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Chapter One
LONDON, AUGUST 1, 1818
There was love in the air: delicate music, sweet perfumes, and the rustle of silks, all to be savored by the light of two hundred beeswax candles. Yes, all the trappings of love, at least, what passed for it in London society.
But for Olivia Byrde only one phrase resounded. This will never do.
She kept her smile firmly in place as she danced a German waltz with William DeLeary. She dipped and swayed and whirled, exasperated by Mr. DeLeary's besotted smile on her. From the perimeter of the ballroom she also sensed her mother's pleased one.
But all the while the phrase repeated itself in time to the sprightly melody. This will never do. Never do. Never do. To encourage dull Mr. DeLeary would be a grave mistake, for if he did not kill her with compliments, she would surely die from boredom. Consequently, when the set was finished she thanked him, then made a hasty retreat to the company of Clarissa, the nearest friend she could find in the crush.
"Surely they must lock the doors now to prevent anyone else crowding the place," Clarissa exclaimed, fanning herself in a desultory manner.
"We can only hope," Olivia replied as she surveyed the Burlingtons' splendid ballroom, filled to bursting with nearly seven hundred exquisitely tricked-out guests, every one of them there to see and be seen. It was the same at every ball and party and rout. The young ladies preened, hoping to entice particular young men. The young men postured, struggling to impress particular young ladies. Meanwhile the mamas fluttered around, determined to direct everything to their own satisfaction.
Olivia shook her head in amazement. Three years she'd been subject to this frivolity. Three seasons of just this sort of crush. If it weren't for her matchmaking projects, she would have long ago gone mad. As it was, she'd grown exceedingly weary of the entire rigmarole.
She consulted her dance card. Three dances still open. She'd already turned two men away, which her mother would not approve. Fortunately her mother, the lively and elegant Lady Dunmore, was presently engaged with one or another of her admirers.
"Did you hear?" Olivia said to Clarissa. "Prinny plans to make an appearance before the breakfast buffet is laid out. Lady Burlington is beside herself with pleasure. 'Tis a pity poor Anne may not be nearly so pleased with the progress of this evening as her mother."
"And why not?" Clarissa asked, waving to a friend. "Anne has danced every dance. That gold silk overdress she has from Madame Henri's is stunning, and the family sapphires complement it so well. She is quite the belle of the ball tonight. What could she possibly have to complain of?"
"Lord Dexler," Olivia answered, though quietly, so no one else would overhear. "Both she and her mother have fixed their attentions on him. Lady Burlington fancies a future earl for a son-in-law. As for Anne, well, I fear she may have also settled her personal affections upon him."
"But I thought he found her most agreeable. Has he developed a tendre for someone else? Oh, do tell, Olivia. You always know about such goings-on long before anyone else."
"It's nothing I've heard, but rather what I observe. The problem is, like his father, he is a legendary pinchpenny. How do you suppose he can feel about a woman who throws such lavish parties as this, and for no particular reason save that she wishes to?"
Clarissa grimaced "Oh dear. You should have warned her"
"I did. But Anne is so easily swayed by her mother, and as you well know, Lady Burlington appreciates no one's opinion but her own."
Clarissa laughed. "Now, now. You can dispense advice, but you cannot force others to abide by it."
It was Olivia's turn to laugh, albeit ruefully. "I suppose my few matchmaking successes have gone to my head--and you and Robert are quite my greatest coup. Anne admires Lord Dexler so. But if she is as extravagant as her mother, then she and he will never suit."
"As you always say, better to learn that now than later. But tell me," Clarissa went on. "You keep notes on all the eligible men of the ton and offer sage advice to your friends. But when will you find a husband for yourself, Olivia? Despite all the men who beg for your attention, you seem to favor no particular one. Who's to make a match for you?"
Olivia gave her friend a wry smile but did not answer. She fingered the double strand of pearls at her throat. In truth, she did not object to marrying. But even after three seasons she'd yet to find the right match.
One by one her friends had paired off. Rosa and Merrill, Dorothy and Alfred, and now Clarissa and Robert. She prided herself that she'd helped them find marital bliss. But those successes made her feel more and more like someone's old maiden aunt. Though she had only recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday, sometimes she felt positively on the shelf.
What purpose did it serve that she wore the stunning aqua sheath her mother had insisted upon? What use was the sheer overdress ornamented with cream-colored bows at the hem and a deep froth of lace edging the low-cut bodice? She knew she looked especially well, but to what end save personal vanity? There was no one here she wanted to impress.
