The Blackmailed Bride (20 page)

M
arcus and Olivia rode home from church service in relative silence the following Sunday.

The minister’s words from the sermon about truthfulness rung in her ears, tormenting her for withholding the truth from Marcus about what had happened in the Ashburn garden. It was unbearable to see Marcus so needlessly angry with his friend.

“I enjoyed service this morning,” she began.

“I’m glad.”

“I guess I’d never thought of honesty quite that way.” The minister had explained, by using Colossians 3:9–10, that as a new believer she had to strive to live up to different standards.

By not telling Marcus the truth about what had really transpired in the garden, she was acting like the old Olivia would.

Marcus nodded as she was thinking. “I find God continuously
reveals new things to me. I can take the same scripture, read it three times and come away with three different messages God wants to speak to me.”

“In the interest of being honest with you, I think I need to confess something.” Olivia stared at the passing scenery so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

He watched her expectantly. Olivia was loath to continue; Marcus was just beginning to look at her without growing angry. But she knew as soon as she told him about Finley’s actions in the garden, his temper would ignite again. And while it would mean Nick would be free from the anger, Olivia would be bringing it fully on her own head.

There was nothing to be done for it, however. “I allowed you to think certain things about what happened when you were out of town the other evening.”

Marcus’s confusion was plainly written across his face. “Yes?”

“Lord Huntsford
was
in the garden with me the night of the Ashburn ball, but only after he found me there.”

“I have a feeling I’m not going to want to hear the rest of what you have to say,” Marcus murmured.

“Probably not. I know what I did was foolish, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“I still am not sure what you’re apologizing for.”

She breathed deeply. “Lord Finley was the one who brought me to the garden. Nick found the two of us and, once Finley left, Lord Huntsford was going to escort me home. That’s when the ladies came upon us.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, but Olivia forced herself to continue.

“Obviously, the situation didn’t look at all proper. So Lord Huntsford decided to tell the women we were engaged in an effort to salvage my reputation.”

Finished with her story, Olivia folded her hands in her lap and waited for the impending explosion.

It wasn’t quite what she’d expected.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never known you to take foolish risks, and whether you would agree, being anywhere with Finley—especially a secluded garden in the middle of a ball—is extremely foolish.”

“I know. I wasn’t trying to be daring, or foolish, but Finley asked…”

Marcus’s jaw clenched. “So you would rather do what Finley asks than what I ask?”

Olivia’s exasperation began to show. “You don’t know anything. You’ll have to trust that I never wanted to cause trouble for anyone. Not for myself, and especially not for you and Nick.”

Marcus shook his head and slumped deep into his seat. “You realize what you’ve done, do you not?” Olivia nodded.

“Not only did you allow yourself to be compromised…by someone I’ve repeatedly told you I don’t want you around, but you also forced my closest friend to sacrifice his future to play the knight chevalier.”

Olivia fidgeted. “I didn’t ask him to announce a betrothal!
He
chose that course of action, not me.”

Marcus looked angry enough to throw something. “What else was he supposed to do, Olivia? Stand aside and allow your reputation and honor to be cast heedlessly into the ether?”

“Finley would have stood up with me.”

“Finley.
Finley!
I grow sick of the man’s name.” Marcus was yelling at her now, but Olivia wasn’t going to point out that fact. “What proof do you need?”

“Proof of what?”

“Of his disreputable character. Would you like me to scour the countryside and find a legion of young ladies like yourself who will attest to the heartache and pain he has caused them?”

“It’s not that way between us,” she defended, more for her own sake than Finley’s. Frankly, she agreed wholeheartedly with Marcus’s assessment of the baron’s character, but in order for him to stop with his endless attempts to dissuade her, she needed to try and convince him Finley was capable of making her happy.

The task before her appeared impossible.

“Is that so? Then, pray tell, what is it like?” Marcus asked.

“He wants to marry me.”

Marcus scoffed. “We’ve already discussed this,” he said. “You don’t need to be married to someone like him.”

“Well, you obviously felt you can’t trust me to make my own decisions, since you refused him on my behalf before you even permitted him to ask me.”

