Just then, that pesky owl hooted a warning. A moment later, a bark pierced the air, followed by the distant disturbance of gravel underfoot. The nightwatchman would be making his rounds of the estate with his trusty hound at his side; Evan cursed himself for forgetting.
“This way,” he whispered, taking hold of Olivia’s uninjured hand.
She followed him without question, all the way to the farthest gate and out onto the path that meandered north to Westyork Manor and south to the Dowager House. The dog barked again, too far in the distance to be of any concern.
“You should return to the manor,” Evan said, nodding to Westyork. “They will expect you to be in the guest chamber, and I would not cause any scandal for stealing you away.”
If she was disappointed, she did not show it. Instead, she lifted on tiptoe once more and pressed a final, lingering kiss to his lips.
That done, she cast him a shy smile and hurried off toward Westyork Manor, leaving him on the path, watching her go. He stayed there until he saw her ascend the steps and heard the faint sound of the door opening and closing. Only then did he realize he had not confessed what he wanted to. He had not told her that, no, he did not feel the same way he used to when the thought of marriage made him want to run for the hills.
Either she had not wanted to hear his confession, or the kiss had been confession enough. Turning toward home, he supposed he would find out when they met again the following day. After all, the party was tomorrow, and it would not be much of a party if there was nothing to celebrate.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Bright and early the following morning, Olivia breezed into the breakfast room of Westyork Manor as if floating on clouds, humming a song to herself as the memory of the previous night played again and again in her mind. She still feared it might all have been a dream, but the physician had not given her any medicine that might have addled her mind, and there had been gravel dust on her shoes when she had awoken, assuring her that shehad, indeed, kissed Evan.
The bubble of her elation burst the moment she set eyes on the only other person in the breakfast room.
“Good morning,” came her father’s gruff voice.
Olivia sat down in the chair closest to the door, as far from him as it was possible to be. “Good morning,” she replied, snapping her napkin and laying it upon her lap as a footman swept in to pour coffee.
“How is your wrist?”
Olivia stared at her father. “What a strange question,” she said drily. “Why should anything be the matter with my wrist?”
“Do not be facetious, Olivia,” he muttered. “I thought that, by now, you would have learned that it is unbecoming.”
“Who says I wish to be becoming?”
He sat back, his arms dropping to his sides in exasperation. “What happened to you?” he asked, shaking his head. “You used to be such a pleasant, sweet-natured girl. You used to come running up the driveway when you heard my carriage.” His voice faltered for a moment, but Olivia suspected he had merely caught a crumb in the back of his throat. “I did not raise you to behave this way.”
“Youdid not raise me at all,” Olivia shot back, wondering how such a blissful morning had turned so unpleasant in a span of moments. “Mama, my governess, the housekeeper, and the maids raised me. You were never there. As for running to meet you—I do not remember that.”
The corner of her father’s eye twitched, and though she knew she had stepped over a battle line, she could not retreat now. “And how, pray tell, would they have raised you if they had not been paid by my coin?”
“I really prefer not to think of what your coin pays for,” she retorted. “Although, I do hope that all those ladies in London and beyond are able to sell the fine gowns and jewels you bought them after you have abandoned them, or their husbands discover their indiscretions.”
It was part of a heated conversation she had overheard some years earlier when Olivia’s mother had asked to purchase a gown for Olivia and had been informed that there was no coin left for “fripperies.” Naturally, Laura had accused her husband of spending it elsewhere, and the notion had stuck in Olivia’s mind like a barb.
A gasp escaped Jeremy Agarn’s throat as if Olivia had punched him under the ribs. “Who are all of these ladies you speak of? What are these wild accusations? Has your mother put such thoughts in your head?” His lip curled. “You do not know half as much as you think you do, Olivia.”
“I know enough,” she replied.
Jeremy took a pointed sip of his coffee, taking his time before setting the cup back down on the table. “Why do you hate me, Olivia?” he asked coolly. “What have I done to make you detest me so much?”
“You are aware. Do not pretend otherwise.”
“Well, have you ever thought to ask for my side of the story?” he replied haughtily as if he might somehow be in the right. “You have never spoken to me about any of it, sentencing me to your loathing without a fair trial.”
Olivia sniffed. “Did my mother receive fairness when she married you, thinking you would abide by your vows? Are your betrayals fair to her? Is her punishment, standing by you without saying a word, fair?”
“Betrayals?” He scoffed. “Olivia, I—”
She balled up her napkin and dropped it on the table, standing sharply. “Apologies, Father, I have quite lost my appetite. If you will excuse me.”
She left without waiting for his permission, more furious with him than ever for ruining an utterly perfect morning, filled with promise and hope and all of the joyful prospects that she had previously vowed to purge from her future. If she had stayed in that room a moment longer, she might have begun to remember why she had sworn off marriage and men and love in the first place.
