Lady Farquhar's Butterfly Read online

  In minutes she was asleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHERE WAS SHE? Olivia woke with a start as the maid drew the curtains.

  The girl bobbed a curtsy. ‘Master said as to leave you to sleep. Sorry, miss, but morning tea is in half an hour an’ I thought—’

  ‘Is it that late?’ Olivia cut her off, jumping out of bed and drawing her borrowed shawl about her shoulders.

  How could she have managed to sleep at all? she wondered, as she registered that she was in Mr Atherton’s house. Then she remembered where, exactly, she had fallen asleep and her hands flew to her flaming cheeks.

  Her heart gave a painful contraction.

  ‘Julian!’ she whispered, though her heart threw up a different name. Being reunited with her son was the reason her heart was behaving so oddly, she told herself, as she quickly washed and dressed. It had nothing to do with the boy’s uncle who had merely been kind and done what any host would to allay the fears of a nervous guest.

  She banished the memory of his warm embrace. It was too dangerous to relieve the exquisite sensation of relinquishing her worries in the arms of a man with honourable intentions. So overwhelming had been the feeling of comfort and safety that she had fallen asleep almost immediately. In his bedchamber. But not before she had succumbed to the comfort of his caress as his long sensitive fingers brushed rhythmically across her cheek, as if she were a precious child.

  When had she last felt precious? Or deserved to feel so? she thought, choking back her self disgust. And that, really, was the crux.

  With brisk, determined actions, she pulled on her stockings then waited passively while the maid dressed her.

  Soon she would see Julian again, and that was all that was important.

  But Julian was out walking with his nursemaid and cousins, she was told. The master, added the parlour maid, was in the drawing room, her tone indicating that this was where Olivia should direct her footsteps. Not towards a crowd of unruly little boys.

  Arriving at the doorway at the very same moment as Mr Atherton only added to her awkwardness, compounded by his seeming inability to address her coherently. Lord, what must he think of her forwardness last night? she wondered.

  ‘I trust you slept well, Mrs Templestowe,’ he began, the colour burning his cheeks as he cast his gaze downwards, stubbed at a mark on the carpet with the toe of his boot and added in a burst of frustration, ‘Must I call you that?’

  Dispersing her tension with a small laugh, Olivia replied with a wry smile, ‘I think the outrageous manner in which I impinged upon your hospitality last night affords you the right to call me Olivia, if you prefer.’

  For a moment their gazes locked, then they both laughed. It cleared the air, Max offering his arm to Olivia to lead her into the room just as Amelia made her entrance.

  With the most cursory of greetings for his sister, Mr Atherton’s gaze returned to Olivia’s face as he took his seat beside her, murmuring, ‘Did I tell you, Olivia, that I’ve made you an appointment to come walking with me after breakfast? There’s something I want to ask you.’ There was a gentle, teasing note in his voice which made Olivia want to lean towards him and caress his cheek as she entered into the spirit of light-hearted banter.

  Instead, she felt dread take root at the look in his eye: a mixture of admiration and affection.

  Fatal.

  ‘I think you are a fraud, Olivia, for I can detect no sign of a limp, I’m pleased to note,’ he said, casting first his sister, then Olivia, a broad, self-satisfied smile before tucking into a large helping of smoked haddock.

  Olivia no longer had an appetite. Oh yes, she was a fraud. But as long as he failed to detect this she and her son had a future together.

  Their post-breakfast walk was a gentle stroll around the rose bushes and the matter which Max wished to broach was Olivia’s attendance at a house party he was hosting in three days’ time.

  ‘Please, will you continue under my roof in the meantime?’

  His look was full of entreaty. She tried to resist it, tell herself it was far safer to leave immediately. She couldn’t afford to further her acquaintance with Mr Atherton. She had to invent an excuse which precluded it.

  But she could think of no suitable objection, other than an objection to the insistent voice of reason in her head.

  Quite simply, she wanted to enjoy his company for as long as she could.

