Scandalous Summer Nights (21 page)

But as she started to pull away, he gripped her fingers surprisingly hard, keeping her there. His eyes were glassy and his mouth opened slightly, as though he were in a daze.

James moved to her side. “Are you all right, Uncle Humphrey?”

“What? Oh yes, I just had a feeling—I get them sometimes, you know.” He looked up at Olivia like he knew all her secrets, and in a tremulous voice said, “It’s the ring. You were meant to have it. It’s important that you know that.”

“I understand,” she lied, because it seemed like what the old man needed to hear.

“Very good.” He released her, laid his head against the chair, and closed his eyes like he was weary to the bone.

James smiled and raised a finger to his lips, then walked her toward the front door of the cottage. He leaned in as though he wanted to kiss her, but Olivia pretended not to notice. “Your uncle is a treasure. Thank you for the introduction.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to the river with me?”

She shook her head and started out the door. “I have some correspondence to tend to.”

“I believe you mentioned that. Is something troubling you?”

“Of course not.” She didn’t look at him. “I’ve just been neglecting certain things, and while I’ve greatly, ah, enjoyed our afternoons at the river, I cannot squander every day there.”

The hurt look that crossed his face made her want to throw her arms around him, but she couldn’t give in to weakness. She was doing this for him.

He recovered quickly and smiled. “I do realize that I cannot demand your undivided attention
all
the time. Even if I wish I could.”

“I appreciate your understanding.”

He frowned. “You
would
tell me if anything was amiss, wouldn’t you?”

“I would. In fact, there is something you should know.” Blast, this was difficult. “You were concerned last week that after our, ah…”

“Lovemaking?”

“Yes. That I might be…”

“With child?” Something akin to hopefulness flashed in his eyes.

She nodded. “I’m not. I wanted to put your fears to rest.”

“They weren’t exactly fears, Olivia. I—” He looked like he wanted to say more, but clamped his lips shut.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continued, “that it would be prudent to postpone any further… lovemaking… until after we are wed.” And until after he returned from Egypt.

“I don’t mind waiting, Olivia. It will only be another
week or so.” Indeed, Owen would be returning to Haven Bridge with the marriage license any day now. “But we can still spend time together, can’t we?”

How she longed to say yes, that she would happily spend every waking and nonwaking moment with him from now till eternity, doing anything he liked from digging, to drawing, to making love. “I don’t think we should. It’s bad luck for the bride to see her groom before the wedding.”

“Superstitious tripe.”

“I see no reason to tempt Fate.”

He reached out, as though he intended to pull her close, kiss her till she was warm and pliable, and put an end to this nonsense. She stepped back.

His brow furrowed. “Did something happen? Uncle Humphrey didn’t say something to make you uncomfortable, did he?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not at all. I’m sure most brides feel a bit anxious in the days leading up to their nuptials.” It was remarkable how the lies came faster and easier now.

“Very well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But you’ll go back to being the Olivia I know right after the wedding, I hope.”

“I’m certain I shall.” She waved and set off down the walk, without looking back—so James wouldn’t see her cry.

O
livia had thought she’d return to the inn, ponder what Humphrey had told her, and consider how best to persuade James to go to Egypt. But the moment that she opened the door, Hildy pulled her into their room and glanced nervously into the hallway before closing the door. “A young woman was here, looking for you, my lady.”

Olivia sucked in a breath. She’d all but given up on the hope that Sophia would respond to her letter. In retrospect, Olivia’s invitation to meet her in this remote village had seemed silly at best and presumptuous at worst. “Who was it?”

“A Miss Sophia Rolfe.”

Her heart beat faster. Her half sister
was
here. “Was she alone?”

“She was, indeed. I told her that you were out. She said that she’s taken a room here for the night and would wait for you downstairs in the taproom.”

Olivia removed her bonnet and handed it to the maid. “How did she look?”

Hildy tilted her head thoughtfully. “Her manners are fine, but her dress has seen better days. I don’t believe she moves in the same circles as you and Lady Rose. Do you know her?”

“I know
of
her, but we’ve never met.”

“That’s very odd.” Hildy frowned. “Why would she seek you out?”

“I wrote to her. We have more in common than you might suspect.” Olivia checked her reflection in the looking glass above the washstand, took a deep breath, and smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her skirt. Now that the time had come to meet Sophia face-to-face, it occurred to her that she should have given some thought to the matter of how best to break the news to her. “This meeting will probably take a while.”

