia needed most.
Loyalty.
He would give her that no matter how many Prudence Lappertons threw themselves in the path of his title.
There would only ever be one woman for him. If he could help it, Olivia Shaw would not end her days a bitter widow.
‘So many people have approached us this morning to offer condolences. I believe we ought to host a celebration in honour of your father’s life.’ Ma glanced back and forth between him and Roselina.
‘I believe Pa was very well loved.’ Roselina’s eyes grew moist when she said so.
‘I know he was.’ He would have been. While to his family he was a Wyoming rancher, to the folks here he was one of their own, their Baron.
As Joe now was. He had an obligation to the people living at Haversmere. If only he could remember something—anything—that would give him the devotion he needed in order to serve them the way he should.
He could serve them without it. But they deserved to have someone who felt a part of their world. Had their best interests at heart because he cared about Haversmere—about them.
‘I agree. It would honour Pa and help us, too. We need to become accepted here.’
‘Nothing grand.’ Ma tapped one finger on her chin in thought. ‘But intimate—to remember your father and to become acquainted with our neighbours.’
‘I’ll need your help, Olivia,’ he said. This gathering could work to his advantage in more than just getting acquainted with the local folks. Perhaps by spending a lot of time with his teacher, he could win back the trust the widow had shaken.
‘If you ask me, my brother still has much to learn.’ Roselina shook her head as if he had learned nothing over the course of his instruction.
The plain fact was, he had learned far more than he ever expected to. How to dress and how to speak were only a part of it.
He had learned that Olivia Steton was a dedicated mother—a loving one. Also that her son was endearing in every way a boy could be. He had learned that she was a determined instructor.
He had seen her angry, seen her patient. Seen her wary and seen her surrender her heart—to him. He had seen her away turn from hurt and betrayal to trust—in him.
Most of all, he had learned that he was in love with her. Not that he could admit it. It was too soon for such a revelation.
As things now stood, Olivia was not ready to discover she was going to become his wife—that Victor was going to be his son. It might seem this decision was sudden, but looking back he knew it had been in the making for a while now.
It had taken seed in Kensal Cemetery. But the night in Fencroft garden when she had held him while he cried—he had loved her then.
Sitting here now, he knew he always would. From this moment on he would not be the same.
Turning his gaze towards the river, he watched the water rush past. What he was really doing was hiding his expression. He was choked up with emotion and did not want anyone to suspect it.
‘Your brother is actually doing very well, I think.’
She thought that? He felt like preening at her defence of his social skills.
‘There is one thing he is stubborn about, though.’
‘What? I’m not stubborn. I’m pliable.’
‘Not when it comes to your top hat. You refuse to wear it.’
‘And since I will continue to do so, your work with me remains unfinished.’
‘And have you learned to dance yet, Joe?’ Roselina asked.
‘My dear Olivia, I fear your work with my son might take a lifetime to accomplish.’
Thank you, Ma.
A rainy day and a young boy trapped inside amounted to nothing but trouble, no matter that this was a spacious manor house. Olivia feared for each porcelain vase of flowers. It was inevitable that at least one of them would crash on the floor when Victor galloped down the hallway on his imaginary horse.
Given that he might also yank down a curtain in pursuit of an outlaw, she was only able to give half of her attention to the conversation she was having with Roselina.
It was unfortunate because Joe’s sister seemed rather morose today and it was unlike her to be so. Olivia would like to discover what was behind it but there was a sudden thump in the hallway.
‘Yee haw! Got you, you lowdown bag of fleas!’
‘I’m sorry, Roselina.’ She stood up, then hurried to the doorway. ‘I had better find out what he really captured.’
Not a bag of fleas, for sure. She was certain he had not learned the expression from any of his books. Either he had made it up himself or heard it from Joe.
A bag of fleas, indeed. She could not help but smile. Her son really did have a fine imagination.
Warm breath skimmed the top of her hair. A quiet laugh tickled her ear. ‘It’s a lucky thing that pillow is going to jail, otherwise we’d have bugs all over,’ he said.
‘Your home is so well kept I pity the flea who tries to set up house here.’ Olivia laughed, too.
‘I’m taking Sir Bristle on a walk to the barn. Would you and Victor care to come with us?’
‘I can’t think of what I would like more. It will be a relief to get him outside.’
Which was not all the truth. She would like to toss her arms around his neck, express her thanks for the invitation. She would like that more.
Of course, her heart would go soft at the feel of him so firm and strong under her hands. The scent of him so close would fill her nose and her knees would knock.
She feared that taking things slow with this man might prove to be futile.