The trouble was, she saw all the same men at all the same parties. She knew which ones danced well, which ones would vanish to the gaming tables, and which ones became morose or silly or belligerent when they imbibed too much. She knew all that and more because she watched and she listened and she jotted everything down in her journal, the one her friends called her little matchmaker. She observed all the young men of the ton--and the young women as well--and in three seasons she'd become quite adept at matching up appropriate couples.
But she'd yet to meet the right man for herself.
"Well," Clarissa prodded her. "Is there anyone you favor this year?"
"No. Oh, look," she added, pointing her fan through the crowd. "Don't Judith and Mr. Morrison make a handsome couple? He's nearly as bashful as she, and yet they seem well able to converse between themselves." Olivia smiled in satisfaction, pleased with the young couple, the latest of the budding romances she'd prompted. Everyone else had thought a pair of shy mice such as they would have nothing whatever to say to one another. But she'd known that what they each needed was a quiet place with no other strident voices or opinions drowning them out. And sure enough, they'd each provided that quiet place for the other.
She sighed, reassured that there truly was a suitable partner for everyone, even her. It just took time to find them.
"Miss Byrde?" A hesitant male voice pulled her from her reverie.
She turned with a smile pasted firmly in place. "Lord Hendricks."
The beaming fellow bowed over her hand. "I believe this is the dance you promised to me."
"So it is," Olivia said, hiding any sign of resignation. At the moment Viscount Hendricks was her mother's favorite choice for a son-in-law, and she'd given Olivia strict orders to encourage his attentions.
"Have fun, you two," Clarissa said, giving Olivia a knowing look. Olivia rolled her eyes. But she took Lord Hendricks's arm and accompanied him to the floor. A tree quadrille was her favorite dance and he was a fine dancer, not content to walk through the steps as some gentlemen were wont. Added to that he was well titled, with a more than adequate income, and he was smart. He'd taken a first at Cambridge, quite an accomplishment.
Even she had to agree they were a superb match, plus he made no secret of his admiration for her. But to her dismay, Olivia could muster no feelings for him beyond friendship.
It was truly baffling, for she was no silly girl searching for a grand passion. All that heart fluttering and breaths coming short was for novels, not for real life, as she well knew. She'd tried very hard to convince herself that she could be content with Lord Hendricks, but it had been no use. She wanted something more from a husband than he was ever likely to provide. What that was, however, remained an utter mystery.
The string quartet struck up the music, and as they began the elaborate figure of the dance, Olivia spied her mother nodding approval at her.
Olivia squared her shoulders. She would have to do something about this soon. She'd turned down three proposals her first season, five her second, and two already this year. She did not relish declining any other man's kind offer, for she'd rather spare both his feelings and her own. Her mother had sulked for weeks the last time.
Maybe a change of scenery was in order, she thought as they circled around. Her skirts belled out prettily and Lord Hendricks beamed down at her. She smiled back at him, but inside her mind churned. Yes, a change of scenery--if her mother could be convinced.
The next morning Olivia bent over her journal, rereading her latest entry.
Lord S: Dances well. Not known to gamble or drink except in moderation. Excessively devoted to his mother, though, and she is extraordinarily possessive of his time. But he is not a pinchpenny.
she tapped her quill pen against her chin. In addition Lord Simington was as boring as a fence post, and not much better to look at From her observation, he held no opinions of his own, only those of his autocratic parents. But he was neither a sot nor a womanizer, and that counted for quite a bit. She could think of three suitable young ladies for him, though Charlotte would no doubt quake beneath his mother's stem gaze.
Oh well, she'd known from the first that finding the right man for Charlotte Littleton would not be an easy task. "Mother," she called. "Is the Littletons' reception this Thursday or next?"
Augusta Lindford Byrde Palmer, Viscountess Dunmore, sat at her own desk prettily framed by two massive potted palms. As they had the previous two seasons, they'd taken up residence in Farley House, and they sat now in the morning room, Lady Augusta reviewing their invitations, Olivia making notations about last night's soirée, and twelve-year-old Sarah embroidering. Olivia's older brother, James Lindford, the young and eminently eligible Viscount Farley, had not yet arisen. No doubt another late night carousing with his dashing friends. He seemed in no hurry to marry.
Olivia flicked the feather quill back and forth beneath her chin. If only she had even a quarter of the freedom allowed him. "Mother," she prompted. "The Littletons?"