  When had she last put her head on a pillow – much less a man’s chest, God forbid! – and fallen into a sweet and dreamless sleep? When had she last felt so light with happiness at the mere caress or squeeze of a man’s hand?

  For the moment she ignored the truth of the matter, which was that she had to leave. Soon. Before she was in so deep she was doomed.

  ‘What am I to wear to the ball if I’m not to appear like some little dormouse dragged in by your cat?’

  He weighed this up with a frown, turning and clasping both her hands in his. ‘Rather, some enchanting little squirrel,’ he said, finally. ‘At least, that’s the impression you gave me when I dragged you out of the mud during the storm. No! That excuse won’t wash with me. Amelia can get her girl to come and measure you and work her fingers to the bone so that you may step forth in finery that does your beauty justice.’

  ‘Amelia’s poor girl would never oblige your sister again.’

  ‘Do I really look such a tyrant?’ He smiled, leading her along a path through the manicured gardens towards the park. ‘I value my reputation amongst my staff and the villagers and was merely trying to impress you with my willingness to ensure all your objections are quashed.’

  The smile died on his lips as he halted once more, putting his hands on her shoulders to turn her towards him and asking quietly, ‘I really would like you to come, Olivia.’

  ‘Well, yes, I— what are you doing?’ For suddenly Max’s manner had become quite altered, his expression decisive as he caged her hand which had been lying loosely upon his arm, his footsteps purposeful as he marched her to the copse of trees which bordered the formal garden. Olivia had to run to keep up.

  ‘Taking you deep into the shelter of those trees over there so we will not be observed from the house, or spied upon by my sister who has suddenly decided to prune the roses, by the looks of things.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Olivia, faintly, as she found herself shielded from the house by the thick trunk of a large elm tree on one side and Max’s solid broad chest on the other.

  ‘Oh!’ she said again, as his right hand deftly untied the ribbons of her bonnet. Tossing it aside, his lips curved in a confident, appreciative smile as he drew her against him.

  ‘Oh …’ It was a final murmur of surrender as she melted into him.

  She felt her legs give way and her heart seemed to liquefy as his lips brushed hers, his fingers twining in the curls at the nape of her neck.

  It was a soft, languorous kiss, too quickly over.

  ‘Lovely Olivia,’ he whispered. He held her away from him, observing her with tenderness. She didn’t realize she was straining to move back into his embrace until he laughed, cupping her face and bringing his mouth back to hers.

  Sighing, Olivia gave herself up to the unexpected, long-missed pleasure of being kissed by a man who knew how to stir her senses.

  How many years since she had last felt desire? She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed surrendering to a sensuality over which she had no control, of casting away her inhibitions. His chest felt solid and dependable pressed against hers, his arms strong and safe around her, and he smelt good. Of sandalwood soap and horses.

  ‘Darling Olivia,’ he murmured, kissing her gently once more for good measure. ‘You have a most extraordinary effect on me.’ He shook his head as if to clear it.

  ‘Mmm.’ Olivia smiled and bit her lip, making no move to pull away. She was disappointed when he released her with a sigh so as to retrieve her discarded bonnet, but she laughed as he fumbled with the ribbons he tried tying beneath her chin.

&nb
sp; ‘All thumbs,’ she said, as once again he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and stood looking down at her with a proprietary air.

  ‘I suppose you’re too much the soldier.’

  ‘With a longing for the comforts of hearth and home. My soldiering days are well and truly past.’

  She felt a chill and knew the time was nearly upon her that she must leave before she revealed too much of what she truly felt.

  However his tone was light as he added, ‘Though I daresay one can never quite escape one’s past, can one?’

  ‘I daresay one can’t,’ Olivia said softly, as she matched her footsteps to his, her pleasure in the moment gone.

  The pine needles were soft and slippery underfoot and once Olivia fell against him. The sloping snow-dusted lawn, now in full sunlight, lay just ahead of them.

