Ask more questions even if you think you know the answers. The answers might surprise you.
Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless
“You’ve done what?” Edward said, his tone increasing in volume so it was remarkably close to a shout.
His father did not seem perturbed. In fact, he grinned a little more.
“I’ve asked your friend Lord Carson to invite the Duke and Duchess of Marymount and their daughters here for a visit. He’ll be coming as well. Only for a few weeks.” His father blinked innocently at him. Even though Edward knew that blink wasn’t innocent at all. “I thought you might enjoy seeing your closest London acquaintances since you insisted we leave so suddenly.”
Edward couldn’t speak. Or he could, but then it would be to rail against his father, when he knew Mr. Beechcroft was only doing something he thought was good. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it would be like to see her again. To see her launch herself at Bennett all over again, all of it made even worse now that he knew what her mouth tasted like. How she felt in his arms.
“And since the doctor has said I am much improved, I thought it would be a delightful diversion. I will certainly take those walks the doctor recommends if I can take them with Lady Ida. She has the most interesting ideas on all sorts of things. If I had had a daughter, I would imagine she would be very like Lady Ida.” His father smiled. Edward was grateful to at least one of the duke’s daughters, then.
“Coming here. Bennett and the duke and duchess and Lady Ida and Lady Pearl and—” And her. “And Lady Olivia,” he finished.
“Yes, all of them. I am going to leave it up to you what entertainments we offer to the young ladies. I will take the duke shooting, and then we can have a hunt.”
His father punctuated his words with a nod, placing his hands over his stomach in apparent satisfaction.
I am not satisfied, Edward wished he could say. You have invited them here, her here, and she is the last person I want to see. Mostly because she is the first person I want to see, and yet she is not for me. No matter what you might think.
But his father was only following his own internal reasoning, and likely it seemed to all make sense inside Mr. Beechcroft’s brain: an attractive, eligible young lady appeared to be intrigued by Edward, and so the two of them must be put into the same general vicinity so things could progress.
That was how Mr. Beechcroft thought about industry and workers, after all. And that strategy had worked in his business, at least.
But this was the business of the heart, to use his father’s phrasing.
“When do they arrive?” Edward was surprised to discover his voice sounded almost as it always did. If a bit more strained.
“A week or so, perhaps. Lord Carson wasn’t certain about the arrangements.” Mr. Beechcroft shrugged, the nonchalant gesture belying the crafty look in his eye. “I told him we would be here, no matter when they came. Since I have to stay here under the doctor’s care, as you told me.” His blasted father then had the temerity to grin slyly, as though he knew just how he had bound Edward up with his own worries.
Not for the first time, Edward stood in awe of his father’s prowess as a skilled negotiator. Albeit now he was negotiating with his son’s future, and Edward suspected that the results would not be to Mr. Beechcroft’s liking.
Nor to his—seeing her married to his best friend, having to watch as they exchanged vows, had their first kiss (although not her first kiss, after all), bore children, spent holidays and social events with one another.
Thank goodness he would be able to sequester himself in the country so that there was no possibility Bennett could invite him to any proper event. Though he knew Bennett—and Lady Olivia, for that matter—would refuse to bend to Society’s strictures and still invite him.
Damn it all. And not only was she about to invade his tenuous peace, but his father had orchestrated it.
“Lord Carson will no doubt enjoy seeing you in that shepherdess costume we packed,” Olivia’s mother said, beaming as she looked at her daughter.
They had spent three days preparing for the trip to the country, Olivia being called on to manage everything from deciding whether or not they had to bring the silver (You know how I hate stirring my tea with a tablespoon.) to how many changes of clothing they all needed (No, we don’t need our warmest clothing. It is spring, after all.).
She had been run ragged as Pearl played with the kittens and Ida looked on, unamused.
And now they were in the carriage, heading to the marquis’s country estate where Lord Carson would be waiting.
Waiting to tell Olivia he’d changed his mind? That he wanted to marry her after all?
