Chapter Twenty-Two

Olivia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, marking how different the air in Harper’s Grove was compared to London. Here, the breeze carried only the scent of warm, sunlit grass, the low chatter of the other picnickers, and the laughter of children playing down the hill. A happy gurgle sounded nearby, and she couldn’t help smiling as Lord Devlin and his wife Mary fussed over and made much of their little Daphne.

Seeing the happy family didn’t pain her as she’d anticipated. In fact, she’d fully forgiven Lord Devlin his part in the deception that had resulted in her being here. It helped that she truly liked Mary, who upon seeing her again had at once declared herself Olivia’s advocate while she deliberated. Since then, she and Lady Diana had provided much-needed female companionship and a surprising amount of solidarity, considering they both adored Daniel.

Daniel. Even now, after seeing him deliver several sermons, it was difficult to accept that he truly was a vicar. But now that he was no longer pretending to be his brother, she’d begun to discern which parts of the man she’d gotten to know in London were himself and which had been a facade.

It was hard to admit, but she knew her own desires had blinded her to what was now so obvious. Despite his best efforts to act like his twin, Daniel’s true nature had shone through. His disposition was warm and open as opposed to aloof. He was firm but gentle and possessed seemingly inexhaustible patience—unlike his mercurial sibling who’d never failed to reveal an acid tongue when crossed. She’d borne witness to that quick temper often enough during the months prior to the switch.

I should have known. Maybe deep down I did and simply refused to acknowledge it. She’d wanted so much to persuade the man who’d rejected her to change his mind that she’d deluded herself into believing she’d succeeded—that she’d even reformed him!—rather than suspect him of being an impostor.

On the heels of these thoughts came another that made her stomach tighten with unease: Did I ever really love Devlin? How could one claim to love another person if one couldn’t accept them as they were?

It was all so confusing. Too many conflicting emotions churned inside to sort out right now. With a long sigh, she tilted her head back, eschewing her bonnet’s shade for the sun’s warmth on her face. For the moment, she just wanted to appreciate her surroundings in relative peace and not think.

“I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself,” said a voice she now recognized as belonging to her would-be suitor.

So much for peace. Opening her eyes, she stared up into Daniel’s deep blue ones. The hopeful look on his face faded as she remained silent, and her irritation transformed into guilt. It wasn’t enough to quash the persistent twinge of wariness that shot through her whenever he appeared, however. Despite the evidence she’d seen thus far, she still didn’t fully trust him. “It’s a lovely day for being outside,” she finally replied. “Thank you for inviting me.”

One corner of his mouth quirked, and her heart squeezed as the faint stirrings of panic fluttered in her belly. That once-familiar smile had undone her not so long ago.

“It’s my pleasure. Summers here are usually mild,” he told her, shuffling his feet a little before his expression turned wry. “Winters not so much, but even in the bitterest months we nonetheless manage to keep cozy. And I’m convinced you’ll agree that springtime in Harper’s Grove cannot be matched anywhere else in the whole of England.”

The word “cozy” was one that never would’ve come out of Lord Devlin’s mouth. It was yet another jarring reminder that here stood a completely different man. Without warning, her traitorous mind envisioned snowy evenings spent snuggled together before a warm fire. It was all she could do not to screw her eyes shut and shake her head to dislodge the image. Beneath the good reverend’s attentive gaze, her cheeks slowly heated.

Doubtless, he’d not intended to make any such implication; nevertheless, she couldn’t help snapping out a waspish response. “Whether or not I experience a spring here remains to be seen.”

Daniel stiffened, his sunny demeanor giving way to contrite solemnity. “Of course. My apologies. I should not have assumed…” He swallowed, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry I ruined your—”

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered sullenly, looking down at her tightly folded hands as guilt once again assailed her. “I know you meant well.”

“Indeed. Yet your resentment is understandable.” It was a long moment before he spoke again. “I comprehend your position well, Olivia. I know I’m not the sort of gentleman you wish to marry. For all that we look the same, I’m nothing like…him. He’s charming and bold. I’ve got about as much charm as a cabbage and have always been cautious. He forged his own path while I followed the one chosen for me. I know what you must think after seeing my life here, but I can be—”

“What? Different?” Meeting his gaze, she decided to take a risk. “I don’t want that any more than I want to have to change who I am to suit someone else’s ideal.”

