Stephanie James Read online

  They continued their discussion in a hushed tone as they ate at the wooden table. And at the end of the meal, while riding in the carriage back to Tyndall Hall, they both agreed that they would have Lord Philip and Miss Olivia Winter married by the end of Christmas.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Philip was sitting in the drawing room, sipping on brandy with his guests as they waited for the meal to start. He was on a sofa next to his mother, though he was not really paying attention to what she was saying to him. He was far too lost in thought about how wrong the last week had gone.

  Initially when he had planned the hunting party, Philip had imagined himself laughing with friends and family, and getting a chance to explore and enjoy his new lands. But fate, with her cruel way about her, had prevented Philip from living out any of these desires.

  To start, he was the only one who had been terrible at hunting. Each time they went out into the fields, his yield was always dreadfully embarrassing in comparison to the others. Even Lord Masters, the worst hunter amongst them all, had managed to set aside his sensitive outlook and kill several more birds than Philip. Lord Brighton had not let Philip forget this, either. The man teased Philip to the point of annoyance. It was embarrassing, simply embarrassing. And once again, Philip had Miss Olivia Winter to blame.

  Oh, she was not entirely at fault. He could not be so unfair as to assign all of the blame to her. But a good bit of it, yes, he could indeed credit to her presence at Tyndall Hall. Only this time, his foul mood was not the result of she having annoyed him, but rather, the consequence of a desire for her he could now no longer control. He had tried to control it. Oh, how he had tried after kissing her, after feeling her body atop his, but now knowing that she was desired by other men, other men who would embrace her in the same way, well … he simply could not stand suppressing it any longer.

  Each time Philip thought of the whole scenario, it made his skin flush with angry heat. Fist she had been a nuisance. A downright, damnable plague of frustration he would have loved to strangle, but then … oh, but then. Then quite suddenly, as if he had been struck by lightning, Philip discovered he was attracted to the girl. He wanted her in the most basic of ways. He always had. He knew that that now. At first sight of her she had ignited within him a hunger no other woman had done before, and it had never truly faded. Instead, it had steadily intensified over time so that now the full measure of his festering thoughts of her had burst forth and he could control them no longer.

  And while he had steadily grown to care for Miss Olivia Winter, after seeing her beneath that tree … well, that was another matter entirely. He was even more conflicted over the whole situation, if that were possible. He had been conflicted from the beginning, but now Philip had to tell himself that he could not — absolutely, positively could not be in love with her.

  Even if he wanted to admit it, doing so was a delicate matter.

  He could not exactly rush up to Olivia and declare passionate love for her, after all. Indeed, he could not do so as he was unable to even admit it to himself. Even if he could admit to loving her, he doubted she loved him in return.

  Yes, that was the other reason why he could not simply professes his affections. He was entirely confident that she wanted very little, if anything at all, to do with him. She had refused his first offer of marriage, after all. Why would she feel any differently now? She still walked with a slight limp thanks to him, and aside from that dreadfully ravishing kiss, from the moment they met, they had never got along. Indeed by all accounts of their interaction, Lord Philip and Miss Olivia were a terrible match, very much like oil and water. But perhaps the oil could be persuaded to blend, even if only just a little.

  Perhaps if he could manage to hold a pleasant conversation with her, a conversation which did not lead to a fight or yelling or injuries of any kind, Olivia would grow to like him. Perhaps they would discover they were not so different, or could in the very least get along with one another. It was not exactly the best plan. Olivia was not simply just another girl. There was Mr. Winter to consider, as well. It was the riskiest of gambles, but Philip would try it.

  If only she would stop entertaining Lord Masters and Mr. Southerland (but especially Mr. Southerland), perhaps Philip might have a few pleasant words with her. But as it was, the two men took turns sticking to her like bees to honey.

  Lord Masters, competition though he was, nevertheless lacked the aggressiveness which Mr. Southerland possessed. It would be a chore getting Southerland away from Olivia, but Philip would find a way. Southerland irritated him more and more every day with his swarthy looks and his mixed accent of English and Irish. Philip had never felt aggressive towards Mr. Southerland in all the years of their acquaintance. In fact, Mr. Southerland had always been one of Philip’s favorite friends. But now that a woman had come between them, Philip wanted to kill him.

  • • •

  “And then in the south of Scotland, my family owns lands as well, though they are not quite as extensive as the lands I own in Ireland, which I inherited from my mother’s family when she died,” said Mr. Southerland. He had been droning on and on about his family’s extensively self-obtained wealth to Olivia. All previous conversations with Mr. Southerland had also borne the same tone.

  Olivia now knew that Mr. Southerland was an expert rider. “You shall have to ride with me, Miss Olivia. I could teach you if you would like.”

  She also knew that he was an expert fisherman and hunter. “I could teach you how to catch a sizable fish if you would like.”

  He was apparently a very fine and adept business man. “I had to learn to take over my father’s trade, you see. I could teach you a few business tricks if you would like.”

