Page 12 of The Truth about the Marquess (Whispers of the Ton #3)

Chapter Eleven

I should not have been eavesdropping.

Oliver pushed one hand through his hair as he leaned back against the wall of the ballroom, his heart heavy. He had not meant to hear Lady Guilford and Lady Harsham’s conversation, but given where they had been standing and where he had been, he had not been able to help it. He had, in fact, just been about to go and ask the lady if she would like to dance, only for Lady Guilford to ask a question which had struck Oliver sharply where he stood. Affixed to the spot on the floor, he had listened with an unwilling ear as Lady Harsham had explained in great detail why she could never consider him, and with every word that had come from her mouth, Oliver’s spirits had sunk lower.

It was a strange reaction, of course, for he did not understand what it was that had done such a thing to him - for everything she had said, he both understood and accepted. After all, given what he knew of the late Lord Harsham’s character, it seemed quite clear to him that the lady had been in great difficulty when it had come to her husband.

Though I do wonder what employment she was speaking of.

Shaking his head to himself, Oliver lifted his head, only to see the very person he had been thinking of coming back towards him. Her head was lowered, her steps heavy and Oliver’s heart immediately squeezed with a sudden agony - though it was mostly in sympathy for what she had endured with her late husband – as well as upset over what she had said about forever being alone. That was something he did not want for her, Oliver realized, though quite why he had any sort of investment in what she did and what her future was, he could not quite say.

“Lady Harsham.” Coming closer to her, Oliver smiled as her head lifted, though she did not smile back at him. “Good evening! I do hope you are well?”

“Yes, I am. Why, do not I not appear so?”

A little surprised at the slightly sharp response, Oliver shook his head.

“No, of course not. You appear just as you always are, Lady Harsham.”

“Oh.” Wincing, she closed her eyes and then sighed. “I apologize. I have just had a somewhat trying conversation, but that does not mean that I should be sharp in my words to you. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” He held out his arm and, much to his relief, she took it without hesitating and Oliver, letting instinct lead him, settled his other hand over hers for just a moment. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes.” She looked up at him and smiled as he took his hand away. “I am quite well. Now, tell me of these young ladies that you have considered.”

“Ah.” Oliver chuckled, his eyes darting around the room in the hope of spying them. “The first is Lady Henrietta, the second Miss Leverton – though I find her shy and her mother, Lady Keswick, rather overwhelming – and the third, whom I have only found this evening, is Lady Bridget.”

Lady Harsham frowned.

“I do not think that I am acquainted with Miss Leverton and Lady Keswick, nor Lady Bridget though I do know Lady Henrietta.”

“And what think you of her?”

The lady smiled.

“She is kind and considerate. Her manner is good and her conversation excellent. I do not think that I have heard her gossip about anyone, though that does not mean anything, she might well be inclined towards such a thing. That is something you shall have to find out for yourself, I suppose.”

“Lord Dunstable has long been acquainted with their family and speaks very highly of her. I think her very pleasant, at least.”

“That is good.” She glanced at him. “And Lady Bridget?”

“Yes, Lady Bridget.” Oliver cleared his throat, recalling the interaction that had happened only a few minutes before he had come to stand at the back of the ballroom to collect his thoughts. “I was previously acquainted with her father it seems, though I confess that I did not recall our introduction! He is the Earl of Marchfield and a very fine gentleman I think.”

Lady Harsham stopped suddenly, pulling Oliver back. When he looked at her, her eyes had widened, her mouth forming a perfect circle.

A knot tied itself in his stomach.

“What is wrong?”

“Lord Marchfield?” she repeated, as Oliver nodded. “Then he must be wed to Lady Marchfield, I presume?”

“Yes,” Oliver agreed, “though I do not recall being introduced to her. Why? Are you acquainted with her personally?”

At this, a hint of a smile broke out across her expression though she pulled it back very quickly indeed.

“Yes, I am afraid that I am.”

“Afraid?” Oliver repeated, the knot growing tighter. “Why?”

Lady Harsham opened her mouth, closed it again, and then shook her head, frowning.

“I mayhap should not say. After all, it is not the mother that you are considering, but Lady Bridget herself! I do not want to alter your opinion of anyone, simply because their parents might be a little… difficult.”

Oliver leaned a little closer to her, a sweet scent of oranges drifting towards him as he did so, making his stomach tighten all the more – though this time, for an entirely different reason.