“Shall I go with you?”

“No, thank you, Hildy.” When the maid began to wring her hands, Olivia gave her wrist an affectionate squeeze. “There’s no need to worry.”

“You’ve already done a bit of walking today. Why don’t I fetch Miss Rolfe and have some dinner sent up here for the two of you?”

“I shan’t leave the inn.” And before her maid could protest further, Olivia gave a little wave and made her escape.

The taproom was not crowded, and she had no difficulty spotting Sophia. She sat alone at a corner table, dark
curls peeking from beneath her straw chip bonnet. Her head was bent over a book and the glass of ale in front of her appeared untouched. Olivia approached and cleared her throat gently. “Miss Rolfe?”

Blue eyes, startling pale, looked up at her and then blinked. “Yes. You must be Lady Olivia. Please, join me.”

She slid into the chair across from Sophia and, having decided as she walked downstairs that the best course of action would be to reveal the truth quickly rather than unnecessarily drawing things out, began to launch into her explanation. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure you are curious to know exactly why I’ve—”

Dear God. She stopped, her throat tight and her thoughts scrambled.

Sophia’s serene expression—from her kind eyes to her patient mouth—were the very picture of Papa.

“Are you all right?” Fine dark brows knitted in concern.

Olivia looked away until she was relatively sure she wouldn’t burst into tears. “Yes, I apologize. I just wasn’t expecting…”

Sophia opened the front cover of her book and placed the sketch of her mother holding her on the table between them. Her lower lip trembling, she asked, “Where did you get this?”

Olivia swallowed. “From your father.”

Sophia sat up straighter, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “You know him?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid he died a few years ago. But yes, I knew him. He was my father also.”

Fingertips pressed to her temples, Sophia said, “But your father was…”

“The Duke of Huntford.”

“No. That cannot be. My mother said that my father was a customer at the bookshop.”

“Perhaps he was.”

“Surely she would have mentioned it if he were a duke.”

“Unless the duke was married.”

Sophia covered her mouth with her hand and then let it fall to her lap. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“I am twenty-three. So we are…?”

“Sisters.” Half sisters to be more precise, but it was hardly the time to split hairs.

“Forgive me, I… I need a moment to… make sense of this.”

“Of course,” Olivia murmured, thinking that they could both use more than a moment.

“How did you come to possess this sketch?”

“It is a very long story, and I will tell you everything that I know, which may be frustratingly little. However, first I think I shall speak to the innkeeper and request that our dinner be served in the private dining room.”

And so, fortified by a hearty meal and a few glasses of wine, Olivia shared the raw and terrible truth about their father’s suicide, the note he’d left for Olivia, and what little she knew about his affair with Sophia’s mother.

Sophia explained that upon her mother’s death, she’d received a rather substantial sum that her father had provided for her care and upbringing and that her mother had been too stubborn to spend. Sophia had poured most of the money into improving the bookshop, which was her mother’s legacy and Sophia’s livelihood.

It was impossible not to like Sophia, even if she did have striking good looks, an enviable slender figure, and
an abundance of intelligence. She listened to everything calmly and, in turn, shared the few details that she had gleaned from her mother. Slowly, they began to put the pieces of their lives together.

Sophia ate the last bite of pie—how on earth was she so thin?—and set down her fork. “Tell me about your brother and sister.”

“They are your brother and sister as well. If you are able to stay for a few days, you shall meet them. Rose is quiet and wise, like an old soul in a young woman’s body. Owen is fiercely protective. But since marrying Anabelle, he is less apt to brood and growl.”

“In your letter you mentioned that Owen discovered you in a compromising position?”

“Yes, he broke down a door.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“There are certain things a sister does not wish her brother to see—things I imagine he was not particularly pleased to see either.”

“And now you and—James, is it?—must marry. Do you find the situation distressing?”

Olivia was grateful that Sophia didn’t assume that she’d hoped to be caught. Of course, she could understand how one might draw that conclusion, especially since she’d chased him to the Lakes. But still, a bit of sisterly loyalty was bolstering.

“For years, I’ve dreamed of marrying James. Now that it’s about to happen, I wish I could stop it.”

