Page 26 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Philippa woke to the scent of fried kippers and the cheerful sound of voices chattering. It took a moment for her thoughts to assemble.

Dear Lord. I slept the night in Olivia’s arms.

She turned, but the bed was empty. Olivia must have risen while Philippa still slumbered. The idea of the marchioness watching Philippa sleep, knowing she had cradled her body throughout the night, awoke a vulnerability within Philippa she rarely felt.

What if I was drooling?

Embarrassment swept in as she wiped her hand over her lips, grateful to find no evidence of dried saliva.

Of course I wasn’t drooling. The Duchess of Dorsett does not slaver in her sleep like some wild beast.

Although she wasn’t certain that was true. Pulling the covers aside, she made haste in dressing for the day. Her gown from the night before had mysteriously disappeared from the chair. When she made her way to the parlour, a cozy scene greeted her.

Olivia sat at one end of the table. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, shining bright in the gloomy morning like a beacon. Pink cheeks darkened to rose as her gaze refused to settle on Philippa.

‘Well, good morning to ye.’ Callum stood from the table, his brown curls falling into his eyes as he brushed them away.

He pulled a chair free next to Olivia. A plate sat waiting for Philippa to fill it with any number of delicious items piled in the centre of the table.

Her meals were never quite so informal at Belgrave Square, but she was growing to like the casual ease of it.

As she settled in her chair, Mrs Hughes eyed her with a twinkle of mischief. ‘You must have been right worn out. I hope you slept well.’ She winked at Philippa, and the duchess was shocked to feel heat rushing to her cheeks.

Am I blushing? The Duchess of Dorsett does not blush.

It would seem she was breaking her rules of decorum willy-nilly.

Resisting the urge to press cool hands over her warm cheeks, she distracted herself by scooping a spoonful of clotted eggs onto her plate, followed by crispy kippers, and a slice of toast. Yellow butter sat in a dish next to a pot of blackcurrant jam.

She spread both liberally onto her toast.

‘Where is Hyacinth this morning?’ Philippa tried to keep her voice light as she made the not-so-innocent inquiry. No doubt the young woman was catching up on lost sleep.

‘She hasn’t risen yet.’ Olivia studied her over a cup of steaming tea. ‘You are looking well. A night of rest did much to restore colour to your cheeks.’

The minx’s lips twitched. She was teasing Philippa. No one teased the Duchess of Dorsett.

Except Olivia, apparently.

‘I have a strong constitution.’ Philippa arched a brow and licked jam from her thumb, noticing how Olivia’s eyes shifted to her tongue, her pupils expanding.

‘Hyacinth’s usually up with the starlings. I’ll just pop into her room and check on her.’ Mrs Hughes pushed her chair back to rise, but Olivia scrambled to her feet.

‘Don’t. I’ll do it. I can’t remember the last time I woke her.’

Mrs Hughes’ cheeks creased, and her eyes softened. ‘Right you are, Ollie.’

‘Ollie?’ Philippa raised both brows, looking from Mrs Hughes to Olivia.

Olivia was the one hiding her blush now by turning quickly to rush down the hall.

Mrs Hughes speared a kipper with her fork. ‘A pet name I used when she was just a girl. Always getting into scrapes, that one. Fearless. She kept me on my toes, that is certain.’

Philippa desperately wished for a splash of whiskey in her tea. ‘A trait her daughter seems to have inherited.’ She turned to ask Callum about the letters he’d intercepted, but a scream had her pushing free from the table and racing down the hall and up the stairs instead.

‘She’s gone! Hyacinth is gone! Someone must have broken in and taken her. Oh my God. What can we do? We must find her. Now. Immediately.’ Olivia was tearing apart her daughter’s very empty room. Her face had paled considerably since she left the table, and her green eyes were wide and wild.

Philippa intercepted Olivia as she lunged for the chest of drawers snugged under a window.

She wasn’t sure if the frantic woman hoped her daughter was hiding in one of the drawers, or if she was going to scale the dresser and try to squeeze out of the window and jump to the ground in pursuit of the girl.

Holding Olivia’s shoulders in a firm grip, she used her best duchess voice.

‘What we must do is remain calm, Olivia. And you must breathe. Slowly.’

Olivia shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. ‘I can’t. She’s gone. They took her.’ Her words were strangled by obvious panic.

Philippa ran one hand up her shoulder and gripped Olivia’s neck, squeezing gently.