What would she say?
“You’re thinking about it again,” Pearl said in a quiet voice, leaning in so that neither their mother nor Ida could hear. “You don’t know he’s changed his mind. You don’t know how you’ll feel if he does change his mind. You don’t know anything.”
And that was the problem. That, for once in her life, Olivia didn’t know anything. Not a thing. She didn’t know how she felt about Bennett, she didn’t know how he felt about her, she didn’t know whether or not she would get married before Pearl, she didn’t know what she felt about Mr. Wolcott. Edward.
Although she did almost sort of know. And that was something she couldn’t even admit to herself.
She felt so topsy-turvy as to be almost seasick.
“But why would he arrange this if he didn’t want to marry me?” Olivia asked Pearl for perhaps the hundredth time. “What other reason could there be for him to have his family leave London and go to the country if not to propose?”
Pearl rolled her eyes. Not that Olivia was looking at her twin to confirm that, just that she heard the huff of air that always accompanied Pearl’s eye rolls. And then there were her words. “Not everything is about you, Olivia. Lord Carson is very engaged in politics and the government and Father does have some say in things, even if what he says is mostly grunts.” And then Pearl giggled, and that made Olivia laugh too, and she forgot—for the moment, at least—all about whether or not Lord Carson was going to make her most ardent wishes of a month ago come true.
Even though those were not the wishes she had now.
“Well thank goodness we’ll be there soon,” the duchess said, sounding as aggrieved as if she’d spent ten days traveling in a farmer’s hay-filled cart rather than two days in a carriage upholstered in silk. “I am fatigued to death of all this bouncing around. You’d think they would have smoothed out the roads or something, how is this even civilized?” And then she glanced around at her daughters, all of whom were in varying degrees of trying not to laugh. Even Ida.
The duke had taken a separate carriage, since the ladies took up all the room in one. But he would have done that even if there had been plenty of room—it was clear he did not like spending time with the ladies of his family, which begged the question as to why he had brought so many of them into the world.
Now that Eleanor was married and Della had run off and was in disgrace, that number was down to three, but adding in the duchess made it seem more like twenty-three.
“I wonder, Olivia, if we shouldn’t have brought the linens after all. You know how sensitive I am to scratchy bedsheets.” The duchess gave a vigorous nod. “Bedsheets are truly the most essential item for any person living in the world today.”
Olivia grimaced, thinking of all the things that families who weren’t ducal would put above non-scratchy bedsheets—food, heat, lodging, clothing. The true essentials.
“And tea. If we didn’t have tea we would be savages,” the duchess continued. “How else would we be able to communicate with one another?” As though the imbibing of tea was the essential element of communication.
“So you’re saying that the only things people truly need in this world are quality bed linens and tea?” Ida asked, her tone sharply sarcastic.
Their mother smiled in approval at her youngest daughter. “That’s exactly what I am saying!” she said in a delighted tone. “I never think you are paying attention to me, dear.”
“So says the woman who doesn’t even know how we take our essential beverages,” Pearl murmured to Olivia, who smothered a giggle.
It had been a long-running bet as to when—or even if—the duchess would finally prepare one of her daughter’s cups of tea the way the daughter actually preferred it.
The closest thus far was Ida, who took her tea with nothing in it. But at the last minute the duchess had added a lemon, and all of the sisters had had to stifle groans of disappointment.
“Oh, I don’t always pay attention to you, Mother,” Ida replied, and Olivia held her breath, wondering just what Ida was going to say—her sister was nearly as liable to say something shockingly direct as their mother, only in a more intelligent fashion. “But it has gotten too dark for me to read any longer. When will we be there, anyway?”
Olivia looked out of the carriage window, squinting to make out a long line of trees in the distance. “It looks as though we are on property, not on the road any longer. Judging by the way the trees are managed.” She had to say she approved of the symmetry; trees left to their own devices were more likely to be wayward.
