Page 3 of Never Doubt I Love (Calloway #3)
“Do you think I am pretty, Miss Calloway?”
Olivia went slack-jawed at the question asked of her by her friend Miss Margaret Lovelace. They had been talking of the fine weather while they walked in St. James’s Park, and Olivia had stopped to admire a beautiful wren in the bush when Margaret abruptly changed the topic.
Olivia tucked her arm through her friend’s. “Whyever would you ask such a question?”
Margaret shrugged, twisting her parasol over her shoulder. “Because I am three and twenty. Because no man has ever made me an offer. Because we have passed several young gentlemen this morning, and not one of them has seen me beside you.”
From the first moment Olivia had met Margaret, she had considered her new friend to be beautiful, just as she did all the friends she had made since coming to London a month and a half ago. But she supposed she looked at them with bias from their quickly formed friendships. She knew their personalities and saw the women beneath their exteriors. Margaret, though not a rare beauty, had plenty to offer a man.
“You have such lovely blue eyes,” Olivia said with a smile. “I have always been envious, with mine so fickle. They cannot decide whether to be blue or brown. And your hair curls so prettily, especially when it rains. But beyond your beauty, my dear Margaret, you have the sweetest heart of anyone I know. You love without reservation, and that is admirable indeed.”
“Oh, are we praising Miss Lovelace?” another voice cut in. “I should like to join in.”
Olivia grinned when she recognized another of her good friends, Lady Beatrice. “Bea! I did not think we would see you in the park this morning. I thought you had an engagement with Mr. Keller.”
Beatrice’s smile fell, though she embraced both women with enthusiasm. “Mr. Keller decided we would not suit, and he proposed to Sarah Smith last evening.”
Margaret, who had been near tears a moment ago, made a face of utter bewilderment. “Sarah Smith? He passed over an earl’s daughter for an untitled simpleton?”
“An untitled simpleton with a nabob for a father,” Beatrice said with an indignant sniff. “Her papa’s money covers all deficiencies in intelligence.”
Though Olivia wished they would not speak ill of anyone, she understood her friends’ grievances and felt frustration on their behalf. But they were starting to gather attention. Better to keep walking before some impertinent gentleman saw an opportunity to foist himself upon them.
“That is exactly what is wrong with the men of Society,” she huffed, grabbing hold of Beatrice’s hand so all three of them could walk together, their maids and a footman trailing behind. The footman had come from Calloway Manor at Simon’s insistence, as Wilson was a good deal more capable of offering protection than a maid.
“There are not enough good men of sense anymore,” Olivia continued. “No one can see past a woman’s worth in coin.” Margaret and Beatrice exchanged glances, making her scoff. “I am well aware of the size of my dowry. I did try to convince my brother to lower it last week, but he refused. But this only proves my point!”
She paused, watching a couple ahead who seemed to be getting along rather well. At least, that was how it appeared. Olivia had been in the same position many times over the last month, and only someone who was looking for the young woman standing just behind her friend would see her, completely ignored.
“You see Miss Dempsey up there?” Olivia pointed, though she hardly needed to. Miss Dempsey always wore the most extravagant gowns, even when walking the park. “Miss Dempsey is no more talented or personable than anyone, and yet she steals all the attention away from the much kinder and far more amusing Miss Simpson. Why?”
“Because Miss Dempsey’s father owns several merchant vessels and lives in Mayfair,” Margaret supplied.
Olivia pointed to another group of people to their right. Two gentlemen walked on either side of a baronet’s daughter, leaving the Misses Hilton behind them to act as chaperones even though the other lady was technically beneath them in rank. Their viscount father had been ill for some time, and their estate had been struggling even before his illness. Olivia had met the twin girls last week and found them both to be utter delights. Yet they too went ignored.
“What has the world come to,” she despaired, “when good, wonderful ladies are forgotten because their families are poor?”
“I would not call myself poor,” Beatrice mumbled, though she seemed to understand Olivia’s point as she nodded. “It is not as if we can do anything about it without changing our circumstances.”
“Last I checked,” Margaret said, “we women have little opportunity to take us from poor to wealthy.”
An idea popped into Olivia’s head just then. Likely a terrible idea, but she spoke it out loud anyway as she tugged her friends into a brisk walk. “Maybe it is not about making you wealthy,” she told her friends. “Maybe it is about making you desirable .”
Her friends once again exchanged looks. “You say that as if it is easy,” Beatrice said. “For you, it might be. You have not even spent six weeks in London and are a true diamond. But we—”
“Beatrice Stillwater, you are more accomplished on the pianoforte than anyone I know,” Olivia said, putting some force into her words. “You are fearless, and I have never seen lovelier black curls than yours. The problem is not you.”