Quiet hope returned to his eyes. “I would never ask you to change, Olivia. You are already my ideal.”

Flushing again, she averted her gaze and chuckled. “You have perhaps a bit more charm than a cabbage.”

A bark of laughter burst from his mouth, startling her. “In all honesty, Dev is probably to credit for what little charm I possess.”

Seeing his smile and hearing him laugh made her chest constrict with something that felt suspiciously like longing. Unwilling to acknowledge it, she stuffed it into a dark corner and primly replied, “I think you mean ‘blame’ rather than ‘credit.’ We’ve already established your brother is a terrible influence.”

At once, he assumed a dour, disapproving expression. The effect, however, was ruined by his quivering lips. “Indeed, yes. Terrible.”

Huffing out an exasperated breath, she shook her head and gave in to the laughter she’d been trying to repress. “You’re both incorrigible.”

Later that night as she penned yet another long letter to Angela, she reflected on the encounter. Unexpectedly, she found her sentiments toward the reverend leaning more toward the positive than not. When he’d compared himself to his twin, he’d clearly expected her to agree he was lacking in courage and charm. But that’s not at all how she felt.

Lord Devlin might be considered “bold,” but he was also at times impetuous and gave little thought to the potential consequences before taking risks. Conversely, Daniel had risked everything by coming to confess—hardly the act of a craven man—and he’d done it after months of considering the possible ramifications.

There was a lot to be said for his straightforward manner, too. He might not have a silver tongue, but after enduring countless glib speeches from greedy swains, she found it refreshing. His motivation for wooing her had absolutely nothing to do with money or status, either. He’d informed Papa that if she accepted his proposal, her dowry would be her own to do with as she pleased, and it was quite clear he wished to remain in Harper’s Grove as its vicar for the foreseeable future.

That he was a decent man was no longer in doubt, but whether she’d be happy as his wife was another matter. Harper’s Grove was nothing like the world in which she’d been raised. If she married Daniel, she’d have to live in this tiny little village with its archaic customs—to say nothing of its antiquated amenities, limited social sphere, and slow pace.

Would that really be such a terrible thing? her heart whispered.

Initial dismay at the more inconvenient differences between modern and country living had already begun to fade, and while there were fewer entertainments available here, there were some significant compensations. No one here looked down on her for having been born a privateer’s daughter, for one. There were no haughty stares or derisive titters from behind fans, no snide whispers overheard as she walked away. Here, she was treated with genuine courtesy instead of disingenuous politesse.

If she accepted Daniel’s offer, she would indeed have a whole new life. Perhaps even a much better one. But could she ever put her heart in his hands again without wondering whether or not it would be safe?

…

“You’ll want to watch out for Mr. Smyth,” advised Mary, nodding politely to another passerby as they ducked into the mercantile. “He will utterly crush your toes unless you’re careful.”

Olivia filed this useful information away for later that evening. In addition to visiting the local folk with Daniel and volunteering her services at the church—the better to observe her would-be groom—the last several weeks had also seen her helping his sister organize tonight’s ball. She’d been looking to the event with all anticipation, for she dearly loved to dance; however, now she found herself a bit nervous.

It would be her first time dancing with Daniel since London, and he’d already requested both her first and last dances. If she wrote his name in those two slots, it would be as good as announcing to everyone her intent to accept his suit.

She said as much to Mary, who waved away her worries with a laugh. “Nonsense! Even if assumptions are made, nothing is official until it’s in print. Now, cease your fretting and tell me what you’re wearing tonight!”

Grateful for the distraction, Olivia launched into a description of her chosen armor for this evening’s battle. It was of course the very latest in fashion and sure to cause a stir amongst the ladies. It was also the sort of gown guaranteed to elicit gentlemen’s admiration. Normally, this would make her exceedingly happy. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure she was quite ready for Daniel to look on her with carnal thoughts again.