‘Thank you, we accept,’ she murmured, clasping her hands in front of her. She would not hug him because, futile or not, she must at least try to remain level-headed.
Had she forgotten how to keep a man at a distance? She had not forgotten the need to do so.
If only Mrs Lapperton had not stirred up those old memories of being betrayed. She struggled to remember it was Henry who had done the damage, not Joe.
Walking towards the shearing barn listening to the pinging of raindrops on the umbrellas, she tried to rebuild the emotional wall she used to have.
It was the safe thing to do. The sensible thing.
Ah, but the rain was against her. The steady drum brought her back to the moment Joe had kissed her in the alley behind the opera house.
In that moment nothing in her past had mattered.
Fortunately Joe opened the barn door before she let herself believe it again.
The past did matter. One learned from one’s past.
Of course, her past had not been with Joe. Had it been, the lesson would have been different.
She gave herself a good mental shake. They were together in the barn for one purpose only, to let Victor romp about without having to worry about damage to the house.
A spot of fun was all she was going to think about.
For a large space, the shearing barn was cosy. The scent of fresh straw in the stalls and wood burning in several stoves filled the air. With the weather churning outside, everything in here seemed all the more snug.
Sir Bristle’s ears swivelled to attention when he heard the bleat of a lamb. He wagged his tail, stirring a puff of straw dust.
‘I reckon he likes lambs.’ Victor whooped, then galloped towards the stall where they lay with their mother.
The dog trotted after him, seeming so good natured she nearly forgot he had knocked Lord Waverly flat, then stood over him as if he wanted nothing more than to devour him.
The ewe, apparently used to being herded by dogs, did not seem alarmed by Sir Bristle sniffing her babies. Victor stepped into the stall, sat down, then picked up the one he had named Annie Oakley. He settled her on his lap and sang softly to her.
‘Come and sit with me.’ Joe caught her hand and led her to a bench near one of the stoves. ‘I have something to say to you.’
While he held her hand? She really did need to snatch it back.
‘It’s about the woman in Grasmere.’
If there was one thing she did not want to discuss, it was that brazen person. She was having the devil of a time forgetting her as it was.
Prudence Lapperton had smacked Olivia back to a time when she’d felt threatened. The woman scratched at the wound she had striven so hard to heal from—and she had done it with pointed fingernails.
Old Olivia shivered fearfully, warning the new Olivia to be cautious.
But of Joe?
She wriggled her fingers out of his hand. ‘What about her?’
‘I want to know why she made you uneasy.’ His voice was low, nearly a whisper.
‘Unless I’m wrong, she made us all uneasy. Roselina and your mother were annoyed at the way she was acting overly familiar with you.’
‘I imagine not. They are not used to such women. Pa was always loyal to my mother. He never gave her a reason to doubt his faithfulness.’
What a blessing it would be to feel confident of a husband’s loyalty. She thought she had had that confidence once, had blindly and wholly given her trust only to have it crushed.
‘Ma and Roselina were annoyed. But it was more than that for you—you felt threatened, darlin’.’
It made her uncomfortable to know he could peer into her heart so easily. Truthfully, she desired an intimate connection with Joe, but not, perhaps, as much as she feared it.
‘What reason would I have to feel threatened?’
‘You know what reason.’
She did know, yet she shook her head to make him think she did not. Why was she hiding from him, especially when she did not truly want to?
‘There is something rare between us, Olivia. It’s tender and it’s growing.’ Normally, Joe had a light in his eyes that reflected his cheerful nature. It was not there now. ‘But for all that it is remarkable it is also wounded. If that woman had not waylaid us as she had, it would not be. When you saw that she was interested in me—or more likely my title—it frightened you.’
He was wrong in thinking Mrs Lapperton’s interest had to do with his title. She was only the first of many women who would be seeking Joe’s attention because he was an exceptional man.
This was not something she could accept.
‘All right, it did frighten me, Joe. I honestly thought I was finished with—with the ugliness my late husband left me with, but it seems I was wrong. The widow, she bore a resemblance to the woman who held my husband while he died in her bed. I would be lying if I did not say I was shaken by her.’
‘Do not fear me.’ He cupped her chin, gazed at her as if he saw her trepidation and looked right past it. ‘Trust me, Olivia. I will never betray you.’
Footsteps shuffled through scattered straw on the barn floor. The steps stopped a short distance away and someone cleared his throat.
Joe withdrew his hand, turning on the bench to see Willie Smythe wringing his hat in his hands.
‘What is it, Mr Smythe?’
Joe reached for an overturned barrel, pulled it closer, then indicated that the estate manager should sit down.
