Page 45 of Her Heartless Duke
She also knew he was not wrong.
Just the other day, there were bright red spots on her handkerchief. A nosebleed, yet another sign that her condition was worsening. It would not be much longer before she would be too weak to leave even her bedchamber.
She walked over to the window, smiling sadly as she watched the bustle on the street below. There was still a steady stream of callers for Fiona and she even spotted the carriage of the Earl of Westmore, who had become a regular presence in their home since that archery competition at Hyde Park.
Daniel should be pleased that there is something developing between them, she mused to herself with a soft smile.Lord Westmore has a good reputation and he trusts him as a friend. Aunt Joana also seems to approve of him.
However, she had a feeling that the same could not be said for Isaac. Even through her hazy vision at the Wellington Ball, she had seen enough of his reaction to know that his first thought had been to blame his best friend for her collapse. The Duke of Langley did not enjoy the same kind of reputation as his friend, Lord Westmore.
Even then, how she longed to defend him against her brother. How she wanted to tell Daniel that it was none of his fault, that she was merely very ill.
That she was dying.
She sighed as she leaned her forehead against the cool glass. When she thought she saw a familiar carriage pass by her window, she almost felt a brief spark of excitement, only to have her hopes dashed when it clattered right past her.
She missed him—there was no denying that. She longed to be in his arms, dancing once more, even if it was only under the pretense that she could help him communicate with Lady Vivian.
She cast a longing look at the letter that lay on her desk, the very evidence of her duplicity, and felt a keen sense of guilt for having deceived him.
Forcontinuingto deceive him.
She should have known better than to act on impulse, even if she felt that it was absolutely necessary at that time.
I didn't even know for sure if he would agree to it!Olivia laughed wryly to herself.Although that hardly justifies lying to him.
But he did agree, and as much as she tried to harden her heart, to steel herself against such emotions, she found herself unable to resist being drawn to him. She would always look for his face amongst a sea of people, would always look for his carriage amidst a busy street.
She longed to be able to tell him how she truly felt, how she enjoyed spending time with him, talking and laughing about the most mundane things, teasing each other about this and that.
Mostly, she loved dancing with him, for it was the only time she could stay in his arms and pretend for those few, precious moments that she was not as ill as she was and that he felt the same way about her, too.
“I wish I could tell him everything,” she murmured to herself. “I wish I could tell him just how brave and kind and wonderful he is, even if he thinks otherwise.”
His time in the Peninsula had broken and hardened him. There were times when she wanted to reach out to him, to let him know that he was not as hopeless as he thought he was. That life,hislife, was one to be celebrated.
And as much as it pained her, it was only Lady Vivian who could help him move on from the horrors that haunted him, so that he could finally step into the light.
Or perhaps,shecould.
She could write to him, under the guise of Lady Vivian, and let him know how much he meant to her, how this world would have been intolerably bleak if it was not for him. She could let him know how his presence brought light into her own internal darkness.
She could let him know how much she cared for him and hope that it might be enough to pull him out of his own darkness.
With a renewed sense of purpose, she stood up and walked back to her writing desk. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing, writing, writing.
On occasion, she would pause and bite her lip as her gaze roved over the sentences she penned, but then she would set her quill to the page once more until she finally sat back with a soft, triumphant smile on her face.
She had done it—she had written her first love letter. But it was not her name that she would sign at the bottom.
A pity, truly, that it might also be her last, but Olivia would not allow herself to dwell on that. She needed to hand the letter over to Isaac and the best time to do it would be at the opera that Lady Willow had arranged for the following week.
She and Fiona had spoken excitedly about it, for these entertainments that Lady Willow organized were always something to look forward to amidst the humdrum of balls and tea parties and the like.
And for her to be able to attend the opera, she had to convince everybody, including her brother, that she was well enough to go.
With a steely resolve, she pushed up from her desk, pausing briefly to check her reflection in the mirror. She patted her cheeks to make them appear rosier and bit lightly on her lips to infuse some color into them.
It was almost time for afternoon tea, and she heard that Aunt Joana had decided to take advantage of the fine weather that day to have it served outdoors, in the garden. If Olivia was to convince everyone that she was feeling better, there could not have been a better opportunity.