“I believe you’ve illustrated rather effortlessly why I distrusted your judgment,” Marcus snapped.

The barb hurt.

Marcus’s visible disappointment hurt worse. She’d undertaken this whole scheme to protect him. She hated that she was upsetting him all the same.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Marcus said quietly after several moments of silence between them. “I don’t want to fight with you. I love you,” he added with a ghost of a smile.

“I know you do,” she said softly.

“Can we, for right now, put this business behind us? I’ll make my peace with Nick, and you’ll continue planning the wedding.”

Marcus’s face was so hopeful, Olivia didn’t have the heart
to crush him. She nodded rather than speaking the truth he’d eventually have to hear—that Finley would be her groom, not Nick.

“I do believe you’ll be happy with him.” Marcus reached across the carriage and grabbed her hands. “If I thought you wouldn’t, the threat of scandal—no matter how large or destructive—wouldn’t be enough to convince me to allow the union. But, as it is, I don’t have to worry over that. The two of you will be content together.”

Too bad,
Olivia thought,
we’ll never get the chance.

Nick didn’t glance up from his paper when a shadow fell across his table at White’s.

“May I sit?” Marcus asked from above him.

At the voice, Nick lowered the paper enough to look at his once friend. He’d not spoken to Marcus beyond finalizing the wedding arrangements. Part of him wondered if his old friend was returning for round two or if he had another purpose in mind behind his arrival at their club.

“Of course,” Nick said, indicating the chair across from him. “I was about to order luncheon.”

Marcus nodded, looking as uncomfortable as Nick had ever seen him. But he pulled the chair out and seated himself without another word.

“How is everyone?” Nick asked to break the silence. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen both Marcus and Olivia the day or two previously.

“They are doing well. Your aunt is keeping Olivia quite busy with preparations.”

Nick chuckled. But at the same time, he felt the familiar knot of unease in his stomach. He doubted the tension would pass until he and Olivia were truly and unalterably wed. Until then, he feared his feisty betrothed would find some way to extricate herself from their agreement.

That was the last thing he wanted.

“Aunt Henri is beside herself with something worthwhile to do. I can only be grateful she realizes I am completely immune to her wedding detail excitement,” Nick said.

“Olivia told me what really happened.” Marcus’s announcement was abrupt and startling—at least for Nick.

He couldn’t find the words to ask his next question.

“I won’t be confronting Finley, if that’s what you fear,” Marcus said. “But I must also apologize to you for believing the worst.”

When he recovered from his surprise that Olivia had confessed, Nick waved off the words of apology with his hand. “What else were you to believe? Every shred of evidence incriminated me. I’m simply glad you know the truth. Keeping it from you was a burden.”

“I won’t force you to marry Olivia,” Marcus said quietly.

Nick’s breath caught. They both knew the impact of what Marcus was saying. If Nick was allowed to cry off the engagement—not that he was considering doing as much—Olivia would never be able to show her face in polite society again.

Marcus continued, “I can remove her to Westin Park. She doesn’t care much for town anyway. And while there is nothing I’d like more than to call you brother in a true sense, I can’t—won’t—ask you to atone for another man’s sin.”

“You don’t plan on accepting Finley’s suit for her then?” Nick asked, sure he already knew the answer, but needing to hear the words.

“I would sooner Olivia and I both bear the full brunt of the
ton
’s censure. Their disapproval will pass. Marriage to Finley would ruin the rest of her life.” Marcus looked at Nick, waiting for him to no doubt sigh in relief and run out of White’s rejoicing over his freedom.

Nick had absolutely no plans to seize the ready escape.

Marriage to Olivia was an idea that had grown increasingly
appealing. And just thinking about
not
spending the rest of his life with her made his chest ache. He wanted to be the one to hold her when she was upset, protect her when she was in danger and rejoice with her when she was happy.

Which was, of course, why the next words came out of his mouth. “I want to marry your sister.”

Marcus looked surprisingly hopeful, as though he’d not allowed himself to believe Nick’s feelings for Olivia could be real. But something in his friend must have pressed him to be sure. “I won’t think badly of you. It is my fault you and Olivia were in a position to be found that way, and I owe you a grave debt. I’ll not pay it by taking away your freedom.”

