When Lion awoke, having drunk one too many toasts to his impending nuptials at his club, he had no idea where he was. One by one, he eliminated the places he was not. Definitely not in his bedroom at Denbigh Castle, nor his bachelor apartments near Whitehall, nor Lady Frockman’s boudoir, nor even his grandfather’s London town house on Grosvenor Square, where he had established his sister and his ward.
The room was lavishly appointed, but he saw no frills that indicated it belonged to a woman. Nevertheless, he tensed when he heard a knock at the door, wondering if he was about to come face to face with some irate husband.
When he looked down at himself, he realized that was unlikely. He was still completely dressed except for his cravat and the fancy silver-buckled shoes he had worn with the required stockings and knee breeches to Almack’s.
He hesitated, then said, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal … Percival Porter. Lion winced at the brilliant puce waistcoat his friend wore buttoned around his substantial girth. Percy had an execrable sense of fashion, and he deplored exercise beyond lifting his fork at the supper table. He had not been anywhere near the top of his class at either Eton or Oxford. But he had no vices. And a man could not hope to have a more staunch or steadfast friend.
“Good morning, old man,” Percy said as he stepped into the room. “Or perhaps I should say good afternoon, since it is almost noon.”
Once upon a time, the sight of his friend would have been a source of relief. But ever since Alice’s death, Denbigh had forced Percy out of his life, even refusing to receive his friend because it was too difficult—too painful—to discuss what Alice had done. Her death had thus become a double tragedy. He had lost both the woman he loved and his best friend at the same time.
The year of mourning for Alice had ended. He noticed Percy no longer wore a black armband on his Devonshire brown sleeve. Time had dulled the edge of his own grief, as well. But not his anger. He would never forgive what Alice had done.
He saw the wariness in Percy’s eyes. His friend seemed no more certain how to proceed than Lion was himself.
“Good afternoon,” Lion said at last. It came out as more of a croak, his throat was so parched.
“I had my valet leave some claret by the bed,” Percy said, pointing to a crystal decanter. “If you would like a hair of the dog.”
“I would, thank you,” Denbigh said, pouring a small amount of claret for himself. It took some of the fuzziness from his mouth, if not his head. “How did I get here?” he asked.
“We met at White’s early this morning,” Percy said. “You were a bit foxed from celebrating your engagement to Lady Charlotte Edgerton.”
Lion had not wanted to celebrate at all, but he’d had no choice when an acquaintance who had been at Almack’s arrived at White’s and congratulated him on his engagement. One drink had led to another.
Lion met Percy’s gaze, and they stared at each other somberly. He should have been celebrating the birth of his first child by now, not marriage to another woman. He had no recollection of meeting Percy, but he was glad his friend had brought him here. He shuddered to think where he might have ended up otherwise.
“I saw the note Alice left at the inn, Lion,” Percy said in a quiet voice. “Her maid pulled it from the fire. I am so very sorry things turned out the way they did. I wish …”
He did not finish the thought. It was not necessary. They had been friends for a long time before Lion realized he was in love with Alice. A bond existed between them from the days when they were boys growing up on neighboring estates in Sussex. Even before Lion knew Percy would become his brother-in-law, they had been as close as any two brothers.
Lion realized suddenly that nothing had changed between them. All the things Lion had not allowed Percy to say a year ago, did not need saying. Percy was still—had always been and always would be—his friend. His throat tightened with emotion. He tried to smile, but failed. “It has been a difficult year,” he admitted.
Percy cleared his throat. “I have missed your company, Lion. May I be among the first to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage to Lady Charlotte?”
Lion put a trembling hand to his forehead. He was immensely glad to have a friend with whom to share the truth. “Bloody hell, Percy. I’ve made an awful mess of things.”
Percy crossed and settled himself in a wooden armchair beside the bed. “I’m all ears, Lion.”
Denbigh told him everything that had happened since he had gone to Denbigh Castle to chastise Lady Charlotte—and ended up engaged to the brat. “Braddock must have been watching and waiting for his chance,” he said.
“The man has been the bane of my existence for the past year. Everywhere I go, he is there. He stole that opera singer I fancied from beneath my nose before I could claim her as my mistress. He bought up all the space on the merchant ships headed for America at harvest time, leaving me with no way to ship the wheat from my farms. I had to take a disastrous price for it here in England.
“I cannot prove he is responsible, but someone meddled with my best team of chestnuts before a race on which I had bet a great deal of money. I very nearly lost.
“Braddock seems determined to make my life as miserable as he can. I wish he would confront me and demand satisfaction. That would be better than never knowing where he will strike next.”
