Listen to your heart. And if your heart seems to be saying the wrong thing, listen to your sister.
Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless
“It is unfortunate that we have to leave town, my boy,” Mr. Beechcroft said as the carriage pulled away from the town house. He leaned back against the seat cushions and placed his hands on his stomach. “But I do have to admit that I am feeling better about the decision. I worry that Dr. Bell was too hasty in his diagnosis. I am feeling quite well, if tired. But London will do that to you.”
Edward nodded without looking at his father; his attention was on the two kittens, both of which were trying to escape the basket they’d been put into for the journey. The housekeeper seemed to be perturbed at having been asked to provide a basket for this purpose. Edward shared her perturbation, but he couldn’t just abandon them. Not when she had given them to him.
“She gave you kittens?” Mr. Beechcroft said for at least the hundredth time. It seemed his father was as perplexed by the choice of Olivia’s gift as Edward himself was.
“She did.” Edward drew Mr. Whiskers out of the basket and tucked him up against his shirtfront. “Lady Olivia has a penchant for rescuing strays.” Like me, he thought to himself with a smile. “I believe she thought she could improve the kittens’ lives by finding them new homes.” Thank goodness she hadn’t brought all of the kittens.
Edward’s father leaned forward with his hands out. “I can take the other one. I don’t want it to feel abandoned.”
Of course not. Edward himself was proof of that—close to three decades ago, Mr. Beechcroft had had the chance to shrug off his responsibilities, and he had chosen to own up to them. Edward had never once felt abandoned, even though he had felt many other things.
“Here you go. I believe the animal’s name is Scamp.” Edward handed the kitten over to his father, wincing as tiny claws dug in.
“There, there,” Mr. Beechcroft said, smiling down at the kitten. “You are going to like being in the country. Much better than London.”
“You’ll enjoy it better too, if I’m not mistaken,” Edward said.
Mr. Beechcroft paused in the middle of petting Scamp to look at his son. “You’re going to miss London though, if I’m not mistaken.”
Edward felt his chest tighten. He was. He was going to miss seeing her, needling her on her outrage, watching her champion ducks and bastards alike. Kissing her.
Yet he knew she would never be for him, knew she still believed herself in love with his best friend.
Which meant he knew full well it was a good thing he wouldn’t be seeing her any longer. Even though it hurt.
The pain would ebb, and eventually she’d find someone—not Bennett—to marry, and Bennett would let him know, and Edward could pretend it didn’t hurt.
“We’ll go see your doctor the day after we arrive home.”
“And depending on what he says, perhaps we will return to London after all.” Apparently Mr. Beechcroft was not to be deterred.
He should just talk about it then, since his father wouldn’t relent until he had heard firsthand how his son felt.
“I know you want what is best for me,” he began, knowing that that was the absolute truth. “And I know you think that marriage to a respectable female is what is best for me. And that, perhaps, I have grown fond of Lady Olivia.” And aggravated and amused and enchanted.
“But the thing is, I have no desire to marry anyone until I know your health has been taken care of as best it can. I don’t know why I let you convince me otherwise. Why we stayed in London for as long as we did when we should have returned home so you could rest and see your usual doctor.” Edward grimaced. “That is, I do know why I let you convince me otherwise. Because you are remarkably persuasive, as all your business partners know. But I shouldn’t have listened. And Lady Olivia is, unfortunately, persuaded that she cares for—for another,” he said, stumbling over the phrasing. His father liked Bennett well enough, but Edward didn’t trust his father wouldn’t take Olivia’s purported feelings for Bennett as an affront.
“I know you could persuade her she cares for you,” his father replied. “If you wanted her to.”
If I wanted her to.
Did he want her to? What did it matter, anyway? There was no possibility of his seeing her again. His first and only concern was his father, not whether Lady Olivia could be persuaded to fall in love with a bastard like him.
“Perhaps,” he replied, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes, and tucking Mr. Whiskers under his chin.
“Thank you for your visit, ladies.” The matron of the home never seemed to be as honored by Olivia and Pearl’s visits as Olivia might have wished. In fact, she might have possibly spotted the lady suppressing exasperation when Olivia was merely trying to point out a better way of doing things.
But today, Olivia knew, would be different. And that was because she had Edward’s draft tucked in her pocket, and she was going to present it after she and Pearl had donated the shifts.
She didn’t want the shifts to get short shrift, after all. And then nearly guffawed at her own joke.
It was a good thing she did feel like laughing—Pearl had commented that for the last few days Olivia had seemed like a faint copy of herself. Not smiling, not managing, arguing only a little when their mother had insisted Olivia adored shirred eggs, when it was actually Pearl.