Their relationship had continued to improve over the nearly three months since her arrival, during which he’d been an almost daily visitor. Yet still she felt uncertain, though not about him so much as herself. Her attraction toward him hadn’t waned. If anything, it was even more dangerous, because now she had memories of warm, solid embraces and bone-melting kisses to fuel her desires. Wary of his potent physical effect on her, she’d thus far been careful to maintain a proper distance, but that wouldn’t be possible while dancing.

It was a strange, uncomfortable situation to be torn between dread and anticipation. Every time they touched tonight, she knew she’d remember his hot hands against her bare skin. Would it be the same for him? Would he recall the shape of her beneath her clothes? Would his mouth remember her taste?

A pair of concerned gray eyes appeared before her, startling her from her reverie. “Are you feeling unwell?” asked Mary, peering into her face. “You’re awfully flushed. Ought we to sit and rest a while before we go on?”

“What? N-no, no, I’m perfectly well,” Olivia stammered, forcing out a weak smile. “Just woolgathering.”

Her companion’s worry instantly vanished, and a mischievous glint appeared in her eye. “One can only imagine why you might be so distracted. Could it be you’re anxious about tonight?” she mused airily. “Dare I to think you might be warming toward my brother-in-law, at least a little?”

Olivia’s first instinct was to refute the claim—vehemently, and with a long, drawn-out raspberry, if she had her druthers. But that would be a childish denial of what she knew to be the truth. Still, she stuck out her chin, unwilling to give over completely. “Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.”

A knowing smirk tilted Mary’s lips. “I see. Well, I suppose only time will tell which it will be.” Abruptly, she sobered. “Just…if you are, don’t dither too long before letting him know.”

Letting out an indignant gasp of mock outrage, Olivia rapped her fan lightly against her companion’s arm. “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am!” assured Mary, laughing. Her mood quickly sobered, however, and she took Olivia’s hand, gripping it tight. “I know the two of you did not have the best of beginnings, but I believe he genuinely loves you and is devoted to your happiness. I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at you—and I should know. I spent months cataloging his every expression, hoping to see even the slightest hint of tender sentiment. It never appeared, of course—not until you came along.”

The last thing Olivia had expected was for her to speak of her past infatuation with the man currently courting her. Then again, she knew Mary was quite possibly the only other person in the world to understand her plight and be able to offer counsel. Still, it made her feel all wrong-footed and queasy to think about the other woman staring at Daniel with calf eyes.

Dismissing the unpleasant thought, she reminded herself that Mary was already happily wed. More importantly, Olivia knew she had no business being jealous—of anyone—when she hadn’t even laid claim to the man in question. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she finally answered, hoping she wasn’t blushing again.

Finishing their shopping, the women parted, leaving Olivia alone to ponder her feelings as she walked the rest of the way home to prepare for that evening.

The difference between a country ball and what she’d grown accustomed to in London became evident that evening. The atmosphere was significantly less subdued. Flirtations were less subtle, too, often executed with the sort of boldness that would’ve earned harsh disapproval from London’s matrons, possibly even expulsion.

Daniel was the exception, of course. His manner was perfectly sober and respectful when they met a few minutes ahead of the opening dance.

Disappointment stung when he failed to compliment her appearance—her gown was a truly spectacular, cloudlike creation of flowing white silk and silver trim—but the feeling was short-lived. His eyes said what his lips had not, widening as they traversed her length like a caress. She marked the sudden bob of his Adam’s apple, too, before he assumed a more stoic expression and looked away, flushing.

Inwardly, she preened, allowing herself a moment of smug satisfaction. It soured almost at once, however, as she began to note the way many of the young belles present were looking at him—as if he were a haunch of raw meat and they a pack of ravenous wolves.

Then she marked the manner in which they observed her—the competition.

So, in this one thing at least, it’s the same here as it is in London. At last, familiar territory! Throwing back her shoulders, she lifted her chin, meeting their gazes with steel in her spine and fire in her eyes. If these country bumpkins thought to intimidate her, they had another think coming. Olivia St. Peters was no milquetoast chit to be cowed by their pitiful, venomous stares. She’d survived London Society’s harshest judges far too long for that!

Moving closer to Daniel, she slid her hand beneath his elbow and laid it lightly over his wrist, sending the little would-be poachers a clear message.

Startled, Daniel cast her a quick, inquiring glance.