“Have you tried to talk to him?” Percy asked.
“I’ve left my card more than once. He refuses to see me,” Lion replied. “Trapping me in a compromising situation with Lady Charlotte is the latest effort in what I can only guess is a plan of convoluted revenge for the death of his brother. I feel a fool getting caught kissing behind a curtain, Percy. I can tell you that.”
“You are honor bound to go through with the wedding,” Percy advised, “no matter how you were manipulated into it.”
“Oh, no, Percy, I am most certainly not going to marry the chit!”
“What of the girl’s reputation?”
“All I have to do is find some other clunch to take her off my hands,” Lion said. “Have you any suggestions?”
“I know my share of chinches,” Percy said with an amused grin. “I doubt whether any of them is in search of a wife.”
“She’s an heiress, Percy. And not bad to look at. She has a few small faults that will need attending to by whoever marries her. But the right man will be able to manage her. I will have to look around at the next few balls and routs and fêtes and see who is available. Surely there is someone who will want her.”
“Have you no feelings at all for the girl?” Percy asked.
Denbigh opened his mouth to say “absolutely not” and snapped it shut again. The problem was he felt a dozen things when he thought of Charlotte Edgerton—all of them contradictory.
“I’m not in love with her,” he said at last. He would never trust another woman enough to put his heart in her hands. “But I cannot deny there are things about her I admire.” He smiled wryly. “But the list of her admirable qualities is outweighed by one at least twice as long of traits that make me want to wring her lovely neck.”
“Ah, then she is beautiful?”
“Not in the conventional sense,” Lion replied, bringing Charlotte’s face to mind. “Her complexion is not as fair as it might be, because she refuses to wear a bonnet to protect herself from the sun. I know freckles are considered a flaw, Percy, but I rather like them on her.
“She smiles more than the usual miss, but her teeth are straight and white. Her eyes are a striking green color, and believe me you will notice them, because they are never downcast. Her chin is continually outthrust, as though she is out to fight the world.
“And our world disappoints her a great deal, Percy. The chit has picked up quite a few revolutionary ideas in America. My servants jump to do her bidding because they like her, not because she expects them to wait on her. You see, Charlotte believes every man should be treated equally, no matter what his station.”
“I say!” Percy exclaimed. “What a radical point of view! The girl sounds a veritable bluestocking.”
“I’ve caught her many times with her nose in a book,” Lion said. “But that’s not all. We now have schools for the servants’ children on my lands, Percy. And she has repaired the crofters’ roofs. After all, as Charlotte pointed out to me, they suffer as much from the rain and cold as we do.”
“Good heavens,” Percy breathed.
Lion’s smile broadened. “She has even got Olivia riding again.”
“I thought her injury prevented it.”
Lion shook his head. “Apparently it was only fear that kept her from trying to ride again. I tell you, in many ways Charlotte is a wonder. Then there are the times when she does something so outrageous I cannot believe my eyes and ears.”
“Like what?” Percy asked curiously.
“Like suggesting that Braddock dance with Olivia when I refused to allow him to dance with Charlotte.”
“What? Olivia dancing, too?”
“The waltz, no less, with the Duke of Braddock.”
“I can hardly believe it. How wonderful for her!”
“Were you not listening? I said it was Braddock who took my sister in his arms. The duke has some rig in mind, you can bet on it. I’m worried that he will find a way to hurt Olivia.”
“Do you have any reason to believe he will see your sister again?” Percy asked.
“I warned him not to try.”
“Perhaps he has honorable intentions toward Olivia,” Percy suggested.
Denbigh shook his head. “You’ve seen Olivia, Percy. Do you really think one of the richest men in the kingdom—who, by the way, hates me for killing his brother—would seek out my sister for any but a nefarious purpose?”
“Olivia is a very fine girl,” Percy said.
“You’ve made my point for me,” Lion said. “Olivia is my sister, and I love her, but no one would ever call her beautiful, or even pretty. She is shy and retiring and will not speak at all if you do not prompt her. Despite the progress she has made, there are too many men who could never accept a crippled wife. And if we are being perfectly honest, she is fast reaching an age when she will be too old to bear children.”
“I say, Lion. Surely she has a few good years left.”
But they both knew Olivia was well past the age when she could be expected to make a favorable match.
“Mark my words, Percy. If the Duke of Braddock seeks her out, he can only have mischief in mind. I intend to nip any such attempts in the bud.”
“What does Olivia think about all this?”
“Unlike that rebellious hellcat I call my ward, my sister will do as she is told.”