  And he was also an extraordinarily talented musician, knowing how to play both the pianoforte “as well as the greatest of composers,” and the flute, which he learned to play in tribute to his mother's homeland. “I could teach you how to play if you would like, Miss Olivia.”

  He always seemed to want to teach her how to do things, as though in all her years, young though they were, she had not learned a thing on her own. And whenever he spoke about his varied hobbies and ventures, he seemed to be the absolute best at everything he tried. Though she did not believe Mr. Southerland to be as expert as he had led her to believe in all the things he liked to brag about, Olivia scarcely grew tired of listening to him speak, mainly because it was so entertaining.

  The man had absolutely no shame or modesty, but it did not make him unlikable. It merely gave him a childish quality. He was very impressed with his own cleverness, and wanted to share the details of his accomplishments with anyone who would listen, just like a child who has learned something new. And when she was in the proper, accommodating mood, Olivia would indulge him and let him speak. If she was not in the mood, however, she would shut him up by asking him to do things for her, which turned out to be surprisingly easy.

  She had imagined there would be a certain amount of resistance when she had asked him to go look through the field for a flower to match the color of her dress, but he had done it. And not only had he agreed to complete the task, but he left her side, rushing for a patch of wildflowers growing in the meadow before she had a chance to complete the question. Indeed, she had to yell out the specifics of her request — “one the color of my dress!” — to his back as he darted away.

  While he had been off looking for the flower, she had leaned back against the tree beneath which she had been standing, closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp November breeze that caressed her face.

  Silence at last, she had thought, as it had not only been Mr. Southerland who had been speaking to her, but Lord Masters as well, though conversations with him were much more forced. He never seemed to be able to think of things to say, and as a result, they would often lapse into silence and awkwardly stare at one another until one of them found something to say.

  Mr. Southerland, on the other hand, was not the type to find himself wit
hout words, much like now …

  “Yes, indeed, my lands in Ireland are quite magnificent,” he said, and then lowered his head with a regretful look on his face, “but I would trade them all to have my mother alive again.”

  Olivia said nothing. He clearly wanted her to be excessively feminine and react very dramatically to this statement. “Oh, you poor dear!” He probably wanted her to say something to that effect, but she would not. She had been speaking (listening) to him for almost an hour and she was not in the proper and accommodating mood for more of his bragging.

  And as a result of growing bored with his conversation, she began looking around the room, which proved to be as equally as boring as listening to Mr. Southerland, who kept droning on (again), though she was not sure about what as she was not listening.

  The duke and her father were speaking, and since they seemed to be getting along, Olivia chose not to worry about the particulars of their conversation. Lord Masters was standing by himself with a cup of tea. He was rocking his weight from one foot to the other while staring at the floor, something he often did whenever he was trying to think of something to say. Doubtless Olivia would next be entertained by his company.

  Lord Philip was speaking with Lord Brighton, who had thankfully left her alone after her odd comments about rugs and ceilings. Lord Philip did not appear to be listening, now that she looked more closely. He was instead staring over the man’s shoulder. Apparently she and Lord Philip were having much the same night.

  She next looked for the women. It took her a moment to find them, and when she did her curiosity was most definitely roused. They were all crowded together on a sofa, Lady Albright leaning rather closely from her chair. Their heads were lowered and close together, and they were whispering in a way that was completely suspicious to Olivia. What could they possibly be discussing which would call for them to be so apparently secretive?

  Suddenly, they all leapt to their feet, but slowed themselves as they began to walk about the room, smiling conspiratorially at one another as their gazes met. What were they doing?

  “Miss Olivia?”

  Lady Lillian left the room. Where was she going?

  “Miss Olivia?”

  Lady Albright looked at her. Their eyes met. Lady Albright smiled as though she had been caught in the act of something, and then she quickly turned to Lord Masters and began speaking to him.

  Lady Amelia approached Lord Brighton and began speaking, sliding rather rudely in front of Lord Philip to do so.

  Lady Lillian returned with a book and approached Olivia’s father. She opened the book, pointed to something, and must have asked him a question because next he was craned over the open book, apparently contemplating whatever had been asked of him.

  What the devil was going on? And did her father even read enough to answer whatever Lady Lillian was asking?

  “Miss Olivia!”

  “Yes?” Olivia answered, snapping her head around rather quickly in Mr. Southerland’s direction.

  “I was just remarking on how adept a chess player I am. I can teach you the game if you would like.”

  Olivia managed to suppress a groan.

  “Perhaps another night,” she said. “At the moment I haven’t the head for games, I daresay.”

  “Have you got an ache of the head?” he asked. “It might not be entirely proper for a lady to imbibe sprits, but a glass of whiskey will do you good.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” said Olivia, looking around the room. Where had the duchess gone?

  “Would you like a glass?” asked Mr. Southerland.

  “A glass of what?” asked Olivia, turning her attention reluctantly back to him.

  “Whiskey,” he said, his frustration becoming evident in his tone. “Would you like a glass of whiskey?”

  “Oh, no, I never indulge,” she said. “But I do believe I shall retire. Perhaps rest will cure the ache. Will you excuse me?”