Embarrassed, she kept her eyes forward and said nothing as they continued meandering through the crush toward the ballroom floor. He can think whatever he wants, as long as it keeps the wolves at bay. He’d already asked her to marry him, after all. That meant he was hers until such time as she decided otherwise.

The inquiry in his eyes hadn’t gone away, however, by the time they assumed positions for the waltz. As he placed one hand at her waist and gently took hold of her fingers with the other, however, a subtle shift occurred in those blue depths as an unmistakable heat kindled in them.

A frisson of mingled desire and apprehension ran through her, and she wondered if she hadn’t made a grave error in appearing to stake a claim. As polite as he’d been of late, she’d begun to wonder if his sentiments toward her had cooled. Such was, apparently, not the case.

Her body responded to that look as if it were a fuel-soaked pyre touched by a lit match. Nerve endings sizzled to life, and her breath hitched involuntarily as awareness of him heightened to the point where her head suddenly felt light and her knees weak.

They were only a few steps into the waltz when she missed her footing. The hand at her waist tightened, drawing her in close as they made the turn, keeping them both perfectly balanced as she recovered. That he’d been able to compensate and counter so fluidly bespoke a certain level of awareness on his part as well. That knowledge did nothing to lessen her inner turmoil.

Neither did seeing the way the unwed ladies watching from the sides were still looking at him. Again, she experienced a rush of hostility, along with the inexplicable urge to establish herself as the sole object of Daniel’s attentions.

It was a rash impulse borne of petty jealousy, and she knew it. But she did it anyway. Tipping her head back, she curved her lips in a sultry smile and leveled a truly smoldering gaze at her dance partner.

The result was immensely satisfying. Not only did Daniel’s eyes widen and his ears turn a rather charming shade of scarlet, but the collective gasp heard rising from those ambitious ladies’ now gaping mouths was a sweet counterpart to the music as she and Daniel whirled away.

Now, however, she had another problem: Daniel’s eyes had darkened to a shade of midnight she knew to be truly dangerous. The intensity of his gaze caused a tendril of yearning to unfurl deep inside her, wreaking utter havoc in unmentionable places.

As if he knew it, he slowly smiled, drawing her gaze to his lips. Lips that had kissed her.

…Everywhere.

The want she’d been denying for so long out of fear redoubled, and it was all she could do to keep her wits about her through the end of their dance and make an escape before she did something impulsive—like accept his suit right then and there.

Discretion being the better part of valor, she gritted her teeth and danced every dance that followed, making sure he had no chance to claim another, even though it meant enduring several uninspired declarations of “love” from unqualified admirers and Mr. Smyth’s unskilled footwork. Avoidance, however, provided only a temporary respite. As the evening wore on, she found herself dreading the moment when the last dance would force her to reap what she’d sown.

Finally, it was time. The crowd parted, letting Daniel through to claim her for the final pairing, and Olivia’s heart trembled. It felt as if she were sinking in quicksand, and she knew with absolute certainty it was useless to deny it any longer—she was still in love with Daniel Wayward, body and soul.

Even so, there were matters between them that must be addressed, one in particular she could no longer afford to guess about. She needed a definitive answer, and soon. As he took up her hand and they moved into position, she gathered her courage and spoke. “For different reasons, both you and your brother once viewed me as an enemy,” she told him, steeling herself as confusion crept into his face. “In the end, you both ran away to avoid me.”

Confusion gave way to remorse. “Olivia, I—”

“What made you change your mind about me?” she cut in, knowing she had to get this out quickly before her heart softened too much. “Why risk exposing yourself and your entire family to condemnation to court a woman almost certain to refuse you? And don’t say ‘love.’ I’ve heard no less than four men tell me they love me tonight. I want to know the real reason why you could not bear to leave matters as they were. Don’t answer now. Think about it, and when you have an answer you believe capable of convincing me it’s worth leaving behind everything I’ve ever known to be with you, I’ll listen.”

His stunned expression slowly gave way to understanding and then to thoughtful contemplation. The music began, and they danced. No words were spoken save those communicated by their eyes, which never strayed from each other even once. When at last they parted, a terrible pang of fear shot through Olivia’s heart—fear that he’d fail to deliver the answer she sought.