"Oh yes. The Littletons' reception." Lady Augusta shuffled through the invitations, a delicate frown on her still youthful brow. "I don't see the invitation on my desk, dear. Are you certain--"
"'Tis Thursday next," the housekeeper, Mrs. McCaffery, stated as she carried in a salver of fresh calling cards. "And your mum's making other plans." The woman gave Olivia a meaningful glance but said no more.
Lady Augusta scowled at her longtime servant, a sure sign that something was up. But Mrs. McCaffery appeared supremely unconcerned. She'd been with Lady Augusta since her first marriage to the much older George Lindford, James's father, and had remained with her throughout the next two as well. She'd propped a devastated Augusta up through the funerals of all three of those husbands, and made no bones about the fact that she thought young Sarah's father the best of the lot, nor that she remained doubtful about Augusta's plans to capture husband number four.
Olivia blotted the page, then closed the cream-colored leather journal. "You're not going? I thought you and old lady Littleton were famous friends."
Augusta sent Olivia an aggrieved look. "There's no need to be rude, Olivia. Mildred Littleton is no more an old lady than am I. You young girls think anyone past five-and-twenty is an ancient dredge. Well; does your mother look like an ancient dredge to you?"
Olivia grinned. "You know you do not. But Mildred Littleton does."
A reluctant smile curved the corners of Augusta's lips. "Perhaps she does," she conceded. "But it is only that she neglects her figure and then--horrors!--allows that awful Madame LaNasa to dress her in puce and olive, colors that do nothing for her complexion."
"Or her disposition," young Sarah threw in.
"Don't you be rode either," Augusta admonished her youngest child.
"You still haven't explained why you will not be at the Littletons' next Thursday," Olivia pointed out.
Augusta glanced at Olivia, then away. "I'm thinking of taking a jaunt up to Yorkshire." She waved one perfectly manicured hand. "I do so need a change of atmosphere, and Penelope Cummings has invited me to stay a week or two with her. Mrs. Mac will remain in town with you and Sarah."
It was just the opportunity Olivia had been waiting for. "Actually, Mother, I too grow weary of London. How I would welcome a country sojourn, as I'm certain would Sarah." She pressed on. "I'm certain Penny would not object if we accompany you. But tell me, what is it about Yorkshire that interests you? I cannot believe it merely the country air."
"'Tis Archie." Sarah stretched out the name and rolled her eyes.
Augusta stiffened and glared at her youngest child. "I'll thank you to be more respectful of your elders."
Sarah threw down her handiwork. "He may be my elder, but he's not yours, is he?"
Olivia grimaced. Could her mother have set her cap for Archibald Collins, the new Earl of Holdsworth, a man nearly ten years her junior?
Augusta rose from her seat quivering with fury. "You had better mind your tongue," she warned Sarah, "else I will send you packing back to Nottingham."
"I'd rather be there than here where I am forced to watch you make a fool of yourself!" With that Sarah stormed from the room, leaving an awful silence in her wake.
"Well," Augusta huffed, jerking angrily at the skirt of her sky-blue striped morning dress.
Even angry she was a pretty woman, and for a moment Olivia simply stared at her mother. Striking blue eyes; rich blond hair. If there was any gray it did not show. Her figure, too, was delicate and still youthful. Hard to believe she'd borne three children, one to each of her husbands.
But in the two years since Sarah's father had died, their mother had been terribly lonely. Even her children could not fill the void, for Augusta Lindford Byrde Palmer was a woman lost without a husband. It was an aspect of her mother's personality that Olivia did not understand. She'd wed an old man first, then a dashing wastrel, and finally a true gentleman. Wasn't that enough? Olivia could see no reason for Augusta ever to chain herself to a man again. She had an income in the vicinity of three thousand pounds a year, plus a country home near Nottingham, and James's town house. There was also the Byrde estate in Scotland, held in trust for Olivia from her father.
But though she had sufficient homes and sufficient children, Augusta still needed a man. Olivia and James did not oppose the idea of her remarrying. Young Sarah, unfortunately, could not bear the thought of anyone replacing her beloved Papa.
Olivia capped the bottle of ink, then sent a silent signal to Mrs. McCaffery to leave them. Once the housekeeper closed the door, she said, "Mother, surely you can understand Sarah's objections."