“Marcus, perhaps you didn’t hear me. I wish to proceed with this marriage to your sister. I will treat her well, and I certainly am not bitter about the event in front of me. Can you not agree it must be God’s hand leading this?”

Marcus nodded. “I could think of no one I would rather entrust my sister to, and I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding between us.”

“Now that all is well between us, I can actually look forward to whatever ceremonial pomp my aunt and future wife have waiting for us.” Nick liked far too much the way the word wife rolled off the tongue.

If he were falling for his own fiancée, well, who could possibly fault him for that?

O
livia pulled on her glove with a firm yank, then she smoothed the skirts of her dress, adjusted the ribbon on her bonnet and checked her reticule.

Gibbons watched the unnecessary fanfare with a mild interest. He couldn’t possibly know her nerves prevented her from marching out of the house and back out into society. From the moment she and Nick had been found in the garden, she’d been careful not to put herself places where she might find herself the object of attention.

But she needed a few items from Bond Street, and while she could have sent Sarah with a groom, Olivia had decided it was time to lift her self-imposed exile.

As Gibbons finally opened the door at his mistress’s nod, Olivia straightened her chin and marched out the door.

And right into Anna Finley.

“Lady Olivia,” the young girl stammered, her hand raised as though still ready to knock on the door.

“Anna?” Olivia asked, gripping the girl by the elbows to steady them both.

“I was coming to see you,” Anna said. “Obviously,” she added with a self-deprecating smile.

“Come in,” Olivia invited, pushing the door back open and leading the girl inside.

“It’s so lovely in here,” Anna breathed.

“Thank you. Come have a seat.” Olivia led them past several doors until they were in the morning room.

Anna sat but looked uncomfortable.

“How are you?” Olivia asked gently. For the first time in their acquaintance, Anna seemed awkward around her. Perhaps the news of what happened at the Ashburn’s with Nick had made her question the kind of person Olivia was.

“I’m fine.” But the twisting of the reticule in Anna’s hands belied her words.

“It’s good to see you. It’s been since…”

“The Ashburn ball,” Anna finished for her.

Neither one spoke, and Olivia was prepared to offer to ring for tea when Anna broke the silence.

“Olivia, I’m so happy for you,” the young girl blurted.

The admission caught Olivia unaware. “You are?”

“Yes.” She nodded fervently. “I heard about what happened, and that you’re getting married. I think it’s wonderful! It’s to
that man,
isn’t it?”

Olivia’s mouth was open in shock, and Anna didn’t wait to hear her answer.

“I know Mama said I’m not to congratulate you because it’s scandalous what happened, but you’re my friend…aren’t you?” she paused her rant long enough to look at Olivia.

Olivia nodded. She was still mute.

“And I know the gossips are saying all sorts of horrid things, but I told Mama it was all perfectly innocent.” Anna’s tone indicated she’d brook no argument.

What had Olivia done to deserve such a steadfast champion? And what fluke of heritage had gifted Anna into the same family as Finley?

Since they were on the same settee, Olivia didn’t have to
stand to embrace her friend. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m so glad you came by to see me.”

Anna pulled back. “Oh, right. Julian was at the house when Mama and I were talking about me coming to see you.” She pulled a face. “He wanted me to bring you something.”

Olivia carefully kept her face neutral. “What would that be?”

Anna pulled the strings on her purse and fished around inside. Finally, she pulled a folded piece of parchment out.

“I don’t know what he wants,” Anna said with an apologetic shrug.

Olivia knew she should wait to open the letter until she was alone—had the distinct feeling her face would show every emotion she felt once she read the words. But she didn’t want to sit there through the rest of the visit, morbidly imagining what was contained in the missive.

“Do you mind if I just glance at it?” she asked Anna.

Anna shook her head. “Not at all.”

Olivia’s hands trembled as she unfolded the letter.

It was short, and to the point.

Denounce the engagement. Leave London. Finley would meet her in the country, and they would be married without delay. By a minister or a blacksmith in Gretna Green.