‘I’m that sorry to interrupt, sir.’ In spite of it he sat down. ‘There’s a problem among the shepherds and I fear it will come to a bad end.’
‘What is the nature of this problem, Mr Smythe?’ Joe leaned forward, a frown cutting his brow.
Olivia had to catch her breath. Joe might not feel like a baron, but watching him while he listened to the estate manager, oh, he did look it. He was so very confident, so self-assured, his noble bloodline was evident.
‘Ach, it will sound silly to you. It did to me at first, but the lads fear there is a ghost behind the recent mischief.’
‘A ghost?’ Joe’s brows shot up.
‘Your father’s ghost, God rest his generous soul.’
‘Perhaps we should discuss this out of hearing of the boy.’ Joe rose, walked several paces away, then stood with his arms crossed over his middle.
Olivia followed, too, because who would not?
Closer to the barn door the rain sounded louder and she could hear the wind moaning under the eaves.
Well, the timing of that was odd.
‘Tell me what you know, Mr Smythe. I would like to understand what has happened to make them think such a thing.’
‘At first it was the broken bridge, then a branch fallen from a healthy tree and that with the weather as still as can be. Then the lambs vanished from their mother’s udders and were whisked away to be left by the lake.’
There had also been a button left by the lake. She kept quiet about it, though, confident that Joe remembered and would deal with this as he would.
‘What is there about these events to make them think it is the work of the supernatural and not plain mischief?’
‘It’s just that the happenings were odd and when the boys counted back, they figured the strange things began to happen at the time the old Baron died.’
‘And do you believe this is happening because of a shade?’
Mr Smythe did not answer at first, but drew the tip of his boot in a half-circle in the dust on the floor.
‘I think I do not—especially in the broad light of day. But I would not quit even if I did believe it. I can’t explain what’s going on, though.’
‘But the others? They are speaking of leaving Haversmere?’
Willie Smythe nodded. ‘Sitting out by the fires at night, they tell stories, some far-fetched, but others—well, the lads tend to be superstitious.’
‘I’ll have a meeting with them. See if I can explain how there are natural causes for it all.’
‘I’m glad for it, my lord. They are reliable shepherds. Some of them have grown up here. We would be hard pressed to do without them.’
Mr Smythe nodded to her, then to Joe. He rolled open the barn door, then paused to looked back at Joe. Heavy rain had turned the area beyond the door into a vast mud puddle which Victor was going to take great delight in.
‘Oh, and you will need to explain why that haystack—’ he wagged his finger at a hay pile which stood no less than eight feet high ‘—moved from the right side of the barn to the left overnight without anyone hearing or seeing a thing.’
Joe sat down on the divan in the library, stretched his legs towards the fire and wondered what problem he should consider first.
After dinner the ladies had gone to the parlour to stitch dainty-looking flowers on pillow cases and to talk about whatever things women did, leaving him on his own.
With Victor being put to bed by Miss Hopp and the servants going quietly about their business of the evening, the house was quiet, pleasantly tranquil.
Tranquil to his mind, at least. He suspected the servants were wondering what might go bump in the night. Gossip about Haversmere being haunted was spreading fast.
He’d noticed more than one maid glancing over her shoulder while hurrying down a long hallway.
Joe took off his boots, waggling his stockings at the fire while deciding which of his pressing issues to deal with first.
The one most compelling had to do with Olivia and her fear of trusting him. There had to be something he could do to make her trust him—although it was not him she distrusted. He knew that. There was more than one ghost to be dealt with.
One was a fabrication, but the other? Henry Shaw, curse the man, was quite real as a spectre from the past.
How was he to battle a dead man? He knew of only one weapon against the hurt the fool had left behind.
Love. His banner over Olivia would be love. And he would win.
He would also show his employees he was a responsible leader once he got to the bottom of the business involving a fabricated ghost.
The phantom was missing a brass button shaped somewhat like a pumpkin and that was all he knew about him. He wasn’t the spookiest of spirits. Sabotaging a bridge, kidnapping lambs, and sawing a limb off a tree were acts of mischief and nothing more.
So far the ‘spook’s’ reason seemed to be to frighten rather than harm.
Blamed if he knew why, though. Didn’t make any sense why someone would want to put everyone on edge.
One thing was certain, it was not Pa come back to cause mischief.
He crossed his arms over his belly, which was still humming happily over dinner. He closed his eyes and was about to drift contentedly away when he heard the rustle of a skirt.
‘I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude.’ The last voice he would consider intrusive was Olivia’s.
