Lady Farquhar's Butterfly Page 13

  Shocked, her hands dropped to her lap, the parchment fluttering to the floor. There could be no more blunt way for Max to indicate his withdrawal from the contest for Olivia’s affections.

  Turning her head from Nathaniel’s scrutiny, she gave the puppy a distracted stroke. Julian was loving it a little too enthusiastically but she was imprisoned within a cocoon of grief, heedless of all but the pain which shredded her heart.

  The extent of her shock made her realize that despite his silence she had still held out hope. The crisp, business-like tone and reference to her marriage as a fait accompli now made it clear there was no hope.

  Forcing herself back to practicalities, she schooled her manner into one of quiet reason. ‘Why should Julian not be allowed to keep the dog?’

  She must concentrate on the soft warmth of her child and the joy of feeling needed.

  The look Nathaniel sent her reminded her she must watch her tone.

  With characteristic care he smoothed his coat tails as he rose. Standing, he regarded her, steadily.

  ‘My dear Olivia, while I have nothing, personally, against Mr Atherton and can understand his gift was well intentioned I do not believe it is in Julian’s best interests to have such a potent reminder of his life with his uncle.’

  Olivia opened her mouth to protest. Her impulse was to flare up at him, tell him that of course Julian could keep the dog. She was his mother!

  Nathaniel’s expression changed her mind. A tight, warning smile turned up the corners of his mouth while the expression in his hooded dark eyes was implacable. He was not angry. Yet. But she could see this tussle for domestic authority was a litmus test for the future.

  She dropped her eyes, hugging Julian closer to her. He was whimpering, but seemed content to be in her arms.

  Never had she felt more keenly the responsibility for his future, his security and happiness.

  He looked to her to protect him. She felt the pride, the joy, the burden of it churn in her heart. Resting her head upon Julian’s she breathed carefully past the panic.

  She was Julian’s only barrier against a harsh and unpredictable world. Max had failed her. While he had given eloquent expression to his change of heart he had left her in fearful suspense as to what he might do next.

  Nathaniel was still looking at her. Waiting. He had assumed the mantle of protector to the wronged and aggrieved Lady Farquhar long ago.

  The arbiter of all domestic decisions, too.

  Still clutching Julian to her chest she said as evenly as she could, ‘Max says in his letter he’d promised Julian a puppy from his dog Pansy’s litter when they were parting.’ She found she was clenching her hands. She hated to do it, but she was prepared to beg. ‘Please let Julian keep the puppy,’ she whispered.

  Wrenching himself out of Olivia’s arms, Julian was like a miniature tornado as he head butted her stomach. ‘Puppy, mine! Puppy, mine!’ he wept. Holding him at bay, Olivia watched fearfully the play of emotions cross Nathaniel’s face.

  Would he punish the child for his stubborn resistance to accepting his decree? Nathaniel did not understand two year olds. He may well consider this a disciplinary matter.

  To her relief he elected not to choose this path. Sighing, he turned to leave. ‘I shall consider it while I prepare my sermon this afternoon. In the meantime, see the dog is taken to the kitchen so Julian does not get too attached to it.’

  He left her sitting in the middle of the carpet with Julian sobbing in her lap and Max’s letter gripped between her fingers.

  So Nathaniel had seen nothing untoward in opening the parchment which clearly had not been intended for him?

  In a trance she stroked the dark curls of her baby: the fruit of her husband’s betrayal, the son whose future only she could protect.

  Through the fog of despair came a flicker of hope. Perhaps Max had suspected Nathaniel would intercept any correspondence between them. Perhaps he would communicate privately with her.

  Tell her he loved her? That he forgave her everything?

  Fear returned.

  Perhaps he would coldly demand she announce Max publicly as the new viscount and prostrate herself as the woman who had denied Max his birthright?

  Kissing Julian’s silky curls she acknowledged he would not be so cold and she would do whatever was required for Max to take up his rightful position.

  She owed him that.

  But without his support she would be a disgraced widow, her reputation even more sullied, struggling for the protection and financial resources needed to ensure the futures of herself and her son.