“I would imagine Mr. Beechcroft has enough money to purchase proper bedsheets,” their mother continued.
“Mr. Beechcroft?” Olivia said, feeling her stomach constrict. “You mean the marquis, surely?”
Olivia could see the duchess’s head shaking no, and then felt her mother reach across to pat her on the knee. As though she were a child.
“We are going to Mr. Beechcroft’s estate. Why would you think we were going anywhere else? You haven’t been listening to me either, Olivia.” The duchess turned to look out the window. “I see the lights of the house now. We should be there in a matter of minutes.”
Olivia sat back against the cushions, feeling her body stiffen in shock. Pearl took her hand and squeezed it, but Olivia barely noticed because of all the emotions coursing through her.
Mr. Beechcroft’s house. Which meant he would be there.
“Will Lord Carson even be there, Mother?” Olivia asked, hearing the tension in her voice.
“Yes, he arranged it. Honestly, Olivia, you cannot imagine we would go visiting Mr. Beechcroft just to see him. Have I not raised you properly at all? This is the moment all your dreams will come true! You’ll be engaged to Lord Carson and then I can focus on getting Pearl and Ida married.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” Ida said drily.
“Ida, did you know where we were going?” Had she just assumed things and everyone else knew otherwise?
“No, but I am pleased. Mr. Beechcroft is an excellent conversationalist. I am looking forward to resuming our discussion of books and ideas.” Ida did sound pleased, not aghast or startled or any of the things Olivia was feeling. Of course. Ida just saw the chance to continue her intellectual discussions—she wasn’t thinking about the physical interactions that might or might not happen.
Dear lord.
“And we are here! Girls, make sure you shake out your skirts as we exit the carriage. Not that Mr. Beechcroft is someone we have to concern ourselves with. But Lord Carson will be here, and we do have to worry about him.”
It would be fine. She would see Mr. Wolcott and they would be civil toward one another and Lord Carson would propose and she—she didn’t know what she would do.
She felt a suffocating squeeze suspiciously near her heart.
“Are you all right?” Pearl whispered as the coach slowed to a stop.
“No,” Olivia replied. “Not at all.”
It was the truth. She wasn’t all right. But she was Lady Olivia, champion of the oppressed, a duke’s daughter, a person who had literally been trained from birth to be gracious in awkward situations.
And this certainly counted as an awkward situation.
“Welcome!” Edward’s father said as the carriage door opened and the ladies began to emerge. Edward cursed himself for looking so eagerly to see her, but that didn’t stop him from doing so.
And there she was. Her face was set, almost angry, and he could see the flare of red on her cheeks even in the darkness.
What had happened to upset her so?
He felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside his chest. He wanted to go find whoever it was who had made her react this way and do something about it. He wanted to hold her, to tell her it would be fine, that he was there.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right, he most certainly didn’t have her permission, and he would likely be rejected if he even intimated that that was how he felt.
“You have an enormous house,” the duchess said, her voice indicating she was surprised.
“I do!” Mr. Beechcroft said in satisfaction. “I commissioned it when Edward first came to live with me. I wanted it to be the biggest house in the area, and it remains so, even after twenty-five years.”
Edward wished his father didn’t sound so proud, as though he were bragging. Which he absolutely was. It made him sound like what he was—a merchant who had so much money that people in a social status above his were forced to acknowledge him. To visit him at his country house.
And now Edward was doing just what he’d always thought proper Society did—judging people on their politeness, their fitness to be in company with. He was as misguided as Lady Olivia.
Another thing they had in common.
His father took the duchess’s arm to lead her into the house, chattering away about the amenities he’d had installed—the private water closets, the plumbing, the innovations in heating. Things the duchess likely did not care at all about.
He had to push that aside. He would not be ashamed of his father or who his father was. Especially since his father would not be here for much longer.
