Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(62)

The thought was lowering, but she deserved to think that. She’d spent so long thinking she was above others because of how she thought about them—as though they needed her attention and care. Bennett didn’t want her attention; she could admit that to herself now. Did Edward?

She would have to ask.

She was opening her mouth to do just that when they turned a corner and walked into the heart of the village. Ida and Pearl were already there, already clapping their hands as a trio of musicians played some sort of lively tune.

A few grubby children were dancing at the outskirts of the circle, and Olivia felt that familiar tug grip her. The urge to help, to do something, to show that she cared.

“Do you have any money?” she asked him.

He frowned, puzzled, and then nodded. “A bit, I am to purchase some new pens for my father.”

“Can I have it?”

She didn’t wait for his reply; she just held her hand out, palm out.

He shook his head, withdrawing his wallet from his inside pocket. He extracted a few bills and placed them on her hand.

“Is that all you have?” she demanded.

He shook his head again and withdrew some change, placing that on top of the paper.

“Excellent,” she said, curling her fingers around the money and turning, the fierce flood of doing good making her whole body heat.



What was she doing? Edward wondered as he watched her stalk toward the tables set up for the market. He saw her go and speak, apparently fervently, to a few of the merchants, gesticulating in that vibrant Olivia way he’d come to love.

Love?

That word caught him up short, only to blindside him with the veracity of it. Love. He loved her.

How had he denied it to himself for so long?

He loved her, his prickly, sparkling, vibrant firebrand, who barged into situations and demanded justice—for ducks, for women, for foxes. For him.

Love. It wasn’t something he’d thought he’d ever have, certainly not with someone like her—a duke’s daughter. A lady who, in normal circumstances, would scorn what he had to tell her.

But these were not normal circumstances. Not at all.

He felt off-balance, and yet righted, now that he knew what he was suffering under. Love. The greatest toppler of nations and gentlemen the world had ever known.

And now Olivia, his love, was gesturing to the town, waving his money in the air, a fiery blush on her cheeks as she seemed to be arguing passionately for—

“But I want to buy everything for the children!”

The children in question had stopped dancing, likely because the musicians had stopped playing, and everyone else was frozen as Olivia whirled around to look at the crowd.

Most of whom were looking back at her with disdain.

Oh no.

“We aren’t in need of your charity, miss,” one of the women said. The other women nodded their heads in fervent agreement.

“And nobody asked you to come here and wave your cash around,” a merchant selling fruit added in a belligerent tone.

He waited for her to crumple, but of course she didn’t. Because she was Olivia, and she did not crumple.

Instead, she did what she always did; rush in and fight.

“But it’s not charity. I want to help!” She glanced around the crowd, her shoulders thrown back, her chin raised. Looking every inch a pampered aristocrat condescending to people who were beneath her. Who didn’t know any better.

Except they did. “Your kind of help isn’t wanted,” another of the women said, waving her arm in dismissal. “You think you can just come in here and pay for everything and it will be fine.” The woman stepped forward. “And it was fine, until you came. Do you think we can’t take care of our own? Do you think we need your help?” And she finished her sentence by spitting on the ground in front of Olivia.

Edward winced, restraining himself from going to her. His presence would just exacerbate the situation; he knew full well Olivia could take care of herself, and he also knew neither she nor the townspeople would welcome his interference.

Olivia took a step forward also so that only a few feet separated her from the woman who was still glaring at her.

“Don’t you want to be fed and nurtured?” she asked in a low, almost desperate voice. “I just want to help,” she continued, shaking her head.

The woman folded her arms over her chest, her gesture giving a clear answer to Olivia’s question.

Olivia’s cheeks were flame red, and she continued to face the woman, but he could read that, for the first time, she was suffering from defeat.

How must that feel for Olivia? Treasured duke’s daughter that she was?

Edward also felt compassion for the people in the crowd—he knew the villagers, none of them were starving, none were in need of the kind of desperate help Olivia was offering. They didn’t fit the role that Olivia expected them to play; in her world, people were either bullies or oppressed. These people were neither.

His father had made sure of that, actually, having set up various means of assistance through his years of living in proximity to the village.

Of course Olivia didn’t know that. Didn’t know any of that, but then again, she hadn’t asked. If she had asked if the townspeople would be receptive to the kind of lofty charity she was attempting, he would have given her a firm refusal, and perhaps—just perhaps—she would have conceded that for once her help was not needed.