  Mr. Southerland bowed to Olivia. “Of course, miss,” he said. “I do hope you feel better.”

  But before Olivia could quickly thank him and leave, the duchess reappeared in the room and walked straight at where she was standing with Mr. Southerland.

  “Miss Olivia, Mr. Southerland,” said the duchess. “Are the two of you having a pleasant evening?”

  “Very pleasant,” said Olivia politely.

  “Yes, very pleasant,” agreed Mr. Southerland. “Miss Olivia, however, is affected by a headache and was about to retire.”

  “Oh, nonsense, my dear,” said the duchess. “A few moments of sitting and you shall be good as new. The night is young. There is no need to retire so early. Come, come and sit down for a spell.”

  The duchess whisked her away from Mr. Southerland to seat her on a sofa. But instead of choosing the nearest sofa, the duchess chose the one on the other side of the room near where Lord Philip was now standing on his own, still staring at the floor, teacup in hand. What was she playing at?

  “Here,” said the duchess. “You should feel better shortly. And the heat from the fireplace will most certainly help.”

  But she had just seated Olivia on the sofa which was farthest from the fireplace. Without another word, the duchess returned to Mr. Southerland and began a conversation with him, leaving Olivia even more confused than ever. Really, what was going on? Was she really so unlikable that the women felt the need to ostracize her from the group? Why would they have a cause to do such a thing? Olivia could not recall committing any terrible social blunders. She had behaved perfectly … hadn’t she?

  The thought was maddening, and the more Olivia thought about it the more likely her assumptions became. How dare they, those snooty, snobbish, little —

  “Miss Olivia?”

  Olivia looked up and found herself staring into the face of Lord Philip. She was not expecting to see him standing over her. Indeed, she was not expecting him to speak to her at all, but here he was. She did not want to speak to him, especially now that she was boiling over the thought of being snubbed by more women of London’s high society.

  She had come to terms with what had happened between them beside the river all those months ago. She had finally grown used to being in the same room with him as well … so long as they did not speak. And if he had caught her in a better mood, perhaps she would have made an effort to be nicer to him. But as it happened, when she looked up into his eyes, the first words to leave her mouth were:

  “What do you want?”

  • • •

  He was not off to a good start. He had seen her sitting by herself, not speaking to anyone. And as he was not speaking to anyone, he decided that it would have been entirely rude not to speak to her … so to speak.

  And so he had worked up the courage to walk over and talk to her. Courage was required to initiate a conversation with Miss Olivia because Philip was never entirely certain when or where or why she would snap at him.

  Once he’d decided to speak to her, he’d been hopeful that perhaps she would be in a good mood. Perhaps they could actually speak without anger coming between the two of them. Perhaps if he chose his words carefully enough, she would have no reason to become upset with him. Apparently he was wrong because here she sat, glaring up at him. He decided to ignore the impulse to give an explanation for why he had chosen to speak to her.

  “Are you having a pleasant evening?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, though her tone contradicted her statement.

  They stared at each other a moment.

  “I see you are getting along with my family and Lady Lillian.”

  Philip watched as her nostrils flared. Had he said something wrong? Was she not getting along with them?

  “Yes, we are all getting on just famously,” she said, her tone becoming even more agitated.

  “Splendid,” said Philip. Then they fell silent once more.

  “I suspect the weather tomorrow will be just as fair as today.”

  Olivia scoffed. “Does this conversation have a
purpose?”

  “Well, I suppose I thought I would … I mean, it seemed to me that since no one was speaking to you — I mean, I thought since — ”

  “So,” Olivia interrupted, “in other words, no, this conversation has no point.”

  Not only did the conversation apparently have no point, but it was not going very well, either. Clearly now was not the time to try and speak to her pleasantly. Philip hated that he had failed. He hated that he had not managed to accomplish his goal with one conversation. He wanted her to like him now. He wanted to win out over Mr. Southerland and Lord Master’s now. He could not stand to see her basking in their attention another day. He wanted her for himself. He wanted to keep trying with this conversation. Perhaps if he kept talking Olivia might calm down. Then he realized what he was thinking. Olivia calm down? Impossible.

  He had to leave her as quickly as possible. The less agitated with him she became with him in this moment, the greater his chances for success were later. Devil take it, he hated waiting, but this time he would evidently have to be patient. He could not rush this one as he had everything else in his life.

  “Forgive me, Miss Olivia, but I believe I shall retire now,” said Philip, and then he bowed to her. “I hope the rest of your evening is more pleasant. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she replied tightly.

  He turned on his heel and left the room without saying a word to anyone else.

  “Mr. Winter,” the duchess said from across the room.

  “Yes, your grace?” replied Mr. Winter, looking up from the book Lady Lillian was holding before him.

  Olivia’s attention was captivated as well, her teacup forgotten in her hands. What could the duchess possibly have to say to her father?

  “Do you much travel to London?” asked the duchess.

  “No, your grace, I do not,” replied Mr. Winter. “I am afraid my business requires me to visit many locations, but somehow I have managed to bypass London.”