“Lady Pearl, Lady Ida, Lady Olivia,” he began, noting the concerned look on Lady Pearl’s face and how eagerly Lady Ida was looking at the house—likely anticipating how large the library must be if the house itself was so big. Not looking at her, in case her expression was still so raw, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself or her by demanding to know what was wrong. How he could fix it.
“Thank you for inviting us,” she replied, and he could hear the strain in her voice. “You do have a lovely home.”
“It is my father’s,” Edward corrected, then felt like an ass for being so sharp.
“Could we go inside?” Lady Ida said, her tone making it clear he was an ass for making them wait outside for so long.
“Of course, please.” And he held his arm out toward them, with Lady Pearl and eventually Olivia taking one each.
Lady Ida had already started up the stairs, her soft slippers seeming to march as she went.
“Bennett arrives tomorrow,” Edward said, speaking to Olivia. Wishing his friend wasn’t always prompt, but knowing it was inevitable no matter when he arrived.
“I see,” Olivia said, not sounding at all the way he would have expected her to.
“Mrs. Hodgkins has set up tea in the drawing room, if you would care for refreshment before retiring for the evening.”
“That would be wonderful,” Lady Pearl said. “Please thank her for us.”
Edward brought them into the drawing room, scanning the area for any signs of poor taste in design or anything that might betray his father’s origins. And then hated himself all over again for it.
Thankfully, the drawing room—like the rest of the house—was tastefully decorated, giving the duchess and the rest of her family no cause for thinking Mr. Beechcroft was vulgar. Beyond his own admittedly lower-class heritage.
“Duchess, will you pour?” Mr. Beechcroft asked, gesturing to the silver tea service laid out on one of the mahogany tables. The silver sparkled so much it seemed to light up the room, which was already lit with sconces and low lamps.
Lady Olivia put her hand over her mother’s as the duchess stretched her hand to the teapot. “I can do it, Mother. You should rest after our journey.” And she didn’t wait for the duchess’s reply before beginning, fixing a cup for her mother and handing it to her, then looking expectantly at Mr. Beechcroft.
“Your tea, Father,” Edward prompted. “How do you take your tea?”
Mr. Beechcroft clapped his hands together, his eyes lit with pleasure. “Milk and plenty of sugar please,” he exclaimed.
Olivia smiled at him as she prepared his tea. What would it be like to have Mr. Beechcroft as a father? It would certainly be a lot more cheerful, she could say that. And he spoke to his child, didn’t just grunt from behind a newspaper. Edward was so lucky in that way. Although if Mr. Beechcroft hadn’t been who he was, Edward would have grown up in a foundling home, probably forced to wear something Olivia had sewn.
That would be a terrible situation, even without including Olivia’s inability to be a seamstress.
“And now let me serve you ladies,” Mr. Beechcroft said, putting his teacup down on the table beside him. A table, Olivia could see, decorated with tiny globes on axes, each delicately made and painted in a variety of vibrant hues.
“Those are lovely,” Olivia exclaimed, getting up from her seat to crouch in front of the table. “Where did you get them?”
She reached out a tentative finger to touch one, setting the globe to gently spinning.
Mr. Beechcroft blushed and ducked his head. “I make them, actually.”
“In one of your factories?” Olivia put her finger on England; there was probably enough room for two of her fingertips on their country, but not much more.
“No, I make them myself. By hand,” Mr. Beechcroft explained.
Olivia heard the whoosh of skirts behind her, and then Ida planted herself next to her sister, her intense gaze on the globes.
There were five of them, all in varying sizes and color schemes, all meticulously crafted.
“This is incredible, Mr. Beechcroft,” Ida said. Olivia blinked in surprise; she’d never heard such an approving tone from her sister before. “You’ll have to let me watch you make one.”
“Better than that, my lady,” he replied. “You’ll help me make them. I have not been able to interest Edward in my little hobby,” he said, glancing toward Mr. Wolcott, “and I do so love to talk while I work. The kittens are good listeners but don’t often reply.” And then he laughed at his own joke.
