Puzzled, Olivia stared at the folded note, not knowing whether to be intrigued or terrified that her name was written on the front. Just her name:Olivia.Who was in town who would know her by her name alone? Her heart suddenly leaped, wondering if it might be one of her darling friends. Phoebe had mentioned that she and her sisters might be venturing into town that week, so perhaps it was an invitation to join them.
She hurriedly opened the note… and her heart stopped, her blood running cold.
Look across the square,it said, the words etched in pencil and not ink, as if they had been written not a moment ago.
Olivia did not dare to raise her eyes to the window to peer across the market square, petrified of who she might see standing there. The handwriting was unfamiliar to her, and though she had the safety of the carriage and Perkins between her and the writer of the note, she suddenly felt very alone and very uneasy.
Folding up the note, she drew in a steadying breath and, with all the courage she could muster, she turned her gaze to the far side of the square. There, she spotted him, standing just in front of the church. He raised his hand in a timid wave, looking so handsome and yet so weary that her heart cracked afresh.
Why are you here?She longed to cry out, so her voice would carry all the way to him.Why are you tormenting me? You made your choice, Evan. You left me. You could have ruined me.The fact that he had not and had taken the blame entirely upon himself did not soften the jagged edges of her anger and her heartbreak, which closed like fangs around her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Perkins?” Olivia said in a shaky voice.
The footman appeared. “Yes, Miss?”
“Do you have a pencil?”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Having retreated to a wrought iron bench, off to the side of the church, Evan waited with bated breath. He observed the closed curtains of the carriage, eager to see some sign of life within. Olivia had drawn the curtains after receiving the note, which did not seem like a good omen, but he had nothing more to lose and everything to gain if he could just get her to come to him.
For almost five days, after a fleeting return to Westyork, he had resided at the Casterton Inn, hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia. Amelia had informed him that it was the nearest town to Canrave Hall, and that Olivia’s mother had spoken often of visiting the town at least twice a week with her daughter. So, he had waited and waited and waited… and, at last, she had appeared.
Of course, it would have been simpler for him to go directly to Canrave Hall, but he had not dared to impose upon the woman he had hurt so terribly, nor the family of that woman. All he could do was wait nearby, and hope that she had seen the scandal sheets, discovering what he had done to save her reputation. And, on seeing how he had turned the tale in her favor, that she might forgive him somewhat, even if she could not deign to love him again.
I just want to talk to you,he urged silently, clasping his hands together in a desperate prayer.I just want to hear your side of the events. I want to confirm what I already know, so I can begin to grieve you and fully accept my idiocy.
Just then, a hand slipped out between the carriage window’s drapes, and the note was passed to a man standing guard by the carriage door. The footman, judging by his livery. The fellow’s mouth moved, his expression concerned as he spoke, but Evan was too far away to hear the conversation.
A short while later, the footman began to make his way across the square, walking straight toward Evan.
“Are you the Marquess of Bridfield?” the footman asked.
Evan nodded. “I am.”
“Uh… I have this for you, M’Lord.” The man offered him the note. “Miss Agarn says I’m to wait.”
Evan clutched the note and eyed the fellow. “Might you stand a little further off?”
“Sorry, M’Lord. Of course, M’Lord.” The footman walked ten paces to the left, standing awkwardly with his arms behind his back, his gaze fixed on the carriage. Evidently, he was not supposed to leave his post, which had likely been the cause of his concerned expression.
She will suffer no further harm from me,Evan wanted to promise, as he opened the note. The reply had been written in matching pencil and was shorter and curter than he had hoped.
Are you lost?it said.
He had to smile, drawing his pencil from his waistcoat pocket to scribble his response:I am not lost. I am precisely where I am supposed to be. I know I have no right to ask, but may I steal a moment of your time? I just wish to talk.
“Might you deliver this back to her?” Evan waved to the pale, sweating footman.
The footman all but grabbed the note. “Certainly, M’Lord.”
Without another word, he ran across the square and passed the note through the still-drawn curtains. Evan leaned forward upon the bench, praying for a miracle. All the while, his gaze darted to the left, hoping that Olivia’s mother would not return too soon. He did not mean to be deceitful, but he needed to speak with Olivia by herself before he groveled before her mother, begging forgiveness.
Barely two minutes had passed before the footman returned with the note, and Evan’s heart lurched into his throat.
“Her reply, M’Lord,” the footman said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.
Evan took the note and unfurled it, frowning at the two lonely, biting letters at the very bottom of the paper:No.