At that very moment, Olivia was contemplating the very decision her brother believed he had already made for her. Should she, or should she not go driving in Hyde Park that afternoon with the Duke of Braddock?
Olivia examined the profusion of roses and orchids and daffodils that had been delivered to Charlotte that morning by the young bucks she had devastated with her charms at Almack’s. Olivia was happy for her friend. Unquestionably, Charlotte had taken.
Olivia had received a single bouquet of violets … from the Duke of Braddock. He had enclosed a note that said, “Because they remind me of you.”
She had puzzled over that for most of the morning, because she could not imagine what he had meant. He had also invited her to drive with him and named a time when he would pick her up. She had only to send him a note that she was willing.
Olivia had sat poised, quill in hand, at the desk in her grandfather’s library for almost an hour, trying to make up her mind whether to accept the duke’s invitation.
She knew all the reasons why she should refuse. None of them held as much sway as the one reason why she wished to accept.
Braddock was the man of her dreams.
To refuse him would be to give up her dreams forever, because a man of his prominence was not likely to pursue her without encouragement. She could not give up the hope that he had some other motive for inviting her than revenge against her brother. She dipped her quill and began to write.
“You’re up early.”
Olivia turned and saw Charlotte standing at the door. “So are you. Did something awaken you?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.
Charlotte wandered around the library, picking leatherbound tomes from the shelves and leafing through them before replacing them again. Olivia was afraid to continue writing for fear Charlotte would want to see her missive. She had hoped to have at least this first meeting with the duke without fanfare. That way, she could ask him his intentions and determine his motives before she let herself fall any more deeply in love with him than she already was.
Eventually, Charlotte settled into one of the two leather wing chairs in front of the fireplace. Except, since it was Charlotte, instead of sitting with her feet on the floor, she had draped herself sideways in the chair with her legs hanging over one arm.
Olivia had just dipped her quill again when Charlotte asked, “Can you spare a moment to talk?”
Olivia laid down her quill and rose from the desk, turning her letter, with its revealing salutation, facedown on the blotter, in case Charlotte should start to roam the room again and come upon it. Then she crossed and sat properly in the other brass-studded leather chair. “What is it, Charlie?”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Lion.”
Olivia smiled. She couldn’t help it. Personally, she believed Charlotte and her brother were well suited for each other. Lion was too rigidly set in his ways and often authoritarian. He had become an embittered man after Lady Alice had abandoned him at the altar. Many times over the past year when she had heard about her brother’s exploits, she had feared he would end up dissipated or dead.
Everything had changed since Charlotte came into their lives. As far as she was concerned, Charlotte was Lion’s salvation. Charlotte would help her brother learn to enjoy life again.
“What about Lion?” Olivia asked.
“I can’t marry him, Livy.” She scooted forward over the arm of the chair and said earnestly, “I’m going to look around and see if I can find someone else.”
“Oh?” It wasn’t necessary to say more than that with Charlotte. She could easily carry a conversation all by herself.
“Your brother doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him. We fight like dogs and cats, like weasels and wolverines, like—”
“Husbands and wives,” Olivia inserted. “Every couple has disagreements. The secret is to learn how to compromise.”
Charlotte shook her head. “We’re too different. And he’s too stubborn to change his mind.”
“And you’re not stubborn?” Olivia queried.
“I can be reasonable.”
“Prove it. Give Lion a chance. Try to understand him. Try to like him. Try to see his point of view.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “What purpose would that serve?”
“You might find out Lion is nicer than you think.”
Charlotte bounded out of the chair as though the stuffing had exploded under her. “I think you’re wrong, Livy. But since it’s your brother I’m going to be rejecting, I suppose I owe it to you to give him a fair chance. How long do I have to be reasonable?” she asked.
Olivia laughed. “Is a month too long?”
“Oh, Lord. That’s forever!”
“Three weeks then.”
“All right,” Charlotte conceded. “For the next three weeks I’ll try to understand his point of view. But I’m going to keep my eyes open for someone else to marry.”
“That sounds fair,” Olivia said.
“Thanks, Olivia,” Charlotte said. “Oh, by the way. Be sure to give the duke my regards.”
Olivia’s cheeks grew hot. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Olivia looked at her questioningly. “How did you know they were mine?”
“Who would send me violets?” she said. “Violets are for someone mysterious and delicate and lovely. That isn’t me at all. That’s you, Livy.”
“Mysterious?” Olivia repeated. “Delicate and lovely?”
Charlotte nodded. “Tell him yes, you’ll go driving with him, Livy. And have a wonderful time.”
