Lady Farquhar's Butterfly Read online

  ‘Indeed, I am, and I wish you similar good luck.’

  ‘I am in no hurry.’

  ‘The marital state has much to recommend it.’

  Max transferred his look from Olivia’s blushing countenance to offer a nod. ‘I’m sure you are right, though smarting after a recent rejection I am in no hurry to pursue it.’

  The silence seemed endless. Striving for courage, Olivia interjected, ‘You will recover. Perhaps it is your pride rather than your heart which suffered the injury, sir.’ She strove for sympathy and hoped Nathaniel did not notice the trembling of her voice. ‘Perhaps the lady had her reasons’ – Olivia drew in a breath – ‘and they had nothing to do with you. Perhaps she had already promised herself to another.’ She forced the emotion from her tone and exchanged a smile with Nathaniel, as if she too felt no more than a distracted, passing interest in Mr Atherton’s admission. Turning back to Max she added, ‘Having shown such kindness and care towards your ward I cannot believe a disinclination towards your character was behind the lady’s rejection.’ How could she sound so distant, as if she were indeed consoling a stranger on a matter of the heart? A matter which was of no concern to her?

  Max gave an eloquent shrug as he matched his pace with theirs in the direction of the front door. ‘It no longer signifies.’ This was more painful than anything.

  ‘You must accompany us for lunch,’ Nathaniel pressed him. ‘The dower house, where Olivia resides with her aunts, is just up the hill.’ He smiled. ‘Might I offer you accommodation at the manse? I know you’ve travelled many hours.’

  Max inclined his head. ‘That is most kind of you, Mr Kirkman, however for the boy’s sake I will not linger. Lady Farquhar will be anxious to be reunited with her son and I would hate to’ – he transferred his gaze from Kirkman to Olivia as he added, coldly – ‘intrude. I have already bespoken a room at The Jolly Miller.’

  *

  With a nervous glance down the corridor Olivia patted the thick veil for reassurance. Her throat was as dry as sandpaper as she drew back her hand and gave a discreet knock. It was madness to even be here. She would not deviate from her course. She would marry Nathaniel.

  Yet she owed Max an explanation. She could not bear that he thought she was everything he had ever been told about Lady Farquhar. And worse.

  ‘I wondered if you’d come.’ He opened the door, standing aside so she could enter. His voice was as cold as his eyes. Nothing in his expression brought to mind the old Max: the untroubled, charming young man with his disarming air of ingenuousness.

  ‘Max, I only came here to apologize,’ she said in a rush. She wanted to make this brief. Her mission was to convince him she’d not set out to hurt him; that in fact her actions had little to do with him. She’d charted her course before they’d even met.

  ‘At least do it so I can damned well see you and lift that hideous veil,’ he said, closing the door behind them and leading her into the small room with its bed, washstand and chair.

  Obediently she removed her bonnet, placing it on the washstand.

  She knew herself too well to try and pretend she wasn’t waiting for some acknowledgement of longing or admiration. She told herself it would make her task so much easier if there were no sign of it, but when she saw the pain in his expression her own heart answered and her best intentions fled.

  Quickly, she turned and went to the window. With her back to him she said tightly, ‘Everything I said was true about my motives. I was prepared to do whatever it took to get Julian back. Please understand that I never meant to hurt you.’

  ‘It just pleased you to toy with me.’ He made no move to come to her. His voice was strained. ‘Pretend, even, you cared for me a little.’

  ‘No!’ she swung round. ‘There was no pretence and it’s the reason I had to explain. Max—’ She lowered her voice while she fixed her eyes upon his handsome, beloved face. ‘I am not here to persuade you to take me back for I fully intend to marry Nathaniel. I just don’t want you thinking my actions constituted any part of some elaborate, prearranged plot.’

  He took his time replying. Picking up her bonnet he began stroking the folds of black netting. His tone, when he spoke, was one Olivia had never heard: bitter, ironic and hurt.