“The kittens! I’d forgotten they’d be here. Where are they? Can we see them?” The twins had had to leave the other two kittens behind at the duke’s London town house since their mother didn’t know about them being there, but certainly would if they were all traveling in a carriage together. Their maids had promised to watch over them, which probably meant they would be getting spoiled by the entire staff.
“Mr. Whiskers is likely sleeping on my father’s chair, while Scamp is terrorizing my hunting dogs.” Edward sounded both indulgent and disgruntled, which made Olivia want to giggle.
“I would like to see your library, sir,” Ida said bluntly. “And if Mr. Whiskers is there, I imagine Pearl and Olivia would like to as well.”
“No tea, then?” Mr. Beechcroft said.
“I need to rest,” the duchess said, standing up from her chair. Her lady’s maid, who’d been discreetly waiting behind her, bustled up to rewrap the duchess’s shawl around her shoulders. “I look forward to seeing what entertainment you have planned for tomorrow, Mr. Beechcroft.” She paused, a tiny frown creasing between her eyebrows. “You haven’t mentioned if the duke has arrived.”
“Not yet, Your Grace,” Mr. Beechcroft said. Olivia felt guilty for being relieved he knew the correct way to address her mother, and then berated herself again for being a snob.
“He might have stayed in the village. The Four-in-Hand Arms is quite a tidy little inn.”
The duchess’s reply was a sniff, indicating much more than mere words could. Namely, that the duke would never stay at an establishment where common people could be found. Olivia wondered just how her mother had talked him into this trip. Or perhaps he, like her, thought they were going to the marquis’s estate?
What if he was there now? She felt her eyes widen at the thought. If it was only Lord Carson here, he couldn’t properly propose, not without her father in attendance.
She hoped her father was just as mistaken as she had been, although she felt for the poor staff at the marquis’s estate, which was not expecting anyone for a visit.
But if it kept Lord Carson from making good on the implicit promise found in his having arranged this trip, she would try not to feel too bad.
The duchess and her maid left the room, the duchess still remarking on how surprisingly nice she found Mr. Beechcroft’s estate.
“Did she think we’d have workers on machines in the ballroom? Or perhaps piles of money lying around in the hallway waiting to be counted?” Edward said, low in her ear. She could tell he was joking, only—
“It’s entirely possible,” she replied with a sigh. “Mother is not the most diplomatic of people.”
“Duchesses seldom have to be,” he said. “But you didn’t think that. That’s all that matters.”
No, I didn’t. But then again, I didn’t have time to think about it, since I hadn’t known we were coming here.
Olivia waited as Mr. Beechcroft took Ida’s and Pearl’s arms to lead them to the library. She didn’t miss Mr. Beechcroft’s sly look as she stood beside Edward, and she wished she could tell him he was completely misguided. There was no way she and Edward would ever—he wouldn’t, he had his father to take care of, and not only that, her parents would never accept him as a suitor, and she—
She loved him.
No, wait. She loved him? Oh no, that was the worst possible thing that could have happened. She felt her knees buckle as her thoughts struck her, and he grabbed her wrist to hold her up before she fell.
“Are you all right?” The concern in his voice—like when he had followed her out of the dining room after that embarrassing moment—made her want to weep. Even though she was not a woman who wept. That he was worried about her when he was the bastard, the one whom Society would never accept, the one who was being asked to marry, preferably a woman who wouldn’t look down on him.
“I am fine, thank you, Mr. Wolcott.” Her throat felt thick with emotion. With love.
Dear lord. What was she going to do?
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the kittens.” He held her arm as they walked slowly down the hallway. He sounded sincere, which surprised her.
“I got the impression you weren’t all that happy with me giving them to you,” Olivia replied, trying not to just say everything she was feeling—I think I’ve fallen in love with you, in fact I know I have—instead of talking about kittens and tea and perhaps later on the likelihood of rain.