"He is only a very few years younger than I. A very few. Besides, no one can believe I am a day over thirty-five." She glanced at her reflection in the towering pier mirror, straightened her posture and lifted her chin. "And you needn't inform anyone to the contrary," she added with a stern look.
"It is not his age that has Sarah so upset."
Augusta made a circuit of the room, then halted in the open window and caught the billowing lace curtain in one hand. "My mourning period is long past."
"Yes. But that means nothing to Sarah. She loved her father dearly. We all did," Olivia added more softly. Humphrey Dunmore had been as good a father to Olivia and James as he had to Sarah, his only offspring.
Augusta bowed her head. "I do so miss him. But think, Olivia. James is Viscount Farley now and maintains his own household. Eventually he will wed, as will you. Then Sarah will have her come-out, and you know with her pretty face and considerable fortune she will go quickly. What am I to do then? Live alone or in my son's household? No." She looked up, shaking her head. "I simply could not bear that. So you see, I must remarry while I am still young enough to do so. 'Tis past time. Why can she not understand that?"
Olivia blew out a frustrated breath. Between her carefree brother, her childlike mother, and her moody sister, she often felt like the Sole parent in their irregular sort of family, "It's hard for Sarah to understand that, Mother. You must give her time. And you must not get so upset by her outbursts. It will take a while for her to accept a new man in her mother's life. You forget that James and I have been through this before."
Augusta sent Olivia a fond smile. "You are such a good girl, Livvie. Such a wonderful daughter. You will make some lucky man a marvelous wife. And I shall miss you terribly."
Olivia laughed, then rose and, crossing to her mother, gave her a hug. "Then why do you press me so hard to marry and leave you?"
Augusta squeezed Olivia's arm. "You think me irresponsible, and perhaps in some matters I am--just a little. But I know my responsibility as a mother I mean to see you properly wed, Livvie. This is your third season and you are already one-and-twenty. I'll not have it said that one of my girls is headed for the shelf. So tell me. You've turned down Mr. Prine already, and that other fellow--I always forget his name. But what of Lord Hendricks? I saw how you behaved last night. You practically ignored him, save for a dance or two. And you know the teeniest sign of encouragement would bring him swiftly up to scratch."
"I believe we were speaking of your prospects, Mother, not mine."
Augusta slipped her arm around Olivia's waist and gave her a grateful smile. "So you do not object to Archibald?"
"I didn't say that. I don't know him well enough to form an opinion."
"You mean you haven't made any notations about him in that shabby little journal you drag about?"
Olivia made a face at her. "He's only lately come on the scene. But I shall certainly pay attention to any remarks I hear of him in the future."
Augusta pulled away and patted her hair, checking for any imagined disarray in her perfect coiffure. "If you should hear anything about him--you know--anything that I should be aware of ..."
"Such as his attentions to any other women?"
Augusta gave her a grateful smile. "Not only are you beautiful, but you're smart as well, and awfully kind to your poor mother." Then her demeanor grew solemn. "I know he is much younger than I, Olivia. And though he has heirs to spare from his first marriage, he would probably not object to more children--something I will never give him. But I do so like him. He is charming and amusing--and I've always wanted to be a countess. You do understand, don't you, dear?"
"Yes, Mama. I understand. But you must understand Sarah's feelings. She needs you now. She's lost one parent already. The last thing she needs is to believe she's losing the other one as well."
"Oh, pooh. How could she possibly believe such a thing of me?"
Again Olivia sighed. Although her mother did not have a mean bone in her body, her self-centeredness of times could be wounding. "Tell me about this sojourn to Yorkshire," she said. "I know why you are going. But why is Archie, Earl of Holdsworth, going? Aren't his estates in Suffolk?"
"Yes, but there is a horse race in Doncaster, Wednesday next, with a rather large purse, and a horse auction. All the sporting crowd attends, for it's quite the thing, and Lord Holdsworth is said to keep a very fine stable."
Olivia toyed with a stray curl as she considered. She, too, would love to get away from town, for she'd had quite enough of the season, and last night's ball had been absolutely the limit. But a week was not enough. She wanted to return to their country residence, only she knew her mother would never agree, especially if the Earl of Holdsworth remained in London.
Then from out of nowhere came inspiration. "Mother," she began. "Doesn't the shooting season for grouse begin in Scotland soon?"