  In such circumstances she had no choice but to marry Nathaniel.

  She was not surprised that her downcast spirits reflected Nathaniel’s dominance, putting him in a benevolent mood that afternoon.

  Setting down his tea cup, he announced with great ceremony during afternoon tea, ‘Let the boy have the puppy. He’ll forget where it came from soon enough.’

  Olivia rewarded him with a teary smile. Just as Max had forgotten all but the treachery he laid at her door.

  As soon as tea was over Nathaniel ordered Julian down from the nursery so he could with even greater ceremony present him with his new puppy.

  ‘My sermon for the Nuningford congregation shall focus on compassion and gratitude,’ he said, resting his hands on Olivia’s shoulders as he and the aunts watched Julian cavorting around the drawing room with the playful little bitch he’d named Molly. ‘You have inspired me.’ Guiding her head round so she had no choice but to look at him, he asked, ‘You are happy, my dear?’

  There was no undertone of malice, no hint of threat. It was as if their conversation in Olivia’s bedroom had never taken place. As if Nathaniel were the most genial of men and Olivia the most willing of widows.

  ‘Of course.’ She twisted her chin out of his cupped hand so she could watch her son. Whatever she did was to ensure her child’s future.

  His uncertain future.

  ‘You have certainly made me so.’ His voice was a low murmur nearly drowned out by the boisterous shouts from the other side of the room.

  ‘I praise God he set you on the path to righteousness and fulfilment from which Lucien diverted you’ – he paused, adding heavily – ‘using me as his instrument.’

  Olivia shuddered.

  ‘Oh, my dear Nathaniel, just look at them!’ gushed Aunt Catherine, beaming as if Nathaniel were the architect of Julian’s happiness.

  Olivia stepped out of Nathaniel’s grasp and went to kneel by her son. ‘You must thank Mr Kirkman for his kindness,’ she said putting an arm about the child.

  He shrugged it off and bounded after the puppy. ‘Thank Uncle Max,’ he lisped, before hurling himself on top of the wriggling animal.

  CHAPTER TEN

  NORMALLY, WHEN THE daffodils first popped their golden yellow heads from the almost frozen ground Olivia would experience a great surge of hope. Spring was here and the hunting season, only a few months hence, would mean she’d see less of Lucien. The world in general looked more promising.

  Now, as she watched Nathaniel heedlessly trample those innocent harbingers of hope as he inspected the ropes that tied their trunks to his carriage this chilly April morning she felt nothing but despair.

  Not for the first time she wondered at her strength of character in allowing him to trample her dreams and wishes in the same way he was trampling the clumps of daffodils that lined the gravel drive.

  Yet what alternative did she have? She was in a perilous situation. Her social isolation was bad enough, but poverty stared her in the face.

  With Max offering no guide as to what was in store for Julian, let alone herself, marriage to Nathaniel was the price she must pay.

  ‘Ah, Miss Dingley!’ Greeting Aunt Eunice with a self-satisfied smile as she issued out of the house in company with her sister, the clergyman added, ‘I have with me my sermon which you recently evinced a desire to hear and with which I shall amuse the congregation at Nuningford. I th
ink Olivia shall find the journey passes in seemingly far less than the two hours the coachman estimates in this fine weather.’

  Olivia gulped. Two hours in Nathaniel’s presence. Two hours listening to him prosing on about compassion and gratitude.

  She could not do it.

  Not to herself. Not to Julian. She imagined her boy as a young man forced to submit to Kirkman’s uncertain temper. Forced to be humble and grateful.

  Nathaniel would trample over him. Trample over any youthful exuberance he might show like he was trampling over her and over the clumps of pretty yellow daffodils.

  ‘Will you get off them!’ Starting forward, she gripped his sleeve and tugged.

  She heard Aunt Catherine gasp, and the shock in Aunt Eunice’s warning, ‘Have a care, Olivia!’

  Surprisingly, his voice was low and calm as he turned. ‘Forgive me, Olivia, for paying such scant regard to your favourite flower.’ He raised her palm and kissed it with a smile. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  She heard the same mutinous tone she’d used as a seventeen year old when she’d defied her aunts to be with Lucien.