  Max turned and again took Olivia by the shoulders, his expression pleading. ‘Please say you’ll stay for my very grand entertainment?’ Longing gripped her, despite her foreboding. For the first time in months she’d had thoughts other than Julian. She’d fallen asleep in this man’s arms, revelling in the warmth of his embrace as much as the happy knowledge that her son lay sleeping nearby.

  And now, once again, she’d surrendered to her instincts rather than reason and allowed her weak, fallible body to enjoy the pleasure of the moment with no thought for the consequences.

  When would she learn?

  But what could she say? When he was looking at her in a way that made her heart feel near to bursting with happiness and she wanted to hurl herself into his arms and beg him to kiss her again?

  She gave a half smile and nodded, expecting to receive one of his open, easy smiles. It was a cruel burden to know that she would soon disappoint him.

  Instead of the boyish laugh she’d expected, his expression was grave.

  ‘Good.’ He took a deep breath. His eyes glowed and, as she waited for his next words, she felt the warmth of his admiration, ignoring the knowledge, buried for now, that happiness was, as ever, out of reach. For how could she not want to hear the words that conveyed how she had altered his world in just a few short hours when it merely echoed what was in her own heart?

  ‘I believe you’ve bewitched me, Olivia.’

  She was silent. She had no response. Tying the ribbons beneath her chin more securely, touching the key that hung round her neck – Lucien’s key; the key which had driven him mad in its failure to yield him what he wanted – she continued towards the house.

  ‘Olivia?’ His voice was full of concern. He put his hand on her arm to detain her. ‘What is it, Olivia? What have I said?’

  ‘It’s nothing, a megrim,’ she managed faintly, pushing on. Not the truth. That what he had said were the very words Lucien had used to accuse and condemn her?

  Of course he would not have let her go and she would have been lying if she’d pretended she wanted him to.

  ‘I’ve frightened you,’ he said, coming to stand before her, not touching her. ‘I’ve rushed headlong, following my heart, thinking only of myself, without even the delicacy to enquire after your bereavement, the true state of your feelings.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing I haven’t welcomed,’ Olivia soothed, reaching up to touch his cheek. ‘I lost my husband a little over a year ago and it was a blessed relief.’ She wondered if he’d recoil; it would be easier if he did.

  Yet she could not deny she welcomed his touch when he gripped her arms tightly, his expression full of sympathetic understanding as she added, ‘He was a cruel man and I was not sorry when fever took him.’ She nestled her head against his chest when he drew her against him. She would stay there forever, if he’d let her.

  When he raised her head with a gentle finger beneath her chin, they were facing the great house in the distance.

  ‘I wish I could offer you all this.’ His sweeping gesture took in the sun-kissed landscape, the handsome grey stone house with its battlements harking back to a much earlier age, its later additions making it a home rather than a fortress. ‘But it is better to be frank. I only hold it in trust for my ward. When Julian is of age I shall return to my own estate.’ He added, softly, ‘I’m afraid my own home is a good deal more humble. Nevertheless, it is not the bricks and mortar that gladdens the heart but rather what dwells within.’

  Resting his chin lightly on the top of Olivia’s head as he held her to him he did not see the spasm of realization that shocked her to her very foundations. Did not register the strain in her voice as she ground out, ‘I hope you do not resent the efforts you will expend on the boy’s behalf, only to be turned out when he turns twenty one. I must tell you’ – it was hard to say the words, looking upon all this that was once her husband’s and that she might have held, herself, in trust for her son had Lucien not changed his will – ‘I come with nothing, Mr Atherton.’

  ‘What a fine match,’ he said, swinging her back into the circle of his arm, his easy smile banishing his former sobriety. ‘I was hoping I could not be accused of fortune-hunting. However, I was trying only to weasel from you your feelings, not what you had to offer. Promise you’ll stay?’ He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose.

  Her feelings. She wanted to wither in his arms with longing before she expired from shame; she wanted to scream at the injustice. Instead, she tried to swallow past the bitterness as she spoke the truth. ‘My feelings? That you are the kindest man I’ve ever met.’