Sitting up straight, he turned to her with a smile. She always made him feel like grinning. He waved for her to come and sit beside him.
‘Looking for a book?’
‘The nights can get rather long without one.’
‘I can recommend some excellent poetry.’
‘No doubt.’ She frowned, but her lips pressed together so he knew she suppressed a smile.
The thought popping into his mind was that the night did not need to be long. The reason why not was better left unsaid for now—but not for ever.
One night they were going to sit right here and read poetry together. His thoughts went soft, drifting away while he watched her bite her bottom lip in thought.
She hesitated in accepting his invitation to sit down, but in the end she did. Not quite beside him, but close enough for easy, friendly conversation. Close enough that a sideways scoot would bring them shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.
‘You ladies finished your stitching quicker than I expected.’
‘I put mine away early. I felt your mother and sister needed time to talk alone.’
‘What’s wrong with Roselina, do you think? She hasn’t seemed herself today.’
‘I know what is wrong, just not what is to be done about it.’
‘Is she ill?’ That was an alarming thought. Roselina was never ill.
He relaxed when Olivia’s mouth quirked in a dimpled smile. ‘Not in the way you think.’
‘Oh, good then. But what is it?’
‘You remember young Lord Mansfield?’
He did. Just the name made him want to growl. With exceptional effort he answered pleasantly, ‘I remember him.’
‘The boy has done nothing to deserve that scowl, Joe.’
Scowl! Was he not displaying a perfectly agreeable grin?
‘Then why is my sister distraught?’
‘She misses him, of course.’ Olivia shrugged, as if anyone would know this. ‘And she expected him to follow her to Haversmere, but, as you can see, he has not.’
By sugar, that news left him confused. On the one hand he was put out with the fellow for making Roselina sad by not showing up, but if he did show up Joe would be no less put out.
‘What do you think? Tell me true, Olivia, is he good enough for her?’
‘I know he is suitable. He will be Earl one day, of course. To his credit, he does not have a fast reputation as some of the young men do. And he is not ancient, but of a good age for her.’ Then she sighed as if this were bad news. ‘I think he does care for her, but I am not the best judge of a young man’s heart.’
If ever there was an invitation to discuss her past, this clearly was one.
He shifted his position on the couch so that he looked straight at her. He lay his arm across the back of the cushions, a call for her to move closer if she chose to.
She did not, but sat with her hands folded on her lap.
‘On the contrary, Olivia, it seems to me that, given your past, living through what you have, it gives you a better sense of what is in a man’s heart.’
‘Perhaps it might be so.’ She shot him a quick, sidelong glance. ‘Had I not spent the past several years trying my best not to see a man’s heart.’
Just like earlier, she wore her hair down. He wanted to touch it because it looked like a fair, silken waterfall gliding over her shoulder.
What kind of insanity would make a man stray from her bed?
‘I could not begin to know how to advise Roselina. I’m sure your mother will know what to tell her,’ she said while gazing at the fire in the hearth.
‘I can’t help but wonder what my mother would tell you.’
‘What do you mean?’ She snapped her attention away from the flames. Her wide, blue-eyed gaze settled fully on him.
‘What would she advise you—about me?’
‘Not would, Joe. Both your mother and your sister have made sure to tell me how very loyal you are.’
‘Loyal as a bee to a spring blossom.’
‘I rather thought my husband was like a bee, flitting from spring blossom to summer blossom and then on and on. To him London was one vast meadow waiting to be pollinated.’
‘That was a bad illustration. I simply meant—’ He got up and began to pace in front of the couch. He needed the right words to show her who he really was, but blamed if he knew which ones would work magic—which it was beginning to seem like he would need in order to—
‘It was wrong of me to compare the two of you,’ she said with a resigned sigh. ‘I beg your forgiveness.’
As apologies went, it was acceptable, yet not terribly heartfelt. She had stated a simple fact. As far as he could tell she had not had a revelation as to who he was.
He spun about, gripped the mantel tight and hung his head. The bond they had begun to forge was slipping away. No matter what he said he could not seem to prevent it.
He heard the shift of her skirt when she stood. His fingers pressed hard on the wood, turning white to the bone.
If she walked out of the library, this would be the end of it—of them. He feared the tenderness between them would fade to indifference.
Then she touched his shoulder, the pressure of her hand light, hesitant. He straightened, turned, looked down and saw moisture standing in her eyes.
‘I do not want to feel like this, Joe.’ She blinked, then swiped her wrist across one eye. ‘If it was a matter of choosing, I would not let that woman, what she makes me remember, come between us. But—’
He cupped her cheeks, felt the moisture dampen his palms. She tried to turn her face away.
