Lady Olivia's Undoing (13 page)

The lock clicked and the door to Catherine’s
bedchamber slowly opened.

Olivia turned to the woman still guarding the
door. “If it is not too much trouble, could you spare a pot of tea,
and perhaps one for my coachmen?” She stepped into the room and
closed the door behind her.

Catherine stood at the window with her back
to Olivia.

“Cathy, can you not even offer a greeting?”
Olivia asked. “What is wrong with you?”

Catherine turned around, tears streaming down
her face, her hands enfolded over her huge stomach.

Olivia leaned into the dresser. Her breath
caught in her throat. Oh, dear God. Catherine was with child!

“I did not want anyone to know,” Catherine
cried. “I feel so ashamed. And at my age!”

“I do not understand,” Olivia said. “Who is
the father?” It couldn’t be…please, God, no.

“Henry,” Catherine said.

The room tilted. Olivia couldn’t breath.
“Henry?” Olivia gasped. “Have you told him?” If Henry had known
Catherine was pregnant with his child, he never would have left for
Spain. He never would have asked for Olivia’s hand in marriage.

“No. I could not. I would not trap him.”
Catherine eased her portly frame into a chair by the window.

“
Trap
him? Catherine, he
must
know. You may be carrying the heir to the Marquisate.”

“He does not wish to marry me. That is why I
am here.” Catherine put her face into her hands and wept.

Olivia stood up and walked to the bed.
“Cathy, what do you mean… he does not wish to marry you?” They were
in love. Everyone knew it. The baby would be a blessing.

“He wants to marry
you
!” Catherine
sobbed into a pillow.

Olivia settled herself onto the mattress
before she fainted. “What?” Had she found out about their
engagement already?

“I overheard him at your birthday dinner,
talking to one of his friends. How at some point he would marry
you, and reunite with the woman he had always loved. I watched you
dance that night…” Catherine looked up through her tears. “I know
the story of you and Dunbury. I could not stand in the way of your
happiness. It would not have been fair to any of us, least of all
the baby.”

“Oh, Cathy.” In that moment, Olivia saw her
future life with Henry Wade, the Marquess of Dunbury slip away into
another wistful forty-year dream. Catherine was going to deliver
Henry an heir. Olivia had been around enough pregnant women to know
the difference between a boy or girl – carry low, a boy will grow,
carry high, a girl is nigh. There was no mistaking how low the baby
hung on Catherine’s hips.

“How far along are you?” Olivia asked.

“The mid-wife thinks I shall deliver in late
January or early February.”

“That is why you left Dunbury Manor,” Olivia
said more to herself than Catherine. “You were about to show your
gravidation to the girls.”

Catherine nodded. “I had kept my morning
sickness hidden and I was lucky in that I did not start to show so
early, but by Hallowmas I had let out every one of my gowns. I told
the girls I was very ill, almost contagious. Although I was not
going to die, it would be best if I left the manor. After I had
gone, I wrote Dunbury to tell him we were over. I would no longer
remain governess. He begged me to return.” Catherine paused. “I
never answered him. I thought my silence was enough.”

Olivia wondered if she should tell Catherine
about Henry’s departure for Spain.

“Cathy, there is something you need to
know.”

Catherine looked up.

“Henry is gone,” Olivia said.

“Gone? Where?”

“To Spain. On a diplomatic mission for the
Foreign Office.” Olivia stood up and paced in front of the bed. “He
left two days ago.”

“When is he to return?”

“’Tis anyone’s guess.”

“Is it a dangerous mission?” Catherine’s eyes
were as large as a robin’s egg.

“The Secretary assures me they will be
extricated as soon as they are finished with their role in the
operation.”

“They? Who is he with?”

Olivia’s eyes welled with tears. “I am not at
liberty to say.”

“Livvy, are you all right?” Catherine asked.
She stood from the chair and put her arms around her cousin.

“Yes,” Olivia mumbled. “I will be well. I am
only concerned for you.” She stepped back and looked at Catherine.
At two-and-forty she would make a lovely bride, and a wonderful
mother.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Livvy, but I am
well. I have old Mrs. Phipps to take care of me. And the mid-wife
assures me the babe is healthy. I am only waiting until he, or she,
wishes to arrive.”

