Olivia’s heart hammered in her chest. “In what regard?”
“They are hailing you as some kind of modern heroine,” her father replied, his expression softening into something akin to pride. “I rather like this bit: ‘It seems that this mysterious Miss Olivia Agarn is a young lady to learn from, for rather than allowing herself to become a cautionary tale, she has changed the narrative entirely. Perhaps, we would all do well to reject the rakes of society… thoughwemight find ourselves lacking employment if that were so.’ I do not like that last part, but the rest is… yes, very favorable indeed.”
Olivia swallowed the lump in her throat as realization dawned. Evan had promised to take the fall for the end of their betrothal, but she had not expected him to turn the story on its head, making it seem as if she was the one who had rejected him. Moreover, it appeared that he had used the false stories of his rakish ways to her benefit, so that no one would doubt the truth of who rejected whom.
Why would he do such a thing?Her heart fluttered with foolish hope, but her mind was swift with a more reasonable explanation.Perhaps, someone else did it. Amelia, most likely.After all, Evan’s reputation would barely suffer, but if the story had been told in any other way, Olivia’s would have been reduced to tatters.
“I suppose I ought to be grateful for that,” she said quietly, more to herself than to her father.
He nodded. “I am beginning to wonder if you might have sparked something that society is not going to like.” He chuckled warmly. “If so, my pride in you shall never falter.”
“Why, because you will have hundreds of other fathers to lament with over the stubbornness of their unwed—and unwilling to wed, I should add—daughters?” she teased.
Jeremy laughed: a sound she had not heard in a long time. “Oh, I would assuredly be shunned for supporting the daughter who caused it all, and I would not mind one bit.”
“As long as you received your investments first?” She smiled, pleased to find it was not forced.
“Most certainly.”
From out in the hallway, a wail cut through the mirth. It sounded like it was coming from the upper floor’s landing. “Are you on your way, darling?” Olivia’s mother called. “We must make haste!”
“I believe that is my moment to leave,” Olivia said.
“Indeed. Do not keep your mother waiting, for the carriage has been arranged for eleven o’clock and it is… oh, not yet half-past-nine. By her reckoning, you are already late.” Her father flashed a wink, returning to his paper.
Feeling lighter, feeling more hopeful, feeling as if the hallways and rooms of Canrave were not so empty and dismal after all, Olivia departed the breakfast room to sit in her bed for the next hour-and-a-half. After all, she was already as dressed as she intended to be for their excursion. They were only having tea and cream buns, not attending a ball.
* * *
The late morning put on a fine show for the mother and daughter, as they made their way through the beautiful, verdant countryside to reach the nearest town of Casterton. It was a pretty town with everything a young lady, keen to avoid public scrutiny, could need, and as they stepped down from the carriage into the peaceful market square, Olivia drew in a deep breath of satisfaction. No one in Casterton cared about her recent embarrassment, for it was not a town that cared about society at all.
“Shall we?” Olivia offered her arm to her mother.
Laura hesitated. “Ah, darling, I thought I might spend a moment or two in the milliner’s before we take tea at Millicent’s. You do not mind, do you? Only, I have been intending to visit the milliner for some time and did not expect to be in town so soon.”
“Mama.” Olivia rolled her eyes.
“You could join me?” her mother asked hopefully. “We could find you a pretty new bonnet or something for the next ball, perhaps? Just a ribbon, even, for your old bonnets and hats? That straw one of yours is exceptionally pretty, but it is looking rather tired.”
Olivia sighed. “Then, it is fortunate that I have no grand occasion in which to wear it. It is for function, not fashion, Mama.” She touched the daisies that arced behind the brim, remembering that one was missing. “I shall wait for you here, and if you are even a minute beyond “a moment or two” I shall send Perkins in to drag you out.”
The footman, Perkins, blanched at the threat. He opened and closed his mouth as if he meant to protest, but Laura swept in to save him.
“She is teasing you, Perkins. Of course, you are not obliged to drag me out of any shop that might take my fancy.” Laura raised a disapproving eyebrow at her daughter, only for it to soften into a giddy smile. “I promise, I shall be no more than… ten minutes. Five-and-ten at the absolute most.”
Olivia gestured toward the church, on the opposite side of the market square. “I shall be counting each one.” She retreated inside the carriage as her mother hurried off down the street, toward the milliner.
As Olivia sank back against the squabs, she was secretly glad of the peace. She adored her mother with her whole heart, but when her mother was worried, she tended to babble. Throughout the entire journey there, her mother had not ceased chattering like a jackdaw in a tree, pointing out sheep and horses and rabbits as if Olivia were a child again, learning the names of things for the first time.
Just then, a knock came at the carriage door.
“Who is it?” Olivia pushed down the window, confused to see Perkins standing there, looking even paler than before. “Oh… is something the matter? Has my mother caused trouble already?”
Perkins shook his head and offered up what appeared to be a small note. “A young boy just gave this to me, Miss. Said I was to give it to you.”
“A young boy?” Olivia frowned, taking the note. “Where is he?”
“Ran off, Miss.”