  ‘Let me try to understand you,’ he said, slowly, transferring his attention to her face. ‘You came to Elmwood to try and persuade me to give you back Julian’ – he paused with heavy emphasis – ‘but instead of asking me outright you pretended to be someone else while all the time falling madly in love with me.’ Tossing the bonnet on to the bed he raked back his hair, his agitation clear though there was no sign of it in his measured tone. ‘Then, when I provided you with the perfect solution to all your heart’s desires by offering marriage, you skipped back home to marry Mr Kirkman whom you’ve intimated you do not love, so as to regain Julian as per Lucien’s will.’ Sparks of anger flashed in his normally calm, grey eyes. ‘And yet, you still maintain your feelings for me were genuine. What, Lady Farquhar, do you think that says about you?’

  Olivia studied him while she struggled to respond. He looked young and vigorous, and so like Lucien it was hard to formulate an answer. So like Lucien might have looked had he been incarnated into a better person. There was the same dark cowlick that almost fell in a curl above his right eye. Lucien had encouraged it to fall. He’d liked its rakish look and the way it enhanced the devilish glint in his eye.

  There was no devilish glint in Max’s eye. Just raw hurt.

  Yet again, she was the cause through her alluring, beguiling, enticing ways. For isn’t that what she did? Seduced men for her entertainment? It’s what everybody thought.

  ‘Max, it’s because you were sure to believe the rumours, sure to think I was that kind of woman that I did what I did,’ she whispered, taking a step closer, holding the back of a chair for support.

  He appeared unmoved. Warily, from the centre of the room he watched her. His voice was still cynical though she could hear the strain he tried to disguise as he replied, ‘Actions speak louder than words, Olivia.’

  ‘What would my reception have been, Max, had I announced myself to you as Lady Farquhar?’ Pain sliced through her. ‘If I’d dressed and deported myself demurely you’d have considered I was acting a part. You’d have waited for me to slip up, reveal myself for the scheming seductress society believes me. You’d not have let me have Julian.’

  He ignored this. ‘You did not object to my advances, Olivia.

  Perhaps you’ve forgotten that.’ A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘Foolishly I believed at the time you felt something for me.’

  ‘How can you imagine I was pretending?’ she cried, bringing her hand to her breast to press against the sudden pain there. ‘I assumed my maiden name, but that was all. Everything I said, every action was honest. My only wrongdoing was concealing my identity. Everything I said, every response towards you, was real.’

  He gave her a searching look, then, with a sigh, moved to the door.

  ‘Thank you for your apology,’ he said, tonelessly, his hand on the door knob. ‘I imagine that took some courage.’ He inclined his head in dismissal. ‘As you pointed out yourself, though, it doesn’t exactly alter the fact that you deceived me and are about to marry someone else.’

  She didn’t know what to do. This was not how it was supposed to end with Max calmly showing her the way out. Once the soft click of the latch consigned her to the passageway with Max on the other side of the door the one spark of love that had ever honestly flickered in her breast would be snuffed out and she’d be more alone than she’d ever been.

  Yet wasn’t that what she’d engineered, herself?

  ‘I gave you my heart,’ she whispered, stopping in front of him. ‘I’d have given you everything.’

  ‘I’m sure many men would gladly have accepted, Olivia. I, however, was looking for something more permanent.’ He glared at her.

  ‘Something honestly given with no strings attached.�
�� He stepped back as if afraid of coming into contact with her.

  His words pained her though she acknowledged the truth of them. Biting back her first response which was to defend her actions she stepped as close to him as she could without actually touching. She’d leave, not because she wanted to, and not before she made one final stand. She could not bear to leave without his forgiveness.

  ‘I responded as I did because you were kind.’ Tentatively she rested her hand lightly on his lapel. ‘From our first encounter you made my comfort and welfare your concern. I had not experienced such thoughtfulness.’

  He looked at her hand with suspicion, turning his head away to stare through the half-drawn curtains. The casement panes were dirty and the room bathed in gloom but his pain was clear.

  On her account.