“You do not love him, then?”

Olivia paused, debating how much she should reveal to this relative stranger—even if she was family. But her
need to confide in someone won out. “I love him more than I ever thought possible.”

“Then why don’t you wish to marry?” Sophia’s nostrils flared slightly. “Is it his station? Does he lack the necessary wealth?”

“No! I don’t care about either of those things.” Relief flashed in Sophia’s pale eyes. “But I don’t want him to marry me out of a sense of duty, and I don’t want him to stay in England with me while he wishes he were participating in digs in Egypt. When he’s older and looking back on his life, I don’t want to be his biggest regret. He deserves this chance to chase his dream. Everyone does.”

“Ah. I see. I don’t suppose you could convince Owen to postpone the wedding until after James returns from his expedition?”

“No. I believe the only circumstance that would prompt him to call off the wedding would be James’s death, or mine.” Olivia fingered the stem of her empty wine glass. “James is equally determined to marry quickly—in his eyes, honor demands it.”

“That’s all well and good, but you should have some say in the matter, too.”

“Owen would say that I forfeited that right on the night I climbed into bed with James. I am stuck.”

“Unless…”

Olivia’s ears perked up. “Unless what?”

“Unless you did not show up to the wedding.”

“I could never leave James at the altar. That seems, I don’t know… drastic. And cruel.”

“Perhaps. But if he truly believed that you didn’t want to marry him, he might feel free to go on his expedition. My point is, there are always choices.”

Interesting. Uncle Humphrey had said something similar.

“And each choice has its own consequences,” Olivia said, more to herself than to Sophia.

Her half sister was correct. Olivia had always taken charge of her own fate, and though that tendency often got her into trouble, at least she was making her own decisions. She stood and paced the length of the small, private dining room. “
If
I were to run away before my wedding,” she began slowly, “the timing would have to be perfect. I’d need a window of several hours—preferably more—in which I could get a head start.”

“Agreed. You’d have to leave early one evening and travel throughout the night.” Sophia’s cool, matter-of-fact manner was both impressive and slightly frightening.

“I’d need a safe, secret place to hide out,” Olivia continued. “James would almost certainly come looking for me, as would Owen.”

Sophia tapped a slender finger on the wood table as she considered this. “That is problematic—especially where your fiancé is concerned. If he were to travel all over the countryside looking for you, he’d miss out on the expedition anyway.”

“True, and that would be a tragedy twice over. I’ll have to make him believe that I don’t wish to marry him.” She looked down at the ancient ring he’d given her and then added, “I’m not certain I’m that accomplished an actress.”

“If you doubt your ability to convince him in person, you could leave a note.”

“That seems a bit cowardly.”

“Yes. But you’d be doing it for him.”

Olivia nodded. “I would. The other advantage of leaving
a note is that I could assure my family that I was safe. I should hate to worry them needlessly.” It was a harebrained plot to be sure, but it wouldn’t be the first one she’d undertaken. Nor, most likely, would it be the last.

“I’ll need to think it over, but thank you for offering your perspective. After the shock I’ve given you today, I should be comforting you. Instead, you are counseling me.”

“I simply think we women deserve to have a choice when it comes to deciding our futures, and I am willing to help you in any way that I can.”

“You’re very kind, Sophia. Fortunately, I don’t need to make a decision tonight.”

“Indeed. It’s been a long day and we—”

The door to the dining room burst open, allowing the noise from the taproom to pour in, and both women gasped as Owen’s broad shoulders angled through the doorway.

Her brother really did have the most uncanny timing.

“I have it,” he said, whipping a folded paper from his breast pocket and slapping it against his palm.

“Good evening to you, too,” Olivia said. “I presume ‘it’ would be the special license?”

“It would. You will marry three days hence.” Her stomach dropped to the floor. Three days.

Owen’s gaze landed on Sophia and he narrowed his eyes as though something about her was familiar. “Have we met?”

Sophia turned to Olivia, who gathered her own wits and said, “My brother seems to have forgotten his manners. Allow me to introduce him—Owen Sherbourne, the Duke of Huntford.”

Owen bowed and looked expectantly at Olivia. Sophia clutched the arm of her chair in a death grip.

Ah, well, there was no use in prolonging the inevitable.

“Owen, allow me to present Miss Sophia Rolfe. Our sister.”