She was gone before Olivia could argue with her. Olivia could find nothing mysterious about herself. She was plain and ordinary and forthright. And how could someone who walked like a lopsided duck be delicate? Lovely was the worst lie of all. She knew how plain she was. She had lived with her looks long enough to be honest with herself.
She put her hands to her warm cheeks. Was that really how the duke saw her? Could he really find her intriguing? Could he really find her lovely?
She rose slowly and returned to the desk in a daze. She lifted the quill and wrote, “I will be glad to go driving with you this afternoon.” She signed her name and folded the letter and sealed it with wax. She stared at it for a few moments more before she called Galbraith to come and deliver it.
The instant the note was gone, Olivia wished it back again. She was a foolish old maid, long past her Last Prayer, who was only going to be hurt by a vengeful man. Charlotte’s fanciful explanation for the violets was no more than that. It would probably turn out that Braddock had asked his steward to send the flowers, and he actually had no idea what variety the man had chosen.
But the dream was too strong to die.
She wanted to be mysterious. She wanted to be delicate and lovely. She retired to her room alone to transform herself into the vision Charlotte had painted for her.
It wasn’t easy.
It amazed her to discover that despite the fact she had purchased as many gowns from the modiste as Charlotte had for her trip to London, everything in her closet was a shade of brown or green—including the gown she had worn last night to Almack’s. Had she really chosen those faded, unfashionable colors for herself? Something bright at the end of the row of dresses caught her eye. She pushed everything else aside and drew it forward.
She remembered the dress very well. Charlotte had picked the soft peach-colored muslin over her protest and the design from a stack of fashion plates she had already rejected, saying, “The day will come, Livy, when you will want something special to wear. When you look through your gowns, there it will be.”
She took the high-waisted dress out of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. It had a deeply cut square neck and a ruffled hem. She was tempted to call for her maid to help her, but she knew the woman would be likely to remark on something so foreign to what she usually wore. Olivia already felt self-conscious about dressing in something so obviously intended to attract a man’s attention. She decided she would have to manage alone.
Once she had the gown on it became apparent the bodice was cut even lower than she remembered—Charlotte again, she was sure. Weren’t such short, puffy sleeves too youthful for a woman of her age? The ribbon tied beneath her breasts emphasized the difference between her slender body and her bountiful assets.
She walked slowly to the mirror over her dresser, almost afraid to look at herself.
A stranger peered back at her. Her ordinary brown hair, which she kept pinned up and out of her way, had taken on red highlights. Her hazel eyes looked as warm and rich as sherry. And against the peach fabric, her skin looked vibrantly alive.
Olivia smiled and received another pleasant surprise. The lady reflected in the mirror was no schoolroom miss, but a mature woman, serene, poised, and … No, she was not beautiful. That would have been saying too much. Not even pretty, if she were brutally honest. But soft and lovely, like a violet.
“Livy, why is the door locked?” Charlotte called from the hall.
“Because otherwise you would burst in without knocking,” Olivia answered with a laugh.
“What are you doing in there? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Olivia crossed to the door, opened it wide, and stood waiting for Charlotte’s verdict. Charlotte, being Charlotte, didn’t disappoint her.
A smile as big as the ocean split her face. She grabbed Olivia’s hands and whirled her exuberantly in a circle. “Oh, Livy, look at you! You’re a beauty! You’ll have the duke on his knees declaring himself before you know it. He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you. When is he coming? Can I be there when he does I want to see his face. He won’t believe it’s the same Livy he met last night.”
That was what worried her. Braddock would know she had gone to a great deal of effort to improve herself for him. Would he mention the difference? Would he appreciate it?
“I’d rather meet the duke alone, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I’ll be nervous enough without someone there to watch every move I make.”
“I won’t say anything. I promise I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
Olivia arched a disbelieving brow.
“All right, so I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut for long. But I wouldn’t say anything to embarrass you.”
The brow arched higher.
“At least, not on purpose. Oh, please, Livy, let me be there,” Charlotte begged.
“I suppose I owe you something for insisting I have this lovely dress made,” Olivia said. “All right, Charlie. You may be present in the drawing room when he arrives. But you must promise to act like a lady.”
“I’ll do my best,” Charlotte said. “Now, before the duke arrives, we need to do something with your hair.”
Olivia reached up to touch her neatly arranged hair, looking for something out of place. “Is anything amiss?”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “You might as well put on one of those old-maid lace caps of yours. That hairdo cries out for one.”
Olivia hurried to the mirror and stared at herself. The look of serenity was gone from her eyes. Panic had replaced it. “What can I do, Charlie? I’ve always worn it like this.”