  ‘My husband spent our entire marriage punishing me for’ – she made a derisive sound – ‘forcing him to the altar when I was a foolish debutante.’ How badly she wanted Max to understand. She withdrew her hand. Max brought his head round. His eyes glowed with some emotion she could not recognize. She could not bear to think it was disgust. ‘When your feelings for me went beyond mere kindness I responded with every fibre of my being. I wanted you, Max. I wanted you so badly, but I had not the courage to reveal myself as scandalous Lady Farquhar, branded so unfairly by her husband as a harlot, an unfit mother.’

  ‘If you considered me so’ – he swallowed, adding derisively – ‘kind, why not lay bare your scandalous past so you could defend each charge to my satisfaction?’ The suspicion returned to his manner. ‘Such as the truth behind Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly?’

  It shouldn’t have felt like a slap in the face after all this time. She should have expected it, and it should have been she who brought it up.

  Rage at the long and lingering injustice bubbled up so that she hissed, ‘Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly paid my husband’s gambling debts.’ She was so upset she didn’t know if she could continue. But she must. She clung to the door knob for her knees had gone weak, the pounding in her brain threatened to obliterate her lucidity. She was so angry even the shock and understanding that registered suddenly in Max’s eyes was no catharsis. When he put out a hand to help her she drew back.

  ‘One night Lucien lost more heavily than usual.’ Each word was an effort. Her defences were in place. Max would not dare touch her while she glared at him with as much poison in her heart as if he had been his hated cousin. ‘Perhaps he was more than unusually affected by the drink. He must have made some reference – coarse and ironic, no doubt – about the birthmark on my breast to his gambling partners. A birthmark he fancied was shaped like a butterfly. I was sitting at another table with several of the men who weren’t playing Faro. None of the wives was there. It was not a respectable gathering, but Lucien thought I was decorative.’ Drawing herself up in an effort to salvage her pride, she shrugged. She would manage to control her emotion sufficiently to recount the rest as if it was a sordid moral tale in which she had but a passing interest. It was a trick she’d perfected as Lucien’s wife.

  ‘Finally he rose and called me over. I stood by the table, awaiting his pleasure while he and the other men looked me over like a horse. They were leering and sniggering. I was terrified, humiliated, but there was nothing I could do. Then Lord Grimble nodded at Lucien and said he thought sampling Lady Farquhar’s butterfly with a kiss would be bargain enough at which point Lucien ordered me to disrobe.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Right there, in front of them all.’ She squeezed shut her eyes. ‘I was too afraid to disobey. Lucien was so ingenious at inventing the cruellest tortures. Besides, I thought one of the men in that room would surely protest.’ Olivia swallowed as she rested her head against the door. She felt the memories close in on her. Felt her breath start to leave her.

  Then she was in Max’s arms and he was crushing her tightly against him, kissing her hair, her eyes –

  – her lips.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE RESPONDED LIKE a wilting flower receiving rain. Her heart opened like the floodgates of a weir to receive … hope? Happiness? Except that there was no hope and, as ever, happiness would be fleeting. Still that didn’t stop her twining her arms behind his neck and responding to his kiss with all the ardour of their last encounter. She could not deny her passionate nature when it was aroused.

  Older and wiser, she knew the price of happiness. Since she could not afford it beyond the moment she intended to take all she could while it was offered: Max’s arms around her, his hard, strong young body all muscle and desire, binding her with his need.

  His kisses were incendiary, inflaming her with a desperation to throw all caution to the wind and seal their love upon the four poster in the centre of the room, and she would have had she been able to offer him marriage.

  But, of course, there could be no taking it to the next level while she was a woman, betrothed, on a visit intended to explain and reinforce this uncomfortable truth.

  When she felt his reluctant but undeniable withdrawal it was like mourning what she’d been unable to mourn before.

  ‘If I told you I believe everything you’ve told me’ – breathless, he chose his words carefully, his dark eyes searching hers as he still held her against him – ‘would it be worth my asking you, again, to marry me?’

  Olivia covered her face with her hands and stepped out of his arms. This was not supposed to happen.

  He looked so desperately, heartbreakingly sincere, his expression so full of yearning she had to force back the tears. And trammel down the desire to throw herself back into his embrace.