  Aunt Catherine stepped forward and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Of course you must go, Olivia.’

  Blackness blurred her vision. It was terror. The terror she would lose her nerve before she had shown the courage she might never show again.

  ‘No! I shan’t go to Nuningford!’

  Aunt Catherine gasped. A spasm crossed the Nathaniel’s face as he took her forearm and steered her round to the carriage door. ‘Wedding nerves,’ he said crisply. ‘Perfectly understandable.’

  ‘I’m going to Bath!’ Olivia resisted like a nervous filly, flinching at his touch, unable to look him in the eye. ‘I’m sure the Nuningford congregation will be as awed by your sermon as I was last night, Nathaniel, but I am going to Bath with my aunts to stay with my cousin Mariah. And I’m taking Julian with me!’

  ‘Julian can come with us if it means so much to you, but you are coming to Nuningford.’ Though his voice was smooth it held a nasty undertone, one with which Olivia was becoming increasingly familiar.

  ‘Mrs Snyder is waiting. She is looking forward to accompanying us and does not like to be kept waiting.’

  ‘Puppy! Molly!’

  Olivia closed her eyes at the happy shouts of her son and the crunch of gravel as he pursued his new friend. Julian would not take kindly to being incarcerated for the next two hours.

  Turning, she saw the puppy bounding towards them, its tongue lolling, its ears flapping in joyful abandonment. It seemed to take as much pleasure from the game as Julian. Glancing back at Nathaniel she could see he was consumed entirely by the need for mastery over her; that he was oblivious to the child and the dog. She winced as his fingers dug into her forearm while he opened the carriage door with the other hand.

  She recognized the determination in his angry look. What chance had she against the strength of his will?

  ‘Don’t imagine that animal is coming as well,’ he snarled.

  She saw the boisterous pair careering in their direction, pleasure transcending all. Her heart soared at their innocence. Her son had an ally; the puppy would be a beloved companion.

  Turning back to Nathaniel her heart leapt with fear. Oh God, Julian was too young to recognize the malice that dominated his step-fatherto-be.

  ‘Nathaniel, no!’ she screamed. He paid no heed.

  ‘No!’ she cried again, watching in disbelief his well-aimed kick.

  She saw Julian’s confusion, heard the muted noise of Nathaniel’s boot connecting with the soft underbelly of the small creature. Wincing, horrified, she closed her eyes at the sound of its sharp, truncated yelp.

  ‘Puppy!’

  Julian’s scream rang out, the aunts turning in unison to see the puppy’s little body thrown into the air, a tiny ball of white and brown fur somersaulting against the blue sky before it came to rest limply in a clump of daffodils.

  ‘I will never marry you!’

  Courage flowed through her. She must be true to her instincts. Nathaniel was evil. He would bend her to his will, just as Lucien had. He would destroy her, as Lucien nearly had.

  And he would destroy Julian.

  Glaring at Nathaniel, she held her confused, shuddering son against her skirts and hissed, ‘Not if you were the last man on earth. I will never marry you and nor will I be your victim as I was Lucien’s.’

  Nathaniel took a menacing step forward. When she refused to retreat, his look became conciliatory. It had no effect. Her mind was made up. She was her own master, just as she was master of her son’s future. She might not be able to safeguard his comfort and security but she could ensure he grew to be a man of conviction who respected her for hers.

  Fortunately Julian was too young to understand.

  He tried to coax life into the little creature with whom he’d only just become acquainted and cried when it wouldn’t play with him. Olivia comforted him as best she could, pulling him on to her lap and rocking him when his realization that he’d lost his playmate for good was too much to bear.

  Nathaniel showed no remorse and his anger left Olivia unmoved. Even his reminder that Olivia and Julian faced a future of uncertainty and penury had no effect.

  When Olivia remained steadfast in her refusal to accompany him ‘so they could at least discuss matters’ he finally climbed angrily into his carriage and departed.

  Olivia then made plans to despatch the little dog’s body, directing Dorcas to dig a hole in the garden, but Julian screamed when he realized the puppy was to be covered with soil.