“Always?”
“Since my accident, anyway.”
“Then it’s time for a change, Livy. Sit down, and let me see what I can do.” Charlotte urged her onto the cushioned bench in front of the mirror and began pulling pins willy-nilly from her hair. It fell in soft waves around her face.
“My goodness,” Charlotte said. “I had no idea your hair was so long. Or so full of curls.”
“I can’t get it to hang straight,” Olivia complained. “So I keep it pinned up.”
“Look how bouncy these curls are on your shoulders,” Charlotte said as she brushed Olivia’s hair. “We’ll just pin a little of it away from your face and let the rest hang free. There. That’s perfect!” Charlotte announced.
Olivia looked at herself in the mirror. Another transformation had taken place. Now she was almost pretty.
It was terrifying.
“Put it back like it was, Charlie.” She quickly gathered her hair back against her head, stabbing pins in so hard they hurt her scalp.
“What are you doing, Livy? You’re messing up my creation.”
“It isn’t me, Charlie. I’m not that woman in the mirror. I’m plain and ordinary. Any man who wants me will have to want me for who I am inside. I’ll never trap him with my looks.”
Charlotte stood aside without interfering while Olivia pinned her hair back smooth again, brushing every single stray wisp into place.
“Why are you so afraid of being pretty, Livy?” Charlotte asked quietly.
Livy turned startled eyes on the girl, who saw too much for one so young. “I’m not afraid of being pretty. It’s just that I know I’m not. Lion has told me so.”
“Lion doesn’t know everything, Livy. I thought you had learned that lesson by now.”
Olivia wasn’t sure where the anger came from, but it bubbled up inside her like some witch’s brew. “You don’t know everything, either, Charlotte. I—”
Her brother appeared in her bedroom door like some apparition. His shirt points were wilted, as though he had slept in his clothes. His neck cloth hung shapeless at his throat. Theobald would probably have an attack of the vapors when he saw the ruin of his handiwork.
Olivia would not have minded having one herself. It would have allowed her to avoid seeing the look on Lion’s face as he perused her from head to foot.
He leaned against the door frame, layered his arms across his chest, put one booted foot over the other, and asked in a lazy voice, “What is the occasion, Olivia?”
“For your information, she’s going driving with the Duke of Braddock this afternoon,” Charlotte answered for her.
“You may speak when you’re spoken to, Lady Charlotte,” Lion corrected her in a chilly voice. “I was addressing my sister.”
Charlotte’s lower lip formed a six-year-old’s pout, and her eyebrows lowered mutinously over angry green eyes. “Don’t think you can stop her,” Charlotte warned. “She’s going whether you like it or not.”
“This is none of your business,” Lion retorted, legs and arms coming uncrossed at the same time as he settled his weight on both feet, ready to take up the cudgel and fight. “I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of places where it doesn’t belong.”
“Both of you stop!” Olivia cried. Her brother and his ward both looked at her as though she were the scapegrace for interrupting their argument. “I am going driving with the Duke of Braddock this afternoon,” she told her brother.
“I forbid it,” he replied in a stony voice.
“I am not seventeen, I am five and twenty. I am not your ward, I am your sister. You have no authority over me, Lion. I may do as I please. And I am going driving this afternoon with Braddock.”
“Hurrah for you, Livy!” Charlotte cheered.
“As for you, Charlotte,” Olivia said, “You made a promise to me earlier today. Have you forgotten it already?”
Charlotte grimaced. “Do I have to?”
“A promise is a promise.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and turned to the earl. “I guess Livy can take care of herself.” She sniffed the earl’s breath and said, “Have you been drinking this morning?”
“That is none of your business, either.”
“If you say so.” She turned back to Olivia. “I’m trying, Livy. But it isn’t going to be easy.” A moment later she had left Olivia alone with her brother.
“I knew that girl would be a bad influence on you,” Lion said. “What is that you’re wearing?”
“A dress.”
“Why do you look so different?”
“Do I?” Livy asked.
“You don’t look like yourself.”
Livy felt the tension ease from her shoulders. It would take time for Lion to adjust to a sister who wore bright colors and believed she could attract a beau. It was taking time for her to accept that fact herself.
“Everything will be all right, Lion. I’m only going driving in the park. What could possibly happen to me with hundreds of other people around?”
“The last time I thought something like that, I ended up engaged,” Lion said.
Olivia smiled. “In my case, that wouldn’t be such a bad result.”
“Be careful, Olivia.”
“I will, Lion. Oh, believe me. I will.”