“Please, do not hide this from me. If there is something about the lady’s parents that I ought to know, then I would be grateful if you would share it.”

Lady Harsham studied him.

“I do not want to take your interest from the lady, however.”

“But it would not be doing so,” he promised. “All it would do would encourage me to be cautious, that is all. You know that I do not want to fail yet again and therefore–”

“Very well, very well, you have convinced me!” Lady Harsham laughed softly and caught his hand for a brief moment, silencing him. “Tell me, do you recall when you came to save me from that dire conversation at the theatre?”

A frown tugged at Oliver’s forehead.

“Yes, of course. There was a lady asking you some deeply personal and improper questions and in a manner which I thought to be very rude indeed.”

Lady Harsham’s lips pulled into a small, sad smile.

“That was Lady Marchfield.” The knot in Oliver’s stomach yanked so hard, he caught his breath in a small gasp. “I do not know what I can say of her character, for it is not all that well known to me,” the lady continued, speaking a little more quickly now, as though she were doing her best to make what she had said a little sweeter. “All I know is that her words to me were a little sharp, and her conversation impolite, but that does not mean that she will always be so.” Her shoulders lifted. “It might be that she is nothing short of delightful when it comes to conversing with a gentleman.”

Oliver did not know how to respond. His first thought was that he had no desire to be in company with Lady Marchfield at all, and that meant forgetting about Lady Bridget entirely, only for the next thought to be of Lady Harsham herself. If he were to continue with his interest in Lady Bridget, would that not mean that his friendship with Lady Harsham would have to begin to fade? After all, he could not have her spoken to like that again, nor did he want any sort of question thrown to him by an improper Lady Marchfield about the lady.

“You are frowning rather heavily.” Lady Harsham let out a small sigh. “Mayhap I ought not to have told you. I did not mean to react as I did, but you must know that I care about you. I care about what happens in this situation. I do not want you to be miserable and frustrated all over again!”

Oliver’s eyes darted back towards her, a sudden leaping in his chest chasing away the tightness in his frame and the heaviness in his heart. Lady Harsham cared for him? Reminding himself of the conversation he had overheard, Oliver tried to dismiss it, tried to tell himself that he was being foolish and reading too much into what she had said, but that hope lingered there regardless. Lady Harsham’s gaze held his, her eyes searching his as she bit her lip.

“I – I am glad that you told me.”

Oliver took a deep breath and then released it, forcing a smile as he quietened the swirling emotions within his heart. He could not be foolish in this, not now. He had already heard that Lady Harsham would not take another husband, so the care she spoke of must be that of friendship, nothing more. But why, then, did I find myself so fiercely hopeful?

“Edenbridge?”

Oliver started lightly, realizing that he had said nothing more but had, instead, simply been staring at the lady. Clearing his throat gruffly, he shrugged and then looked away.

“I am glad you told me,” he said again. “I will have to consider whether or not to continue in my pursuit of the lady. I have three that I am considering, after all, and to remove one is no bad thing.”

“Though she might well be more than suitable!” Lady Harsham protested, her cheeks a little red now. “You cannot remove her from your thoughts simply because of her mother’s impropriety.”

“Oh, but I can,” Oliver replied, chuckling at the way the lady’s eyes widened. “Can you imagine what it would be like? Though you say she might well only speak in that improper manner to ladies such as yourself, I confess that I am not as convinced. Can you imagine what she would be like as a mother-in-law? There would be questions about all manner of things, questions which would make even me blush, I am sure!” Seeing Lady Harsham begin to giggle, Oliver grinned and continued, taking her hand on his arm again so that they could continue to promenade around the ballroom. “I would be asked about my estate, the investments I have made which questions, I am sure, would be in-depth and pressing for, no doubt, she would speak of my late father and his mistakes! Thereafter, there might be questions about children, about the nursemaid, the governess, the dancing master, the housekeeper, the butler… can you imagine the difficulty that would become?”

Lady Harsham was still laughing, her eyes dancing as she looked up at him.

“I suppose I can see it now,” she agreed, as Oliver chuckled along with her. “Mayhap you are right.”

“I believe that I am.” Oliver shrugged lightly. “I have two others to consider now, I suppose. That is no bad thing.”

Lady Harsham’s smile faded completely, her expression now serious.

“Are you quite sure that you are glad I told you?”

Oliver nodded, reaching across again to press her hand as it sat on his arm.

“I am more than grateful,” he told her, seeing that smile come again and finding his heart lighting in response. “More than you can know.”