Page 20 of My Secret Duke
Ashton House
Mayfair, London
T hey had arrived in London, and Olivia was bubbling with anticipation. The dowager had declared she needed to lie down to recover from traveling with a coachload of boisterous girls. She meant Roberta, everyone knew that, but Olivia restrained herself from saying so.
And to the surprise of everyone, Olivia’s mother had announced she was coming to London too. There were times when she felt sorry for Felicia—the woman had lost a great deal because of a turn of events that was not her fault. But her mother had never asked for Olivia’s help or understanding. She had never tried to befriend her, or form a bond with her, or to get to know any of her six daughters. The simple truth was Felicia had wanted a son, and nothing and no one else had mattered.
Being replaced by Gabriel had hurt the former duchess deeply. What was left for an ambitious woman like her? At first, Felicia had wallowed in her despair, refusing to come out of her room, but something had changed. She was reentering life at Grantham, and Olivia wasn’t sure whether to be pleased about that or worried.
“Are we going for a walk in the park?” Roberta peered around the door, bouncing with excitement. She was still very much a child and there were times when Olivia envied her joie de vivre.
“Grandmama is resting.”
“We can take Miss Starky as chaperone. That is what she is here for. Please, can we?”
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well,” she said. “See if Justina wants to come.”
Alone again, she took a deep breath. This would be her first foray into the polite world since the scandal at the Elphinstones’ musical evening, not to mention the matter of Gabriel eloping with Vivienne. She could expect knowing looks and whispers behind hands, and even to be cut by those who had previously welcomed her. She needed to be prepared. Yes, the memory of the pamphlet with the cartoon depictions of herself and Ivo still stung, but she was the daughter of a duke. She was no longer going to allow a few cruel comments to drive her from her rightful place in society.
A stroll in the park would be the perfect way to begin this new phase of her life. With a determined air, Olivia went to unpack her trunk and find the perfect outfit.
The park was full of people perambulating and vehicles and horses slowly circling about, with frequent stops for the greeting of acquaintances. It was a fine day, and although Roberta declared she would rather have been on a horse, they enjoyed themselves. Several people paused to inquire after the dowager’s health, but what they really wanted was the latest gossip. Olivia was glad they had not heard about Vivienne and Annette’s novel writing venture—not yet anyway. She didn’t fool herself that it would not happen eventually. A whisper here and a whisper there, and word would begin to spread.
She was pleased with her muslin walking dress, the skirt was a cream color, and the bodice and sleeves a shade of blue that matched her eyes. The current fashion was for waistlines to be very high, and bodices much smaller than she preferred, but Madame Annabelle, their dressmaker, had made allowance for Olivia’s abundant “charms.” Her bonnet was tied under her chin with a ribbon the same blue as the dress, and decorated with an attractive set of feathers that bobbed and waved as she turned her head. Overall, she felt as if she compared very favorably with the fashionable ladies there.
“Oh, look!” Justina’s exclamation brought her attention to a large, stationary group just ahead of them. “Who is that they’re all staring at, Olivia? Some famous person?”
“Perhaps it is the Prince of Wales,” Roberta said. “Is it true that his father is mad?”
“Robbie!” Justina reprimanded her, glancing about in case they were overheard—which, thankfully, they weren’t. “That is not something you should be speaking about in public.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? Grandmama says it’s true.”
While her sisters bickered, Olivia tried to see through the crowd of sightseers. The focus of their attention seemed to be a gentleman at the very center. And, unfortunately, it was a gentleman she recognized.
“Don’t look. It is Prince Nikolai of Holtswig,” she said dully.
Of course, she had known she would be seeing him at some point, but she had hoped to avoid that moment as long as possible. After everything that had happened at Grantham, she no longer imagined he would ever want to propose to her. That ship had sailed, and she would be lucky if he did not give her the cut.
However, any hopes Olivia had of strolling by unobserved were crushed when Roberta raised her hand and waved, calling out the prince’s name as if they were the best of friends. Olivia cringed, and Justina gasped, but it was too late to escape.
The prince’s head jerked up, his aristocratic nostrils flaring, and his admirers turned to see who had the audacity to behave in such a vulgar manner.
“He won’t recognize us,” Olivia babbled. “I mean, of course he will recognize us, but he will pretend not to.”
But not only did the prince nod politely to them, his entourage was forced to part as he made his way toward the three Ashton sisters.
“You don’t have Leopold,” Roberta informed him, obviously disappointed.
Nikolai frowned in that manner he seemed to reserve only for her—as if he was irritated and puzzled at the same time. “No, I don’t. He is not fond of crowds. Why? Are you intending to steal him again?”