And of course, she knew what would happen if she didn’t.

He’d underlined the last part several times, leaving a heavy ink spot at the end of the emphasized line.

“Olivia?” Anna asked, “Are you all right?”

Olivia managed a nod, but she wasn’t certain how reassuring that was.

Anna patted her on the back, like a mother soothing an upset child. But Olivia still had enough presence of mind to realize Anna seemed to be upset as well.

Olivia realized the reason why a few moments later.

“I should never have agreed to bring it with me,” Anna said with a huff. “What vile things did my cousin have to say?”

“It’s nothing,” Olivia dismissed, hastily refolding the letter and tucking it under her skirts. “Nothing at all.”

Anna looked skeptical.

“Did you enjoy the ball?” Olivia asked suddenly because she knew Anna would be distracted from the letter.

“So much,” Anna gushed.

The next half of an hour was lost to Olivia. She knew she made appropriate comments and responses, but her participation in the conversation ended there.

How could she possibly feign enthusiasm when she was thinking about how she was going to hurt the man she wished she could spend the rest of her life with in favor of the man she never wanted to see again?

Olivia agonized over what to do. She didn’t want to stay around the house because it depressed her, and there weren’t many places around town she wished to go to. Her Bond Street expedition was abandoned for fear of running into Finley.

Which was why she surprised herself by asking Sarah to accompany her to the Duchess of Leith’s house. The coachman pulled up outside the townhome, and Olivia waited several moments before opening the door and descending the carriage steps.

She had no rational reason for wanting to see the other woman, and she knew as soon as she officially rejected Nick, the duchess would probably not want much to do with her. Perhaps she wanted to be the one to break the news to her, so she could gauge for herself how the woman was going to react. Or perhaps—and this scenario was more likely—she wanted a bit of understanding and commiseration. She might not be able to share the full story—or any of the important parts—with her,
but Henrietta seemed the type of woman to offer both sympathy and understanding.

Olivia could use a healthy dose of both.

But then Olivia’s paranoid nature began to take over. What if the duchess had a temper? What if she became enraged Olivia wouldn’t be marrying her nephew?

Olivia had never before been thrown out of someone’s home. She supposed, however, certain things in life were inevitable. And as the future wife of Lord Finley, she knew there would be places she wouldn’t be welcome. In her time in London, she’d discovered the baron didn’t command the respect or admiration he’d always claimed to.

She also supposed it was a good thing she didn’t much care for societal affairs.

The formal butler, one who made Gibbons look like a traveling circus act, admitted her immediately into an elegantly appointed room. And surprisingly, there wasn’t a single splash of chartreuse among the color scheme.

The duchess greeted Olivia warmly when she came in to meet her.

“It’s so lovely to see you dear,” the duchess said as she gave Olivia a welcoming hug.

“I hope you don’t mind I came by unannounced.” Olivia twisted her reticule in her hands, worried about what the older woman would do once she heard what Olivia had to say.

“You are welcome here anytime.” Henrietta motioned for Olivia to sit and then called for a tea service.

“What’s troubling you?” she asked Olivia, once she took her own seat. “You look pale.”

The rice powder,
Olivia thought to herself. She was still wearing it to cover the small traces of the bruise left on her cheek. “I don’t know how to begin.” Olivia occupied herself with smoothing her skirts, hoping to avoid having to look at the kind countenance of Nick’s aunt.

Henrietta leaned forward in her seat. “Are you feeling well?” The duchess was too much of a lady to mention the circles under Olivia’s eyes and her look of desperation.

Olivia didn’t need to hear someone tell her how she appeared. She’d seen her own face in the mirror often enough to have the image burned into her mind.

“I’m afraid I have upsetting news.”

The tea arrived, and Henrietta efficiently prepared their cups while Olivia waited in silence. After she had passed a teacup to Olivia, the older woman nodded her head to encourage Olivia to continue.

“I won’t be marrying your nephew.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and Olivia wasn’t sure they were understandable.

“Whyever not?” Genuine distress colored the duchess’s features.

“It’s complicated. Nick is blameless, though. I don’t want you to think he’s the reason I’m calling off the engagement.”