‘Olivia, no. Look at me, darlin’.’ Her nod was so hesitant he barely felt it. ‘Look into me—see me. I will never betray you. I will fight for you. The demons that woman stirred up, I’m at war against them. They will not have you—I will.’
Her lips parted as if she meant to reply, but then did not. Whatever she meant to say, he would never know. But he knew what she did not say: ‘No.’ She hadn’t said that one word which would reject his declaration. Far from it—she slipped her arms about his ribs, leaning her head against his chest.
‘Never doubt it, darlin’.’
She sniffed. Her hair slid against his shirt with her nod, a nod which meant she was at least hearing him.
He tipped her head up to kiss her and lasso her heart back to him.
Lightning flashed beyond the parlour windows. Thunder pounded—at the front door?
A woman screamed.
Of all the blamed luck!
Joe did kiss her, but quickly. Letting go of her, he dashed out of the library to see what had befallen Haversmere.
The tap of Olivia’s footsteps hurried behind him.
One of the maids, Betty, clasped her hand to her heart. She stared at the front door, her face as pale as the ghost she must think was on the other side. An overturned bucket of water flooded the stones near her feet.
The pounding resumed, so forcefully it shook the door in its frame.
‘Don’t open it, my lord!’ she cried. ‘ʼTis a spirit come to call, for certain. I heard him moaning and wailing.’
Roselina and Ma rushed into the hall.
Joe walked towards the door. ‘In case it is only some poor soul standing in the rain, I will open up.’
Betty looked pale, ready to faint. She buried her face in her apron.
The sooner he got to the bottom of the supernatural nonsense, the better. Taking a firm hold of the door, he drew it open wide.
Joe would rather have seen the ghost of his father walking in than the pitiful dripping form of Lord Mansfield—an opinion his sister did not share.
Roselina dashed forward and would have hugged him, but before she could he went down on one knee. He reached into his pocket and drew out a ring.
‘Roselina Steton, I love you to distraction. Will you marry me?’
For a moment the only sound was the drip, patter, drip of water hitting the floor as it came off Lord Mansfield’s finely tailored suit. He removed his sodden top hat and placed it over his heart. Evidently in haste to make his declaration he had momentarily forgotten the ugly black thing.
‘I would,’ Roselina said coyly, as if she had not been pining away for the fellow, as if her eyes were not alight with joy. ‘But I simply cannot, not without Lord Haversmere’s blessing and I imagine you have yet to seek it.’
Mansfield pivoted on his knee. ‘Please, sir, I beg you—have mercy on me and say yes. I promise I will treat your sister well. Truly, she has my heart and I will perish if I cannot also give her every day of the rest of my life.’
‘I accept your proposal.’ Roselina opened her arms.
Lord Mansfield leapt up, nearly slipped, but righted himself. He caught his brand newly intended in a joyful hug that had both of them hopping up and down in jubilation.
Their giddy laughter showed how very young they were. He envied them.
But had anyone noticed he had not given a yea or nay to the union? Of course, he hadn’t expected his opinion to have a lick of influence in what his sister decided.
Which went to show that Mansfield was the right fellow for Roselina to marry. Given the poor fool’s appearance he had apparently gone through some trouble getting here.
It came as a surprise to find that Joe did, in fact, admire the young man.
‘Betty,’ Ma said. ‘Kindly bring Lord Mansfield some towels.’
Joe felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Olivia and she was smiling.
‘Did I make the right choice?’ he asked.
She laughed and he thought he had never heard a nicer sound. ‘Your silence covered it either way.’
Roselina, both feet now on the floor, kissed her betrothed right in front of them, then turned to Ma to show off her ring.
‘You asked me what I thought about him a little while ago?’
‘You didn’t answer. Your past kept you from being a good judge.’
‘Seeing them now—yes, Joe, I think they will suit.’
How long would it be before Olivia thought Joe would suit her? He had to believe she would, eventually.
At least it was what he hoped—no, prayed—to be true because, like Lord Mansfield, he thought he might perish if he did not give her every day of the rest of his life.
‘Are you ready to learn to dance, Joe? I am fairly certain this wedding will be sooner rather than later.’ In his imagination the bride was Olivia. ‘This cannot be put off any longer.’
‘Tomorrow.’ He would have said tonight, but it was getting late and it would be unseemly for anyone to know his attention was not for anyone but his sister.
Betty hurried back into the hall carrying a stack of towels, her face red and embarrassed.
Tomorrow he would need to do something to put this nonsense about ghostly doings to rest.