The tone was sharp for the socially appropriate prince, but Roberta laughed. “No, I am on my best behavior,” she assured him.
Olivia tried not to let her doubts about that show on her face.
The prince’s frown deepened, and he turned his attention to Olivia. “You are back in London? Will you be remaining for the rest of the Season?”
His interest in her answer seemed more than polite—there was a hint of concern. Did he think their disgrace was like a cold? Catching?
“I hope so,” Olivia said brightly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Perhaps we will see you at some of our engagements, sir?”
Justina shot her a look that said What engagements? but Olivia ignored it. The trick was to put on an act, to pretend to be popular and busy, even if one was not. It was a lesson her grandmother had taught her.
The prince’s manner was guarded as he murmured, “Indeed.” He bowed politely, signaling their conversation was at an end.
The sisters curtsied and went on their way. In hindsight, Olivia was relieved they had bumped into the prince. It had taken away some of the awkwardness that might have occurred if they had met at one of those fictious engagements.
Roberta was watching her curiously. “Do you still want to marry him?” she blurted out.
“Shush,” Olivia hissed angrily. “He will hear you.”
Roberta shrugged and looked away, but there was something in the way her shoulders stiffened, and the pugnacious jut of her chin, that made Olivia wonder what her sister was thinking. Was she annoyed? Jealous? Or did she want the prince as her brother-in-law so that she could ride his horses? Olivia did not understand it, and then she decided not to bother trying. Roberta was just being Roberta. Besides, it was unlikely she would see the prince again, not in a social setting anyway, because although Justina would soon be “out,” Roberta would not.
They had almost reached the gate and their waiting coach when a familiar voice called Olivia’s name.
Just for a moment, she thought about quickening her steps, leaping into the safety of the vehicle, and shouting for the driver to speed away. It might still have been possible to ignore him… until Justina turned with a smile of greeting. Then Roberta turned too, and was skipping toward the approaching couple before remembering herself and, with an “oops” glance back at Olivia, slowed to a sedate walk.
Ivo had his sister Adelina on his arm, wearing a pretty bonnet to protect her complexion. His smile faded slightly when he caught sight of Olivia’s unwelcoming expression, but any hope she had that he might pass them by was checked by Adelina, who clasped Justina’s hand and began a long conversation with her.
Roberta shot Olivia a sly look. “I think I will wait in the coach,” she said. “I am tired.”
It was so obviously untrue that Ivo raised an eyebrow, but Roberta was already gone, and Olivia’s voice came out sharper than was polite. “Our grandmother has brought Roberta to London to gain some polish.”
“And is it working?” Ivo asked.
“So far today, she has called out to Prince Nikolai to ask him about his horse… sorry, stallion . And now she has rudely declared herself too tired to speak.”
“The prince is here?” Ivo’s gaze was on her face.
Before she could answer, Adelina said, “Roberta is still young. I can remember being lamentably self-centered at that age.”
Olivia doubted anyone was as self-centered as Roberta. She looked to Ivo again, but he was staring into the distance now, as if the conversation bored him.
Soon, Justina and Adelina were chatting about the latest fashions, and unless Olivia wanted to stand in silence, or join Roberta in the coach, she had to speak to Ivo. Even if she felt oddly tongue-tied. A quick glance at him showed him to be his typically handsome, perfectly dressed self, and if that ache in the vicinity of her heart would just go away…
But memories of their rendezvous at the archery targets were already crowding her head. The warm evening and the fading light. The press of his lips on hers and the deep murmur of his voice as he held her close. He had stayed with her despite Gabriel’s insistence that he go, because he was concerned for her. He had tried to tell her that the prince was wrong for her, because he knew she would be miserable, and she had refused to listen.
Ivo wasn’t perfect, she wasn’t pretending he was, but he had been her friend. She just hadn’t realized how much she valued that friendship until she pushed him away. But could they be friends again without those other tangled emotions getting in the way?
When the silence had dragged on far too long, Ivo said politely, “I was sorry to miss the picnic at Grantham.”
“Were you? It was very uncomfortable after Annette—” She stopped, aware he looked puzzled. “Didn’t Viscountess Monteith spread the news to your mother? I was sure it would have reached London by now.”
Bemused, he shook his head. “The viscountess is in Devon, I believe, and as far as I know, my mother has not heard from her since. Is there something I should know?”
Olivia twisted her fingers in the cord of her reticule. “It was nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Time for a change of subject. “Did you complete your business at Whitmont? You and Mr. Wickley left in such a hurry.”
Ivo’s practiced smile faded, replaced by an expression she did not see often on his handsome face. Serious. Grave. It was the same expression he had worn at the ball, when their dance finished, and she had rejected him. Again.