Olivia choked back a sob. The one thing she
had always wanted – a little girl – she would never have. Another
wave of guilt over keeping Fitzhugh’s son away from him hit her.
She had to return to London.

“I must away, Cathy. I only thought to bring
you the news,” Olivia said absently and turned toward the door.

“Olivia, do not be silly. You cannot leave.
You must stay the night. Rest the horses.”

Catherine was right. Olivia should stay. But
how could she? Catherine represented everything Olivia would never
have.

“No, Cathy, thank you. We shall be on the
road. I must get back. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

“If you insist,” Catherine said. “Let me walk
you out.”

Downstairs, Mrs. Phipps carried a tray of tea
things toward the front parlour.

“Thank you, Phippy,” Catherine said. “Please
tell Lady Olivia’s coachman she is ready to depart.” She turned to
Olivia. “Are you sure you will not stay and have tea?”

“Thank you, darling, no. I must get back.”
Olivia placed her hand on the door latch. “Oh, I almost forgot… if
you should hear a rumor that Henry and I are to marry, disregard
it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Catherine looked as if
she had been struck.

“It seems old Gillyford has been up to his
old tricks and begged Uncle Marlborough for my hand again. Henry
happened to witness Gilly’s groveling one night and thought to put
an end to it. He told Uncle, and the rest of the crowd, that
he
had asked for my hand and I accepted. I can assure you,
there is no truth to the rumor. I believe he only did it as a favor
to keep Gillyford from haranguing me. I was not even there when it
happened.”

Catherine stared at Olivia. Olivia didn’t
flinch.

“Livvy, please do not hate me. I could not
bear it. I love him. I have loved him since he walked through the
front door at Dunbury.” Catherine bowed her head and let her tears
fall.

“Catherine, do not be foolish. Of course, I
do not hate you. Henry would never have been happy with me anyway.
He and I are too much alike.” Olivia swallowed the lump in her
throat. “Come Cathy, dry your eyes. Everything will be as it should
be.”

Catherine grabbed Olivia’s arm. “Please, you
will not say a word to anyone. I do not wish for Henry to hear of
it first unless it is from my lips.”

“I will not say a word,” Olivia said.

Outside, the horses jangled their traces. The
footman helped Olivia into the carriage. She waved good-bye to
Catherine and as soon as they left the yard, Olivia burst into
tears.

Henry was lost to her forever.

Olivia arrived home late that night and
although tired, packed more of her things. If she kept busy, she
would not have to think about Catherine and Henry, or John, or
Penny, or the baby, or any of it. Once the Boxing Day Ball was
behind her, she could escape to her little house on St. Anne’s
Court and mourn her losses in private.

A slow tear trickled down her cheek as she
wrapped the trinkets she would take. It was unconscionably cruel of
the fates to allow her to believe she would finally be united with
Henry and then rip him from her. She could not blame this on Henry,
nor Catherine. If Henry had truly wanted her, he could have waited
for her to return from Wakefield. But that was foolish. No one knew
where she had gone or whence she would return. And Catherine was a
lovely woman. How could any man not look at her? Especially a man
who had been at war for nearly forty years.

And perhaps the situation would be different
if Catherine were not expecting. But then, the thought of Dunbury
with no heir left her sick to her stomach. She could not deprive
Henry of his heir the way she had Fitzhugh. And even if she wanted
to try to have a baby, it was too late. She was too old. There was
nothing she could offer him.

Perhaps it was just as well. In her deepest
heart, she knew she could never have been as happy with Henry as
she had been with John. John didn’t care about Society and all that
it represented. John didn’t care that she could not have children.
John had only wanted to love her.

Olivia threw the mantle clock she held in her
hands across the room. It landed against a make-shift table that
held several pieces of family china. Dishware trembled and then the
table crashed to the floor, shards of broken china everywhere.
Olivia burst into tears and flung herself on the sofa. She hugged
the pillow Penny had embroidered for her when she was twelve.