"In Scotland? Yes, I believe so. Then after that there's the partridge season. Why do you ask--Oh!" Augusta looked at her, and Olivia fancied she could see the wheels turning in her pretty head. "The shooting season in Scotland," Augusta repeated. Then her fair face lit up. "Men do so love to shoot and tramp about in the woods. You're thinking about Byrde Manor, aren't you? We could host a country house party there. You've been wanting to go up to Byrde Manor these past several years anyway, haven't you?"
"And you've always found a reason to deter me."
"Oh, the countryside is so boring. Besides--well, never mind all that. Do you think Archie--Lord Holdsworth--would accept our invitation?"
"Unless he has a grousing club of his own, I don't see why not. We could get up a small party. I'm certain James would agree to play host. So what do you say, Mother? Shall we devise a guest list for a country house party? It would suit your purposes as well as mine."
"And what are your purposes?"
"I am weary of all this matchmaking you do on my behalf. A few months of country life would do me a world of good."
"But you have to find a husband, Olivia. You know you do."
"And I intend to. But I've met no one this year who interests me, nor am I likely to. Besides, if you want to spend time with your Archie and soften Sarah toward him, this is a perfect opportunity."
Olivia could see the tug of war in her mother's face. Though Augusta worded about her eldest daughter's marital status, it seemed she worried more about her own. Augusta pursed her lips. "I know precisely what you are doing, Olivia. You're trying to put off any decision on your own marriage." Then she laughed, as delighted and eager as a child. "Let's do it. Let's invite Archie and whomever else he likes. We can have picnics and long walks, and entertain ourselves with music and cards and charades in the evenings. And maybe we might even find a wild Scotsman for you, since English gentlemen do not seem to suit."
Olivia gave her mother an even stare. "Someone like my father?"
Augusta sobered at once and wove her fingers together. "Your father may have had his faults, Olivia. But he was not a bad man, no matter what tales Mrs. McCaffery tells you."
Olivia chose not to enter into that debate. "In truth, I hardly remember him." But what little she did remember supported everything Mrs. McCaffery had let slip. Still, although she took no comfort from remembering her father, memories of her childhood home always brought her a sense of peace. Just the thought of spending autumn in the wild Cheviot hills around Byrde Manor filled her now with a nameless longing.
She'd been back only once since her father's death. Five years ago her stepfather, dear Humphrey, had insisted over Augusta's objections, that Olivia reacquaint herself with the people of the country estate her father had left to her in trust. Since then she'd struck up a regular correspondence with the steward, old Mr. Hamilton. The estate produced little income, just enough to keep the house up and a few servants employed. It would never be a grand place, but the grounds were glorious, and when she married, control of it would pass entirely to her. For practical purposes it already had.
She closed her eyes now and tried to remember it: a gray stone house, covered with centuries of moss and vines; wild hills, green valleys, and bright, rushing streams. Her father had been an avid sportsman, and according to Augusta their life in Scotland had been good. But Mrs. McCaffery's version was different. Drinking. Gambling. Womanizing. If it had seemed worse in London, it was only that he'd hidden it better in Scotland.
As a child Olivia had only seen that her mother was beautiful and her father dashing. But as time passed, she'd come to understand. Her father had not been a man suited for marriage. Perhaps that was why she analyzed the young men of the ton so carefully now. She did not wish to repeat her mother's mistake.
Despite her father, however, Byrde Manor was still the best part of her early childhood, and it had been left in trust to her. The thought of going there now filled Olivia with unexpected longing. How ironic if she found a husband among the Scottish half of her heritage. She suppressed a chuckle. Her socially aware mother had been jesting, but it would serve her right should it turn out that way.
She turned to face Augusta. "I believe for once that you and I are in complete agreement. Sarah is tired of town. I've been wanting to go to Byrde Manor, and you shall have your Archie all to yourself. Even James must approve this plan."
"Really, Olivia. You talk as if I can only interest Archie by getting him away from any other females. Nevertheless, I agree. A country house party is just the thing. You'll have to go ahead of the rest of us, however, to prepare the house."
"Yes, and I can take Sarah,"
"You'll need to hire extra servants."
"Yes, I know."
"And air out the bedchambers. And wash and bleach the linens."
"I'm quite able to run a household, Mother."
Augusta patted Olivia's cheek and gave her a sweet smile. "So you are, darling. So you are. And I shall miss your competent handling of our domestic affairs when you finally marry. Some fine lord is going to be very lucky when you deign to bestow your hand upon him."
Copyright © 2001 Rexanne Becnel. All rights reserved.
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