  Struggling to hold the hysterical child, she stopped the maid and together they crouched over the still warm body. Julian quietened then, hopping off her lap and picking up a limp ear.

  ‘Lucien had a dog just like this one,’ Olivia said, stroking its silky coat.

  ‘I remember, ma’am,’ said Dorcas, wiping her red face with her apron. ‘It were called Molly too. How the master did dote on ’er.’

  Olivia said nothing. It was no place to remark that Molly held a far greater place in her late husband’s affections than she had ever done.

  With a sigh she scooped up the little dog’s limp body and turned towards the house.

  ‘Take Julian to the nursery and change his clothes,’ she directed.

  ‘He’ll be coming to Bath with us. I’ll take the puppy to the crypt. Molly can rest beside Lucien’s beloved Molly.’

  ‘You’ll need ’elp down there, Miss Olivia,’ said Dorcas. ‘I’ll run and fetch the key.’

  ‘It won’t be locked,’ Olivia called, already heading down the hill.

  ‘You take Julian. It’s best he doesn’t come with me.’

  Hugging the soft bundle in her arms, Olivia went over the decisive parting she had made with Nathaniel. It didn’t matter that he had not meant to kill the animal, but it was enough. Enough to throw off the fear and uncertainty he had exercised over her for so long. Enough to forge a new direction. She would go to Bath with her aunts that afternoon and she would never see him again. She was determined upon it. She and Julian would be free.

  Excitement pulsed through her as she headed down the hill towards her old home, despite her joyless task. She was a widow. She belonged to no man. It was true she had no money, but somehow she and Julian would manage.

  The crypt door swung open with just a gentle push. Set into the side of a grassy knoll it was a gloomy place a few minutes’ walk from The Lodge, though enough light streamed through a window high in the wall for her to see. Lined up like silent sentinels of the past she gazed upon the stone sarcophagi of her husband’s ancestors.

  And that of her husband.

  Gently placing the little dog upon the lid she fingered the inscription. How grand, how noble it made him sound when he had been just a man. A man driven to madness through longing for what he could never find; if indeed it existed at all.

  Faithful Molly’s tiny sar
cophagus was positioned at his feet. Bending, Olivia tried to move the heavy lid but, despite it being so small, it refused to budge. Straightening, she scanned the rows of neat stone caskets. Above Lucien lay his grandfather, the equally infamous 5th Viscount Farquhar. Perhaps the only difference between them was that Lucien’s grandfather had tyrannized three wives before his sudden death during the uprising of ’45 while Lucien had tormented only one.

  Lucky Olivia had outlived her tyrannous viscount.

  With a wry laugh she bent to move the lid entombing the King Charles’ Spaniel whom Lucien’s grandfather had no doubt esteemed more than any consort.

  This time she encountered no resistance. With only a little effort she was able to shift it sufficiently to make a gap large enough for young Molly’s corpse.

  She stood up and went to fetch the dog from Lucien’s sarcophagus.

  ‘Poor Molly,’ she whispered, closing her eyes as she nuzzled its soft coat. ‘You had such a short time to enjoy life, and yet I do believe you have given me the freedom I might never have had were it not for your sacrifice. I’m sorry.’

  How lonely, she thought, as she lowered the animal on to its bed of dust and old bones. She remembered thinking the same, despite her anger, when Lucien had been interred.

  She bent to close the lid, pausing as the cloud which had obscured the sun was suddenly dissolved by its heat, sending its dazzling rays through the grimy window. A flash of something bright caught her eye. Something that was not dust and bones. Cautiously, she put her hand into the sarcophagus, wishing she were wearing gloves as the feel of damp organic matter sent shivers up her spine.

  They were not shivers of revulsion for long.

  Her fingers, probing through the blanket of dust, encountered something smooth. Smooth and disc-shaped. Cold and flat.

  Tingles of excitement tore through her as she closed her fist upon a handful of them. Her breath caught in her throat. Could it be? There was no need to ask. She knew exactly what she had unwittingly stumbled upon. The 5th Viscount’s treasure.