Henrietta sipped her tea. While Olivia couldn’t prove it, she was relatively sure the duchess was stalling for time.

“What did Nicholas have to say?” Henri asked finally.

Olivia bit her bottom lip with her teeth, worrying at it until she couldn’t put off answering the question any longer. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Olivia thought Henrietta was going to choke on her beverage. “You haven’t told him you’re not marrying him?” she sputtered.

The ungraceful reaction somehow made Olivia feel even guiltier. “No, I haven’t. Well, not in so many words. He can be rather insistent about things. So he refused to take my initial no for an answer.”

The sound of the older woman setting her teacup back in the saucer made a delicate
clink.
“I know you might feel as though you don’t know me well enough to answer, and I
certainly understand. But can I ask why you feel you can’t marry Nick?”

“My reasons have nothing to do with your nephew in particular. And I feel badly about having to deny him. He has become a friend to me.”

The duchess seemed to be trying to come up with a simple explanation for Olivia’s problem. “Are you afraid of getting married, my dear? I know you must miss your mother terribly now. You should be getting ready and sharing the experience with her. She should also be the one to tell you what to expect now that you’re going to be a wife.”

Olivia’s eyes misted at the mention of her mother. Henrietta couldn’t have anticipated the reaction her words would have. The thought made Olivia sad, of course, but it also made her angry. Were it not for her mother, she never would have had to make this difficult decision.

Olivia had to continually pray God would help her conquer the anger she felt. While perhaps she was justified, the emotion wasn’t edifying.

“I’m sorry, I should have known not to say anything about her.” Henri moved closer as though she was going to offer solace.

Olivia didn’t bother pulling out a handkerchief but wiped the few lone tears away with the tips of her gloved fingers. “No, think nothing of it. Her absence pains me still—” in more ways than anyone would ever know “—but she isn’t the reason why I cannot marry your nephew.”

“Child, I wish you would come out and say it. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“I can’t speak about it. At least not now,” Olivia answered honestly.

Henrietta pursed her lips. “This isn’t about the bit of ugliness circulating about Nick, is it? Because while I can’t divulge
a confidence, I can tell you not to believe a negative word about him.”

“I don’t. I know him well enough not to pay any mind to the idle gossiping of the
ton
.”

“Nicholas is a good man,” Henrietta affirmed. Her solid nod made it clear she would brook no arguments on the subject, not that Olivia had any to offer, of course.

“I know he is. He is a good friend to me.” Or at least, he had been.

“Does your brother not approve of the match? I thought the two were friends as well.”

It would be so nice to be able to tell someone the truth. She doubted Henrietta would judge her, or her mother harshly, and obviously, the woman could be trusted to keep a secret. But Olivia didn’t want Henri to feel any sense of responsibility or feel Olivia was asking for any kind of help.

So she stayed silent.

“I can’t really discuss why I’m not marrying Lord Huntsford.” Olivia leaned forward, took the elderly lady’s wrinkled hands in her own. “I’ll tell you something I can’t even tell Nick.” She dropped her voice to a near whisper, saying, “If I had a choice, it would certainly be him.”

Henrietta opened her mouth, perhaps to ask why Olivia felt she couldn’t decide for herself.

Olivia rushed on. “Please don’t make this any harder for me. You have to know I would love nothing more than to be able to call you my own aunt. I know you’ll probably want nothing to do with me after this, and I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to see anyone. But please know I think you are a wonderful woman.”

The duchess shook her head. “Olivia, dear, I’m afraid you’re not making much sense. From the way you’re talking, one would think you’re planning on being kidnapped, or worse.”

Oh, worse—much worse.

“You’ll have to forgive me. Marcus tells me it’s in my nature to be dramatic,” Olivia said, hoping to ease Henri’s mind.

Henrietta grasped at the explanation desperately. “That must be it. Your nerves are simply overwhelming you. I suggest you go home and rest. Everything will look clearer in the morning.”

Olivia didn’t contradict her. Henrietta would discover soon enough that Olivia meant what she had said. Olivia would have to rest in the knowledge she’d at least tried to prepare the duchess for what was going to happen.