Commanding her hadn’t worked. Perhaps she should try a different tactic.

‘I need you to breathe, darling. In through your nose, hold it, then out through your mouth. One deep breath.’ She had softened her voice to a soothing hum.

Olivia blinked rapidly, but she dipped her chin in assent.

Philippa saw the woman’s chest expand, freeze for a moment, and then slowly contract. ‘Good. That’s excellent. Now again.’

Olivia repeated the deep breath.

‘Good. Once more.’ As Olivia complied, Philippa applied gentle pressure on the back of her neck, rubbing the tight tendons. ‘Well done. Just focus on your breath.’

Sniffing, Olivia reached up and used the back of her hand to swipe at her wet cheeks.

Her bottom lip quivered. Philippa glimpsed what she must have looked like as a young girl, but it was Olivia the woman who straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and pressed those lips together in a determined line. ‘What should we do, Philippa?’

My God, she is brave. And fierce. And fantastic. And she’s asking for my help. I will not fail her.

‘Let’s search her room. Carefully. Mayhap we can find a clue as to her whereabouts.

’ Turning her head, she spoke to Mrs Hughes who stood in the narrow hall with Callum behind her.

‘Will you help? Callum, can you check the stables and see if any of the horses are missing? Look for clues about which direction they might have gone: carriage wheel tracks, anything that could give us an indication of what time they left and where they might have been heading.’

Callum looked ill. His cheeks had gone terribly pale, and his Adam’s apple bobbed sporadically as he swallowed. ‘Yes, of course.’ Spinning, he rushed to follow her orders.

She returned her focus to Olivia. ‘We’re going to find her. I promise you that. And when we do, we’ll get her safely away from here.’

It was a promise Philippa intended to keep.

* * *

Olivia couldn’t believe the number of things she didn’t know about her daughter.

She had an affinity for Gothic horrors. She collected seashells, most particularly any blue ones she could find.

Her drawers were messy, but her desk was tidy.

She had a folder of poetry hidden beneath her mattress.

Rather good poetry, though Olivia would never claim to be an expert in such a subject.

And Hyacinth was a prolific writer and receiver of letters.

Countless letters were secreted away in a leather satchel tucked under a loose board next to her bed.

‘Money under your floorboards. Letters under hers. You two are far more similar than either of you thinks.’ The small curl in Philippa’s lip invited Olivia to join her in a moment of levity.

‘You might be right.’

‘I usually am.’

Ah. There was the proud duchess Olivia had seen striding across every great ballroom in the beau monde.

Stealing her breath. Invading her thoughts.

Wreaking havoc on any attempt to remain unaffected.

But instead of infuriating her, she found comfort in Philippa’s confidence.

Surely with such a powerful ally, she would find Hyacinth.

But aren’t we supposed to be enemies?

It didn’t feel that way. Not any more.

‘Here.’ She gave half of the letters to Philippa, sat on her daughter’s bed, and began sifting through her pile.

Mrs Hughes emerged from the closet, her hair dishevelled, her face suspiciously blotchy. It was clear the woman had been crying. ‘You two look through those letters. I’ll put the kettle on. Tea never hurts in these situations.’

‘Tea with whiskey often helps in these situations,’ Philippa murmured.

‘I’ll see what I can rustle up.’ Mrs Hughes’ gaze lingered on Olivia for a moment.

‘Hyacinth is so like you, Olivia. Stubborn and headstrong. Courageous and brave. Resilient and resourceful. Whatever has happened, she will be smart. She will endure. She will survive to come home, just like her mother. I know it.’

Olivia’s heart wrenched painfully. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hughes.’ She spoke the words with a harsh rasp.

Mrs Hughes cleared her throat. ‘Right. Tea.’ She walked down the hall, her feet clipping sharply on the wood.

For several minutes, Olivia and Philippa sat next to each other on Hyacinth’s bed and flipped through their separate piles.

Most of the letters Olivia had were from an old chum of Hyacinth’s. A young girl named Polly, who seemed frightfully obsessed with lace and crinoline.

‘I had no idea Hyacinth was so close to your brother.’

The blood in Olivia’s veins froze. ‘P-pardon?’

Philippa looked up from her pile, her cobalt eyes creasing with concern at whatever she saw on Olivia’s face.

‘Lord Hardgrave. He must have written her over twenty letters. The first one dates back to when she would have only been seven or eight. He was obviously concerned for her when the two of you disappeared in August, but I didn’t realise they were so close. ’