Exciting topics that were—except for the kittens—perfectly acceptable in Society.
“I wasn’t, not at first.” He chuckled, the low rumble sending a sizzle of something through Olivia’s body. “But then my father fell in love with them, Mr. Whiskers in particular, and it is such a delight watching him play with them. I don’t remember the last time he actually played. He does his globes, and he takes time to look at books, but he doesn’t seem to have unadulterated fun.”
“And you?” Olivia asked, looking up at him. He had gotten no less handsome since the last time she’d seen him—those dark curls moving on his shoulders, his strong nose and sharp eyebrows making him look as dangerous as he was. “Do you ever have unadulterated fun?”
His sudden intake of breath let her know she had hit a sore spot. One she couldn’t resist poking again. She was suffering through the pangs of her own unrequited love, she didn’t see why she couldn’t make him suffer as well, albeit for an entirely different reason.
“Fun. Like when you take a walk without knowing where you’re going, or sing your favorite songs until your voice is hoarse.”
“Hunting provides a certain sort of fun.”
She was nodding when the words hit her—“Hunting? What do you hunt?”
He shrugged, and she felt his gesture in her body as well. “Foxes. Well, the dogs hunt the foxes, and we chase after them.”
“Foxes? I know that farmers don’t like foxes because they steal chickens, I can understand that, but I hardly think you’re managing poultry here.” She looked around the hallway they seemed to have stopped in, her gaze taking in the various paintings—all clearly originals—decorating the walls, the delicate chairs lining the walls, the thick carpet under their feet.
“No, no chickens here,” he replied in an amused tone. “We do have your favorite type of bird, however: ducks. There’s a pond at the back of the house we can go to see if there are any injustices being committed.”
“You’re laughing at me,” she said accusingly.
“As though you haven’t laughed at me?” he said, arching one of those dark eyebrows at her.
“That was different! Because—because—”
“Because it was you, and you are a duke’s daughter? A lady who should never be viewed as anything but a lady?” He stepped in close to her, so close she could see his dark pupils, see the faint lines at the edges of his eyes. “I see you as a woman, Olivia, like it or not.” His words skittered over her skin, making it feel as though he were touching her. Burrowing inside her. A woman. She didn’t know what it would be like to be just a woman.
He reached his fingers up and smoothed the hair next to her ear, his finger brushing her skin. She trembled. Not with his touch, although that was an element of it; but at his assertion that he saw her entirely differently from everyone else.
Was that why she had fallen in love with him?
“I am a woman,” she said, lifting her chin as she spoke. A movement that brought her mouth closer to his, which she wasn’t certain was intentional or not. “I am a woman who is more and less than a duke’s daughter.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “And I can’t believe nobody has ever seen me before. But you have.”
“I have,” he said, murmuring low, so softly she could barely hear him. “That’s why I wish you hadn’t come here. It’s—it’s impossible to see you, to be near you, without—”
“Without what?” she asked, now deliberately lifting her feet so she stood on her toes, enabling her face to get that much closer to his.
So what if Lord Carson was on his way here to propose? So what if Edward was the illegitimate son of a merchant who had the extreme good fortune of having good taste? What mattered was right here, right now.
“The library,” he said in a husky voice, nodding over her head. Before she did something stupid, like kiss him again. He doesn’t want you to kiss him again, a voice yelled in her head.
Mortified, she turned to see her sisters and Mr. Beechcroft within, Pearl and Ida standing over a desk that looked as though it was Mr. Beechcroft’s globe-making desk, and Mr. Beechcroft himself looking directly at them.
What would have happened if she had acted on her impulses and kissed him? Mr. Beechcroft would have seen, which would mean that Ida and Pearl would have seen, and then Edward would have had to propose, even though he didn’t want to, and she couldn’t allow him to. Lord Carson would be devastated, and her parents would never allow her to leave the house.
It was a very good thing he didn’t want to kiss her after all. That kiss might have entirely ruined her life.