Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(19)

“Oh, I did not know that,” her mother replied, patting the chair next to her. “Come sit down and tell me all about this gentleman. A friend of Lord Carson’s, you say? You know your father and I have great expectations of your succeeding where Eleanor . . . did not,” she said, her nose wrinkling at the last two words.

If only the rest of Society were as malleable as her mother. Or wanted something as desperately as the duchess wanted this marriage between her and Bennett.

Almost as much as Olivia wanted it.

She sat down, exhaling in relief. “He is well-spoken.” Especially when pointing out how grossly she’d misread Bennett’s feelings for her. But she wouldn’t be sharing that with her mother. Besides which, she would be changing Bennett’s mind very soon. “And quite polite, despite being . . .” And then she paused. She couldn’t very well say “a bastard” to her mother. “Born as he was,” she finished weakly.

Her mother frowned. “But is he respectable? Does he fit in? It would be horrible if anyone thought less of Lord Carson because of his choice of friend.”

Does he fit in? No, he doesn’t. And not just because of his birth. He stands out, in words and appearance and behavior. Telling her never to let anyone see her pain.

His hair, his looks, his build, were all dangerous. Everything he was combined to become a veritable force, a fearsome storm of fire and emotion and passion.

Not the usual mild type of gentleman Olivia was familiar with. Even Bennett’s presence seemed to dim in Mr. Wolcott’s company, not that she’d admit that. Beyond the confines of her own mind, that is.

Or perhaps to Pearl. But that was it.

“He is a gentleman,” Olivia replied in a firm tone. “He was at school with Lord Carson, and you would never know he was not one of us.”

She was keenly aware of a prickling, guilty sensation flowing through her. Not one of us. It sounded so condescending, something Pearl would point out to her, even though it wasn’t how she meant it.

Although it wouldn’t matter how she meant it if he heard it. It sounded terrible.

“As long as you don’t get it into your head to fall in love with him or anything,” the duchess said, her tone indicating just how ridiculous a proposition that was. Olivia forced an amused smile to her mouth. Did she sound so snobbish when she spoke? The thought made her cringe.

“Being polite to him and allowing him to dance with you every so often is only genteel. Plus I understand his father has quite a lot of money,” her mother added, ruining the effect of charity. “And Lord Carson will take it as a compliment that you are so kind to his friend. I had thought he would have asked by now.”

“Quite a lot of money,” Olivia said hastily, wanting to divert her mother’s attention from a proposal from Lord Carson. Soon enough, Olivia promised herself.

“Well, then, as a polite gesture, you can invite him to dine with us when the Marquis of Wheatley comes in a few days. He will even out the table.” The duchess made it sound as though it was a grand beneficent gesture—and it would be, if Mr. Wolcott’s father wasn’t so rich as to remove the taint of his son’s birth.

“Of course,” Olivia agreed, even though inside she wasn’t certain how to feel. On one hand, she was pleased her mother was being so generous, but she had to admit—this time to only herself, Pearl would not understand—that Mr. Wolcott made her feel all prickly and odd in a way she’d never felt before.

And there was the fact that her mother would likely exhibit the same kind of condescension she’d just expressed, and Olivia didn’t want Mr. Wolcott to feel uncomfortable.

That must be the cause of the prickly sensation, she decided. Not because of him, and how she felt around him, but because she was so acutely sensitive to other people’s emotions. It was what made her so good when she visited the Society for Poor and Orphaned Children. Sometimes she had to close her eyes when she visited the home, since the suffering was too much for her sensitivity.

And if she were able to secure Mr. Wolcott a place in Society and a bride, she would have gained the society one thousand pounds, which would go a long way toward reducing their suffering. Which would then relieve her nerves.

Speaking of which, she had promised she would start tomorrow, meaning today. “Excuse me, Mother,” she said as she stepped toward the door, “I have to go see about things.”

Which if her mother were a normal parent would be insufficiently clear, but because the duchess seldom listened to anybody but herself, and even then only listened about half the time, Olivia’s vague statement wouldn’t be questioned at all.

No wonder Della and then Eleanor had been able to go fall in love and do something about it without anybody noticing. It had worked out wonderfully for Eleanor, now married to Bennett’s brother, although not so well for Della, whose last letter had contained the news that her lover—never her husband—had left her and now she had a daughter.

Eleanor had refused Olivia’s assistance in helping Della, saying that it might jeopardize the girls’ reputations if it were known they were in contact with their scandalous older sister. A refusal that rankled, since Olivia knew she could help if given the chance.

But she should be grateful she hadn’t been, since now she had a task that would take all of her time.



“A Lady Olivia is here, sir,” the butler said with a faint raise of his eyebrow.