She knew just why she was feeling so out-of-sorts, and she did not like it one bit. Even though she did like him, the Other, more than one bit. And that was the problem.
She missed him. She kept going to parties and glancing around for him before remembering he wasn’t there. That he was off being an honorable son, even though the world would say he was dishonorable. Olivia knew better. As usual.
“You can put the parcels just there,” the matron said, gesturing to a corner of the room where it looked like a hundred shifts had been placed already. Olivia felt her mouth open into an O of surprise, and glanced over at Pearl, who was glaring back at her.
Of course. Because Pearl had done the most work on the shifts, and Olivia had believed their donation to be essential, when it appeared that, in fact, they were not.
“Well, you certainly have a great number of contributions,” Olivia said.
“Yes, well, it seems that many ladies are desirous of assisting the society with their good works,” the matron replied, her tone indicating that Olivia was just one among many.
Naturally, Olivia felt like bristling. But did the next best thing, which was withdraw Edward’s draft from her pocket. “This is one good work that I believe will be unique,” she said, unable to keep a smug tone from her voice.
Even she knew she sounded pompous, and she wished Edward were here to take her down a peg.
Perhaps kiss her as well.
But mostly take her down a peg.
Even though she was lying to herself about her preferences for what he might do.
“Gracious, that is a generous donation.” The matron looked at Olivia with a newfound admiration in her gaze. “We will be able to do so many good things with these funds. Thank you so much, Lady Olivia.”
Olivia began to speak as she felt Pearl’s furious nudge in her side. She frowned at her twin—of course she was going to mention Mr. Wolcott, she didn’t need Pearl to remind her—and returned to the matron. “I am merely an emissary for this good deed, Miss—” And then she paused, because she always forgot the woman’s name.
“Miss Pettyworth,” Pearl supplied. Pearl was always better at paying attention to things like people’s names and what they did and their favorite foods and the like.
Did that mean Olivia was more like their mother?
The thought—the near truth of it—made her want to shout and proclaim how very much unlike her mother she was, only—only she wasn’t.
“Miss Pettyworth,” she echoed instead, promising herself she wouldn’t forget the name. “A friend of mine, a Mr. Wolcott, is actually the benefactor. He would be here himself, only—”
Only he returned to the country to ensure his father would get the best care, leaving Society’s whirl and the promise of an advantageous marriage to do so.
Even though, she had to admit, those things never seemed to hold an appeal for him.
“Mr. Wolcott.” Miss Pettyworth nodded. “He seems a most excellent and generous gentleman.”
Olivia’s throat got thick. “He is.”
“I will ask the children to work on a thank-you card to send him. We’ll be able to afford more pencils and paper for them now.”
Olivia felt even worse at those words—that these children didn’t have pencils and paper, things she took for granted, just because of whom they were born to. That she did have such things because of whom she was born to, not who she was as a person.
It made her angry, that same righteous anger that had begun to consume her when she saw things as they were, not as she wanted them to be. But that anger was tempered now, now that she knew that people born into unfortunate circumstances could be just as flawed and wonderful as anybody else.
Because of him.
“That is lovely to hear,” Pearl said, taking Olivia’s arm. “And we’ll be leaving so you can return to helping the children.”
“Yes, of course.” Olivia allowed Pearl to pull her down the hallway and out into the street, where their father’s carriage waited. One of the footmen opened the door, and she got inside, wondering just what was happening to her.
“Are you all right?” Pearl asked as she climbed up to sit beside her twin.
It seemed Pearl was wondering what had happened to her too.
“I don’t know.” And she didn’t, but she did. Although she didn’t want to admit it all to herself.
“Are you feeling sick? We don’t have to go to the party tonight, we can just stay home. We haven’t done that in such a long time, not since the Season began, and we can have supper sent to our rooms and play with the kittens.”
It sounded heavenly, which was not something Olivia would have said three months or even three weeks ago. Then she would have been too consumed with finding a way to run into Lord Carson, to impress upon him how responsible and civic-minded she was.
Now she just wanted to stay home with Pearl and nuzzle kitten fur. Given that the thing she most wanted to do—the person she most wanted to see—was in the country, and she wasn’t likely to ever see him again. Her sister and kittens were an adequate substitution.
“Yes, please,” Olivia said, taking Pearl’s hand in hers. “And perhaps tonight we can talk about something you want to talk about. Like shirred eggs or being outdoors or if there are any gentlemen who have caught your fancy.”
Pearl’s eyes widened, and she blinked rapidly, as though staving off tears. “That sounds wonderful. I never thought you—” And she stopped talking, shaking her head in surprise, holding Olivia’s hand tight in her own.