  And the lie she was forced to utter. ‘Of course I’ll stay.’

  With an effort she curved her lips into a smile as she gazed upon his strong features, his warm open expression. She wanted to commit them to memory.

  For how could she see him again when the child she presented to the world as Lucien’s heir denied the man she loved his rightful inheritance?”

  *

  ‘Is it to be the vermilion silk or the Pomona green?’ With a decisive snip, another dead-headed rose dropped into Amelia’s basket.

  Had Olivia known Amelia was on her knees behind the rose arbour she would have chosen another route back to the house.

  Max’s sister had not gone out of her way to be friendly. Olivia suspected she considered her a brazen fortune-hunter and, indeed, she could understand Amelia’s concern at her charming, good-natured younger brother making no secret of his susceptibility to Olivia’s charms.

  As Olivia hesitated over her answer, Amelia smiled suddenly. ‘Try them both and we’ll choose, if you like.’ Rising stiffly, she added, ‘I’ll come to your room directly after luncheon. I don’t know if Max told you we’re expecting guests for tea.’ Taking Olivia’s arm she began to walk with her to the house. ‘Miss Hepworth and her mother are visiting us from Bath.’ She glanced at the sky. ‘I hope we shan’t have more snow. It’s two hours when the roads are good and Miss Hepworth is an indifferent traveller.’

  Olivia managed a sweet, responsive smile. Amelia was warning her off; telling her Max had another contender for his affections. Not that it mattered, she tried to convince herself, as Amelia led her away. She had no claim to Max’s affections and never would have. But this new knowledge had come to her so recently and with such startling clarity that the pain was almost too acute to bear. She wished only she could find her way to her room and cry out her anguish in peace.

  Stopping to rearrange a dead rose that was in danger of falling from her cane basket, Amelia said blithely, ‘Miss Hepworth is a sweet girl.’ There was the tiniest pause. ‘With a nature that has not been spoiled by her fortune. I believe Max will see the wisdom of such a match.’ The smile she slanted at Olivia was guileless.

  But then, women such as this, Olivia thought bitterly as she concentrated on the toes of her boots as they walked towards the house, were always bursting with the stuff when they appeared at their most innocent. The man who had all but told her he loved her had been on the verge of committing himself to another when she had entered his life.

  Another who was far richer and undoubtedly more worthy.

&n
bsp; ‘I believe Max told you a little about how he came to have wardship over his cousin’s son.’

  Olivia was not surprised at the conversational tone. Max’s sister was reinforcing her opposition using the subtlest of means.

  Without waiting for a reply, Amelia went on, ‘Max and his cousin, Lucien, were the sons of twin brothers. Or perhaps he’s already told you the sad story?’

  Still, Olivia did not answer. Of course she knew, but hearing it from Amelia highlighted the fact that she was acting a charade, being given information as a stranger would. Information calculated to highlight her point: despite her guilt, indignation flowered as Amelia expanded her theme.

  ‘It’s not just on Max’s personal account that it was a tragedy Lucien’s father was the twin born ten minutes earlier’ – Amelia made no secret of her bitterness, now – ‘since he was destined to become the gamester of the family.’

  Olivia’s throat grew dry. She understood the direction Amelia’s veiled warning was taking, couched as it was in predictable homily: the desperate struggle of a once-great family to survive its past.

  With unfocused gaze she stared ahead as they continued towards the house. She could not look Amelia in the eye just as she knew she could never look Max in the eye again.

  Acid burned her throat. He might forgive her the one deception: but not the other.

  If she could keep her tears at bay just two more minutes, she thought, increasing her pace. Lord, she’d become well practised at holding them back when Lucien had been alive.

  Max was the innocent, in every way. He would never know how he had been cheated and she could never tell him. Not when it risked the future of her child.

  ‘Like father, like son, Lucien followed his own father’s dissolute ways just as Max, even-tempered and charming, favoured our father.’ Stopping at the base of shallow stone steps that led to the portico she fixed Olivia with her clear, level gaze.