  She couldn’t let him see the answering want in her own eyes. Stumbling towards the light, she again sought the sanctuary of the window. Here she could support herself against the cold glass, stare out into the grey afternoon light and wonder, briefly, why she had been cursed with the kind of beauty that made men want to possess her and punish her in equal measure.

  For Nathaniel wanted her as badly as Lucien ever had. She was not fooled by his restrained manner. He would fight Max for her using every unsavoury titbit of scandal, every damning piece of character evidence at his disposal.

  And he had plenty of it. Nathaniel was a formidable adversary. Max’s kindness and honour were no match for Nathaniel’s ploys.

  Yet hadn’t Max just accepted, at face value, everything Olivia had told him in exoneration of her behaviour? Didn’t that mean he’d forgive her the rest? All he wanted was the truth. Surely it was worth the risk?

  She gripped the window sill as she stared vacantly into the stable yard. All she need do was say: ‘I will be yours if you can forgive me the fact that Julian is a bastard who has usurped your position as the rightful Viscount Farquhar.’

  She gathered her breath. She could say it.

  Then she remembered that not only her happiness hung in the balance. Declaring Julian a bastard meant condemning him to society’s scrapheap. He would be entitled to nothing: no social standing, no financial support.

  She crumpled against the window pane. She could not do it. She wanted Max above all except the wellbeing of her child. She simply couldn’t take the risk.

  ‘Olivia?’

  She had to answer him. Soon. Even as she turned, her mouth opening to respond, she hesitated, the truth balancing on the faintest of breaths.

  It was as her gaze registered the empathy and compassion in his expression that she knew she’d say no.

  Not because of Julian; not because of her fears for him, for Max had honour and decency, she knew that.

  But because of her own deficiencies.

  She did not deserve him. Max was good and pure of heart. A gentleman, not a cruel tormentor. It wouldn’t be long before those eyes which melted her soul with their gentleness would soon kindle with disappointment.

  What did it matter that she had not deserved Lucien’s treatment? The fact remained: he had corrupted her. What did it matter that she had wept every night at the seductive, wanton acts she’d been
forced to perform with a smile? The fact remained that she’d danced all but naked in a transparent shimmer of gauze on the dining table and men had lined up to kiss her breast with its famous butterfly birthmark.

  Regardless of how much she bared her soul to Max now, she did not think she had the fortitude to bear his increasing disappointment, his dawning realization of her unworthiness.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Max,’ she whispered. They were the hardest words she’d ever said. A slap in the face for him and the death knell for her own hopes of happiness. She swallowed. ‘I cannot renege on my promise to Nathaniel. Please try to understand.’ She turned her face a fraction, caught the flare of surprise in his eyes, the blanching of his skin indicating, more than words ever could, his wounding.

  She went on, resting the small of her back against the window sill, ‘For more years than I care to remember Mr Kirkman has salvaged my dignity in situations too awful to revisit.’ She swallowed again, almost elaborated about the table dancing and everything else, but bit back the words at the last moment. He’d need to know if he were to be her husband. Since that wasn’t to be, at least let him leave with a less tarnished image of herself.

  ‘I’d like to know what the worthy reverend was doing at Lucien’s debauched gatherings in the first place?’ Max ground out, as he regarded her from the centre of the room.

  Olivia gave a helpless gesture. ‘Lucien liked to balance vice with piety.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Nathaniel accepted Lucien’s invitations because the only way he could help me was to be in attendance. Usually with a linen sheet on hand to wind around me as the music stopped whereupon he’d whisk me upstairs while I sobbed upon his shoulder. I think he disapproved of Lucien’s wicked ways, but what could he do?’

  It was true and this, if nothing else, should have decided her. After a lifetime of vanity rewarded by her fall from grace she ought to have accepted the time had come to pay her dues to him.

  Feeling like an old woman, she picked up her bonnet and retied it as she moved towards the door, with one final look at Max. ‘I owe Nathaniel so much. An unspoken understanding has existed between us from the day Lucien died that once my mourning period was over Nathaniel would claim me. He intimated as much as he outlined my best course in reclaiming Julian.’ She paused, her hand on the door knob. ‘I am only doing my duty.’