Now she was thinking out loud, her pace increasing to match the pattering of her heart. “The problem is me . And Miss Dempsey. And Miss Smith. Our wealth screams so loudly that no one can hear anything otherwise. And I am tired of it! I am tired of being seen as only—oof.”
She ran smack into a very solid human, not having been watching where she was walking. Her friends kept her on her feet as she stumbled back; they must have been too focused on her to notice they had been walking directly toward a group of gentlemen.
The man she had run into spun about, his hands reaching out to steady her if necessary, but he never touched her. “Are you all right, miss?”
Olivia nodded, though she would likely have a bruise or two from the collision. “I do beg your pardon, sir. I was not looking where I walked.”
“No harm done on my end,” he assured her, concern wrinkling his brow. He was decidedly handsome, with thick brown hair and light eyes, but despite his moderately friendly expression, a shadow seemed to hang over him as he gazed at her.
“Are you certain of that, Alexander?” one of the other gentlemen asked. His tone was not nearly as gentle as he joined his companion and looked over the three ladies, though there was a good deal more curiosity in his eyes than in the other man’s.
Olivia’s eyes went wide. She had never been introduced to the man, but it would be impossible not to recognize the Duke of Tipton after spending the last month in London. He was as infamous as he was influential, and she could well understand why ladies often spoke of him with giggling and swooning. He was altogether an impressive sight, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. “Your Grace,” she breathed, dipping into a low curtsy with her friends in tow.
The duke lifted a quizzing glass to his eye as the third gentleman of their party added to the line of men with a scowl. All three men were handsome, with similar enough features to each other that Olivia could guess their identities. She had heard the Bailey brothers were intimidating and attractive, and it seemed the rumors were true as they stood side by side wearing their fine clothes and haughty expressions. All three looked as if they were pugilists or decorated soldiers, strong as they were.
“Such lovely ladies,” the duke murmured. “And out on your own?”
Glancing behind her, Olivia felt some measure of relief when Wilson stepped closer, his head bowed in deference. “We wanted to enjoy the sunshine,” she explained, though that did not necessarily answer his question. She knew little about the duke, despite his popularity, and she was intelligent enough to remain cautious. Technically speaking, she should not be having this conversation without an introduction first.
As if reading her thoughts, His Grace chuckled and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I think we can bypass formality this once, don’t you? Especially when you already know who I am. May I introduce my brothers, Lord Alexander Bailey and Lord Charles Bailey?”
Lord Alexander was the one Olivia had walked into. Her cheeks warmed when she made eye contact with the man, and she sank into another curtsy. “A pleasure,” she said, only then realizing she was likely expected to make introductions on her side. Never having done such a thing before, she stumbled through the words. “I am Miss Olivia Calloway, and these are my dear friends, er, Lady Beatrice Stillwater and Miss Margaret Lovelace.”
Both His Grace and Lord Charles perked up with interest, but Lord Alexander’s expression soured as he bowed. For a moment, he looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here, but then a mask slid firmly into place and left his visage decidedly blank.
What a strange man . . .
“I confess,” the duke said, pulling her attention back, “I have been wanting to meet you for some time, Miss Calloway. Your brother is held in such high regard here in Town. I can only assume you are as well-liked as he.”
Making a note to ask Simon if he knew the duke, Olivia smiled demurely. “My brother is a good deal better than me,” she said, meaning it wholeheartedly.
Her words made His Grace laugh again. “I suppose I will have to make that judgment myself. Good afternoon, Miss Calloway.” He nodded to her and led his brothers down the path.
The moment they were out of sight, Margaret set out a deep, mournful sigh. “See? I would never catch the attention of a handsome duke! He did not even look at Lady Beatrice, so it has nothing to do with my lack of a title.”
“Should I take offense to that?” Beatrice asked with a laugh. “You do not want a duke to look at you, Margaret. You would never be comfortable as a duchess!”
“Nor would I,” Olivia said, though her heart had been racing ever since realizing who the duke was. Pressing her hand over it, she willed it to slow and glanced behind them, where the men had disappeared around a grove of trees. His Grace had indeed given her a good deal of attention, but could that indicate interest on his part?
That almost made her laugh. He could not possibly be interested in her, a mere baron’s daughter, and she had no interest in being a duchess. Taking her friends’ arms again, she continued them on their way and reminded herself that only a love match would do. Only the deepest affection would induce her to accept a man’s hand.
And that would never come from a duke.