This time, it was Ivo who changed the subject. “Charles Wickley and I are going into partnership. We are purchasing your brother’s gambling club.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. It was the first time she had heard of such a thing. “I did not know,” she said. “My brother does not talk to us about his club. Although once, when we were having dancing lessons, he mentioned he had been in a fistfight with one of the more unruly patrons. My sisters were very impressed.”
No need to mention she was too.
Ivo laughed, and out of the blue, it occurred to her that Prince Nikolai would never have laughed at such a disclosure. He would have looked at her as if he’d smelled something bad. “I cannot say I have been in a fistfight at a club,” Ivo said, “but I do enjoy boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s club.”
“Perhaps that will come in handy when you are the owner of Cadieux’s.”
“Part owner,” he corrected her. “And I think I will let Charles look after that side of things. In fact, I am going to be a silent partner, which means I will supply the funds and he will do the work.”
He had meant her to be amused, so she smiled, but now it occurred to Olivia to wonder what Ivo actually did . Apart from being a duke and indulging in ridiculous wagers. He must spend a great deal of time at his tailor’s—he was always fashionably dressed, but not outrageously so. And she supposed looking after Whitmont took up his time, unless he had someone he paid to do that. Probably he was like other titled gentlemen who did very much as they pleased. That was the impression she’d had of her father, although by the end of his life, his funds had all but dried up. Which reminded her of Gabriel working so hard to make Grantham pay, so perhaps not all titled gentlemen were idle.
“You have never been to Whitmont,” Ivo said, breaking her silence.
Her attention, which had strayed, returned to his face. His eyes were very green, the sort of green that reminded her of the mossy pool at Grantham. The one in which she had swum naked. And now she was back to remembering Ivo’s lips on hers.
Her answer was slightly breathless. “No, I have never been to Whitmont.”
Ivo’s expression softened, as if he was visualizing his home and what he saw pleased him very much. “It is not as grand as Grantham. The house was built in the days of Elizabeth I, with my ancestor given the task of keeping the Kentish coast secure from foreign invaders.”
“And have you?” she asked curiously. “Kept the coast safe?”
“Indeed we have.” A note of arrogance entered his voice. “From the Spanish to the French, we have kept England safe. Not that many strangers would venture into the salt marshes that lay at our doorstep. They are treacherous, and you need to watch the tides, but we Fitzsimmonses are taught from childhood how to cross them safely.”
“Do you often walk in the marshes? It sounds like somewhere you should stay away from.”
“It is home,” he said simply. “I suppose some might call the landscape uninviting. When the weather is foul, it can be gray and sullen, and dangerous if you are a stranger. When I was young, my father told me that our surroundings have shaped our character. We Fitzsimmonses are strong, no-nonsense people, who refuse to be broken by life’s ups and downs. The world outside Whitmont may mock us, or gossip about us, but we don’t care because we are secure in the knowledge that there is no other family quite like ours.”
He stopped, as if realizing he had disclosed more than he had intended. His smile was wry. “I suspect I am boring you.”
His description had been unexpected, and rather moving. It explained so much of his character—confident and secure in his place in the world, and arrogant enough not to care what others thought. But as well as that, he had created an image of Whitmont in her head, and suddenly, she longed to see it and the dangerous salt marshes and the bleak, gray sea. That he genuinely loved the place she did not doubt, and his affection for his home added yet another facet to his personality. Which she was beginning to realize was far more complex than she had imagined.
“Olivia?” Justina was watching her curiously. “We should return to the house. Grandmama will be waiting for us.”
Olivia shook herself out of her introspection, and when she smiled at Ivo, she felt almost like the shy, na?ve girl she had been when he first asked her to dance. “No, you were not boring me. Whitmont sounds perfect. Perhaps one day you will invite us all to visit so we can see it for ourselves.”
Adelina clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh yes, Ivo, let’s!”
He didn’t respond beyond one of his polite smiles, and the intimate moment was gone. She had meant it when she’d said she wanted to see Whitmont, but it was painfully obvious that he did not want her there. She supposed she could not blame him.
“Olivia!” Justina called from the coach.
Ivo leaned closer so that his words were heard by her alone, but he spoke in a kind way. “I’m sure you would find Holtswig far more to your taste. Goodbye, Olivia.”
She stared after him as he walked away. Did he still think she had her sights set on the prince? Well, of course he did! She had not told him otherwise, and the last he knew was when they had danced at the ball and she had told him how much she was looking forward to being Nikolai’s wife.
The kindness in his voice… and that goodbye. She realized he was letting her go, removing himself from any emotional ties that may have been between them. It was what she had told herself she wanted, so why did it hurt so much?