Olivia could certainly empathize with what
Penny was going through now with her suffering. And although Olivia
conceded, losing a lover was not the same as losing a child,
Olivia’s losses were greater in number, and the heartbreak carved
from several different areas. Would the misery never end? It was as
if God had decided to smite her all at once for the sins of her
past.

“Your Grace?” Manning stood in the doorway in
his nightclothes and boots, holding a fire poker.

“Mr. Manning.” Olivia grabbed an old shawl
and wiped her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I heard a
crash.”

Olivia sat up. “I’m sorry to have disturbed
you. Pray forgive me. I could not sleep.”

Manning nodded. And then he asked, “Are you
all right, Your Grace? Allow me to clean that mess for you.” He
took a step into the room.

Her heart was broken in a thousand pieces
just like the china. She sighed. “No, Mr. Manning, no thank you. I
made the trouble, I shall clean it up.” Olivia looked at him,
wishing he were John. “Forgive me, Mr. Manning, I am not well.
However, I’m afraid there is no cure for what ails me except time.
Please, do return to your bed. I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Manning nodded once
and slipped from the room.

Olivia cleaned up the broken dishes and then
worked until the last trunk was packed and it stood near the door
of the sitting room ready to be loaded. Tomorrow she would finish
with her bedroom.

Olivia crawled into bed just as the sun came
up. She would gladly sleep the day away.

She woke at eleven.

Jennings stood at the foot of the bed. “Your
Grace?” She gestured to the state of the room.

Assorted clothing, shoes, and hat-boxes
crammed the corner. Two large trunks sat half-filled with lids
open, in place of the table by the window. The open armoire held
only four gowns. Shawls hung over the door. Her dresser drawers
were empty.

“Forgive me, old girl,” Olivia said. “I did
not mean to make chaos from your order, but I thought I would help.
Help me to dress and then after a hearty breakfast, we will finish
up in here.”

Jennings eyes grew wide, but said nothing and
left the room.

Olivia sat up and smoothed her hand over the
linen on the other side of the bed. Would John have heard about the
engagement before he left? Or had he already left for Spain. She
would never know until he came back. But what if he didn’t
return?

Olivia was too exhausted to cry. How she
would make it through her ball was anyone’s guess. She wished she
could cancel it, but the invitations were already gone. Olivia had
been planning it for months, wanting to make the grand announcement
at mid-night, before they went in to supper that Penny’s baby would
be the future heir to Caymore. But now there was no heir. Perhaps
she could still acknowledge the title by saying Penny and William
would now be living at Caymore as the Duke and Duchess. Yes, that
sounded right. And then she could leave.

Yes, that was perfect. She would make the
announcement and then depart. Caymore would be theirs.

Olivia climbed out of bed and splashed cold
water on her face. If she removed all her things now, she needn’t
return to Caymore for any excuse, other than an invitation. Penny
and William would have the privacy they deserved.

Dressed in a simple calico, Olivia went
downstairs. In the yellow salon, she looked around. She had taken
all of her things out of the room and now it stood lifeless and
depressing, as if no one had ever sat there. There had been no
secrets, no kisses, no laughter shared within its walls.

Olivia walked over to the window that
overlooked the garden. She had cultivated it for forty years. The
roses were her pride and joy. And she would never be able to tend
them again. She strode to the table fighting tears. She picked up
the invitations for that evening. Family gatherings for Christmas
Eve. There was no one she wanted to see.

She shook her head. She needed to remain
focused on the job at hand – moving. She had no more time for silly
blubbering. She went to the morning room, ate breakfast, and then
sought Andrew.

“Please ask Hendricks to hitch the cart and
the footman to gather the trunks outside my bedchamber. I would
also like you and Nella to accompany me.” Olivia gathered her coat,
bonnet, and gloves and went outside to supervise loading the wagon.
When finished, Andrew drove the cart, and Hendricks the carriage
with Jennings, Olivia, and Nella.

At the little house, the men off-loaded the
larger trunks and the women took the smaller bags and were finished
with the task in an hour. Olivia gathered everyone into the dining
room.